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"Hence theplaypen," she concluded, with a wry smile for my look of disgust. Ididn't bother asking where my resourceful Aunty had dug up this hugeplaypen on such short notice. "You wait there for Aunty Brenda, and I'llbring you your dolly and a bottle to drink. Wouldn't you like that, BabyCandy?"I poked out my bottom lip in surly reply, and she grinned at my sourexpression before leaving me alone in the playpen. I turned towards thestreet and stared in trepidation through the tall wooden bars at theworld outside. There was a strip of front lawn about ten yards wide, thena low hedge separated Aunty's property from the tree-lined street. Exceptfor a couple of low bushes either side, most of Aunty June's front porchwas painfully exposed to the casual glance of anyone passing by. Therewasn't even a balcony railing to hide behind. My anxious eyes darted fromone end of the leafy street to the other, trying to see if there were anywitnesses to my current infantile predicament. Fortunately. Alex evidently had spent some of his bonus money having somebody bring his car down from Frederick, since we'd been on the road for nine days, and he had been riding the team bus, just like the rest of us, during the swing through Carolina, playing the southern clubs in the league.It was an Audi, Alex' car. A beautiful, conservative four-door sedan, pretty as a penny. Ol' Alex had some class. I mean, he could have bought any kind of car, I guess. Maybe a Porsche, even -- but he didn't spend that much of his bonus on wheels.Just... enough.Couldn't help but kinda admire the guy. Alex had a nice education, too. Went to Stanford, which had a top-drawer baseball program that he had made even better. Stanford also had a lot more academic pizzazz than, say, the University of Alabama at Birmingham.Now, I'm not throwing off on UAB. They gave me what I came for -- a good, solid education and a chance to play ball at a Division I school. I could have played for Ohio State, too, and gotten my.
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