"Press reports today--"
"Long-time WBL GM Wendell Gee--"
"Trouble in Moscow? Team management under fire after--"
"What next, Mr. Gee?" The journalist from Правда clicked off the newsfeed and ate from his bowl of basmati rice and golden curry.
"Tell 'em the truth," said Howard, from his fireplace ottoman.
Wendell nodded. "Baseball was always something I did while I was waiting," he said.
"Waiting? Waiting for what? This curry is extraordinary." The reporter's recorder sat on the table between them. Just the two of them, in Wendell's small Moscow apartment. It was a far cry from the days of standing room press conferences.
But all things go.
"I don't know," said Wendell. "I only knew I was waiting." Potatoes, carrots, beef: a non-traditional curry. But, as the reporter observed, delicious.
"And now you have it. The thing you awaited." The reporter's name was Leon. A proper Trotskyan name.
"Yes, Leon. And the fans of Moscow have what they have awaited. An active GM. An inspired team."
A woman walked into the room then. Remarkably young, remarkably pretty. She wore a white lab coat with a name tag: Jen Xiao. A large black dog followed her into the room. "Sit, Mimi," said the woman. The dog trotted to the reporter's side of the table and sat. Leon found himself the object of two sets of luminous brown eyes. He blushed and cleared his throat. "I am sorry, I don't know...."
"Jennie."
"I see." He returned his gaze to Wendell. "The thing you have awaited?"
"Has arrived. We'll be leaving Moscow soon."
"And then where?"
"Wherever we need to go. It's Jennie's life now. I'm just the writer."
The reporter looked at the woman, and then at the dog, which was still staring at him. He reached across the table, turned off the phone, and put it into his pocket. "So your name is Mimi, yes? A good name for a good dog. I had a dog once. When I was a boy." He reached out a hand towards the dog, then hesitated. "It's okay?"
In response, Mimi nuzzled her head up to his hand. Leon rubbed her ears. "Now that is a good dog."
"Just one of the many good things Jennie has brought into my life." Wendell raised his vodka. "May you have many championship seasons to cover, Mr. Leon."
"And may you have many pages to write, Mr. Wendell."
Outside the apartment the Moscow night was clear and cold. Soon the first snow of the season would begin falling.
"See ya Wendell!" Howard tipped back his ghostly shot glass and disappeared into the fire.
"See ya Howard."