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The bar she picked was quiet, lesser known by those in the know and completely unknown to Jess and Lupe. Looking around and seeing more girls like herself than her teammates, skirts and updos and impeccable makeup, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why the two butches were unaware.
Still, as she nursed a barely-touched drink and observed from her seat by the wall, Greta questioned what she was doing here, when the last time she tried to feel safe… well, Jo was in South Bend now, and Greta wasn’t here with Carson. Technically, she wasn’t even in Rockford; this bar was just outside of town.
But the house was too loud, and Carson was too in her head, or in Charlie’s head, to notice Greta leaving, and Sarge had taken one look at Greta’s face when she caught her on the porch and simply nodded, a million unspoken words exchanged in a look.
There were more Friends of Dorothy in the military than the two gentlemen dancing in the corner.
A sigh escaped Greta’s lips, but she didn’t get much more of a chance to ruminate in her thoughts before a loud laugh came from her right, followed by a disbelieving “No!”
When she glanced over, she was surprised to recognize a couple of Comets, the Kenosha team in town for a small series in Rockford. It didn’t seem as if any of the players had noticed Greta, but before she could return her gaze to the dance floor another question from the group caught her attention.
“Okay, the Spanish Striker for sure,” a blonde was saying around her drink, “But the catcher?”
“Hey.” A brunette spoke up, her curls cut close to her neck. “You never know. I mean, look at us.”
A third spoke next, her dark hair straighter than the others. “And it’s an interesting dynamic to think about, huh?”
Greta unconsciously leaned closer to the conversation. Why were they talking about Lupe? And… and maybe Carson?
Whatever they were talking about, the blonde didn’t seem convinced. “But you heard about the fight between them. Just up and gave the Blue Sox another win thanks to that brawl.”
“And when Emma got caught with the pitcher?” Curly hair leaned back, smirking. “I heard that the catcher was pissed.”
“But that’s what I’m saying!” The straight haired woman leaned in, eyes lit with a fire similar to when Shirley was about to go into a rant about botulism. “The dynamic. Striker and Shaw obviously have some shit to work through if they wanna stay together, but right now, with the fighting and the cheating…”
Curly hair held a hand up to cut off her teammate. “Hey, no. Emma had no idea about her girl, okay? She would never.”
Okay, so these women were obviously like everyone else in the bar. Greta knew that much right away. But just what were they talking about? It was definitely Carson and Lupe; Greta remembered Carson explaining the embarrassing way she found the first bar in town. But this Emma sounded like… a teammate? How was a Comets player related to two Peaches?
Around then, the blonde player caught Greta’s eye, and a familiar onslaught of emotions flashed across her face: recognition, panic, realization, and determination. With a nod of her head, the blonde motioned for her to approach the table.
Knowing she was caught, but with curiosity outweighing her fear, Greta came up to the ball players. “Howdy, Comets,” she greeted, not quite sure what to say.
“You’re a Peach, right?” The blonde asked. “First baseman giantess Gill?”
Greta nodded. “The one and only.”
The curly haired player let out a low whistle. “Damn, what do they put in the water in Rockford for all y’all?”
“Now,” Greta smiled, unsure about how to take this blatant flirting. She can give, sure, but taking was another matter entirely. Not to mention whatever was still in her system about Carson. “I think it’s a little unfair for you all to know my name without me knowing any of yours.” She knew their faces, and maybe a few last names floated through her head, but nothing was sticking.
The curly haired player answered first. “I’m Dot, but you can call me any time.”
“I’m Betty.” The blonde who called her over spoke next. “And this is Viv.”
The straight haired woman, Viv, waved.
“Charmed,” Greta said. Now she recognised them a little more from the field; Dot was their starting catcher, and Viv was a solid second baseman. “So, why’d you lovelies call me over?”
The blonde, Betty, leaned forward. “Well… we need a debate settled.”
“Just admit that I’m right,” Dot groaned.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, but I don’t believe you,” Betty replied. “Either of you. Sorry, Viv.”
Viv shrugged, obviously not one for many words unless prompted by a subject of interest.
Greta looked between the three. “I’d be happy to help, but I need to know the sides first.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Dot said. “We just gotta know if your pitcher and catcher are a thing.”
Greta blinked. She stared between the three women, trying to figure out the joke. Viv’s eyes analyzed her expression. Dot seemed waiting for confirmation. Betty was disbelieving.
A giggle bubbled up in her throat, leaping from her mouth unbidden. Greta probably sounded deranged, but what else was she supposed to do?
“That’s a yes,” Dot said.
Betty scoffed. “Please, she’s as surprised as I was. It’s obviously not true.”
“She’s said no words,” Viv pointed out, and that was true. Greta’s giggles had died down, but she hadn’t said a word either way.
“Hey,” Dot said, grabbing Greta’s attention again. “It’s okay to tell us. Not a’one of us who’re in the League don’t know about the Striker, and after what your catcher did in The Office…”
“It’s the biggest question in the League,” Betty said. “But no one has ever been able to just ask youse guys if it’s true or not.”
“So? Is it?” Dot asked again.
Greta kept her face carefully free of her thoughts, a talent learned through trial and error. Most of the League who frequented bars such as this knew about Carson. That wasn’t good, considering she had a husband. Everybody also knew about Lupe. That was about as hard to know as knowing about Jess.
But no one -- save for the three players in front of her -- knew about herself, or Jo. There was no way to control the news about Carson, anymore, but throwing them off by confirming a lie would give her an alibi or two…
Greta made her decision. “Before I say anything, no one can know it was me to told you this.”
Betty’s head tilted, but Dot’s eyes darkened in understanding as she nodded. “Secret’s safe with us, Gill.”
Nodding, Greta sat down in the free chair. “It’s true. García and Shaw. All of it’s true, down to the fight and the cheating.”
The table exploded. Dot whooped in excitement as Betty’s eyes bulged in astonishment, all overlaid by about a million questions that started falling out of Viv’s mouth. Greta took it all in stride and answered questions the best she could. She mostly stuck to the truth, and simply… embellished details to confirm the dating angle.
Not like Lupe or Carson would ever find out about this.
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Carson was, in a word, confused.
First, the catcher for the Comets kept winking at her when she stepped up to bat. Once, after shooting a confused look the curly haired catcher’s way, the woman followed it by raising an eyebrow and looking over at Lupe, who had been leaning out of the dugout.
Weird.
But then, once she got a double and Lupe was up at bat, the second baseman laughed. “Man, Dot’s giving her a hard time, huh?” The woman looked at her like Carson would know what was going through her dark-haired mind. After a quick moment, she shrugged. “Alright, play dumb.”
Again, weird, but Carson got her head back in the game long enough to jog home after Lupe snagged a triple.
The icing on the cake, though, was in the next inning, when a blonde Comet stepped up to bat as Carson crouched. She flashed a couple handsigns to Lupe, who nodded and prepped a slider. After a couple more pitches, the blonde was struck out.
“Wow,” she commented. “Your pitcher’s on top of it today.”
It wasn’t uncommon for the women at bat to talk, and Carson liked to be nice to them. “Yeah, she is,” she agreed.
The blonde looked down at Carson. “Wonder what you promised her to get her in such good form?” She winked and walked back to her team, leaving Carson entirely baffled until the innuendo registered in her mind.
The Comets’ turn at bat ended quickly enough, after that, and before Carson got back into Coach mode she noticed Greta laughing at something. Normally, careful of the rules, Carson would ignore it, but Greta’s gaze flicked between her, and the Comets, and Lupe--
Wait a minute.
She snagged Greta’s arm, voice lowering. “What the hell is happening?"
“Hm?” Greta hummed in pseudo-innocence, but Carson knew her too well.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Carson doubled down. “Why are the Comets making all these-- these comments about me and Lupe?”
Greta’s normal smile grew, turning into something more devious for just a moment. Her eyes flashed in amusement before she returned to her safe, flirting self. “I haven’t the faintest idea, Shaw,” Greta said. “All I know is that the rest of the League seems to think that our pitcher and catcher make the most interesting pair.”
“What does that mean?” Greta winked after that, walking down into the dugout and leaving Carson alone. “Greta, what does that mean?”
No one answered her.