Rivals (2010) (7 page)

ONE GUARD’S HAND BIT
into Josh’s shoulder while the other one’s clamped down on Benji.

“Let’s go,” Josh’s guard said in a low, rough voice.

Josh hung his head and let the man steer him toward the woman, but Benji resisted.

“Take your hands off me,” Benji said, struggling free from the second guard. “I’ll sue you if you touch me again. My mom’s sister’s husband works at a law firm.”

“You can call your parents from the director’s office,” the woman said. “They can come get you after I fill them in on how you snuck in here.”

“Oh man,” Josh said, groaning. “Couldn’t you just call the police?”

The woman gave him a funny look, then turned on
her heels and clacked away. Josh glanced back at Jaden, who stood beside Mickey Jr. with a look of shock and worry on her face. Mickey Jr. seemed unfazed. From above, the picture of Sandy Koufax seemed to scowl down at Josh, disappointed in a young ballplayer who didn’t know enough to stay out of trouble.

Inside the director’s office, Josh and Benji sat in two wooden chairs facing a big empty desk. On a table in front of a wall of bookshelves stood two magnificent trophies. Several people popped their heads inside the doorway to look them over before disappearing. The man from the ticket booth did the same thing, pausing long enough to cluck his tongue before shaking his head like the others and disappearing.

“Great idea,” Benji said, his face buried in his hands. “My dad’s gonna kill me if he has to come all the way here to get me. Man, I didn’t even get to see the Babe’s statue. Talk about exponential injustice.”

“What’s that?” Josh asked.

“I don’t know,” Benji said without removing his face from his hands. “I made it up. I heard Jaden use that word one time. I make stuff up when I’m depressed. Pretend I’m smart. Makes me feel better.”

Josh sighed again. The knot in his stomach tightened when the woman reappeared with a white-haired man in a gray suit, who sat down at his desk.

“These are the boys, Ms. Simmons?” the director asked.

“They tried to ruin my event,” she said, pursing her lips and nodding sharply. “They lied to me and they snuck in. Mr. Mullen was very precise that he wanted a press conference that was
closed
to the public. They embarrassed us all, and as the Mullens’ official Coopers town event planner, I want them banned from this place for life.”

The director narrowed his eyes, then shook his head with a sigh. “I can’t see banning two kids from the Hall of Fame for life, Ms. Simmons. This isn’t a movie set, and that’s not how we operate.”

“At a minimum,” she said, scowling at the director, “their parents need to make sure they stay away from Mr. Mullen for the rest of the week. I have several events planned, and I don’t want these little stalkers showing up everywhere I turn.”

Josh appealed to the director. “We just wanted to get our pictures with the statues of Hammering Hank and the Babe.”

The director sighed and picked up his phone. “You want to give me your parents’ number, son?”

Josh considered lying but thought about Sandy Koufax’s scowling face and knew he’d only dig himself deeper. If this went on much longer he’d miss dinner, and his dad would come looking for him anyway and that would only make it worse. He said his father’s number and the director began to dial.

“Wait,” someone said.

Josh turned his head toward the doorway.

“MR. MULLEN,” THE WOMAN
said.

The director put the phone back.

In the doorway, looking remarkably small next to his twelve-year-old son, stood Mickey Mullen. His craggy face was deeply tanned, and his dirty blond hair fell in shaggy waves nearly into his striking bottle-blue eyes. He smiled with perfect teeth as white and gleaming as the stretch limo that got Jaden. The muscles in his arms looked tight beneath a short-sleeved white polo shirt. On his wrist hung a gold watch big enough to belong in Josh’s dad’s toolbox at home, and his fingernails had been carefully cut and polished to reflect the light.

When Mickey Mullen stepped into the room, Josh felt a current of excitement rush through his body. This was the man he’d seen in old sports clips and
more recently on the big screen with nerves and fists of steel, defeating villains, and always ready to flash his knowing smile or crack a joke even in the face of serious danger. Josh felt like he knew Mickey Mullen, like Mickey Mullen was part of his life. Then he realized that Mickey didn’t know him from twenty million other kids. Josh choked with a flush of words he wanted to use to impress the famous man, to show him all the ways in which he and Josh were exactly alike.

Mickey Mullen stepped into the room as if it were a stage and delivered his lines.

“You’re our event planner for the week, right? Felicity, right?” Mickey Mullen said. “I think that means ‘beautiful.’”

Felicity blushed. “Actually it means ‘happy.’”

“Which is the same thing, isn’t it?” Mickey Mullen said with a grin he now showed the director. “These boys are my son’s new friends.”

Mickey Mullen nodded toward Mickey Jr., who stood now in the doorway. When Jaden peeked around him to give Josh a thumbs-up, he knew that bringing Mickey in to save them had been her idea.

“I think this whole thing is just a misunderstanding,” Mickey said. “Heck, it was my shindig, and I don’t care that they got in.”

“But Mr. Mullen, you said—”

Mickey Mullen smiled that smile and the woman froze, blinking just once before melting into a soft puddle of good humor.

Mickey turned to Josh, pointed at his cheek, and said, “Ouch. Hope you got the license plate of that truck.”

“What truck?” Josh asked, baffled.

“The one that ran over your face,” Mickey Mullen said, then laughed. “Only kidding, son, but what happened to you?”

“He got hit by a beanball,” Benji said, breaking in on the conversation.

Josh scowled at Benji for answering the question that belonged to him.

“Sure,” Mickey Mullen said. “Threw a couple beanballs myself back in the day. Part of the game, right, son?”

Josh didn’t know what to say, so he touched his healing face, nodded lamely, and said, “I’m here for the tournament.”

“I bet you are,” Mickey Mullen said, turning to the two elaborate trophies and pointing to the slightly smaller one. “And I wish you all the best on the runner-up’s trophy here. That’s what this is, right?”

Mickey stepped to the table by the books and pointed to the smaller of the two trophies.

“Yes it is,” the director said.

Josh knit his eyebrows. He couldn’t keep from saying, “I play for the Titans, and we’re planning to win the big one.”

Mickey Mullen smiled at Josh with twinkling eyes and shook his head ever so slightly, as if that just wasn’t going to happen. “Talk is cheap, and champions are like
blue moons. They don’t come around much.”

“Mr. Mullen,” Felicity said, “the director was just about to call these boys’ parents.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Mickey said. “I know just what these kids need.”

JOSH AND BENJI LEANED
back, afraid of what Mickey Mullen would say.

“An ice cream,” Mickey Mullen said, breaking out into his big grin again. “That’s what they need. These are
good
kids.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mullen,” Josh said, hearing the words leave his mouth like he was playing a role in a Mickey Mullen movie.

“Call me the Mick,” the great man said with his smile burning bright. “That’s what my friends call me. And watch out for those beanballs, will you?”

Before anyone could say another word, Benji jumped out of his seat, snatched a Sharpie marker from the director’s desk, and handed it to Mickey Mullen along with his Red Sox cap. The star player signed it without
looking, bumped fists with Benji and Josh, then blew a little kiss to the event planner before turning and leaving the room without another word.

“How cool was that?” Benji asked, examining the cap.

“You said toilet paper,” Josh said. “I didn’t think you liked Mickey Mullen.”

“I’m not crazy about the guy,” Benji said, “but he did play for the Red Sox, and this thing will be worth money.”

“Boys,” the director said, reaching into his desk, “here. Take these. Some extra passes. Come back as much as you like. I’m a Hank Aaron fan too.”

“Thanks, mister,” Josh said, accepting the passes and splitting them with Benji.

“Yeah, cool,” Benji said. “Thanks.”

“Come on,” Josh said, tugging Benji toward the entrance. “They’re all leaving.”

Mickey Jr. and Jaden made up only the tail end of an entourage of people buzzing around Mickey Mullen, talking on cell phones, taking orders from him, or clearing the way. Cameras flashed when he emerged into the gray, wet day, ducked beneath an umbrella, and scooted inside a waiting limo.

An olive-skinned man with curly black hair, thick eyebrows, long sideburns, and a scowl emerged from the crowd and put his hand on Mickey Jr.’s shoulder. The man reminded Josh of an ape, despite his black suit
and tie. His hunched-over frame rested on bow legs, and dark hair covered the backs of hands that hung like meat hooks.

While the man bent his mouth to Mickey Jr.’s ear, his black eyes scanned Josh and his friends.

“Your father is heading down to New York for dinner with Robert De Niro to talk about a new film,” the man said, loud enough for them all to hear. “Did you decide if you’re joining or going back to the hotel with the team? It’s up to you.”

“Well,” Mickey Jr. said, looking sadly at his father’s car as it pulled away from the curb without him. “I guess I’ll go to the hotel. Hey, Myron? Can I give my friends a ride back to where they’re staying first?”

The man called Myron looked them over and even cocked his head like a monkey before he said, “Well, we’ve got cars for the press. I’m sure we can squeeze them in somewhere and drop them.”

“No,” Mickey Jr. said, “I mean
my
car.”

“Well, I’ve already got the coaches going in your car if you’re headed back to the hotel,” the man said, obviously put out.

Mickey Jr. shrugged and took a cell phone out of his jeans pocket.

“What are you doing?” the man asked.

“I’ll give my dad a call and see if he can get me a car.”

“Mickey, cut that out,” the man said, swatting at the
phone with a hairy hand. “You know I give you whatever you want—I was just saying. Go ahead. Take your friends. The coaches can ride with me in my Town Car, and I’ll just send the driver back for Glenda and Missy.”

The man even held the limo door for them before closing it and slapping his hand on the roof to let the driver know he was set to go. The dark car—a shorter version of the one that had stopped for Jaden—eased out onto the street through a crowd of people who’d come out in the rain, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mickey Mullen.

“Who’s Glenda and Missy?” Jaden asked, her notebook in hand.

“Oh,” Mickey Jr. said, waving his hand, “just my father’s stylist and makeup artist. Don’t worry, they won’t mind.”

“Dude,” Benji said, “your dad wears makeup?”

Jaden elbowed Benji in the ribs and he gulped.

“For movies and when he’s on TV,” Mickey Jr. said, grinning. “You know, a press conference like today or an interview or something. That’s Hollywood.”

“That’s where you live?” Benji asked.

“Naw, Bel Air,” Mickey Jr. said. “It’s okay, I guess. Doesn’t rain much, though. I kind of like rain. You know, how it cleans everything and all that.”

“Well, welcome to upstate New York,” Benji said, pointing his thumb out the window at the downpour. “Can’t get much cleaner than this place. Who was the apeman?”

“Myron Underwood?” Mickey Jr. said. “He used to be my dad’s bodyguard. Now he’s kind of like a personal assistant.”

“Assistant to what?” Benji asked.

Mickey Jr. shrugged. “My dad, I guess. He does all kinds of things and he’s got, like, some tenth-degree black belt in jujitsu. What he really wants is a role in one of my dad’s movies. He takes acting lessons.”

“I bet the guy could get a part in
Planet of the Apes Two
pretty easy,” Benji said.

Jaden elbowed Benji again.

“Thanks for saving us back there,” Josh said. He sat on the bench seat riding sideways while Jaden sat between Benji and Mickey Jr. in the back.

“Jaden had the idea,” Mickey Jr. said, “but I was happy to help.”

“Dude,” Benji said, “that lady was lucky she didn’t call my dad. He would have given her something to think about. My dad plays football.”

“Wow,” Mickey Jr. said. “That’s great. What team?”

“Oh, this semipro team where we live,” Benji said proudly. “They don’t get a ton of press, but last year they won the championship. I don’t know, you might have read about that somewhere.”

“That’s cool,” Mickey Jr. said.

“Lido,” Jaden said, “this guy’s dad won the World Series. Cut it out.”

“Hey, he said it was cool,” Benji said. “You heard
him. Football is a whole different sport. You don’t just run around in a pair of knickers and socks when you play football. It’s men only.”

“Good grief,” Jaden said, rolling her eyes. “I’m sorry for my friend here. He gets delirious if he doesn’t get fed.”

“I could use a hot dog if that’s what you mean,” Benji said.

“Just forget it,” Jaden said, crossing her arms.

Josh tried to show her his smile to let her know Benji was just goofing around, but Jaden stared straight ahead for the rest of the ride out to the Beaver Valley Campsite. The only time anyone said anything was when they passed by Dream Park on their way out of town.

“There it is,” Mickey Jr. said, touching the car window at the site of the enormous arched entryway to the sixteen fields. “I can’t wait to get out there.”

When they pulled into the gravel drive of the Beaver Valley Campsite, Josh’s mom and dad were just walking up the path under an umbrella with Laurel wedged between them. They looked up with surprise at the limo.

“Hey, thanks a lot,” Josh said.

“Yeah, thanks, dude, but don’t expect me not to put it out of the park when we play you,” Benji said, clicking his tongue twice against the roof of his mouth and winking at Mickey Jr. before slipping out of the car.

“No problem,” Mickey Jr. said pleasantly. “You go get it, Lido.”

Josh climbed out and waited for Jaden, who moved more slowly.

“So, Jaden,” Mickey Jr. said softly to her. “If you give me your number, maybe we could, you know, get together or something this week sometime.”

Josh bit into his lip.