TM: Let’s do it in the dugout. I’m about to go run.

M: Do you like to run?

TM: No, I hate it.

M: Hah.

TM: I mean, I don’t hate it hate it, but I don’t like it.

M: That’ll be the first question. <goes up the stairs>

TM: <opens the door and sticks his head in, when I’m about halfway up the first flight of stairs> Molly! Give me about 15 or 20 minutes, okay? Fifteen.

M: Yeah, okay. I’ll think of some hard-core questions.

TM: <grins> Hard-core, huh?

Fifteen minutes later, I head down to the dugout with a list of very generic feel-good questions that are appropriate for the website. The grounds crew is watering down the infield, and TM is running the warning track. Shirtless. And I think, Please don’t let him come over here shirtless, because, damn, I’m only human, and he is built like a Greek god. Of course, a small part of me would dearly love for him to come over shirtless. Alas, he does not. He finishes running and makes his way to the dugout, stopping to put a shirt on along the way. He is wearing mirrored sunglasses. He sits down next to me, not very close, which is good for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which is that he is all hot and sweaty because it’s 87 degrees and he’s just been running.

 

M: So I don’t really have any hard-core questions. I just got these from a Q&A our web site guy did earlier.

TM: Okay. What kind of questions are these?

M: Nothing exciting. Just your basic feel-good stuff. Do you want to see them?

TM: No, just go ahead. I’ll answer whatever. As long as you keep sitting just like that.

M: Why, what am I showing off?

TM: No, nothing, you’re fine.

M: I’m wearing a tank top underneath. I figured you’d be looking.

TM: Yeah. A tank top?

M: Well, I tried it without, but, I don’t know. ... Okay, this is weird. You’re wearing sunglasses, and I can’t tell where you’re looking.

TM: Right now I’m looking at your boobs. And now I’m looking at your face. And now your hair.

He grins, and then he pushes his sunglasses back so I can see his eyes.

 

We do the interview, which I already mostly covered in a different entry, except:
M: Best Major League stadium?

TM: I don’t know. I don’t really pay attention. What do you think?

M: Well, I spent three years in Houston, so I’m partial to Minute Maid Park, but I don’t think it’s the best. ... I like Camden Yards. And PNC Park.

[Backup utility guy] comes walking across the field. He must live in the ballpark apartments beyond center field. TM yells, “Hey, [Nickname], what’s the best Major League stadium?” I think he was only doing it to legitimize the fact that the two of us were sitting there in the dugout and nobody else was there, but it’s not like we were even doing anything. But I thought it was unfortunate because [backup utility guy] has never sniffed the big leagues, and never will, and he smiles a little and says as much – "I don’t know – I’ve never been," and then goes into the clubhouse.

TM: Can I say Busch Stadium?

M: You can say whatever you want.

TM: I guess that’s my favorite, but I don’t know about the best.

M: I don’t think Busch Stadium’s the best, but ... (shrugs)

TM: Put Turner Field, the new one in Atlanta, for the best one.

M: Which of your teammates would you least like to face with the game on the line?

TM: (matter-of-factly) There’s really nobody.

M: Hah. "There’s really nobody."

TM: Well, there’s not. I guess you can’t put that. 

The big league broadcast team is in town to conduct interviews to air back in St. Louis. They set up at the far end of the dugout, on the warning track, and start grabbing guys for interviews. Up first is Coach C, who talks for 45 minutes because he is smitten with the pretty blonde interviewer. (Ha...the next day, he asks if she is coming back – no – and then says that she might not really have known her stuff but that doesn’t matter.)

 

I go down and check in, see how they’re doing. As soon as I step into the dugout, The Magnificence is there.

TM: She’s moving in on your territory.

M: What?

TM: I saw her eyeing me.

M: Oh, really?

TM: Yeah. I think you should kick her ass.

M: Mm, no.

TM: What, you don’t care?

M: Well, she’s from St. Louis. She won’t be here.

TM: But she’s here now. 

M: Yeah, but she’s working. 

TM: I still think you should kick her ass.

M: No. I’m a nice person.

TM: I bet you could, though.

M: Well, sure, I probably could, but I wouldn’t.

TM: I know. ... I bet you could kick my ass.

M: Hah. You’d let me.

TM: Yeah, I would let you...and I’d probably like it.

M: I bet you would.

TM: Okay, well, we've gotta go hit now.

He smacks me on the back and goes to hit. I go over and talk to the crew. They are interviewing [Future Star]. I am listening, because I like to listen in, and because I like to hear what kind of questions other people ask, and also because I am a very nosy person at heart. From over on the field, I hear someone calling my name, and I turn around, and it’s TM, who has walked out past third base and is calling me. I look over at him, and he inclines his head toward [Interviewer] and mouths "kick her ass." I shake my head; he grins and goes back to hitting. He keeps looking over, though, and laughing. 

[Infielder] moseys over; he knows [Interviewer] from St. Louis. She has not mentioned that she needs to talk to him at all, but he asks why they are here, and she says, "Well, [Infielder], to talk to you, of course!" Eventually, they do talk to him, and he fidgets and plays with his hands (he tapes two or three fingers; it looks random but I’m sure there must be something to it), which are small but utterly fascinating. [Infielder] gets a whipped cream pie in his face from [Big Leaguer], who was nice enough to not make it shaving cream and to bring [Infielder] a towel as well. I didn’t see it coming, and apparently neither did he, which is slightly surprising, since he usually seems hyper-aware of what’s going on around him. [Infielder] says it is the first time he has been pied.

 

BP ends. I ask if the STL folks need anything else. [Interviewer] says they just need the manager. I go get him, but as he walks out, [Interviewer] exclaims that they’ve just got to have [Big Leaguer]; he said he would talk to them but then never came back after BP. I decide to make an attempt to do my job and head toward the clubhouse to see if I can find him. I don’t really want to go in the clubhouse, not because I don’t want to see these guys naked but because I don’t want to bother anyone, which I feel like I’m doing. And then I see that TM is sitting over in the nook outside the clubhouse, so I postpone my search and head down there to talk to him. He has a newspaper and is apparently amusing himself with the comics and the crossword puzzle. He gives me the once-over as I walk up, and it’s weird talking to him like this, because he’s looking up at me and I’m standing over him. But I can’t exactly sit down opposite him and chat, especially today, since I am wearing the skirt I wore that got my cherry popped. I am also wearing a shirt that is fairly ... close-fitting.

TM: Are you cold?

M: ...Uh...no...?

TM: Is it cold down here?

M: <puts two and two together, finally, aided by the fact that he is staring fixedly at my chest> Oh. OH. Now I have to stand back here with my arms crossed.

TM: No, you don’t, you have to come back here and talk to me.

M: Can you do me a favor?

TM: A favor? What is it?

M: Can you go ask [Big Leaguer] if he can come do an interview?

TM: <mutters something that I can’t hear, which makes me lean over toward him, which makes his eyes widen appreciatively, which makes me stand up again>

M: What?

TM: I said... <mutters something, again>

M: You’re talking really low, and I can’t hear you. Can you speak up?

TM: No. I’m going to keep talking low. You need to lean over again so you can hear me.

God help me, I do it. He fastens his eyes on my chest, and I know it’s wrong, but it’s nice to be noticed, I tell you, and he’s a Major League ballplayer, dammit, and he likes me. Me! I know it doesn’t mean anything, but, you know, there’s no harm in flirting, and it makes us both happy.

TM: If I get [Big Leaguer] for you, you’re going to owe me a favor. Why can’t you just go in there and get him?

M: Well, because you’re all naked in there.

TM: All right, I’ll get him. But you owe me.

M: What do I owe you? 

TM: <smiles a little> Maybe you could stretch or something?

M: <I do> Look, Fox is here, and I’m stressed and you’re getting me all worked up [which I am enjoying]. You’re gonna get me fired.

TM: For getting worked up?

M: Well, no, but...

TM: Here, look what you’re doing to me... <he moves the newspaper away from his lap and, oh. OH. It's ... magnificent.>

M: Oh. Ah. Heh. ... There’s nothing I can do about that. <I suppose, actually there’s a lot I could do, but...> Just go back to your crossword puzzle. And, uh, I’m gonna head back out there. ... So you’re gonna get [Big Leaguer]?

TM: I can’t go in there like this!

M: No, I know. In a few minutes.

TM: Will you be out there still?

M: Yeah.

TM: I’ll get him.

M: Thank you.

I go back out. Manager, smitten with either the bright lights and camera or with [Interviewer] (probably the bright lights), is STILL talking, which is more than he has said to me in two months. I would not care about this normally, except that TM has apparently done what I asked, because [Big Leaguer] has come out to the dugout and is standing in the doorway to the tunnel watching. He watches and waits, and Manager drones on. And [Big Leaguer] goes back in. When Manager FINALLY shuts up, he asks it they are done, or if they need anyone else. "Well," says [Interviewer], "We actually still were trying to get [Big Leaguer]." Manager shoots me a look and says, "That’s her job." Since I have already asked TM, I do go into the clubhouse and look around, but [Big Leaguer] is not in there. He is getting a massage in the training room, I find out later, but this does not help me. I walk out of the clubhouse and head toward the other entrance, which is by the training room, to see if he's over there. 

 

But, TM is still sitting there with his newspaper. I ask if he knows where [Big Leaguer] is, because I will go get him, but I can't find him. "I don't know why you don't want to go in there," grumbles TM. "It’s not anything you haven't seen before." (I always wanted NSG to say that to me, and he never did, and TM is rapidly moving up on my list of favorite people in the world.) TM sticks his head in the door and yells, "Hey, where's [Big Leaguer]?" [Big Leaguer] happens to be walking by at that very moment, and seems (rightfully) slightly annoyed as he says, "I was already out there three times – they'll just have to wait." Then he catches sight of me beyond the door, and starts to say something directed at [Interviewer], but TM stops him and says, "It's not [Interviewer]; it's Molly." I don’t know if [Big Leaguer] has any idea who I am, because he only recently got here and I haven't introduced myself, but he calms down and says, "Oh. I’ll be right out, Molly." And he is, although he is not wearing any Redbirds gear at all. Hah. He waits for me to accompany him out to the field; I do and apologize for bothering him. He shrugs and says it’s part of the job and goes out to do the interview.

 

The damn camera guy is playing in the clubhouse where he is not supposed to be. "[Future Star] showed me his cup!" he says. "This is great!" 

I again encounter TM in the dugout. We have a new player to photograph and we can re-take [Infielder]’s headshot, if that’s what he wants. He does want. He produces a very fake smile (takes one to know one) and talks through his teeth to the sports medicine intern when she asks if he is going to smile pretty. It’s funny. He approves of the photo. BP ends, and there is a reporter still waiting to talk to our esteemed manager, so I sit around and "supervise," mainly because I don’t really want to go upstairs. And then TM comes out of the clubhouse and back into the dugout. I happen to be sitting right by the box of training/first aid gear, which he is now making a beeline for.

TM: What are you still doing out here?

M: Waiting for the media to leave.

TM: Oh, that sounds like fun.

M: Yeah. So how was the first pitch yesterday?

TM: It wasn’t bad at all.

M: S showed me the picture.

TM: Was it bad?

M: No, it was cute.

TM: Thanks. (He’s rummaging around in the box of stuff.)

He can’t find what he needs and goes back inside. I wait a while longer, and finally the media guy leaves. Walking back upstairs, I go past the clubhouse, and the little nook outside the weight room, which is another choice spot for cell phone service. And there’s TM. He says something about the media guy, and we make small talk as he looks down my shirt, which is the little yellow crossover tank top that NSG liked so much back in May of ’02. Clearly, it’s having a similar effect here. "Why are you all dressed up, looking sexy like that?" TM asks. His eyes are fixated on my chest, with no sign of coming back up to my face any time soon. 

I head down to the dugout for BP, because I need to ask [Infielder] something. I am sitting in the dugout as the players head off the field, and I’m looking for him, so I don’t notice TM, until he is stopped in front of me at the top of the dugout steps and pointing at me while talking to [Infielder]. "Her," TM says. "You need to talk to her."

I’m walking through the weight room after going to the clubhouse for something, and, oh, here comes a new guy. Now, because I am a baseball geek, and because I did the media guide, I know that this new guy is a former big leaguer, who has been assigned to Memphis to get game action because he didn’t in spring training. And he wasn’t around for the exhibition games, was still down in Florida. So I see him, and he looks at me, curious, I suppose, since I’m a girl, in the clubhouse. And I smile, a little, and figure he’ll either ignore me, or nod, like the rest of them do. But no! He stops, introduces himself, shakes my hand, and I can tell he likes the ladies, so I smile at him. He asks what I do, and I tell him. He says, “Oh, well, nobody will want to talk to me.” I say I could interview him, if he wanted. He says that’s okay, so I smile again and head on my way. 

 

Meanwhile, the marketing guy decides he is tired of asking the players to catch first pitches, because the Redbirds have 16 million every game, and the players can’t be bothered. So. He determines that S will start to do the asking instead. S works in the sales department and is blonde and hot with big boobs and a great body. (I really like her a lot, which is good, because otherwise I would have to hate her, for all those reasons I just mentioned.) Anyway, S is game to go down and ask, because all the hunky men are hot, even though she is married. S likes the former big leaguer, who is built like a Greek god so let's just call him The Magnificence (TM). 

"Um, well, he’s tall," she says. "And he winked at me." He is nice and friendly and flirty, which is fun, okay, sure, but he has blue eyes. Great blue eyes, actually, but still blue and therefore not my type. So this is fine.

I had an interview in Memphis, with the Triple-A baseball team there, for their open media relations coordinator position. They offered me the job immediately after the interview. I accepted it. And cried in the office. Sigh. I email NSG to tell him I was leaving Houston, just for kicks, because I still haven't heard from him. I ... I did save the email I sent him but it is horribly cringey and I am not going to reproduce it. 

And then he writes back! I was also going to put his reply here but it feels private, which is kind of weird if you think about it because of everything else I've already said. Anyway, he finally calls me.

NSG: Molly. This is NSG.

M: <hyperventilating> Hey! ... How are you?

NSG: Good, I’m good. I was just...I was out doing errands, and I saw that you had called. So, did you decide about the Memphis thing? Did you take it?

M: I did, yeah.

NSG: Yeah? Are you excited?

M: Oh, I don’t know. I mean...

NSG: What did [Roommate] think?

M: She thought...I mean, she thinks it’s good for me to get back in baseball, but she doesn’t want me to leave.

NSG: Yeah, that’s tough.

M: Yeah. No one, no one that I asked would really tell me if they thought I should take it or not. Which is understandable, but... [Roommate], I think she thought I should take it.

NSG: I think it’ll be good for you. I mean, it’s got to be better than what you’re doing now.

M: Yeah, it’s just...I don’t know anymore.

NSG: I’ve never lived in Memphis, but I think it’s a good place to be. My mother grew up two hours from there. And you could go visit Tennessee-Martin when you get bored!

M: How far is that?

NSG: Martin? It’s about, oh, two and a half hours. Hah. But Memphis, it’s close to a lot of places, too.

M: And Graceland’s there!

NSG: Hah. Yeah. I wasn’t talking about Graceland.

M: I know ... but I’ve never been there.

NSG: I mean, it’s centrally located. Lots of interstates, and it’s a short flight to Houston. It’s a long way to Knoxville, though.

M: But it’s I-40.

NSG: Yeah it is. I guess I’ve gotten used to driving everywhere from Nashville, because I’ve done it so much. It’s not a bad drive to Knoxville from there, because you have the mountains. I heard the Pyramid’s really nice out there.

M: I saw it from the plane...

NSG: And Coach Calipari there. The football team’s not that good. Just don’t start cheering for Memphis.

M: I won’t.

NSG: I mean, I guess I’ve got it in for them from the Tennessee standpoint, and the Louisville standpoint, so... They have a nice ballpark, don’t they, in Memphis?

M: Yeah, it’s real nice, but they were just, they thought it was so great, and –

NSG: It’s not better than Round Rock, is it?

M: It’s right up there, with Round Rock, and the new one they built in Durham.

NSG: Really?

M: Yeah, but you know, they thought it was just the best thing ever, and it’s ... not.

NSG: Well, that’s all they know.

M: I know. It was just weird, because I’ve seen more than that.

NSG: So what are you going to be doing, in addition to PR? Marketing, sales?

M: Not really, from what they said. Because they’ve got the non-profit angle, and they do a golf tournament, and there’s a speaker’s bureau, so...

NSG: Oh, okay. ... So how long were you in Knoxville?

M: Just the weekend. I flew in Friday night and left Sunday.

NSG: Had you ever been there before?

M: No. So we had a lot of fun, went to the stadium, my mom took a lot of stupid pictures of me.

NSG: <laughs> Good. Did you walk around Neyland, did you see how it’s all just pieced together? I mean, that place is old. My father used to have classes there, back in the 1930’s. Where were you sitting?

NSG: Um, we were in the lower section, in the corner... we had a view of the scoreboard. We were across from the Dook band, actually.

NSG: You can’t get a bad seat there. It’s not like Texas where if you’re in the visitor’s section, you’re 10 miles away from the field.

M: I think my mom got more of a kick out of it than I did. She was like, ‘It’s just a sea of orange!’

NSG: <chuckles> Yeah, it is. I wish you had gone to a more exciting game. I couldn’t believe it when they beat Miami the next week. I think it was tough, because they had just come off the Alabama game, and that rivalry.

M: That was a good game.

NSG: Yeah, it was. I don’t think I’m going to make it to a game this year.

M: Really?

NSG: Well, unless we go to the Kentucky game. ... I’ve been in Houston about a week and a half now. I think that’s the first time I’ve been back since July. I came back for an interview, and then I went [home], and then I looked up one day and went, shit, it’s fall! ... So, yeah, I’ve been in Houston for a while. I saw K...when did I see K...on Sunday. And I went to Bubba’s. The last two weekends, actually. That was weird. They said Houston has the largest Vols club outside of the state, and Atlanta. They’ve got a lot in Atlanta.

M: So, I mean, if you’re here, can we go to lunch or something? Or are you...

NSG: ...being anti-social? No, we can go to lunch. When do you want to go?

M: I can make time anytime.

NSG: So noon at the Collina’s on Beechnut.

M: I’ll be there.

NSG: Okay. So the Heels play the Blue Devils this weekend? The Tar Heels should be able to win that one.

M: I don’t know, though. I’m kind of worried.

NSG: Dook hasn’t won since, what, 1989?

M: Something like that. And then the basketball team opens the season that night, so I think we’re gonna go to that.

NSG: Yeah, I bet you’re all excited about that, with Little Dean.

M: Yeah, I am. I know you are too.

NSG: Hah. I think I’m taking another year off from that. And you’re going home for the whole week?

M: No, I’m coming home on Monday. [Roommate] and I were gonna do Thanksgiving in the Hill Country, but then that fell through. I think we’re going to have Thanksgiving at Tim’s house now. And then I’m going home at Christmas.

NSG: How is Tim doing? He’s still with the Texans?

M: Yeah, he is. I think he’s doing good.

NSG: Is he still dating what’s-her-name?

M: Heh.

NSG: Sorry, I can’t remember.

M: Yeah, he’s still dating what’s-her-name. They went to the Texans Halloween party as...who was it...Don King and a boxer.

NSG: <chuckles> Oh Gawd. So K said [Roommate] went to Italy?

M: She did, yeah.

NSG: Did she go alone, or...?

M: She got a tour group. There were a couple of older couples on the tour, and they kind of adopted her, so she had fun. She took a lot of pictures.

NSG: She had fun, though? That’s good.

M: Yeah...We went up to Austin over the weekend, for the Tech game.

NSG: That was a good game.

M: Yeah, we sat in the student section.

NSG: The Texas student section?

M: Yeah, and I was the one wearing red. [Roommate]'s there in white, and then there I am in red, and I don’t even have any connections. But they were nice, they didn’t yell at us or anything.

NSG: I thought that was gonna be a blowout.

M: We were listening to the pre-game, and that’s what everybody thought. They were saying it was gonna be 56-21 or something. But I really thought they should’ve gone for it at the end instead of kicking the field goal. ... But what do I know?

NSG: All right, so I’ll see you at lunch on Thursday, then?

M: Yes.

NSG: Just you, though. Don’t bring anyone.

M: Who would I bring?

NSG: I don’t know. Boys. ... And, you know, call me if anything comes up. I don’t really have a lot going on, so...

M: Okay.

NSG: All right, kiddo. Well, stay out of trouble.

M: <laughs> You too.

NSG: Bye.

M: Bye.

[Roommate] and I are chatting, after work, and I say I want to go to the Dixie Chicks concert next week. She says she could probably help me buy a ticket, if I wanted. I say no, because I don’t really want to go alone, and I was hoping that my friend who had tickets would end up with an extra. And then things got interesting.

R: I wonder if NSG still has his tickets. ... He’s in Houston right now, you know.

M: Oh.

R: He e-mailed me yesterday. He’s been hanging out with K.

M: Ohhh...

R: Yeah.

M: What’s he been doing with K?

R: I don’t know. It’s interesting, though, because she doesn’t usually leave real early, and especially this week, with the All-Star stuff going on, but, yeah, 6:00 and she’s out the door. ... He’s probably hanging out with [his nieces], too. [Ticket office guy]'s pissed because NSG never e-mailed him back. 

M: Yeah, what’s going on with him? I mean, I don’t see why he can’t just send an e-mail or something, and I mean, I thought we were pretty good friends, and... 

R: Did you ever e-mail him? Did he respond? 

M: I sent him one, and he wrote back, very general, very generic, and then a couple weeks later, I sent him another one saying, you know, I’d like to e-mail you once in a while, but not if it’ll bother you, and he didn’t respond, so I guess that’s my answer. 

R: Heh. I think K’s the only one who knows what the deal is. 

M: You know what? I don’t even need that. If he wants to tell us, well, great, but I just need a mass e-mail, or something, that just says, "Hey, here’s what’s going on..." 

R: Yeah, I don’t really get it, either, why he can’t talk to us. 

M: What would you do if I told you something you didn’t want to hear? 

R: Uh... Like what? I don’t know. Would it make me nervous? 

M: No, not nervous...it shouldn’t make you nervous...it might make you question my moral character. 

R: <nervous laugh> You have to tell me, now. Now I want to know. 

M: But I don’t know how you’ll react. ... I haven’t told you for a year.

R: But you told me a year ago?

M: No, it happened a year ago.

R: ... Is it about NSG? 

M: Yes... 

R: It’s about NSG, and it might make me question your moral character? ... Did you sleep at his house? Kiss him? 

M: Um, well, yes...and yes. 

R: Oh. Was there more? 

M: Yes. 

R: Did it only happen once? 

M: Well, no. 

R: When was it? Was it when I was on the road? 

M: No, it was...do you remember that night, last June, that I didn’t come home? 

R: I think so. That seems so long ago. Did anything else happen since then? 

M: No. We just had several awkward and uncomfortable conversations. 

R: So that’s why it bothers you so much [that he won’t talk to you]. 

M: Heh. Yeah. 

R: Well, I mean, it didn’t mean anything, right? Was there anything meaningful? 

M: It meant more to me than it did to him, but we knew that. ... And you know how I can’t get over things, and he would never say, you know, that he didn’t want anything. He would just say that he wasn’t ready for a relationship, or that he didn’t know what was going to happen. At first, I didn’t really want to tell you, because I didn’t know how you’d react, and he said, "Don’t tell [Roommate]"— 

R: Well, YEAH. 

M: But then later, I did kind of want to tell you, like when I got really upset when he started dating every single woman in Houston except me. Then he asked me if I’d told you, and I said no, and then I asked him why he hadn’t told you, since you were best friends and all. He said it was a work thing, and he didn’t want to tell you because he had to work with you, but since we were roommates, then I should tell you. 

R: He said you should tell me? 

M: Not exactly. Just that it was the sort of thing that roommates should tell each other. 

R: You could’ve told me earlier this year, when he and I weren’t so close anymore. Because he got closer to [Friend], and then you would go chat with him, and I wondered why he could have close, personal conversations with you. 

M: <shrugs> Well... I just figured that I could tell you now, since you don’t work together anymore. 

R: And I might never see him again.  

M: That’s also why I don’t really like hearing everybody talk about him and K. 

R: I don’t think they’re like that. I’ve never thought that. 

M: Well, I didn’t think so, either, but everybody else does, and I don’t trust myself in that regard. But, I mean, I didn’t think there was anything between them from the beginning. When we all went out, after the 2001 season, someone asked NSG if he and K had hooked up, and I was just shocked, because it had never occurred to me. 

R: What did he say? Did he say they’d done it? 

M: No. ... It always seemed to me like they were better suited to be best friends, but like I said, I don’t trust myself. 

R: No, that’s what I think, too. And the two of them, they’re both too independent or something. I don’t know. ... So...did he make all the advances, or was it you, too? 

M: Do you really think I would make an advance? 

R: Well, I didn’t know, I mean, if you just went along with it... 

M: It all started that night that Miami played for the national championship, and you were in Orlando. And we were drinking, and [Friend's GF] said, "NSG’s drunk, and he can’t drive home," so then... 

R: The night he slept here?? 

M: Yeah. We got home, and I was like, "You can sleep on the couch," and he said, "Come up here with me," so I did, and then we went back to my bed. Then we went to lunch and talked about it, because I was freaking out, and he said, "You know, I’ve been attracted to you since [ex] and I broke up." 

R: Oh, wow. 

M: But then he was upset, and he thought it was weird, because he was older, and I used to work for him. That bothered him. And then we talked about it, and we kind of got back to where we were, and it was okay, and it wasn’t awkward, but then Kristen came, in May, and she knew, and he said some things, and then, yeah. 

R: But it never went all the way, right? 

M: ... 

R: Oh. Ohh! <claps her hand over her mouth> It wasn’t on my couch, was it? 

M: No. <giggles> I knew you’d ask that. It wasn’t. 

R: I’d be like, "Eww." <makes a face> So, Kristen, and Lynsey, and me [know]. And NSG. 

M: Oh, and he told B. 

R: I always wondered about that. 

M: About what? 

R: How he acted with B. Because she kissed him, too. 

M: Yeah...he said that didn’t mean anything. 

R: Well, thanks for telling me. 

M: Yeah. I can’t look at you now. 

R: We’ll watch a movie.

It was [New Guy]’s birthday. I make red velvet cake; we celebrate with that and dollar hot dogs. There's no word from NSG, until [future hookup K] comes to the press box just before the game and says that she just talked to "our friend." She says that he wanted to know what [VP] had said in the e-mail because he got all these messages from people who were worried about his well-being. And she told him that he had to expect that, because he left the way he did. K says he’s doing great, which is when her voice breaks. Well, not great, but he’s doing good. She says that he walked out with [coworker] at 12:30 a.m. Friday morning after the game and didn’t say a word about any of that to her.  

[Roommate] tells me a little more, namely that the fender-bender that NSG had on Tuesday really freaked him out. That, I guess, was a big factor in his decision, because he really couldn’t remember being in the left lane, there was so much else on his mind, and that really got to him.

 

H, who runs media dining, had just started (and by “just started” I mean at the beginning of this homestand) bringing NSG his own personal bowl of fruit. They would have it upstairs all ready for him when he went up. I thought it was funny; NSG liked it because he was "the boss." Then, Friday, they brought a bowl – and it was a nice bowl, too, some kind of metal and fairly large – of fruit, all artfully displayed, to the refrigerator in the press box. It was covered with plastic, and had a napkin on it that said "Mr. NSG’s." That night, S, the open-captioning lady, had stopped me and said it was there and it seemed kind of eerie, since he wasn’t there anymore. And I thought so too, but I couldn’t make myself do anything with it. I don’t know – it was like, if it was still there, waiting for him, then things might still turn out okay.

 

Anyway, the bowl of fruit is still there after Saturday’s game, so I pull it out and start eating it. [Roommate] looks at me a little funny, like I shouldn’t disturb it (or maybe I’m just projecting) and says, "You’re eating NSG’s fruit?"

Well, yeah, I say – he’s not going to.

Then [VP] walks by, smiles benignly, and says, "Fruit salad, huh?"

Yeah.

Driving to work, I think: What if that wasn’t a memo NSG was writing – what if it was a letter of resignation? Then I think, no, it wasn’t – he wouldn’t do that, not like this. 

Except, he did. 

 

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

For the first time in my life, a baseball field is the last place I want to be. 

 

 

I had to work upstairs. I set up the computer and was standing behind it, on the lower level of the press box, when NSG walked in. He was talking to somebody else and didn’t say anything to me, and then he grabbed a Diet Coke and left. He didn’t come back before gametime. I went downstairs to get a Coke or something in the sixth inning. And NSG was there, but he was sitting on the back row, and he was staring off into space. So [Friend] was manning the computer, in addition to doing the post-game notes. After the game, I make it back to the press box just in time to see NSG pack up and leave. "Hi Molly," he says as he walks by. [New Guy] yells after him: "Are you going back to the office?" NSG answers in the affirmative but doesn’t stop walking. I ask [New Guy] if something happened, because obviously something’s wrong. He shrugs. 

Later, [Roommate] comes back from the clubhouse and says it was weird, because NSG missed the first part of the game, and then just sat on the back row. And [Friend] was stressed because he had to score the game. We all walk back up to the office, and NSG is in his office with the door shut. [Roommate] and I leave a few minutes later. [Coworker] says that she’s actually getting some work done; she’ll leave when "Stressy" leaves. He’s still in his office, typing away at something. 

"Oh, he’s writing a memo," [Roommate] says. 

"That can’t be good," I say.