Stew picks up in two rings.
“Nice of you to answer your fucking phone, meat,” Stew says, using an old nickname for rookies in baseball.
“Sorry, Skip,” Charlie says, immediately and sincerely apologetic. “I’ve got Frankie here with me on speaker. What’s up?”
“It’s a fucking shitstorm is what’s up. Frankie, we’re going to fix this.”
“I appreciate that, Stew, but Hannah Vinch seemed pretty clear about . . .”
“Things have changed or are about to. I’ve got some feelers out there and there’s nothing official yet, but I just need you to hold tight, okay? Get yourselves back here and we’ll figure this thing out.”
He sounds good, way better than the last time I spoke to him, invigorated and lively and tough, just like he’s always been.
“Okay,” I agree. If trying to get me my job back is gonna make Stew feel better, who the hell am I to argue with the old man?
Charlie ends the call and then looks at me, seriously. “You think he can pull this off?”
“No,” I say, with a half shrug and a smile to match. “But if he wants to be a pain in Hannah Vinch’s ass, I’m all for it.”
“Alright then, back to Brooklyn it is.”
I don’t even try to look ashamed of myself as I step out of Charlie’s bedroom, his t-shirt hanging down to my knees, my hair in long damp locks down my back and a challenging glareaimed at Javy and Gregory, neither of whom look up from packing up their stuff, thus ruining the effect entirely.
Back in my room, there are also a dozen or more missed called from Stew, but also one that I absolutely cannot believe is there.
Elliott Forbes.
Vice President and General Manager of the New York Yankees.
And not just a missed call, but a follow up text.
Call me back when you get this. –EF
I don’t know him that well personally, but well enough to have his number in my phone. Not really to use, just to have. He’s been a stalwart of Yankees baseball for as long as I can remember, worked for the organization since college, an early adopter of analytics-based scouting and team building, but old school, hence signing his text messages. The curiosity is too much for me and I call him back.
“Ms Sullivan!” he says, in that booming voice he’s famous for. “I hear you might be looking for a job?”
“News travels fast,” I say. “I haven’t even had an exit interview yet.”
He snorts heavily, a man who, by reputation, probably doesn’t quite believe in extremely standard Human Resources practices. To be fair, when it’s the New York Yankees, they probably don’t much care.
“What can I do for you, Mr Forbes?”
“Elliott,” he insists, but then pushes forward. “I have an opening here that I think you’d be perfect for.”
Ah. Right. One of his AssistantGMs, also their analytics department head, just got hired by the Mariners for their top job and he probably wants me to step in.
It’s flattering.
“You want me to come in an interview for Caleb Rivera’s job?”
“No, Frankie. I want you to come in and interview formyjob, and then after we interview a couple of more guys for appearance’s sake, I want you to take it.”
Chapter 20
CHARLIE
It feels too good to be true.
