20. LION
Chapter twenty
LION
Tim pulls me through the door to the locker room, and immediately, Duckie rushes to greet us with a worried frown on his face.
“I swear Ian didn’t say anything,” he says, and I laugh.
“I know, man. Ian is cool.”
“You know?” he asks, frowning.
“Yeah, I mean, you are Tim’s friends. You aren’t going to spread rumors about him to the press. You support him. Like I do.”
He nods, and a smile spreads across his face. “We do. Umm, thanks for understanding,” he says, and he steps back to pull on his jersey.
“This is my locker,” Tim says, moving around the bench seats to where a row of ten lockers or more sit like a dividing wall to the rest of the space. There are players all through the room. Pat and John are sitting on the bench seat on the left, looking at something on Pat’s phone that is making them both laugh. Calvin is the only one of them fully dressed and is trying to hurry the others behind the locker divider along. They would normally be getting out on the field by now, interacting with the crowd, playing games, having fun. I hope I’m not holding them up.
Tim pulls off his shirt, and I spot the faint strawberry mark I left on his chest above his right nipple the other night.
“You can’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling on his jersey.
“Like what?”
“Like you just were,” he replies, pulling me closer and leaning up to whisper in my ear. “Like you’re undressing me with your eyes.”
“I’d rather be undressing you with my mouth,” I say. He shakes his head licking his lips, and fuck, I really want to kiss him. But we’re in a locker room full of guys, his friends, his teammates. I can’t just kiss him right here. Right?
I spot a rubber duck that looks like a lion sitting on the shelf behind him.
“That’s cute, it looks kind of like Daffin,” I say, nodding toward the duckie. He turns and passes it to me.
“It’s actually meant to be you.”
“Ha, I’m no lion, I mean. I am. My name is Lion, but I’m more of a koala, strong but pretty harmless.”
“Koalas can be…” Tim starts, but then Ryan interrupts him, wrapping an arm over his shoulder.
“So, was it all G?” he asks.
“Was it all what?” I ask.
“All good,” he replies, and Tim nods.
“They are going to have me talk to the press after the game.”
“Well, let us know if you want us to make any statements, too. We have your back.”
“Thanks, but they were pretty adamant they want only me to talk today,” Tim replies, and I pop the lion duckie back on his locker shelf.
“Are you all pumped for the game?” I ask Ryan.
“Super pumped. Alan is going down.”
“You mean Animal Control?”
“Yes, but specifically Alan. He and I have a bet going, and I hate to lose. I mean, I love to lose to him, but today, I really want to win.”
“No problem, Tim is going to hit a home run, you should hit one, too.”
He laughs. “Because that is something I can choose to do,” he says, and Tim shoves him in the arm.
“Speak for yourself. I totally intend to smash it out of the park today,” Tim says, and I wrap him in a hug.
“You totally will.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Matherson,” Enzo says, walking only a few steps into the room. “It’s time to head up to the box.”
I give Tim one last squeeze.
“Have an amazing game. I’ll be the guy cheering loudest from the manager’s box.”
“I’m counting on it,” he replies, and as much as I still want to kiss him, I don’t because this is his place of work, and Enzo is looking really uncomfortable right now edging closer to the door as he waits.
“So, your original tickets, do you have them?”
“I have mine, Mary Beth has her one but she’s on the inside. I always take the seat closest to the aisle,” I say, handing over the ticket from my pocket.
Enzo presses his ear. “Miss. Mary Beth, seat G2 in the reserved section. Yes, to the manager’s box, please,” he says, and he hands back the ticket.
“I assume you are saving these?”
“Thanks, I am actually. I’ve been collecting a few bits and pieces from the places we’ve been this year, too, like the game in Jacksonville. I grabbed this cool postcard at the station in the shape of a pineapple wearing sunglasses. It’s with my train ticket and game pass in a box at home.”
I follow beside Enzo through the corridors. “These season pass tickets are way cooler than the general admission ones. You guys should totally make all the seating assigned next year, it’s so much easier this way. Last year, there were some games I couldn’t even get a seat for Mary Beth and I together, no one would move down to fit us in. I mean, I take up a fair bit of space, too, so I get it. No one wants to sit next to or behind the huge guy, but this is better.”
“Open seating is common at most places.”
“I know, but you should see the chaos some games caused by fans just trying to find a place. You are in PR, right?”
“Yes, I’m the PR manager.”
“It’s your job to make everyone love everything about Banana Ball, right?”
“I guess that is part of it.”
“So, this is one thing people don’t love.”
“I’ll look into it. Here is the manager’s box. Bart usually mingles through the crowd at games, so don’t expect to see him up here. There is food and a bar, and you can have whatever you like. Security can let us know if you need anything.”
He pushes open the door to the manager’s box, and along with tables covered in food on my left, on the right is a full bar with a waitress waiting to serve me. The room is otherwise empty. If Bart is never up here, why bother with all this?
“Where will you be watching from?” I ask, and Enzo shakes his head.
“I’ll be downstairs in case someone needs anything.”
“You can stay here. It’s a huge room, and it has an amazing view. You have your earpiece thing. If someone needs you, they will call, right?”
“I mean, I guess so.”
“Awesome, it’s settled then, you’ll stay,” I say, moving over toward the bar. “Do you want a drink? I’m grabbing a soda water.”
“Umm, soda water would be good, thanks,” he says, moving more into the room. His movement is slow, nervous even, like he maybe feels like he shouldn’t be here. But he’s the PR manager, surely he’s been here before. You would figure they’d have all the staff sit up here to watch the game. I mean, except for the coaches, because they are kind of needed with the players.
“Oh my God, this is amazing,” Mary Beth squeals as she enters the room, making both Enzo and me spin toward her. “How did you score this?”
“They asked me to sit up here,” I say, and she eyes Enzo.
“Hi, I’m Mary Beth. You are?”
“Enzo,” he replies, shaking her hand.
“Enzo is the PR manager for the league,” I tell her, and recognition crosses her face.
“Oh, so they asked you to sit up here in the box away from the crowds of people who might want to talk to you about the stories circulating today, did they?”
“We have it all under control,” Enzo says, taking the glass of soda water from me. “Tim will make a statement after the game that should answer all their questions and set the record straight. You will be able to rehire Lion within a week, I expect. The league can probably cover any lost wages for that amount of time.”
“You’ll what now? No. I’m fine. I’ll have Bunnies to get me by until they stop crowding the cafe.”
“The task app, you work for them, too?” Enzo asks, grabbing out his phone and typing away.
“Only when a task pops up that I can actually do.”
“And you’re listed there as Lion Matherson?”
“Nope, as Bunny27463. They don’t use names. Just IDs.”
Bunnies was started by a local handyman to try to pick up extra work between his bigger jobs. Pop the job on Bunnies and we’ll hop right to it , was their slogan and it took off really quickly. I used them to install the cat tree I bought for the boys, and the guy gave me a card and said I could get a bunch of work doing things like moving boxes or furniture if I wanted. They pay really well for temp work, and with the cater-waiter jobs being so dependent on events and staffing numbers, it’s good to have another side job. Plus, it tips better. I moved all the furniture in and around for a family a month ago, and for a day’s work, they tipped me one hundred dollars on top of the hourly rate Bunnies already paid me.
“And you haven’t posted about Bunnies on any of your social media profiles, correct?”
“I don’t think so. Those profiles were all about Banana Ball.”
“You posted your dinner the other week.”
“Yeah, but that was at Riverside Barbeque. Tim rated it the best barbeque in Savannah, so I was promoting it, too.”
Enzo nods and continues to tap on his phone. The crowd cheers behind me, and Mary Beth and I move to the window, sliding it open to let through their full sound. The view is amazing. A few people look up at us from the seats directly below but pay no attention after that.
“This is the best,” Mary Beth says, squeezing my arm. “Maybe the Banana-Ramas don’t need to calm down just yet, then we can watch next week’s games from up here, too.”
“I think it’d be best for everyone if this was squashed sooner rather than later,” Enzo says, joining us at the window.
***
It’s part-way through the first inning, and Enzo is finally relaxing a little. That guy is so tightly wound.
“You could totally join me and my friends at the gym, if you wanted,” I say, and he smiles for probably the first time since meeting him. “We go most mornings, early, so it would be before you have to start work, or it should be. We go to Rated Weights down on Fifth Street. Have you heard of it?”
“I’ve been there a few times. I’ll have to check it out again. It’s always harder working out alone, you know?”
“I know,” I reply, and Mary Beth scrunches up her nose.
“I don’t know. I have zero interest in all that stuff. You guys can have your dumbbells and squat things, I’ll stick to my cream buns and sugar sticks.”
“I’m sure you will,” I say, and we both laugh.
Mary Beth smacks my arm. “You know what I mean.”
The door opens, and we all turn in our seats to find Bart striding in wearing his signature yellow suit and holding a megaphone.
“Sounds like everyone is having fun in here,” he says, and Enzo stands immediately.
“Mr. Erricson, sir. Umm, is everything okay?”
“Perfectly fine. I just thought it’s been a while since I watched the game from up here, and given we have our special guests, I figured why not let today break that streak.”
“Of course, I mean, it is your box. You can watch from here whenever you like. I was just… I should probably go check on…”
“You can’t go,” I say, pointing out the window. “Tim is about to bat, and he’s trying for a home run.”
“Ohh, yes, his last one was amazing,” Mary Beth says, leaning forward on her seat and peering out at the pitch.
“Yes, please stay, Enzo. They can call you if they need you,” Bart says.
“That’s what I told him. Oh, look, there he is. Wooo, go Tim!” I cheer. “I hope he can hear me from all the way up here.”
“Try this,” Bart says, handing me his megaphone.
“Are you sure?”
“Better make it quick if you want to be supportive and not distracting,” he laughs, and I grab the megaphone and hold it up to my mouth.
“Smack it out of the park, Tim. You got this!” I yell, and my voice carries over the crowd, and when Tim looks up our way smiling, I know he heard me.
Gordon isn’t pitching, it’s another pitcher I can’t quite remember the name of. He’s newer, younger, but also really good, too. Tim misses the ball on the first swing and the pitcher starts dancing, wriggling his ass as he turns in slow motion around in a circle. Come on, Tim. You got this. Show this newbie who’s boss.
The pitcher sends the ball, and Tim swings with everything he has. I’m on my feet, so are half the people below us, as the ball sails over the field.
“Go, go gooooo,” I will the ball to fly, and when it lands between the seats of two people in the stands, the deafening cheer erupts from the stadium.
I lift the microphone again.
“Wooo, another amazing home run by Tim Sage,” I call, and Tim pumps his fist in the air running around the diamond. When he crosses home plate, the music volume increases as Tim’s teammates rush the field, all wearing those Australian hats with things hanging off them. “Great Southern Land” starts to play, and Tim and his team perform his Aussie celebration song.
“Well, Mr. Matherson, if you can coax home runs out of a few more players, we might have our best tour yet.”
“I told Ryan to give it a go today. He doesn’t have the same incentive as Tim, but he’s got a bet going with Alan, so he’ll give it his best shot.”
“Incentive, hey,” Mary Beth says, nudging my side. “Do I want to know what Tim just won?”
I feel my face growing warm.
“Probably not.”