The Third Floor | Faint Signal to a Faltering Star (55.01)

[mragland]

06.23.2055 – Unincorporated Los Angeles County

Barry is Grant's oldest and probably best friend from college. Barry was the trailblazer. The first of Grant's friends to get a full-time job out of school (assistant manager at a bank), the first to marry (Kitty), the first to buy a house (three bedrooms, two and a half baths, a nice study, good schools), the first to have a kid (Porter). Barry's trajectory was nothing but up, it appeared. Grant had assumed that Barry had it all figured out, leading the sort of life a fellow was supposed to lead in his early thirties. But then Barry was also the first of Grants friends to get divorced, losing said spouse, house, kid, and in time his job, in the process.

It burned him, bad. There were stories among Grants friends of drinking, of erratic behavior. Barry is at loose ends these days, adrift in a very real way that Grant had only imagined himself to be a short time before.

The two of them sit in Grant's office. Barry is 'in the area' for who knows how long with no definite plans. It's a Wednesday afternoon. The club is in Madison for a four-game series that they actually have a shot at winning, up two games to one going into the last meeting tonight with Arroyo starting. Grant internally debates whether to watch. A lot of people who follow the Valencia team wrestle with that question these days. Barry's had it rough, but exposing him to Stars baseball could really put him over the edge.

Barry leans back in a chair, a 'Visitor' tag hangs from his neck on a lanyard. He's wearing a rumpled polo, cargo shorts with a hole in one of the outside pockets, and sandals. He stares out the window, watching the cars of the roller coaster in the distance steadily climb the steep incline that precedes the deep plunge.

The two of them had just finished a stadium tour and Grant has found that he is rapidly running out of things to say to his friend. He is eager to avoid the subject of Kitty. Grant doesn't feel up to it. Not yet. And he sure doesn't have any advice or perspective that could be brought to bear here.

The ringing phone on Grant's desk offers him a reprieve, if only for a moment. The small screen on top of the phone reads, 'UNKNOWN NUMBER'. Grant hesitates for a moment, but picks up anyway.

“This is Grant,” he says, and then he listens for a few moments, pressing the receiver to his ear, his brow furrowed.

“Look, man. I can't understand a word you're saying,” says Grant, his voice getting louder. “This is a professional baseball club and I don't … Do you speak English at all?”

Another pause. Grant turns to Barry and rolls his eyes and blows out his cheeks.

“Okay, okay. I'm going to hang up now. Good luck getting hold of the party your trying to reach.”

Barry leans forward. “What was that about?”

“I don't know,” says Grant, still looking at the phone, a bemused expression on his face. “Some guy, speaking, I don't know, Japanese, I think. Like, from a long way off over a bad line. I couldn't make out any of it, obviously.”

“How'd he sound?” asks Barry.

“Concerned,” replies Grant.

“Huh, probably just a wrong number,” says Barry.

“Third time he's called this week,” says Grant.

“Well, now, that's a puzzle. You know what you should do?” says Barry. “You should get one of those translation apps for your mobile phone and hold it up to the receiver when he calls again.”

“You reckon he's going to call again?”

“I'll bet you two weeks on your couch that he does.”

Grant chuckles. “Fine, I'll take that bet.”

[RonCo]

" Barry's had it rough, but exposing him to Stars baseball could really put him over the edge."

Heh