Run to You (4 page)

Like a relationship with someone special?

“How’s my favorite White Sox fan?”

Greta watched her friend and the ballpark usher embrace. They spoke for a moment. April signaled Greta to follow her.

“Come on. We don’t have to sit way in the upper deck. This usher can sniff out the box seats, so we can sit up close to the action.”

The girls walked to a choice section near the White Sox dugout, only a few rows up.

“We can’t sit here…”

“My pleasure, ladies.” The usher, a kindly old gent about sixty-five, smiled at Greta. “You are April’s friend? Your name is…”

“Greta. It’s nice to meet you. These seats are ours?”

“These two seats, for you and April. April’s a regular. She’s a good fan, and good fans deserve the best.”

April nodded and smiled at the usher. “Thanks again, Elmer. You always come through.”

He tipped his hat, a black and white Sox cap. “Anytime, my dear. I’ll be back to check on you later. Enjoy the game.”

Greta looked around at the vast ballpark, at the crowds of fans finding their seats, at the big grassy field where the Sox players warmed up.

“How do you rate? These seats are fantastic.”

April settled in her seat. “Elmer’s such a nice guy. He usually works here, in the deluxe box seats. When a season ticket holder doesn’t show, he sneaks me into one of their seats.” She tucked her purse under her arm. “It’s not as cold here as in the upper deck. That’s a good thing. Opening Day, it was forty-five degrees, and I almost froze.”

This was Greta’s first major league baseball game, and she couldn’t believe how big everything was. She looked at the jumbo scoreboard, the moving screen, where the statistics of the White Sox and the Minnesota Twins were posted.

“How are the Twins? Are they good?”

“Yes, so far. They’re picked for first place this year. No one ever picks the Sox, but they look really good this year.”

Fans cheered as game time approached, and the lineups for both teams were announced. Then everyone stood for the National Anthem, sung by some local guy the girls never heard of.

“Some big shot is throwing out the first pitch,” said April. “I’m not sure who.”

A tall, muscular young man with long dark hair ambled to the pitcher’s mound.

“He looks familiar,” April commented.

Greta recognized him right away.

Fans cheered loudly as the big shot was introduced.

“Throwing out tonight’s first pitch, the star defenseman for your Chicago Ice Bandits! Olympic gold medal winner, Brandon Taylor!”

Brandon waved, acknowledging the crowd. His gold medal gleamed around his neck. He wore a White Sox home jersey with his name and his Ice Bandits number, 48, on the back. He wore black jeans, keeping to the black and white color scheme. The jeans fit tight around his long legs.

“Look who’s here! We get to see him again.”

Greta watched Brandon say something to the Sox catcher. Then Brandon wound up and threw the ball, low and inside.

“Not bad. Maybe he could play baseball too.” April applauded with the other fans.

Greta saw Brandon shake hands with the catcher, wave to the fans again, then walk to the box seats. She wondered where he’d sit. Maybe upstairs in the enclosed luxury boxes on this cool night, with the other important people, not in the lower deck with the regular fans.

Brandon walked through the crowd, surrounded by security. Greta couldn’t follow him, there were so many ushers and cops around him.

The game began. Greta watched the players, but sneaked a look around her, in the surrounding box seats, looking for the tall young man with the long dark hair. She wondered if he’d wear his Olympic medal as he sat and watched the game. Or maybe he just threw out that first ball and left the park.

She didn’t want to think that.

Before long, the Twins were leading 3-0, and in the top of the third, had the bases loaded. Greta did not follow baseball too closely, but she knew this was not the White Sox’ best game of the season. She became bored, and decided to take a walk around the huge stadium.

“I’m gonna get a hot dog. You want anything?” She asked April.

April was into the game, watching every move, and waved off her friend. “Go ahead.”

Greta rose from her seat, and looked around the park. She figured a lot of workers from Holy Family Hospital, April’s workplace, would be at the game. She knew one or two of April’s co-workers, and thought maybe she could run into one of them, have someone to talk to. Many fans just went to games to eat and drink anyway. Or to pick up a new date.

The nice usher approached her. “You’re with April. Did you give up on the game already?”

“I guess.”

He bent close to her, and spoke low. “Would you like to meet an Ice Bandits player?”

Greta stared at the usher.

“If you’d rather not, that’s okay…”

“No, no…I mean, yes! Yes! I’d love to meet him!”

The usher grinned. “He wants to meet you. He saw you in the stands, and he asked me to introduce you…”

She felt giddy and anxious, about to talk to this good-looking young hockey player. She thought she’d never see him again. And he wanted to talk to her!

Greta followed the usher to an area near the net, behind home, where a security guard and a few more ushers stood, near the Ice Bandits player, so no one would bother him during the game.

Her knees trembled as she walked down the stairs to his section.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name…”

“It’s Greta.” She and Brandon spoke at the same time. Again, like they did in the hospital.

“Hey, I thought you didn’t know her.”

Brandon flashed his big smile. “I met her in a hospital. I thought that was you.” He patted the empty seat next to him, and Greta sat down.

Greta smiled back at him. “I knew that was you. I recognized you. Even without your Ice Bandits uniform.”

“I do look different when I’m not wearing my uniform.” He winked, and she blushed.

“I didn’t mean it that way…”

“How about a beer?” Brandon waved to a vendor, who hustled over to his famous customer. The vendor quickly poured two cold ones for Brandon and his date.

His date? Well, it sure looked that way.

Greta opened her purse and reached for her wallet.

“What are you doing?” Brandon asked.

“I’m paying for my beer.”

Brandon laughed. “Come on! I can afford to buy you a beer!”

“I’m used to paying for my own.”

“This one’s on me, okay?” He smiled. “I signed a big contract. I think I can afford the price of a beer. Even at a ball game.” Brandon was impressed. Every other girl he met, including Terri, expected him to pay for beer and food, and buy her more things on top of that.

“Do you like baseball? I never paid much attention when I was young. Too busy playing hockey.”

“My girlfriend April is a fan. And I am, too,” Greta added. She didn’t want to look stupid. If she didn’t follow baseball, what was she doing at a game?

The fans roared as the White Sox pitcher struck out the Twins batter, leaving the bases loaded. The Twins did not score, but still led 3-0.

“Good!” Greta clapped her hands. Then she looked up at the jumbo scoreboard, scanning the box seats, and saw herself, sitting next to Brandon. She brushed her hair out of her eyes.

Brandon was cool about it. “If you’re with me, get used to cameras and scoreboards.”

But not too many fans bothered them. Elmer, besides his ushering duties, managed to keep autograph hounds away from Brandon, so the hockey player was able to drink a beer and enjoy the game.

He also found himself enjoying the company of Greta, the girl he met at the hospital. Well, that’s where they really met. She didn’t declare herself to be his biggest fan, or dress skimpy to show off her assets, like so many of the girls who approached him. On this cool night, Greta buttoned up her blue denim jacket.

And Greta wondered what April would think. This hockey player wanted to talk to her again, so she ditched her best friend to sit with him. But Greta certainly didn’t plan to leave with this guy. Oh, no. A pro athlete probable had all the girlfriends he could find, and she wasn’t about to become another one of his statistics.

“How did you like throwing out the first ball?” Greta asked him.

“Oh, it was nice.” Brandon took another sip of his beer. “I wanted to do it good. I didn’t want the pitch to go sailing over the catcher’s head.”

She looked at him. “Where is your medal?”

“Oh, one of the public relations guys is keeping it for me, until after the game is over.”

“Is it engraved with your name? What kind of design?”

Brandon, who was happy to win the medal and didn’t pay attention to the design, was not aware his companion was a jewelry professional.

“I was just wondering. I’m a jewelry designer and engraver, and I’ve never seen an Olympic medal up close.”

“You’re a jewelry designer? How did you get into that?”

Greta told him her story, how she loved art as a child, and studied art in college, and did extra projects besides her homework assignments, which led to the job at South Side Precious Metals. Just the basics, so Brandon wouldn’t stop listening.

But Brandon listened. She wasn’t like any other girl he’d ever met.

As the game wore on, with no further changes in the score, Greta and Brandon began people-watching. “You really see the sights in the stands at a Sox game.” Greta discreetly pointed to a young lady wearing a low cut, thin white shirt, no bra, and tight pants cut low on her hips. Even in cold Chicago weather, some young women dressed skimpy, especially if a pro athlete was around.

The young lady looked toward Brandon, licked her lips, and hiked up her pants.

Brandon sighed, and rolled his eyes. “You see a lot of sights at an Ice Bandits game, too,” he said, not looking at the young lady, who started walking toward his section.

The kind usher approached the young lady, said something to her, then shook his head. She walked away, pouting.

“I guess she wanted your autograph.”

“I guess she wanted more than an autograph.” Brandon sipped his beer. “How about something to eat? You look like you haven’t had a good meal in days. Are you on a diet? No, not if you’re drinking beer.”

“Maybe I’ll have a hot dog.” Before she knew it, a vendor appeared with hot dogs for the two fans. Greta devoured her hot dog.

“I was right. You haven’t eaten in awhile, have you?” Brandon looked at her slim figure.

“No lunch today. We were so busy at work. I got out late, and I barely had time to get ready for the game.”

Brandon polished off his hot dog. “You were never a model, were you? Models don’t eat hot dogs. They eat lettuce leaves.”

Greta laughed at his remark. “I’m an engraver. I make fine jewelry. Remember when you came to my store? That’s where I work, South Side Precious Metals. We buy and sell metals, jewelry, rings.”

Brandon suddenly remembered his missing gold ring.

“Do you ever find something really valuable?” This girl was different from the young ladies he usually met, like the girl he met on Rush Street, who tried to impress him with talk of show business, and how she’d be a star someday. Greta worked. She had a real skill, a real career.

Greta forgot the game as she explained to Brandon exactly what she did. He asked how she trained for such a career, and she told him the story of her art school, her special projects, her senior project that impressed the president of the school so much that he bought it.

She enjoyed talking about her work, even if everything did not always go smoothly. Brandon enjoyed hearing her stories. He found himself listening, really listening, to this girl, and enjoying the company of a woman for the first time since his last days with Terri. Terri had “dabbled in modeling,” but didn’t have a real career, let alone years of training in any field.

Brandon spoke of his work too. Greta had never really met any athlete, even in school, and she had no idea how many years of practice went into becoming a hockey player.

He spoke of the day a Junior team scouted him and asked him to play for them. This was at home in Pickle Lake, Ontario, and the team was in Flin Flon, Manitoba.

“How old were you?” Greta asked.

“Fourteen. That scout singled me out, from everyone on the two teams, so I felt special. That was the first time I thought, wow, this could really happen. I could play in the NHL someday.”

“But you couldn’t play in Manitoba. You were from Pickle Lake.”

“So I moved to Flin Flon so I could play.”

Greta was surprised. “You left home when you were only fourteen years old? To play hockey? It was a major decision for me to go away to college, and I was eighteen.”

Brandon drained his cup of beer. “It was a major decision for me, too. Believe me, Greta. I talked it over with my mom and dad, and my brothers had a lot of input too. They both played hockey. Every young boy in Canada plays hockey. But they got involved with their friends, with their girlfriends, and they didn’t want to leave home at a young age to play hockey.”

“You must have really wanted it. To go ahead and play in a new town, when you were so young.”

Brandon moved closer, to tell Greta his story. He’d never met a girl interested in his youth. The girls he met wanted to hear about the glamour and the glory of the NHL, not to mention the big salaries.

“Greta, you can say you want something. But saying and doing are two different things. When my mom and dad dropped me off at Flin Flon, to my new home, to the family I’d be living with, I wondered how the hell this would work out. And I missed them. I did. I missed my friends at school, and my brothers.”

She had never paid much attention to sports, but here was a successful professional athlete telling her of his ups and downs, his total dedication to hockey that led him away from home as a young teen.

“And I did well. If I say so myself. Once I got into my game, things got better and better. And then I got drafted in the first round by the Ice Bandits.” His blue eyes shone as he spoke. “That was the greatest day. When I heard my name called, my heart was pounding so hard, I thought everyone in the place could hear.”