The Third Floor | Regretfully Yours (63.01)

[mragland]

11.24.2062 – Athens, Greece

Grant paced the floor of the apartment, looking worse for wear late on a Friday morning. Clutching his phone to his ear, he said, “Hey, Molly, it's Grant.”

“Grant, do you know what time it is here?”

“Uh, no... Look, Molly, I need a favor.”

“If this for an article, you know I can only talk on background, if at all. And, really, you're pretty badly overdrawn at the Molly Favors Bank as it is.”

“I know, I know,” said Grant as he shut the window to quiet some of the noise from the street below. “It's kind of a long story.”

“You better get started, then.” Molly sounded amused, now, which Grant knew could be good or bad for him.

“So I was out on the town last night, Jenny and the kids are back in the states visiting the in-laws for Thanksgiving.”

“And you're not.”

“No, I got out of this trip.”

“Everything okay with you two?”

“It's fine. We're fine. That's not the point,” said Grant, gesticulating in the air in front of him. “I think I might have accepted a job last night, but I can't be sure.”

“You're a freelance sports journalist, surely this sort of thing happens all the time.”

“A job … in baseball. With a club.”

Molly waited a beat before asking how this happened, and how he might not be sure.

“Well,” said Grant, “I might have sent out feelers earlier in the week to some international clubs who might have openings. NPB, KBO, LMB, ABL, EAPB, even the GBC. The whole alphabet, basically. Hadn't heard much and kinda let it go, when I got a call last night from a team representative. I may have been a couple of Mythoses in to what was going to be a relaxing evening, and I may have ordered a third and we had a good talk, and I think I might have accepted a position, as general manager, but I don't remember which club, because after three beers some ouzo actually sounded good...”

“And now you have ouzo-induced amnesia,” interjected Molly.

“Right, but I'm pretty sure I said yes ... to something. So, I have a number and what I think was their name...”

“And you want me to misuse the assets at my disposal to figure out who you talked to, rather than just call them yourself?”

“And say what? 'Hey, guy, sure am excited by that conversation I don't really remember because I was totally bombed last night.'”

Molly sighed. “Did you try looking up the number?”

“Yeah, yeah. Unpublished.”

“Okay. That shouldn't be too much trouble. And once I figure out the club? Wait, it wasn't the Centaurs was it? That would be convenient.”

“I don't think so, but I'm not sure. Could you find out what their understanding is? I mean, before we talk again so I don't look like a complete fool?”

“Wouldn't want to accidentally give them the right impression, would we?” said Molly. “Have you even run this past Jenny? Wait, never mind. Don't answer that. Not my business.” Grant could hear the sound of fingers typing on a keyboard. “So, you really want me to breeze through their internal communications? That's a big favor, Grant.”

“I know it is, but I'm in a bit of a bind here. I mean, what if I'm supposed to be calling them?”