Chapter 13

I did go back to Colorado for a quick visit with my family during the All-Star break. I'd told them about Juniper, and they'd been pleased that perhaps I'd found somebody I really cared about.

Earlier, before I went home, I'd also told them about our break-up, so when I got there they already knew the bare essentials -- that there'd been this brief romance, it hadn't worked out, and Number One Son was back to his bachelor ways once again.

Like parents everywhere would have been, my dad and mom were disappointed. I had turned twenty-eight early in the month, and by their standards, that was pretty old for a man who'd never been married.

My sister, four years younger, had been married for three years and had already given them their first grandchild. Clearly, I wasn't holding up my end.

So they had plenty of questions about Juniper. I had sent pictures of her to them via email during the Good Times, and they'd been charmed by her and intrigued by my stories about her great height and her strong and assertive personality.

I'd never told them anything about Juniper's bed-hopping proclivities or about how and why we had broken up so summarily. And I didn't tell them about all that during this visit either. There are some things you just didn't discuss with your parents no matter how close-knit the family might be.

My folks and my sister were still interested in my love life, or lack of it. However, not too surprisingly, they were already focused on future possibilities. Juniper was in the process of being forgotten. After all, they'd never even met her.

For me, forgetting her might be somewhat harder.

"So, Travis, is there anyone else in whom you've become interested?"

Uhhh -- no.

Not yet.

My dad knew baseball and followed the game closely. He was full of frustration at the effect Oakland's trading me to Baltimore was having on my playing time. He'd been overjoyed when I had gotten a chance to play regularly with the Orioles all through May, and was pleased that I had enjoyed some limited success.

But now he was doubly unhappy because I was back on the bench and because recent developments in Oakland led him to believe I would have been playing regularly there if only they hadn't traded me when they did. Actually, I agreed with him about that, but didn't tell him so because I knew it would just agitate him all the more.

To make it worse, it looked like Oakland was going to make the playoffs.

My dad could watch all our games, home and away, because I'd gotten him a subscription to MLB Extra Innings. That was the one good thing about my playing in on the east coast: He could watch most of our games in the early hours of the Colorado evening.

That might have made him feel marginally better about the trade, but I wasn't likely to see a lot of action with the Orioles in the second half, and we both knew it.

It was only a brief visit, but when I flew back to Baltimore very early on Thursday, I felt renewed and ready to do what I could to contribute to the club's second-half success.

Maybe it wouldn't be a whole lot, but I would do whatever they asked of me. I'd keep my head in the game, right through the final week in September and on to the postseason.

That is, if we even made it to the postseason.

We had a tough home stand coming up after the break -- eleven games in eleven days, followed by three more against the Yankees in New York, with those three also strung together without an off-day.

The home stand was against Detroit and Toronto for four each, then three with the visiting Angels. If we were going to contend, we'd have to emerge from that difficult stretch with something considerably better than .500.

If we did -- if we could win, say, seven of the eleven -- we'd be going to New York with some kind of shot at overcoming the Yankee's lead and regaining first place.

My talks with my parents and sister about Juniper and my love life had helped me to distance myself from that whole affair. Despite never having gone into any kind of detail with the family about the whys and wherefores, talking with them about the breakup had helped convince me that it was real and permanent.

I resolved to open my eyes and look around. Hey, I was twenty-eight years old, gainfully employed, and awfully well-paid. Hell, let's face it, I was something of a catch, even if I did have to say so myself. There had to be some young women out there who would think I was the answer to a maiden's dream. All I had to do was zero in on one.

Shouldn't be all that difficult.

Maybe I should join one of those Internet dating groups:

SWM, 28, likes long walks on the beach,

beagles, R.E.M., Mexican beer,

and romantic movies. Looking for semi-

educated female, 4'8" to 6'6", with

similar interests. Object: coitus.

Warning: Applicant travels incessantly

in his work.

To our considerable dismay, we managed to win only five of the eleven home games leading into the New York series at Yankee Stadium that would close out the month of July.

The season was far from over, but even were we to win all three against the Yankees (a highly unlikely scenario) we would end the month well out of first place.

After New York, we'd fly to Seattle for three, and then to Anaheim for three more. The season was beginning to wear on us, physically.

I was getting more playing time because Paul Warren wanted to rest all the regular outfielders as much as possible, and with our right fielder occasionally spelling Josh Brennan at first, I was getting into games with some frequency to fill in for him as well.

I had a mini-hitting streak going on the road, hitting safely as a pinch hitter in New York and then getting into all the Seattle games and two more with the Angels.

I even had the game-winning hit -- a double -- in the last Seattle game.

My professional life was in a small but noticeable up-tick. I worried that the dugout water cooler was going to get lonely.

The Orioles were playing reasonably well but, unfortunately, we weren't putting together anything significant in the way of winning streaks. We got back home on August 7 for a very brief home stand with Texas, and we were now tied for second with Boston, four games behind the Yankees.

Earlier in the week, Zeke Taylor and his wife Alice had invited several of the players and their wives or significant others over for an after-game barbecue. The party was scheduled for Sunday evening after our close-out game at home with the Rangers. Another road trip (Cleveland and Detroit) loomed on Monday morning, and I think Zeke wanted to make his little contribution to relaxing us during this most difficult part of the season.

Zeke had invited, among others, all the team's outfielders, and every one of them (except yours truly) was a married man.

I was still somewhat the new guy and hadn't gotten that close, socially, to the married players in any setting outside the ballpark.

Maybe because I was a fellow outfielder, Zeke made a point of inviting me and urged me to bring a date.

Five months in Baltimore and I had met only one likely young woman who I might rationally invite to a party.

"I don't know anybody to bring," I told Taylor. "Has your wife got any friends she might want to fix me up with?"

"Probably," Zeke said. "Alice works in a hospital. Maybe we could land you a nurse! But, hey, what about Juniper? ... Franklin's daughter? Weren't you and Juniper pretty thick there for awhile?"

"Yeah, but that's over."

"Oh. Too bad."

If Zeke Taylor was privy to the rumors around the clubhouse about Juniper Jones and her bedroom gymnastics, he said nothing to show it.

"I think I might be kind of a drag on the proceedings if I showed up alone," I said. "Maybe I'd best just beg off. But thanks, Zeke, for inviting me."

"Some of the wives, they're pretty interesting people," he said, still selling the party. "You probably haven't met Sam Bailey's wife, Amy. Great, great girl! And we're inviting the kid -- Fast Freddie Brumbelow. He's married to Josie Fitzgerald, the BirdSports interviewer."

"Yeah, I heard about Josie's being his wife."

"And Alex will be there, with Maria. Maria is Paul Warren's daughter."

"Yeah, I heard that, too."

"If I get Alice to pass the word, I'm absolutely certain that one of those women would be able to scare you up a date for the evening. Probably any one of them."

"It's only a couple days away. Not much time for that, is there?"

"Wouldn't be difficult," Zeke said.

"If you don't mind, Streak, I think I'd rather not. Truth is, Juniper and I were pretty tight there for a little while. I'm not quite over her yet, you know?"

"All right. But if you change your mind, here's a map showing how to get to my place. You'll be more than welcome, even if you come alone. Just don't hit on any of the women, because every one of them is probably going to be in the company of one of your teammates!"

"Any chance Franklin will be there?"

"We haven't invited any of the coaches," Zeke said. "But we could ... I could ask him to bring Juniper along, too. Would that be good?"

"I doubt that she'd come."

"Couldn't hurt to ask," he said.

Just before Saturday night's game, Zeke told me in the clubhouse that he'd invited Franklin and Mary Jane, and that they had accepted. He'd specified to Franklin that Juniper was also invited, but he didn't know whether she'd be coming.

What the hell? What did I have to lose? I told him I'd be there, too.

On Sunday, Fast Freddie Brumbelow won another one for us, 5-3. All three of Texas' runs had been one-run homers. Freddie was prone to throwing gopher balls with alarming frequency, but Paul Warren didn't seem that worried about it. Evidently, he liked the fact that Brumbelow went after every hitter -- no matter what his reputation. The kid had the guts to throw strikes, and for the most part, it was working beautifully. He had won three games already and lost only one, and he'd had three other quality starts in which he didn't get a decision.

When a good hitter caught up with one of Freddie's fastballs, it often went an awfully long way in the wrong direction. But the good news was, they didn't catch up to Freddie's hummer all that often.

So I think most of the guys were feeling festive when we got to Zeke Taylor's big suburban house that evening. The weather was perfect, and although there were cars parked all around the imposing home, there was ample room for all of them.