Lights Out by Jason Starr Page B

time.’
    ‘Sorry,’ Jake said. ‘I—’
    ‘I called you three times right after that game against the Astros. The one you went oh for five and struck out three times.’
    Jake squinted, as if trying to remember, but he knew exactly what game Antowain was talking about.
    ‘Right,’ Jake finally said. ‘The pitcher had good stuff that day.’
    ‘Bullshit,’ Antowain said. ‘The Pirates scored seven runs that game, knocked the starter out of the box in the fifth. It was only you looked like you was swattin’ flies up there.’
    ‘So I had a bad game.’
    ‘You had a bad
month.
I saw your other games too. You were pulling out with your shoulder on the off-speed stuff; your timing was all messed up. That’s why I called you - was gonna give you some pointers.’
    ‘Thanks,’ Jake said, ‘but that’s why we have a hitting instructor on the team.’
    ‘Your damn hitting instructor didn’t stop you from hitting two fifty-eight in September, one forty-two with runners in scoring position. See, I know all your stats. Your average dropped seventeen points that last month. You only had one homer, nine RBIs. That’s pitiful.’
    ‘What the hell are you talking about? I had my best season ever. I ended up at three fifty-one. I won the freakin’ batting title.’
    ‘That satisfies you?’
    ‘Why shouldn’t it satisfy me?’
    ‘You could’ve hit four hundred, you set your mind to it. You got the same problems you always did - you don’t stay focused; you quit when your team gets too far ahead or too far behind. Just ‘cause your team’s out of the race, you don’t show up to play no more.’
    ‘I don’t need this shit.’ Jake tried to get by, to go downstairs, but Antowain wouldn’t get out of his way.
    ‘And how ‘bout all them strikeouts?’ Antowain asked.
    ‘I only struck out, what, eighty times this year?’
    ‘That’s too much for a guy who only hit twenty-two homers. How come you don’t have your power numbers up? You got the height; you got the extension. You could’ve hit forty homers this year if you just went to the gym instead of the nightclubs. Yeah, I read the papers - I know how you been gallavantin’ ‘round town with the ladies.’
    ‘The papers lie,’ Jake said, thinking that he’d never heard his father use the word
gallavantin’
before.
    ‘And how come you only had twenty-seven doubles?’ Antowain went on. ‘Guy with your speed should’ve had thirty-five at least. You don’t hustle outta the box, that’s why. You just stand there, watching the ball, just like you did in Little League.’
    ‘So let me get this straight,’ Jake said. ‘I put up awesome numbers this year, I’m probably gonna get MVP votes, and that’s still not good enough for you?’
    ‘You’re not reachin’ your potential.’
    ‘Bullshit. Nothing I do’s ever good enough for you. If I had a year like Babe Ruth or Barry Bonds, you’d still find something wrong with it.’
    ‘You can always do better.’
    ‘See? And you wonder why I don’t return your calls.’
    ‘You just don’t wanna listen,’ Antowain said. ‘You think you got all the answers.’
    ‘Whatever you say,’ Jake said, and he pushed by his father and went downstairs.
    The party was still going strong; there seemed to be even more people in the house. Jake was scanning the room, looking for Christina, when Donna Thomas came over and said, ‘Having a good time, honey?’
    ‘When Christina comes I’m outta here,’ Jake said, glancing at the NO NEW MESSAGES display on his cell phone, wondering why nobody was getting the fuck back to him.
    ‘Come on,’ Donna said. ‘You have to stay until at least eight o’clock. People want to see you.’
    ‘People always want to see me,’ Jake said.
    He went outside and the crowd gave him a thunderous ovation, as if he’d just slammed a game-winning homer. As he signed some kid’s glove, the crowd pressed closer to him, jostling for position. It was mostly kids with their dads,