Chapter 6

The Sunday phone calls from his erstwhile friends were hit and miss while Brock was on the road. Brock made sure they were misses this time.

His ill feelings were at least beneficial to something; he was batting close to .500 for the week and had hit more homers in the past seven days than he had in the previous month.

Brock put on a pleasant face when he was outside of his house. He was jovial with his teammates and courteous to the fans. But that was on the outside; no one could tell what was happening inside.

He even found a way to treat the media circus that surrounded the L.A. teams with respect – although barely.

From San Francisco, the team flew to Pittsburgh for three games with the Pirates and then to New York for four games with the Mets. Through it all, Brock's cell phone stayed off unless he needed to make a call – which was rare.

As the team arrived in New York on Thursday night, Brock logged on to check his e-mail and voice mail.

He was surprised to find so many. Jen, Susan, Mel and Tara had each left two or three voice messages for him. Chastity had called him several times but only left a message for him to contact her when he got the chance.

The e-mails were the same. Even Leslie had e-mailed him to see how he was doing.

To save time and effort, he sent out a blanket e-mail saying hello and that he was in New York. He expected to be home early Monday morning his time and that he would try to catch up to them in the next few weeks.

For his friends, Brock's silence was troublesome. He had always been available to them or at least returned their calls promptly if he had missed them.

Jen looked forward to their Sunday conversations because it gave her the chance to fill him in on her latest work. Although she was sure Brock wasn't the least bit interested in higher-level mathematics, he always pretended he was. He must have sat by the computer during their discussions because Brock almost always would ask the appropriate questions.

Mel liked being able to take a few minutes each Sunday to just relax. She was pushing herself too hard to succeed. She knew that and others had pointed it out to her. So Sunday afternoons were just for setting back and catching up with Brock. The conversations could be serious or silly. The pair could discuss current events or world history. Whatever direction they took, Mel felt refreshed and happier when it was over. But she'd noticed that during the last few conversations, she'd become increasing short when Brock would ask her a question she didn't want to answer.

Tara used the calls to check on Brock's well-being. He was single and lived alone. She knew he hated to cook and often would eat whatever could be picked up or fixed in the least amount of time. She was happy that Chastity had helped in that regard – and thrilled that the woman hadn't insisted that Brock give up his friendship with her and the others. But now that Brock was in L.A. – and Chastity was not – Tara worried even more. Especially now that Brock had not spoken to any of them in almost two weeks.

Susan's calls to Brock were different. She still hoped that someday they would be together but she was mature enough to know that it was unlikely. So she used the calls to maintain a spot in Brock's life. She hoped he knew he could count on her to come to his aid just like he had come to hers so many years before.

It wasn't until Susan called the rest of the group on Sunday that anyone started to get an inkling about why Brock might be avoiding them.

It started out as an innocent question from Mel – the chief interrogator.

"How was he acting when you saw him last month?" she asked Susan.

"Uh, I didn't make it to see him," Susan said. "I got tied up with something and had to cancel. What about when you and Jen saw him in Atlanta?"

"We cancelled, too," Mel said. "Jen had a project due and I really wasn't keen on driving down there for lunch."

Both women stopped talking.

"I think Tara decided not to visit him in Chicago either," Susan said.

Mel started to get a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"And Chastity got called back to practice instead of visiting in Seattle," she said. "I read that online this week. Do you have a number for Chastity?"

"No," Susan said. "I don't think any of us do."

"Fuck!" Mel swore. "All of us bailed on him in the last few weeks. I guess we showed him where he fits in our lives."

"I doubt it's that bad," Susan replied, although she wasn't sure. "He's just as busy as we are. He's out in L.A. and I'm sure he just got caught up on stuff. He might have been taking extra practice or something and that's why we missed him. We'll catch him this week and everything will be fine. You'll see."

"I hope so," Mel said.

But after she hung up from her calls to Jen and Tara, Melanie didn't believe that things would be fine the next time she talked to Brock.

The plane from New York landed at four a.m. local time in Los Angeles. It had been diverted by severe thunderstorms over the Midwest and wound up sitting on a tarmac in Minnesota for almost two hours while air traffic was rerouted.

Brock was tired and hungry but he went straight home and went to bed. He didn't turn on his cell phone or his computer and he slept until it was almost time to hit the ballpark the next afternoon.

Because she was closest, the task had fallen to Susan to drive up from San Diego to check on Brock. The girls were sure he hadn't fallen off the planet. The game Sunday night was televised nationally so all of them had at least seen that Brock was still alive.

Susan stationed herself among the groups that always waited outside the stadium entrance: children seeking a signature on a cap and adults trying to make money or make an assignation.

After games, the families and friends of players were stationed off to the side, away from the others. But before the games it was pretty much a free-for-all. Susan decided that behind a group of children was the best place to be.

Adults seeking autographs would push and jostle when a player approached. Females seeking to pick up a ballplayer would preen and posture. But children generally stood still with stars in their eyes as their heroes approached.

The few players who actually took the time to sign for the kids were greeted like conquering warriors by the kids and their parents.

Susan saw Brock's wide smile as he approached the group of kids. She was happy to see that he didn't offer much of any encouragement to the adult groups – just an eye roll and a shake of head toward the women.

As Brock stood and signed autographs and hats and T-shirts for the kids, Susan managed to get to the front. Brock wasn't in demand like a signature from Al Perez or Joaquin Betancourt.

"Hey," she said when she was off to his side behind the barrier that separated the players from the non-players.

She saw surprise in Brock's eyes when he recognized the voice.

"Hey," he replied as he took a cap from a young girl and affixed his name to the bill.

"You busy afterward?" Susan replied.

"That line is on the other side," Brock said in what he hoped was a joking manner.

"What I meant is, no one has heard from you in a while," she said.

Brock started to walk down the line toward the clubhouse entrance. The small group that sought his signature had dwindled.

"I've been busy," he said. "You know how that goes. I'm not sure I'll have time to see you later. Do you need a ticket for the game?"

Susan grasped his arm – drawing a security guard in their direction.

"It's OK, Ed," Brock said. "She's not here to do me harm."

The security guard smiled. Brock might be one of four players on the roster who actually knew he had a name.

"Harm remains to be seen," Susan said in a quiet voice. "Brock, what's going on?"

"A lot," he said. "I've got a movie star visiting my house every afternoon. Chastity and I called it quits. Oh, and I spent the night with Merie last week. After which she simply disappeared again. What's new with you?"

Susan's mouth dropped as she tried to take in the information. She wasn't sure where she should start.

She didn't get the chance to figure it out before Brock was heading down the ramp to the clubhouse entrance.

"Can you get me a ticket," Susan yelled.

"Pick it up at will-call just before game time," Brock yelled back.

Susan shook her head and glanced at the time. It was just before six o'clock in Atlanta and just before five p.m. in Nashville and Indianapolis. She should be able to contact everyone in short order.

"He did what!" Jen yelled.

"That's what he said," Susan replied evenly. "He said he spent the night with Meredith last week. He went inside before I could get details."

"What happened with Chastity?" Jen wondered.

"See previous answer," Susan replied. "Look Jen, he wasn't thrilled to see me and I think he was less thrilled to be ambushed like that. Hell, I thought a security guard was going to have me arrested when I grabbed his arm to keep him from running off."

"Well, find out more tonight," Jen insisted.

"I will if he'll tell me," Susan told her. "He wouldn't even commit to having a late supper with me. Hell, he might have plans with whatever movie star he was talking about."

Susan could tell Jen was not happy. Jen had inherited her Mother's penchant for deciding things for the group. It wasn't something that the rest of them particularly enjoyed.

"Call me tonight either way," Jen said.

"It will be after one a.m. your time when the game is done," Susan told her. "It will be another hour before I get to even see if he'll talk to me and it will probably be much later than that before I get any answers from him. How about I try to call you about this time tomorrow?"

"Fine," Jen said grudgingly. "I'll call the others."

"I saved you for last," Susan said in a voice that no one could construe as pleasant. "That way the decisions would already be made by the time it was your turn."

Jen was silent but she was quietly fuming.

"Sorry, Leslie," Susan replied. "Oh, sorry, Jen. I get you two confused when I talk to you on the phone. Anyway, I'll do what I can but I forgot my truth serum back in San Diego. You might just have to accept that Brock is going to be this way for a while. I think it's probably warranted by the way we've acted recently. Bye."

Susan hung up before Jen could formulate a reply.

Al Perez found Brock sitting in front a locker wearing only his sliding shorts and sanitary socks. Brock seemed to be miles away from Dodger Stadium.

It took him a moment to notice Al sitting beside him.

"What's up?" the veteran asked.

"Just trying figure out when I became a complete douche bag," Brock said with chagrin.

"Well, I haven't noticed any changes," Al replied.

"Gee, thanks," Brock returned.

"What I mean is that I haven't noticed you being a jerk," Al corrected. "Esmi hasn't mentioned it and I know she would. Believe me, she would mention it."

Brock saw Al smiling and rolling his eyes.

"I haven't been treating my friends very well," Brock told him.

He related the incidents with the girls and with Chastity in short order.

"It happens to all of us at one time or another," Al said gently. "Everywhere we go, half the people bow and scrape and kiss our feet. Somehow we get it into our heads that the other half should, too. And we get pissed off when they don't. The sad part is the second half is right and the group is usually comprised of our friends and family. You know, the people who know us best and won't put up with our crap.

"Esmi calls it ATLANTA syndrome."

Brock shrugged. He wondered if it had something to do with being traded to the Braves or something to do with the city.

"Acting Totally Like A Non-Thinking A-hole," Al said with a laugh.

Brock joined him.

"I guess I've been suffering from ATLANTA syndrome for the past couple of months then," he replied with a head shake.

"Ha!" Al said. "You caught it early. So it's curable. A couple of months is no problem."

He gestured around the clubhouse.

"Some of these clowns have been suffering from it for two or three decades," he said. "Mine lasted six months before Esmi got fed up with it and broke me of it."

Brock was surprised at the news. Al Perez was one of the most thoughtful guys he'd ever met. His wife, Esmeralda "Esmi" Perez kept him on a short leash. Brock was glad none of his friends treated him the way Esmi treated Al.

Al seemed to understand what Brock was thinking.

"When I made my first all-star team, about 10 years ago, I guess, I thought I was it," Al said. "I strutted around and made pretty much everyone miserable. Esmi seemed to know it was a phase. I mean, we grew up poor – real poor. I got some money in my pocket and I wanted to show everyone I wasn't poor any longer."

"That lasted through the offseason," Al continued. "Once we got back to Florida for Spring Training, Esmi let me have it. She told me that she wasn't about to marry a guy who acted like he owned the world and everything in it. She pointed out how I had treated my family and the few friends I had when I was living in a tenement in New York City with six family members. I don't know how long I would have acted that way if she hadn't."