The Boyce Beauty Stop was a team of bitter divorcées known for the quality of their permanents, and for having the only tanning beds in the county. They hated men and all that they stood for. Only their children came to the games, until they grew up and went to college, or got married and became bitter divorcées themselves.
These women were Laverna’s kindred spirits, and she did not mind the hour and a half it took to get there. Boyce Falls was surrounded by rivers, and it was a beautiful drive.
Laverna rode with the infield in Diane’s Suburban. Thirty miles outside of Quinn, Tabby announced that this would be her last season.
“The thing is,” she said, and then stopped herself. “I don’t want to say it in front of Della.”
“Go ahead,” said Della. “After last week’s game, nothing could shock me.”
“I’m leaving Dwayne. And I don’t want to hear an ‘I told you so.’?”
“You won’t,” said Della. “I could only make it work for six months. I have no idea how you made it last as long as you did.”
“There’s something else,” said Tabby, turning to Laverna. “I’m moving.”
“Fuck,” said Laverna. “So you’re quitting the bar?”
“You can have your shift back. You seem all healed up.”
“You’re no doctor,” spit Laverna.
“I met another man,” said Tabby.
“I think love is something worth celebrating!” announced Diane from the driver’s seat.
“Shut the fuck up,” said Laverna. “Where are you moving?”
“That’s the funny thing,” said Tabby. “Boyce Falls.”
“This is a town of bitter divorcées,” said Laverna. “They are going to burn your house down.”
“We’ll keep our happiness a secret,” said Tabby.
“That’s always been my personal motto,” declared Martha Man Hands.
Despite Tabby’s news, the girls played with precision and grace, and Red Mabel didn’t assault anyone in the bleachers.
Diane masterminded the first double play in the history of the Flood Girls. She tagged out a runner at second, and still found the time to throw the runner out at first. The miracles continued when Rachel actually attempted to catch a ball, ran at it, but ran too fast, and missed it entirely. Thankfully, the taller Sinclair was there to scoop it up.
And at bat, Rachel got contact on a slow pitch and bashed the hell out of it. She hit the ball deep into right field, and remembered to run after the entire dugout began screaming at her.
“Run, run, run!” the Flood Girls yelled until Rachel made it all the way to second.
Her other two at bats were total flameouts, but she was showing some spark. Laverna’s girls won their second game of the year, seven to six, and this was a game they had actually played, not won by forfeit.
It was nearly one o’clock in the morning when they got back to town, and Laverna demanded that they go to the Dirty Shame to continue the celebration. Nobody dared argue.
Gene Runkle was in rare form, still upright after hours of drinking. He was also celebrating. He finally caught the brown dog, and carried on about his own Moby Dick.
Jim Number Three sat at the bar and stared into his pint glass. Since she had her casts removed, their sex life had become pedestrian. He still came to her house with his book, and they were nearing the end.
Laverna sat down next to him, as the rest of the Flood Girls celebrated all around her.
Jim Number Three had a grim look on his face.
“What?” Laverna ordered a drink from Tish.
“I need to tell you something that you’re not going to like,” he said.
“I’m sure I’ve heard worse,” said Laverna.
“I screwed up,” said Jim Number Three, and then he was crying. Laverna hated when straight men cried. It made her blood boil, and she had seen enough of it as a bartender for a quarter century.
“Just say it,” said Laverna. She was short with him, which made the tears come even harder. Tish looked over, concerned. Laverna rolled her eyes. His tears were making her lose interest in him anyway.
“I slept with another woman,” said Jim Number Three.
“Fucking volunteers,” muttered Laverna. “Should’ve known.”
“Some widow in Idaho needed track lighting installed. One thing led to another.”
“They always do,” Laverna said, and stood up from her stool. She tried to walk away from him, but he grabbed her arm.
“I don’t want to break up,” he said. “It was just a mistake. You’re the one I really want.”
“Fuck off,” she said, but he wouldn’t let go of her arm.
“I’ve been building you a robot!” Now he was sobbing.
Laverna spit in his face. “Fuck your robots! Fuck Kunta Kinte!”
Jim Number Three wiped at his cheeks, at the tears and saliva. “I still love you!”
“After your drink, you get the hell out of here. You’re eighty-sixed. For good.”
“Please,” he said.
“It’s over,” Laverna said, and tore away from his grasp. She walked to the back tables, and they were all silent. They had seen Jim Number Three’s tears.
“What did he do?” Red Mabel cracked her knuckles.
“The same thing every man does,” said Laverna. “He’s just another disappointment.”
For some reason, Martha Man Hands raised her glass to this, and the Flood Girls toasted one another, and their first real victory of the season.
* * *