The morning after the charity gala, Debbie literally dragged me out of bed (actually the couch).
As I landed on the floor with a dull thud, still wearing the outfit I wore to the gala, I protested groggily.

“Let me sleep, Debbie. It’s Saturday. Where’s the fire?”

“Otis is going to pick us up in an hour. We’re going to Six Flags Magic Mountain!”

“I don’t wanna go! I wanna sleep!”

“You can’t. On the way to the park, you’ve got to tell me all about the gala. Like did you hook up with that GlobalNet dude?”

“Who? Alastair Knowles?”

“Yeah…”

“Oh, him, yeah, Juan’s supposed to call him to schedule an audition for me—”

“Oh, wow! My sister’s going to be a TV star!”

“No way, Jose. I keep telling everyone. I have no interest in acting—”

“Cover your mouth when you yawn. It’s not ladylike—”

“Well, neither am I—”

“The only person who doesn’t think you’re a girl is…you.”

“So why are we going to Six Flags? Why not Disneyland? I’ve never been. We went to Disney World when mom was still with us…”

“Do you really want to sit in a teacup and have puppets warble “It’s a Small World” in your ear? Or have pirates shout blue material at you like “Hey, nice hooters?”

“Between you and me, Debbie, I don’t have any hooters.”

“The point is Disneyland is for kids. Six Flags has real amusement park rides! Adults can have mature fun—”

“I’m a scaredy cat, Debbie. You know that!”

“That’s why it’s so much fun. Everyone needs to let out an ear-splitting scream now and again. It’s a lot like sex! You can wait until you become a mother to go to Disneyland with your kids.”

“O.K., O.K. I can see you’re getting carried away with this. I’ll go shower and change. I’d appreciate a bracing cup of coffee waiting for me, dear sister.”

“Oh and just go light on the makeup. You don’t want to dazzle Otis too much.”

On the way to Six Flags in Valencia, a 45-minute drive north of Los Angeles, Debbie and I sat in the back of Otis’ Acura, checking each other’s makeup and discussing my encounter with Clark Ruskin and Mei Ling at the gala.

“So, are you going to really sit on this and not tell Misty what her husband’s been doing while she’s out of town with The Surf?”

“We shook hands on it. As long as she quits trying to find a gotcha on me…”

“She thinks you want to get your hooks in Chuck.”

“Why? It looks like she’s Clark’s sidepiece—”

“There’s no future in being a sidepiece. Before you know it, you’re tossed out on the side of the road. Now, being Mrs. Chuck Connors is quite another thing. She probably thinks she could land a spot on The Housewives of Newport Beach.”

“Somebody should tell her I’m no threat to her. I just work for Chuck. He’s not my type. He’s a guy.”

“Girl, you couldn’t tell by the way these guys all salivate over you.”

“Debbie, I swear I’m not doing anything!”

My mind, not to mention my hair, was frazzled by the time I wobbled off the Superman: Escape from Krypton rollercoaster ride. Debbie and Otis laughed at the terror of riding the 100 miles per hour cars that reached an apex of over 400 feet above the ground, while I tried closing my eyes on the way down and screaming. Otis told me it held the world record for height and speed when it first opened more than 25 years ago.

“You girls are so chicken. You know there have only been a handful of fatalities on these coasters? Man, I’d love to ride the Formula Rossa in Abu Dhabi. That one goes up to 150 miles per hour!”

“I think I’d rather sit in a teacup and have pirates shout rude things at me.”

The thrilling Superman rollercoaster notwithstanding, the attraction that compelled Otis and Debbie to cut short my beauty sleep was the tower that was attached to it. The Lex Luthor: Drop of Doom. They secure you in a harness on an eight-seat open-air gondola that then ascends slowly up to the top of the tower, some 400 feet above the ground. There, you sit in anticipation of the long, precipitous drop as your hands tighten their grip around the over-the-shoulder restraints. To add to the feeling of impending doom, when Superman: Escape from Krypton and Lex Luthor: Drop of Doom operate simultaneously, the steel framework tower that supports both rides sways as much as 2 feet from side to side.

The evil voice of Lex Luthor roused me from my state of attentive immobility:

“Today is your lucky day, today your life changes forever. And this may very well be the highest point of your insignificant existence!"

He laughed maniacally and then a brief period of silence preceded the sudden free-fall to the bottom.

I screamed all the way down.

The following week, Mei Ling and I circled each other warily in the office. But the fact that I knew her dirty little secret kept her out of my way. That didn’t stop her from shooting glares at me every time we passed each other. Apart from that small nuisance, I felt much more at ease and really threw myself into perfecting the presentation to The Los Angeles Dodgers that Chuck had arranged for Friday morning of that week.

With Dulcie at the helm of the laptop, Chuck and I rehearsed the presentation all day Thursday, completing four dry runs until we felt able to do it in our sleep. Chuck told us to meet him for breakfast at the café across the street from our office at 9 on Friday morning. We’d ride in his Audi e-tron for the 20-minute drive to Chavez Ravine where Dodger Stadium was situated for our 10 o’clock appointment.

When we walked into the conference room deep in the bowels of Dodger Stadium, we had a surprising member of the audience awaiting us. Magic Johnson, legendary Los Angeles Laker who had a minority stake in The Dodgers as well, was seated at the conference table along with members of the Dodgers’ marketing team. After introductions were made all around, he came over to Chuck while Dulcie and I set up our gear.

“Chuck! I was hoping to see you at this presentation. How’s Clark and your sisters?”

“Great, Magic.” They shook hands. At 6’3”, Chuck still had to crane his neck to look Magic, 6’8”, in the eye. “So what brings you out here on a Friday morning? I didn’t know you were on the Dodgers’ marketing team.” He laughed warmly.

“When I heard about Sisters Sportswear pitching a custom line of promotional apparel for The Dodgers, as an interested party with The Lakers, I wanted to get a preview of what you’ve come up with. The Lakers are always pro-active in expanding our demographic. And I was told that Evie Rivers was your marketing head now—”

“You know of Evie?”

“Hey, the front office here was seriously considering hiring her as a special instructor…until they got word, she took a job with your company.”

“I didn’t know that. She never mentioned it. I thought she was through with baseball.”

I chose that very moment to interrupt.

“Chuck, we’re ready to proceed.”

The presentation went over swimmingly with the marketing team. They were especially enthusiastic about the custom apparel giveaways for Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, The 4th of July, and Labor Day that specifically targeted women and children’s styles and sizes. In addition to these one-offs, they were impressed by our concepts for bespoke year-round apparel that could be sold in Dodgers Team Stores and ordered through their website.

While Chuck made further arrangements with the Dodgers’ marketing team, Magic cornered me in the hallway just outside the conference room.

“Evie? I already spoke to Chuck about having you guys present to The Lakers. Maybe we can set that up for next month some time?”

“Oh, sure, we’d love to pitch The Lakers.”

“So, why are you working for Chuck and his sisters? You know, Brandon told me that they were just about to ask to interview you when they heard you’d joined Sisters Sportswear.”

I was gob smacked. I had no clue. I thought they had just tossed my job application into the circular file. After all, I hadn’t heard from them in more than six weeks. Not a word.

“I didn’t know that. I guess the timing was all wrong. But I’m happy doing what I’m doing with Sisters. Chuck and his sisters are nice people to work for—”

“The funny thing about it is Brandon could’ve sworn your application said you were a guy. He asked around and everyone told him you’re a woman…which, of course, you certainly seem to be.” He scratched his head. “Someone, somewhere, made a mistake?”

“I…I guess so. Funny but things like that happen to me a lot. It’s my name. Evelyn. It can be a man or a woman’s name.”

“Brandon told me if I got the chance to invite you out to the Stadium tomorrow. He’d like to meet you in any case. The game’s at 4 in the afternoon so drop by around 11AM. If you’d like to, you can work out in the cage, meet some of the players. So, wear something appropriate. Nothing with Titans colors though.” He laughed and shook my hand.

Magic slapped Chuck on the back as they passed each other in the doorway of the conference room.

“Did Magic tell you he wants to set us up with The Lakers next month?”

“Yeah.” I looked lost in thought.

“Something the matter?”

“No, he invited me to work out on the field tomorrow morning with the team.”

“Well, that sounds exciting. Mind if I tag along? I’d love to meet Mookie and Clayton on the field. Don’t tell ‘em I’m a Padres fan.” He pressed his index finger to his lips.

“Magic told me Brandon Gomes, the GM, was going to ask to interview me right about the time you hired me…”

“Guess I’m lucky we beat them to you. Is that how you feel?”

“Of course. Just surprised, that’s all. I thought they’d rejected me out of hand—”

“Let’s get back to the office. I just called Kyle. Pizza for lunch! You didn’t know we had a pizza oven installed in the kitchen, did you?”

It was the first time I had ever set foot on the field in Dodger Stadium. Although it was five hours before the game was set to begin, most of the team was out there, shagging flies, fielding grounders, and taking batting practice inside the outdoor cage. Some of the pitchers were throwing in the bullpen beyond the left field fence. Brandon Gomes, the Dodgers GM, was standing by the batting cage and offered his hand when I approached, with Chuck off to my side.

“Evie? Nice to finally meet you. Chuck, good to see you again.” He turned to me. “So, the guys in our development department said you did some great work with Titans players down on the farm last year. Our analytics group heard good things about you as well. But I was tied up with the start of the season and didn’t get around to contacting you until you’d already taken this job with Chuck. It’s a shame, the timing between us was off. You’re the kind of coaching talent we look high and low for.”

“I love baseball, Mr. Gomes. It’s my first love. But when the Titans let me go, I…the opportunity to work for Sisters Sportswear was too good to turn down. At least I’m finally putting my MBA to some use.”

“I’ll say,” interjected Chuck. “Evie’s a dynamic marketer. Just the right person to join our team.”

“Well, good luck, Evie. Take a turn in the cage if you want. Would you mind giving some free advice to some of our players? They’re really hyped to speak to you. Here’s Mookie, right now.”

Mookie Betts, the best player on the Dodgers, strolled over, bat in hand.

“Mookie, this is Evie Rivers. She’s the one who coached the pitchers on that AAA team in Somerset to a league-leading 3.24 ERA.”

“I did hear about you. From Richie Morrow when we played The Titans in New York last month. We could use another set of eyes on Nick Palumbo. He’s struggling a bit and the coaches are kind of stumped. They might have to send him down if he doesn’t straighten out soon.”

Brandon pointed to the bullpen in left field. “He’s in the pen right now with our pitching coaches. Maybe you could take a look?”

“Well, I really need to see the analytical data on him as well as just check out his mechanics—”

“They’ve got all that. I’ll introduce you. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind getting some input from another source. O.K?”

I nodded and Chuck and I followed Brandon out to the left field bullpen.

As I analyzed the spin rates on Nick Palumbo’s 4-seam fastball, slider, and sweeper, George and Greg, the Dodgers’ pitching coaches, filled me in on Nick’s season so far, his recent loss of command and a nasty tendency to give up long home runs. At the same time, I watched Nick throw his pitches. Nothing wrong with his velocity. The kid could throw hard. I immediately noticed his landing foot was pointed toward first base instead of in line with home plate. That made his arm drop into a three-quarter, almost sidearm delivery instead of straight overhand. That made his slider move horizontally across the zone rather than vertically downward.

We were able to show him on our tablets the flaws in his pitching motion. He practiced his windup and delivery with a towel rather than a baseball, easier to see the angle his arm made as he “threw.” Chuck had been standing off to the side, watching as I worked with Nick and his coaches.

“You’re really good, Evie. I used to pitch in high school. I was so bad that my coach told me I should concentrate on basketball instead.” He laughed. “Maybe if I’d had someone like you to coach me, I could’ve stayed the course with baseball.”

“Did you try to play basketball professionally?”

“Clark tried to get me a place with an Italian club but they signed a kid from LSU instead. There was an offer from a team in Tel Aviv but, by that time, I’d decided that it wasn’t in the cards for me. I mean, I didn’t want to be playing basketball in Belgium or Croatia when I was 30 years old.”

“You had a lot more choices than most other kids. If basketball was the only thing you were good at—”

“A lot of people think that exactly. My sisters included.”

“But you have a law degree.”

“I’ve never actually practiced. Passed the bar on my third try. Started working for my sisters instead. It was Clark’s idea really. Where would I be if Clark hadn’t married my sister?”

“Do you really have to work, Chuck? I mean your parents left you quite an inheritance I’m sure—”

“You must think I’m just some empty-headed playboy heir. An air-headed heir.”

“I’ve heard some things.”

He threw his hands up as if in surrender. “Guilty. You got me. If you didn’t know me well, that’s exactly what you’d think. Can’t blame you if you do. I am trying, Evie. I envy someone like you. You’re skilled, dedicated, sure of your abilities. You know who you are and what you want to be.”

“Do you think so, Chuck?”

“Sure. You’re a self-starter. I’m glad I’ve met you, really.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.”

“What’s that?”

“I have no frickin’ idea who I am or what I really want.”

“Don’t shit me, Evie. That’s impossible.”

“No, it’s true. Everyone wants me to be their idea of me. My parents and my sister want one thing. Juan Moskowitz, who I didn’t even know two weeks ago, has a whole career mapped out for me. Baseball general managers think I should coach. Even you. You want me to be your marketing maven—”

“I want you to self-actualize. Only you know who you really are and what you really want in life. From where I stand, you’re doing pretty well—”

My phone rang. It was Juan.

“Hello, Juan. Are you calling me from the Dog Park?”

“No, I’ve been working the phones all morning. I asked my brother to walk Rico. I’ve got some exciting news, Evie.”

“Oh, no. What is it now?”

“That Knowles guy is tough to pin down. But I finally got you an audition for that Dantley project. You’re penciled in for Wednesday afternoon at the studio. I’m sending you the pages and some notes on the character you’re reading. It’s a major part, Evie! Dantley’s really pushing for you. All the details are in the email. I won’t take no for an answer. This’ll make both our careers! I’m sending it right now. Speak to you soon!” He disconnected.

“Problem?”

“Yes, someone won’t take no for an answer.”

“Juan?”

“Why do these things always happen to me?”

“Someone up there likes you?”