John Brandon - Further Joy

“They must charge a ton to deliver that paper, huh?”

“Comrade, there are measures I must take to keep sane on this tundra.”

The line sounded rehearsed. It made Marky think of the Jack London he’d been given in school. He removed his hat and rested it on the Arts & Leisure section.

“You play second for the yellow team,” Nelson said.

“That’s right,” said Marky. “That’s me.”

“Don’t get flattered. I know where everybody on every team plays.”

“What position did you used to play?”

“I pitched.” Nelson chuckled hollowly then, apparently accessing some amusing memory.

“What did you throw?” Marky asked him.

“I threw a spitter, a Vaseline ball, and a scuff ball.” Nelson paused to drink some of his whiskey, enduring the taste with a stiff, distressed expression. “You can tell a lot about a person by how they play baseball.”

“Is that right?” Marky said. He was happy Nelson didn’t seem crazy. He seemed out of sorts, but not crazy.

“That little trick you pulled against Farmer, that wasn’t half bad. You used his skill against him. You gave him a target, and he couldn’t help but hit it.”

“I had to improvise. The kid weighs 230 pounds.”

“You had nothing to lose,” Nelson said. “It’s easy to pull shit like that when you have nothing to lose.”

“I would’ve done it in the first inning if I’d thought of it.”

Nelson saluted Marky with his glass. “The best kind of loneliness,” he said.

“How’s that?”

“Pitching. It’s the best kind of loneliness. It feels lonely but in a good way, out there on the mound.”

Marky didn’t want to let this meeting get away from him. He straightened his back and leaned toward Nelson. “I’m here because I need you,” he said. “I’m a businessman and I need a partner. I know that sounds strange coming from a guy my age, but I think you and I could make a heck of a team.” Marky was stuck a moment. Then he said, “I’ve paid my dues in the minors and now I’m ready for the big leagues. And for you, it’s time for a comeback.”

“I know who you are,” Nelson said. “You’re the little entrepreneur. Everybody knows who you are.”

“I’m committed,” Marky said. “I’m ready to put everything into turning some profits. I’m ready to focus.”

“You don’t have to sell yourself to me,” Nelson said. He set his whiskey down, one big swallow left in the bottom of the glass. “I’ll save you some time here, because I’m guessing you have the wrong idea about what I’m planning to do with the remainder of my life.” Nelson’s boxy old television, though it wasn’t on, started making a buzzing sound. He leaned unhurriedly and slapped the thing hard on its side, then rested his eyes back on Marky. “I have a very average car with a very, very expensive stereo system in it, and I drive that car to baseball games. That’s what I do. It’s working for me.”

Marky refused to give Nelson the smile he thought he was earning. He knew Nelson wanted back in the action. People always did. It was just a matter of who would pull him out of his funk. If not Marky, someone else would come along and court him and win him. Nelson’s skill set complemented Marky’s. Marky would generate ideas and Nelson would know what to do with them. Nelson could never turn that part of himself off completely. And he would need to make money eventually. Liquor wasn’t free. Neither was gas.

“I’m going to help you get revenge,” Marky told him. “On those people who sold you out. And we’re going to have fun doing it.”

“I don’t need to get revenge on anyone. Nothing happened to me that I shouldn’t have seen coming. Nobody forced me to do a thing.”

“Maybe you need to get revenge on this person you’ve become. This person who’s been wasting your time, not to mention your abilities.”

Nelson raised an eyebrow. “You’d hate me after a month. Maybe quicker. We’re not going to find out, but that’s what would happen. I’m not easy to work with.”

“You’re not lazy. This recluse thing is…”

“Is what?”

“Lame. It’s beneath you.”

Nelson wiped his hand on his jeans like he’d picked up something sticky. “That’s enough of the tough-love bit, kid.” He sniffed sharply. “Look, I never appreciated when people wasted my time by letting me go on and on, so let me be clear. The answer is leave me alone. I want everyone to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Okay, fine,” Marky said. “I’ll respect your wishes, but I’ll just ask you to listen a minute first. Hear me out and then I’ll leave.”

As Nelson methodically crunched ice and massaged his elbow, Marky told him he had a dozen ideas for businesses drawn up in detail, each in a clasped brown folder, and he offered Nelson executive command of any of them he wanted to partner in. The startup for most of them was under twenty thousand dollars. Thirty for sure. A chain of shops where parents and their children made homemade ice cream with exotic ingredients — a snack and a learning experience for the kids, and mom takes home a tub of fig with black sesame to serve at the dinner party. Start in South Tampa. The places would be booked a year in advance for rich-kid birthday parties. A website where people punch a bunch of info in and then receive a list of unique gifts they could give someone. They put in the location where they live, and what they are to the person they’re buying for — boyfriend or former karate student or whatever — and what they got the person last year and all, then out comes a menu of thoughtful presents. A service that pairs someone with money up with a poor kid who wants to be a musician. The patron furnishes instruments and lessons, on the condition the poor kid does well in school. It would be an investment for the patron. If the kid hit it big on the charts one day, the patron’s family would get a piece.

“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” said Marky. “Maybe it would work best as a nonprofit. The way I figure it, nonprofit can lead to profit. A dating club that—”

Nelson had held up his hand.

“Here’s my advice,” he said. “Switch to right field and do all the daydreaming you can.”

Marky almost went on with more business ideas, but stopped himself. The particular plans weren’t important, and Marky knew Nelson realized that. Marky could think of a hundred more plans.

“I’m not going to give up, you know. I said I’d leave and I will, but I’ll just come back. I’ll come back again and again and again.”

“I sure wish you wouldn’t.”

“The only way to stop me is by accepting the offer,” Marky said. “Look, don’t you want to be in business with somebody who needs you? Don’t you want to start from the ground up? I’ll be grateful to you for the rest of my life. Some random guys in an office building could never say that. You’ll have an ally forever with me. We’ll be something.”

Nelson nodded at Marky, letting out a weak little whistle. He got his feet under him and stood laboriously. He picked up Marky’s hat from the table and squeezed it onto his own head.

“Tell you what,” he said. “You can come back over here, but when you do, bring a couple of mitts and a ball. I’m going to put you through the hard-to-get dance, and it’s going to include playing catch. That’s going to be the main element of it, in fact. No promises about anything else, but I’ll play catch with you.” Nelson had that same deadwood expression on his face. “And now, it’s my dinnertime.”

Marky stood up, feeling for some reason that it would be unseemly for him to smile, that it would be presumptuous or something, and Nelson handed him his hat. Then the man opened the front door and ushered Marky out into the yard. It was hot and humid out but Nelson shuddered. Marky wanted to shake his hand, but Nelson was already drifting off underneath a live oak tree. The meeting was over. Nelson had already given plenty and he wasn’t going to give more. “Later,” he called, his voice issuing thinly in the dark.