March 27, 1948: Hollywood, FL:
Deuce Barrell stood beneath the invigorating spray of the shower, a rendition of "Hooray for Hollywood" escaping his lips. This tune had stubbornly occupied his mind for weeks, subjecting him to a fair share of good-natured ribbing. The Cannons' clubhouse at Hollywood Stadium had witnessed not only his humming but also his impromptu singing performances of the catchy melody. It wasn't lost on Deuce that the song celebrated Hollywood, California, rather than its Florida counterpart, but the irony amused him.
Meanwhile, in their modest bungalow, Deuce's newlywed wife, Debbie, was in the living room, enveloped in her robe, meticulously folding laundry. Initially excited about accompanying her husband to spring training, her enthusiasm had waned upon discovering the compact size of the bungalow that Deuce had rented. "This place is tiny," she had protested. Deuce had countered, highlighting his and Charley McCullough's years of contentment with adjacent bungalows. However, this comparison had inadvertently touched upon another sensitive topic for Debbie – Gloria McCullough. As Charley was Deuce's best friend, she was intrinsically connected to both men. Yet, it was Gloria's role as Deuce's twin sister that exacerbated matters. The issue lay in Gloria's apparent disapproval of Deuce's marriage to Debbie.
A sudden chime of the doorbell prompted a sigh from Debbie. Discarding a pair of Deuce's underpants onto the unfolded laundry pile, she rose and headed to the door.
Without bothering to inquire who stood on the other side, she swung the door open.
"Hey, sweet cheeks," greeted the young man at the threshold, causing alarm to widen Debbie's eyes.
"Bob! What are you doing here?" she whispered urgently.
Bob Miller, a member of the Cleveland Foresters, frowned. "What do you mean, what am I doing here?" he retorted. "I heard this is where you were staying and I had to come by and see my favorite girl from Cincy."
"You need to leave, now," Debbie hissed with urgency.
Miller's frown deepened, then he caught sight of Deuce emerging from the bathroom, strolling into the living room with a towel secured around his waist and his damp hair defying gravity in all directions. Miller's eyes widened, his mouth gaping in astonishment. "Uh..." he stammered, observing the puzzled expression on Deuce's face and the horrified look on Debbie's.
"Miller, right?" Deuce queried. "What brings you here?"
Miller stumbled over his words, his mind racing. Finally, he managed, "Oh, I'm an old friend of Debbie's. You know Boney Joe, right, Deuce? Joe Crosby... he, uh, informed me that she was staying here, so I thought I'd drop by and say hello."
Deuce's eyes narrowed. Debbie couldn't help but wonder if his temper was about to erupt. Fortunately, neither observational nor analytical skills were among Deuce's strong suits. "Oh..." he mumbled.
"Bob, this really isn't a good time," Debbie interjected, her eyes pleading with Miller to make a swift exit.
However, matters took a nosedive when the door of the McCulloughs' bungalow swung open, and Gloria stepped onto the petite porch. Debbie wished her intrusive sister-in-law would refrain from meddling.
"Just an old friend paying a visit," Debbie replied in response to Gloria's inquisitive look.
Recognition flickered across Gloria's face as she spotted Miller. "An old friend?" she questioned, undoubtedly calculating that Miller was at least five years younger than Debbie and had only joined the FABL in the just-concluded 1947 season.
"Absolutely!" Miller responded with an exaggerated, clearly feigned grin, his anxiety palpable. "Debbie's family and mine go way back. I'm from Lancaster, you know, near Columbus?"
Gloria's brow furrowed. Deuce poked his head out of the door, causing Miller to take a step back. "Hey, Gloria! How's my niece?" Deuce called out.
Miller looked at Debbie, relief washing over his face. He had evidently realized that Deuce remained oblivious to the situation. Gloria, however, was a different story.
"Hey, Debbie, I better get going. Just wanted to say hi. Will I see you guys at the game later?" Miller rushed out, his words too hasty, and he practically dashed to his weathered jalopy parked by the curb. Gloria's frown deepened as she observed his almost frantic departure. She then informed Deuce that baby Linda was asleep.
"Ready to head over, Charley?" Deuce inquired, referring to their customary practice of driving to the stadium together.
"Absolutely!" Charley McCullough affirmed as he stepped out, passing his wife. Catching sight of Miller, who had made it to his car and was waving in their direction, Charley wore an expression that broadcasted his bewilderment. Gloria whispered, "I'll fill you in later."
"Give me ten more minutes, Deuce..." Charley informed his friend. Deuce retreated into the bungalow to change, and Charley followed suit, leaving Gloria and Debbie exchanging uncertain looks.
"I know exactly what this is," Gloria declared with a stern undertone, sending an unambiguous warning. "There better not be anything untoward happening."
Debbie's brow furrowed, deepening into a scowl. Then, she too entered the bungalow and closed the door behind her.
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Deuce was pitching that day, and even in spring, this made him a little manic. He was dressed and out the door, pecking Debbie on the cheek, with two minutes to spare, and he and Charley had driven off.
Now, as game time approached, Deuce was feeling pretty good. He'd made a trio of spring starts already and was happy with his results thus far. He'd gone five innings in all three, beating the Sailors 3-2 in his first - and roughest start. Then he'd thrown five shutout innings against the Stars, allowing two hits while striking out eight. His arm was feeling great, probably the best it had since the injury. He struck out six Cougars in a 5-1 win in his next start, giving him a 1.20 ERA over 15 innings with two earned runs, 12 hits, and 4 walks against 16 strikeouts. Even the normally grumpy Ad Doria seemed impressed.
"We want more of the same today, Deuce," Doria told him. Deuce nodded, then shook his head at the skipper's back as the old man went back to his cubbyhole of an office. Dan Scurlock, a rookie, was catching that day, and Deuce was going over the Foresters lineup with him, explaining how he wanted to attack various hitters - those he'd pitched to in the past... Cleveland, like everyone else, was running out a bunch of minor leaguers too.
At game time, Deuce saw Debbie sitting in the stands. He was disappointed, but not surprised, to note that she was not sitting with Gloria. For whatever reason, they didn't seem to like each other.
Paul Porter led off for Cleveland, worked a full count - which drove Deuce crazy - and then singled to right-center. George Dellinger bunted it back to Deuce, whose only play was to first, moving Porter to second.
Deuce saw Doria signaling to Scurlock. Apparently, the skipper's mistrust of youngsters extended even to catchers. Orie Martinez was next, and Deuce had a lot of respect for the Puerto Rican outfielder, despite generally handling him well. Deuce got him to hit a fastball off the end of his bat, sending a harmless fly to left. Two down.
Lorenzo Samuels stepped in. Deuce had never faced him, but he'd seen him take Charlie Griffith deep three times last season. Samuels was a lefty, and Deuce as a southpaw himself, took full advantage of this, striking out the budding slugger on three pitches.
Deuce was in the groove, and he tossed four shutout innings, allowing just three hits, with no walks and five strikeouts. He was no math whiz, but he'd long ago memorized the formula for earned run average and knew he left the game with a 0.95 ERA.
He took a seat in the dugout to watch the rest of the game. Charley hadn't started, but subbed in for Charlie Rivera at second base in the sixth. Chris Clarke was on the mound in the top of the sixth. Glenn White singled to lead off for the Foresters, and Clarke walked Walter Hendrickson. Constantine Peters, the wily vet, reached on an error by young Nellie Walters playing in center field, allowing White to score. Bob Miller was announced as a pinch-hitter for Cleveland.
Deuce normally tuned out these spring training games once he was done, sometimes just retiring to the clubhouse to play cards. But he watched Miller as he stepped into the batter's box. He didn't know much about him: he'd faced him just once, and retired him on a ground out. Miller showing up at Deuce's bungalow was strange, there was no other way to look at it.
Clarke grooved one on the very first pitch and Miller smoked it over the third base bag and down into the corner. Hendrickson and Peters scored and the 3-0 lead the Cannons had enjoyed was gone. Miller stood on the bag at second, clapped once and then blew a kiss to someone. Someone sitting behind the Cannons dugout.
Deuce frowned. He stood up and poked his head over the top of the dugout. He saw his wife, three rows up. She was blushing.
Deuce pursed his lips in a deep frown. Out on the infield, Charley McCullough sidled up to Miller. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked.
"None of your business, McCullough," Miller retorted.
Charley's eyebrows rose and then a scowl creased his face. "Deuce Barrell is my best friend and my brother-in-law. Stay away from his wife or I'll thrash you within an inch of your life," he snarled.
"Oh, yeah?" Miller challenged. Young Clifton Smith, playing shortstop, ambled over and whispered, "You two better knock it off."
Both men looked and saw first base umpire Paul Kibbens looking at them with a frown on his face. "We have a problem, gentlemen?" he asked.
"No... no problem," McCullough replied. As Kibbens nodded, Charley looked back at Miller and said in a voice too low to carry far, "At least, not yet. You've been warned, Miller."
He went back to his position as Miller frowned, spit at his feet, and took his lead.
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Debbie Barrell in Florida, 1948
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