Mascot Blues -2- (Patreon)

We run a routine between half-innings in the fourth, bringing out little kids to race around the bases. The littlest kids start on third, and big ones start on first or second, depending on how much handicap I think the little guys need. It's silly fun and over quick so we can get out of the players' way. You never know what kids are going to do, so it's never the same.

Afterward, Jen and I usually take a break, ten minutes or so, off-stage as we call it. In the break room, I can take off my helmet and mask and drink more PowerAde if I think I need it. This time, I just got a cup of water and sat at the table to sip it.

"What'd you think of Todd," Jen asked while putting fake creamer in a cup of reheated coffee and watching it turn gray.

I shrugged, like I hadn't thought about him at all.

"He's cute," she prodded.

I made a face, and she laughed at me. "You are trying to set us up," I accused.

"Guilty," she said. "I think you two would make a cute couple."

"I think you're crazy," I pointed out. "Is he gay? Does he know I'm a guy?"

She scoffed, "As if." She sipped at her mutant beverage.

I know I turned red. I have very fair skin for a brunet, and when I blush, I light up like a stoplight. "Jen!" I protested. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

"You're afraid to go out with him?" She pinned me with a glare. "Don't tell me you don't want to. I saw your eyes widen when he asked you out."

"I was just surprised," I said.

"Uh-huh." She nodded. "Sure." She glared at her coffee and poured it into the sink. "He's not gay, and neither are you," she observed.

"Makes no sense," I muttered. I picked up my helmet then put it back down. We had another five minutes of break, according to the clock over the door. I gulped more water, watching as Jen filled a cup for herself from the tap. I narrowed my eyes when I saw her pull out her phone.

"I'm gonna message Todd and tell him to meet you at the gate after the game."

"Don't!" I said. It sounded too much like a whine.

"I know you too well," she gloated. "You want to see him and what his reaction is to you out of costume."

I glared at her while she tapped away. My own phone sat in my backpack, hanging on the hook in my locker. I never carry it when I'm in character. I glanced toward the locker room but didn't get up.

Jen moved closer and held out her phone to me to show the exchange with Todd.

J: Stevie will meet you at gate after game

T: :) Great! we can go out for dinner, does she like pizza?

J: Adores it with mushrooms and sausage

T: I know a great place! :)

"He thinks I'm a girl," I said. My heart felt like a stone.

Jen shrugged. "Maybe he won't notice."

I grabbed at her phone, but she held it out of reach.

"Send me his contact so I can call this off," I demanded.

She stared at me a moment, then nodded. "Okay. But think about it through the seventh at least before you text him." We take another break after our seventh-inning stretch show.

"Okay," I agreed. I put my helmet back on. "We've got to get back on stage now, anyway." I pulled my mask down, and Jen did up the ties for me this time. For some reason, my hands were shaking.

*

In the seventh inning stretch, we let the kids play a mock game, big kids versus the little ones, or boys versus girls, depending on how the kids who volunteer divide up. This was the little show that got Phyllis in trouble.

But tonight, it went off without a hitch, I served as umpire with my usual histrionics, and the kids giggled so much they could hardly focus. Playing with the kids is my favorite part of my job.

Through my earbuds, Jen kept me aware of problems before they developed, and everyone had a good time, which is to say, no heads were lost by anyone important.

*

Back in the lounge, I undid my ties and pulled off my helmet and mask. "Whoo!" I said. "Workout tonight."

"You gonna shower after the game?" Jen asked. Someone else had turned on the TV during the stretch, and she reached up to flick it off.

"I usually shower at home…" I begin.

"But you've got a date tonight."

"No, I don't." I'd sort of forgotten by concentrating on the show I was putting on. I sit down at one of the tables after collecting some paper towels to dry my hair and the inside of the helmet.

Jen just looked at me. I rolled my eyes, and she grinned.

"I'd better call or text him," I mumbled, moving toward the locker room. My phone was still in my backpack hanging in my locker.

"I left you something in there," she says casually.

"Oh, joy," I say over my shoulder. I'm trying not to imagine what surprise she has arranged. I seldom lock my locker door since I don't really worry about the few valuables in my backpack, but now I think I will have to change that behavior.

The home locker room is lined with three tiers of gray-painted metal lockers. Across from the door to the lounge is the entry to the hall leading to the showers and the visitors' lockers and stairs up to another lounge and the umpires' lockers.

I open my locker, mid-level, third stack from the door, and immediately see Jen's surprise. A little black dress on a hanger dangles from the hook on the left side, while a purse and a net laundry bag swing from the hook on the other side. My backpack is still on the hook on the rear wall, and my street shoes are on the floor of the container, beside a pair of black low-heel opera pumps.

"Jen," I say. But I'm speechless and cannot continue.

"They're all your sizes," she says from behind me.

"I know," I whisper. I clench my hands in their flipper gloves. "You had no right," I manage to say, almost strangling.

"Mmm," she stalls. Maybe she feels guilty. "I'm your friend. Someone had to get you moving."

I turn and push past her, heading for the bathroom off the lounge where I kneel beside the porcelain bowl and throw up, careful to not get anything on my expensive costume. It costs seventy dollars to dry clean it, which I normally have to do once a month in baseball season.

Jen stands at the bathroom door. "You're pissed at me," she observes calmly.

I shrug, wiping vomit and drool off my lips and out of my mouth with paper towels. Jen goes to fetch a glass of water for me, and I rinse and spit into the bowl, then flush.

I run the glass full at the sink and drink the whole thing down. Then I turn toward her, and her arms are open wide, so we hug. I hiccough into her shoulder, and she laughs.

"You shouldn't've gotten into my stuff," I tell her. She pushes me away and hands me a tissue to wipe my eyes. "I mean it, Jen. I've never worn any of that outside my bedroom. I don't even know why I bought it."

She kisses me on the nose, and I make a noise that might be a sob or a giggle. This is my downtime in the evening. I really don't have to be back out there till the end of the next inning. I listen to the announcer for a moment. The visitors are at bat, so it's the top of the eighth and no reason to hurry.

We hug again. I hug lots of people as BeeGee, but as Stevie, not so much. I like hugging, but like lots of things, it can be scary—my heart thutters in my chest.

"Are you going to meet Todd as the real you?" Jen asks. She pushes my still damp, no-style short hair around while waiting for me to answer.

I snort a giggle. "You mean as BeeGee?" If I could wear my helmet and mask…well, BeeGee isn't afraid of anything.

"You know what I mean," she says. She plays with the empty hole in my left earlobe. "I brought all your earrings, 'cause I didn't know which were your favorites. They're in your purse with your other jewelry and your cosmetics. The net bag has underwear, hose, and your breast forms."

"Jen," I whisper.

"Stevie?"

"Jen, I'm so scared."