Chapter 20

Make-up sex (if that's what Josie and I were having that night) turned out to be just exceptional.

Well, maybe not. How can I describe it as "exceptional" when every night I've ever spent in bed with Josie was exceptional (at least for me). That old saw about "even when it's bad, it's good" just wasn't applicable, 'cause it was never bad.

But anyway, it wasn't make-up sex, really, because by the time we got to bed that night, Josie's negative reaction to my earlier harangue about my contract, and my bitching about how Bill was conducting the negotiations, had all pretty much faded away. It wasn't that we had settled anything. But she had asked me to get off the subject, and I'd listened.

We had the long, long walk on the beach, and a romantic late dinner back at the hotel, and we'd stopped in the bar for a couple of enormous, exotic drinks with lots of citrus pieces, and little umbrellas sticking out of the top.

And, all this time, I had not uttered the word "baseball" even once. Or any of the zillions of evocative words that would have meant that one of us had to re-focus on my little life and its problems.

I had learned something significant! Not discussing baseball was good for my morale, my personal relationships, and probably my blood pressure.

A short time later that evening, I'd learn that it was good for my libido as well. I resolved to remember this important Life Lesson and to practice, on a regular basis, this new worldview.

Call it the "No Balls" approach. That's just shorthand, you understand.

So Josie, my last night in Lauderdale, reminded me once again what I was fighting for, and I didn't have another sleepless night. Despite not having gotten much sleep the night before, I didn't have any trouble making it a reasonably memorable night for my girl as well. I mean, a guy can never be completely positive that he's touched all the right buttons and seen properly to the sometimes-daunting task of Making it Good for Her Too.

But I'm pretty sure I did good. Did she sleep as soundly as I did? Who knows? I did the Guy Thing soon after Round Two, and didn't wake up again until 8:30 the next morning.

Just in case we didn't see each other again for awhile, I woke her up in the most loving way I knew how, and steadfastly refused to come up for air, no matter how hard she pulled on my hair.

Occasionally, I'll admit, I've made a woman angry by refusing her invitation to come on up out of there and do the Missionary thing. But, most of the time, if you just stay down there and tend to business, you're eventually going to have a real happy woman on your hands.

OK, it's true that it's risky, but it works out far more often than not. (Write all this down. This is invaluable information!)

Josie and I had breakfast in a tiny diner down the street from my hotel. I had called Bill's room and had gotten no answer, but the desk clerk saw me on the way out and gave me a message from him.

Bill had gone out early on an errand and expected to be back before noon, in time for us to check out before the early afternoon deadline. He invited me to hold off on lunch so we could stop later after driving part of the way back to Ft. Myers.

After breakfast, Josie had to get back to work, so we did our mushy kiss-kiss thing in the shadows of the hotel before she went to her car.

"Do your best for Bill," she said, "when you tryout for the Twins. He knows what he's doing, Freddie. Trust him."

That word, "Twins" was the first baseball-related reference either of us had uttered for the past -- oh -- twelve hours. OK, a good part of that we'd been sleeping, but still. It might have been a new world's record for me.

"I've calmed down now," I told her. "If he has it fixed up for me to show off for the Red Sox while we're over there, I'll do my best for them, too. I mean, that would be the best insurance policy I could have! Supposing the Yankees get all orgasmic about me and make some kind of offer that's almost impossible to refuse? What's my best shot at getting a competitive offer? Why, the Red Sox, of course!"

"Now you're starting to sound more calculating than you accused Bill of being."

"Hey, this is a tough racket, right? Devil take the hindmost, etcetera, etcetera."

She stared at me for a little while. I think maybe she was trying to decide whether she really wanted to hear me talking that way. Maybe I was more attractive the afternoon before, when I had been weeping for a chance to sign a contract -- any contract -- that the Orioles put in front of me.

Finally I guess she just decided it was all out of her hands. "Good luck in Ft. Myers," she said. "Take a look at both ballparks while you're over there, even if you don't have a tryout scheduled with the Sox. The Twins and the Red Sox both have first-rate facilities."

And she was gone. We had no firm plans for when we'd meet again. Everything depended on this game of musical ballparks that Bill was conducting on my behalf. Today was a freebie. We'd just drive across the state to Ft. Myers, and maybe I'd run through a light workout tonight on some Gulf Coast beachfront.

Tomorrow, I would do my thing again for whomever the Minnesota Twins had assigned to look me over. If I knew Bill, he by now was setting up a demonstration of my skills for the Boston Red Sox as well. If I knew Bill, he wouldn't schedule both for the same day, either.

That meant that by the time the Red Sox were through looking me over, we'd be down to only one more day before the five-day period had expired. Bill had promised me that we'd test the market for only five days before deciding whether to accept Mike Flanagan's offer. Sure, Flanagan had given us seven days, but I had already wheedled Bill down to five, and I was in no mood to give back any ground.

Bill showed up again shortly before noon, and after we had agreed to postpone lunch until we were on the road again, we checked out and headed for Alligator Alley.

He had nothing to say about our little civil war of the previous afternoon, but after a brief period of truculence, I gave in and apologized for my several outbursts.

"I still want to take the Orioles' offer," I said, "but I'm ready to cooperate with anything else you want to do between now and Saturday -- which is the day, you'll recall, that you personally promised would be the witching hour on this whole issue."

"Well, that's going to make it kind of tight," he said. I've lined up the Red Sox to have a look at you day after tomorrow. That's -- what? Day four of this five-day stretch? And I'm hoping the Mets will agree to see you on Saturday."

"Saturday's the day we've agreed we're going to get back with Flanagan," I told him. I was getting suspicious now that Bill was going to stall me on my five-day ambitions.

"That'll work," Bill said. "The Mets are in West Palm. The bad news is, we'll have to go back east across this godforsaken swamp of a state again, to get over there. But the good news is, we'll be real close to Ft. Lauderdale. If we decide to head down and corner Mike Flanagan and demand a contract, well, from West Palm it'll be an easy run.

"And even if we don't have a need to find Flanagan, after we've seen the Mets we can go back down to Lauderdale and you and Josie can do whatever it is you do when you're in the same city overnight."

"OK, Bill. You go ahead and line up something with the Mets for Saturday, and I'll cooperate... But it's gotta be Saturday! Not later! Monday is Flanagan's own deadline, and Saturday's yours -- ours! So no putting off a Mets tryout past, like, Saturday morning in West Palm."

"Your wish, O Rapid One, is my command!"

Even with a leisurely lunch stop, we were in Ft. Myers before 6 p.m. and were settled in at our new hotel for the evening soon afterward. Bill Bowman could have found work as a ball club's traveling secretary, judging by his skills at always finding, sometimes on short notice, a first-rate place for us to stay overnight.

I was disappointed to find that there was no convenient access to a beach, but there were plenty of open spaces for me to run, if I wanted to stretch my muscles after the long car ride. Ft. Myers was on the Gulf, but it didn't seem to be much of a beach town.

"It's because of the islands," Bill explained. "They've got Sanibel and Captiva Islands right across the causeway, there, and the beaches out there are way better than anything you can find here on the mainland. Too bad we haven't got time to do a little exploring. It's a nice vacation area."

"Who are we going to be seeing tomorrow with the Twins?"

"Three guys, probably. Pitching coach, their minor league roving pitching instructor, and maybe the bench coach for the big club, Allie Dodge."

"You know these guys?"

"Oh, yeah. Me and the roving instructor, Harry Carpenter, go way back. And I know both of the other guys pretty well. Dodge and Simmons, the Twins' pitching coach, are both local guys, live in the Cities all year 'round."

"Tell the truth. You'd really like to see me sign with the Twins, wouldn't you."

"I swear to you, Freddie, I want you to sign with whoever makes you happy."

"You already know who that is."

"Wouldn't a quarter million make you happier than $150,000?" he asked.

"Are you sure you don't have delusions of grandeur?" I said.

"I don't even have delusions of adequacy," Bill said. "But I've kept up, real good, with baseball economics. And I know that a reliable middle reliever is about as hard to find as an honest politician. Anybody takes a good look at you, they're gonna see a guy, as early as a year from now, could be in their big club's bullpen, solid as the Rock of Gibraltar. I am very much afraid, Freddie-boy, that you are seriously undervaluing your services."

"What about the Flanagan offer? Are you going to leak it?"

"Don't have to," Bill said. "I don't know if it has leaked or not, but this morning I got a new offer from the Yankees -- which includes a $225,000 signing bonus."

"Fuck!" I said. "I knew this would happen! Now the goddamned Yankees are going to just barrel in and buy my ass, and I'll be rich and miserable in pinstripes."

"The nicest part about the Yankee offer," Bill said, "is that you don't have to worry about leaking it. It's already leaked. Those guys are so confident about their power -- and so certain you'll jump at the chance to play for them -- that they didn't even bother keeping it under wraps. The name "Freddie Brumbelow" can now be successfully Googled. You're in the New York Post, the Daily News; shoot, Freddie, I'll bet you make the New York Times by morning!"

"Can we call Flanagan back, at least, and try to get him interested in raising his offer?"

"Nope. Don't worry. He'll get the word. What we can do, we can go see the Twins tomorrow, and the Red Sox on Friday. And then maybe the Mets. My guess is, the Yankee offer will make the Mets more interested than anything I could ever think of to say when I call them."

"This is nerve-wracking, Bill."

"What? Finding out you're in demand? Relax, Freddie. You are worth it! It's what I've been trying to tell you all along. Some of this would have happened, even if you hadn't made that good record with Hermosillo. Your tryouts have been eye-openers for a lot of people. All you needed to do was get these guys' attention. Thanks to the Yankees, you've got everybody's attention now."

"Saturday's still the day, Bill."

"You d' man, Freddie. Saturday it is -- at least if it's going to be the Orioles."

"OK. Fair enough. If somebody else's offer is so good that it gets me off my Oriole Jones, I'll stop putting any special significance on Saturday. But jeez, Bill, I really do want this to be over soon. These tryouts are hard on my nerves. The arm's OK, but I get the heebie-jeebies beforehand. Like tonight. Maybe I won't sleep again tonight."

"Didn't hurt you in Lauderdale."

"True."

"Anyway, you slept last night, right?"

"Eventually, yeah."

"Are you really as keyed up about the Twins and the Sox as you were, trying out for the Orioles?"

"Well, yeah. Almost, anyway. I mean, I've got a little pride. I want them to be impressed with me."

"I'm glad to hear it. Make no mistake, Freddie, we're going to give Mike Flanagan every chance to be the one who signs you. All we're doing, these next three days, is establishing the bottom line. If the Orioles want you half as much as you want them, they'll get you."

"But only if they pay the freight, right?"

"That'll be up to you. But you've got to expect them at least to come close. Right now, they're $75,000 in the hole. I wouldn't be surprised if, in his own mind, Flanagan's already upped his offering price."

Thursday morning Bill and I showed up for the Twins' tryout and were greeted with the same courtesy we'd experienced with the Orioles two days earlier. This time, though, it wasn't Friends of Freddie who were all smiles, it was Friends of Bill. These were Bill Bowman's homeboys, and I was just the guy with Bill.

But our little traveling demonstration went well, and there were encouraging words all around when we left. Bill made no bones about the fact that the current asking price was $225,000 to sign, and that if the Twins were interested, somebody had to talk to their front office guys very quickly indeed.

Next day, we did the same thing with the Red Sox in their handsome spring training facility, only a few miles away from the Twins' park. The Sox' manager was on hand, and their young General Manager watched the whole thing from up in the stands. Again, it went pretty well, and I left there feeling as if this whole business of showing my wares to everybody was, blessedly, almost over.