tables.
“I went around to see her, must have been late September, to see how she was doin’. Her friend who was at RPI had dropped out, and Frannie was sharing a place with two girls she didn’t hardly know. I could tell something was wrong, and I finally got her to tell me.
“I talked her into writing Whitestone about it, because I thought, you know, he might want to do right by her.”
Instead, Jimmy says, she told him later she wrote him three times and finally got his phone number and called him, at his home down in Florida. He told her they’d do “something about it” in the spring, that she had to give him some time to get his act together, straighten things out with an old girlfriend back home, or some such bullshit.
“I didn’t do enough for her,” Jimmy says. “Nobody did.
“And then, she went back to Vermont, right dead in the middle of winter. I don’t think she had much choice. The other two girls left, and she couldn’t pay the rent.
“I offered to let her stay at my place. Hell, I could of slept on the couch. But she said no, Lucky wouldn’t like that. Like he gave a shit.”
It was early March when Jimmy heard from her again. She called from the Greyhound station, on her way from Vermont to Florida. Lucky Whitestone had sent her money for a bus ticket, she said. Almost as an aside, she told Jimmy that her parents had kicked her out when they saw she was pregnant, and that she had spent the last couple of months bunking in a friend’s folks’ house.
She told Jimmy it wouldn’t be a big wedding, that Lucky didn’t want anything big that would detract from his efforts to become a full-fledged New York Yankee, but that he’d broken off with his now former girlfriend back home.
“She must of been at least six, maybe seven months along by then,” Jimmy says. “I offered to pick her up at the bus station and buy her a decent meal, even drive her down to Florida. I had a lot of energy back then.”
Watching Jimmy hop from one foot to the other, unable to hold still for two seconds, I can only imagine.
“But she said, no, the bus for Miami was leaving in fifteen minutes, she just wanted to say hi, and that she’d be drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice for breakfast. But she sounded tired.”
Jimmy sighs.
“That’s the last I heard from her.”
He found out most of what happened secondhand. He’d gotten to know the Vees, who were now the Toledo Mud Hens. He called Rabbit Larue one day while the team was still in Florida, just to say hi.
They talked a little bit, and then Larue asked him if he heard about Frannie Fling. He said he hadn’t, that she’d called on her way down to Florida to get married.
Larue seemed to think that was funny. And then he told Jimmy what Lucky Whitestone did.
Larue said he was surprised Frannie hadn’t shown up with the cops, and that he bet “Lucky hasn’t heard the last of her.”
Whitestone had been surprised to see her.
“Which made me think that maybe Frannie was maybe paintin’ a little brighter picture than it really was,” Jimmy says. “Maybe gildin’ the lily a little bit.”
They way Jimmy heard it, Whitestone said she came to his room at the motel the next morning after she called from Richmond and said they had to get married. He told the other players that he wasn’t about to get married to “some whore like that.” Whatever he said to her, she must have gotten kind of hysterical, the way you do when you’re in the third trimester, your family’s kicked you out and the guy who knocked you up is calling you a whore.
He told her to take it easy, that he was going to make it right, just don’t call anybody. He told her he’d get her a room and then he’d come by later.
He reserved the room and got her settled and calmed down.
When he called her back after the intrasquad game, his plan was in motion.
He told her he’d found a preacher who would do the ceremony right there in the hotel. There was a big ballroom,
“I went around to see her, must have been late September, to see how she was doin’. Her friend who was at RPI had dropped out, and Frannie was sharing a place with two girls she didn’t hardly know. I could tell something was wrong, and I finally got her to tell me.
“I talked her into writing Whitestone about it, because I thought, you know, he might want to do right by her.”
Instead, Jimmy says, she told him later she wrote him three times and finally got his phone number and called him, at his home down in Florida. He told her they’d do “something about it” in the spring, that she had to give him some time to get his act together, straighten things out with an old girlfriend back home, or some such bullshit.
“I didn’t do enough for her,” Jimmy says. “Nobody did.
“And then, she went back to Vermont, right dead in the middle of winter. I don’t think she had much choice. The other two girls left, and she couldn’t pay the rent.
“I offered to let her stay at my place. Hell, I could of slept on the couch. But she said no, Lucky wouldn’t like that. Like he gave a shit.”
It was early March when Jimmy heard from her again. She called from the Greyhound station, on her way from Vermont to Florida. Lucky Whitestone had sent her money for a bus ticket, she said. Almost as an aside, she told Jimmy that her parents had kicked her out when they saw she was pregnant, and that she had spent the last couple of months bunking in a friend’s folks’ house.
She told Jimmy it wouldn’t be a big wedding, that Lucky didn’t want anything big that would detract from his efforts to become a full-fledged New York Yankee, but that he’d broken off with his now former girlfriend back home.
“She must of been at least six, maybe seven months along by then,” Jimmy says. “I offered to pick her up at the bus station and buy her a decent meal, even drive her down to Florida. I had a lot of energy back then.”
Watching Jimmy hop from one foot to the other, unable to hold still for two seconds, I can only imagine.
“But she said, no, the bus for Miami was leaving in fifteen minutes, she just wanted to say hi, and that she’d be drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice for breakfast. But she sounded tired.”
Jimmy sighs.
“That’s the last I heard from her.”
He found out most of what happened secondhand. He’d gotten to know the Vees, who were now the Toledo Mud Hens. He called Rabbit Larue one day while the team was still in Florida, just to say hi.
They talked a little bit, and then Larue asked him if he heard about Frannie Fling. He said he hadn’t, that she’d called on her way down to Florida to get married.
Larue seemed to think that was funny. And then he told Jimmy what Lucky Whitestone did.
Larue said he was surprised Frannie hadn’t shown up with the cops, and that he bet “Lucky hasn’t heard the last of her.”
Whitestone had been surprised to see her.
“Which made me think that maybe Frannie was maybe paintin’ a little brighter picture than it really was,” Jimmy says. “Maybe gildin’ the lily a little bit.”
They way Jimmy heard it, Whitestone said she came to his room at the motel the next morning after she called from Richmond and said they had to get married. He told the other players that he wasn’t about to get married to “some whore like that.” Whatever he said to her, she must have gotten kind of hysterical, the way you do when you’re in the third trimester, your family’s kicked you out and the guy who knocked you up is calling you a whore.
He told her to take it easy, that he was going to make it right, just don’t call anybody. He told her he’d get her a room and then he’d come by later.
He reserved the room and got her settled and calmed down.
When he called her back after the intrasquad game, his plan was in motion.
He told her he’d found a preacher who would do the ceremony right there in the hotel. There was a big ballroom,
Similar Books
