A Face in the Crowd

check the mirror to be sure, because his face felt frozen. “You’re wanted, sweetheart, dead or alive.”
    “You’re such a liar. That’s one thing I always hated about you. And fucking Martha, of course. I wasn’t a big fan of that either.”
    What could he say to that? Nothing. So he sat silent.
    “Did you think I didn’t know?” she said. “That’s another thing I hated about you, thinking I didn’t know what was going on. It was so obvious. A couple of times you came home still stinking of her perfume. Juicy Couture. Not the most subtle of scents. But then, you were never the most subtle guy, Dean.”
    “I miss you, El.”
    “Okay, yes, I miss you too. That’s not the point.”
    “I love you.”
    “Stop trying to press my buttons, all right? I need to do this. I didn’t say anything before because I needed to keep everything together and make everything work. That’s who I am. Or was, anyway. And I did. But you hurt me. You cut me.”
    “I’m sorr—”
    “Please , Dean. I only have a couple minutes left, so for once in your life shut up and listen. You hurt me, and it wasn’t just with Martha. And although I’m pretty sure Martha was the only one you slept with—”
    That stung. “Of course she wa—”
    “—don’t expect any brownie points for that. You didn’t have time to cheat on me with anyone outside the company because you were always there. Even when you were here you were there. I understood that, and maybe that was my fault for not sticking up for myself, but the one it really wasn’t fair to was Patrick. You wonder why you never see him, it’s because you were never there for him. You were always off in Denver or Seattle at some sales meeting or something. Selfishness is learned behavior, you know.”
    This criticism Evers had heard many times before, in many forms, and his attention waned. Moore had gone 3–2 on Papi. Devoid, Staats had said. Was Matt Moore really throwing a perfect game?
    “You were always too worried about what you were doing, and not enough about the rest of us. You thought bringing home the bacon was enough.”
    I did, he almost told her. I did bring home the bacon. Just tonight.
    “Dean? Are you hearing me? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
    “Yes,” Evers said, just as the pitch from Moore caught the outside corner and the ump rang up Ortiz. “Yes!”
    “I know that yes! God damn you, are you watching the stupid game?”
    “Of course I’m watching the game.” Though now it was a truck commercial. A grinning man—one who undoubtedly knew how to get things done—was driving through mud at a suicidal speed.
    “I don’t know why I called. You’re hopeless.”
    “I’m not,” Evers said. “I miss you.”
    “Jesus, why do I even bother? Forget it. Good-bye.”
    “Don’t!” he said.
    “I tried to be nice—that’s the story of my life. I tried to be nice and look where it got me. People like you eat nice. Good-bye, Dean.”
    “I love you,” he repeated, but she was gone, and when the game came back on, the woman with the sparkly top was in Ellie’s seat. The woman with the sparkly top was a Tropicana Field regular. Sometimes the top was blue and sometimes it was green, but it was always sparkly. Probably so the folks at home could pick her out. As if she’d caught the thought, she waved. Evers waved back. “Yeah, bitch, I see you. You’re on TV, bitch, good fucking job.”
    He got up and poured himself a scotch.
    In the ninth Ellsbury snuck a seeing-eye single through the right side, and the crowd rose and applauded Moore for his effort. Evers turned the game off and sat before the dark screen, mulling what Ellie had said.
    Unlike Soupy Embree’s accusation, Ellie’s was true. Mostly true, he amended, then changed it to at least partly true . She knew him better than anyone in the world—this world or any other—but she’d never been willing to give him the credit he deserved. He was, after all, the one who’d put groceries in the refrigerator all those years, some pretty high-grade bacon. He was also the one who’d paid for the refrigerator—a top-of-the-line Sub-Zero, thank you very much. He’d paid for her Audi. And her tennis club dues. And her massage therapist. And all the stuff she bought from the catalogs. And hey, let’s not forget Patrick’s college tuition! Evers had had to put together a jackleg combination of scholarships, loan packages, and shit summer jobs to get through school, but