Free Hot Ticket by Deirdre Martin, Julia London, Annette Blair, Geri Buckley Page B

on.”
    “Thanks, Mrs. Frankel,” he said.
    The woman turned to Kelly and suddenly smiled brightly. “This must be the gal they showed on the TV,” she said, her old brown eyes glistening with excitement. “Honey, you’re even prettier in person. I made Parker a pie I was so pleased with him today, but I want you to have it,” she said, thrusting the box forward.
    Kelly took the box and looked down. It was a pie, all right. Homemade and smelling like apple.
    “The Mets oughta thank you,” Mrs. Frankel continued as Kelly juggled the huge box of pie.
    “Thank me ?”
    “Well, sure! It wasn’t until Parker settled down with you thathe started hitting and fielding worth a darn. You’re his lucky charm. Isn’t she, Parker?”
    “She sure is, Mrs. Frankel,” Parker said, rolling his eyes over her cotton-candy head.
    “Oh, I think that’s overstating it a bit—”
    “It’s the truth, and everyone knows it—even Parker,” Mrs. Frankel interrupted, and looked at Parker for confirmation. “Just think about it, now. He doesn’t play as well on the away games as he does at home. That’s because you are here.”
    Parker cocked his head to one side with an expression that suggested he hadn’t really thought of it before.
    “Am I right?” Mrs. Frankel demanded.
    “You’re right,” he said, nodding thoughtfully, but then grinned at Kelly. “She’s definitely my lucky charm.”
    “Well God knows you needed one,” Mrs. Frankel said, wagging a finger at him. “Don’t let her go, at least not until the season is over, and you better not let the season end before October, mister. Now. Can I have my bat?”
    Parker winced, shook his head. “I think I better hang on to that until the end of the season.”
    Mrs. Frankel huffed about that but was all smiles when she shook Kelly’s hand once more. “Oh, you’re so young and pretty,” she said admiringly and then walked on down the street.
    Kelly looked at Parker. “Her bat ?”
    “Long story,” he said. “Come on, let’s eat some pie—Mrs. Frankel is ornery, but she makes a great pie.”
    During the week, when Parker was in town, they stayed at Kelly’s apartment in the city. But on weekends, they spent lazy days at Parker’s palatial home, usually around the pool, talking about life and the future. Kelly was still uncertain what would happen with ESPN—having negotiated a deal, she was waiting for the muckety-mucks there to decide if they wanted to send her for a pilot test. Parker liked to make Kelly practice for her ESPN on-air audition poolside.

    Wearing a bathrobe over her bikini, Kelly would laughingly swipe up a banana and begin her spiel: “Parker Price has one hundred and ten million reasons he might want to leave town if he doesn’t get a hit tomorrow night,” she’d start, and with Parker good-naturedly hissing and booing, she’d go on to trash the overpaid but very sexy short stop for the New York Mets.
    Parker would laugh. “And don’t forget,” he’d remind her, “that Parker Price lost his big toes in a tragic tree-climbing accident, which makes him molasses-slow when running the bases.”
    Kelly laughed. “You’re such a good sport, Parker.”
    “Nah,” he grinned. “If anyone else was doing that kind of number on me, I would come out of my tree— with my toes. But with you? Never. This is so much better than where we started, baby. I’m just not worried about any of that anymore.”
    “Worried?” she said, crawling on top of him as he lay stretched out on a chaise longue. “Were you really worried?”
    He smiled self-consciously. “I guess a little,” he said, lifting his hands to her breasts and caressing them lightly. “I’ve never had a slump like that, and I’ve never had any trouble with my glove.” He glanced up. “But I found my lucky charm.”
    “Stop, Parker. You know there is no such thing as a lucky charm. I had nothing to do with your slump or your comeback. Remember what you said one time?