Free Love's Little Instruction Book by Mary Gorman Page A

between himself and Denise on the bench.
    Presley glanced at Denise. “I remember when her character was born — I was in college then. So it must have been about six years ago, don’t you think?”
    Dave peered at her critically. “That’s no six-year-old.”
    “No, no.” Presley explained. “She’s a teenager now on the show. The last time I saw it, it was last Labor Day — she had just started college.”
    Denise got up to bat in the third inning. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, but she fanned the ball mightily on three consecutive pitches and was out. She went with grace, through, laughing out loud at herself and turning to bow to the fans who were calling out their commiseration and support from the stands.
    Dave also got up in the third inning. He took his practice swings in the batting circle, trying hard to look buff, flexing his arms as he hefted the bat, keeping an assessing stare at the players on the field and, above all, trying to hold his stomach in. He glanced over at Denise as he stepped up to the plate, gave her a cocky grin, then brought the wooden bat up to his shoulder.
    The pitcher on the Soap Opera Stars team was the man Todd O’Connor knew from flight school — Ford Walsh, or whatever his name was. Even from sixty feet away, Dave couldn’t help but notice the exceptional build and classically chiseled features on the man. Dave squinted at the man on the mound with his best intimidating glare. The pitcher sized him up, nodded, and then went through his windup and delivered the pitch.
    Dave swung mightily and caught the ball on the edge of the bat. A resounding crack ! shot through the ballpark as the ball fired away from the plate, straight over the heads of his teammates, and into the stands behind the third base line. Foul ball. He scowled and shook his head, then resumed his stance.
    The next pitch came straight and fast. He swung, but his timing was off by a fraction of a second and the bat sliced through the air with a faint whoosh ! but no contact. He glanced over toward the ’MTR bench as the catcher tossed the ball back to the pitcher. O’Connor was sitting between Presley and Denise, pointing out someone in the stands behind the plate. They weren’t even watching him. A flash of anger arose in him. He stepped off the plate and rolled his shoulders, waiting until he saw the attention of those on the bench turn back his way and then resuming his stance. The pitch was perfect — straight, fast, and just where he wanted it. He held his breath as he waited for the exact moment he needed, lifted the bat slightly and then swung as hard as he could.
    It connected with a resounding thwack ! He dropped the bat and started to run to first base. This was it, this would show her. He hoped it would clear the fence and bring both him and Paul Lund, who had made it to second base, home, giving the team both the tying run and the lead. He barreled down the baseline, his eyes on the plate. He poured on the speed, glancing toward the field to see exactly where the ball was.
    Thwump ! The sound of horsehide hitting leather was not as loud as when it connected with a wooden bat, but it was just as resounding in Dave’s mind. “ Yeeeee’re out! ”
    Well, it was only the second inning. There would be other chances.
    Presley held the Stars scoreless for the next three innings. WMTR scored when Todd O’Connor doubled, stole third, and then was hit home with a line drive belted by John Froio. Dave forced a smile as O’Connor jogged up to the plate, to receive the welcomes and back slaps of his beaming teammates. Later in the inning, John advanced on a base hit by the morning show producer, only to be left stranded when Denise, once again, struck out.
    The score was still one to one when Dave got up to bat in the sixth inning. He waited out the first pitch, not finding it to his liking. Denise yelled out something encouraging from the bench. At least, he thought it was something encouraging.