Pete Lattimer hated wearing ties. He was reminded of that fact as he pulled at his collar, trying to breathe. Ordinarily he wouldn't bother wearing anything so formal, but ordinarily he wouldn't have a reason to wear anything so formal. Artie Nielsen, the cookie king and at one time his boss, called him for a meeting and Pete had the good sense to at least make the attempt of a good impression, despite Mr. Nielsen knowing his failings. But he sure could use a drink right about now as he felt the dryness of his throat, his hands shaking with nerves.
Waiting inside Nielsen's ornate office, Pete pulled at his tie yet again and moved towards a globe in the center of the room. Trying to distract himself, he gave it a strong spin, perhaps too strong as it began to topple on its legs precariously.
Pete reached out to steady the globe just as Arthur Nielsen opened the door to the office with a bang, startling Pete whose grasp on the globe slipped momentarily, and there was panic from both parties that the globe would fall to the floor, but Pete's reflexes caught up in time to steady the globe and once again set it standing.
"Hey there, Artie – I mean Mr. Nielsen," Pete remembered to address the formidable man before him.
"Pete Lattimer," Artie shook his head, at once wondering why he bothered to follow Mrs. Frederic's recommendation regarding the man child before him.
Artie grabbed a plate of oatmeal scotchies off the table near the door, noticing there were fewer than when he'd left his office before Pete's arrival.
Still, Pete took another cookie as it was offered.
"Would you like something to drink with that?" Artie asked. "Juice or milk?"
"You know what I'd really like?" Pete asked with a nostalgic look in his eye.
"Oh I do indeed," Artie interrupted. "But falling off the wagon may not be the best option at this point."
Pete shook his head as he bit into his cookie, spinning the globe again distractedly.
"Pete! Don't touch," Artie admonished as he reached out to stop the globe from spinning.
"Sorry."
Artie sighed, for now Pete really did look like a child at the chastisement.
"Listen, Pete," Artie began softening his tone slightly, "I've called you here today because I have a proposition for you. A job I think you'll enjoy."
"What is it?" Pete asked absently fondling a glass paperweight he found on Artie's desk.
"Don't touch," Artie spoke again, taking the paperweight from his hands and carefully setting it back in its place. He sighed heavily. "Let's take a walk outside to talk. We'll get some fresh air…and you won't be able to touch anything," he said leading Pete outdoors.
Artie Nielsen surveyed the grounds before him with pride. The son of a Jewish piano teacher, he had come a long way from the days when his parents were immigrants to the new country. Now, at sixty-three years of age, he was a prominent businessman owning the most successful cookie company in the country, that all started with his signature oatmeal scotchies. Gone were the days of living in cramped apartments, now he had a mansion with acreage that spread for miles. He owned his own baseball club and now had begun a new league for women, albeit at the foresight of Mrs. Frederic.
Artie looked over at the young man walking beside him. Pete Lattimer was a born baseball player, a man who once played first base for Artie's team the Chicago Neutralizers. Pete had hit an impressive 487 home runs for his club, leading them to win a World Series game in 1939 where Pete hit three home runs, two in game three alone. Yes, Pete had been a fine ballplayer until the bottle became mightier than the ball.
"I've called you out here today, Pete, because I have a potential job for you," Artie began again. "As you may have heard, I'm starting a women's baseball league."
Pete nodded. "I did hear something about that."
"With most of the men overseas in the war, I thought it might be a good idea to keep the game alive, and my finances," he admitted, "by allowing the women a chance to play."
"Sounds reasonable," Pete agreed. "But how exactly do I fit into this, Mr. Nielsen?"
"I'm offering you the job of managing one of the teams."
"Me?" Pete asked surprised. "You want me to manage a women's baseball team?"
"I have my reservations, I admit," Artie went on, "but Mrs. Frederic thinks you'd make a good manager…and after all, she was right about you being a good ballplayer."
"Mrs. Frederic," Pete tilted his head back with a laugh. "I haven't seen her in ages. Bet she still looks the same. Even old Mother Nature wouldn't dare cross Mrs. Frederic."
Artie barked out a laugh. "That's true," he nodded, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "She'll outlive us all, I'm sure, but that's not what I want to talk with you about. Pete, the fact is, you're a hell of a ballplayer. I won't ever forget your contribution to our win in '39 and it's because of your talent that I'm offering you this job. "But before I do…I have to know, are you finally sober?"
Pete let out a short laugh. "You don't beat around the bush, do you?"
"I need to know," Artie replied firmly.
Pete stopped walking to meet Artie's spectacled eyes. "It's taken me a long time getting here, but yes, I'm sober," he answered sincerely.
"Good then," Artie smiled, patting him on the back as they resumed walking.
"In fact, I have you to thank for it," Pete went on.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Every time I felt the need for a drink, I'd reach for one of your cookies instead. Matter of fact, you might be to blame for my somewhat less than godlike figure now," Pete laughed.
Artie laughed with him. "I'll take that blame if it means you lay off drinking. So, you think you can handle being a manager?"
Pete nodded. "Yeah, women love me and I love them. It's a win-win situation," he grinned.
"They'll be no fraternization, Pete," Artie scolded.
"Ah, you take away all the fun," he complained good-naturally. "But seriously, Mr. Nielsen, Artie, I appreciate you giving me another chance. I won't let you down this time."
"I'm depending on it," Artie said.
"So when do I start…managing?"
"Soon. Tryouts are being held as we speak. The teams should be selected by the end of the week, then the ladies will be sent to charm and beauty school for another week before the season actually begins."
"Charm and beauty school?" Pete asked surprised.
"My idea. I want to make sure the public sees these women as ballplayers, yes, but also as nothing less than ladies. I have Steve Jinks at the field now overseeing tryouts and he'll also make sure they complete the charm school."
"Glad I only have to manage the team, not oversee charm and beauty too," Pete whistled.
"Indeed. You can start managing next week. The ladies will spend most of their day at the finishing school, but there will be a few hours left for practice as well."
"How many teams are there?"
"Only four just now. I have no idea if the public will watch women's baseball and I don't want to invest in something that isn't going to make a profit."
"That's smart."
"I thought so," Artie agreed.
"And my team?"
"Oh, yes of course the teams. There's the Michigan Regents, the Illinois Apples, the Indiana Rockets and your team, the Wisconsin Wonders."
"The Wonders, huh?" Pete tried out the name. "Sounds like a winning team to me."
Myka had never participated in such rigorous training in her life. Every day there was running, fielding, batting, throwing and catching for hours until a short break for lunch. And then it was more of the same for a few more hours more after that. By the time they made it back to the hotel after practice, it was all they could manage not to fall asleep at the dinner table. Claudia did fall asleep in her clothes the first night, Myka didn't have the heart to wake her and so just removed her cleats, pulled a blanket over her and let her sleep.
Myka stayed close to Claudia and Leena as they completed their morning exercises including base running exercises. Myka could sense the coaches were impressed with Claudia's speed and her own. In fact, she would wager they were the fastest runners in all the women trying out, bare one. A woman with raven hair and dark eyes who brushed past Myka with a knowing smirk that left her feeling flustered.
"Do you know her?" Claudia asked as she witnessed the look shared between the women.
Myka remembered practice the day before where she found herself catching a practice game.
Myka glanced out to the infield. There was a runner at second leading off when the batter hit a ground ball that straddled the foul line towards left field that was called fair. The play should only have been a single, but the speed of the ball and miscommunication between the players in the field had the ball drifting into shallow left field. The runner at second saw her opportunity and took it. As the fielder raced for the ball, Myka instinctively knew the runner would try to score a run.
She watched as the runner rounded third, making her way directly towards home plate. Myka took her position at the plate, glove open waiting for the ball to be thrown in, knowing it was going to be a tight play. The ball was finally thrown in, Myka felt it land in her glove and she turned just as the runner barreled towards her, knocking her off her feet. For a moment, Myka lay stunned, feeling the weight of the runner now laying over her. Myka blinked, trying to focus her eyes only to be met with intelligent, dark brown eyes staring down at her.
"Crowding the plate, aren't you darling?" the woman asked softly in an accented voice, an amused smirk crossing her delicate features.
Myka felt the breath knocked out of her, but was uncertain if it was from being literally swept off her feet or by the combination of the other woman's English accent and amused expression. Myka remained speechless as the woman helped her up onto her feet again.
"Way to hold onto the ball there," one of the coaches complimented Myka for getting the out but Myka barely heard him as her attention was still drawn to the runner who dispersed among the other players.
"Myka? Do you know her?" Claudia asked again drawing her out of her remembrance.
Myka grasped her neck and shook her riotous curls. "No, I don't know her. Why?"
"The way she looked at you…I don't know, I just thought maybe you'd already met. Anyway, she sure does fly around those bases," Claudia spoke impressed.
"She does," Myka agreed. "Looks like you and I finally have some competition in that department," Myka smiled.
For two days straight, the coaches worked the women hard and Myka wasn't just tired for her sake, but for Claudia's and Leena's as well. She tried to watch over the two women, but for most of tryouts, as a catcher, she'd been pulled away from them as they trained with other infielders and she trained alongside other catchers and pitchers, trying to find a pitcher that fit her.
It was difficult to find just the right balance between a good pitcher and catcher duo. Myka knew that all too well. There had to be just the right balance of talent, determination and above all, instinct. There also had to be communication. If Myka gave the signal for a particular pitch, she expected to see that pitch thrown at her. But on the flip side of the coin, if the pitcher had a feeling about another pitch being better for the situation, she expected them to go with that instinct.
The pitchers and catchers had all been paired up throughout the day to find the duo whose styles melded. She'd yet to find her one, that pitcher that knew her better than anyone else. By the last day of tryouts, Myka had almost given up hope of finding a pitcher that melded with her until she was paired with an auburn-haired woman with a wide smile and a firm handshake.
"I'm Rebecca St. Clair…I mean Secord," she laughed at herself. "Rebecca Secord," she said again shaking Myka's hand in introduction.
Myka glanced down to her left hand to see a wedding band gleaming in the afternoon sun. She smiled. "Newly married?" she guessed.
Rebecca smiled. "Yes. Jack and I have known each other for years, but he enlisted in the Marines. He felt duty bound to go and I wasn't about to stop him. Still, I'm glad we decided to marry before he was deployed. We've only been married a little over a month, and he's already gone overseas."
"I'm sorry," Myka spoke.
Rebecca shrugged. "That's life, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Myka sighed. "That's life."
Rebecca Secord was a good pitcher, Myka thought. Most of the coaches on the field seemed to think so too as they stood by the sidelines and silently nodded. Yes, Rebecca was good, but she lacked the instinct Myka sought, depending almost entirely on Myka to decide each pitch. Myka would prefer more of a partnership with a pitcher who knew instinctively as well as Myka what kind of pitch to throw when.
Still, Myka was content with Rebecca. They had managed to talk during breaks and the woman was intelligent and had an easy demeanor about her that made working with her a pleasant experience. Yes, Myka felt she and Rebecca would make a good team if given the opportunity.
However, destiny seemed to have another idea. At the end of the day, the coaches brought over one last pitcher for Myka to try out. The dark-haired, dark eyed woman was beautiful, that couldn't be denied, and Myka felt her throat go dry as she recognized the woman as the same one who could outrun her during the base run exercises, the same woman who knocked her off her feet during the practice game.
"I'm Helena Wells, or HG if you like," she spoke shaking Myka's hand firmly with that already well-known smirk in place.
Something about that smirk was Myka's undoing. How could anyone be so…so…much? Myka couldn't place her initial feelings towards the other woman and that made their introduction aggravating for her. That and the woman's Midwestern drawl that somehow seemed so out of place with such exquisite features. Maybe Myka had hit her head during that play the other day, but she felt certain the woman before her now spoke with an English accent as she hovered over Myka at home plate.
Myka narrowed her eyes at the woman as they shook hands, sensing something was off about her.
"HG? As in HG Wells?" Myka scoffed in disbelief.
The other woman's dark eyes flashed with something like amusement. "That's correct. I was given the initials of the famous writer, why not capitalize on that?"
Myka huffed at the explanation. "All right…HG, let's see what you've got then," she said placing the ball in her hand before drawing the catcher's mask over her face and walking towards the plate.
Clearing her head of any doubt, she took her kneeling position at the plate as HG threw a few practice pitches. She wasn't bad, Myka had to concede. The pitches were strong, delivered right down the middle. As a batter took their place at the plate, Myka started to sign for different pitches, a curveball here, now a fastball followed by hardball. All were delivered impeccably. Myka had been signing pitches in a pattern, just to keep it simple. The batter came to figure out the pattern; so did HG.
The next pitch Myka signaled for a fastball. HG shook her head. No other pitcher the last three days of tryouts had questioned Myka's signals. Myka signaled for the fastball again. Again HG shook her head defiantly, and was that a hint of a smirk?
Myka signaled for a hardball instead. Still a shake of raven tresses from HG, and that was most definitely a smirk on her face now.
Myka grunted behind her mask annoyed. Finally, Myka signaled for a curveball. HG gave an almost aristocratic nod and practically launched the ball down the line; Myka felt the ball land snug in her glove. It was a strike for the batter and a pitcher for the catcher. Myka knew it, the coaches all knew it from the sidelines where they nodded approvingly and HG apparently knew it too as she looked at Myka with those dark eyes.
"Looks as if I won't be your pitcher after all," Rebecca commented as Myka began taking off her catching gear.
"I don't know about that," Myka replied, "we do really well together."
Rebecca laughed. "True, but you and HG were made for each other, everyone could see that."
Myka dropped down to release her shin guards, trying to hide the blush at Rebecca's choice of words. Made for each other sounded so…intimate.
"Don't you think so?" Rebecca prodded at Myka's silence.
Finally free of her gear and feeling the remainder of her blush could be seen as heat from playing, she stood and shrugged her shoulders. "She's got a good arm," Myka agreed, "but she also doesn't seem to like to follow direction."
"I simply changed up the pitches from the routine you set, darling. A little change of rules could be just what our team needs to lead it to victory," a familiar voice spoke up from behind.
Myka turned to see HG grinning at her. "Our team?" Myka asked dubiously.
"Yes. I've just spoken to one of the coaches and apparently they match the catchers and pitchers first, seeing as they need just the right chemistry, and then they build the rest of the team around them. It appears you and I have been matched."
Myka grasped the back of her neck rubbing it awkwardly. What was it with the words being thrown about today…chemistry and matched, really? "So what team are we on then?" was all she could think to ask.
"The Wisconsin Wonders. They're compiling the final list of the teams now and should post it momentarily."
"In that case, I better see if I made the cut," Rebecca spoke.
"Yeah, I need to find out how Claudia fared too," Myka spoke as she followed Rebecca, HG walking silently beside her.
Myka watched as one of the coaches posted the list of names on a bulletin board near the stands. Her stomach knotted with anticipation. Myka wanted Claudia to make a team desperately. If she didn't, she was unsure how to cope with that kind of disappointment from the young girl. Myka knew Claudia had given her best effort. Her running, throwing, and fielding were all exceptional. Batting however…Myka brushed the hair from her sweat dampened face. Claudia would make a team; she had to.
HG studied the taller woman beside her. The look in Myka's eyes was one of worry.
"That young woman is close to you?"
Myka turned to meet HG's curious stare. "Claudia? Yeah, she might as well be my kid sister," she admitted. "She's actually the one who talked me into coming here."
"I'll have to thank her for that," HG commented.
Myka turned away as she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. "I wouldn't thank her just yet. We haven't even played a full game together yet. We may want to strangle each other before this is all over."
HG laughed. "I'll risk it," she said meeting Myka's eyes once more.
"Myka! Myka!" Claudia yelled excitedly as she ran towards the two women, effectively breaking their stare. "I made it!" she shouted embracing Myka who stumbled backwards trying to catch the ball of energy before her. Unable to do so, both she and Claudia fell onto the grass laughing.
"I made it, Myka! I'm a Wonder, just like you."
"You certainly are," Leena laughed, as she caught up to the women lying sprawled in the grass. "We're all Wonders," she smiled as she offered a hand to help the women up.
"It seems I'm a Wonder as well," Rebecca commented as she joined the small group. "Myka, we apparently do make a good team, though not so well as you and HG here," she acknowledged. "I'll be your relief pitcher, HG."
"Lovely," HG smiled.
"HG?" Claudia asked confused glancing at the dark haired woman.
"Yes, Helena G. Wells, or HG if you'd like."
"HG Wells? Like Myka's favorite author HG Wells?" Claudia asked surprised.
"We only share the name," HG assured, glancing at Myka who looked away suddenly self-conscious.
"You're also the one who beat both Myka and I in the base run every morning, aren't you?" Claudia asked amazed.
"I believe I am," HG agreed with a grin.
"I've never known anyone to beat Myka running. The way you traveled around those bases…it was…something."
"Thank you, darling," HG laughed. "I appreciate your kind sentiment."
"And Myka's going to catch for you – there's no one better than Myka," Claudia spoke, her admiration evident.
"Yes, I've gathered that as well," HG assented, meeting Myka's shy glance with a sincere smile. "I'm looking forward to our time together. With all of you," she amended breaking her stare with Myka to include the other women.
Claudia looked around the small group of women and smiled. This was going to be a good season for her team the Wisconsin Wonders; she just knew it.
"Congratulations, you are the first members of the All American Girls Baseball League," a coach spoke to the group of women sitting on the field. Applause and whistles filled the air at the declaration. "My name is Adwin Kosan and I will be managing the Michigan Regents. The rest of you will meet your managers in a few days."
"Now, at the end of practice today, you're all going to be fitted for your baseball uniforms, and this is what they'll look like," he motioned to a woman climbing onto the dugout roof to model a tunic like uniform with short sleeves and an even shorter skirt.
"I can't slide in that," complained one woman.
"That's a dress!" yelled another.
"Half a dress – that's not a baseball uniform."
"What are we, ballplayers or ballerinas?"
"It's awfully short," Claudia whispered uneasily to Myka.
"Yeah, and I'm going to have to squat in that thing," she sighed dolefully.
Standing along the sideline, Steve Jinks heard the complaints and secretly agreed with the protests from the women. He didn't exactly approve of the uniform either, not understanding why the women couldn't play in uniforms similar to the men but Mr. Nielsen wouldn't hear of it. He had insisted the women ballplayers not be mistaken for men, thus the dress like uniforms.
Hearing the unrest among the group, Steve walked towards the crowd, politely removing his hat to speak to them. "Ladies, I'm sorry, but if you can't play ball in this uniform," he motioned again to the model, "you can't play ball with us." Silence descended among the group. "Right now there are dozens of women with a train ticket home who will play ball in a bathing suit if asked."
"There's no pockets for my cigarettes," Lily yelled, garnering a snicker from Bonnie and other women in the group.
Steve grimaced. "There is no smoking in the league. There's also no drinking and no men. Each of your social engagements will be approved by your team chaperones. In addition, each of you will have regular classes at charm and beauty school."
"For what?" Kelly Hernandez asked annoyed, smacking her gum.
"Each girl in this league is going to be a lady," Mr. Jinks replied.
"What are we now?" came the smart reply.
