The ladies from Quinn Lumber Mill all wore orange T-shirts, and during their warm-up, they threw as hard as they could. Jake winced at the smack of the ball in their gloves. They were out for blood.
Before the game began, as both teams continued throwing balls back and forth on the field, Jake saw the stray dog enter the dugout. Apparently, Della was unable to tame him. The dog seemed drawn to Laverna, and sniffed at her feet. Laverna tried to shoo the dog away, but it wouldn’t leave. Finally, Laverna bent down, and Jake figured she was going to pick up the dog and throw it toward the concession stand. Instead, the dog nipped at Laverna’s calf. Laverna screamed, and Red Mabel was there in seconds and swatted the dog in the head with her baseball glove. The dog yelped and bolted out of the dugout.
“For fuck’s sake,” said a voice behind Jake. He turned around and saw one of the volunteers from the ambulance hand his beer to his wife and make his way down the steps of the bleachers. “This game hasn’t even started yet!”
The volunteer took his time getting to the dugout of the Flood Girls. Laverna was cursing, and Red Mabel threw the duffel bag that contained the first-aid kit at the volunteer. Jake watched as he pushed up Laverna’s slacks, and cleaned the area with antiseptic and wrapped it several times with gauze.
The warm-ups were over, and Bucky dusted off home plate and addressed the bleachers.
“Play ball!” Jake knew that Bucky loved saying those words.
Rachel’s first at bat came during the bottom of the second inning, and she was wearing her usual punk rock clothes. Her T-shirt was much too big for her, and the neck was stretched out from years of wear. The gaping T-shirt revealed the strap of a lacy black bra and her small amount of cleavage. Jake was scared. If Rachel had been sixteen, Laverna would have sent her back to the house to change.
Jake wanted to close his eyes for the first pitch.
Bucky had no problem pronouncing it a strike. Rachel didn’t even bother swinging at it.
“That bitch has some nerve,” declared a woman, prehistoric-looking, all brow and jaw.
“Please watch your language,” said Jake. Huffily, he turned back to await the next pitch.
The bleachers snickered at him. The troll toasted the man next to her, and beer slopped on Jake’s elbow. He turned to glare.
“Look,” said Jake. “I’ve got a job to do. I need to keep a clean and accurate record of this game. Especially the clean part.” He made a show of wiping away the drops of beer on the corner of the scorebook.
“Shut up, freak,” said the troglodyte. Jake inched away from her.
Jake observed Rachel in the batter’s box. Something was wrong. She had let the ball go sailing past her with a purposeful nonchalance. She dressed more provocatively than usual. This seemed to be the old Rachel, and he wished the Chief would descend from his perch to give her a good talking-to.
The next pitch also flew directly across the plate.
Bucky called the ball as it smacked into the catcher’s mitt. “Strike!”
“Slut!” The woman next to him waited for this exact moment, watching the pitch closely, shouting at almost the same time as Bucky’s call.
The bleachers whooped at this, and someone slapped the troglodyte on the back. Jake wanted to curl up and put the scorebook over his head as the laughter continued, but instead stared down at Rachel, who stood in the batter’s box, attempting to appear oblivious, even though the woman’s voice had been loud enough to hear in the outfield.
The third pitch went wild, and someone else had yelled out “Whore!” before Bucky even had the chance to declare it a ball. The entire infield from Quinn Lumber Mill chortled.
Jake knew it wasn’t the troglodyte, as she was sitting right next to him. This was a man’s voice, and Jake didn’t bother turning around to determine the source.
“Please,” said Jake, speaking to the air in front of him. “There are rules for unsportsmanlike conduct.”
“We ain’t playing, princess.” The voice was familiar, and Jake wondered if it was Ron, the owner of the movie theater. “Ain’t nothing you can do.”
Bucky finally realized something wasn’t right, and swiveled his neck to stare into the bleachers. He looked as confused as always.
Jake put his face in his hands, and then reluctantly, he studied Rachel again. She was staring at the pitcher, expressionless, as if she couldn’t hear any of the heckling.
The pitcher, doubled over in laughter, managed to regain her composure. She grinned as she lobbed another perfect pitch to the catcher.
Before Bucky could call Rachel out, the bleachers bombarded the field with slurs. There were many voices this time, and all around Jake they hollered out.
“Slut! Slut! Slut!”
Red Mabel leaped from the bench and ran into the bleachers, and Laverna didn’t even attempt to stop her.