Chapter Eleven: Canine Kings and Pickle Dreams

The home opener had finally arrived. Maddie’s hopes and fears for the season whirled inside her like the Tasmanian Devil cartoon character on a tear. She thanked the baseball gods that it was sunny with low humidity, soft blue skies, and not even a chance of an afternoon shower. Even though Yoakam’s Hot and Sweet Pickles Field had seen better days, Maddie made sure that it sparkled to the best of its ability. She had given the bathrooms an extra cleaning herself, and her hands were red and raw from scouring powder. It didn’t bother her in the least. Today, she wanted everyone in the ballpark, from players to fans, to feel the excitement of baseball beginning again in their hometown. Everything had to be fresh and bright. And besides that, she had a surprise up her sleeve that thrilled her to the core. Oh please, let this work out, she thought, and her stomach filled with frantic butterflies.

“She made it!” Tillie yelled, out of breath, running up the rickety stairs to the announcers’ booth where Maddie waited by the entrance. “She’s just behind me.”

“Eeeeeee!” Maddie covered her mouth to keep herself from fangirling too hard. “This is gonna be good. So, so good!”

Tillie departed and a woman of about seventy, sprightly and spry, wearing pink Capris pants and a Salamanders jersey and cap stepped forward. She had short, spiky, white hair and large, square-frame glasses. Her lipstick was fire-engine red and her smile was enormous.

Maddie shook the woman’s hand fiercely. “Thanks so much for doing this. You are such a legend. The fans are going to lose their minds when they find out! Come on into the booth.”

Russell Wilde, the stadium announcer, was already seated and preparing for the game with his broadcast colleagues and their producer.

“Happy home opener!” Maddie trilled as she opened the door.

Russell had not warmed to Maddie, and he barely looked up from his laptop, notes, and scorecard. “Well, it’s the home opener, but I don’t think we can use the word ‘happy’.”

“Maybe we can. I brought a special guest.” Maddie stepped aside to let the woman behind her squeeze into the room.

The woman extended her hand. “Russell Wilde! Been a long time, baby! Mind if I hang out next door and handle the organ duties? Maddie invited me as a guest. For old times’ sake. Sounded like a blast. So here I am!”

Russell and the others jumped up, shouting like the Manders had just hit a golden grand slam to win the Double-A League Championship. Maddie was over the moon, too. It was just the reaction she was hoping for.

“Darcy Keen!” Russell trapped the visitor in a bear hug. “Hot damn, you’re a sight! When Monty fired you from Sox Park, that's when everything went wrong. You were the heart and soul of the Chicago Gray Sox, lady. Thirty years as team organist. Never missed a game. Hell, you practically invented walkup music! You belong in Cooperstown.”

“Oh, stop it! I was lucky to have the years I did. I’m just an old, retired lady now.”

“Never! You’re a beast. You look like you could still run the Chicago marathon.”

Darcy flexed an arm muscle. “I keep in shape!” She laughed.

“So, I had the old stadium organ checked out and it’s not great. But it’s passable,” Maddie stated. “Russell, I’m sorry I didn't tell you before, but we weren't sure this was gonna happen until the last minute. I wrote a short intro for you so you can tell the fans Darcy’s here. Feel free to change it. She’ll be doing all the music, including the player and coach introductions for the opening festivities. Is that OK?”

Russell nodded with his usual curtness, but he flashed a quick smile and there was a devastating dimple. “Yeah, that’s OK. Oh, and Maddie—Happy home opener.”

***

“Manders fans, get on your feet for YOUR Sliding Salamanders and coaching staff. With a very special guest on the magical Manders organ. All the way from Chicago, Illinois—the lady, the legend, Daaaaaaarcy Keeeeeeeeen! GO CRAZY, FOLKS!” Russell Wilde gave the intro everything he had, and Maddie felt his words and the emotion behind them resonate deep in her chest.

Darcy leaned out of the organist booth, took off her cap, and waved to the crowd before launching into the Manders’ vintage rally song, Slide, Manders, Slide written by Captain Stubby and the Buccaneers, a band with the unique distinction of using a tuba, slide whistle, and glockenspiel in their musical arrangements.

Russell’s introduction was followed by a collective gasp, raucous cheers, and a few blood-curdling shrieks. Tillie recorded all of it and sent out social media posts at lightning speed. A palpable buzz filled the stadium, and Maddie felt goosebumps up and down both arms.

“Isn’t this great? I can’t stand it, I’m so excited!” Maddie bounced on the soles of her sneakers.

“The team still sucks,” said Tillie. “But this Darcy person is trending fast. I’d say it's a pretty good start. In fact…”

“Yes? Do you love baseball yet? Can you feel it taking root in your soul? The unbearable lightness of baseball being?”

“Not a chance. But… I don’t think I'll leave early today. Forget the wedding shower.”

“Tillie, don’t be silly. You’re an intern working for free, and you’ve already put in a lot of extra hours. Go home to Durham. Go to your sorority sister’s shower. You don’t want to miss that.”

“Whoever heard of having a shower on a weeknight? Maybe I’ll take a few days in June and go to the wedding. But I can’t leave now. There’s too much going on today. And tomorrow is Up Yours Night. That’s my event! I don’t need to interrupt everything just to draw a wedding dress on a paper plate on the top of my head.”

“Hard to disagree. No one really needs to do that. Or sorry, I’m sure that drawing wedding dresses on paper plates with people you love is great.”

“We’re not that close.”
“OK, then. I won’t feel guilty if you stay.” Maddie beamed at Tillie. She had come so far in such a short time. “You don’t think it’s too much? Having our first Dog Day at the Park and the home opener at the same time?”

She leaned over to pet a Doberman Pinscher that was nudging against her leg. “Is it all right to pet your dog?” Maddie asked before she reached out her hand. The owner, who was standing in line for the new concession item called “Freaky Fried Pickles,” nodded his approval. Maddie rubbed the Dobie under his chin and looked up at Tillie.

“It’s not too much,” Tillie said. “The attendance right now is 1293. That’s up fifty-three percent from last year’s season average. Look around. People with dogs are driving the numbers. Without them, we’d lose half this crowd.”

“Thanks. You’ve been a huge help,” Maddie gave her intern a side hug. Once again, Tillie stayed stiff. Maddie thought she should probably stop hugging the poor girl. For now. Things could change, though. Tillie might not be admitting to baseball love yet, but she was already canceling trips home and calling promotions “her events.”

“OK, Tillie. I’m going to circulate and talk to people. Text if you need anything.”

Maddie walked the concourse, chatting with ushers, janitors, security staff, concession workers, and fans. She was surprised by how many people she already recognized and how many had something friendly to say. Setting up office hours at the Grand Lunch had turned out to be a pretty good idea.

By the fifth inning, the Manders were getting shut out 7 - 0. But Darcy at the organ was sheer brilliance—like a charismatic orchestra conductor and the stadium fans were responsive musicians. Maddie believed that live organ music was the cosmic glue that held the baseball universe together. Darcy’s performance proved it. Her walkup music selections were inspired. Even the downtrodden Manders’ players seemed to enjoy it.

Maddie took a short break and headed down to the seats behind home plate that she had secured for Esme. When she got there, she was shocked to see Carlton sitting next to her aunt, a beagle on each knee. This was the first time she had seen him at a ball game since their meeting at Wrigley. She wished for the millionth time that day had gone differently. But she was glad to see him and to feel the baseball love they shared still flowing between them.

“Carlton? Happy Opening Day! I didn’t know you were coming. With my aunt? What’s going on?”

He lifted his sunglasses to the brim of his baseball cap. “I never miss a home opener. Not if I can help it.”

“Carlton and I have a long history at the ballpark,” Esme added. “I used to watch him play when he was in grade school.”

Carlton smiled warmly at Esme. “She was new in town. Came to our Little League games and shared her potato chips with anyone who sat next to her. A woman who loved baseball and salty snacks made friends right away.”

Maddie laughed. “I remember going to the post office with Dad and sending you boxes of Jay’s Potato Chips when you first moved down here. Were you bribing the citizens of Sweetgum with chips?”

“You bet she was,” Carlton said. “And we loved it. The Grand Lunch still sells them, thanks to your Aunt Esme.” He set Sosa and Sandberg down and got up from his seat. “Well, I could talk potato chips all day, but Esme and I should get going.”

“But you can’t leave!” Maddie declared. “The game’s only half over. And Darcy Keen is here. Were you surprised? I’m trying to get her back once a month. I bet I can get her for Manders Matter, too. If you’re interested.”

“You already know I’m interested.”

“Great! I’ll be in touch.” Maddie had a feeling that he wasn’t really talking about the organist. Meanwhile, Esme kept shooting her ridiculously unsubtle looks whenever Carlton wasn’t watching. Clearly her aunt wanted to encourage more flirting, but Maddie wouldn’t engage.

“We’re not really leaving,” Carlton said. “Tillie asked for help with something on the field. She wanted to surprise you.”

“She did? I’m not surprised. I’m flabbergasted! What are you doing?”

“Tillie knows you love Sosa and Sandberg and asked me to put them in the show,” Esme replied. “I recruited Carlton and…” She stood up and extracted a canvas tote from under her seat. She pulled out two purple capes with fake ermine trim and two crowns made of cardboard and painted gold with Velcro closures. Esme dressed Sosa and Sandberg, then switched their regular leashes for rhinestone studded ones.

“Behold!” Esme announced. “The Canine Kings of Dog Day! Now if you’ll excuse us, our chariot awaits.”

Carlton, Esme, and the dogs left, and Maddie returned to her job. The Manders scored three runs including a homer. Darcy played her famous “Na, Na, Hey, Hey, Kiss Him Goodbye!” and sent the fans into a frenzy. Maddie wished the crowd could have been bigger for Darcy and the team on Opening Day. Next year she wanted a sell-out.

Before the start of the sixth inning, Carlton drove Maddie’s golf cart around the bases. Esme waved like a British Royal on parade while the “Canine Kings” sat in the back seat and howled and bayed at the crowd.

Darcy got into the spirit of the event and played snippets of “Hound Dog”, “How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?” and “Who Let the Dogs Out?”

After circling the bases, Carlton took Harriet up and down the first and third base lines so Esme could throw dog treats into the crowd. The Jumbotron showed the dogs and people in the audience trying to catch the treats. Maddie took some of her own photos and texted them to Tillie with heartfelt thanks. For a few minutes, her worries about the season, her career, and her love life evaporated. The Pickle Jar was jumping, and it was beginning to feel like home.

Sosa and Sandberg hopped down from their carriage, and Darcy played “God Save the King.” The beagles pranced with their heads held high and made it back to their seats before rolling over for belly rubs. Maddie waved wildly and bowed to Esme and the dogs, but Carlton was nowhere to be seen.

Tillie had made recordings of shelter dogs barking and edited them together so it sounded like dogs were singing during the seventh inning stretch. The dogs at the game perked up their ears and started barking, too. Before the ninth inning, Russell was able to announce that four dogs and two cats had been adopted. As their pictures and names crossed the Jumbotron, the crowd clapped and chanted each animal’s name.

The game ended and the Manders only lost by four runs, an improvement over last week and most of last season. Maddie prowled through the stands picking up empty cans and bottles for recycling. She listened to conversations from the fans on their way out:

“This is the most fun I’ve had at this place in years. To be fair, I haven’t bought a ticket in years.”

“I hope they do another Dog Day this season.”

“Can you believe Darcy Keen was here? I thought she was dead.”

One last comment went straight to Maddie’s heart. “This would’ve been perfect if we had won. I wonder what else they’ve got coming up. We should check out the schedule and bring the grandbabies next time.”

Maddie felt good about her progress. This was only the start of all the wonderful things she could do for the fans and the ball club. The Sliding Salamanders would not regret the day they hired Ms. Madison Fields!

She felt so encouraged that a radical thought slipped through her mental censors. Esme might be right about Carlton. He had been an absolute doll with Sosa and Sandberg. She wanted to thank him in person. Why not go find him and ask him to grab some dinner? It was possible that he really wasn’t interested in Mary Ann anymore. Although that was hard to believe.

Just then, a crystal-blue Mazda Miata sped up into the stadium parking lot. Maddie watched from her vantage point in the top row of the upper deck. Carlton emerged from the stadium and sprinted toward the car. Mary Ann stepped out wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and yet she looked like a million bucks. She ran to Carlton and slung her arm around him. They looked so comfortable with each other, completely relaxed and at ease. Mary Ann said something that Maddie couldn’t hear and Carlton hugged her. They got back in the car together and drove off.

No matter what Carlton said, Maddie thought she had seen the truth about him and Mary Ann.

***

Sosa and Sandberg ran around in circles barking with excitement when Esme’s doorbell rang again.

“You’re not used to so many people in your house, are you?” Maddie bent over and gave the dogs two mini marshmallows each, which calmed them down immediately. She opened the door and found Vinny standing on the front stoop in his standard baggy shorts and striped T-shirt.

How many of those shirts does he own and does he wear them with everything? Maddie wondered. An amusing image of Vinny in a white tuxedo jacket with a striped T-shirt underneath popped into her mind. The actual Vinny was wearing dark sunglasses even though it was past dusk, and his battered Salamanders cap looked less like a fan choice than a “hide your hair” choice.

“Rough Saturday night?” she asked.

“The night was fine. But who put that big, bright light in the sky earlier? My head is killing me.”

“Poor baby. Come on in. Esme’s got everyone in the living room. She’s made plenty of snacks, if you’re hungry.”

“Is there Vicodin? I think that’s the only way I can contemplate running in a pickle race right now. I can’t believe I just uttered that sentence. I hate you. Did I mention that?”

“You should eat something,” Maddie said as she led the beagle parade through the little foyer. “That’ll help.”

“I doubt it,” Vinny grumbled.

Esme’s home was a duplex with each side built like a shotgun house. The rooms lined up in a row, like a long shoebox with a series of dividing walls. Maddie guided Vinny into the living room. The walls were covered in ceiling-to-floor bookshelves stuffed with books and trinkets from Esme’s travels. Three tall windows looked out on the side garden. Beneath the windows was a wide console that served as a comfy couch. It used to be Maddie’s favorite place to snuggle up with dogs, blankets, and books on rainy days when she was little. The seat was covered in cushions upholstered in a shibori dyed fabric. Dozens of throw pillows completed the cushy oasis.

Vinny made himself comfortable in the window seat. “Nice place,” he said, lowering his sunglasses briefly then replacing them. “It’s arty. Damn arty.”

“Well, that’s Esme. She’s a master crafter, painter, and costume designer. Hell on Wheels with a glue gun and sewing machine.”

Vinny didn’t answer, so Maddie turned her attention to the rest of the room. Usually, Esme’s collection of bow-back dining room chairs, all painted bright yellow, were lined up against the stairwell. Tonight the chairs were arranged in a semi-circle and filled with Maddie’s trusted baseball crew. She felt a surge of joy plus anticipation. She was sure that the talent in this room was explosive, and she had the privilege of lighting the fuse and setting off the fireworks.

Esme had a festive selection of drinks, key lime bundt cake, and several charcuterie boards set up on the clear Lucite coffee table. She sailed in and out of the kitchen making sure each guest had what they needed, refreshing the ice bucket and refilling pitchers of freshly brewed iced tea and her famous wild cherry Sangria.

“This is lovely, Esme. Thanks!” Maddie settled in next to Carlton and their knees touched. Her skin tingled. She scooted closer and her heart sped up. She didn’t mean to flirt with him, not consciously. She reminded herself of the scene she had witnessed at the ballpark. He was already in a relationship. He looked happy. So did Mary Ann. End of story.

If Maddie backed away from Carlton now, would she draw more attention to their accidental closeness? She wasn’t sure. Oh, come on! she chided herself. This wasn’t a Jane Austen novel, and she wasn’t attending an Assembly Ball. No one was paying attention to her every glance and gesture. Or maybe they were, because Esme and Tillie had both noticed. First, Esme made a discreet “get closer” motion to Maddie, then Tillie waggled her eyebrows in agreement.

Maddie shook them off and surveyed the group. Tillie sat regally in one of the bow-back chairs, her Coach bag by her feet, Sosa now in her lap. Vinny had moved off the window seat and grabbed a chair next to her. To his credit, he offered to bring her a beverage since her mobility was restricted by the lap beagle.

Ed from the Emporium had agreed to attend as a back-up pickle racer, and he lounged on the sofa with Esme. Ed had plenty of show business experience from his rodeo days, and Maddie was glad to welcome him. Herb sat on the other side of Carlton, looking about as excited as a patient stuck in the emergency room. Maddie hoped she could find a way to change his attitude. He was the Father of Sweetgum Pickle Racing. He deserved a place of honor in today’s meeting.

After a few minutes of snacking and complaining about the Salamanders' latest painful loss earlier in the day, Maddie decided it was time to get started. She cleared her throat and announced, “I call to order the first meeting of the Order of the Creators of the Pickle Races. Tonight we will discuss Pickle Logistics, including costumes, participants, prizes and which pickles will be represented. It’s a full agenda, but you guys are my dream team. We’ll be finished in no time.”

Esme led the group in mild applause, and Ed whistled. Herb slumped and rubbed his eyes like he wanted to make the entire meeting disappear. Maddie thought some humor might perk him up.

“Tillie, could you please tell us why our general manager, Rory, was unable to attend tonight?”

“Yes. He sends his regrets, but he needs to catch up on his manscaping.”

Most of the group laughed. Vinny laughed too much, clearly trying to ingratiate himself with Tillie. Herb didn’t crack a smile.

“Duly noted,” Maddie continued. “Ed has agreed to be secretary, so let’s begin. Questions?”

Everyone started talking at once.

Maddie shouted above the noise. “OK, I love the enthusiasm but—ORDER! Please.”

Herb raised his hand and stood up. “I’m going first because my question can make everything easier for all of us, and we can all go home right now.”

“Go, Herb!” Vinny urged.

“Why do we need pickle races in the first place? I know, I know, Maddie. It was supposedly my idea. No, it wasn’t. It was a joke that no one in their right mind would try given the shitty shape this team is in. It’s a total waste of money and time.”

“I hear you, Herb.” Maddie tried to look sympathetic instead of annoyed. “But the Yoakam Family has given us five hundred dollars in seed money. They think it could be a valuable promotion, since it’s ‘pickle-centric’. I believe that’s the word Taylor Yoakam used.”

“Because ‘pickle-centric’ is what every baseball team should be most concerned about!” Vinny interjected. “I hear it’s a hot new analytic the Dodgers have developed this season. PCP. Pickle-Centric Percentage. It’s gonna be bigger than OPS or WAR. Somebody tell Aaron Sorkin right now so he can start writing the screenplay. PICKLEBALL!”

Vinny’s quip got a general laugh and his first giggle from Tillie.

Great, thought Maddie. That’ll just encourage him.

Tillie raised her hand.

“Yes, Tillie?” Maddie sighed. She was starting to worry that this might be a very long meeting.

“A request, please. If I ever say the word ‘pickle-centric’ with a straight face, please hit me in the face with a cream pie.”

“Also duly noted. Add cream pies to our budget list, please, Ed.”

“I’ll make the costumes and you don’t have to pay me,” Esme volunteered. Maddie gave her aunt a thankful smile for trying to redirect the conversation. “I’ve got plenty of fabric we can use. I just need fifty dollars for some accessories. Like giant googly eyes.”

“Oh, dear Lord, no. Not googly eyes. I draw the line at googly eyes,” Herb objected.

Carlton had been quiet up to this point, but his brow was furrowed. Maddie noticed that happened a lot. He already showed signs of deep-thought wrinkles. She liked it.

“Esme, I know you’ve done work on Broadway and Off-Broadway,” he said. “But this seems like it’d be a completely different animal.”

“Vegetable,” Vinny corrected.

“I’m serious!” Carlton tossed a pillow at Vinny. “You need to think about the weather and longevity and durability issues. Won’t it be hard to design these? It’s not like a production of Hamilton or The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit.”

“Um, interesting choice of plays, Carlton. Have you ever been to a Broadway show?” Maddie was genuinely curious. But her question came out sounding snarky, and she felt bad about that.

Carlton huffed. “I saw Hamilton twice in Chicago."

Vinny launched into a riff on “The Room Where It Happened”:

“I want to be on the field with the pickles, the field with the pickles, the field with the pickles!” He added finger snaps and a few others joined in. “The Manders don’t know how the game is played. The art of the trade. How the pickles get made. They just assume that it happens. On the field with the pickles!”

“That was pretty good, Vinny!” said Ed. “You should rewrite the whole musical. The Yoakams might even pay you. Talk about pickle-centric!”

“We’re getting off track here,” Esme said pointedly. “Carlton, the costumes should be extremely easy to make. It’s just a variation on a banana costume.”

“Shut up, Vinny!” Maddie warned.

“What?” Vinny feigned innocence. “Can I help it if you people keep setting up jokes for me?”

“OK, Esme, just hear me out.” Carlton was persistent and Maddie admired his sincerity.

“You know I adore you and think you can do anything, but ‘banana’ is a weirdly specific reference. How the hell did you learn to make banana costumes?”

“A few years ago, one of my dear friends—who’s still working in New York—asked me to do the costumes for Banana Splits Ends. A musical mockumentary about why the Banana Splits broke up in the ‘70s.”

Ed shook his head sadly. “It was a brilliant satire, but ahead of its time. Closed after one performance, didn’t it?”

Esme placed a hand over her heart. “It was tragic.”

“Who are the Banana Splits?” Tillie asked.

“It was a kids’ TV show about an animal band that had adventures and played hippie-dippy rock numbers,” Maddie explained.

“But they weren’t actually bananas!” said Vinny. “So why the banana costumes, Esme?”

“Obviously, you can’t do a musical called Banana Split Ends and not have singing and dancing bananas! We had a whole chorus line of them. It was very Busby Berkeley."

“OK, I’d pay good money to see Banana Split Ends,” Herb said. “But no one answered my question. Why not use the Yoakams’ cash to create a cartoon pickle race for the Jumbotron? Get some use out of that monstrosity that Rory decided to buy instead of paying for a decent starting pitcher! People love that shit. Cheering for animated figures on a video board. I don’t get it, personally. But it’s a lot more efficient and up to date. Problem solved. Can we go home now?”

Maddie didn’t have an immediate answer. Herb’s argument had some merit.

To her relief, Carlton stepped up. “That makes sense, Herb. And look, I know that I’m the one who got you into this project. You didn’t want to do it and I’m sorry. But it’s just for one night. Think about the sausage races in Milwaukee. They’re special because they have real humans who create a tradition that people fall in love with. That’s the stuff of baseball legends. Not some video board cartoon. With the possible exception of the Rally Monkey. Don’t ask me why that works, but it does. Anyway…”

“Wait. People will fall in love with pickle races?” Vinny asked dubiously.

“Yes!” Maddie jumped in. “You guys can make it happen. The fans love your podcast. They’ll come out in droves to see the three of you compete in a pickle race, but not for some soulless video. This whole thing depends on you, and I promise it’ll be fun.”

Herb was silent.

“Bill Veeck would want you to do it,” said Carlton. “You know he’d love this.”

Maddie wanted to throw her arms around him. He was clearly doing his best to help her, and he didn’t have to. In fact, he had valid objections to assisting an organization that he believed was being criminally mismanaged by Monty Ortzelbean.

“Playin’ hardball, man!” Herb pointed an accusing finger at Carlton and then sighed heavily. “So, what kind of pickles are we supposed to be anyway?”

Maddie felt the mood shifting. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked! What are your thoughts, Esme?”

“Well, we want the classic dill pickle spear. I’m thinking that’s Carlton.”

“Oh! Can he carry a spear, too?” Maddie asked. “Add that to the budget, Ed.”

Ed licked the tip of his pencil. “Buy a spear for the dill pickle.”

Esme tilted her head and framed Herb with her hands. “I see you as the bread and butter pickle. In a sandwich, of course. And Vinny as the cornichon. With a beret, I think.”

“What about a gherkin?” Maddie asked. “Can we have four pickles in the race?”

Esme cupped her chin and tapped her cheek with one finger. “What if… I make a child-size gherkin costume, and we pick a young fan to be the gherkin for every race?”

“I love it!” said Maddie. “We can get a bunch of inexpensive prizes for the kids who participate. Make a note of that, Ed. Or maybe the Yoakams would donate a ‘Pickle in a Pouch’ from the concession stand for each race. I’ll make sure our insurance will cover any issues, but I think it'll be OK.”

“I’ll do the research,” Tillie offered.

Maddie grinned at her. “Comes in handy to have a pre-law intern!”

“Yeah, but what happens after the first night?” Herb crossed his arms, still looking defiant. “Are these pickle races sustainable?”

‘Who knows? You might want to do it again,” Maddie sang cheerily.

“No,” Herb said. “I won’t.”

Ed raised his hand. “I’ll do it whenever you want.”

“I have friends at the Sweetgum Community Theater,” Esme suggested. “We could exchange actors for ads about their shows. They have a new review coming this May. Witty show tunes, a quartet of singers in tuxes and evening gowns, and an Art Deco bar trolley. It’s called We’ll All Feel Better After Cocktails.”

“Not necessarily,” Vinny said.

“Yes!” Maddie pumped her fist. “I love that idea, Esme! If we all work together, we can overcome any obstacle! Are you in, Herb?”

“I’m weirdly excited about my beret,” said Vinny. “Come on, Herb. Let’s agree to do this once and try to have a good time.”

“Well… I want a rider on my contract. If I agree.”

“Anything,” Maddie said. “Anything legal, that is.”

“Fine. I want to be the first pickle champion. And I want a pickle-shaped trophy.”

“A pickle-shaped trophy is a tremendous idea. See, you were made for this promotion. Honestly. I owe you, Herb. Big time.”

“I know that, Maddie. And I won’t forget it."

“Put a trophy on the budget list, Ed. And we need to run some ads on WZAZ and make some posters.” Maddie leapt up and found her work satchel on Esme’s window seat.
“On it!” Tillie shouted. The beagle on her lap woke up and nosed her arm to encourage pets. She obliged.

Maddie reached in her bag and pulled out a calendar full of tabs and multi-colored Post-its. “Can we have the first race next Saturday night when we play the Cedar Rapids Kernels? It’s going to be the debut of Sally Salamander, too. A blockbuster double feature! Sally and Pickle Races! Oh, and the Hot Dog Cannon debuts the night before. What a weekend! Is that enough time for you to make the costumes, Esme?”

“I’ve had worse deadlines. I can do it.”

Maddie studied her agenda. “I think that's it. We did it! Order of the Creators of the Pickle Races, I thank you. This meeting is officially adjourned.”

This time the applause was louder, and there were a few more whistles besides Ed. The crew got up and ambled toward the door. Maddie felt a shiver as Carlton’s arm went around her shoulder and hugged her. “Nice job.”

“I know what you did here, and I can't thank you enough.” Her eyes met his, and that irresistible urge to kiss him came over her again. It really pissed her off.

He smiled. “I did what I promised you, that's all.”

Maddie couldn’t come up with an answer that didn’t sound drippy. There was a long silence.

“Such a pretty night. You feel like a walk by the river?” Carlton asked.

She wanted to go. She’d give anything to go. But it didn’t seem right.

“Is Mary Ann still in town?” she asked even though she knew the answer. “Do you know how long she’s staying yet or...?”

Carlton glanced away and his shoulders tensed up. “She might not be going back to Europe. She’s got a job offer in the Research Triangle.” He coughed. “And, uh… a possible Guggenheim Fellowship."

“Great. Wow. That’s… so great. But I can’t tonight. Sorry.”

“Please? I really need to talk to you.”

Maddie’s heart sank. This sounded serious. Had he proposed to Mary Ann again? Had she accepted him? If that’s what Carlton wanted to tell her, Maddie didn’t feel ready to hear that yet. But she had to know.

She heard herself say, “OK, let’s go. You’re right. It’s such a nice night.”

CAPTAIN STUBBY AND THE BUCCANEERS

Yes, this was a real band! Their leader was Tom Fouts, and his popular band played country music on WLS Prairie Farmer Radio from 1949-1960. Bill Veeck commissioned Fouts to write a rally song for his 1959 White Sox. The team was known as the Go-Go White Sox for their speed on the bases. They won the American League pennant for the first time since the infamous Black Sox scandal of 1919, but lost in the World Series. Famous players included Minnie Minoso, Nellie Fox, Luis Aparicio, Billie Pierce, and Sherm Lollar.