Saturday, 17 March
Army journalist Sgt. Mindy Sterling contentedly listened to the pouring rain as it pounded on the roof and rolled off like a waterfall.
The constant drip, drip, drip of water cascading from over-flowing gutters onto the balcony outside of her apartment window was like a sleeping pill. The soothing rain make it hard to shake off her slumberous mood.
Mindy loved storms. Even as a kid she could remember sneaking onto the ledge of her parent’s bay window to watch lightening illuminate the angry sky.
She was too young to understand how lightning’s electrifying reach could slice off thick tree branches, burn down churches and murder golfers foolish enough to think it couldn't possibly happen to them. She didn't understand why her parents thought something so pretty could be so devastating, thus forbidding her to sit by the window during lightening storms.
Being a typical kid, Mindy would sneak back onto the ledge when they weren't looking and wait for another streak of lightening. Eventually, her father tired of her insubordination and sent her crying to her room. The memory made her smile.
The timing was the thing now, though. Although she loved storms, she wished this one would hold off until Monday because softball season started tomorrow and she feared this downpour would surely force the cancellation of the first practice. Nothing, however, could stop the annual pre-season softball party from happening tonight. She needed social interaction, badly.
Mindy had been anxiously planning the party for weeks. German wines and American beer shared cramped fridge quarters with jumbo shrimp and cubed cheese.
Hearing noises in the house, Mindy reluctantly tossed off her goose down comforter and scurried into the kitchen, where her roommate was carefully pouring a cup of Bisquick into a large plastic bowl.
“Good morning, sleepy head. Want some pancakes?”
“Coffee first, then food,” Mindy yawned. “Are you putting blueberries in that batter? You know how I love blueberries in my pancakes.”
“This isn’t your momma’s house, ya know,” quipped Cynthia. “Remember where you are. You’re going to have to settle for plain pancakes and plain maple syrup.”
Mindy feigned disappointment. “What good are you?” she joked.
“Good enough to help you get ready for this little fiasco tonight. It’s your party, not mine.”
“So what’s your point?” Mindy smiled.
Cynthia poured coffee into Mindy’s cup. “The point is I’m doing most of the cleaning and cooking, and I don’t even play the stupid sport.”
“So? Half of who’s coming tonight don’t play. Softball is only an excuse to throw a party. It’s time for everyone to climb out of their winter shells and be sociable, including you and me. And I do appreciate your help.”
“I was beginning to think you were an ungrateful brat.”
“Well, I’m not. You know how much I appreciate you. You’re the only constant in my life. Too bad you aren’t my girlfriend.”
“You’re not my type,” Cynthia replied.
“I’d be really fat if I were.” Mindy winced at her own comment, regretting it as soon as it slipped out of her mouth.
Cynthia turned around and glared at her.
“Cynthia. You know what I meant. I meant you’re a really good cook and if you cooked for me all the time, which you probably would if I was your girlfriend, well, I’d eat everything you’d put in front of me because you’re such a great cook. It was actually a compliment.”
Cynthia stood with her hands on her thick hips, shaking her head. “You’re lucky I know you.” She picked up the skillet and plopped three extra thick pancakes onto Mindy’s plate. “Now eat your breakfast.”
Silence fell between them as Mindy picked and poked at her pancakes, taking only a few bites, then letting them turn cold. She finally set down her fork and attempted to change the subject.
“Did you know we lost half our players this year?” she asked. “I have a terrible feeling this season’s gonna suck. I’m glad it’s my last summer here.”
“Oh, you’re just pouting cuz Kim’s gone,” Cynthia said. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone new. It could happen, if you let it.”
Mindy sighed as she quietly sipped her coffee, contemplating Cynthia’s words that it could happen. She sincerely hoped not. She didn’t want to meet someone five months before she left the army. Mindy planned to return to the University of Arizona to finish her journalism degree. She wanted to start her new life with a clean slate, with no dangling romantic strings and no chance of broken promises. Now wasn’t the time to get involved.
“Do we need anything else for tonight? Where’s the list?” asked Mindy.
“How should I know? I’ve done my part. I can’t do everything.”
Mindy groaned as she stood up and went into the living room to search for the list. When she returned, another stack of hot, steaming pancakes were on her plate.
“You’re going to punish me, aren’t you?” she asked as she poured syrup all over her second batch of pancakes.
Cynthia smiled after Mindy gulped down the last bite. “Oh, sweet revenge.”
Mindy laughed as pushed her plate away, hoping her best friend wouldn’t try to force-feed her more.
“Mm. Let’s see. We have chips, stuff to make the chili. You mentioned BYOB to everyone you invited, didn't you?” Mindy asked.
“Of course I did! You think I’m dishing out big bucks for alcohol?”
Their friendship began on a frigid winter morning nine months ago. Mindy’s assignment for the division newspaper, Old Ironsides, was to interview a woman helicopter crew chief for a story on females working unconventional male jobs. As soon as she entered the hangar she spotted her subject perched on top of an OH 58 helicopter.
“Hi. I’m getting it ready for your free ride,” Cynthia yelled down to her. “Ready for the flight of your life?”
Mindy yelled back that she wasn’t being paid enough to risk her life in a toy.
“It's small, but that's its job; observation being its key mission,” Cynthia said defensively.
“Hey, just kidding. No offense. I just don't like flying, period. I get air sick. Anyway, you must be Staff Sergeant Cynthia Steele.”
“How’d you guess?”
“Journalist’s intuition.”
“You mean that actually works?” Cynthia shot back.
“So, you here to pry my life story out of me?” Cynthia asked as she stood up and wiped her hands off with a stained, greasy rag.
“Well, this is my life story,” Cynthia said as she knelt down and patted the top of her helicopter. “This is basically all I know, or at least all you care to know about.”
She then she glanced at the camera hanging on Mindy's shoulder. “Um, do you have to take pictures of me? I hate my picture taken.”
“That’s what they all say. Unfortunately, Sergeant Steele, I have to take your picture. Our readers want a happy face to go with your name. But don’t worry. I’m not going to make you do a stupid pose. I’ll get a shot of you working on it. We don’t need to go up in that thing.”
Cynthia pointed a screwdriver at Mindy. “You journalists are such wimps. How ya going to know how it feels to fly if you don't try it.”
“I’ve flown in helicopters plenty of times, mainly Cobras and Hueys. But if I don't have to fly, well, I'd rather not,” Mindy admitted.
Cynthia shook her head and smiled. “Okay. Well, you’re the image maker. Please get my slim side.”
Mindy smiled up at her. “Sure thing."
She pulled out her Canon F1 out of the bag and loaded it with black and white film.
"Just do what you normally would do if I weren’t here, and I’ll shoot as you go,” Mindy explained. “When I feel I have enough, I’ll stop embarrassing you. I'll even buy you lunch at the snack bar as your model fee.”
Forty minutes later Mindy and Cynthia were sitting at a booth in the post snack bar. Mindy cradled a cup of coffee and Cynthia sipped iced tea.
Mindy’s gaydar had went off the first second she saw Cynthia in her flight suit. She had wavy brown hair that was shaved around her ears. It was a classic lesbian mullet hairstyle. After Mindy had all of the information she needed for the story, she decided to throw caution to the wind and fish for clues.
“So, are you married?” she asked.
Cynthia quickly scanned the room for eavesdroppers, then lowered her voice. “No. I was seeing someone until recently. We decided we couldn’t take the distance thing. After a while, you really don’t expect them to wait. You know how it is. So, to answer your question, which I hope is off the record, I'm single.”
Mindy watched her nervously fumble with a sugar packet. She was obviously gay. The pronoun change and the long-distance relationship reference gave her away.
“Just curious," Mindy said. "I know what you mean, though. I’m going through the same thing. My friend PCS'd a few months ago. We were together for 11 months.”
“How are you doing now?” Cynthia asked in a way that made it clear she knew where Mindy was going with this conversation.
“Well, I really valued our relationship because it ended my steady stream of, um, brief courtships, you can say, which were really beginning to develop into a habit,” Mindy confided. “Now I’m single, once again.”
“Shit, I probably won’t date for a long time. But in my good old days, well, I’d have lots of babies growing up all over the world,” Cynthia laughed.
Mindy shared her laughter, relieved her instincts were right.
“So, you okay with being single?” Mindy asked.
“Not really, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it. Should we be talking about this stuff here? We just met and already I'm spilling my guts to you. You’re not going to print this personal shit, are you?"
"Of course not. Totally off the record. Getting people to open up is part of my job, but I’m with Ironsides, not the National Enquirer,” Mindy quipped, trying to put Cynthia at ease.
Mindy decided she liked the mechanic. She needed a friend, and it had been a while since she talked about Kim. Her hands trembled as she picked up her cup of coffee and took another sip.
"I take it we're on the same page, so to speak?" Mindy asked.
"I'm family, if that's what you're hinting at," Cynthia admitted.
"Me, too," Mindy said.
"Are you getting used to the single life again?" Cynthia asked.
"Finally. When Kim left it was the hardest thing I ever had to go through. I really thought we were gonna make it this time. But I should’ve known better. I’m getting sick of short flings. I can’t wait to get out of the damn army.”
“Know the feeling.”
“When she left I actually felt like a piece of me was gone. The day she left, well, it about killed me to see her get on that plane. It was different than the others. Maybe I'm getting sentimental in my old age.”
Mindy stared into her coffee. For the first time in a long time she wanted to talk about it. Cynthia was a complete stranger, yet she wanted to tell her exactly what she went through at the Air Force airport; how she wanted to hold Kim close, to kiss her goodbye in front of everybody before she boarded the plane. Instead, they said goodbye in a cramped toilet stall in the restroom, forced to control their emotions.
Mindy wanted to tell her how she painfully watched Kim disappear down the gate tunnel, her tears soaking a fistful of toilet paper, afraid she would never see her again. Her heart ached like it had never ached before. Yes, this was different. This hurt bad.
She wanted to explain how they both knew all along their relationship would become a casualty of military life, and how they talked about the separation often, at first. They both knew Kim had to eventually leave because she had already extended her tour twice. They knew her chances of getting a third extension was slim.
This is what Mindy wanted to tell this stranger, who kindly let her stare into her warm coffee for as long as she needed to. No, as much as Mindy wanted to blurt out the whole painful experience, she didn't.
“Anyway,” Mindy finally murmured, “it’s not over till it’s over. We still talk and write once in a while. I suppose we’re still trying to make it work.”
Good luck, Cynthia thought. But what she actually said was: “We tend to live our lives together hard and fast, don’t we? But miracles do happen.
“Hell, I’ve been in the army a long time, almost 16 years. It still hurts, but you learn to appreciate the good times. I still keep in touch with a few of my ex’s. They’re like old, worn blankets you keep in the closet and pull out now and then when you’re cold.”
“That’s a profound way of looking at it,” Mindy smiled
“Listen to us, we sound like a bunch of old maids,” Cynthia joked. “Maybe we should write a how-to book on lesbian survival in the Armed Forces.”
“Think they’d sell it in the PX?” Mindy laughed.
“Not a chance. Maybe in 50 years.”
“We'll be dead by then. Hey, I have an idea. Are you living in the barracks?” Mindy asked.
“Unfortunately.”
“This might be a little sudden, but would you be interested in being my roommate? I have an apartment on the economy and I could use the extra money.”
Cynthia accepted the offer without hesitation and moved in three weeks later. Now, when Mindy sadly stares into her coffee cup, Cynthia bluntly tells her to get over it, that the self-pity is getting old.
“I hate to bring this up, but does Kim know about the party tonight?” Cynthia asked.
She was watching Mindy slink into a familiar early stage of depression. She seemed to immediately recognize when Kim’s ghost suddenly appeared, sometimes out of nowhere. But she anticipated it this time because Kim used to play on the softball team and co-hosted last year’s party.
Mindy’s mood swings had slowly diminished over the past year, but they still occurred now and then. The first few months after moving in, when Cynthia saw a memory attack coming on, she promptly vacated the room to let her new roommate suffer in peace. She was less tolerant now, and often pushed her to date more. She hoped that tonight Mindy would meet someone, even it was just for the night.
“Of course she knows about the party. She even offered to take leave so she could come. It was a nice thought.” Mindy’s smile was faint.
“Well, why didn’t she come?” Cynthia asked, a hint of exasperation in her voice.
“Because she took leave two months ago to visit her parents. She said if I absolutely wanted her here, she would take another week. But the point isn’t that I absolutely wanted her here, it was that she didn’t absolutely want to be here. Know what I mean?”
Cynthia wanted to tell her to forget about the bitch, but instead she walked over and patted Mindy on the shoulder. “I don’t know what to tell you, Min. I hope you'll eventually get the hint. You two need to be honest with each other.”
“Got any orange juice?” Mindy asked. It was time to change the subject.
“In the freezer. Why don’t you make it yourself? It’ll give you something to do,” Cynthia told her.
“Oh, I’ve got plenty to do. I suppose I should try to get a hold of Kim. You know, to be honest with her.”
Cynthia shot her a look of worry. She wanted to make her laugh, to help her forget about Kim, but she wasn’t good at dealing with the damn Kim thing.
The ringing phone saved her. Mindy catapulted out of her chair and ran into the living room. Cynthia peaked into the room, hoping it was Kim on the other line so Mindy could enjoy the rest of the day. But an obvious look of disappointment made it evident who it wasn’t.
For the rest of the evening, every time the phone rang, Mindy dropped whatever she was doing and ran to it. But each time she ended up telling someone what to bring, or how to get to her house, or yes, they could bring a friend.
The flurry of party preparation helped to take her mind off the phone. She should have made the call herself, but she didn't have the guts to face the truth. The anticipation had turned into anxiety, which gradually turned into smoldering anger. She knew Kim wasn’t going to call.
The guests began arriving around 1900, and by 2200 the house was full of women, and a few gay men. A game of quarters was going strong around the kitchen table. A couple of Cynthia’s friends were in her bedroom laughing at old pictures from her glory days.
A young couple was slow dancing to Joan Armatrading in the middle of the living room. Tammy and Jessica had only been dating for three weeks, but they made a cute couple, Mindy thought, as she watched them from her slouched position on the coach.
She imagined Kim being here, sitting next to her, holding her hand. She didn't want to miss her. She didn't want to care that she hadn’t called. The calls were seldom these days, maybe three times a month. She had a strong feeling Kim was seeing someone else. She was vague in their conversations lately, and far too reserved.
“I’m sorry that she didn’t call,” Cynthia whispered as she plopped next to Mindy on the couch.
“She’s been gone a while now, Min. I don’t want to piss you off, but it was only a matter of time. You’re a beautiful woman. You could have anyone you want. It amazes me that you choose to mope around all the time.
"What about Carole? She’s expressed interest. She’s single, pretty cute and right in the kitchen, though she’s in the process of losing another game of quarters. I could put in a word for you, if you’d like. I’m sure she’s willing to take your mind off Kim, at least for the rest of the evening. But let me know now so I can stop her losing streak before she passes out.”
“Nah, don't interrupt her fun,” Mindy smiled. “And you know how I feel about dating friends. Anyway, it’s really not because of Kim. I’m pretty much over that. I just don’t want anyone right now. I'm too short.”
Cynthia shook her head. “That's true. But isn't it funny that odds are you'll end up meeting someone right before you go? Happens every time, my friend. Just when you think you're out of here free and clear...Bam! You fall in love. Isn't that true?”
“Oh God, don't say that,” Mindy sighed, taking a long, exaggerated sigh.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ve decided to call her tomorrow to end it. I just want her to be honest with me. I need some closure. She should have the decency to be fucking honest with me. We need to end this thing.”
“That’s my girl,” Cynthia remarked. “Things will fall into place. They always do. Why don’t you come into the kitchen and play a game of quarters with us. Chuck told me to tell you to get out of the dark. We’re having a blast. You’re supposed to get rip-roaring drunk, remember?”
Mindy remembered. She just didn’t feel like it.
“In a second,” she said, feigning a smile as she helped Cynthia hoist herself off the couch. She found it ironic that Cynthia would be the one to sport a hangover in the morning.
“Take it easy on the beer,” Mindy called out to her.
Before she could sink back into a comfortable, depressive state, she felt another body sit next to her.
“Can I sit with you?”
Do I have a choice? Mindy thought as she gestured for her to sit.
“I brought you a glass of wine.”
First Lt. Dawn Drake was holding two wine glasses. Her shirt was unbuttoned half way down, exposing an adequate cleavage.
“Thanks,” Mindy said, trying to avoid eye contact.
“So, how are you doing?” Dawn asked as she leaned close enough for her muscular leg to touching Mindy’s.
Dawn had been watching her all night, waiting impatiently for the right moment to be alone with her so she could fish around for a common romantic interest. She was tired of watching her from afar. Now was the perfect time to strike, she thought. Her prey was finally alone.
Dawn tried to look into Mindy’s sad blue eyes, hoping their gaze would linger longer than normal. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, sure. I’m just great,” Mindy answered sarcastically. Realizing she was a little harsh, she added, “Sorry. It's just that I still miss her.”
“I miss her, too,” Dawn lied.
Silence then fell between them. Dawn held up her wine glass and gestured for a toast. “Let’s toast to a great season, another beginning.”
Their glasses clicked, and they sat together for a few more moments in silence. Mindy was well aware of Dawn’s intentions and definitely didn’t want to go there.
She tried to figure out how to tell Dawn to get lost without hurting her feelings. They were fellow athletes, acquaintances, maybe even friends, but never would there be anything more.
She studied the woman sitting next to her: Dawn, with her chiseled features. Strong as an ox. Solid as the weights she lifted. As bullish as a man. Mindy wasn’t attracted to her. She feared that bodybuilding was more than just a healthy thing for Dawn to do; it was an obsession. Didn’t she know how she was going to look in 20 years?
“I was wondering if, well, if you would like to do something sometime? You know, like go to dinner or something,” Dawn finally asked.
There it was: a request for a date said out loud, and now Mindy was forced to reply. She took a gulp of wine, looked down at her glass, and wondered how she was going to politely tell someone it would never happen.
“Oh, that's a kind offer, but I don’t think so,” Mindy said, her words careful and deliberate. “You’re a good friend, Dawn, and I don’t think it would be fair to you. I’ve decided not to date anyone before I leave. I hope you understand.”
Mindy watched Dawn’s fake tanned face turn bright red. Her denial had to be clear, and she was sure it was.
“Of course I understand, but I didn’t mean marriage or anything. Just a drink, as friends. I’m sorry I put you in an awkward position.”
“It’s okay, Dawn. There's nothing to apologize for. It’s not you, really. It's just I’m ETSing soon. So sure, we can have a drink sometime. That would be nice.”
Dawn’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Great! As friends,” she said. Then she got up and went into the kitchen.
When the cuckoo clock in the living room struck midnight, Mindy decided it was time to turn into a pumpkin and go to bed. She was disappointed that she had failed to get drunk. Sober, tired and feeling lonelier than ever, she wondered if she had made a mistake by not hooking up with Carole for the night. It would have been nice to hold someone for a while.
Sensing her master’s bout of sadness, Dooley, her the Persian cat, jumped onto her lap and demanded to be petted. He had managed to avoid the party crowd all evening by hiding out in the bedroom.
“That’s my baby. At least I have you,” Mindy whispered into his ear as she sifted her fingers through his coat of grey fur. Drips of slobber poured from his mouth, making it evident he was in big kitty heaven, while Mindy, on the other hand, thought she just might be in hell.
She stood up and cradled him in her arms, carrying him back into the bedroom, avoiding saying goodnight to anyone. She shut and locked her bedroom door.
Mindy’s last thought before she crashed was that she was actually glad she wasn’t going to suffer a hangover in the morning. It seemed the older she got, the less tolerant she was of the morning-after agony.
Sunday, 18 March
Private Josh Brady anxiously paced the small confines of his first floor barracks room. He was trying not to wake his snoring roommate, who was sprawled out in his underwear on the top bunk, his hairy arm dangling over the side.
Josh couldn’t help but stop and stare into the aluminum mirror inside his locker every time he passed it. He’d fix his hair, then go to the window, then back to his distorted reflection in the fake mirror.
He wanted to open the window, to breath in a lung full of fresh air to help calm him down, but he knew the chilly breeze would piss off his roommate, who preferred the room temperature to hover around a stuffy 75 degrees. The window was painted shut anyway.
When Josh wasn’t staring out the window or into the mirror, he was fixated on the clock, like he was a slave to it. That’s how he felt. A slave to time, which was passing by as slowly as a prisoner trying to run with shackles fastened to his ankles. When the clock finally struck 1000, he raced to the door. He didn’t think he could wait another minute. He felt like he was 16 again.
With his glove slung through his wooden bat, he effortlessly took two steps at a time up to Ashley's second-floor room. He had looked forward to this moment all week, of finally spending time with the new girl, his next romantic target.
He wondered what she’d been up to the past few days, holed up in her room all the time. She never answered his knocks. Her car hadn’t moved since Thursday, when she was gone for the whole day. She said she was sightseeing. But who sight sees alone?
Josh hadn’t seen her around the orderly room, either. He cursed his timing. He never seemed to be around when she left the barracks. He figured the girl had to eat at some point.
He couldn’t believe it when she had asked him to help her prepare for her first day of softball practice. He had trotted around like a love-sick schoolboy after that, daydreaming for hours of making out with her. Yep, that she asked for his help was definitely a good sign, he thought.
Josh couldn’t wait to toss the ball around, to show off a little. He had played first base for his high school team last year, and recently earned a spot on the company fast pitch softball team, which had been practicing for weeks. This was his chance to impress her. He hoped his buddies would see them leaving the company together. He knew they would assume he was banging her.
Ashley was sitting on her bed, engrossed in the gay history book she had bought at the Blue Moon. She had been up for hours already. Reading and studying. Her eyes were strained and her stomach growled. For the past two days she had spent nearly every waking moment reading. When she wasn’t reading, she wanted to read. She became thoroughly engrossed with this new world she was discovering.
A cover blurb on the history book’s jacket claimed gay people are everywhere, and always have been, since the beginning of time. The book chronicled the personal and professional lives of gay doctors, lawyers, wives of presidents, movie stars, and same sex couples with children. If this book was accurate, she would have to learn to wrap her mind around the idea that gays are normal people who are just trying to make a living like everyone else. They are neighbors and priests and doctors and parents. Living quietly among us. It was certainly a big pill for her to swallow.
But it wasn’t the history book that really interested her. It was the romantic novel she had read twice already.
The notion of romance between two women had disturbed her, at first. But her acceptance of the relationship between the two main characters grew by the end of the novel, though she doubted this kind of love story could be for real. How could it be? She had heard nothing but bad things about homosexuals all her life. She never considered that gays could experience true love. She assumed their relationships were all about sex.
The story is about a small-town college student disowned out by her parents when they discover her relationship with a struggling waitress at the local coffee shop. The lovers fight all conventional odds to be together.
Could their love for each other imitate real life? It deeply bothered her that she sympathized with them, even rooted for them to find happiness together, despite their pathetic fictional lives. She was surprised that she was glad it had a happy ending.
“A wonderful story of two outcasts who follow their hearts, and find love in a world of intolerance and hate,” declared a newspaper critic on the back cover. The quote was highlighted in thick, bold letters, and it was the reason Ashley had plucked the book from the shelf.
A knock on the door caused her to jump. “Specialist Marks. Hey, Ashley. You up yet? It’s Josh.”
Ashley quickly stuck a marker in the history book and closed it with a thud. She knew she couldn’t ignore him. She had successfully dodged him for days, but now she needed him to give her a crash course on the game of softball.
“Coming,” she yelled as she grabbed Hancock’s flimsy baseball glove from the suitcase.
Josh’s smile was radiant. “Ready for some action? You’ll be a pro by the time I’m done with you,” he promised.
“I hope so. It’s been a few years since I’ve played. I’m a little rusty, though I was never any good,” she warned him.
She followed Josh out of the barracks toward the airfield across the street. Dew soaked, bright green grass covered about a quarter of an acre of land, just west of the airfield. Because it was Sunday, rows of helicopters on the flight line were still. Occasionally, the BOP, BOP, BOP of a single chopper broke the silence of a mild Sunday morning.
Josh led Ashley to the middle of the field. “The grass is pretty wet, but it’ll dry soon. Let’s warm up our arms so we don’t throw them out,” he instructed.
As soon as Josh held up the ball, Jill’s youthful, smiling face flashed before her. It only lasted a second, but the memory was powerful enough to cause her stomach to tie up in knots. By the time she saw the ball coming it was too late. It tipped the top of her glove and bounced off her chest.
“Oh, shit!" Josh let out. "Ashley, are you okay?”
“Wait a second,” she said. She held up her hand, signaling him to stay put. “Everything’s fine. I hardly felt a thing.”
“Are you sure?”
“I have good padding. Now, can we just get on with it? I don't have a lot of time.”
He hesitated, then backed up a little, lobbing the ball to her. She held out her glove and trapped it in the pocket with her other hand.
“Good catch,” he exclaimed.
“See, I learned my lesson,” she laughed as she cocked her arm back and pushed the ball into the air. Josh ran forward and caught it on the second bounce.
“See? It’s not that difficult. You’ll be an all-star in no time. It’s like riding a bike,” he assured her.
Josh walked back over to her. “Here. Use your whole body to throw it, and snap your wrist just as you’re about to release the ball. It’s all about wrist action.”
He gently took her arm and put it through the motions. It was the first time he had touched her, and he took advantage of the moment. Ashley quickly shook him off and backed away. He masked his disappointment, but was becoming increasingly perplexed at her strictly-business attitude.
In high school the girls swooned by his near presence, but this certainly wasn’t high school. This was the United States Army, where he was treated like a boy, marked by his private stripes on his collar instead of the all-star letter sewed on his senior sweater. Josh didn’t want her to think of him as a boy. He was a man now.
“Okay, then,” he said as he backed off. “I was just trying to show you how to throw a ball. No funny business.”
“You got that right,” she told him.
Josh shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry. Just trying to be nice,” he muttered to himself as he slowly walked away from her.
Ashley felt bad for being such a bitch, but she couldn’t help the foul mood she was in. Knowing she had to do this all over again in just a few hours only made it worse. Her only incentive was that her suspect would finally be in sight.
The thought of Jill was nagging her. Memories were starting to pop up all the time. They played on a softball team their last summer together. Jill played first base because she could catch the ball better than the others. Ashley wasn't as good, so she stood out in right field blowing bubbles and daydreaming.
Ashley had forgotten about that summer, storing the memories of it in the part of her brain that refused to dredge up the painful past. Now it was all coming back to her in a vengeance.
Feigning fatigue, Ashley held onto the ball and signaled for them to head toward the barracks.
“Hey, Private Stud!” a male voice shouted through an open barracks window. Josh waved at him.
“Jerk," he said to Ashley. "Hey, want to go to the mess hall for breakfast?”
“I can't, Josh. I have to get ready for practice. How about I catch up with you later this week? You helped me out big time today. I owe you one.”
“Sure,” he said. Josh half-heartily waved goodbye as he headed to the mess hall on his own.
She shuddered when she thought of her reaction when she remembered Jill. Jill's vision appeared out of the blue, and the power of it upset her stomach. They were just little girls when she died. She had blocked out all of their shared memories after the funeral. This was an unforeseen side effect she hoped would not haunt her the entire time she was here. It was a serious distraction.
Ashley forced herself to think about her suspect. Why was Sgt. Mindy Sterling willing to sacrifice a promising military career for sordid affairs with women? She was in her mid-twenties; young enough to be reckless, yet old enough to know better. She certainly was no dummy, having joined the Army as a journalist after three years of college. Why did she drop out of school her junior year?
Ashley was also curious about the gay recruitment thing. Besides Spec. Cindi Strickland, the mechanic who turned her in, Ashley wondered how many other girlfriends Mindy Sterling had? She believed gays were promiscuous. How many names could she dig up in one week? Could it be possible that the entire team was a bunch of dykes?
To Ashley, homosexuality fell in some sort of unidentifiable zone between good and evil, between consenting adults and feeble-minded recruits, between love and self-loathing.
She didn’t know how to personally categorize this peculiar sting operation, but it was time to get to work. However confused she was about the subject, the mission was clear: verify the sexual orientation of Sgt. Mindy Sterling and collect names of all other suspected lesbians she was associated with.
She just wanted to finish the job and get the hell out of here so she can start her vacation with Jason.
Ashley sat at the desk in her room for more than an hour, trying to memorize key facts and phrases she had extracted from the gay history book. She kept glancing at her watch. Forty-five minutes. Fifteen minutes. Five minutes. She stared at her glove like it was the enemy. The time of reckoning was finally near, and though she didn’t think she was ready, she took a deep breath, zipped up her sweat shirt, and walked out the door.
The softball field was located at the largest U.S. Army post in Nuremberg, which was about 35 miles north of Katterbach Kasern. It felt good to get out and drive somewhere. It seemed like she had been holed up in that stuffy room for a week. She was relieved to feel a little adrenaline pump through her veins. She liked challenges, and this was the ultimate one.
She was told in Hancock’s initial briefing that the gay community was a very closeted, paranoid lot; an extremely hard shell to crack. And for good reason, she thought, as she pulled into the parking lot, her CID badge and weapon locked in her vehicle's glove compartment.
About a dozen cars were lined up against the right field fence. Women were getting out their softball gear from their trunks, while others were sitting on the grass stretching their legs. A few were huddled under blankets on the bleachers as they tried to keep warm in the cold air.
Ashley shut off her engine and just sat in her car. She watched two husky women talk to each other as they casually walked toward the field. They were stereotypical. Were they a couple? Ashley wondered if one of them was Sterling.
She then glanced at a group of women leaning on a red BMW. A tall woman with long black hair was laughing at what a woman with a thick Southern accent was saying. The third woman, dressed in jeans and a long overcoat, was shaking her head in amusement. Only one of the women sort of fit the typical description, but she wasn’t dressed for playing ball. She couldn’t decide which one could be Sterling.
A petite black woman was bending over and touching her toes. Nah, Ashley thought. There was no mention of Sterling being black. Just a few feet away from her stood a woman with a severe butch hair cut. Definitely a candidate.
Her eyes then fixed on a rather striking woman. She was tall and thin, with a long, blond pony tail escaping from the gap in the back of her Nike ball cap. She was surrounded by several players.
“Why didn’t you turn one on last night? You were rather boring,” Ashley heard someone say to her. “I thought it was your tradition to get wasted?”
“I just didn’t feel like it. I wanted to kick your ass on the field today.”
“That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard,” someone said, causing everyone to break out into laughter.
Ashley couldn’t help but crack a smile. She felt relieved they seemed to be having fun together. She didn’t know why, but she assumed all the women on the team were going to be extremely competitive, cutthroat and very serious. She had imagined them chewing tobacco and calling each other “babe.” She breathed a sigh of relief when more than half of the women looked straight.
Time to catch a lesbian, Ashley whispered under her breath as she slowly pulled on the door handle and pushed it open. With glove in hand, she nervously made her way to a secluded spot behind the backstop. The sole black woman nodded politely to her.
A man carrying a heavy equipment bag approached the field. He threw down the bag and marched directly to home plate. He took out a ball of string and, attaching one end of the string to the plate, walked to the mound. He drew a line with his foot, marking where the pitcher’s mound would be.
“C’mon girls. We don’t have all day. Let’s get the show on the road,” he shouted.
He walked back to his equipment bag and dumped the contents on the ground, then walked over to where the blond stood.
“I can tell I’m going to have to light a fire under all your asses today,” he said. Then he reached out and patted the blond hard on the back. “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too, Coach, but can’t you lighten up a bit? It’s only the first day,” she smiled.
“And ruin my fun? Now grab a ball and warm up,” he playfully ordered.
As he secured the bases into the ground, he searched for familiar faces. There were only six returning players. He lost most of his outfield, as well as his starting pitcher and second baseman.
If this was a true count, he had his work cut out for him, but he wasn’t worried. He could take any team and turn them into tough contenders. He had guided last year’s team to the regional championship in Mannheim, and was selected as one of the division’s all-star coaches who helped mold the best athletes from 11 different company teams throughout the division into one cohesive, indestructible playing force. They advanced to the championship game during the United States Army European tournament in Berlin. Five of his own players were starters on that team, which ended up placing second after losing the 13-inning, three-hour long game.
Military coaches are used to the high turnover rate, but he still hated starting over with a new team year after year. Good players came and went like tornadoes; blowing in and winning games and trophies, then gone again, leaving in their path a skeleton team of yesteryear. And, of course, being an Army lifer himself, he came and went, as well. He estimated that he’s rebuilt a team from scratch almost a dozen times. It’s the military way, after all, he thought, as he closely observed the new players.
Brad hoped the player he was ordered to put on the team could play ball, because if she couldn’t, he would have to explain why she wasn’t dropped after the first cut. He was ordered to keep her on the roster until she was done with what the hell she was there to do. He had no clue as to what that was, but he could guess, and it smelled like rotten eggs to him.
Ashley stretched her legs as she watched several of the players warm up their arms. She knew she couldn’t put it off forever. Eventually she would have to throw the ball. She imagined them laughing at her because she certainly threw like a girl. She tried to hide her concern each time she heard the popping of a sizzling ball collide with the stiff leather of someone’s glove.
Ashley’s attention was then drawn to the parking lot, when a car raced through the gravel and skidded to a halt. A muscular woman exited from a sleek Mercedes Benz and briskly walked to the field. All of the other players had been warming up with a partner, leaving Ashley to watch them from the sidelines. Of all people to be stuck with, she thought, as she tried hard to avoid eye contact with the amazon woman. But there was no way out. Ashley was the last person left. However, it would be perfect if this was her suspect.
“Better late than never. Get this new player going. She needs a partner,” Brad told her.
“Sure thing,” she said as she turned to Ashley and lightly tossed her the ball.
Ashley held it in her hand as if it was a foreign object. “I’m afraid I’m not very good,” she finally muttered, hoping her admittance would save her from receiving a rocket. “I haven’t played for a long time.”
“No sweat. I’ll be easy on you, this time,” the amazon grinned. “My name’s Dawn. Dawn Drake.”
She quickly glanced at the other players. Was her suspect the stocky one, or the heavy one, or the stick figure with the crew cut. All looked like possible dyke material.
“And what’s your name?” Dawn asked.
“Ashley Marks,” she answered as she braced herself for another throw.
“Nice to meet you, Ashley Marks.”
Then, like a tornado siren invading the still of a quiet summer’s eve, Ashley heard her suspect's name. “So what happened to you last night, Mindy. You weren’t yourself.” She knew the voice was talking to her suspect because she had received the updated roster of the women who had signed up and there was only one Mindy.
Ashley tried to remain nonchalant as she searched to see where the voice came from.
And there she was - her suspect. The blond woman was very attractive. She was actually the last person Ashley had considered. She had detected a slight athletic edge to her gait, but she had known girls in high school who were standout athletes and pregnant by the time they were 19.
Nothing was making much sense anymore. She felt foolish for falling victim to stereotyping.
As she continued to watch Mindy, she grew more curious as to why someone so smart and attractive would choose such a hard life. She wondered if maybe she is going through a rebellious phase, or perhaps she was raped as a young girl. Something had to cause this, Ashley thought, as she begrudgingly played catch with the Dawn.
In fact, Ashley couldn't help but question the entire investigation. Was it a mistake? Maybe Cindi Strickland had made a pass at her and Sterling had put her in her place. Revenge was a powerful weapon.
Brad finally approached Ashley and asked what position she played.
“Well, I played right field as a kid. I admit I haven’t played since then. I'm here not on my own choosing, as you probably are very much aware.”
“You're Ashley Marks,” he said rather tersely, realizing his fear of harboring a player who couldn’t play was confirmed. How was he going to justify keeping her on the team for as long as she required? He started to walk away, then changed his mind and returned.
He leaned over and whispered into her ear: “I hope you don’t mind my frankness, but I received a strange phone call ordering me to sign you up on the roster for reasons that weren't divulged to me. Okay, so I’m not allowed to ask questions, but I will say that I don’t like it.
“That said,” he added, “I just want you to know my players are all good girls. Yes, I've been ordered to cooperate, but I won't turn on them. Get my drift?”
“Drift noted,” she replied.
She glared at him as he turned from her and strode off. She didn't like being talked to like she was some nutcase troublemaker, but it was part of the game. She had taken down first sergeants for theft and psychotic infantrymen for drug trafficking. She has dealt with her share of unruly characters, and this should be no different.
Ashley absorbed Brad's words of support for his good girls. It was obvious she was not going to have the coach's cooperation.
“Okay, girls. Infield, go to your bases. Outfield, go out to left. Sgt. Marks, go with the outfield. They’ll show you what to do.”
“Yes, coach,” she said, trying to sound subordinate.
Brad kept his worried eyes on her as she jogged to left field. He didn’t exactly know what was going on, but he had a sneaky suspicion the CID agent was on a witch hunt. If she was, then half his team would be busted. There was no way he could field a team with what would be left. The 1st Armored Division would have to forfeit the entire season, and that, he thought, would be a tragic ending to a storied team legend.
“Hey, newbie, I think Coach Brad likes you,” Dawn whispered to Ashley as they stood next to each other in left field.
"I seriously doubt it," Ashley said, slightly amused at the irony of her observation.
Monday, 19 March
Sergeant Mindy Sterling was leaning back in her swivel chair in the 1st Armored Division Public Affairs Office. She was rubbing her right shoulder, trying to work out a kink that was beginning to bother her.
The first day of practice was always hell on her body.
She pulled out a small photo of Kim she kept hidden inside her desk drawer and stared at it. Usually when she was down, all she had to do was glance at it and she would smile. But not today. Her arm hurt and her heart ached.
The photo, a permanent memory of Kim happily gripping the neck of a bottle of champagne, was now nothing but a sad reminder that someone special had once existed in her life. She had snapped the photo the day Kim had moved in with her.
Between her sore shoulder and this stupid photo, Mindy felt her depression growing by the minute. She angrily tore the memory in half and watched as the two halves fluttered to the bottom of the empty trash can.
She knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to call Kim, and she was going to do it tonight. She desperately needed to get to the bottom of it. After tonight, she sadly thought, it will be over.
“Hey, Min. How far are you on that tank story you were supposed to turn in last week?”
Staff Sgt. Jim Hardy stood over her with full intentions of disturbing his star reporter’s deep thoughts.
“Earth to Mindy,” he said as he clicked his fingers in her ear.
“I hear you,.” she said as she glanced up at his towering figure and shot him a look of annoyance.
“Hey, is that Ben Gay I smell?” he asked.
“Very funny. Actually, it’s your brain on nicotine.”
“Whatever,” he smirked.
“Seriously though, why aren’t you finished with that story? You took the photos a week ago. Writing a story to go with them might help get your mind off whatever your fretting about.”
Mindy took a deep, exaggerated breath. “I need to be in the mood to create, and I ain’t in the mood at the moment.”
“Deadline is noon tomorrow, okay? No more extensions.” He reached down and gave her sore shoulder a few good rubs. Then he walked away.
“And get your feet off the furniture,” he called from around the corner.
Mindy smiled and removed her spit-shinned boots from the desk, obediently doing what she was told. Only Hardy could make her feel better when she felt like sobbing. She appreciated his uncanny ability to push her just enough to get her off her ass and produce something.
He must have sensed her need to be left alone this morning because usually he plopped himself down in a chair and forced her to fess up. Today he just rubbed her shoulder and walked away.
Mindy sat at the typewriter for a long time, hoping to dredge up enough brain power to finish the story on three brand new M60A1 tanks that were delivered to an armor unit last week. She finally gave up and went to Hardy’s office.
“I’m going to the snack bar. Want anything?”
“How about a story? No? Okay, then, a donut. Nah, that’s bad for my cholesterol. An apple would do. No. Too healthy. What about a bagel with cream cheese?”
“Jesus, Hardy. You’re killing me with your indecision,” she joked.
“A chocolate donut and a Stars and Stripes newspaper. I’ll pay you back.”
“Forget it. I’ll be right back.”
Mindy’s mood darkened even more by the time she reached the snack bar. She was having a hard time getting Kim off her mind. She went through the line, then carried her tray to an isolated table in a corner of the snack bar.
She was glancing through the Stars and Stripes newspaper when she heard a chair being pulled out from under her table.
“Hey, Mindy. Can I join you?”
Dawn Drake had an annoying habit of showing up when she was least wanted.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Dawn said.
“Not at all. What’s up?”
Dawn looked around to make sure no one was in listening range.
“Well, I wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry about the other night at your party. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I hope everything’s okay with us, as friends. I just meant going out for a drink as friends, that's all,” she explained.
“Don’t worry about it. I knew what you meant.”
“Good. That's good,” Dawn sighed. “So, how do you feel today?”
“A little sore, but I’ll live. It’s not as easy as it used to be. Getting old sucks.”
“I hear that,” Dawn laughed. "We have some pretty good players this year, don't ya think? I was afraid we’d lose our edge this season, but it looks like the new ones can hold their own. Second base seems like she’ll do okay. I mean, she’s not Kim, but she’ll do in a pinch.”
“Kim's not indispensable,” Mindy said bitterly.
“What do you think of the new outfielder, Ashley?” Dawn asked. “Don't you think she's a little out of her league? She sucks.”
“Nope, she won't last,” Mindy agreed. “If I was Brad I would have told her not to bother coming back, though that would hurt her feelings, wouldn't it? She's cute, so he couldn't do that, now, could he?” Mindy said sarcastically.
Dawn shrugged her shoulders, feigning indifference. "So you saw it too? I was wondering if I was the only one who noticed that he showed a little interest in her. Personally, I think he has the hots for her. He goes for those breeder types, you know."
“Well, he can have her. As long as she doesn’t blow-job herself into my position, I can give a shit,” Mindy said.
“Me neither. But I gotta hand it to her, she's trying. Takes a lot of guts for someone like her to tryout for a sport she's obviously not good at. She could improve. Miracles happen,” Dawn reasoned.
Mindy arched one eye brow in an expression of doubt.
“Well, I better get back to work,” Dawn said as she slunk away from the table. “Good seeing you, Mindy. See ya at practice tonight.”
“Yep, see ya there,” Mindy said nonchalantly.
She shook her head when she saw Dawn steal a quick look at her own chiseled body in the reflection of the snack bar’s front glass window.
Mindy detected that Dawn had a slight interest in the girl. Could improve? Only Dawn would be interested in converting a fluff into one of her worshipers, Mindy thought, as she scooped up the bag of donuts and newspaper and headed back to the office.
***
Mindy, still in her fatigues, plopped down on her bed next to Dooley.
“How’s my baby doing today?” she cooed as she stroked the bottom of his chin.
Dooley opened his eyes to acknowledge the sound of her voice, then closed them again, obviously annoyed that she had disrupted his catnap.
“You too, big guy?” she sighed as she petted him. “No one loves me today.”
Sensing his keeper’s sadness, Dooley began to loudly purr.
“That’s my boy,” she smiled.
Mindy slowly hoisted herself off the bed and changed out of her uniform. She wasn’t looking forward to practice tonight. It was still too cold, and her shoulder muscles still ached. She went into the kitchen to heat water for tea, then went into the living room and sat by the phone for a long while, feeling glad that Cynthia wouldn’t be home for another hour.
Mindy had made a personal vow that if she did one constructive thing today, it was to call Kim and officially end their long-distance relationship. They could still be friends, she would tell her, but after today they were free to see other people, and not be obliged to call if they didn’t want to. She planned to make it clear that the strings were officially cut.
Mindy had a sinking feeling Kim would be delighted to hear the news, considering she was probably already dating someone. That last thought pissed her off. She picked up the phone and dialed Kim’s number. It rang and rang. No answering machine. No Kim's voice. Mindy threw the phone to the floor and barged straight to the fridge and pulled out a beer.
“Don’t forget you have practice tonight. Should you be drinking now?”
Cynthia, her arms crossed, was leaning against the kitchen entrance wall. She had entered the apartment just in time to hear the phone crash to the floor. When she cautiously peaked around the corner, she watched Mindy storm into the kitchen. Cynthia quickly tip-toed into the living room and replaced the phone back on its cradle.
Now she faced Mindy in the kitchen, not afraid anymore to interfere with her stormy temper.
“Are you my mother?” Mindy snapped. “I can have a damn beer if I want!”
“All right,” Cynthia said, raising her hands up in self-defense. “It’s your life. Remember that when you get on my ass for smoking.”
“Give me a break. It’s not the same thing. Cigarettes can kill you when you smoke every free minute of a day. I only drink once in a blue moon.”
Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Here we go again. I don’t even want to know what just happened a moment ago, but remember whom you’re mad at. I’m not the one who broke your heart.”
Mindy wanted to tell her to mind her own damn business, but had the sense to apologize instead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’ve had a bad day.”
“So, I take it that was Kim. What happened? Did you guys officially end it?”
“No! She wasn’t home. I was going to do it, too. Shit!”
“Sounds like you’re ready. You two have been dragging this out for too long. You both need to move on, but I don't have to tell you that. My God, Min, you’ve hung on longer than most couples I know. You should feel good about that.”
“I’m beginning to think cold turkey would have been easier. Anyway, I decided a while ago to end it, but every time I get up the nerve, she’s not home. I’m really starting to get pissed. I wish she would just tell me she's seeing someone.”
Cynthia walked over and gave Mindy a hug. “You deserve someone who cares for you here, and right now. I kind of liked that motor pool mechanic you dated for a while. Whatever happened to her?”
“I have no idea. Cindi hasn’t called for almost two months. She completely ignored my calls. I refuse to chase anyone. I'm not that desperate.”
“Good for you. Now give me that beer and get ready for practice.” She grabbed Mindy’s beer from her hand and poured it down the drain.
***
A cool breeze blew across the field.
“Damn! It’s fucking freezing,” Tammy complained as she reluctantly shed the blanket she was sharing with her girlfriend, Jessica, who was trying hard to control her shivering as she sat on the cold aluminum bleachers.
Tammy figured Jessica must really love her, considering Jessica insisted on watching her practice while she froze to death. Jessica had sworn she didn’t mind, that it was better than staying home alone with nothing better to do, but Tammy still felt bad.
Tammy ran out to her position in left field. She could see Jessica from where she stood, and it was comforting just knowing she was in the stands. She felt this relationship was developing into something special. What made it unique was that for the first time in years she wasn’t dating an athlete. For some reason, that little fact gave her a strong sense of security.
Her heart went out to Jessica as she watched her clinging to the blanket and cradling the thermos of hot chocolate. It often occurred to Tammy that this cold be their only summer together, so there wasn’t a moment to waste. Jessica still had another six months left in Germany, and another two years in the army after that. But Tammy still had a full year left here, then she was getting out. She hated the army. Being a supply clerk wasn't what she wanted to do all her life. She wanted to go back to school, and Jessica said she would support her if she did.
After only three weeks of dating, they discussed staying together beyond the military, but Tammy knew the odds of that happening. If they really wanted to make it work, she would have to move to wherever Jessica was stationed next. At least as a civilian she could move anywhere she wanted, unless Jessica’s orders sent her to Korea, the one place civilian spouses weren't permitted go because it was only a one-year tour of duty.
Tammy planned to make these last six months together special, especially since Jessica was willing to do things for for, like freeze her ass off.
“Doing okay?” Brad asked Jessica as he walked past the bleachers.
“Yep. Got my hot chocolate with Peppermint Schnapps. I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll feel the summer heat soon enough,” he told her. “Then you’ll be downing cold beers and cursing the heat. You mark my words."
Jessica laughed, appreciating his concern.
Brad smiled. “You’re crazy, you know. If I were you I'd be home watching AFN and eating a hot TV dinner.”
“I don't watch TV,” she said.
“Really?” he commented as a statement of wonderment more than a question.
He then turned his attention to Ashley Marks, who was standing by herself and looking like she hated life.
He knew a lot of girls over the years thought he was an asshole, but he also knew he cared about them. The proof was in the mailbox. He still got letters from many of his former players. While they were under his charge, he did everything he could to protect them, like a doting dad, because they were family by the end of the season.
But this mysterious girl he was ordered to put on the roster, well, he was at a loss about what to do about it. He had a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he looked at her.
The gay stuff didn’t bother him at all. He accepted that from the beginning. It seemed to come with the territory. He only had a problem with it if they brought their love lives and battles onto the field. If they did, he gave them only one warning. A second offense netted them the bench. Only once did he have to throw a player from the team for picking fights with an ex-lover.
He knew who his gay players were, but he didn't care. Sometimes the girls told him about their love problems when they felt like it. He never asked, but he never turned his back on them when they felt like sharing. Now, for the first time in his coaching career, he feared his gay players might be at risk. He was going to keep his eye on this Ashley Marks, that's for sure, he thought as he hastily walked past her.
“Okay, girls, take your positions,” Brad instructed. “As for you new players, take the bench for awhile. I’ll work you in somewhere.”
Brad grabbed a bat and stood in the batter’s box. “Go one,” he shouted.
After more than 45 minutes of hard practice, most of the players were sifted in, except for Ashley, who remained on the bench. She didn’t mind at first. She figured it was a great chance to watch Mindy Sterling in action. She was certainly impressed with her abilities on the field. She stopped every ball that dared challenge her maneuverability. But after a while, the fascination with Mindy's game wore off, and the relief she felt for not having to make a fool of herself any sooner than she had to turned into a desire to live up to the challenge. She was surprised to feel that she wanted a chance to play.
As she watched the players work up a sweat, she got antsy to join them, then hopeful, then eager, then anxious, then disappointed, and then downright mad. How dare he treat me like a second-rate citizen…asshole coach…bunch of dykes. She now watched the other players with envy and rage.
A couple days, she declared. That was all she was giving it. Hancock would just have to accept what little dirt she could dig up. She was too short for this shit, she thought. Soon she would be eating her mom’s homemade lasagna and sipping on sun-brewed tea. Soon this would be nothing but a bad memory.
“Okay, Ashley. Right field. Time to show me what you got.”
I’d like to show you what I got, she mumbled under her breath.
As she leisurely walked out to right field, she couldn’t help but feel like a complete idiot. This is bullshit, she thought.
Brad threw up the ball and hit it with such force that it soared into her territory like a small, round missile. It seemed to hover in the air a few seconds before it sailed over her head. The ball rolled to the fence, where Dawn quickly chased it down and retrieved it. She threw it to her cutoff, who fired it all the way to third base.
“Nothing you could have done. It was out of your reach,” Dawn told her as she slapped her on the back in support. “This is called teamwork. I back you up. You back me up. That’s how this game works.”
“Thanks,” Ashley replied as she returned Dawn’s shy smile. “I need all the help I can get.”
Brad hit her three more balls, all dropping to the ground in one way or another. Ashley sprinted to every ball, and threw it as hard as she could to the player with the wildly swinging arms, who was her second base cutoff. The cutoff, anticipating her weak arm, ran out far enough for Ashley to throw her the ball without it taking a bounce. After the third hit, Brad called everyone in, gave them a quick pep talk and sent them all home.
The players quickly dispersed to their cars, leaving her deserted near the bleachers. A few players had said quick good-byes to her, but most just shot her curious glances as they walked past.
Ashley sat alone on the bleachers as she changed from her spikes. She cursed the chill that returned to her body, thinking this was way beyond the call of duty.
As she observed the cars pull away, she noticed a pink triangle on the old ’68 Mustang Mindy departed in. She remembered seeing pink and black triangles in the gay history book. If the triangle was what she thought it was, and she was confident it was, then she had the first big clue that would help expose Mindy Sterling's secret.
