Backstory – Excerpt
Bud smiled. “The game should start in a few. Order any food you want; it’s free. And order a beer as well; they’re on me.”
“Oh, no,” Dutch said. “I’m buying the beers today.”
Bud tipped his head in appreciation and nodded toward his companion. “So, Homer here has a literary question for us.”
Dutch laughed at the old nickname and looked at Charlie, who said, “As I told you guys, I’m basing my book on our year in Dublin, mostly Trinity Term. We all remember the shit that went down at the end of the year, with Digory and all, and before that, what was the professor’s name who was in the wreck?”
Dutch looked at Bud. “Was it McDoodle?”
“Mr. McGoo?” Bud laughed. “No, I honestly don’t remember.”
“Ansel will know,” Dutch said. “the guy was his advisor.”
“Anyway,” Charlie said, “I’m focused on the personal story of the hero, who would be me, and the romance with the Tess character, which of course involves Ansel.”
Dutch squinted, trying to remember details.
The PA system crackled overhead. “The New York Yankees welcome you to Yankee Stadium, home of the New York Yankees. Introducing today’s starting lineup…”
“But at the year-end party…” Charlie began again.
“Is this where the swells sit?” interrupted a voice from behind.
While Ansel’s entrances always demanded attention, Charlie was clearly eager to get back to his question. “As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted…” He cast a mock stern look at Ansel, who threw up his hands. “I’m trying to pin down details, especially about the year-end party. Now I know you, particularly,” he looked at Ansel, “may have a different perspective, and the facts don’t really matter because I’ll alter them to make a better story, but I want to start with what actually happened. That way it all makes sense—and my publisher insists it’s the only way I can write a bestseller. Also, this is basically a love story and your character,” looking again at Ansel, “unfortunately has to be the villain.”
“Play ball!” came a shout from the umpire. Dutch had never sat close enough in a big-league park to hear the umpire so clearly.
“What?” Ansel exclaimed, distracted by the batter coming to the plate. “Why do I have to be the villain?”
“Well, first of all, I’ll change everything around.”
“Strike one!”
“So your character will not really be you. But there has to be a conflict to resolve and you—call him ‘the guy who loses the girl’ rather than the ‘villain’—you get the biggest role, after the hero, of course.”
“Okay, I get it,” Ansel said, unamused.
“Strike two!” The crowd clapped in unison before the third pitch.
Charlie continued: “So, while I know what my character sees, I was late to that last party and heard conflicting stories.”
The batter smacked a pitch high in the air. They turned with the crowd to watch it sail. Aaron Hicks tracked the ball in straightaway center and caught it for the first out. The crowd applauded, and the next batter walked toward the plate.
They turned back to Charlie. “Well, all right,” he said. “To start, Bud, you organized the thing, right?”
“Batting second, third-baseman, number thirteen, Manny Machado.”
“Who else, sport?” said Bud. “Yeah, I talked our way into a room at the GMB and got you and Ansel to collect money for beer. Dutch helped set up, along with some others.”
“Ball one!”
Dutch nodded. “I think Molly and Tess brought food from the Buttery.”
The crowd in the bleachers began its rhythmic roll call to Yankees players in the field. They stretched or squashed each player’s name into four syllables to fit their chant and kept it up with each name until the player acknowledged them with a bow or a wave.
“Right, yeah,” Bud said, turning back to the conversation. “And the Australians showed up early, of course, thinking we might have already tapped the keg. I remember one cute blonde from Brisbane I was trying to chat up. Anyway, the thing got going about six. That guy from Kilkenny brought his stereo and some decent CDs, and someone had some skunky weed, if I remember right.”
“Ball two!” The crowd became tense and started rhythmic clapping.
“Okay,” said Charlie, “and hopefully this doesn’t stir up bad memories, Ansel, but what happened at the party between you and Tess?”
Ansel rubbed his finger across his lips.
“Strike one!”
“We had had a fight,” Ansel said. “Actually, we hadn’t gotten along for weeks. She—no offense, man; you said you wanted the real story—had been getting clingy about the end of the year and what would happen when we got home, ad infinitum. She was also giving me a hard time about other girls, getting jealous if I even talked to someone. So, by the time of the party, I was pretty fed up.”
The crack of bat on ball drew their eyes to the field. Machado made it to first base on a blooper over the leaping shortstop.
Charlie kept looking at Ansel, whose attention slid to the waitress in the aisle. “Can I get you gentlemen anything?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes at Ansel.
Dutch asked what kind of beer they served. Ansel ordered sushi and Bud a pretzel. Dutch asked for a quesadilla and four IPAs. Charlie waited until she typed in their orders and then glanced meaningfully back at Ansel.
“Batting third, center-fielder, number thirteen, Adam Jones.”
Ansel looked at the field and then turned back to Charlie. “Well, there was this girl from California. She was traveling around Ireland. She was hot, and I was ready for some fun without the drama.”
“Strike one!”
Charlie was growing impatient. “So what happened at the party?”
Ansel looked at the field and then back at them as if he had forgotten what they were talking about. “Oh, right, the party. Well, like I said, Tess was giving me grief, and so I told her we were through and found a new friend.”
“Strike two!”
They looked at him, expectantly. He added with a leer, as if he should not have to say it, “You remember, Bud, you cleared out of our room for the night?”
“I guess,” Bud said tentatively. “Dutch and I finished a bottle of whiskey while we straightened up the party room and I ended up… in his room?” He looked over for confirmation.
“Right,” said Dutch. “You collapsed on Charlie’s bed, and he never came home.”
“Ball one!”
Charlie was following this closely. “Right, I crashed on the floor between Tess and Molly,” He paused and grimaced as if trying to recall the details, “though in my novel Molly will find somewhere else to spend the night.”
“Wait, I know her!” Dutch blurted out.