Page 25 of Wild Catch
I don’t know him, and even I know he would’ve gone hoarse screaming in the stands during this game. We were just… wild.
I hug my phone to myself and basically skip to my office. The game footage is going to make for some golden posts. By the time I’m done, I’ll more than deserve a bonus. I’ll put in my name in the hat for a promotion.
“What you got for us?” one of the ladies in the digital content team greets me as I step into the marketing office, complete with rubbing her grubby hands in glee.
“I don’t know if to share,” I joke, side-stepping her to head to my cubicle. “You might faint when you see it.”
“Is it something juicy, then?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
Aside from the accidental closeup of Logan Kim pulling out his bunched up pants from the crack of his bubble butt? Yes.
I plop on my chair and say, “I just so happened to be right behind the home plate for the triple play.”
“Whoa.”
“Did someone say triple play?” my boss’s voice echoes from afar, I figure he’s coming into the office.
“It seems like Rosalina got some good stuff for us,” the digital content girl says.
“Oh yeah?” That’s a new voice coming along.
Next thing I know, four people other than me cram in my cubicle to watch as I plug my phone into the screens, and replay some of the best bits for them. Much oh’ing and ah’ing ensues, punctuating ideas from everyone in a creative team that has probably not seen better fodder than this season.
I’m not the only one buzzing from tonight’s game, and yes our opponent hasn’t contended for the World Series in twenty years—but neither have we. And this time it feels very different.
“What if you splice this one… with this one?” my boss asks, pointing at the screen in one hand and holding his seating cushion with the other hand. Poor guy has to use it to sit everywhere until he’s all healed from the surgery.
“I was thinking about that,” I confirm, dragging my mouse to bring a third clip on the screen. “With this one as the finisher. It’d be with some dramatic flares and sombre music up to here, then with the third clip we speed it up and use a more animated song. Something like…”
“We Are The Champions?” another colleague suggests to a round of snickers.
I raise my hand. “No, we’ll save that one for when we win the World Series. We don’t want to jinx it.”
“You’re right.” Dave nods.
Our other colleague opens her eyes wide. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t we?—”
“Is Rosalina Mena here?”
We all freeze at the question.
Or rather, at the voice. Because it’s not one that we hear often around here.
My coworkers are corporate meerkats. They straighten up to look at the interloper from above the walls of my cubicle. But I’m trapped in my seat between them and my chair, so I can’t even ascertain that this isn’t a mass hallucination event.
Otherwise, I can’t fathom why Logan Kim would be here in the marketing office when, er, by my count he should be showering.
But also, I can’t tell my colleagues to say that I’m not here. That would arouse too much interest that I’m unwilling to entertain. As much as I don’t want to deal with him, I have no choice but to let this play out.
“Oh wow,” the digital content creator whispers behind me. “He’s even better to look at in the flesh.”
“You’re starting to drool, Betty,” my boss jokes in an equally quiet voice.
Someone else adds, “Aren’t you married?”
“Well, yeah. But looking is free.”
