Julia London (12 page)

“You’re right you know,” one of the guys snorted to the Kelly
on TV. “He went for a stolen base the other night and was tagged two feet out. What’s a
guy like him doing stealing bases? They got base runners for that!”

Ohshitohshitoh
shit!
In all her ecstasy about the talk show, she had
completely forgotten some of the things she’d said on her audition tape. “So . . . you say
they’ve played this clip a few times, huh?” she asked, trying to sound
nonchalant.

“Oh man, they probably run it twice every hour,” the guy said, and then
looked at her curiously. “They don’t tell you stuff like that?” he asked, suddenly
interested.

“Apparently not,” she said with a smile painted on her face. “Hey, you guys
have a great day. I’m going to miss my train,” she said, and picked up her coffee and
paper and hurried out of that little bakery, walking blindly, walking deafly, seeing only
Parker’s face, hearing only Parker’s voice on the phone the other morning.

Of course her train was late. She hit New York at the tail end of rush-hour
traffic, and it seemed hours before she could get a cab. It was seven o’clock before she
reached her apartment.

The place had been shut up so long that it smelled musty and
dank and felt insufferably hot. She immediately set about opening windows and lighting
some scented candles, trying to air out the place before Parker arrived.

Of course Parker
arrived early.

She’d wanted to at least have a bath and change into something really
decadent, but he buzzed her apartment while she was still running around in nothing more
than a skirt, a camisole, and her bare feet.
Okay, okay,
she told herself. At least
she had her fabulous new hairdo, and she rushed to a mirror in the entry to fluff it with
her fingers after buzzing him in.

When he knocked at the door, she threw it open and gave
him a big smile. “Hey, stranger!” she said, throwing her arms around his
neck.

“Hey,” Parker said, and put his hand on her waist. That was
it—just the one hand, and definitely not the big bear hug she was accustomed to. Like she
wanted.

“Wow,” she said, stepping back. “
Wow
, Parker. That might possibly be
the coldest greeting in the history of man.”

He said nothing, just gazed down at
her, the muscle in his jaw leaping with the clench of his teeth. He was angry—she had a
sense he was doing all he could to contain himself. She stepped back again, and myriad
emotions skated through his gray eyes—dismay, anger, and a couple more she couldn’t quite
figure out.

“You look great,” he said at last, and glanced up to her hair. “Like what
you’ve done with your hair.”

“Thanks,” she said, nervously touching it. “I can see you are
thrilled with the new me.”

He looked directly in her eyes with a cold, gray stare. “Not
exactly,” he said. “
Destroyed
is perhaps a better word.”

“Destroyed?”
she echoed incredulously. “Okay, that’s it.” She twirled
away from him, marched into her living room, her hands on her hips. “What the hell,
Parker? Ever since I got you on the phone this week—when I
finally
got you on the
phone—you’ve been a total dick to me.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes, when I’m
getting trashed in two dozen fifteen-second spots across America each day, I’m not a
particularly nice guy.”

“I
knew
it,” Kelly snapped, and shoved her hands through
her hair.

“Did you think I wouldn’t see it? I’m in a sports profession, Kelly. People
in sports tend to tune in ESPN.”

“I know that!” she snapped, and squeezed the bridge of
her nose between her thumb and finger.

“Isn’t this just fabulous,” Parker
said irritably. “Like an idiot, I was hoping this was the point you’d at least offer some
viable explanation.”

“Of course there is a viable
explanation, Parker! Did you think I was using you to come up with sound
bites?”

He said nothing, but the muscle in his jaw jumped again.

“Oh my
God
,” she said to the ceiling.

“Well what am I missing? You used me to get the ESPN
job, right? What part am I leaving out?”

“I
did
use you,” Kelly
admitted. “But a very long time ago.”

Only Parker didn’t exactly hear that, because he roared
to the ceiling, “How could you
use
me like that?”

“I didn’t
use
you. I didn’t
even know you then! I made that tape before you ever came on my show!” she responded
angrily.

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better! That means four months
later—
after
I’ve been on your show and
after
I have fallen in love with
you—you used that
trash
to promote your show!”

“I didn’t know they were going to
play it!” she cried. “If I’d known they were going to use that, I would have asked them to
use something else!”

“How could you not know it, Kelly? They run it all day long,
all week. There isn’t a person in America who hasn’t seen that clip!”

“Well
I
didn’t see it!” she insisted angrily. “I haven’t watched TV in weeks! I’ve been working my
ass off to tape segments for my show!”

“Do you have any idea what it’s done
to me?” he breathed angrily. “It’s humiliating to know that the woman the networks have
broadcast to the
world
as being my girlfriend is all over the same networks talking
about what a loser I am! And I guess I am a loser, Kelly, because I’m not hitting, I’m
missing balls—”

“No way, pal,” she angrily interjected, pointing at him. “No way are you
going to blame me for your stupid slump! I have
nothing
to do with your ability to
play! It’s all in your head!” she cried, waving madly at her head. “You use that
superstition or whatever you call it like a crutch!”

“It’s not my imagination that you
used me to get a job at ESPN.
And maybe you did it a long time ago, but
you could have told me. At some point in the endless hours we have spent talking about
your
career, you could have
told
me instead of letting me find out in a
locker room along with thirty of my closest friends!

“I’m
sorry
! I’m sorry it
happened, I’m sorry I didn’t think to tell you, and I’m sorry I didn’t know they were
going to use that segment!”

“They just used it without your permission?” he exclaimed,
disbelieving.

Kelly winced. “I gave them permission to use my materials to promote the
show. I just didn’t know how they planned on doing it.”

“Great! So now I can sit around
wondering what else is going to pop up on TV while you enjoy very high ratings at my
expense! And in the meantime, I guess your beloved Mets can just go down the tubes,
right?”

“Will you stop saying that? I am starting to wonder if the only reason you
claim to love me is because you believe that somehow,
I
am making you play
well!”

The look on Parker’s face confirmed it. Kelly shrieked with impatience and
whirled away from him. “Isn’t
this
just fabulous! You fell in love with me for some
voodooey reason, and not because you loved
me.
That’s rich, Parker! And look at
you, giving me such a load of shit over something you yourself admit to
doing!”

He didn’t say anything, and when Kelly whirled around to face him, he
sighed. “I don’t know anymore why I fell in love with you,” he said solemnly. “I am
second-guessing everything.”

She gasped, but Parker clenched his jaw tightly shut, defiant
and angry.

“So . . . you only loved me because you thought I was your lucky charm,” she
said flatly.

He didn’t move, didn’t confirm or deny.

“You used me, too,
then.”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug.

“Well at least
you’re honest,” she muttered. “So . . . I guess there’s nothing left to say, huh? I guess
we’re through.”

He arched one brow above the other but did not argue, and God, how Kelly
wanted him to argue. She wanted him to say they couldn’t be through, they were too good
together, it was all a big misunderstanding and they’d never make the same mistake again.
She wanted him to say he loved her, he’d always loved her, and he didn’t care about
baseball or ESPN or anything but her and could not be without her . . .

But Parker just
nodded. “I guess we’re through,” he agreed, and turned around and walked out of her
apartment, leaving her utterly speechless and suddenly rudderless.

It wasn’t that easy.

A few days had passed, but Parker still couldn’t get the
expression on Kelly’s face out of his mind. He couldn’t sleep, thinking of it. He couldn’t
eat, thinking of it. He couldn’t seem to concentrate on the game very well because of
it.

In the week leading to their breakup, he’d imagined he would catch her
red-handed, so to speak, and force her to confess she had used him. He had not counted on
it being an old tape, or her not knowing what ESPN was doing with her tape. And he had not
imagined hurting her. But that was definitely hurt on her face—he knew it was, because he
felt it, too.

He had fallen into a tailspin of emotion. He couldn’t really think straight,
and he couldn’t really say why he had fallen in love with her, if he really even loved
her, or if he loved the idea of a lucky charm. There was a time when he thought he loved
her because she was beautiful and witty and didn’t seek him out for fame or fortune, but
genuinely seemed to like who he was. Now he
wondered if he hadn’t just
worried all along that without her, he couldn’t play. He was, like most baseball players
he knew, ridiculously superstitious. This one had to top the list.

Maybe it was
ridiculous, but when she was trashing him, he couldn’t play. When she was praising him, he
played the best baseball of his life.

Maybe he did latch on to her like she was a talisman
from the baseball gods.

Maybe he did use her like she used him.

Whatever. It
didn’t matter now, because they were through.

A week after their breakup—and a
week in which Kelly didn’t call him even once—the Mets started a series with the Yankees.
On the opening night, Parker arrived at Yankee stadium early so he could work with the
trainer. While the trainer worked on a tight muscle in his back, Parker watched TV, and of
course, the sound bite for Kelly’s new talk show popped up.

It was odd—he’d
seen the clip so many times now that it didn’t do anything to him . . . except make him
chuckle. It was true—for some reason, lying there on the massage table, actually
listening
to what she said, he couldn’t help but laugh.
Couldn’t catch a beach
ball if they
rolled
it to him.
He pictured himself trying to catch a rolling
beach ball and laughed.

The sound bite was over, and Parker smiled, put his head down,
and focused on the game he was about to play.

That night, he was first up to bat,
and as he walked to home plate, some of the Yankees fans were shouting,
“Roll him a
beach ball!”
And again, he chuckled to himself. Ah, how stupid people could be. They
had no idea how much skill went into your average game of baseball, how hard it was to hit
or catch a major league ball.

And there, without thought of lucky charms or slumps or
anything else, he caught a piece of the first pitch and sent it sailing out of the
ballpark. Imagine that—Parker Price hit a very rare, first pitch home run—and he laughed
as he ran the bases.

The Mets ended up losing that night
in spite of his spectacular opening bat, but Parker wasn’t too shaken by it. He’d had a
pretty good game, all in all, and had a pretty good feeling about the Mets in
general.

The next morning, when his alarm went off, he opened his eyes to the sound
of a stadium full of cheers. “I’m serious,” Kelly was saying. “They ought to have him bat
cleanup. When he gets his bat on a pitch, forget about it.”

He wondered who
she was talking about.

“Yeah, it’s really amazing that this is the same guy who
couldn’t hit a beach ball at the start of the season.” Guido laughed. “With the exception
of that little slump a couple of weeks ago, he can’t seem to miss now.”

Parker bolted
upright. They were talking about
him
.

“That’s what I’ve said Guido, and
you argued with me. But when Price turned it around, he turned it all the way around.
Granted, he’s had a couple of bad games over the last few weeks like you said, but when
you compare his performance to the team as a whole, the man is responsible for most of
their offensive and defensive success.”

This time, Guido cued applause and
whistles.

“So then how do you explain the Mets loss last night?” Guido asked. “Your
boy came out firing with both barrels.”

“He did, but the problem last night
was in pitching. The Mets just don’t have enough depth,” Kelly opined.

Damn
straight—Parker had said that more than once—they had too many rookie pitchers. At least
Kelly was fair, but it didn’t change a damn thing. He turned off the alarm and got out of
bed, heading for the shower.