Page 38 of Caught in a Storm
He looks at the hot dog wrapped in foil. “We can find something nicer, if you want,” he says. “Something better than this.”
His concern is sweet, but it’s silly, because this is perfect. “Shut up,” she tells him. “And give me that ketchup.”
Chapter 23
This feels like a first date, while also not feeling at all like a first date. The nerves are there—that jumpy feeling, like you’ve had too much caffeine, like you’re sweating in places that you don’t normally sweat, like your voice sounds weird in your own ears.
Is that really how I talk? I’ve never said “all righty” before in my life. Why am I saying it now?
What’s different, Billy realizes as the sun drops below the first-base side of Camden Yards, is the lack of mystery here. Because, he really has known Margot for twenty years. He was a fan of the band because they were incredible. They played the sort of music he’d want to play if he were in a band: brash and loud, but smart and political, too, like the Clash but with better voices. His crush on Margot wasn’t weird or obsessive. It was as harmless as the celebrity crushes everyone has, like daydreaming about a different life, like building a fort for Alyssa Milano. He liked Margot for her talent, which was celebrated and well documented. He liked her, too, because of how pretty he thought she was behind her drums. He loved the intensity in her eyes when she played, and how she peeked out through her hair to look at Anna Gunn, the bassist, during transitions.
As a fan of Burnt Flowers, he paid attention when they were profiled, featured, and interviewed, which they were often back then. And as someone with a crush on the drummer, he paid particular attention to the Margot parts of those profiles, features, and interviews. So, while he gets that he doesn’t know her know her, he knows more about her than anyone he’s ever gone on a first date with. He knows what she looked like when she was young and how she got her first drum kit. He knows that she dropped out of NYU, and that Nikki Kixx was the only person to answer Margot’s flyer, and that they became fast friends at CBGB when they were eighteen. He knows who Margot married and what her daughter’s name is. He’s seen the famous photo of Lawson carrying Margot a million times. My lord, that smile! He knows exactly how, when, and why her marriage ended. And he knows what the worst day of her life probably was: the MTV Music Video Awards where she broke down in front of the whole planet. So, even though Billy doesn’t know her know her, he knows a lot, which is why, nervous jitters aside, he’s surprisingly relaxed. Relaxed enough, even, to be himself.
“See the warehouse out there?” He points at the long brick building beyond the right-field fence. “It used to be a railroad station. It looked so perfect there that the Orioles decided to keep it when they built this stadium. Now it’s one of the most famous backdrops in baseball.”
“I like it,” she says. “It’s pretty.”
They’re on the aisle, first-base side, fifteen rows up, because if ever there was a time to get good seats, Billy figured this was it. It’s the fourth inning. Neither team has scored, and the beers he bought on the way to their seats are nearly empty. “We should get more of these,” he says.
Margot makes a face that suggests Um, yeah.
From a distance, he sees his favorite beer vendor, Clancy. Billy waves, catches Clancy’s eye, and gives him a nod. He resists the urge to shout, “Fancy Clancy!” like he normally does, because, relaxed or not, no one is totally themselves on a first date.
“So, scale of one to ten,” Billy says.
Margot is watching the players on the field. She looks up at him now. The bill of her new cap runs low and straight across her forehead. She looks wonderful.
“How glad are you that you came back?”
She swirls what’s left of the beer in her plastic Orioles cup. “You said it yourself, right? The night is young.”
He’s about to tell her that he’s at a ten—maybe a nine-point-five so as not to seem overeager—but then Clancy sets his iced box of beers down on the metal stairs with a clank. “What’s up, Billy?”
“Hey, Clance. Nice night, huh?”
“Baseball and beers, my man,” says Clancy.
“We’ll take two.”
Clancy gives Margot a sly wink. “Hope you don’t mind me saying, miss,” he says. “But I like you more than that giant kid he usually shows up here with. You fit better in the seat.”
Margot says that she doesn’t mind at all, and Billy swipes his credit card. “I’ll tell Caleb you said hey.”
“Good deal. I’ll be back. You two look thirsty. Like your cap, miss. Suits you.”
Someone yells, “Fancy Clancy, beer me!” and Clancy is gone in a rush.
“You know a lot of people, huh?” says Margot.
“Nah. Everyone knows Clancy. He’s a local celebrity. NPR did a feature on him a couple years ago. Sorry I didn’t introduce you. You got mad at me when I yelled your name during the Margot Hammer Incident. I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention.”
Margot sips her new beer—a big stadium can. “The Margot Hammer Incident?”
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s what I call it.”
Margot looks around. “Well, knock yourself out,” she says. “I don’t think it matters anymore.”
She’s right. Since they started their walk across town, Billy has been absorbed in the space immediately around him and Margot, like they’re in a protective bubble. A quick 180 scan, though, is all it takes to see how many people are aware of them.
