The Brat and the Brainiac Page 2

  “That’s what I like about you, man,” Uncle Tommy’s saying when I arrive. “You keep this house running like a top. If this party comes off the way I’m hoping, I’ll give you a raise.”

  “Uncle Tommy.”

  He laughs. “Just screwing around. I’ll give you a raise anyway. You deserve it.”

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Wright.”

  “After all these years? Call me Tommy, like everybody else does.”

  “Mr. Tommy.”

  “Close enough. How are you this morning, Miranda?” he asks, turning his attention toward me.

  “Fine. Can I have some bacon and eggs, too, Ignatius?”

  “But of course. You’re too skinny anyhow.”

  “Can’t help it,” I say, pouring myself a glass of juice. “I have the metabolism of a racehorse.”

  “Yeah, you do,” says Uncle Tommy. “What do you have today?”

  I stick out my bottom lip, thinking about my classes. “Algebra and Business Ethics.”

  Uncle Tommy looks at me.

  “You’re not enjoying Business at all, are you?”

  “I told you. It’s boring. I wish I could drop out. I fucking hate quadratic equations.”

  “It won’t kill you to finish out the semester. And quit cussing.”

  “Yes, Uncle Tommy,” I answer, but then I turn my attention back to Ignatius. “So, how’d things go with Kevin last night?”

  “Excellent.”

  “Is he still here?”

  He throws a glance at Uncle Tommy, but nods his head.

  “Invite him down for some breakfast,” I tell him.

  We both look at Uncle Tommy, but he has his coffee cup to his lips, so he’s not objecting. Ignatius finishes up our plates and hands them to us, and then he slips out the back door to go get Kevin.

  “Who’s Kevin, by the way?” Uncle Tommy asks.

  “A guy Ignatius picked up. He’s really nice, though.”

  We eat in silence until Ignatius gets back with Kevin. I pat the seat next to me and he sits. I introduce him to my uncle while Ignatius makes him something to eat. Uncle Tommy asks him a few questions about himself, but Kevin’s only half-mindful of them. He’s busy watching Ignatius flip his eggs and then slide them onto a plate.

  “He’s good, isn’t he?” I ask Kevin. He nods, his eyes practically glued to Ignatius.

  I glance at my watch.

  “Well, I’ve got to get going. Nice seeing you again, Kevin. The rest of you...have a good day. See you tonight, Uncle Tommy.”

  “See you, Brat.”

  I grab my keys and backpack and head out the door to the pink car Uncle Tommy bought me for turning twenty-one, thinking how awesome it’ll be if things work out between Kevin and Ignatius. I know my poor housekeeper gets lonely a lot and needs a boyfriend, so I wish him the best.

  My classes are boring, of course, but the time seems to go by pretty quickly. Out in the hallway after, I run into Dennis, who looks like he fell off a skateboard.

  “Hi, Dennis.”

  “Hey, babe. Busy right now? Want to go get some lunch?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “The Taco Shack has two-for-one right now.”

  “Okay. Just let me stash my books in my car. I’m in Lot C.” We get rid of my books, and then I turn to him. “You didn’t get hurt, did you? When Uncle Tommy put you out?”

  “Just scraped the heels of my hands. And my nose. Yeah. What’s that dude’s problem?”

  “He feels you disrespected our home.”

  “You know I would never do that.”

  “I know.”

  He turns to me and pulls me close.

  “Want to go make out somewhere after this?”

  “I can’t,” I say. “I have to go home and plan one of Uncle Tommy’s parties.”

  We eat our tacos and Dennis walks me back to my car. Before he leaves, I give him a sweet little peck on the cheek, instead of the deep, slow kiss I’d normally give him, because the truth is, I feel funny making out with Dennis now, knowing Uncle Tommy’s arranging a husband for me, so I get in my car like a good girl and drive home.

  Jason

  I look at the address in my hand to make sure I’ve got the right place, but really, with all the cars parked here, it’s got to be Tommy Wright’s house. I give my keys up and tip the valet, and then I walk up to the house.

  Tommy lives in a huge red brick house, three stories high. The front side of the house is trimmed with half-timbers and white stucco, and there are two chimneys on the roof. There’s a big sycamore tree to the right of house, and box hedges flanking a flagstone path up to the entrance. When I arrive, Tommy himself greets me at the door.

  He’s a good-looking guy, tall with light brown hair and a permanent three days’ growth of beard. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a yellow polo shirt that really sets off his baby blue eyes.

  “Hey, Jason,” he says, shaking my hand. “Glad you could make it.”

  “Thanks for having me.”

  “Come on in.”

  I enter the bright foyer, with its polished marble floor and tasteful artwork on the walls. I follow him past a pair of twin ficuses with braided trunks into a living room packed with people. I glance around desperately, but thank God I recognize most of them.

  The furniture’s modern, but they have a sort of Asian decor going for the party.

  “Our illustrious hostess is over there, handing out canapes,” Tommy tells me, pointing her out. But I’m so wowed by the decor I hardly notice her.

  “This is quite a set-up,” I say, looking around at all the silver they’re using.

  “Yeah. Miranda’s mother—my sister—was a lavish hostess. Most of this stuff belonged to her, and she left it to Miranda. I guess being a good hostess just rubbed off on her.”

  “Jeez. She could open a store.”

  “You should see the butler’s pantry. It’s not even empty yet.”

  I take another look around, glancing at the buffet table, which is backed by what looks like a forest of birches bearing fairy lights. There’s a stack of square white buffet plates on the table, each separated by a red silk napkin, and clusters of orchids in squat black containers. Finally, I look at the girl herself.

  Dressed in a severe black dress with buttons all down the front, she’s wearing a minimal amount of make-up. Her skin looks fresh-scrubbed, and her dark hair’s hanging down to her waist in two shiny, elegant braids, one on either side of her head. If she wasn’t dressed so almost completely Goth-like, I’d say she was a real all-American, girl-next-door type.

  My type, to be exact, and I’m attracted to her instantly, Goth or no. But she’s the kind of girl a guy like me can only dream about because, putting her appearance aside, it’d be useless for someone like me to start anything with a girl like her. Even if she did end up liking me, how could I ever keep her in the style she’s used to? I’m handsomely paid for what I do, but my salary’s a joke compared to what her uncle makes playing pro ball. When she finally looks around, Tommy beckons her to come over to us. She flashes us a million-dollar smile, her even, white teeth gleaming between two rose-red lips. When she does come over, he introduces me like I’m someone important.

  “Miranda, this is Jason Weed. I told you about him.”

  She’s even prettier up close, with her long, slim neck and her clean, white cuffs and collar. She shifts the tray of canapes to her left hand, shaking my hand with her right.

  “Hello,” she says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jason. Onigiri?”

  I take one of the rice balls, which are shaped like tiny panda bears, and pop it into my mouth. I chew it and find smoked salmon inside.

  “Yum. This is good.”

  “Thank you. If you’re hungry, feel free to help yourself to the buffet.”

  “Thanks. I will in a minute.”

  “Well, let’s get you a drink, huh?”

  “Okay.”

  She hands the silver tray to her u
ncle and slips her hand into the crook of my arm, leading me off toward an open arch.

  “I hear you’re the assistant pitching coach,” she tells me.

  “Yep.”

  We pass under the arch into the dining room, where there’s a bar set up. She relinquishes her hold on me and turns to face me.

  “Now, why haven’t I met you before?”

  “Because they just brought me on board at the start of Spring Training.”

  “Cool. You’ll have to tell me all about it. But first, what are you drinking?”

  “A rum and soda. And you?”

  “I usually drink a Tom Collins.”

  “Why such an old-fashioned drink?”

  With a wink she says, “I guess I’m just an old-fashioned girl.”

  “I’m liking you already,” I tell her.

  She smiles wide enough to show her dimples, and I think about the fact that Tommy Wright suddenly seems to know who I am and has invited me to this party, an unexpected and wholly unprecedented turn of events. But I don’t have time to think too much about that, because she hands me my drink. I sip it and it’s perfectly done.

  “Did you used to be a bartender?” I ask.

  “Only to Uncle Tommy.”

  She starts mixing her own drink next, and I watch her. Her hands are graceful as they work, and a vision of her rubbing them all up and down my body dances before my eyes. I feel myself grow hard at the thought of it.

  She catches my eye, and I think she’s read my mind, because there’s knowing desire in her glance. I picture her in bed with me, and she’s giving off the kind of vibe that tells me she wouldn’t mind a roll in the hay. She leads me back out to the living room, though, and once there, I turn to her, leaning down and whispering in her ear.

  “I’d love to sneak away with you.”

  “Can’t,” she says, gesturing airily to indicate her duties as hostess. As she does so, her glance darts towards her uncle, and by the way he’s watching us, I know it’s a good thing we didn’t try to sneak away. Miranda’s not the only old-fashioned one in this house.

  Shit. Maybe I’d better ask Tommy if he’ll even let me take her out in the first place.

  “Be right back,” I say, and make my way through the crowd. Tommy’s standing there chatting with a guy from the team, but he notices me coming and looks alert. He shakes the other guy’s hand and sort of dismisses him, and I ask if I can speak to him.

  He leads me off to another room and shuts the door behind me. It’s a nice room, the kind of room I’d like to have some day, with rich wood paneling like an Englishman’s study. He even has club fenders around the fireplace and an elaborate brass inkwell on the desk.

  “You wanted to talk?” he says, and I turn my full attention toward him.

  “Yeah. I was going to ask...can I...would it be possible to take your niece out on a date?”

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just comes closer and slings an arm around my shoulder.

  “My niece is a very special girl,” he tells me.

  “No doubt.”

  His hand moves up to the back of my neck and he clutches it. Not hard, but still, there’s pressure there.

  “I’ve raised her since she was seven. If anything bad were to happen to her, I think I’d have to wreak vengeance on the person responsible.”

  He shakes me by the neck a couple of times, smiling and looking me in the eye to make sure I get it. I feel like a nervous teenager and all I can do is stand there and nod, hoping he won’t wrap his hands around my throat and choke me next.

  “Understood,” I say quickly.

  I steal a glance at his body, and take in just how strong and athletic he is, not to mention how much bigger. He finishes his drink and grins.

  “So, I guess what I’m saying, Jason, is that she’s not just a notch in your belt. If you guys want to go out, fine, but I expect you to get to know each other before you start messing around. And if it turns out she’s not for you after a date or two, you’d better go find someone else.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Okay, then. Yes, you can take my niece out on a date. One date, and we’ll see how it goes after that.”

  I don’t really like to be managed this way, but I shake on it anyway. He seems like a good, fair guy, and I like his niece a lot, so I’m ready to agree to anything reasonable.

  “All right. You’re on.”

  Once we come back out to the party, I go find Miranda and make the date with her. I wonder if she knows her uncle plans to be so involved in our relationship, and if she does know, whether she’ll even agree to this date with me.

  “One thing,” she says, brushing my hand with her fingertips. “Please don’t take me out to sushi. I can’t stand the stuff.”

  “Good,” I agree. “Neither can I.”

  Miranda

  Jason has just asked me out, and inside I’m jumping up and down and squealing.

  “Just a sec,” I tell him, and I run into the kitchen to see Ignatius. He’s in the middle of making more wonton cups, and he looks up impatiently when I call his name.

  “What? Do you not see I’m busy?”

  I jump in and help him with the wonton cups so he’ll talk to me.

  “I just wanted to tell you he’s here. My future husband’s here, and I actually like him. We’re going out next week Wednesday on their off day.”

  “That’s great, Miranda, but can we talk about this later? As you know, I’m working.”

  “Fine. Go ahead. Talk to you later.”

  I stomp off to the sink and wash my hands. The water’s cold, so I wrap it up fast. Just as I’m about to go, Ignatius stops me.

  “Nanda?” he says.

  “What?”

  “Love you.”

  I smile, touched, and then I shrug one shoulder.

  “Love you, too, Ignatius.”

  I leave the kitchen, and something occurs to me that I haven’t thought of before. If I leave home and marry Jason, I’ll be leaving my best friend behind. But, like Ignatius always says, if you join the dance-circle, you must dance.

  He has a ton of crazy old sayings, Ignatius, but in a weird way, they usually make sense. But since he’s too busy to talk to me, I rejoin the party. Now Uncle Tommy’s standing there with Jason again, so I make my way over to them.

  “Hi,” I tell them. “I’m back.”

  “Oh, good,” says Uncle Tommy. “Let me go mingle for a while, and you guys get to know each other.”

  When he’s gone, Jason and I look at each other and burst out laughing.

  “What’d he say to you?” I ask.

  “He said I’d better take it slow or he’ll break me in half.”

  Surprised, I say, “He did?”

  Jason laughs. “No. He just said he hopes we like each other.”

  “Don’t kid like that,” I tell him. “You don’t know what he can do if he dislikes a guy.”

  “He really looks out for you, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, he does. He’s the best uncle a girl could have, even though he does have a bad temper sometimes and he’s kind of strict with me.”

  He reaches out and tugs one of my braids.

  “I’d be strict with you, too,” he tells me. “You look like a real handful.”

  “Oh, I am. Trust me.”

  Jason and I hang out and flirt, and after a while, Bobby Sinclaire comes staggering over to say hi.

  “Hey, Miranda.”

  “Hey, Bobby. Do you know Jason Weed?”

  “Not personally, but I’ve seen him around the clubhouse. Bobby Sinclaire.”

  They shake hands (without the chest-bump thing guys normally do, which would probably knock Bobby on his ass) and Bobby grins at me.

  “What’s with the Goth get-up?”

  “Nothing,” I say primly. “My uncle wanted me to wear this dress, and I did it to please him.”

  “I like the dress you had on last time you guys had a party. You should always show y
our cleavage.”

  I pull back, slightly offended, and when I glance at Jason, he’s pretending he didn’t hear. I can only conclude Bobby’s drunker than I suspected, and I try to turn his attention to something else.

  “Hey, I saw Jonah Brakey come in a couple of minutes ago. Why don’t you go say hi to him?”

  “Yeah. I think I will. You guys enjoy the party.”

  “Sure. Thanks,” says Jason. “Nice meeting you.”

  “Yeah. Sure thing.”

  We watch him cut through the crowd and Jason turns to me quietly.

  “Do you like that guy?”

  “He’s not usually such an asshole,” I explain. “But he’s not on my list of possibilities anyway. According to my uncle, all he wants is one thing, and we can’t have that, now can we?”

  He chuckles, his eyes shining in the subdued light of the living room.

  “No. Not for a woman like you.”

  I giggle and say, “Thanks. Ready for a refill? I sure am.”

  Of course, I can’t spend the entire party talking to Jason. I have to mingle and help serve canapes and whatnot, but I go over and hang out with him as much as possible. He just seems like a nice, humble guy, and everyone seems to like him. I enjoy talking to him myself, and I try to remember everything else Uncle Tommy said about him.

  “So, tell me about this Trackman system,” I say, during one of my later conversations with him.

  “You know what a Trackman is?”

  “Sure. It tracks the ball.”

  “Then you understand how we use it during the game.”

  “Yeah, to see where the ball came in over the plate, right? And how far the batter hit it?”

  “Right. But I use it for something more, and that’s to help train and evaluate the pitching staff. The coach and I gather data and use it to show them which adjustments to make so they’re more effective pitchers. You can also use it to measure the spin on a ball and tell you which of a player’s pitches are hardest to hit. Like, say you have a curveball with a good spin on it. That’s much harder to hit than one without much movement on it. And angles. What angle a ball comes in at is really important, too. We can measure that now, and use that information to train our pitchers to strike out more players.”