Chapter 53

The group left Las Vegas with nothing resolved. It seemed to be the way life was going for Brock at the moment. He had a lot of things going on and none of them appeared to be close to being finalized.

His move to second base was progressing but not as quickly as he hoped it would be. The hardest part was learning new responsibilities on pickoffs, cutoffs and bunt plays. He had to constantly think about where he was supposed to be regardless of where the ball was hit.

The contract negotiations with the Dodgers had slowed down, too. Brock didn't think there were any real sticking points. It was more a matter of everyone finding the time to sit down and hash everything out.

The endorsement deals he'd been offered were of the kind he was reluctant to accept. Two major shoe companies were looking at him to promote their products but so far he hadn't given an answer to either. Stan and his marketing people didn't seem to understand his reluctance – since each company was well-respected and was offering him a lot of money.

About the only thing he could say for certain was going right was his personal life. If the weekend in Las Vegas was a total fuckup, at least he had gotten to spend quality time with Meredith and to let her know exactly how he felt about her.

The four in the car – Randi and Ryan had joined them in driving to Las Vegas – kept the conversation on anything unrelated to the photos.

A part of Brock couldn't figure out why he was angry. He had almost gotten used to people interrupting a conversation or a dinner or rare moment alone to ask for an autograph (or to give him hitting advice, fielding advice or advice on taking Jesus into his heart). Part of it was the tone of the story but he had to admit he was mad even before he read that part.

Although he couldn't figure out the reason, it didn't change the fact that he was pissed off.

Ryan thanked Randi perhaps a hundred times for allowing him the honor of escorting her to the wedding. If anything, the hero worship he felt for Brock since landing a deal to play baseball for another year had magnified.

He had watched how hard Brock had worked to improve his skill at a new position. Hard work was nothing new to Ryan Radabaugh. He had always been slightly undersized and vastly undervalued. Thus he had to work hard to gain, first playing time, then recognition, then a chance to play in college and now the pros. He had expected most Major Leaguers to have far more talent and far less work ethic. Brock had more talent. Ryan couldn't deny that in his wildest fantasy. But he worked just as hard as the scrubs that would spend the season riding busses in the bush leagues.

Still, Brock had treated him as an equal from the outset. He routinely praised his skills, meager as they were, and didn't hesitate to call a halt to the practice to correct something Ryan might have done wrong. To Ryan, it showed that Brock was just as interested in seeing others succeed as he was in his own success.

But that wasn't all that had the young redhead believing Brock Miller might just walk on water if he tried.

Josh Hart had taken to the young man as soon as Josh arrived early to work on playing third base. Brock had introduced Ryan and Rafael to the starting catcher, now third baseman, as soon as the older player arrived in camp. While Josh was refining his skills at third (he had played there for a couple of years in the minors), he also tried to help Rafael learn the position. Versatility was plus in the minors as well as in the majors. The ability to play a second position might mean the difference between another year on the roster and going back home to work at a beer distributor for the rest of your life.

Then there were the other factors.

The introduction to the first naked woman Ryan could ever remember seeing – Mandy Hart (albeit on a computer screen) – had increased the sense of awe that seemed to grow every day.

Having Randi Raver – or Randi Darby as he now knew her – personally thank him for helping her friend (and then ask him if he would like to be her escort to a private function) put his adoration off the charts.

He wished he had some way to help his newfound friends in their current circumstance but he was smart enough to know that he didn't. So he stayed out of the way and listened to what was said and watched what was done. If he could act as a sounding board in the future, he wanted to be prepared.

He knew that was unlikely. This was the last day of the real-life "fantasy camp" the past two weeks had been. In the morning, he would be sent to the rookie camp and if he saw Brock Miller again at all it would be from a distance. The same was true with Randi Darby and Meredith Van Landingham and Josh Hart and Al Perez and, probably Fred Hartman and Rafael Mendoza, too. They would be in the high minors, one or two steps from The Show, and he would be at the bottom of the barrel, one or two missteps from being out of the game forever.

He paused at Brock's car window before he went into the budget hotel the team provided for him. He offered a grateful smile and was about to tell his idol how much the past two weeks had meant to him.

"Thank you, Ryan," Brock said before the man could speak. "You've helped me more than you realize. If this works out – if I don't make an absolute fool of myself – it's because of the work you did. I appreciate it. I know your life is going to head in a different direction. You're going to have to spend all your time focusing on your skills now. But I'll always remember how much you have given me and this team. I'll keep an eye on your progress. I hope it goes unsaid, but I'll say it anyway. If you need me for anything, I'm only a phone call or a text message or an e-mail away. Don't ever hesitate to get in touch with me or Al or Zack or Josh if you need something."

"Or me," Meredith chimed in with a smile.

"Or me," Randi added. "Ryan, thank you for a wonderful weekend. You were an absolute gentlemen and a joy to spend time with. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed your company. I know you only have one more day off this spring but I hope you won't be mad if I come to watch you play sometime."

"I'd like that," he said.

He shook his head slightly and turned to walk away before they saw the tears in his eyes.

As Brock's last time before camp started wound down, he found himself sitting outside of the house with Meredith and Randi drinking a glass of iced tea and pondering what might happen next. He was surprised when a midsized car pulled into the driveway behind Randi's rented Mazda.

He was more surprised when Stan Balsam got out and stretched his legs.

"Hey, Brock," Stan said. "Do you mind if I use your facilities? I've had to go wee since I was in the air over Nebraska."

"Uh, sure," Brock said. He led his agent into the house and directed him to a restroom. Meredith and Randi joined him in the living room to await Stan's return.

"Much better," Stan said when he came down the hall. "I was running late and the rental agency only had one car left on the lot when I called. I decided to hustle over and get it before it was gone, too. It seems there are a lot of baseball players in the Phoenix area this time of year."

He offered a rueful smile to the group for his attempt at humor.

"I was going to call you in the morning," Brock said. "I want to apologize for how I was acting."

"I want to apologize, too," Stan said. "I sometimes forget that you haven't had the indoctrination that most of my clients have. Can we sit and talk for few minutes?"

"Sure," Brock said. The young ladies got up to make themselves scarce but Stan waved them back to their seats.

"Please, I'd like it if you stayed," he said. "Meredith, this concerns you, too. Randi, I figure you might help me explain things a little better. You've been through what I'm about to tell Brock, I'm sure."

Brock figured Stan was going to sever their relationship. Brock was certain he wouldn't be willing to work closely for someone who had spoken to him the way he had spoken to Stan earlier.

"It's like this, Brock," Stan began, "you're so unlike my other clients that I sometimes forget that I have to react differently to you. I often compare you to J.C. but that's unfair to both of you. First off, you're different people with different personalities. J.C. is content to let the world come to him. You're not. You go charging right at the world whether it's ready or not. You go into battle without ever looking at how the world at large might view it."

"That's because I don't care how the world at large views it," Brock cut in. He was surprised when Stan smiled at him.

"Yes," Stan agreed. He took a deep breath and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "And that's what I tend to forget. If I may, let me explain how today would have happened with my other clients. First off, last night would not have been innocent in any form. They would have invariably done something to warrant concern on my part. Secondly, they would have called me as soon as they spotted the pictures and wanted me to stop the inevitable. Then they would have been angry when I couldn't. They would have blustered and threatened to leave the agency for someone else.

"I would issue a statement basically denying that my client is anything less than a saint who loves his mother, America and apple pie. Eventually, I would spend an hour or two calming them down and explaining that there is nothing in the world I can do to stop something that's already out there. I would tell them that they have to look at their actions before they do them and not afterward. Two months later, I would get the same call from the same source for the same reasons."

Stan sat back and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He knew the next few minutes were crucial to maintaining a relationship with Brock Miller.

"When I was alerted to the photos and the story this morning, I reacted as I would with any other client," he explained. "I went proactive. I already had a statement I was ready to send that blamed the entire episode on fame-seeking actresses. In hindsight, I realize that move would have been the worst thing I could have done. It would have caused the relationship we're building to end in a horrendous crash."

"Yes," Brock agreed with a nod. "It would have."

"After you ignored my calls and my texts, I thought it might have ended anyway," Stan admitted. "I didn't want that to happen without coming out here to explain why I reacted as I did. If you still want to seek other representation, I won't quibble."

"I don't," Brock said immediately. "I was worried that you were going to drop me for acting like a baby this morning."

Stan laughed aloud.

"Oh, I've seen clients acting like babies," he said, resuming his post with his elbows on his knees so he could lean forward. "I had one call me up because he had been caught in a prostitution sting. He was crying and wailing, literally blubbering on the line. He knew he had just cost himself millions in endorsements – not to mention the alimony and child support payments he would be forced to pay when his wife divorced him. He seemed to think it was my job to make it all go away. Of course, I couldn't. He lost the endorsements and he lost his family. I was not surprised when it was the money he regretted losing more than his wife and children."