Page 113 of Diamond Ring
Alex smiles, bright, challenging, the kind of smile like he’s going to take on the world. “It sure is.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
October
Alex
Alex walks into the last postgame scrum of his career with his shoulders set back. Four microphones sit on the table, three other unoccupied chairs beside his. One will soon house Charlie, who left that statement on the field like it wouldn’t ignite a frenzy. Who mumbled and shrugged his way through the rest of his interview, giving baseball-y answers boring enough to approach soporific.
Except, of course, the question pulsing through the clubhouse right now, guys still riding the high of the win now spraying interrogatives like champagne. Who knew—because Giordano played for Oakland years back—and when?
The door between the visitors’ clubhouse and media room opens. Alex expects Charlie. Instead Johnson, who nods to the press with a certain obstinacy in his jaw. Then Gordon. Then finally Charlie, still in his game jersey, as if the press needs a reminder of how much he’s done for the team. A trajectory that points him firmly at the Hall of Fame. Unless.Unless.
A phalanx of PR handlers accompanies them, along with Oakland’s general manager. Gordon sits, giving the cameras a ready smile. Charlie slides in next to him, followed by Johnson. Something orchestrated enough that Alex is tempted to ask if he can leave, though beingexcusedwould probably be taken as not supporting a teammate.
Silence follows, a standoff finally broken by Gordon saying, “So, whatcha got?” like this is a clubhouse scrum after a day game in April.
TheEast Bay Tribunecolumnist—who was old when Alex played for Oakland the first time—signals a question for Charlie. “Congratulations on your engagement.” A compliment that doesn’t particularly sound like one. “What made you decide to come out now?”
Charlie nods. “It wasn’t a surprise to anyone I’m close to. When you’re standing on the top of the world, you mostly want to be yourself and with the people you love.”
He punctuates it with a bashful smile that’s more for the audience than the newspaperman, who’s jotting things down in a notebook. “You said Giordano wasn’t surprised?”
“We talked about it. I’m grateful for the support of my teammates and for the Elephants organization, who’ve been with me on this since I floated the idea earlier this season.” Charlie lifts a mountainous shoulder. “Five years is a long time to consider how this conversation might go.”
Five years. Alex’s breath goes short, the same kind of suffocation he felt in Seattle, that he feels now, with Jake still in the clubhouse, icing his arm, lips swollen from kissing Alex in the dugout.
The reporter’s eyes gleam like he just got the scoop of the century. “That overlaps with when Giordano played for Oakland.”
Johnson taps his own mic. “The anti-fraternization rules only apply to players on opposing teams. While in uniform.”
Like he’s made this argument before and believes, sincerely, that a rule is enough to forestall a scandal. Like it won’t be compounded if Alex and Jake come out.Just how gay is this fucking team?Alex thinks, slightly hysterically.
Another reporter interrupts. “Charlie, there’s understandably some Hall of Fame chatter for you.”
Charlie taps the Fall Classic MVP trophy sitting next to him. AnI dare you to rip this from methat matches his ferocity on the mound, if not the measured way he’s speaking now. “I’d need to retire first. I’ll leave that to Gordon.”
Gordon clears his throat with the kind of authority that’s only conferred by greatness. “Sorry, didn’t realize we were focused on his ring and not the team’s,” then adds, quickly, “Anyone who’s got a problem with Charlie can go ahead and get rid of my jersey.”
Johnson nods as well, though Alex quietly wonders if anyone but the most ardent baseball fan has a relief pitcher’s jersey.
“Mine too.” Alex says it before he can really think about it. A room full of reporters turns to him like they’ve remembered he’s there. He lets that hang.
Gordon gives the room another smile, a cereal-box kind of grin with the slightest tinge offuck you. “Now that that’s out of the way, I hear we just won a championship, so someone better ask me about it.”
The media—to their credit and because of Charlie and Gordon’s firm refusal to provide any more details about Charlie’s relationship or upcoming marriage other than Gordon’s facetious “What do you get a guy like him for his wedding?”—mostly stick to asking them about the game.
Eventually the handlers declare them excused. Alex rises, taking in the scene, hopefully his last, because he can already sense the articles being written, the faux hand-wringing over teammatesgaspsleeping together. He wonders if he can get away with retiring all his social media accounts or, more probably, just throwing his phone into Flushing Bay.
Except as he’s leaving, their PR person stops him in the short hallway between the press room and the rest of the clubhouse. “Fischer will be out in a second.” She also holds up her phone, angling it so they’re hidden from any reporter who might be snooping through the propped-open door. On its screen, a shot of the dugout, two figures limned in shadow. Their faces aren’t visible, but they don’t need to be—the emotion in their bodies is clear, his hands gripping Jake’s jersey, Jake’s arm a bar at his back. It could be any one of those iconic post-championship photos, players effusive enough that the walls between them come down. A sweeping moment and nothing more.
Her eyebrows scrunch in question. “We can try to keep this in-house. No guarantee a similar one won’t surface.”
Jake appears in the hallway, still wearing the glow of victory, hair damp from the shower, arm bearing the faint marks of the tape he uses to secure ice packs. He has a bottle of champagne with him that he sets down on the floor, like team personnel will scold him for having it. He looks tired, slightly tipsy, perfect.
Alex’s reaction must show because the handler pinches her nose in exhaustion. “I’ll keep the press occupied for five minutes.” Then goes back to the media room like she’s going into battle, shutting the door behind her.
“So,” Jake says, “Charlie, huh?”
