Baseball 11

This coffee the men have lots to say, "imagine that! A public statement he was shooting at little green men!"
Laughter.
"Even owing the pistol is illegal."
"He had an excuse for that, bookie was putting heat on him."
"Further, has nothing against the baseball player, admires him, watches a dozen games a year."
"Thirty day detox then the psychiatric evaluation."
Quiet voice, "that Hannigan is a liar."
"How so?"
"Think of audits, you've cornered the accountant or controller, ask a direct question, he refuses a direct answer."
"Think so?"
"The reporter asked him three separate times whether he had or had not seen little green men. First, it was the guy was obviously drunk. Second, guy needs to go to AA. Third, that's what happens with the DT's."
"Yeah, but there are no green men."
"Take a vote. Who all says Hannigan knows something huge, something he's hiding, but not green men?"
Unanimous.
It's out to a car wash to pick up books. Zohra parks around a corner, finds a coffee shop half block away, across the street. An hour of sifting books as she counts cars.
"Quentin, we won't waste much time on this file. Almost no one pays cash anymore, all debit and credit cards. His cards match ok, if he's siphoning, it's tiny. Traffic count ok."
"Revenue maybe, what of expense?"
"He's cheating his staff on hours, keeping costs down. Between them and the provincial Labor Board."
I chuckle.
"We aren't God. Cheat your customer, employee, banker. Even cheat your own mother out of borrowed money. We don't care, just don't cheat us."
That evening we negotiate a deal on TV and reading. There's nothing I like on weeknights, nothing she likes weekends. So I get weekend sports, she gets the remote weeknights.
She is fairly strict on reading, eyes get tired with computer work. I sympathize, having been a CSR. I'm not allowed to read under artificial light, more strain.
Weekends during the day, yes. I set a limit for myself, never more than two hours on a Saturday or Sunday.
I get suspicious as to where relatives come in all this. From high school days, I know Afghans are family oriented.
It's like running into a brick wall. She flat out states, "don't go there."
I deduce she and family do not see eye to eye for reasons unknown.
Next day we pick up books and records from Hannigan. He's aged ten years since I last saw him, hair grayer, face more lined.
Zohra is ecstatic as she does cross checks, "thank you so much for the advice my friend. Half hour and I'm sure it's clean. Keep the file a bit, make it look like I sweated."
"That's nice."
"My first reaction was to run you off. Now I would not want to. You are pretty helpful, very easy to negotiate with. I understand why Indira hung on."
"Don't try getting pushy like her."
Easy laugh, "would not dream of it. Any disputes, we'll try to solve with goodwill."
"Such as?"
"Sooner or later, a boyfriend."
I gasp.
"I know, that's Mount Everest, everything else, easy in comparison."
"So ah when?"
"Never had any decent luck with men. Not in a great hurry to try again."
"Zohra, do you really have to buy $30 worth of lottery tickets twice a week?"
"Why not?"
"You realize that's over three grand a year. Take the same amount, use it to pull down principal on your mortgage, pay it off years earlier."
She runs the calculation, gasps, "but then, it's the death of hopes, of dreams."
"I said the same about baseball after my injury. But odds on the 6/49 are 1 in 14 million. Buy say 3,000 tickets a year, it's roughly 4,600 years you'd hafta buy. I mean in order to be statistically certain of winning."
"Ok tell you what. One ticket per draw, rest on the mortgage."
She does almost zero walking, even taking the car three blocks to the convenience store. I start with the obvious, just walking to the store.
When I sense she is comfortable with that, I expand it a bit. In no time, she's up to forty minutes a day, pace fast enough to give cardiovascular benefit.
Sitting in Tim's, traffic was lighter than usual, got twenty minutes to kill before a taxpayer appointment. Head down, reading the paper.
It's Danny's voice, "uh ma'am, excuse me."
Look up.
He blushes hotly, "very sorry to disturb you ma'am. Just had a very strong feeling, said you were someone I knew."
Raise an eyebrow.
He blushes ever hotter, "sorry ma'am, it's not like that at all, I wasn't trying to pick you up." He beats a retreat."
"Who is he, Quentin?"
"Best friend and road roommate in days of baseball."
"He could feel your essence, your life force, but didn't know what it was. Wonder why Hannigan didn't have that reaction?"
"My guess, Hannigan is old and cynical, knows all. Danny, just a little boy who never grew up, more open, more honest."
"He's cute, I could go for him."
"Run for your life. Drinks like a fish, crashed up his father's car drunk. Twice arrested for barfights, three times for assaulting a girlfriend. More social diseases over the years than you would believe."
"So how come you and he were friends? You weren't like that."
"Step on the field, nothing else matters, the brotherhood of baseball."
This sort of accidental meeting must happen a hundred times a day in this city. Usually it involves nothing more than a sheepish apology, quickly forgotten.
And so, Zohra quickly drops any thoughts of chasing Danny. But it opens the floodgates, gets her obsessing on sex. This is both good and bad. Bad in that I'd prefer she just plain does not go there; good in that it gives me prep time.
It would be a lousy strategy to play King Canute and command the tide not to come in. I'm aware of what her level of retaliation would be.
Just so, lousy stategy to read up on sex issues, just get her obsessing more.
Only one logical way I can think to handle it, dissociate, vanish into the dark corner of the mind, let it happen but don't be there.
I try this at meetings - long, boring, petty and too many of them. I vanish into daydream land.
It works well. I can come and go with ease. Be totally absent, yet return in a second.
I soon discover that is exactly what she was doing in meetings.
It's good I'm prepared. Sparks fly between Zohra and some dude she meets in a coffee house, in town on convention.
I vanish, daydream of past baseball glories.
It ends a lot sooner than I expected, "Quentin, ok to come out now, he's gone."
"Already? He gotta problem with premature ejaculation?"
Sheepish, "problem was mine, lay there like a sack of flour."
"You did?"
"See I've always been lazy in the physical sense. Hate gym, like schoolwork. You come along, take over walking, cleaning, typing at work, I've gotten even lazier. Didn't realize until it was over, I was supposed to be contributing something. After all, I am out of practice."
"So ah where to go from here?"
"Next time, I won't make that mistake. Very sweet of you, vanishing like that, you could have put up a fight." She breaks into a cheerful tune. After, "tomorrow is a wonderful day in two regards. First, got laid. Second, first day of vacation for that silly Indira, gone to Guyana for a month."
"Should be more peaceful in the office."
"Quentin I am like you, don't believe in wishing ill upon another. I would never wish her plane to crash. After all, others would be killed."
"I sense a 'but' in that."
"But I hear there is a video rental store for sale in her hometown. I sure hope she buys it."
We both laugh. Yeah, things will be ok between Zohra and me. We've just done Mount Everest together. Anything else, will seem easy in comparison.