Chapter 4

Jonathan

I'm trying not to get frustrated, but it's hard when you're used to people being on time. I can't remember the last time someone was late to meet me. Generally, people who are late to meet me get fired—unless they have a really good excuse, even then, I check up on their excuse. I guess it's part of my controlling nature. I'm trying to change though.

So when I see my beat up Ford driving up, I force a few deep breaths, exhaling slowly through my nose. It works, calming me down as Alex climbs out of my car.

Then my breath catches in my throat. Oh goddammit! Mr. Happy wants my attention, and he's puffing himself up to do it. Look at her! She's so ... so... Fuck. I'm screwed.

"Hi," she says, and I can tell she's nervous.

I smile, "Hi yourself."

"Sorry I'm late," she shrugs.

I shake my head, "If twenty minutes late makes you look like that, you should always be late." And then the words are out there and I want to take them back.

Until she blushes so beautifully and slows, shyly smiling and quietly saying, "Thank you. You look nice too."

Oh fuck! She thinks this is a date!? I am so not ready for this!!

"Uh ... where'd you get the chair?"

I grin. This I can handle. "Follow me, I'll show you." Instinctively, from years of training on how to be a 'gentleman, ' I offer her my hand.

She takes it, and part of me is cringing inside. But I realize with that same numbing live-wire shock feeling, another part of me is just waking up, and it's rolling around in the feel of her hand in mine like a warm blanket on a cold morning.

I try to just keep breathing in and out, and lead her into her house. The light outside is still bright enough that she can instantly see how much work I've done.

"Oh! Wow! You got a lot done today." I've stripped all the lath and plaster from everywhere, even stripping the bathroom walls. The only things between us and the rear outer wall of the house are the studs, electrical lines, ducts, and copper pipes. I even managed to sweep it all up into a pile, ready to take it outside to the trash pile.

I nod, but lead her to the ladder, "Up here. Ladies first."

I steady the ladder as she climbs, but after a few rungs, I realize my folly and shield my eyes. Oh fucking hell! That ass! Mmmmmm! I am so fucked.

When I look back up, she's grinning down at me, and says, "You're done up here too?"

I nod, climbing up after her. When I'm up to the top, she offers her hand and steadies me as I stand. My mind immediately flashes to our meeting on the road yesterday when she did the same thing, only this time, when I look at her hand, it's much cleaner—did she do that for me? I'm royally fucked.

"Follow me," I say, leading her around to the landing where the stairs used to be, and off to the other side of the upstairs area. I stop before a tiny area of boxes and an old steamer trunk. "I think this wall wasn't always a wall. I think when whoever did the last remodel, they just walled in the storage closet without taking this stuff out—including the rocking chair."

"Wow," Alex gasps.

"I didn't open anything, I figured you would want to go through it, but I did dust off the boxes and the trunk, cause I thought you might want to look now."

Alex turned to face me and grinned, "Good guess!"

She hurried over and ducked through the studs and into the storage closet area. I decide this is her scavenger hunt, I'll just watch, and crossing my arms on a high cross-stud, I lean forward watching her.

She goes instantly for the steamer trunk. Inside, she delicately pulls out an old wedding dress. Layers of taffeta and lace as well as the rather shapeless way it hangs makes me think it's very old. It has a wooden hanger, so Alex carefully hangs it and returns to the steamer. Next, she pulls out a photo album, and chokes a sob as she opens it.

"What is it?"

She points to an old black and white photo that was colored by hand of a baby with a bit of dark hair in a pinkish dress, "That's my mother."

"She was a cutie," I smile.

Alex's sob turns into a laugh, "Yeah. She was." She flips through a few more pages, then sets the album aside.

There are a few more photos and a pair of bronzed booties in the chest that Alex figures were also her mother's. She puts everything back as it was, including the dress, and moves on to one of the boxes.

"Old records—vinyl." Another box, "More vinyls."

Three boxes left, and Alex opens one revealing three stacks of cigar boxes wrapped with rubber bands to seal them.

"That's odd," she says.

"What?" I ask.

"My grandfather didn't smoke cigars. At least, he didn't from what I remember."

A thought suddenly hits me, and I cry, "Wait!"

She stops as she's about to pick up one of the boxes.

"Do you mind?" I say, indicating I want to step in there with her.

She shrugs, "No. Come on in. Me closet es su closet."

I laugh and step inside, getting down on my knees. I reach into my pocket and slip out a pocket knife. Alex gasps as I open the blade, but I carefully slip the blade under the rubber bands and cut them. I fold the knife and put it back in my pocket. Slowly, I lift the lid open on the box I just released from rubber bands.

Inside, neatly stacked and separated by pieces of cardboard cut to fit perfectly, are three stacks of baseball cards—old baseball cards. Right on top, I knew my suspicions were correct ... it was a yellow card with a red strip across the bottom. The red strip had white lettering that read "Big League Chewing Gum", and a picture of a familiar baseball player in Yankee pinstripes dominated the card. Across the top it read in black print, "George Herman (Babe) Ruth".

I gasped, I'd seen a complete set of this series in Cooperstown behind glass, but never actually had the chance to touch one. I reached a finger forward and stopped—these weren't mine.

Breathily, I order, "Look in the other two boxes."

Alex moves and pulls the cardboard back on the other two, "More cigar boxes ... so ... just more baseball card?"

I laugh, "Just? Alex, look at this card." I point at the Babe.

"Oh, Babe Ruth. Cool."

"Cool?! Alex, unless I'm mistaken, this is a 1933 Goudey Gum issue card, and these other two in these stacks as well. If it's even near a full set, which is ... I don't know, I think there are over 200 unique cards. But if it's even half that, it's worth thousands. Tens of thousands. Unless we just happened to open the one cigar box with rare cards in it, this collection is probably worth several hundred thousand dollars. Especially if they're all in this good of condition."

Alex was stunned, "Oh."

"Was your grandfather a baseball fan?"

"Uh ... yeah," her eyes glazed over. "He uh ... um ... Mom once told me that before she was born, he and grandma drove all night to St. Louis and he tried out for the Cardinals. I think he may have actually made it to a ... what do the call them? A tryout team?"

"Farm league?" I helped.

"Yeah. Now I remember. It was 1941, and I think he went on the road and played half a season—"

I cut her off, "Then Japan attacked Pearl Harbor."

"Yeah. Grandpa joined the Army on December 9th. He was so proud of that." Alex was crying, "Now that I think about it, I think maybe he used his pride in serving to cover showing how much he missed baseball."

I couldn't stop myself. I reached up and cupped her chin in my right hand, wiping her tears with my thumb. I didn't say anything.

"He bought me my first baseball mitt," she sobbed. "He taught me to catch."

I quit fighting and just pulled her into my chest, rubbing her back, quietly letting her cry into my t-shirt. "Shhhh. It's okay. He sounds like a very good man."

For several moments, Alex sobbed. Then she stopped, sniffed, and pulled away, red with embarrassment.

"Oh god! I'm sorry."

"Don't be!" I said. "You almost had me crying with you. You know us guys, dogs and baseball always get us right here." I thumped my chest with a grin.

Alex laughed, wiping her face carefully, mindful the eye makeup that was drawing me into those beautiful pools of jade set between her cute little nose.

"Listen," I said, "You can't leave these here tonight. We need to get them back to your place, and then you need to get them into a safe deposit box or a safe ... as soon as possible."

"Okay," she said, glancing around. "What then?"

"Well, I don't know exactly. But I know enough to explain what I know. We've got a long drive back to town anyway, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, I'm hungry ... how about you?" if she thinks it's a date, we might as well make it a date. I'm tired of fighting it right now. If I'm fucked, I might as well enjoy it.

Alex smiled, "Starving."

"Okay. You look too good in that dress to get it all dirty carrying dusty boxes, so just head back down and I'll carry them down, okay?"

Alex nodded and squeezed past me. I couldn't help but enjoy her proximity, and when I caught her now-familiar fruity-tart scent, I almost groaned.

I stripped off my t-shirt to keep it clean, shoving it in my back pocket so it was hanging out, but secure. Then I refolded the boxes closed and stacked them, carrying them to the ladder. "Hold the ladder," I called down.

"Got it," Alex called.

Slowly, one careful step at a time, I brought all three boxes down. I could feel Alex staring at my bare chest, and couldn't help myself from flexing my pecks and core muscles. I thought I heard her breath hitch, and grinned.

Alex popped the trunk and I put the boxes in my car. I went over to the trash pile and recovered two old cinder blocks, putting them in as well so the boxes wouldn't shift around as the car moved.

"Give me one minute to wash up, okay?"

Alex nodded, her eyes darting up to mine when I spoke. I grinned at her, knowing I'd caught her staring at my chest.

Alexis

Fuck! I'm so wet right now! I wonder if he has any idea what effect he's having on me. I know he just caught me staring at his chest. He's chiseled like a fucking statue. He seems so comfortable with his body though. He probably thinks I'm just some love-struck teenager—a comely one at that!

JJ's back and it's only now that I notice the logo on his t-shirt. Oh fucking hell! How appropriate! His blue t-shirt is stretched wide by his shoulders and big chest emblazoned with a shield-stylized red and yellow Superman S emblem. That's who he looks like—fucking Superman. All dark hair, muscular build, and dreamy eyes.

Except Superman was just a farm boy, right? JJ is much too ... refined. I don't know what it is ... he's ... something's off. The way he walks, the way he holds himself. I just know he's ... cultured. I wonder briefly if he grew up in Europe or something.

All those thoughts fly compound in my head when he holds open the passenger door for me and offers me a hand to steady myself as I lower into the car, careful to keep my legs close, as this dress Cat chose stops just above my knees.

He pushes the door closed firmly, but doesn't slam it, and walks confidently around to his own door, pulling something out of his pocket. He slides into the seat and has his iPod in his hand. He stops when he see's mine already attached to his tape-converter.

I think I see him frowning slightly, but he smiles at me and says, "Your music, then."

He starts the car, and Bowling for Soup is in the midst of pelting out "High School Never Ends." JJ laughs, "So true."

I laugh nervously, knowing exactly what he means.

I decide I'm too hungry to delay the drive, so I instruct him how to hit 190 and then a left on 59 and we're almost in Moscow when he's pretty much finished explaining everything I need to do to set up a baseball card auction and appraisal. When I ask him how he knows all this, he just vaguely says, "I knew someone who collected baseball memorabilia."

"You?"

He laughs, "No. I wanted only wanted to play until I was old enough to realize I wasn't any good."

"Turn here, there," I point to the old motel.

"You live in a motel?"

"They're remodeled into apartments. I live here with Cat."

"You have a cat?"

I snicker, "She's pretty vicious when she wants to be, claws and all, but no ... Cat's short for Catherine."

He laughs, "Oh."

"Right there, this door works."

I start to open my door, but he puts his hand lightly on my arm. He gets out, walks around the car, and opens my door, again offering me a hand ... okay, this is different. Good different, though.

He removes his t-shirt again and lifts the boxes into his arms, "Lead the way."

I can't help but feel a different kind of hunger, lower than my stomach. "Uh ... right."

I open the door to my apartment and spy Cat still studying on the couch, quickly hissing, "Don't say a fucking word!" Woah! Where did that come from?!

I can see Cat's face echoing the same sentiment.

JJ carefully follows me in, his arms full and navigating the doorway awkwardly. "Where do you want them?"

Cat can't help herself, "Yum."

Ignoring her, blushing, and angry, I say, "This way, we'll put them in my closet for now." Then I realize—my closet is in my room! I dart down the hallway and start gathering the discarded towels, black underwear, and other unsightly items, just barely getting them into the hamper before he enters.

He sets the boxes down in the closet and pushes them back into the darkest corner. For some reason, I know I can trust him with the knowledge that they're here. But I will take them to my bank in West Livingston tomorrow and get a safe deposit box. I'll take his advice and take some pictures of a few, and go to a comic book or card shop and find some of the plastic cases he was talking about to store a few samples. Then I can start trying to figure out how to get them appraised.

JJ said that was the first step in figuring out how to sell them. Sets and rare cards usually advertised and then sold at auction, semi-rares and highly incomplete sets usually get sold online, and then the rest are usually sold to a card shop for a pittance—but even a pittance could be a few thousand dollars when you're talking about old cards.

Once he's out of the closet, JJ pulls on his t-shirt again and looks around. He spots a picture and asks, "Your mom?"