Page 7 of The Road to Home Base
The other voice was a manager for clubhouse operations. “Did he adjust the lighting? These things look like glamourshots. Shit, look how many there are. It’s like all he did was shoot Romo.”
I felt myself frown as I stayed shy of the door’s entrance.
“There’s no way Emma is gonna let this amateur come back. Once she sees these, the guy is gone. Who cares that his brother is Devin? Clearly he just wants to glorify one player.”
“Ha, no kiddin’. This guy needs to go back to taking senior photos.”
I speed-walked past the open door and didn’t see them turn their heads.
Had I encouraged Alex too much? I wanted him to take good shots of me—Emma and the communications team loved those. Did he focus too much on me instead of the other players, though? Emma always wanted a rounded portfolio from our photographers. I had figured, to get his foot in the door, he could focus on those of us that the media seemed to love. Maybe I had given the wrong direction?
I entered one of the treatment rooms, the smell of chlorine hitting me hard. A hot tub sat in one corner, a porcelain tub in the other. At the far wall were stacks of swimsuits. I grabbed my size and went into the changing partition and disrobed. My cross and medal stayed on me, as always. As my shorts made athunkwhen hitting the rubber matting, I slipped my phone out and took a seat on the bench in the changing room.
I hadn’t dared google him last night. I had a specific routine that I stuck to when finishing a game. Endless browsing would only keep me awake as my mind spun and perseverated on something instead of emptying my head to drift to sleep.
Alex Edwards Photography. I punched his name into Google as I sat there with the curtain closed in the partition, as if I had to hide myself and my deeds. I clicked on the first hit, his website. My phone screen lit up with a nighttime view of the Boston skyline followed by a popup asking me to subscribe. Iexited out and scrolled. A menu of services provided came up next, followed by a headshot of Alex. Hazel eyes, sandy brown hair just long enough to style. No smile, but his face showed an easiness, as if he could always slide into home without a glove ever hitting his body.
As I looked at his profile picture, I felt my stomach flutter. I had seen him meandering the field during pregame yesterday. He took pictures of empty stands, of something that looked interesting on the ground, but took zero shots of the players. I wondered who the oddball was until he lowered his camera and I got sight of his face. His pointy ears had gold studs in the lobes that caught the light of the evening July sun. He was tall, though not as tall as me, with a lean body. A runner, if I had to guess. When the opportunity came up to call him out on his lack of photos, I had to take it.
And he had no idea who I was! My family always helped keep my ego in check but golly, he pushed the boundary on that one when we started talking. I felt a zing of elation, the opportunity to use a blank slate to my advantage. I had never really had that chance, which slimmed every year I continued with the Riders and grew in popularity.
For the first time in my career, I wanted to ignore a game so I could focus on spending time with someone. I snuck in as many interactions as I could, tried hard not to push the boundary. I had already sidestepped my MO by directly interacting with a photographer. But gosh, I could not help myself. There was something about him that kept drawing me back.
I browsed Alex’s services. Standard portraits. No option for weddings, which was interesting. The section for drone videography was listed as “currently unavailable.” Curious. I saw an option for “Last Moments,” which he offers to enter a home for a family wishing to capture their final moments with a loved one. I slapped my chest at that.
I reached the end of the home page and felt my heart rate kick up. I had the opportunity to submit a request through the website, so long as I had a valid email. I had briefly wondered this last night as I played my video games to unwind the evening, but quickly shoved it aside, knowing that stewing over the option would keep me up all night. Now, in the curtained stall, sitting half naked in swimming shorts, I let my mind unfurl and consider the possibilities.
No. That was a lie. I considered onlyonething.
Hi Alex! It’s Rome. I was wondering if you could send me some of the photos you took of me and the kid from the front row? The media guys are persnickety when I ask for photos. If you could text me, that would be great. Thank you! ~Rome
I entered my personal cell phone number, used my personal email for the form, and hit Send. All of it done in under a minute. I stepped out of the stall, dropped my phone next to my clothes, and sank into the hot tub.
At six-foot-six, the top half of my chest stuck out from the standing hot tub. I lowered myself down and forced my mind to ignore what I had just done. I had always been adept at that—mind over matter, setting something aside and saving it for later. I got that from Dad, a decisive man who never wavered on anything, as long as I had known him.
I waded around the hot tub and let the heat pull the ache from my muscles, which allowed me to loosen up. Let my mind hit a Zen spot to come down from the brief high I felt in the changing stall. Heat, relaxation, steam wafting from the water…
Ding-ding!
My eyes shot open. An incoming text.
Ding-ding!
Another.
Zen, Rome. Zen. Ignore outside influ—
Ding-ding!
I climbed out of the hot tub, dripping water all along the steps and the rubber flooring as I found my phone and dried my hands off on a navy-blue towel. Three texts from an unknown number.
Unknown:Hi, I received a request on my website.
Unknown:This is Alex.
Unknown: Just need to verify the number I was given belongs to the person I think it does.
Ha! He thought my inquiry could have been a scam. It’s not every day a major league baseball star reaches out, independent of his agent or organization. I didn’t blame him. I could text back and say it was me, but would he still believe me? I could snap a selfie, but then a scammer could find a number of those online. No, Alex Edwards of Alex Edwards Photography needed something irrefutable.
