and averages were listed on the back. None of the official information said much about the individuals. Samantha recalled her conversations with the players: their jokes, their quirks, their stories all came back to her.
“So this is the new team.” Brenda peeked over Samantha’s shoulder. “Here’s your coffee.”
“Thanks.”
“Not bad.” Brenda picked up a photo. “Hey, this is José Alvendia. He used to play for Houston. Craig and I wondered what had happened to him. He used to be really good.”
“Let’s hope he’s still really good.” Samantha eyed the photo. “Between you and me, Elliott told me that this is the last chance he’s giving the team. If they don’t turn things around, he’s going to sell it.”
“What? I thought the city had a contract with him for two years.”
“No, only one year is guaranteed. The second year depends on this season’s revenues.”
“You think they can do it? Pull the club out of the toilet, I mean?” Brenda knew as much or more about the team as anyone, and the skepticism was evident in her tone.
“I don’t know. Elliott’s put some money into getting players. About half of these guys are new this year.” Samantha waved at the spread of photos with her coffee cup. “But your guess is as good as anyone’s whether they can pull it off.”
“Well, that could either mean new energy, or too many egos to make a team work together.”
“Exactly.” Samantha sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “But for better or worse, we’ve got to shove our personal doubts aside and assume they’ll succeed.”
Brenda eased herself onto a chair at the side of the table. “Maybe we should just stick to auto parts and bookstores.”
Samantha eyed the photos as she pondered Brenda’s words. Not only had the Rainiers been rock-bottom in the league, they’d also managed to bring just about every scandal swirling around the club: drugs, drunk driving, bar fights. One player had even been caught having an affair with the mayor’s wife.
“Well, at least the problem players have either been suspended indefinitely or left the team,” Samantha said, thinking aloud.
“Or they’re in jail.”
“Don’t remind me. It’s been four months since the end of last season. If we hit the public with a whole new image, play up the bright future the team has, I think we can win the fans over.”
“So what’s your big idea, boss?” Brenda sipped the glass of water she held. “How’s the rookie ad-lady going to save the day?”
Samantha perched on the edge of the table, facing Brenda. “Try this one: When I was talking with some of the players, I had this flashback to grade school. Do you remember at recess, the boys would try to outdo one another with jokes and tricks when they were around the girls? They’d do all this silly stuff just to get our attention and we ended up thinking they were just that—silly?”
“Yeah, and the weirdest ones always turned out to be the guys you dated in high school,” Brenda said with a laugh. “So how does this sell a baseball team?”
“What if we play on that image to reintroduce the team to the public? Especially the new ones. Set up a series of commercials with the players shown as boys. Take them through childhood when they’re on the playground to adulthood in the stadium. Each guy would have some particular talent that revealed itself at an early age. Or maybe it’s just a quirk that has followed him through life that makes him good at what he does now.”
“You mean like the naughty boy throwing a rock that breaks a church window?” Brenda asked. “In the next spot, he’s the team’s star pitcher.”
“Exactly. That’s a good one.”
“What about the print ads and the billboards?”
“We could use stills of each player, showing a parody of them as a kid, then as an adult. You know, a photo of a kid breaking the church window, then a still of the actual player winding up for a pitch.” Samantha felt the seed of the idea blossoming in her head. “We can use the new faces on the team. The old ones, too. Introduce all of them so it’s like there’s a completely new ball club. We give the customer the feeling of getting to know the team from day one. How a new era of great baseball got started. Or, at least a new season.” Samantha finished with a shrug.
Brenda sat for a moment sipping her water. “This has promise, boss. You’re good. But I’m still thinking about those half-naked men. What about them?”
“What half-naked men?”
“The half-naked men that gave you that glazed look a little while ago? You said you’d explain later. It’s later now.” Brenda was watching Samantha with wide, guileless eyes.
Samantha was not fooled. “Hmm. Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”
“That’s why you hired me.”
“I haven’t quite figured out where the half-naked men fit into the picture, but I have my target.”
“Who?”
“Jarrett Corliss.”
“The pitcher with the bum shoulder? Why him?”
Samantha sorted through the photos and pulled one from the mess. “This is why.” She handed it to Brenda.
Brenda took one look at the blond, blue-eyed man and whistled her approval. “My, oh my. He was with Arizona a while ago, wasn’t he? I wondered what happened to him.” Brenda shot an inquiring look at Samantha, then added, “Well, his shoulder may be toast, but the rest of him has sure improved with age.”
“Brenda, I am telling you the complete and honest truth—this man is the best-looking thing in a damp towel that I’ve ever seen in all my twenty-eight years.” Samantha pointed her finger at the other woman. “And that opinion is never to be mentioned outside of this conversation.”
Brenda had a steadily widening grin on her face. “That good, huh? He’s the reason for your glazed, dreamy look?”
Samantha had to smile. “Well, he did kind of…pop into my head unexpectedly.”
The two burst into laughter that had a decidedly wicked ring to it. Others in the office glanced up to see what the joke was, then went back to what they were doing after deciding that it was private.
Samantha wiped the corner of her eyes. “He’s also the…what do I want to say? He’s the smoothest man I’ve ever met.” She felt her blood sizzle from the memory of Jarrett’s bold appraisal. “He’s from somewhere south—”
“Oklahoma,” Brenda supplied, looking at the back of the photo she held.
“Oklahoma, then. He has a drawl and entirely more charm than what’s good for him.”
Brenda laughed. “Sounds like you’ve got a thing for the man in the towel.”
“No way, Bren. No ballplayers. Never again. You know that.”
“It’s been a long time, Samantha.” Brenda looked at her friend directly. “Just because he plays baseball, doesn’t mean he’s going to run around on you.”
“Whether he plays baseball or not, he’s not going to get the chance.”
Brenda shot her an exasperated look. “Those were boys, Sam. These—” she waved a hand at the photos arrayed on the table “—are men who know what mitt-muffins are like and what they want. Not every guy in the league is only interested in empty sex.”
Samantha snorted. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of Sheba. The mitt-muffins are just the tip of the iceberg, Bren. It’s the ego I can’t stand. Every player I ever met acted like he’s God’s gift to the universe. That hasn’t changed much from when I