John Feinstein - Change-up - Mystery at the World Series

“And?”

“He was talking about how proud he was of his dad, how much he’d overcome, more than anyone knew. That’s when he told me the whole story-I mean everything-and swore me to secrecy.”

“Do you think he was trying to make sure you didn’t pursue the story?”

“No,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I think he was trying to make me feel sympathetic toward him.”

“So he was trying to put the moves on you, basically.”

“Basically.”

Stevie’s stomach was twisted in a knot. The next question was obvious, but he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to hear the answer. He took a deep breath and asked anyway.

“Did it work?”

She looked out the window for a second, which scared him, then back at him. “Almost,” she said. “When we went for a walk on the Freedom Trail, he tried to hold my hand and I let him. Then, at the end, he tried to kiss me.”

She stopped, leaving Stevie in a cold sweat. “I’m not going to tell you I wasn’t tempted, Stevie. He’s handsome and he’s smart and I did feel for him after he told me the story. So in that sense his plan worked. But I stopped him and told him I had a boyfriend.”

Stevie felt his heart start to pump again. He felt an adrenaline rush. “Has he tried again?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But I’ve made a point of not being alone with him since then.”

“Really?” Stevie said. He felt overwhelmingly grateful for this news.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, she gave him the Smile. “Remember what I said? I have a boyfriend. If he still wants to be my boyfriend.”

She gave him the Smile again. That was all the encouragement he needed.

He stood up, walked to where she was sitting, leaned down, and kissed her. He was about to put his arm around her when he heard Tamara’s voice behind him.

“Well, isn’t this a sight for sore eyes,” she said.

Stevie jumped back, embarrassed but fully aware that he had a silly grin on his face.

Tamara was smiling but was too polite to say anything more. “I guess I need to make more coffee,” she said, looking at the empty pot and the half-empty mugs on the table.

“Sorry,” Susan Carol said. “I should have made more.”

“No worries,” Tamara said. “I think your time was well-spent.”

She was still grinning. So was Susan Carol. Suddenly, Stevie’s day was looking up.

Kelleher showed up in the kitchen a few minutes after his wife. Susan Carol volunteered to make eggs for everyone, and they spent a while discussing that night’s pitching matchup- Boston ’s Jon Lester against Washington ’s Jordan Zimmerman-while they ate.

“Lester is a great story himself,” Kelleher said. “Cancer survivor. Came back to pitch the clinching game in the 2007 World Series and then pitched a no-hitter last year.”

“And his story’s the real deal,” Stevie said, feeling emboldened after his conversation with Susan Carol.

“As far as we know,” Tamara said.

Stevie showered after breakfast, called his parents to tell them everything had gone fine in Lynchburg-he was grateful his dad answered and didn’t ask for details the way his mom would have-and then called Morra Doyle’s cell phone number shortly after nine o’clock. She answered on the first ring.

“I was afraid you might not call,” she said.

She had, he noticed, just a hint of a Southern accent. It wasn’t as pronounced as Susan Carol’s, but it was there.

“Of course I’d call,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She didn’t respond to the question. “Is there any way we can meet for lunch?” she asked. “We’re staying downtown at the Renaissance Hotel on Ninth Street.”

“I can find out where that is, I’m sure,” he said. “I’m staying out in Maryland. Is there anyplace to eat nearby?”

“We ate at a place called Clyde ’s the other day,” she said. “It was very good. It’s right near the Verizon Center.”

Stevie knew the Verizon Center was the downtown arena where Washington ’s NBA and NHL teams played.

“I’m sure I can find it. Why don’t I meet you there at noon?”

“Great!” she said, sounding a little bit, Stevie thought, as if they’d just made a prom date. “I’ll see you then.”

Stevie told Kelleher about the conversation. “ Clyde ’s is easy,” he said. “It’s a few blocks from my office. I need to go in for a couple hours today anyway. I’ll drop you off, and then you can walk over there and meet me when you’re finished.”

“When do we talk to Doyle or Felkoff?” Stevie asked.

“Easy there,” Kelleher said. “Let’s see what Miss Morra has to say first.”

Stevie killed the rest of the morning reading the papers-easier to do when he wasn’t a nervous wreck-and, grudgingly, trying to finish The Great Gatsby . Susan Carol reminded him one more time about not being charmed by Morra before he and Kelleher left.

“If she comes on to you, remember to tell her you have a girlfriend,” she said, smiling. She leaned down and gave him a quick kiss as he was going out the door, causing Stevie to climb into the car with what he knew was a goofy grin.

“So all is well in paradise again?” Kelleher said.

“Yup,” Stevie said. “He came on to her, but she told him she had a boyfriend.”

“You see?” Kelleher said. “You should never underestimate Susan Carol.”

“I should know that by now, shouldn’t I?” Stevie said.

The trip downtown passed quickly. Traffic on a Saturday morning was light. As Kelleher pulled up to the restaurant, they could see Morra Doyle waiting outside. The day was warm, and she was wearing a light blue sundress and high-heeled sandals.

“Whoa,” Kelleher said. “She’s come to play. You be careful, now.”

Stevie smiled. “I’m fine,” he said, although he had to admit, if he didn’t know he was being set up and if he didn’t have a girlfriend, he would be pretty fired up about a lunch date with Morra Doyle.

“Call me when you’re done,” Kelleher said as Stevie got out. “I’ll tell you how to get to my office.”

Stevie slammed the door just as someone behind Kelleher honked at him to get moving. Morra Doyle was waiting with a big smile on her face.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“Bobby Kelleher,” Stevie said, remembering that Morra had never met him. “He works for-”

“The Washington Herald,” she said. “I’ve been reading his columns after I read your stories.”

Stevie was almost tempted to laugh. He wondered if pretty girls went to some school to learn how to make teenage boys do their bidding, or if it was just genetic. They walked inside and a moment later they were escorted up a flight of steps into a massive dining room. Clyde ’s had to be the biggest restaurant Stevie had ever been in.

“Nice place,” Stevie said as they settled into a booth.

“They serve everything here,” Morra said with a smile. “Since I don’t know what you like, I figured this was a good choice.”

They ordered, then small-talked about the game the night before and the importance of the Nationals evening the series that night.

“Manny Acta told Dad he might pitch game six or he might pitch game seven, depending on the circumstances,” she said. “Of course, we have to make sure we get to a game six or a game seven first.”

“Wow, game seven of the World Series, that would be amazing,” he said. “Could make for a real Hollywood ending.”

He said it intentionally, hoping to draw a response. If he caught her off guard, she didn’t show it, just smiled again without saying anything. She took a couple more bites of her crab cake and put her fork down.

“So, you probably think I asked you to lunch so I could talk to you about your trip to Lynchburg yesterday,” she said.