Chapter 10

We lost the final game in Minneapolis, but we managed to take some encouragement from it because for once it was our offense and not the pitching that had fallen down on the job. Sam Bailey had his first good outing since early April, giving up only two runs in seven innings. For Sam, it was a no-decision, but we still ended up on the short end, 3-2.

For once, there were no delays at the airport, and we were on the ground in Toronto and busing in to our downtown hotel well before 9 p.m. I was pleased that the flight had gone so smoothly, but actually a little disappointed that my master plan to invade Juniper's hotel room bed in the dead of night was going to go awry.

Finally I gave up on romanticism, or lust, or whatever it had been and just called her on the cell on the way downtown. Sure enough, she was not only still awake at 8:48 p.m., but she was still dressed.

We agreed to go out for a casual dinner somewhere within walking distance of the hotels.

Toronto is a gorgeous city -- possibly the most beautiful big city in the Northern Hemisphere (although Vancouver ain't too shabby, either). I instructed Juniper to spend her free time making up an itinerary of things the two of us could do together early Friday, when we had a night game, and in the evenings on Saturday and Sunday, when we were playing in the afternoon.

Then, on Monday, we'd have the entire day to ourselves -- at least until late afternoon when we'd have planes to catch.

We found a small, unpretentious restaurant close to Juniper's hotel and enjoyed a late dinner in surroundings new to both of us. "I've never done anything like this before," Juniper said. "It's ... it's just delightful!"

"Done what?" I asked, genuinely confused. I knew she'd been to restaurants on dates with men before.

"Gone away from home like this, for a ... for an ... assignation," she said.

I laughed at her. "An assignation? Sounds a little melodramatic, don't you think?"

"Well, it seems so ... deliciously naughty and decadent," she said. "Flying off to another city -- another country, even -- to meet one's lover."

"Yes, well. You know how we ballplayers are. We have girls stashed away in every city."

"Must get kind of expensive."

"Yes, yes it does. It's much nicer having a groupie who follows me to foreign nations when I am away from home."

"That's the very first time," Juniper said.

"What? What's the first time?"

"That was the first time -- ever -- that you made any kind of a little joke about ... about sex with me. You called me your 'groupie, ' just then."

Her remark alarmed me. "But I didn't mean any disrespect, Juni. I'm sorry if I..."

"No! No, you don't understand!" she said. "I'm not offended. Not at all ... I'm just saying, you've always been so careful never to allude to my having been, you know -- the way I am. Or the way I was."

"There wasn't any reason to throw it up to you, Babe. Not when we were doing so well. God, I think it's been so great, the way we've been, the way it's been going for us, together. And your coming up here to meet me. I mean, wow, Juni! That's so special."

"But this is ... better, Travis. You've kind of been walking on eggs around me, haven't you? Admit it. There hasn't been any joking around. Oh, sure, you were okay, laughing it up when we were alone together in bed, but you never before made any kind of remark about me and my ... my ... other guys."

"I don't think joking about your being a groupie constitutes..."

"No, no, it doesn't constitute anything, "

Juniper said, "but it suggests -- at least to me -- that maybe you're starting to relax a little around me. Don't you see? I like that. It makes me feel a lot more ... comfortable."

"I'm not sure I followed all of that," I said, "but if you're happy, I'm happy. Hey, you want dessert? Or do you want to go back to your room?

"There's a key to my room waiting for you at the front desk of your hotel," she said.

"Well, when we got in so early, I just called instead, and you said I could came over," I said.

"I know, I know. But the key's still there. Why don't you go back to your own hotel, shower, shave, change into sweats or something, and then go pick up the key to my room and come over -- again?"

"You mean, we revert to Plan A?"

"You got it. By the time you get to my room, I'll be in bed, wearing my smile. Heck, it's been a long day. I might even have dropped off to sleep by then."

"Feel free to go to sleep," I said. "I'll come up with some way to revive you."

A little under an hour later, I let myself into Juniper's room. She'd left the bathroom light on and the door partially ajar to help me find my way.

She was asleep. I think she really was, because she wasn't wearing a smile. She wasn't wearing anything.

The room was comfortably cool, and Juniper's body had been left almost entirely uncovered. A top sheet had been draped strategically across her middle, but there was an awful lot of Juniper, above and below it, exposed to my appreciative eyes.

God, but this girl's legs were long! I imagined kissing her, starting at the ankle, and not missing a spot all the way up. I figured I wouldn't reach the Promised Land until around daybreak.

Well, might as well get started.

Very early on Friday morning, hours before we had to be up to face the world, I woke Juniper once again. This time, it wasn't to initiate still-another round of lovemaking. I just woke her gently, kissed her on the ear, and said, "I love you, Juniper Jones."

"Thanks," she mumbled. I waited for elaboration, but she had fallen asleep again.

I let it go and did likewise.

We decided to rejoin the outside world for breakfast and, there not being a restaurant in Juniper's little wayside hotel, we emerged onto the streets and simply looked for one.

We found a likely looking place readily enough, and also found it populated by several Oriole players similarly bent on starting the day right.

Del Stuart, a pitcher, was there with our DH, Omar Washington. Both recognized Juniper from having seen her with Franklin around Camden Yards.

And Toby Marr was there. Alone, as usual. Toby, of course, also knew Juniper ... In the biblical sense, in his case.

Juniper and I gave each familiar face a casual greeting but chose to seat ourselves alone. I saw a flash of interest on the faces of Stuart and Washington. Well, why not? If a teammate of yours shows up in a public place for breakfast in a strange city, and he's accompanied by the young daughter of one of the club's coaches, you're going to raise an eyebrow, right?

I figured they were entitled.

Toby Marr, however, was more than mildly interested in Juniper's having shown up in Toronto. He stared over at our table almost continuously. It was annoying as hell. Toby Marr's mere presence in the Western Hemisphere was the source of some annoyance to me, but with all of us -- me, him, and Juniper Jones -- in the same room at the same time, the irritation factor was increased geometrically.

I tried, without much success, just to ignore him. Juniper really was ignoring him, and it's hard to tell which of us was, in our turn, irritating him the most as a result.

Finally, Marr got up and walked over to our table. "Hey, Juniper! Imagine running into you way up here in Oh-Canada!"

"Hey, Toby," she said weakly.

"Damn, Travis! You are the Playboy of the Western World, ain'tcha? Talk about having a girl in every port!"

I didn't know what the cretin was talking about, but it ran through my mind that decking him, just one more time, would be a highly satisfactory undertaking. Sure, it would earn me immediate unemployment, but, damn, even that didn't seem like too high a price to pay.

I managed to say nothing, but Juniper took the bait. Maybe his remarks had brought back to her mind our playful conversation of the night before -- about baseball players and their womanizing propensities.

"What are you talking about, Toby?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing!" he said, his voice still booming as if side noise in the room required him to talk at top volume (which it did not). "I was just surprised to see you, of all people, with our boy Travis, here ... What happened to the little blonde, Trav?"

My first reaction was to think "What little blonde?" but then it came to me that Toby must have seen me with Carla Wells in Minnesota.

But, fuck him. I didn't owe Toby Marr any explanations about anything. So I ignored the bastard.

I guess to Juniper, my silence was intriguing. Once more, she went for the bait.

"What little blonde?" she asked. Her tone wasn't accusatory. She just genuinely, innocently, wanted to know what in blazes Toby was talking about. Her question seemed directed to the room at large. Toby could respond. Or I could.

Toby Marr just smiled broadly, still hanging over our table like an oversized Cheshire cat.

So then Juniper looked to me for an answer.

You know how, even when you're completely innocent of any wrongdoing, you can still blush crimson when somebody confronts you in just the right way? Here I was, with a perfectly rational response to the question "What little blonde?" but I still found myself embarrassed and defensive, what with both Toby Marr hanging over me and Juniper looking at me with growing curiosity -- a curiosity slowly morphing into suspicion.

"Are you talking about the woman in Minneapolis?" I asked Toby.

"One of them, anyway," he said.

The sonuvabitch.

" ... The little blonde one, Travis, with the big tits ... You remember."

"Marr, you're the biggest horse's ass ever. I want you to get lost now. Leave us alone so I can talk to my girl, privately."

"You his girl, Juni?" he said. "I guess he means you're his Baltimore girl, huh? Or maybe his Toronto girl? Hey -- maybe you're both! Pretty good! But not his Twin Cities girl. Nope, that would be Blondie. With the titties! Hey, Trav! ... Twin Titties for the Twin Cities!"

I got up, quick, and confronted the oversized Toby Marr. Now I was going to embarrass the entire Orioles' organization by assaulting a teammate in a public place in a foreign country.