Free Confessions of a She-Fan by Jane Heller Page A

pack light. “You end up wearing the same thing every day,”she says. I believe her, but I empty the contents of my closet and throw everything into suitcases.
    Brenda Friend calls. “Jean Afterman is the assistant GM—one of the few high-ranking women in baseball,” she says. “She’ll love your approach to writing about the Yankees and help you with tickets.”
    Brenda tells me how she stalked Jim Lonborg, the Cy Young Award–winning Sox pitcher, when she was in high school. She really is the flip side of me. As for the Lifetime movie, I ask her to speak to Amy Schiffman, my agent at Gersh in LA, who teams with Ellen on my movie options.
    I call Amy and fill her in. She suggests I also seek help with tickets from Joe Longo, a sports agent at Gersh.
    â€œThere’s only one person I deal with at the Yankees,” says Joe, who represents several professional baseball players.
    â€œWho?” I ask.
    â€œJean Afterman,” he says. “I’ll e-mail her right away. Since she’s a woman, your book will probably be right up her alley.”
    I am one of those believers in signs and portents and omens. If two people in 2 days tell me that Jean Afterman is the key to my access to the Yankees, there must be something to it.
    The Yankees win tonight’s game against the Royals 9–4. Wang is shaky through six, but Jeter goes four-for-six, Abeu and Posada drive in two runs each,and the Yankees notch their fifth straigh victory.
    On Wednesday Brenda Friend sends me a copy of the e-mail she sent to Jean Afterman about me. I write back to thank her and say how much fun it would be if she, Jean, and I could attend a game as a threesome. Everything is coming together!
    Everything except Michael. He is coming apart. This morning he announces that he has an infected toe and is limping.
    â€œThis is exactly what I was afraid of! Roger Maris all over again!” I say, going ballistic. He knows a simple infection in his toe could turn into something much worse, and yet he leaves the vigilance to me.
    â€œI’ll be fine,” he says, sounding like Jeter, who could have an ax sticking out of his head and tell the media it doesn’t hurt.
    â€œWhy did you wait until the last minute to deal with this?”
    â€œWe’re not leaving until tomorrow morning. I’m dealing with it today.”
    â€œWhat if we’re in Detroit or Kansas City and you get worse?”
    â€œThey have emergency rooms,” he says and heads to the emergency room at our local hospital. He comes back a few hours later with a bandaged foot and a prescription for an antibiotic.
    We spend the evening circling each other, not exactly fighting but not exactly jumping into each other’s arms. I repack for the 100th time, taking enough clothes for 6 months instead of 2. Michael packs quickly, then buries himself in the latest issue of Small Craft Advisor .
    The Yankees beat Kansas City 7–1. Mussina shuts down the Royals until the sixth, and A-Rod homers in the eighth for number 499. The Royals’ announcersspeculate about whether he will hit 500 in tomorrow night’s game. I hope not because I will be in Baltimore. They also say it will be “Gals’ Night” at Kauffman Stadium, and women will receive free pink caps. I hate pink. I hate that women are supposed to wear pink. But mostly what I hate is the “Yankees suck” chant coming from the previously docile crowd in KC. Do people really do that in places other than Boston? I guess I will find out.
    After the game, I watch the local news. They are reporting that the Zaca Fire, a wildfire that started on July 4 in northern Santa Barbara County, is spreading because of the severe drought and high winds in the area. Officials don’t expect containment until September, and they caution residents to be on the alert.
    I am on the alert, all right. My house could go up in flames, and my husband can hardly walk,