Orange grower Frank Stall dug deeply. His voice was loud, his blood pressure high. When she'd reached five thousand dollars, Jacy nudged Risk. "Let Frank win."
Risk raised a brow, and Jacy explained, "I'm yours for lunch, dinner, and into the night. Frank's a good customer. Allow him breakfast."
Risk begrudgingly agreed. He raised the bid one final time, then allowed Frank Stall to take Jacy for a cool six grand.
"Stump Stevie Cole" came next. The baseball trivia session lasted for thirty minutes. She answered the questions as rapidly as they were fired her way. The woman was amazing.
Jacy saw Stevie's face tighten when Zen Driscoll bid five hundred dollars for the right to the last question. Standing on stage, waiting to be auctioned, he squeezed through to the microphone. He looked handsome, a stand-up guy with a whole lot of brains. Jacy saw him as more professor or philosopher than in-the-dirt player.
Zen now wore a navy button-down shirt and khaki slacks borrowed from Risk's closet. His female fans whistled and whooped their approval. As he stood beside Stevie, Jacy watched her friend's chest rise and fall, caught the slight hitch in her breathing. Only one well acquainted with Stevie would sense her unease.
Zen cleared his throat, then spoke into the mike. "On what two teams were Preacher Roe and Billy Cox teammates?"
Within seconds, the crowd grew silent as Stevie contemplated Zen's question. As the silence stretched on, people grew edgy. No one stumped Frostproof's whiz kid. Yet Zen had her sucking air.
"Pittsburgh Pirates." Stevie spoke slowly into the mike as she named the first team.
The crowd cheered her on. Stevie's supporters were on their feet and clapping so loudly Jacy was surprised her friend could think.
Stevie looked at Zen and stared, as if trying to read his mind. A moment of panic seized Jacy. Had Zen stumped the unstumpable Stevie? Jacy clenched her fists, willing her friend to answer correctly.
That was when she caught Zen's mouth move. The slightest, yet unmistakable twist of his lips, like a ventriloquist speaking for his dummy. No one had caught the movement but her and Stevie. By the look of relief in Stevie's eyes, Jacy knew Zen had fed her the answer. "The Brooklyn Dodgers," Stevie finally managed.
"The lady knows her baseball," Zen shouted into the microphone as he peeled five hundred dollar bills from his money clip, then faded into the background.
The crowd embraced their hometown trivia buff.
The Bat Pack came next, offering themselves as three for the price of one. They strutted to the edge of the stage, hot, sexy, and ready for action. The women pushed and shoved and rushed the stage. Security stepped in, enforcing crowd control. The uni-formed men demanded a moderate distance be kept between those being auctioned and those bidding. The women booed, but stepped back.
Grabbing a megaphone, Jacy dove into the crowd and elbowed her way toward the east sector of the stadium. From there, she relayed all bids that rose from the bleachers. She would surely be hoarse by morning.
A collective bid from the Farnsworth Senior Center bought the Bat Pack. The young players would soon be playing bridge, checkers, and dominoes with the elderly supporters of the game. Jacy caught Psycho extending his arm to widow Abigail Gates, a customer from the coffee shop. Her wrinkled face smoothed into a smile. She had six granddaughters. All in their twenties. Jacy would bet the coffee shop old Abigail had each one primed to visit the Senior Center that very evening to meet the young players.
A light tug on Jacy's hand, and she found Ellie Rosen, one of her T-ball players, by her side. "Coach Jacy, I want to bid on that man." The girl with dandelion-blond hair and dark brown eyes pointed to Zen Driscoll, who stood next to be auctioned. She carried a book by Dr. Seuss in one hand and her piggy bank in the other.
Jacy bent down, eye level with the six year old. El-lie's clothes spoke Goodwill, the outfits clean, yet outdated. And often purchased large to cover a growth spurt. "How much do you have in piggy?" she asked.
"I saved my milk money from school. Three quarters and a dime," the girl said proudly. She pointed toward an elderly lady with cloud-white hair in a dark green dress with a crocheted collar who was seated on the first row of the bleachers. "Gram has two dollars in her coin purse if the bidding gets real high. It's her mad money."
Jacy's heart squeezed. "Why do you want to bid on Mr. Driscoll?"
Ellie looked toward the stage. "He looks like he can read." She held up Green Eggs and Ham, then pointed to her "Red Flyer" parked beneath the bleachers; the wagon was piled with books. "I brought all my fairy tales."
The shortstop would be sold for more than milk money—this Jacy knew. She placed a protective arm around the little girl and hugged her close, wanting to shield her from a world of disappointments. She'd suffered enough already. The tragedy of Ellie's parents being killed in a car accident when she was four had paralyzed Frostproof. The court had awarded the grandmother custody of the child.
Legally blind, Naomi Rosen could no longer read to her book-starved granddaughter. There had been numerous days following Bluebell practice when Jacy had sat with Ellie in the dugout and read to her until dark.
"Can we win him, Coach?" Ellie raised her voice to be heard over the crowd.
Jacy ran her hands down her zebra-printed thighs, contemplating how best to let Ellie down. As she nervously patted her hips, Risk's checkbook brushed her palm. The answer to her prayers. Zen Driscoll was one fat check away from reading to Ellie Rosen.
She listened closely to the auctioneer, who egged the crowd on to fifteen thousand dollars. The women were selling their souls to win the shortstop. Jacy understood his desirability. The man had a quiet presence that suggested strength and dignity. And subtle sex appeal.
Her mind made up, Jacy pressed the siren on her megaphone, held it to Ellie Rosen's lips. "Seventeen thousand," she whispered to the little girl. And Ellie repeated the number in her big girl voice.
A wave of silence sucked the air from the crowd, all eyes now focused on Jacy and Ellie. She waved Risk's checkbook and the auctioneer yelled "Sold." Jacy quickly wrote out the check and forged Risk's signature.
People parted like the Red Sea as Ellie Rosen walked proudly to the stage. After delivering the check, she took Zen's hand. A lump formed in Jacy's throat as the little girl led the shortstop from the stage.
Risk's gaze touched her and she held her breath. She prayed he wouldn't be angry over her expenditure. A nod and a slow smile stamped his approval. She went weak with relief. Risk loved kids. Known throughout the league as a fans' player, he arrived early at the ballpark and stayed late, signing autographs for the children who loved him.