The Prospect - Eliot Parker (top 10 novels .txt) 📗

no indications he noticed their arrival. Olivia faced Chaz, her forehead beginning to flat forehead now sweating slightly as a result of the tropical summer humidity.
“I do not know why he was so upset. I told him I was going to get my necklace back. Of course, Shane did not have it, but I had to try. I love that necklace, Chaz. It is a keepsake. I guess I stayed longer than I should have, but….” She looked at the sidewalk briefly and then glared into Chaz’s chest. “I wanted to see what you baseball players do when you are not playing.”
Crossing his arms, Chaz responded frankly. “I am just glad you and Shane were able to act civilized this time. Man, from what you tell me and from what he says, you two fight like cats and dogs in heat.”
“It is not that bad,” Olivia said, correcting him. “I actually enjoyed talking with Shane that time. He acknowledged that I was serious about that necklace, we were able to act like two adults.”
“I know that you hold a grudge if someone’s earned it,” Chaz included.
As the two young adults continued to discuss the now infamous Sunday morning, people passing by were pleased to see Chaz Martinez in town. Some of the men, most notably Frank Miller, who was on his way to Ruth’s Diner for lunch, patted Chaz on the back and smirked, yet he did not speak to Olivia. On the other hand, some of the women walked past Chaz and just stared or nudged someone else, pointed, whispered, and shook their head despairingly
Morton Mitchell came to the door and opened it slightly. “I trust you to did not drive down here just to have a conversation outside my office door,” he said, peering his head around the door frame.
“Actually,” Chaz replied, “I am just here for the ride.”
The mayor was not amused and pointed at Chaz’s braced foot. “You should be at home resting that ankle.”
“Nah, I in good shape,” Chaz bounced lightly on both legs, but the ankle pain erased his smile and forced him to bite his lip.
All Olivia could do was put her hands on her hips. “Stubborn like an old mule.”
Morton motioned Olivia and Chaz inside and bolted for the leather chair behind his desk. The mayor’s face was flushed several soiled tissues were resting in the trash can alongside his desk. Slipping spectacles over the bridge of his nose, Morton addressed his visitors.
“So let me ask, as I ask everyone who comes through those doors, ‘What can I do for you?’ And I am sure the two of you want something, because nobody comes in here unless that is the case.”
Olivia spoke first. “I just want to know if you will go to the bank with me later this afternoon to deposit my check. That is, if you are not too busy.” That statement made Chaz rolls his eyes.
“That’s fine honey,” Olivia’s father chirped. “I have not been down there in a couple of weeks, so that is no problem.” Morton then peered over the rims of his glasses. “Okay, Chaz. Let’s here it. What do you need?”
“Nothing at all. I am just killing some time since I am not going to Savannah.” Chaz was grinding his teeth in between breaths, and Olivia glanced at him with discretion.
“Speaking of Savannah, I saw where Shane and Biggie made the all star team.” The mayor inhaled a deep breath and exhaled exhaustingly while continuing on. “It is a shame that Biggie cannot go because of the injuries. How is he by the way.”
“Resting comfortably,” Chaz said.
“Good,” replied the mayor, pointing his left index finger in the air. “I want the Loggers to do well Chaz, believe it or not. Their success is important for this town and its people. Not to mention, everything you guys do….” Morton paused, coughing purposefully. “Uh, good and bad, reflects this town and this state. Please do not forget that. Especially consider that the next time you and everyone else beat around on another team.”
“I will remember that, sir.”
Sensing that she was beginning to disappear from the conversation, Olivia crossed her right foot over her left and drove her toes into the ground, waving the heel of the foot back and forth and waiting for the opportunity to remind both men that she was still in the room.
Lifting the sports section of the newspaper from his desk, Morton held the crumpled mass over his head. “Shane Triplet. It amazes me that no matter what happens, the media in Charleston always want to know what he’s doing, how, he is feeling, and on and on. It’s just really amazing.”
Chaz took a step forwards, towards the mayors desk and then stopped.
“With all due respect sir, Shane is the best player on the team right now. We are in second place behind the Alley Cats because Shane has pitched so well. We have done some nice things to offensively, even though we sometimes strand too many runners on base. I was on the team last year sir. We were WAY below .500 and having a guy like Shane around really boosts our morale, you know.”
“I have no problems with that,” Morton quipped. “And I know that you are taking up for your friend, but there is more to baseball and Sheaville than Shane Triplet.”
“You sound like Biggie Rowan,” Chaz mumbled under his breath.
Pouncing on a moment of silence, Olivia stepped forward, in between Chaz and her father. “Daddy, this issue has been dodged long enough. We need to talk about Shane and right now.”
*********
The vanilla ice cream and milk soothingly slid down Shane’s throat. He felt its coolness trickle down his esophagus and settle in his chest cavity.
“Jack, you make the best milkshakes I have ever tasted.”
Rising from behind counter with a faded brown container of dirty glasses, Jack Busby sounded like a pre-recorded radio commercial. “Thank you. We always strive to serve you the highest quality food at the best possible price.”
Shane grinned as he wiped trickling remnants of the milkshake from his upper lip.
In the meantime, Joann Triplet was hovering around the diner like a night owl. As soon as one customer was close to needing a drink refill, the waitress was quickly pouring fresh tea, coffee, milk, cola, or water-those were usually the most popular drinks requested at the diner. When one group vacated a booth, the plates, glasses, and silverware were whisked away instantly. In fact, Joann was bringing dishes to the counter faster than Jack could shove them into the dishwasher, and he had advised her to slow down the cleanup, but her determination rendered his reminders useless. The restaurant glistened.
“Mom, take it easy. I do not think that there is a reward for having all of the tables cleared by 2:00pm.”
“I am glad someone agrees with me,” hollered Jack as he disappeared into the kitchen.
“Don’t worry, sugar, I got plenty of energy today.” Joann walked up to Shane and placed a wet sloppy kiss on his neck, staining his skin with red lipstick. Shane frantically reached for a napkin and began moistening it with his tongue.
Shane rose from the chair at the end of the counter and walked towards Phil Rodney. The department store owner sitting at the other end of the counter, reading the Gazette and sipping on some coffee.
From the corner of his eye, Phil saw Shane walk towards him. A small radio, presumably Jack’s, was resting on the counter next to his cup of coffee. It was the local news from WCHS-580 AM out of Charleston, which normally was fuzzy during the day, but today was chiming from the radio speaker.
“Hey Shane,” Phil mentioned, “listen to this, you might like to hear it.”
The announcer, with an fraction of pride in his voice, proclaimed that Shane Triplet and Jason “Biggie” Rowan had made it to the ABA All-Star game in Savannah, Georgia. However, the proclamation soon gave way to the details of the brawl that occurred during the RiverDogs and Loggers game.
“Well, we don’t need to hear that,” Phil said as he clumsily turned the buttons on the radio in an attempt to turn down the volume.
“That’s okay, Mr. Rodney. The game is over. It is old news.”
“Still though, you do not need to be concerned about that with the all-star game just a few days away. So when are you leaving for Savannah?”
“Tomorrow,” Shane said.” I want to get down there a day or so early so I can meet my teammates and all.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Phil inclined, winking at Shane.
“I am going to stop by the hospital in Charleston and see Biggie before I go,” Shane added.
“I think that would be good of you,” chimed Joann Triplet as she continued to run circles around the diner.
Shane watched his mother for a moment, then shifted his attention back to Phil Rodney. It appeared that Phil was done talking, since the bridge of his nose was buried back in the center of the newspaper.
Shane patted Phil on the back. “Take it easy, Mr. Rodney, I will talk to you soon.”
Phil just stuck left hand upwards and continued reading.
“By mamma, see you at home,” shouted Shane, over a course of clashing plates, glasses, and knives.
“Ok sweetie!”
Shane decided to walk down Maple Street towards home. The Reds were playing the Houston Astros at 2:10 p.m. and he wanted to be back in plenty of time to listen to the game on radio.
As he passed the storefronts and several townspeople, all of them made remarks concerning the all-star selection announcement. At first, Shane was polite and thanked them all. Barbara Clayson, owner of Barb’s Beauty Shop, kissed the pitcher on the forehead. Jim Tolliver, proclaimed his pride in Shane and the rest of the team.
The comments continued, and were short and poignant, yet Shane wasn’t sure how to respond. He assumed that since he and Biggie made the all-star roster then that must be it. Or maybe, everyone had read about how he had pitched in the newspaper. Or maybe, just maybe, the people of Sheaville were happy to see a rookie prospect have a positive impact on the home team. It could be a combination of the three or none of the above as far as Shane knew.
Shane was still bothered by an intense and nagging pain in the pit of his stomach. Most of the time, he attributed the pain to diet and smoking. However, this type of pain did not appear to be a form of indigestion. Instead, the pain was beginning to resemble a case of the stomach flu that would not go away. Massaging his abdomen, the pitcher proceeded down the sidewalk.
When Shane approached the middle of town, the door to Morton Mitchell’s office was ajar. Stopping to see why, Shane halted in front of the door. Inside was Morton Mitchell, with his large frame resting on the end of the desk and his arms flailing around in some grandiose gesture.
Chaz was standing stiffly and he appeared uncomfortable. Olivia was in turn answering her father’s grandiose gestures with some of her own. She was tugging at the base of her yellow cotton shirt that hung comfortably around her waste and towards the top of her stonewashed colored jeans shorts. Shane blinked hard, and focused again on the other two conversation participants. Whatever was going on in that room, it was tenuous at best and Shane turned sideways and placed an ear against the crevice in the door way.
“You insist I have something against Shane Triplet, and