What did his agent have to do with it anyway?
He was daydreaming. He sat up straight and pulled out his cell.
“Hello Bryan,” Parker answered. “How did it go with Ms. Martin?”
“Swimmingly. Now tell me what I am missing. What does my divorce have to do with the collective bargaining agreement?”
“Well. First of all, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“The word is that the new CBA will be very friendly with regard to free agent service time, especially for players such as yourself.”
“Ahh,” Bryan made a noise of understanding. The CBA, or Collective Bargaining Agreement, the basic contract between the players’ union and Major League Baseball, defined many things, one of which was the number of years a player had to serve in the majors before he could declare himself a free agent. And that was when the big cash was tossed about. Teams bid against each other for free agents. A good player might see his salary increase tenfold and more upon becoming a free agent and signing with whichever club showed him the biggest pot.
“You got it. And you, my friend, are in a historically good patch. The second basemen crop is thin right now – and for the next five or six years. I am in the process of teasing your front office there with my usual blend of innuendo and lies. I think that it is likely the Sox will try to extend you. Buy you out of free agency. They want to tie you up.”
“What are we talking about?”
Parker hmmmd into the phone. “When you are asleep tonight, dream about ten years at 25 million a year. As a starting point. Guaranteed.”
Bryan stared in shock out at the perfectly flat verdant billiard table that was his workplace. 250 million?
“How much did Ted Williams make in 1946?” He asked.
“How the fuck should I know?” Parker demanded. “I wasn’t representing him. But if I had been, I would have gotten him a better deal.”
Bryan laughed.
“To sum it up,” his agent continued. “We wait until after your matrimonial knot is untied by Ms. Martin before we begin negotiations. Otherwise your wife will try to claim part of it. We got too many frigging lawyers involved already. So mum is the word. Capisce?”
“Right…. Are you sure you went to Harvard?”
**********
Three games left in the season and the Yankees were still one game back, having failed to take advantage of the Red Sox’ mediocre performance in the past four weeks.
After batting practice, Bryan got dressed in a clubhouse filled with somewhat less enthusiasm than a funeral service. Even Rollins was subdued. Not one dirty joke or bad pun crossed his lips.
“What the hell, Mitch?” Bryan said. “We’re a game up. Why is everyone acting like the dog just died?”
The tall first baseman sighed. “Two years ago, that’s why. We were up three games with ten to go. Three games! And we managed to not even make the wild card. Wheels fell off the cart, man. There’s still too many of us here that went through it. This feels too familiar.”
Bryan didn’t like the sound of that at all. He had read about that debacle at the time but considered it to be so far in the past the stories might have well been printed in Sumerian. How could his teammates allow that to still bother them?
“That’s bullshit.” He was suddenly pissed off. “Bullshit!” They had the chance to grab the division by the balls and instead the team was acting like second graders too timid to play on the goddamn big kids’ playground.
He finished dressing and stood up. He grabbed KERAUNOS and waved it around dangerously. He wished he had a cool tag line to shout, like ‘Behold the power of Zeus!’ or ‘I’m here to chew bubble gun and kick ass!’. Instead, he snatched up his glove, glared at the room full of alleged professionals, and stalked out.
Zeus did kick ass that night, as it happened. Bryan hit two doubles. One hard off the Green Monster and one into the right centerfield gap. Rollins banged out a three-run homer and they beat the Blue Jays by two runs.
Unfortunately, the Yankees also won.
**********
He roamed about his large lonely house that night, wondering if he should get a dog. Would it be cruel to leave a dog at home alone so much? He made a mental note to check out the area’s supply of doggie daycares and dog sitters. Maybe he should get cats. They were more self-sufficient.
NESN was showing game highlights, and he studied them carefully. He paused and replayed over and over his two plate appearances, his two doubles. Had he been bringing his hands forward to quickly? Was his left foot too far to the plate? He would review the more extensive video tomorrow.
His cell buzzed. He picked it up, expecting Parker’s loud New York City streets voice.
It was Lauren.
“Hello? Bryan?”
He took a deep lungful of air and closed his eyes.
It took every iota of energy he had in him not to scream at her, not to beg her. You cheating bitch! I love you! Please come back to me!
Some instinct told him that none of those would do any damn good. That she was gone.
“Hello Lauren. How are you?”
These were the hardest goddamn words he had ever had to force from his mouth.
“I’m…. I saw you tonight. The game was on TV.”
Her boyfriend was not there, he thought. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been allowed to watch her husband. Or call him later. Archer was probably out lining up his next conquest.
“You looked good,” she said softly.
He resisted saying that he felt great, that there was nothing wrong with his hip or his ankle. He resisted telling her about the possibility of a contract extension. All the little happenings of his life, all the mundane details, funny coincidences, and every important development — used to be discussed with Lauren. They had been a team of two. With no fissures. No secrets.
No more.
He had the long view. He would live. The world would continue. But that didn’t mean it didn’t fucking hurt. He felt actual pain in his chest. Metaphorical knives stabbing into the stilled rotting cavity where a loving heart once beat.
“What do you want?” He made the effort to speak evenly. No condemnation, no anger.
There was a long pause.
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Bryan looked out the window. He had to imagine that he was someone else right now or else he would break down.
“Lauren, you will get served with papers soon. Do you have a lawyer?”
“No.” Her voice was almost too soft for him to understand.
“Well, go get one. Read it over. Let’s get this done.”
“But–”
“No, Lauren. Don’t talk. Listen.”
Out in the night sky he saw moving red lights. A jet approaching its landing at T. F. Green Airport. Some of those people were going home. Some of them would be met by loving wives and husbands and children.
“I understand why you left, Lauren. I’m not happy about it, but I do understand…. Nod if you can hear me.”
She gave a stifled sob and then an equally stifled laugh.
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“No,” she said immediately.
“Do you still trust me?”
A pause. Trust had never been her issue with him. With them.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then please, please. Find a therapist. Talk to someone. You need to try and figure out why you do what you do.”