Fireside (27 page)

“You make me sound like a last resort.”

He checked out her bare legs. “You are nobody’s last resort.”

She knew she could read all kinds of meanings into that remark. “I want you to know, I agreed to do this for AJ’s sake. No other reason. And for his sake, we’re going to do a good job. By the end of the day, I intend to land an interview with
Baseball Monthly,
out of Cooperstown.” She’d lain awake last night thinking about him, despite the tequila. The notion of a new project was like a fresh shot of espresso, and she’d gone into planning mode, mentally going through her media contacts and planning a strategy.

“No shit.” He scratched his bare chest, then clasped his hands in his underarms, rocking back on his heels. “That’s great, Kim. I appreciate it.”

Eyes front, she reminded herself. “You’re probably not going to like working with me. I intend to be like a drill sergeant, because time is short.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re wrong about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to like it. I’m going to like every minute of it.”

“I’ll see you downstairs, then,” she said, shutting the door in his face. She dressed hurriedly and went downstairs. As she fixed herself a cup of coffee, she sang along with the radio.

“You’re in a good mood,” AJ remarked, coming into the kitchen.

“Am I? I guess I’m just glad to see you,” she said.

That drew a reluctant smile from him. “Right.”

“So your dad explained that he’s going to be working with me, right? Media training and public relations—what I used to do in my former job. So this way, he won’t have to go away.”

“And that’s why you’re in such a good mood?”

Yes.
“No,” she said quickly. “But I think it’s good news that he figured out a way to stick around for you.”

AJ was quiet for a few minutes as he poured himself a bowl of cereal. Kim watched him surreptitiously, thinking about Daphne’s comment last night about having a romantic fling with Bo. Right here, Kim thought, is the reason there couldn’t be any fling—because she knew better than to play around when there was a fragile, frightened boy in the mix.

She watched him from the corner of her eye. She couldn’t tell if he thought it was good news or not. He probably didn’t understand what Bo was risking by skipping Fame School. More than media training and business skills development, he was going to miss out on the networking that was so crucial to a high-level career. Meeting the right people at the right time led to endorsements and alliances that could be invaluable.

She would make it her mission to find other networking opportunities. The
Baseball Monthly
interview would not be a stretch. A quick exchange of e-mails with someone she knew there, and it would be done. Under the influence or not, she was committed, and she intended to move forward quickly. There was an upcoming event she already had her eye on, a reception informally known as the Debutant Ball for new Yankees hopefuls, held at the Pierre in New York City. It was meant to bring the press and sponsors together with up-and-coming rookies. Invitations were extended only to the most promising of players—and she intended for Bo Crutcher to be one of those players.

In addition to the cereal, AJ loaded up on muffins, fruit, yogurt, juice and milk, putting everything on a tray to carry into the dining room.

“I’m always amazed at how much you eat,” Kim observed. “Where are you putting it all?”

He shrugged. “I’m a kid. We eat a lot.”

“I’d say so. I’ve never been around kids before,” she confessed.

“It’s not like we’re an endangered species or anything.”

“Up until recently, I was really busy with work. Of course, some would argue that my former clients acted like children.” She thought for a moment. “But that would be an insult to the children.”

That brought on a full-blown grin. “Right.”

“I mean it. Some of my clients were terrible.”

“Like who?”

“Well, there was this one, a tennis star, who was so notorious we couldn’t even convince anyone to be his driver. Seems like getting someone to drive a client around would be simple, but not for this guy. He was twenty-six years old and he used to throw temper tantrums like a baby.”

“So why’d people let him get away with it?”

“That’s the trouble with a grown-up who’s paying you to look after him. You can’t just put him in the time-out corner when he misbehaves.”

“Nobody puts Bo Crutcher in the corner.” Bo arrived, wearing old jeans and a new sweatshirt, clean-shaven and looking ridiculously attractive.

Kim busied herself checking her PDA, not that there was anything on her agenda except the Bo Crutcher project.

“Hey, AJ,” he said. “That’s a line from an old movie—
Dirty Dancing.
‘Nobody puts Baby in the corner.’ Ever seen it?”

“Doesn’t sound like my kind of movie.”

“It will be, one day,” Bo said, holding open the dining room door for AJ and his breakfast. “Save me a seat at the table.”

While Kim perused the breakfast offerings, Bo helped himself to coffee. He passed close behind Kim at the counter, so that their bodies brushed together. “Define
‘misbehave,’
” he said, leaning down to murmur in her ear.

“You’re doing it right now,” she said. “Don’t be a jerk.”

“I’d never.”

“Seriously, we’ve got work to do. We need to review that filmed interview, see how you did and figure out what to focus on.”

“Cool. I’ll get my laptop.”

“Good idea. We’ll all watch it after breakfast.”

Bagwell, Daphne and Dino filed in for breakfast. Penelope put on a fresh pot of coffee. Day by day, Kim was getting used to this house full of people—the chatter at breakfast, the clink of dishes and her mother’s flair at the simple act of serving food. Lately Kim noticed Dino’s attentions to her mother. Penelope’s coffee cup was always full, her chair always held for her. This guy meant business, and he was going about it in the right way.

After breakfast, Bo set up the laptop on the dining room buffet. “So this is an interview from back in November, after tryouts,” he said. “It’s the kind of thing a player’s supposed to do on a regular basis.”

While the video was loading, AJ grabbed his backpack. “I better go,” he said. “Almost time for the bus.”

Interesting, Kim observed. He had a good ten minutes before the bus. He seemed to be in a hurry. Following the New York incident, AJ had turned into a bus-riding pro. Bo had promised that if he went AWOL again, he’d find himself being driven to and from school every day, something no middle-schooler wanted. Also, AJ was nobody’s fool. He’d realized that his behavior could affect his mother’s case. When the stakes were this high, everything mattered.

“That book report you wrote is still on the printer,” Bo reminded him. “And do you have that signed permission slip for the field trip to West Point?”

“Yeah,” AJ said, heading into the study for his homework. “See you later.”

“You have a good day, now.” Bo’s gaze followed the boy out the door.

“You’re getting pretty good at sounding like a parent,” Bagwell observed.

“You think?” Bo smiled a little, but worry lingered in his eyes. Kim knew he phoned the school every morning to make sure AJ had arrived. In a short time, Bo had come a long way from the guy she’d encountered at the airport. That brutally cold morning, she never would have guessed he’d become someone she couldn’t stop thinking about.

Reining in her thoughts, she turned up the volume on the laptop. The segment opened with canned sports-show music and the MLB logo, followed by a tight shot of the new stadium. Then the camera panned across the handful of players who had received precontract invitations to spring training. There were a lot of hoops to jump through to get on the coveted roster, and this was an early one. Blowing it at any stage could mean the end of a dream.

Lined up in front of two shared mics, the players took turns fielding questions. They all looked so young and green, all so clearly nervous in front of the unfortunate backdrop of a gray cinderblock wall, the table stark and un-adorned in front of each man.

Kim couldn’t take her eyes off Bo on the small screen.

It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. None of his magnetism or natural charm came through. Instead, he resembled an ex-con defending himself, right down to the hair hanging lank around his face, which was disreputably marred by a five-o’clock shadow. His delivery alternated between forgettable and offensive. Asked about his background, he offered a toneless resumé of previous experience. And when asked about the incidence of a pitcher in his age range making it in the majors, he responded, “I reckon they’re rare as on a bullfrog.”

“Hey,” said Bagwell. “What’d they bleep out?”

“I think I said
‘tits.’
Yeah, rare as tits on a bullfrog.”

“You can’t say things like that,” Kim pointed out over Bagwell’s guffaws. “Now, hush up and let me listen.”

The rest of the interview was as excruciating as the first part, a disaster made of awkward silences, studied stiffness, inappropriate language and a veritable symphony of ambient noises—shuffling feet, throat-clearing, heavy breathing into the mic, sloshing water glasses.

I’ve got my work cut out for me,
she thought.

When the interview ground to a halt, Bo’s image stayed frozen on the computer screen. He wore the haunted expression of a man facing a firing squad. In the ensuing vacuum of silence at the end of the video, everyone around the table seemed to be at a loss for words.

Finally, Daphne passed around a plate of pastries from Sky River Bakery, helping herself to one. “Have one—better for your mental health than an hour of psychotherapy.”

“But higher in calories,” said Kim’s mother, taking a bear claw.

“How’d I do?” Bo asked, clueless.

“Honestly?” Kim’s appetite was gone. “You were like a prisoner under interrogation.”

“C’mon, I wasn’t that bad.” He grabbed a powdered doughnut from the plate. “Was I?”

“Yes.” Everyone around the table answered at once.

“Listen, don’t be discouraged. It’s a learning process. That’s why there’s fame school,” Kim said, going into rahrah coaching mode. “That’s where I come in. It’s training, like anything else. You have thirty seconds to make them remember you.” She indicated the frozen screen. “All they’re going to remember from that is being bored.”

“Ouch,” said Dino, wincing.

“I think they’ll remember when he called Roger Clemens ‘dumber than a bag of hammers,’” Daphne said.

“Well, he is,” Bo insisted. “So’s any other juicer. I hate that shit.”

“Hate it all you want,” Kim said, “but keep the interview about you. Honestly, you’ve got a lot to learn. That was, to put it mildly, a complete disaster.”

He put on a fake announcer’s voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, and it’s Kimberly van Dorn out of the bullpen, warming up for what promises to be a great game.”

“I’m not playing games.”

“Whoa, look who woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning. You agreed to do this,” he reminded her.

“For AJ’s sake. Remember, that’s how you talked me into doing this. I like AJ.”

“What about me? Don’t you like me, even a little bit?”

She sniffed, forbidding herself to think about the way her nerve endings fired every time she was around him.

“The jury is still out on you. Just don’t start acting like one of my usual clients. You’re not like them.”

“Right. They’re all rich and successful. And I’m not.”

“But you aspire to be.”

“I aspire to play ball. It’s what I’ve always aspired to do.” His eyes lit with passion. “The rest—money and fame—it may or may not happen. But if I’m in the game, then I’m happy.”

She stared at him. “Oh, my God.”

“Now what’d I do?” He held his hands with his palms up.

“I can see it in your face. You’re really not concerned about being rich and famous. You genuinely love the sport.”

“Well, excuse the crap out of me. Of course I love the sport. Why the hell else would I play year in and year out for no money, tending bar and doing odd jobs just to buy groceries? If this was about the money, I would have bought into a car dealership or gone to work on an oil rig in the South China Sea. But baseball for the money?” He threw back his head and offered up his signature Bo Crutcher laugh, showing the easy humor that was so conspicuously absent from his interview persona. When he realized he was the only one laughing, he quit. “What? How come you’re looking at me like that?”

She couldn’t help herself. When she was in the grip of inspiration, she tended to stare, mouth agape. “That’s genius,” she said.

“What?” He bit into the powdered doughnut, showering his chest with white flurries. “Me?”

She caught herself staring at his white lips. “Right. No, I mean, what you just said—that’s who you are. You spoke from the heart and you told the truth, and that’s going to endear you to people. Everyone will remember your sincerity.”

“The baseball player who likes baseball? How is that different from any other player?” he asked.

“It’s not the sentiment that’s so different. A lot of athletes like their sport. It’s your delivery I liked. Everyone’s going to like it.”

“Yeah?” He grabbed a napkin and brushed at the powdered sugar, which merely served to smear it on his navy blue sweatshirt. “Hey, Dino,” he said, “I’m a genius. Kim here just said I’m a genius.”

Dino eyed him briefly, focusing on the powdered sugar. “Uh-huh.”

“The thing I always used to ask my clients to do is to tell their story,” Kim said. “Unfortunately, a lot of them don’t do it well. Or their story is boring. Some of them—too many—started training for their sport at such a young age that they never had a chance to decide for themselves whether or not they love the game.”

“And Bo simply loves the game,” her mother said, beaming. “That’s lovely.”

“It makes my job easier, having a client people are going to like. I’ve had my fill of clients I had to persuade the media to like.”

“Cool,” said Bo. “So I’m good to go?”

She shook her head. “Not even close.”