Chapter 8: Keeping My Distance

We wrapped up the home stand, still winning, and were on the road again by late Thursday. I hadn't seen Maria since picnic night, three days earlier. That had been deliberate on my part. If you don't know what to do with a girl, the best thing to do with her is nothing.

We had the White Sox, then the Twins, and then Detroit before we would be back in Baltimore for a lengthy series of games at home before the All-Star break. I hadn't gotten the call to pitch in several days, but it didn't worry me because I recognized that the unique circumstances that had to arise in a game before Paul Warren wanted me in there just hadn't arisen.

I was feeling rested and ready, and eager to pitch. I was also feeling some relief that I wouldn't have to worry about running into Maria around the next corner.

Wrong! Just as I'd finished Friday breakfast, looking out over Lake Michigan in the hotel dining room, I looked across the room and there she was. Christ! This interning-with-the-Orioles bit was definitely for the birds. (For the birds -- get it? Birds? Orioles? Little pun, there. OK, never mind.)

"Hi, Alex! Long time!"

"Hey, Maria. I didn't know you were going to be on this trip."

"You didn't ask. Actually, I'm not here for the whole trip -- just the Chicago series. I'm skipping the Twin Cities and Detroit. I'm representing the team in a low-level league meeting here, pertaining to sales of sponsorship rights."

"You're going to be running the whole thing, pretty soon."

"Maybe not pretty soon, but, hey, I'm young yet, as you've been so quick to remind me at every opportunity."

"Nice to see you," I said, starting for the door.

"Sit down and have another cuppa," Maria said.

"Where's your Dad?"

"Who knows? I don't travel with Paul. Hey, c'mon! He allows me to drink coffee with the players."

I sat down.

"You never called me," Maria said.

I looked around to be certain we couldn't be overheard. "Phone sex isn't my bag," I told her.

"I'm not just talking about Monday night," she said. "You never called me at all."

"Yeah, well, this thing isn't going to work, Maria," I said. I guess I was whining a little.

"Don't knock it, if you haven't tried it," she said.

"It won't work because I'm too insecure about my job."

"Paul wouldn't send you down over a personal issue!" she said.

"No, I don't think he would. But once it got out that one of his players was -- dating his daughter, it could get extremely awkward. Not just for me -- for Paul, too."

"This couldn't be the first time this has ever happened," she said.

"Maybe not. But it's gotta be rare. And if it -- got awkward, maybe it's true that Paul wouldn't demote me, just for spite. But the club -- people above your Dad, even -- would likely consider just trading me somewhere. They could unload me for no better reason than to promote harmony -- reduce tension on the club."

"I'd hate that," she said.

"It could end my career," I said. "Your Dad has his own way of managing pitchers, and the way he does it, I fit in. A lot of managers would do it differently. I might or might not function as effectively for somebody else. Or another club might just send me down right away, without really thinking about it much."

"You really think we -- you and I together -- could jeopardize your career that much?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. And anyway, I don't want to put the pressure on Paul so he'd have to -- to react to our being an item. You really ought to find somebody to date who's not a ballplayer, Maria."

"Been there. Done that."

"Even if you've maybe had a couple of unsuccessful relationships with civilians, that doesn't prove anything," I said.

"I know. But. You remind me of somebody."

"I remind you? Who?"

"My Dad. Not my real Dad. --Paul, I mean. You remind me of how it was for Mama, back in Bluefield, when we met Paul. He was only a little older than you are, at the time."

"Yeah. And I understand Orlie was about his same age," I offered.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm a baby. Yada yada yada. But to me, it's like it was then. I was kinda -- I was kinda in love with Paul myself, but I knew I was only a little girl and all he could be, for me, was my Mom's guy.

"But now, Alex, I'm older. A lot older. And you're younger than Paul was then! We could be a pretty good pair. We ought to at least give it a try!"

"I don't think you're a baby," I said. "Not anymore. Forget your age, or mine. If you were just some fan, or a woman I met away from the ballpark..."

"Yeah, I know. But I'm the manager's daughter. Taboo! Off-limits!"

"That's right. No getting around it. --And you're ignoring the race thing altogether. Paul and your Mom didn't have that to deal with, in their time."

I left her there, wondering what I had talked myself out of.

I got into the game that night, facing two of the White Sox' big uglies in the seventh. Got 'em both on ground balls. Threw them eight pitches, total! Oh my! A nice little outing for me. We won it, 5-1.