feel worthless.”
“A coach should never make you feel worthless.”
Gertie puffed out her cheeks then blew the air out. “She wanted me to hit a batter once.”
“That can’t be ethical. Or am I just naive?” I said.
“What’s naive?”
“Innocent and unaware.”
“You’re naive,” Gertie said. “The whole sports code thing is about not doing bad stuff. But it happens. And coaches sometimes encourage it. My coach said it would prove whether or not I had the fire.”
“So you hit the batter on purpose?” I said.
“No. And that proved to my coach that I’d never be dominant. And she’s right. I’m a head wimp. My arm can throw the ball, but my head doesn’t have the fire. Never will. That’s why I’m thinking of quitting and running away.”
“That doesn’t seem right. No kid should quit sports because of a coach who pressures her to do unethical things. Maybe if you quit the cigs, she’ll see you differently.”
“Maybe not.” She glanced over her shoulder to the wall just inside the open front door.
It was hard to see in the relative darkness, but I could make out some large movie posters. One was a portrait of Marlene Dietrich looking very haughty as smoke curled up around her face from a cigarette that hung from her lips. Another showed James Dean leaning against a doorjamb much the way Gertie did, a cig in his fingers. A third poster was Cary Grant from “North By Northwest,” no cigarette that I could see.
“You’re into old films?” I said.
“Classic films,” she said. “Most old films suck just like most new ones. But the classics are here to stay.”
“Are there any softball films you like?”
“Not really. I’ve seen a few, but they’re pretty gaggy. The writers and directors are suckers for sentimentality. It’s like, the down-on-their-luck team with hand-me-down shoes finally gets to the championship and wins against enormous odds. Anyway, you sure try hard to keep me talking,” she said. “What’s your job? How is it you know my mom?”
“I’m a private investigator.”
Gertie stared at me. “A detective?” she said. “Like in the movies?”
“Kinda. But movie detectives have more exciting lives than real detectives.”
“My mom came to you to investigate something? She always was melodramatic. What’s her worry this time?”
“Someone is following her. She’s worried.”
“And I’m all alone after school,” Gertie said. “So you came to... what? Protect me?”
“Are you? Alone every day?”
Gertie nodded. “I’m the unwanted child, the dreaded surprise. Mom didn’t even fight dad when he wanted custody. But he only wanted me in concept, not in reality. It was more about denying her. He never comes home until just before dinner or even bedtime. I make all the dinners, and half the time I eat alone. Sometimes I just give up the whole dinner concept and have peanut butter on toast and a Coke. And my cigs, of course. Best part of dinner.”
“Your dad likes being out with the guys, huh?”
Gertie shook her head. “One time I got his permission to go to this girl Emily’s house after school and then stay overnight for a slumber party. I found out that dad came home early from work that day. The one day I’m gone, he thinks, great, now I won’t have to talk to Gertie. There were lots of beer bottles to clean up the following day. And leftover pizza on the table in front of the TV. It’s like he was celebrating that he could be in the house by himself. Having me around makes him have to interact. Actually talk. Wouldn’t want that, would we? I used to think that dad and mom will change their attitude about me when I run away. But I don’t think they are changeable. Now if Uncle Ellison was my dad, that would be different. He’s fun and nice. Not an old sour-puss like my dad. Ellison likes me way better than my parents.”
“You do stuff with Ellison?”
“Not very often. But when he comes over, he talks to me while my dad
“A coach should never make you feel worthless.”
Gertie puffed out her cheeks then blew the air out. “She wanted me to hit a batter once.”
“That can’t be ethical. Or am I just naive?” I said.
“What’s naive?”
“Innocent and unaware.”
“You’re naive,” Gertie said. “The whole sports code thing is about not doing bad stuff. But it happens. And coaches sometimes encourage it. My coach said it would prove whether or not I had the fire.”
“So you hit the batter on purpose?” I said.
“No. And that proved to my coach that I’d never be dominant. And she’s right. I’m a head wimp. My arm can throw the ball, but my head doesn’t have the fire. Never will. That’s why I’m thinking of quitting and running away.”
“That doesn’t seem right. No kid should quit sports because of a coach who pressures her to do unethical things. Maybe if you quit the cigs, she’ll see you differently.”
“Maybe not.” She glanced over her shoulder to the wall just inside the open front door.
It was hard to see in the relative darkness, but I could make out some large movie posters. One was a portrait of Marlene Dietrich looking very haughty as smoke curled up around her face from a cigarette that hung from her lips. Another showed James Dean leaning against a doorjamb much the way Gertie did, a cig in his fingers. A third poster was Cary Grant from “North By Northwest,” no cigarette that I could see.
“You’re into old films?” I said.
“Classic films,” she said. “Most old films suck just like most new ones. But the classics are here to stay.”
“Are there any softball films you like?”
“Not really. I’ve seen a few, but they’re pretty gaggy. The writers and directors are suckers for sentimentality. It’s like, the down-on-their-luck team with hand-me-down shoes finally gets to the championship and wins against enormous odds. Anyway, you sure try hard to keep me talking,” she said. “What’s your job? How is it you know my mom?”
“I’m a private investigator.”
Gertie stared at me. “A detective?” she said. “Like in the movies?”
“Kinda. But movie detectives have more exciting lives than real detectives.”
“My mom came to you to investigate something? She always was melodramatic. What’s her worry this time?”
“Someone is following her. She’s worried.”
“And I’m all alone after school,” Gertie said. “So you came to... what? Protect me?”
“Are you? Alone every day?”
Gertie nodded. “I’m the unwanted child, the dreaded surprise. Mom didn’t even fight dad when he wanted custody. But he only wanted me in concept, not in reality. It was more about denying her. He never comes home until just before dinner or even bedtime. I make all the dinners, and half the time I eat alone. Sometimes I just give up the whole dinner concept and have peanut butter on toast and a Coke. And my cigs, of course. Best part of dinner.”
“Your dad likes being out with the guys, huh?”
Gertie shook her head. “One time I got his permission to go to this girl Emily’s house after school and then stay overnight for a slumber party. I found out that dad came home early from work that day. The one day I’m gone, he thinks, great, now I won’t have to talk to Gertie. There were lots of beer bottles to clean up the following day. And leftover pizza on the table in front of the TV. It’s like he was celebrating that he could be in the house by himself. Having me around makes him have to interact. Actually talk. Wouldn’t want that, would we? I used to think that dad and mom will change their attitude about me when I run away. But I don’t think they are changeable. Now if Uncle Ellison was my dad, that would be different. He’s fun and nice. Not an old sour-puss like my dad. Ellison likes me way better than my parents.”
“You do stuff with Ellison?”
“Not very often. But when he comes over, he talks to me while my dad
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