save for a few whistles from Pete and curses from Lu and Joe. At the end of the eighth the Dodgers led by two.
What happens if we lose?
That’s all she wrote, Joe answered.
They don’t play again tomorrow?
We lose, there ain’t no tomorrow,
capice?
Lu said.
Pete slopped whiskey onto his hand as he poured. That’s a shame.
No shit, Joe said. Excuse my French.
Paulie closed his eyes and prayed silently. He was like a man whose girlfriend has just met a handsome millionaire who speaks five languages and drives an Aston Martin. He’d given his heart, and he wouldn’t let go now.
In the top of the ninth Matty Alou led off with a single, and the men’s yelling brought the entire family into the room. However, the next batter nearly hit into a double play. Lu and Joe cursed the batter and the manager, Alvin Dark.
What’s the score?
Pete, shut up! Paulie’s mother said. It’s four to two, them, one out, last inning. Even Mickey and Janine know this.
Mickey had Down syndrome, and Janine was four years old.
He’s drunk, Lu said. Why’d you invite him?
Paulie and his father exchanged looks. Gino laughed. Gino’s mother, Paulie’s Aunt Min, who clung to her son’s arm as if she were watching a horror movie, suddenly laughed as well. They knew that Lu, not Joe, had invited Pete. Grouchy Lu was always inviting Pete, maybe just so he could complain. Joe barely knew the guy.
What thinks you make I’m drunk? Angie slurred his speech and staggered around the living room, making his mother and little sisters laugh.
McCovey came up to pinch hit, a towering man with a huge swing, and the Dodgers pitcher played cat-and-mouse with him on the edges of the plate until he walked him. The next man walked as well. This put Mays up with the bases loaded. I wouldn’t want to be that chucker, Joe said. Not for a million bucks.
Pitcher always has the advantage, Lu said. Always. He was rocking on the couch like a heroin addict. Paulie was silently chanting the Lord’s Prayer. Chavez Ravine was quiet.
Who’s the colored up to bat?
Joe and Lu each grabbed an arm and a leg, and they carried little Pete Rinaldi out of the living room. Gino opened the sliding glass door, and the men dropped Pete in a chaise in the backyard and hurried back inside. What the hell, Pete said before Gino turned the latch.
Mays lashed the ball off the pitcher’s glove, and a run scored. It was ruled a hit, and Paulie thought the pitcher was lucky to deflect it, lucky to be alive. When the family stopped whooping Paulie could hear the O’Malleys cheering next door. Orlando up next, down by one. Pete rattled the sliding door, then flopped back onto the chaise. Leave him there, Lu said to Gino. He’s all right.
The Dodgers manager and catcher were on the mound. A new pitcher was called in. Paulie’s younger siblings were drumming their hands on the floor, led by Angie’s chant of Hey pitcha, hey pitcha, hey pitcha, and his older sister, the sophisticated college student,sat in a lotus position against his leg, pretending to meditate. It took years before Cepeda stepped up. He hit it deep to right, and the tying run scored on a tag-up. The entire family danced around the room, Paulie swinging his older sister, Penny, jitterbug style. Pete knocked on the glass and fell back into the chaise. The doorbell rang.
Paulie’s sister Mickey let her in. The collar of her trench coat was raised, and her hair was hidden under a scarf. We kicked him out to the back, Lu told her, and she laughed. Paulie felt unmoored by the sight of her in his house, by the realization that his uncle knew her, had probably sat at a card table with her. He waved.
A wild pitch sent Mays to second. Paulie tried to contain his excitement. She was standing behind him while he sat with the cap and glove on like a little boy, a kid in thick glasses, maybe a little developmentally delayed like his sister Mickey.
Bonsoir,
Paul, she murmured, and he said, Hi, without turning.
Is
What happens if we lose?
That’s all she wrote, Joe answered.
They don’t play again tomorrow?
We lose, there ain’t no tomorrow,
capice?
Lu said.
Pete slopped whiskey onto his hand as he poured. That’s a shame.
No shit, Joe said. Excuse my French.
Paulie closed his eyes and prayed silently. He was like a man whose girlfriend has just met a handsome millionaire who speaks five languages and drives an Aston Martin. He’d given his heart, and he wouldn’t let go now.
In the top of the ninth Matty Alou led off with a single, and the men’s yelling brought the entire family into the room. However, the next batter nearly hit into a double play. Lu and Joe cursed the batter and the manager, Alvin Dark.
What’s the score?
Pete, shut up! Paulie’s mother said. It’s four to two, them, one out, last inning. Even Mickey and Janine know this.
Mickey had Down syndrome, and Janine was four years old.
He’s drunk, Lu said. Why’d you invite him?
Paulie and his father exchanged looks. Gino laughed. Gino’s mother, Paulie’s Aunt Min, who clung to her son’s arm as if she were watching a horror movie, suddenly laughed as well. They knew that Lu, not Joe, had invited Pete. Grouchy Lu was always inviting Pete, maybe just so he could complain. Joe barely knew the guy.
What thinks you make I’m drunk? Angie slurred his speech and staggered around the living room, making his mother and little sisters laugh.
McCovey came up to pinch hit, a towering man with a huge swing, and the Dodgers pitcher played cat-and-mouse with him on the edges of the plate until he walked him. The next man walked as well. This put Mays up with the bases loaded. I wouldn’t want to be that chucker, Joe said. Not for a million bucks.
Pitcher always has the advantage, Lu said. Always. He was rocking on the couch like a heroin addict. Paulie was silently chanting the Lord’s Prayer. Chavez Ravine was quiet.
Who’s the colored up to bat?
Joe and Lu each grabbed an arm and a leg, and they carried little Pete Rinaldi out of the living room. Gino opened the sliding glass door, and the men dropped Pete in a chaise in the backyard and hurried back inside. What the hell, Pete said before Gino turned the latch.
Mays lashed the ball off the pitcher’s glove, and a run scored. It was ruled a hit, and Paulie thought the pitcher was lucky to deflect it, lucky to be alive. When the family stopped whooping Paulie could hear the O’Malleys cheering next door. Orlando up next, down by one. Pete rattled the sliding door, then flopped back onto the chaise. Leave him there, Lu said to Gino. He’s all right.
The Dodgers manager and catcher were on the mound. A new pitcher was called in. Paulie’s younger siblings were drumming their hands on the floor, led by Angie’s chant of Hey pitcha, hey pitcha, hey pitcha, and his older sister, the sophisticated college student,sat in a lotus position against his leg, pretending to meditate. It took years before Cepeda stepped up. He hit it deep to right, and the tying run scored on a tag-up. The entire family danced around the room, Paulie swinging his older sister, Penny, jitterbug style. Pete knocked on the glass and fell back into the chaise. The doorbell rang.
Paulie’s sister Mickey let her in. The collar of her trench coat was raised, and her hair was hidden under a scarf. We kicked him out to the back, Lu told her, and she laughed. Paulie felt unmoored by the sight of her in his house, by the realization that his uncle knew her, had probably sat at a card table with her. He waved.
A wild pitch sent Mays to second. Paulie tried to contain his excitement. She was standing behind him while he sat with the cap and glove on like a little boy, a kid in thick glasses, maybe a little developmentally delayed like his sister Mickey.
Bonsoir,
Paul, she murmured, and he said, Hi, without turning.
Is
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