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GAME OVER


The capacity crowd was on its feet, waving white towels and roaring loud enough to shake the old stadium. Two outs, bottom of the ninth, 2-and-2 on the hitter, the tying run on second base, the winning run on first. Grady Masters rubbed up the new ball while he looked around to soak up the scene. He wanted to remember every moment, every detail. This is what he got paid the big bucks to do: be the closer, shut ‘em down, seal the deal.

The left-handed hitter was putting up a fight, fouling off pitch after pitch, after going down 0-and-2. Grady had pounded him in on the fists, over and over again. Now he was set up for the backdoor slider, on the outside corner at the knees. He looked at the ball, rotating it in his right hand, getting the feel of the seams. He toed the rubber and looked in for the sign. His catcher knew exactly what to call. Grady went into his stretch, looking back at the runner, now into his kick, gathering his weight over his back leg, then driving hard toward the plate. The ball started six inches outside, breaking sharply in the last few feet to catch the outside corner. Or did it?

The hitter took the pitch, frozen, expecting another one in on the hands. The umpire took one step back and cranked up his patented punch-out move, as though firing up a chain saw: “STEE-rike! You’re outta here!”

Suddenly Grady’s teammates were charging the mound, spilling over the dugout railing, sprinting in from the field, and the celebration was on. They danced around the mound, pounding each other, jumping up and down in unison, until the group began to topple and it quickly turned into a dog pile. When they finally scrambled to their feet, half the crowd was gone, the rest streaming toward the exits. They were back in the playoffs for the first time in four years and it was sweet to clinch it here in the home of their archrival.

They hurried into the dugout and down the steps that led to the clubhouse, whooping and shouting along the way. As Grady entered the room, someone pressed an ice-cold bottle of champagne into his hand, and before he could raise it to his lips, he was hit with the spray from a half dozen teammates, shaking their bottles and squirting the foamy liquid on anyone within reach.

Grady grabbed his cell phone from his locker and slipped away into the trainer’s room. He knew it would be quiet there and he wanted to call Gwen and share this moment with her and the boys. He couldn’t wait to hear their voices.
_____


The lobby bar at the Century Plaza was crowded with teammates and friends, and they gave Grady a rousing cheer when he entered the room. He sat at the bar and ordered more champagne. He wasn’t much for partying, but this was a special occasion. The champagne went down smoothly, more like soda pop than wine, and Grady could feel a buzz coming on. They had one more game in L.A. before heading home, but the skipper already told him he’d have the day off. He sat on the bar stool and thought about all this team had been through, going back to spring training, going through the long season with all its ups and downs, the injuries, the fights, the trades that sent friends away and brought new faces to their clubhouse, and the mind-numbing travel that left you wondering where the hell you were. And the whole damn thing was worth it, just to sit here and savor a shot at the big prize: the World Series. No, he wasn’t much for partying, but he was going to enjoy this one.

Dexter Purdy – first baseman, young, handsome, single, self-professed ladies man – strolled over to the bar and clapped Grady on the shoulder.

“Way to go, man. You did it again. Really shut that crowd up. Did you see how fast they left the park?” Dexter was laughing at the L.A. crowd, notorious for its laid back yeah whatever demeanor.

“Thanks, Dex. Great game! Great season! And it ain’t over yet, buddy.”

“Hey, Grady,” Dexter leaned in, speaking softly now, “see the gal over there in my booth? The gorgeous brunette with the magnificent rack?”

“Where? Oh, yeah. Pretty girl.”

“Pretty? Are you kiddin’ me? She’s to die for. And those pretty titties don’t just grow like that. Those are store-bought, man. We’re talkin’ ten, twelve grand at least.”

“Really? How can you tell?”

“Are you serious? You just lay her down and see if they still pop straight up. It’s a dead giveaway. Complete defiance of gravity.” Dexter was laughing, having a good time. “Anyway, she says she’s a big fan. Wants to meet you. Come on over.” Grady followed him to the booth where Dexter made the introductions.

“Lyla, Grady. Grady, Lyla. Lyla is a big fan, right darlin’?”

She was wearing dark slacks and a very becoming white blouse with a few buttons strategically undone. A single strand of white pearls hung around her neck and rested softly at the apex of her cleavage. It was hard for Grady not to stare. He concentrated on keeping his eyes up, focusing on her pretty face: dark hair, dark brown eyes, high cheekbones, rosebud lips, a nose that was nice but not perfect. Exotic was the word that ran around Grady’s head.

“Nice to meet you, Grady Masters,” she said. “Dex is right, I am a big fan of your work.” She fixed him with a brilliant smile.

“Really? Were you there today?”

“Yeah, I never miss a game if I can help it.”

His eyes drifted down again. “Very pretty,” he said. “Are they real?”

“What do you think?” She said it with a little tilt of her head.

“Ah… I really don’t know much about pearls.”

“Oh… we’re talking about my pearls? Actually, they are real.”

Grady felt his face flush. He tried to change the subject. “So, you saw the game today?”

“Yes,” she said. “And congratulations. It’s great to see a man who can perform under pressure.”

“Thanks.”

“What was that last pitch you threw? The replays showed it just caught the outside edge.”

Grady was impressed. She seemed to know something about the game. “It was a backdoor slider,” he said, wondering if he’d have to explain the terminology.

“So, is that your signature move, sliding in the backdoor?”

“Are we still talkin’ baseball?” he said with a laugh.

“Yeah, as a metaphor.”

“A metaphor for what?”

She motioned for him to come closer and he leaned in so that her lips were next to his ear. “A metaphor for fucking,” she said. He could feel her cheek against his as she smiled.
_____


Grady stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his hands braced against the countertop, his head lowered, staring into the sink. He couldn’t look at himself. He’d never wanted to be that guy, the one who fooled around on the road and took advantage of the groupies that were abundantly available in every city they visited. And in fact, through his nine-year career, he’d never been that guy, not until now. How could he justify it, even to himself? He could say that he was drunk last night, but that didn’t explain this morning, after the wake-up call from the hotel operator, when he was stone cold sober. To make it worse, he couldn’t remember her name. Was it Leah, or Leslie, or Maya? All he could think of was store-bought, but he couldn’t just go in there and say, “Hey, Storebought, could you please leave now so that I can get back to my real life?”

He’d seen what happened to the guys who got caught, their families torn apart, battling their way through divorce court. Or, the wife would show up at the ballpark one day sporting a diamond the size of a jawbreaker. He’d always been determined to avoid either scenario.

“God oh God oh God,” he mumbled to himself, offering up a desperate prayer, “please get me through this and I swear, never never ever ever again!”

Right on cue, God answered his prayer, though it wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. He heard the phone ring in the other room. And then he heard her voice say, “Hello…” He opened the door quickly and stepped into the room. She was sitting up in bed, the morning sun splashed across her naked torso, holding the phone out to him.

“It’s for you,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I think it’s your wife.”
_____


There was a loud knock at the door and Grady knew it was Dexter, a few minutes late as usual. “It’s open, come on in,” he called, slurring his words slightly from the effects of the two bloody Marys he’d consumed for breakfast.

Dexter let himself in, casing the apartment as he entered. The dining area was empty, except for a half-dozen boxes stacked against the wall. The living room held a new leather couch, a battered old coffee table, a floor lamp, and a very large flat-screen television, its pedestal resting on the floor. The walls were bare; not even a poster to break up the freshly painted white surfaces. Beyond a high counter, Dexter could see a week’s accumulation of dishes in the kitchen sink.

“Hey, man, I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Screw you,” Grady shot back. “I didn’t expect to be here this long.” They had lost in the first round of the playoffs and now the long, dull off-season was underway, the dullness turned painful by his recent separation. “Want a beer?”

“Nah, too early. Speaking of which, how’s it going with Gwen? Is she about ready to take you back?”

“No. I am still the unforgiven, cheating, asshole of a husband.”

“So what are you going to do, man?”

“I don’t know, Dex. She won’t believe me, that it was the first time, that it won’t ever happen again. The fact that it happened at all, even once, is unforgivable to Gwen.”

He started to go on, felt the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes, and said nothing. He thought of his boys, six year-old twins, and what this was doing to them. They bounced between days so heavily booked with activities that they barely had time to think, to nights when their mother cried alone in her bedroom while they were left to stare at the television. And then there were the weekends with Dad, swimming in the pool at his apartment complex, going to movies or the zoo or wherever their hearts desired, and then trying to choke down his pathetic attempts at cooking. The net effect was that they were left dazed and confused by the two people they loved most in this world.

“Ya know what, buddy, let me talk to her,” Dexter offered brightly. “At least I can convince her that you never came out with us guys, chasing around to bars, hooking up with the groupies. Maybe she’ll listen to me. I think I’ll have that beer now. What’s on TV? Aren’t the Bears playing today?”

Dexter made a beeline for the refrigerator while Grady headed to the bathroom to splash water in his face and regroup.
_____


Grady drove carefully down the boulevard toward the entrance to the gated community. A police car passed in the opposite direction and his hand instinctively reached for the Smith & Wesson 38 Special sitting on the passenger seat. The cruiser passed by, paying little attention to Grady’s Porsche. He pulled up to the gate, entered the security code and waited for the crossbar to lift. It was nearly 2:30 in the morning. He pulled up to curb across from his house and stopped. There in his driveway was the jet black Cadillac Escalade with the custom license plate: PRDYBOY. He shut off the engine, picked up the revolver and left the vehicle, heading across the street to the front door. The lock clicked softly as he turned the key. He pushed the door open, glancing at the wall where the alarm keypad was installed. The alarm was not set. The front of the house was dark as he passed through, heading to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. He passed the bedroom his sons Greg and Geoff shared, the door ajar, the beds neatly made and undisturbed. As he continued down the hall toward the master bedroom, he could hear voices speaking softly, a woman and then a man. He opened the bedroom door slowly, reached for the light switch and flipped it on. The room flooded with light and Dexter and Gwen sprang apart, as though they’d been poked with a cattle prod, clutching the pretty floral print sheet up around their necks.

“Ohmygawd! Grady, what are you doing here?” Gwen’s face was turning a bright red.

“Ah, geez, Grady! What the hell! You scared the crap outta me.” Dexter wanted to run, but there was no easy exit.

And then they saw the gun in Grady’s right hand. Now they were talking over one another, desperate to reason with a man pushed beyond reason.

“Oh, God, Grady! What are you doing? Please put that thing down. Please, baby, don’t do something stupid. Please!”

“God sakes, Grady. Put that damn thing down. You don’t want to hurt anybody here. This is crazy. It’s crazy. Come on, man, you’re not going to shoot me, for chrissakes.”

Grady raised the gun and leveled it in the general direction of Dexter’s head. His hand began to shake violently. He steadied his right hand with his left and pulled the trigger. The sharp pop slammed the room, like a firecracker in a metal box. The bullet tore a neat hole in the wall behind Dexter’s head, missing him by at least a foot. Now the pleas from Dexter and Gwen took on a new tone, one of sheer terror.

“Oh God oh God oh God oh God. Please don’t shoot don’t shoot don’t shoot me don’t shoot me…”

Baby, no no no, please don’t to this don’t do this… think of the boys, think of your sons, think of the boys, they need their father, they need you, they need you, please please please…”

Grady walked quickly around the bed and placed the barrel of the gun against the back of Dexter’s head. He would not miss this time. Dexter sat on the side of the bed, his head down near his knees, pleading for his life. And suddenly Grady could hear Gwen’s voice and her voice alone: “…your sons, your boys, your sons…” It seemed that an eternity had passed since he entered the room, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. He had not spoken a word. Grady opened his mouth and tried to speak, but no sound came from his lips. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Game over, PRDYBOY… Get out… Now!”

Dexter bolted from the bed and began to gather his clothes from a chair at the side of the room. The last Grady saw of him was his bare ass hurrying out the door, arms overflowing with pants, shirt, shoes and underwear. Grady sat down on the bed, dropped the gun to the floor, and began to cry, his body racked with violent sobs. And then Gwen was there, her arms wrapped around him from behind, sobbing with him.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. I just wanted to hurt you, to get even. I love you I love you. Please say you love me please please please…” Grady turned to hold her in his arms, to say he loved her and beg for forgiveness, over and over again.

And so it went, deep into the morning hours.
_____


It was a beautiful March day in Phoenix. She walked along the stadium concourse, picking her way through the crowd, turning heads all along the way. Her blonde hair was cut in a sassy bob, her oversized sunglasses perched on top of her head for the moment. A large straw handbag was thrown casually over her shoulder, its leather accents matching her sandals. She wore khaki shorts and a pretty blue tank top that fit her taught runner’s body perfectly. Gwen Masters was a beautiful woman in the absolute prime of her life.

She walked up a short flight of steps and out into the sunshine, the manicured green field spread out in front of her. She loved spring training, that magic time of year when every team is in first place and hopes for the coming season soar without limits. She searched the field for Grady and her sons, Greg and Geoff, and found them playing catch in the outfield. The boys could be on the field with their father until it was nearly time for the game to begin. She made her way to the box seats reserved for the players’ wives and significant others and was greeted there by a half dozen friends. Then Martha Kemper, the wife of the bullpen coach, grabbed her left hand.

“Oh, my God! When did you get the new ring set? How exquisite!” She held up Gwen’s ring finger to let the diamond sparkle in the sunlight. “Look at that diamond! How many carats?”

“I think it’s four and a half… maybe five.”

Of course, she knew exactly how many carats, as well as cut, color, clarity, market price, insurance cost, and so on. A girl’s best friend indeed!

[Note: The “cynical” version of the story ends right there. The “sympathetic” version continues below. You, Dear Reader, get to choose the ending you prefer.]

The women gathered around to Ooo and Ahh over the new rings. Gwen did not mention the inscription inside the wedding bands, both hers and Grady’s, which read: “Never before. Never again. Forever.”
_____