<< Go Back

Home Run Hunter

By Cindy M. Amos

Order Now!

The crowd chanted to beckon the first pitch, a pulse that lent new life to the river city of Wichita, Kansas. Lena Hart took in the sights and sounds, thrilled to sit among the five thousand fans for this opening game on such a pleasant day in May. Though most of the onlookers still wore masks as the epidemic diminished, her girl gang had shunned theirs to better present themselves to a targeted audience. When a wiry outfielder took the batter’s box, she leaned toward her friend Carlynn. “Is that prospect number one? His jersey claims he’s number two.”
Carlynn gave her a sideways glance. “No chance. Look, if you’re going to be good at this match-up game, you have to do your homework. Scrutinize the subject matter. Number good-looking is the guy in the batter’s box. He’ll be up next for our viewing pleasure.”
A fastball popped into the catcher’s glove, animating the black-clad umpire to growl with the first called strike. The batter struck his insole with the business end of the bat and resumed a ready position. A rapid-fire rally clap reverberated from the press box speakers and caught on with the crowd around the seating bowl.
Prey to the rhythmic tension, she held her breath while the umpire called the second strike. Not satisfied, a murmur arose from the crowd. A fan two sections away stood and demanded some swinging action. The pitcher paused to grab the resin bag.
“Come on, number two, protect the plate,” she whispered under her breath.
A high pitch arched from shoulder height and hurled toward the batter in a down-spiraling curve. Like a deer trapped in the headlights, he stood motionless to let the ball land in the catcher’s mitt.
“Strike three.” The umpire jerked his thumb like a pry bar. “You’re out.”
The announcer called the name of the next batter which overrode the crowd’s adverse reaction. Taller than the first player by a head, the second batter commanded attention as he stepped toward home plate. After flexing his wrists once, he stood stock still.
Carlynn compressed her glossy lips and nodded which made her cropped hair swing. “That’s my hunting target—the third baseman. And we’ve got front row seats to watch him up close and personal all game long. I call that close range.”
She spotted nothing special. “Better save some admiration for the ninth inning, girl.”
Number eighteen pointed his bat at the pitcher in a silent challenge and then cocked it back to pose like a statue. When the first pitch approached, he unleashed a full swing and sailed a line drive between first and second bases. More to their liking, the crowd stood and cheered while the announcer designated the corporate sponsorship for the first base hit of the game.
Lena stood clapping, and then nudged Carlynn. “Hey, I’m thinking to beat the rush at the concession stand and grab a burger sooner than later.”
“Go to the Freddy’s steak-burger stand,” Carlynn replied. “They have a combo meal that comes with a drink.”
“Thanks for the tip. Don’t lose track of number eighteen as he runs the bases.”
“No worries. I already plan to have him autograph my souvenir book after the game.”
Lena crossed her fingers in a farewell salute and headed up the aisle. She passed a family with chicken strip baskets balanced in their laps. Maybe she’d have to check the menu for more delectable options. Having scrimped on breakfast, she’d grown plenty hungry.
The concourse looped behind home plate where a group of kids gathered trying to pose with a paunchy Pegasus—the team’s mascot. Spotting the trademark red-and-white awning for the hometown company that had grown into a million-dollar franchise, she followed the aroma of frying food to her dining destiny. She fingered the credit card out of her bag and scanned the menu. Even with quick math, Carlynn’s tip about the combo added up to the best deal available.
After the line shortened twice, she faced a red-headed teenager and blurted out her order. “I’ll take the Freddy’s combo, please. And make that a Sprite for the drink.”
“You’ve got it, ma’am. That’s gonna be eleven seventy for your total.”
She winced a bit handing him the card. “Wow. Extra tax really adds a punch.”
The clerk looked a bit sheepish. “We can’t help that, ma’am. They stack on a downtown tax on top of the state sales tax. Consider it your way of helping pay for revitalization.”
A thin teenager slipped her basket onto the counter while the redhead filled her drink.
Too starved to resist temptation, she snuck a french fry and began to nibble.
The clerk snapped her drink lid into place and glanced at the cash register. “Oh, brother. Sorry ma’am, but your credit card has been refused. Got another one by any chance? This is a cash-free venue. In fact, the whole stadium is cash-free.”
Lena felt the fire race up her neck—and she had plenty of neckline exposed. She needed a summer job to get that card balance under control, but why did that problem have to rear its ugly head today? “No, I’m sorry. I don’t have another card. And I’ve already eaten out of the combo basket. What do you suggest?”
He leaned over the counter with a redeeming wink. “We’ve been trained to call guest services. They can remedy any problem. Give me a few seconds.” As he started off toward a manager, he shoved the basket into her possession.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth—even one resembling a Pegasus—she took the combo special and began to annihilate the fries, though they tried to point back at her in crisp accusation. In a tradeoff of outcomes, guilt rode lighter than hunger for the moment. Maybe they could track down Carlynn’s father and beg for payment as a small loan. The crowd cheered in a prolonged roar, and she saw the first run post on the gigantic scoreboard in left field. At least somebody’s winning. Spotting the drink unclaimed on the counter, she took possession and drew a sugary sip for fortitude.
~
Warned to be prepared for any challenge on opening day, Gage Landers strode out of guest services and made his way toward the popular hamburger stand. Money matters had to be settled with deft authority, which is why he carried a stadium READY card in his pocket as an ace to pull when needed. So far, he’d rectified a lost wallet and turned a sick kid over to the medic station, not a bad tally for the first inning. The front office staff had indicated his sports management internship would be a mixed bag, but at least no two game days would be alike.
He high fived his friend Reynolds, incognito under the horse head of the team mascot costume. He’d taken a pass on that job—endless kneeling to better frame t-ball players in the perfect photo opp. “Go get ‘em, Breezy.” The Pegasus hid his eyes in a giant game of peek-a-boo. Not in that light of a mood, Gage waved him off and headed for the concession counter. “Okay, who called guest services with a problem?”
The manager gestured to the far end. “Check with Chris. He’s got a non-paying customer. We just worked right past her to keep the line moving.”
Gage nodded and headed into the deepest corner of the stadium. Trapped by brick on two sides, noise seemed to reverberate off the rear wall onto the concourse, giving the space a black hole effect that made a mockery of sound and wind. Once he spotted a trim brunette with shapely legs, he backed off his rehearsed bluster a bit. “What’s going down, Chris? I hear there’s been some trouble on your register.”
The clerk’s pale face pinked. “Right. I tried this lady’s credit card, but the purchase got declined. She doesn’t have any other way to pay.”
Midway of a bite into her burger, the customer turned to face him. Her sapphire-blue eyes blinked while she shrugged one bare shoulder. The way her layered hair framed her jawline made it impossible to look away. From the field, a bat smacked the baseball. The crowd roared.
For a brief millisecond, he lost momentum. The black hole pulled him into a microcosm of limited input where he only saw a hungry woman who might be a touch ill at ease due to her situation. His operational mantra rose from the abyss. Resolution first. In slow motion, he pulled out the READY card and offered it to Chris. “Your lunch is on me today. May I ask your name?”
She straightened from the counter and wiped one corner of her mouth. “I’m Amelena Hart. I’m here with some girlfriends courtesy of Enterprise Bank.”
One of their largest corporate sponsors, he understood why she’d linked the name. “Well, with a bank standing behind you, I guess you didn’t need my sponsorship of your lunch today.” When he reached to retrieve his card, she intercepted his hand.
“No, please accept my genuine thanks for the bailout. You really rescued me from an awkward situation.” She tilted her head as if mildly flirting with him.
Not ready to dismiss her, he opted for togetherness. “Well, one good rescue deserves another. Please grab your basket and follow me back to guest services.” He paused to let her react, trying to formulate a clear direction for his follow-up course of action. Writing out an IOU seemed senseless, as she could disappear into the city of four hundred thousand never to be seen again. He turned and headed back to his station, haunted by a new shadow.
The mascot rose from a crouch as he passed behind section ten. Reynolds cupped his hands around his eyes like binoculars and focused in on the attractive meal moocher trailing him. The horse’s head gave a definite nod of approval.
Thinking restraint might be in order, he jabbed his friend’s padded shoulder. “Whoa back on the eye strain there, big fella. This filly doesn’t need her picture taken right now.”
Breezy made an aw-shucks gesture and headed for the seats.
She stepped up behind him. “You guys have a cute mascot. The kids seem to love him. Really, everything in the stadium is well done. You should be proud.”
Holding the entry door open, he gave her comment some thought. “If we win today, then I’ll let myself be proud.”
“Why are we coming to guest services? Are you having me arrested or something?”
“No arrest. Please sit down while I file some paperwork.” Still at odds with the right direction for rectification, he took a seat behind the laptop and opened a new screen.
A tall shadow soon darkened the pass-through’s counter. “Hey, Gage. Help us out. Promo team is short-staffed. We gotta throw the ice cream sandwiches at the next inning break, so I’m quasi-panicking here. Want to pull a guy out of concessions to get me some help?”
“No can do, Derrick. They’re busy as bees in a busted hive over there.” He glanced at the moocher who had two fries sticking out of her lips. Sure, he needed a dire favor, and it helped to have a few chips in the bank to ask for one. Relieved in an instant, a vague plan emerged. “Spell your first name for me, Ms. Hart.” He poised both hands over the keyboard.
“A-m-e-l-e-n-a.” She made a heart-shape around one side of her asymmetric stretch top. “Last name H-a-r-t. Does this mean you’re signing me up? I don’t get it.”
“We’re short-handed today, so I’m enrolling you as a member of our Promo team. In repayment for the cost of your lunch, I’m asking you to work for the next two hours. Derrick here will give you a copy of the schedule of activities. Go wherever he tells you and be a spirited little booster as part of our fan experience team.”
She stood looking a touch shocked. “But what about rejoining my friends?” As she fingered her purse strap, she looked indecisive.
“Baseball games last for hours. You’ll be done with your pay-back obligation well before the seventh inning stretch, but feel free to finish out the day as part of our staff—if the arrangement works agreeably for both sides.”
Derrick grabbed a second lanyard. “Suits me, but we gotta head out, and I mean now.”
“Ditch the bag,” Gage insisted. “We keep a storage cabinet for employee belongings on the rear wall here. Duty calls, Ms. Hart. Have fun walking on the dugouts.” He guided the exchange and tucked the purse in the cabinet while escorting her out of the restricted access. “I’ll work on getting you a nametag. Stop back by whenever the Promo schedule allows.”
Derrick handed over the lanyard. “Hey, good thing you’re wearing red today. That’s our color. Simply act like you’re having a blast and watch it catch on like wildfire.”
She brushed salt off her fingertips and ducked into the lanyard. “Well, if I’m throwing ice cream treats at kids, then I am having a blast.” Two dimples appeared like exclamation marks to validate her claim.
“Go Wind Splurge,” Gage added with a pump of his fist. “Now get out of here so the next problem can wander up.” He tried to add a comical quirk of his brow to release her on a more positive note. Unfortunately, the warning materialized all too soon as a red-faced man headed his way straight from the team store. What an opening inning. Sports management definitely had its share of bumps to level out.

Order Now!

<< Go Back