12. Chapter 12
Week One
JB: Quick question...
JB: Hypothetically, if a man were to get a tattoo of a small catfish somewhere on his body, where's the least unhinged place to put it?
Whit: Really? That's what you're going to ask me after last night?
JB: What do you mean?
Whit: I had to finish myself off after you went to talk to Tate, and the first thing you're going to ask me is you plan on getting a catfish tattoo?
5 minutes later
JB: Sorry, I read that, and it made my brain fry so much I dropped my phone into the popcorn booth. Took two employees and Cincinnati's answer to your dad to fish it out.
Whit: You're ridiculous.
JB: And you didn't finish your sentence... what exactly did you do to, ahem, take care of yourself.
Whit: Maybe next time your Tate-free, I can show you.
JB: Fucking hard already, and I'm about to go play a ball game. Thanks, dearest Whitney.
Whit: You're welcome. Good luck.
Whit: My dad just sent me a blurry photo of his tv screen. You were at the plate, and he captioned it: your fella went yard. He's started calling you “your fella.” I don't know how to stop it.
JB: Don't stop it. I've never been a fella before. I'm honored to be your fella.
Whit: He also says you're chasing the high pitch.
JB: ...he watched from a maintenance shed in CHARLOTTE and he's right. How is he right?
Whit: He's always right. It's deeply annoying. You'll get used to it.
JB: How's Wyndham?
Whit: Tied for second going into the weekend. Lost focus on the back nine.
JB: What distracted you?
Whit: Nothing.
JB: Whit.
Whit: A thought. Going to bed.
JB: WHAT THOUGHT? You can't just say “a thought” and leave.
JB: ...it was about my finger placement, wasn't it?
Ten minutes later.
JB: Goodnight then. sleep well. think about my hands.
Week Two
JB: okay this is actually unfair. you have the WEEK off. an entire week. and I'm in Seattle until Sunday.
Whit: I'm aware. I've been sitting in my father's Catfish dungeon—scratch that, his basement—watching you.
JB: You're FREE and I'm STILL not. Do you understand how cruel that is? The one week you've got nothing, I'm three time zones away catching night games. ??
Whit: I went to one of your games on TV last night and fell asleep in the 5th. I dreamed about you and woke up annoyed at myself.
JB: Annoyed because you missed me, or because your hand hurt?
Whit: ....
Whit: I'm not answering that.
JB: Your hand. Good to know. Do you have time to talk today?
Whit: I'm at the gym right now; will be back at 11.
JB: Just when I have to head to the stadium.
JB: It's late there. You up?
Whit: I shouldn't be. Watched your game. Good hit in the 6th.
JB: Thanks, didn't stop the loss, though. Max just didn't have the velocity tonight.
Whit: It happens.
JB: Cheer me up. What are you wearing?
Whit: Picture Attached
JB: Fuck. Catfish jersey ?, soft bedding ?, my favorite girl ?. I want to be there so badly.
Whit: I want you here, too. Maybe not here as I don't want to scar my father.
JB: You don’t think he’d appreciate his daughter getting some world-class tongue action from his favorite catcher?
Whit: Never—and I mean NEVER—talk about sex and my father in the same sentence again. I will ghost you.
JB: ?? Yes, boss. Sorry.
Whit: You're forgiven.
JB: Does that mean you'll tell me what's under your catfish shirt?
JB: What? ?? come on, don't get shy on me now.
Whit: Just... panties. Nothing else.
Incoming call: JB
Whit: We did it again.
JB: Did what?
Whit: The first time we've both been awake AND alone in two weeks. And we spent the entire thing phone-fucking while you talked dirty about how you planned to devour my pussy next time you see me.
JB: ????♂?Guilty.
JB: But you weren't complaining last night. In fact, if I remember correctly, you said, “JB, please don't stop.”
Whit: I had questions. Real ones. About your family, and instead I ended up with my hand down my own panties. ??♀?
JB: In fairness you started it with the catfish shirt.
Whit: I'm not saying it was bad.
JB: I know it wasn't. I was there.
Whit: I just miss the talking. The actual talking, not all the texting. I never thought I'd be a person who says that out loud, but I want the whole thing.
JB: Not just the good girl part.
Whit: I am throwing my phone into a water hazard.
Week Three
JB: It's late, so I'm going to say something I normally wouldn't over text.
JB: I miss talking too, Whit, but mostly I just miss being in your orbit. Smelling your perfume, seeing you smile when I say something stupid, feeling you in my arms. I miss it.
JB: I miss you so much I described your golf swing to Grayson in detail and he said I needed a hobby. I told him that you are my hobby. He left.
JB: I know we agreed to a long-distance relationship when we started dating, and I don't want to break up, but this is hard. Really hard, and not in the fun way.
Whit: I'm awake.
JB: Oh, hi. Don't mind me, I'm just spilling my guts on the floor over here.
Whit: I miss you, too. Wanna talk for fifteen minutes? I don't have long, as I have to be up early for some sponsorship events for the tournament this weekend, but I need to hear your voice.
Whit Calling...
JB: It's good to be back home. I had hot dogs with your dad in the 7th. Two each.
Whit: Wish I was there.
JB: Me, too.. Fuck, Coach. Your dad sees me every single night this week.
Every single game, he's right there in the tunnel, and you're in Tennessee.
Do you understand the situation? I get all of Larry and none of you, because when I'm free, you're playing, and when I'm playing, you're free.
I'm dating the wrong Marlow by sheer geography.
Whit: Please never phrase it that way again.
JB: He showed me your round today on his phone in the dugout. Showed me your birdie on 12. I watched it three times with him. Then he said he was so proud of you, and I had to go eat another hot dog to see if it would fill the hollowness in my chest. It didn't.
Whit: Hot dogs don't change the fact that I'm nine-hundred miles away.
JB: I know.
Whit: Call me when you're back from your game. I want to hear your voice even if it's just for five minutes.
Week Four
Whit: Missed the cut for the lead today. Finished third. It's the first time I've been off the top of the leaderboard in months, and I can already tell everyone thinks I'm slipping, and viewing it as their opportunity to usurp me.
JB: Usurp? I like the commitment here.
Whit: I'm serious.
JB: Are you slipping?
Whit: No. I just need a break.
JB: Then they're wrong and you're tired. You're allowed to be tired without it meaning anything. Whit: When did you get so wise?
JB: Well, when you haven't seen your girlfriend in, checks notes, four weeks, you start to think about a few things. Don't worry, Coach. You've got this. You're still number one in golf and every other metric that matters to me.
Whit: ...thanks. I needed that more than I'm going to admit.
JB: Larry and I will be watching you from his dungeon tonight. I'm sending something with him for when he meets you tomorrow.
Whit: Wish you were coming too. I need a hug.
JB Calling...
Whit: JB... those gifts. Thank you! ??
JB: You got them?!
Whit: Of course I did. My dad gave them to me. Granted, he was very confused by the rat plushie, but I LOVE it.
JB: Well, I wanted you to have something to sleep with until you can sleep with your favorite companion.
Whit: Who's that?
JB: ??
Whit: I'm joking. I can't wait until then, too. I miss you, JB.
JB: I miss you, too. Now, go and win that tournament.
Week Five
JB: What the hell is wrong with me? I'm 0 for my last 14. I keep getting under everything, and it doesn't matter how many times I tap my hat for luck—I'm missing EVERYTHING.
Whit: You're tired. The team's still winning. .600 is good, JB.
JB: The team's winning because Grayson's filthy right now and Tate's bat is on fire. It's not me. I'm the boring part again, remember? The framing guy. Nobody's worried about my bat because nobody expected my bat.
JB: Nobody but me.
Whit: Why not try loosening your grip a little? I watched your game last night, and you looked a little tighter than usual.
JB: Are you about to tell me that my finger placement is the issue?
Whit: If the shoe fits... ??
JB: I miss you so much it's affecting my swing. That's the only explanation. I've got missing Whitney-itis. The only cure: two days in bed, slathering Whitney Marlow juices all over me.??
Whit: ??I don't think that's how it works.
JB: Um, did you forget the golf cart, Coach? Your juices make me play better. It's science. Whit: You cannot finger your way out of a slump, JB.
JB: I can DREAM, Whit.
Week Six
Whit: Denver treating you okay?
JB: I'm tired. So tired. I love this game, and I'm so fortunate to get paid to play it, but right now it's a grind. I can't tell if I'm bad or just exhausted.
Whit: It can be both. The good news: neither is permanent. You'll find the bat again.
JB: Not without your juices...
Whit: I walked into that one, didn't I?
JB: You liked it.
Whit: I did, but you’ll get there. I know it.
JB: Thanks, Coach.
JB: Okay, I looked at our schedules because I am a man who needs ONE good thing to hold onto.
JB: Sunday. I'm home in Charlotte and I have a lunchtime game. I'll be done by 4. Are you free Sunday night once your sponsor stuff wraps?
Whit: I should be, yeah.
JB: Then, Whitney Marlow, I would like to take you on a video date this Sunday at 6 p.m. We'll both be awake. I'll order food to your Florida rental and my apartment. We'll have dinner together. Talk properly for the first time in six weeks.
Whit: I'm in.
JB: You're IN?
Whit: I'm in, Callahan. Sunday night. It's a date.
JB: ?? Thank god. I needed something on the calendar that isn't a flight.
JB: I know you fly to Canada Monday and then we're back to voicemails and time zones, so I'm going to make Sunday count. I'm going to talk to you for an hour before I even let it get filthy.
Whit: We both know that's a lie.
JB: It's a beautiful lie, and I'm committed to it.
Whit: Goodnight, JB. Get some sleep. You sound like you need it.
JB: Sunday's going to be the best part of my month, and it's just a phone call. That's where I'm at. Night, Coach.