As I sit in a small booth in the back, who walks in but Jose Canseco. He sits in the round booth near me in the back, and orders a T-Bone steak, two baked potatoes, Caesar salad, and coffee.
With an idea, I thumb my iPod.
A low voice says, "Hello?"
"Abilene Austin, please. This Abilene?"
"Woody? Yeah, it's me. Brentwood Belair, what a pleasant surprise. Been a while."
I slide out, move toward the door, and out onto the sidewalk.
"Remember, I sleep in on Saturdays. Wait. Let me gets some coffee, hold on."
"No, no. You haven't got time. Your first big story here in LA."
"Big story, huh?"
"I'm at the Montana Galley. Jose Canseco. He's here"
"Jose? Canseco? Who? Well, I know who he is, but..."
"Seems he's trying to get back with the Red Sox. DH. It's an exclusive, my dear. He's right hear, sitting in the round booth in the back, all alone. Put on something nice and get over here."
"Canseco?" she says. There is silence. "I know this guy. Better wear a tight sweater. Do my hair. Give me half an hour. But I get the story first, then you can put it in your paper. What is it? Valley Post Picayune."
"Deal. And welcome to LA. I knew you'd be back."
As I sit back down, Jose is pushing his Caesar salad around with his fork.
Twenty minutes, Abilene walks in, orders coffee, and walks directly toward the round booth in the back, a stand out, in her red sweater, I must say.
Jose is served a T-Bone steak, medium rare, two baked potatoes, with chives and butter. He squeezes a tennis ball in his left hand.
"I can help you, Jose," she says.
His right eye twitches. "Do I know you?"
"Abilene Austin, KLUK-TV. I interviewed you once after you fought Sikahema."
"Yes, I used to be a boxer. Vai Sikahema. Atlantic City. Boxing, a rough and tumble sport. Should have fought him inside."
"Can I sit?"
"Sure, why not."
He looks at her. "Yeah I remember. You were the only lady there."
"That was me."
"TV, Yeah, I've seen you. How did you ever get into sports." He cuts his steak, and pokes at the baked potato.
"Wanted to be on TV. Sports desk was available. Being Miss Congeniality in the 2005 Cajun National Chili Cook-Off , and a short skirt, probably the main reasons they hired me."
He tries to put the tennis ball in his pocket but his pants are too tight. Instead, he drops it on the seat.
"Enough about me." she says..
"You know, you look better in person." he says.
Their eyes meet. Then, "Pu-Shaw," she says, giggles, and slaps his hand.
She sees pills on the table. Two red ones, three capsules, and a round one, half red, half blue?
"Vitamins," he says, "Yup. I try to keep in shape."
"I've heard you trying to get back into baseball. Your only what, 40? 42?"
"47," he says. He breathes deeply.
"No?" she says, raising her eyebrows.
He looks down at his plate, and stabs at the steak with his fork. "I saw they were thinking about Tony Ramirez, so I said why not me? What's he, hundred year old?
"So I tweet. I got almost 400,000 followers. Somebody knows somebody, and maybe I can get a try out. Maybe with the Red Sox. Thought about the A's, but they're not looking so good. But the Red Sox got a real chance."
"You've kept in terrific shape. Why not?"
"Yeah," he says. His right eye twitches. "I'm hoping."
She reaches over and squeezes his forearm. "Wow, pretty strong."
She scooches closer to him in the booth. He doesn't move.
"Going to be tough," he says. "I'm not dumb. Probably never get a pitch to hit. They'll all be throwing at my head." A quick laugh.
He takes a deep breath, and shakes his head. "Still in the game, though. I've been the manager, outfielder and designated hitter for the Yuma Scorpions of the North American League since last April."
He looks at her. "Off the record, all of this?"
"Just two people talking over lunch." She reaches into her purse and clicks on her tape recorder
"Sad part is I'd be a pretty good player for a lot of teams." He leans over his T-Bone, and two baked potatoes. "I was MVP, Rookie of the Year, had a 40-40 season, and I'm 32nd all-time with 462 homers."
"And 200 stolen bases."
He squints. "How do you know all this?"
"You're Jose Canseco." They bumps shoulders and she smiles.
He breathes deeply. Again his right eye twitches. "Being out front with the drugs. That's what's did me in." His head bows, and he starts to sniffle.
"Hey, lots of guys came back. Mcgwire, he's now the Cards hitting coach. What about Darryl Strawberry. How many chances did they give him?"
"All I wanted to do was give the fans what they wanted. I didn't hurt anybody." His eyes are watery.
"How about Don King, Iron Mike, Michael Vick, Plaxico Burress. They came back. Come on, even Martha Stewart's back doing her thing on TV."
She holds his arm and shakes him. "Anyone, you deserve a second chance."
"I should of just lied about it to Congress. A one-way ticket to Palooka-ville! I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody. Which I was. Instead of a bum, which is what I am. Let's face it. That's what baseball thinks of me." He puts his hands over his face. "This is probably my last real chance."
Large tears drop into the chives and butter of the baked potatoes. "I'm not usually this way."
"Sweetheart," says Abilene. "Once again you'll be on top."
He wipes his eyes, "You really think so?"
"Guaranteed," she says. "Guaranteed."
He sits up straight, scoops up the pills on the table, and downs them with two gulps of coffee.
It's Monday evening, Jose Canseco is sitting on the edge of a bed in a room at the Bonaventure. He aims the remote.
"You're watching the KLUK Six o'clock Eyewitness News. Here's Mr. News himself, Roswell Hobbs."
"Good evening everyone. We begin with breaking news in sports. Let's call in our new Miss Sports here at KLUK, none other than Abilene Austin. Tell us Aby, a key figure in Major League Baseball is making a come back. And you have an exclusive."
"Thanks Roz. Yes, former major league slugger and admitted steroid user Jose Canseco wants to get back into baseball. With the Boston Red Sox. Through a usually reliable source, I was able to get an exclusive interview with him Saturday afternoon.
Jose's teeth clench. "That was off the record. What is she going to say? I was in tears? You weren't supposed..." says Jose.
"He's now 47. He's been serving as manager, outfielder and designated hitter for the Yuma Scorpions of the North American League since last April.
"Well, why not Jose?" says Abilene. "Stranger thing have perhaps happened, but, remember, it's not over...that's right... 'til it's over. Winston Churchill had seven words for success: Never, never, never, never, never, give up. I spoke with him at the Montana Galley, over in the Valley. We spoke over lunch, and what I can say is this: If he can pull this off, it will be one of the best comeback stories of the decade. Good Luck Jose. Now, back to you Roswell."
"First of all, " says Roswell. "Welcome to our News Team here at KLUK-TV. So, Abilene, your first day and you already have an exclusive. Wonderful. And sure, why not Jose?"
Jose clicks off the TV. He laughs, opens a brown pill bottle, takes out a green pill, and drinks it down with half a glass of Gatoraide, and says, "Yeah, why not me?"
No comments:
Post a Comment