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"Hey, Tara," Brock answered the phone. "You haven't been off the air more than 15 seconds."

Indeed, the TV screen in the living room had just gone to commercial only a few seconds beforehand.

"Yeah, I'm juggling things as best I can," she replied. "How are you doing?"

Tara's question wasn't made in the usual perfunctory manner of such greetings. She was concerned about Brock, particularly after she had spoken to Zack earlier and learned that Brock's uniform, which had hung in his locker since his injury, had been removed by the time the pitcher arrived in the locker room.

"I'm doing fine," Brock answered. "It was a surprise but there isn't anything I can do about it. There is no sense worrying or getting angry. I'll play when they tell me I can play."

"I'm glad you're taking this so well," she told him. "The rest of the guys are seriously pissed. That's why I didn't call you earlier. I wanted to try to get the facts without bothering you. But I guess I'll still need a statement I can attribute to you. Do you feel up to that or should I just tell them you had no comment."

"No, I'll give you a brief statement," Brock said. He had been working on it in his head since he got off the phone with Julie Archer. "Are you ready?"

"Go ahead," Tara said.

"It was surprising to learn of things in the manner that I did," Brock said. "That said, it was no different than any other player who has been sent down or released. The team handled the notification as they do in every instance I'm aware of. As a second-year player, I have no recourse but to follow the team's directive. Although there is no team in Las Vegas for me to report to this point, I've been assured by the new interim general manager and the team's manager that I'll be brought back to the active roster as soon as it can be accommodated."

"That's really all I can hope for," Brock paused and took a breath. "I would like to say, contrary to uninformed opinion bantered about by some television analysts, the demotion is in no way a punishment nor is it a result of a setback in my rehabilitation. I would urge these analysts to perform their due diligence before making such unsubstantiated, untrue statements. As I've said before, it's people like this who now have the word 'journalist' spoken in the same tone of voice as 'politician' or 'used car salesman'."

"That's it. Do you have any other questions?"

"No and that's a great statement," Tara said. "Did Meredith help you with it?"

"Nope, that one is all mine," Brock said with a laugh. "I didn't even have to grab a dictionary for the big words."

"You mentioned the interim GM," Tara said. "Who is it? The team issued a statement saying an interim general manager had been named but a news conference hasn't been schedule until Tuesday. I'd like to be able to pull the guy's resume and get a little background on him if you can give me a hand. I won't release his name to anyone else."

"Her name," Brock corrected.

"It's a woman!" Tara said, excitedly. "Oh, that's a great move. Damn, now I want to call her and get her to appear live with me. Crap! I can't do that and keep my source confidential."

"You couldn't contact her anyway," Brock related. "She's on a plane right about now."

"So they hired someone from out of the organization?" Tara asked.

"No, she's headed the other direction," Brock told her. "Look, her name in Julie Archer. She's an assistant GM. I've met her a couple of times. She does the arbitration hearings for the team. Right now she's headed to Milwaukee to try to get the demotion voided by the commissioner's office. That's still on background, Tara."

"I got it," Tara said. "I'll do some research on her background later tonight. But Brock, don't get your hopes up. I don't think the commissioner is going to step in. By all accounts, Morris was authorized to demote you."

"Yeah," Brock said. "She's been upfront with me. She called me personally to let me know what steps she planned to take and to promise me she'd get me back to the team as soon as possible."

"It might be earlier than you think," Tara said. "I talked to Zack to get the team's perspective. He said there has been a line of players headed to the trainer's office with maladies ranging from intermittent migraines to bunions. They're seeing if a trip to the disabled list might make sense for them. Al finally pulled them aside and told them it wouldn't work. You know the Giants are going to insist that the league look into any injury that lets you come back. As it stands, you'd miss two of the three games with them at the end of the week."

"Stan said Jim LaCross might just take a fungo to one of the rookies," Brock joked. "Still, I appreciate the younger guys trying to do that for me. For some of them, this is the only chance they might get to play in the Majors."

"It wasn't just the younger guys," Tara scoffed. "Fred Hartman was the first one in. He said he's been having some trouble with his hamstring. The trainer pointed out he legged out a triple the night before. Zack said Driesbach went in, too. He said his shoulder had been stiffening up after games and wondered if it might help to go on the DL for 15 days. You've got a lot of people in the locker room who look up to you. I hope it goes without saying that you've got a lot of people outside that locker room who look up to you, too, but I'll say it anyway. I'll do whatever I can to help you."

"Just don't get yourself into trouble," Brock advised. "I know Seth Adams is a jerk-off but don't let him goad you. Hell, he might just sue you for claiming he used PEDs when he played."

"If that son of a bitch sues me, he'll regret the moment he was born," Tara said firmly. "He retired because he was facing a 50-game suspension. The league didn't release it because he was already on the retired-inactive list. I've seen the paperwork and if he gives me a minute's trouble, I'll force the league to admit in open court that he was juicing. That was just my way of letting him know not to screw with me. Besides, it was as much for me as it was for you. He intimated that I couldn't be objective because you and I are friends or because I date one of the Dodgers players. He impugned my ethics just as he impugned your reputation with his thoughtless comments. If the network gives me shit, I'll give it right back to them. They hired the asshole!"

"Uh, OK," Brock answered, surprised by Tara's vehemence. "I just heard them say on TV that you'll have an update on the Dodgers situation at halftime so I probably should let you go. There's only a minute left in the first half."

"Give Meredith a hug for me and I'll catch up to you tomorrow," Tara promised.

"Merie and I are going to fly to Tampa with the team so it'll have to be early," Brock said.

"You must have a lot of confidence in Julie Archer," Tara said. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"She has some unknown information to impart to the commissioner," Brock said. "It might have to do with Morris or maybe it's something else. But she asked me to accompany the team so I'm going to go with them. Meredith is coming along to keep me out of trouble."

"Yeah, good luck to her then," Tara joked. "OK, I might swing by later tonight if I see lights on. If not, I'll drop by for a bit tomorrow morning."

The biggest surprise for Brock the next day was when Randi announced she planned to join Meredith in Miami later in the week if Brock was back on the roster by then. Despite the discussion the trio had had in early July, Randi had stayed away from joining Brock and Meredith in bed.

Brock was relieved and it seemed Meredith was, too. In fact, with Randi's hectic shooting schedule, Brock had rarely seen the third owner of the house while he rehabilitated from his ankle injury. The few times Randi had a free day, she would spend it lounging by the pool or visiting with her Mom next door.

Brock had held out hope that Ryan might be someone Randi would want to know better but that hope had been in vain. The pair was too different for anything more than friendship to develop. Ryan's shyness had dwindled as he experienced success of the baseball diamond but he was still too quiet to deal with Randi's ebullient personality.

Ryan was headed back to Arizona on Sunday to take a job working at STATS until his Arizona Fall League assignment was revealed. He was sharing a house with four of his Bakersfield teammates and Brock kicked himself for not keeping the Glendale house vacant to accommodate them.

Meredith thought renting to another established professional was a better idea than having four guys just out of college as their tenants so Brock didn't press the point further.

Brock's investment portfolio had leveled off after decreasing in the past year with all the purchases he'd made. He was seeing revenue from the house in Glendale that offset the lack of revenue from Rave-Land Digital. Randi was disappointed that the studio had yet to show any sign of a profit but Brock's adviser had warned him it would be three to five years before the initial investment was paid down enough to start seeing dividends. Brock and Meredith both understood that once the studio was established, it would make money. They also understood that the industry would take a wait-and-see attitude toward the fledgling company to see if it could sustain itself.

The biggest surprise addition to Brock's bank account was from a completely unexpected source. While playing in the Low-A South Atlantic League as a member of the Indians' organization, Brock had joined an investment group in purchasing two minor league baseball teams – one in Columbia, S.C., and the other in El Paso, Texas. At the time, Brock figured it was just money wasted but he was wrong. Both franchises had turned more than $3 million in profit the year before and Brock's initial investment was paid off plus $500,000 more in dividends.

Both franchises were on pace to out-perform the year before so the check he got in January would be even larger than the one he got the year before. It all went into a blind trust so long as he was an active player, but it was money nonetheless.

In addition, he had a series of endorsements that were adding to his bottom line. He had spent the early part of August shooting commercials and print advertisements for brands ranging from Lego to Eggo. Stan's marketing arm had been correct. Brands that had never had a celebrity endorser were approached and signed on once they explained that the reason Brock wanted to do the commercials was because he used their products regularly (or had in the past) and he thought they were worthwhile.

The first of the shoe advertisements he had posed for in May appeared in a national magazine in late August. He hoped the company would advertise in HIM magazine when Meredith's pictorial appeared in the March edition. The magazine planned to do the shoot in early January and Meredith was still debating what sort of outfits she should wear. Jen had said Meredith should go all out and pose in a bra and panties.

Brock had frowned at the notion but he hadn't said anything. It was Meredith's decision to make but if she asked his opinion, he would give it. He had turned down the opportunity to pose for the brand of boxer briefs he usually wore because he thought it would be tacky. He likewise shot down a deal for a deodorant commercial because it required him to be bare from the waist up. He wasn't ashamed of his body but some of the scars he carried reminded him of things better left forgotten.

Likewise, he wasn't ashamed of Meredith's body. He probably would support her if she wanted to pose in a modest bikini but the idea of having pictures of her in her underwear floating around didn't make him happy. He was gratified that Meredith appeared to be considering the advice from Tara and Melanie more carefully than that of Jen.

Both had advised Meredith that posing in scanty clothing would cause the public to view her less seriously than if she just allowed her natural beauty to shine through. They said if she wanted to wear a tight skirt or a low-cut shirt, it would be one thing. But to pose in undergarments would be another. If she wanted to be respected as Brock's representative as well as his wife, she would need to be aware of things such as how she dressed and how she behaved in public.

Meredith seemed to understand this. She had become recognizable to a large portion of the Dodgers fans and her photos had graced several websites in the past month, particularly once the sports media got wind of the engagement.

In some ways Meredith was happy with the situation. She had always been anonymous, despite her relative wealth. She had few friends in high school or college and had been off the radar for her entire adult life.

But in other ways it mortified her. A picture taken while she was shopping showed her slipping her phone into the back pocket of her shorts. But the picture looked like she was scratching her butt and it ran under the banner: "Brock's main beauty scratches an itch."

The story didn't intimate that her behind was bothering her. Instead it said she was spotted at a trendy Beverly Hill boutique remedying her apparent need for upscale clothing. The fact that she exited the shop with nothing wasn't mentioned.

But the main point of the photographers' interest was Meredith's chest. No matter which website or tabloid newspaper ran a photo of her, it always cropped the picture to include her breasts. If she went out on an errand in a tight top or with a thin bra underneath her shirt, she was guaranteed to find her face on the internet or in the newspapers the next day. She had begun to consider if it might be necessary for her to employ a security agent in order to secure her privacy.

Instead, she began to wear formless clothes – only to be declared "frumpy" or "disheveled" by the paparazzi. The few times she and Randi had been able to go somewhere together, it was almost a free-for-all, with photographers pushing and elbowing each other to get in a spot for the best shot if one or the other happened to flash a bit of skin.

Her only solace was that the pool at the house was completely hidden from the street. The only way anyone would get a picture of her in a skimpy bikini was if one of her friends in the houses behind – or Randi's family – took it. She knew that would never happen so she was able to relax in comfort a few times a week.

Randi sympathized with Meredith. After all, Randi had lived with this for close to five years. But even she admitted that she had been permitted to grow into it. As a teenager, the paparazzi generally left her alone unless she was at an official event. There were strict privacy laws in California when it came to minors and photographers or videographers. It was only after she turned 18 that she had to be on constant guard to make sure her she didn't bend over in public or open her legs when she got out of a car. Meredith had been thrust into the deep end head first.

What Meredith found most amazing was that Brock could go out in public without being bothered. He might be approached by a fan looking for an autograph – almost exclusively young woman, much to her dismay – but he didn't have a half dozen strobe lights go off each time he came out of a restaurant.

So the trip to Tampa and Miami with Brock was more than just a chance to spend time with a fiancé she had seen only for two of the past 14 days. It was a chance for her to spend time away from Los Angeles and to be just another face in a sea of people.

Brock and Meredith flew separately from the team. They left before the Rockies had finished clubbing the Dodgers to the tune of 11-0. They listened to the game as one of Randi's security team drove them to the airport. Randi sat with them and kept up a constant conversation with one or the other. It was almost as though she wanted to tell them all the things her hectic work schedule had caused her to forget at the time.

The flight actually departed on time and as the city got further behind them, Meredith relaxed more and more.

"This is only the seventh time I've been on an airplane and every time has been in the last year," she said. "Did you know that?"

"I didn't," Brock said.

"Yep," she announced. "The first was when Randi and I flew home from her tour in September. The second was when we flew back from Jacksonville for Thanksgiving. The charter to Phoenix for the soccer game, and then there was the flight to and from Houston with you. Now this one."

"So you've always flown first class," Brock remarked.

"Like you haven't," Meredith replied with a laugh.

"I haven't," Brock said. "The first time I was on a plane was when we all flew to Carolina after high school. I wasn't 18 yet so Leslie had to book the seats. She booked us all in coach. It wasn't bad but I had grown three or four inches by then and the seats were tiny. Susan had been on a plane before but she was the only one. Even Leslie and Erin had never been on a plane before. Susan's flight to Paris after everything happened featured meals and a movie. So that's what we expected.

"Instead we were stuffed into this little tiny metal cylinder with 150 other poor dumb bastards for a flight that featured layovers in Phoenix, Minneapolis and Pittsburgh before we got to Charlotte. We got lost in the Pittsburgh Airport and almost missed our last connection. Then we got to Charlotte and Melanie's luggage was somewhere else entirely. It was something like six months before it was returned to her. I was somewhat perturbed. I mean, I had enough money for us to fly in at least business class. I told Leslie that I would never allow her to make travel arrangements for me again. I would have been happier driving from Corbly to Durham. Hell, I would have been happier riding from Corbly to Durham even if you had been the one driving."

Meredith laughed but slapped him on the arm.

"You know I had to check with the team to make sure riding with you wasn't prohibited in my contract, don't you?" Brock teased.

"You're hilarious," Meredith replied.

"I'm serious," he continued. "You know my contract prohibits me from doing dangerously stupid things. I can't skydive or bungee jump. Those are spelled out in the deal. But the language is a little vague about other prohibited acts. I wasn't sure if riding with someone who once was in the funny farm might void the deal."

Meredith laughed and rolled her eyes.

"I also decided after I rode home with you the first night that it should be even if it isn't," Brock added. "So I checked to be sure. They said there no prohibition but that I should use my best judgment. You'll notice that I rarely allow you to drive. I don't want to risk having the team void my contract if you decide you should drive with your feet or something – not that I would be able to tell a difference from when you use your hands."

"You're pushing it, Mister," Meredith warned.

"You have other virtues that more than offset your lack of driving skills," Brock replied, winking at her. "So is that offer to get frisky at forty-thousand feet you made in December still on the table?"

"You wish," Meredith said. "You should have thought of that before you started to pick on me."

"I'll try to make myself a note before we fly back," Brock replied. "Note to self: Pick on Meredith after you poke her in the can."

"You will not be poking me in the can," she said with a laugh. "I'm saving that orifice for my husband."

"I'm going to be your husband," Brock pointed out.

"I mean the husband I plan to keep," Meredith replied. "You I just plan to use for your money. We live in Hollywood, after all. Isn't that the way it works? I get a starter husband to ensure I never have to work and then I go forward looking for Mr. Right."

"That hits a little close to home, you know," Brock said.

"Crap, I already have enough money I'll never have to work," Meredith retorted. "Do you think I'd go to all the trouble to break you of your bad habits if I didn't plan to keep you?"

"What bad habits?" Brock asked.

"Sadly, we're only on a seven-hour flight," Meredith said. "I don't have time to even scratch the surface. Ask me again if we ever take a trip around the world."

"I thought you said you were saving that hole for your husband," Brock said with a laugh. Meredith's confused look led him to explain the reference.

"How would you know that?" Meredith asked. "You need to spend less time around Zack and the guys. They are so crude."

Brock's laughter brought a sharp elbow from Meredith.

"I learned that phrase from a woman," Brock admitted.

"Jen," Meredith grumbled. "I should have known. Let me guess, you've taken her from Paris to Chicago to London a few times. Well, I guess I have to keep up with her. I can't have you straying because you miss the excitement. I guess we'll have to give that a try while we're in Tampa. Houston can be our City of Romance. Tampa can be our City of Perversion."

"Hey, they're both American League cities!" Brock pointed out. "I think Los Angeles should be our City of Perversion."

"I was hoping you would offer to make Los Angeles our City of Romance," Meredith countered, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and making them even more prominent.

"We could make it both," Brock offered.

"Now, you're talking," she said with a wide smile. "We'll make it both."

Brock would never understand the vagaries of the Major League schedule. He understood the complexities of trying to schedule 162 games for 30 teams over the course of six months. Jen had sat down and shown him the impossibly long formula the Commissioner's Office used to create something approximating normalcy. The fact he knew it was a thankless and almost impossible task didn't mean it made him any happier when he was the one inconvenienced.

The team might play Sunday in San Diego and have Monday off to make their way back two hours northward to Los Angeles one week then have to play Sunday night in New York and Monday night in San Francisco the next. Such was the case with the trip to Tampa. The team played Sunday afternoon, immediately hopped on a flight eastward (losing three hours in the process) to arrive in Florida well after midnight. It was almost 2 a.m. by the time the team made its way to the hotel and got settled in. Then they had to be at the park by 11 a.m. for a two o'clock game on the Labor Day holiday.

But once the three games with the Rays concluded on Wednesday night, the team would have a full day off to travel across the small state to Miami where their series with the Marlins would start on Friday night. It wasn't just a quirk of the schedule. It happened that way frequently. It almost seemed to Brock that the schedule maker had decided the shorter trips (usually done by bus) would require more time for the players to rest.

Rather than sit around the hotel and worry about what might or might not be happening in Milwaukee, Brock and Meredith spent the morning taking in the sights and sounds of St. Petersburg. Brock was constantly amazed at the things that captured Meredith's attention. Despite the fact that her family had grown wealthy while she was in her teens, she enjoyed the simplest things.

She smiled and laughed the entire 90 minutes they spent on a scooter tour of beach. For a Monday in September, the number of people on the beach surprised Brock. Meredith gave him a glare when he commented as they got a crushed ice cone from a vendor.

"It's Labor Day, goof," she said, shaking her head. "Of course since you don't have a real job, you wouldn't know that."

"You're one to talk," Brock replied.

"My job is taking care of you," Meredith replied. "Believe me, that's full-time plus some."

"Good point," Brock rejoined. "You do it well, too."

"I'm getting better at it," Meredith said in a serious voice. "I'll keep practicing. It might take me 60 or 70 years to get it perfect."

The couple was watching a jai alai tournament, not that either understood the game in the slightest but it looked interesting as hell, when Brock's cell phone buzzed. He slipped away from the cheering crowd with Meredith not far from his side.

"It's Julie Archer," Brock announced as he looked at the screen. A glance at his watch told him it was already after noon.

"Are you at the field?" Julie asked when Brock answered the phone.

"I'm nearby," Brock said. "I can be there in about 10 minutes."

"Get there," Julie urged. "The commissioner is going to make his ruling at one o'clock. Will you have enough time to get ready if he says you're good to play?"

"Sure," Brock said. "A little BP would be nice but I can go without, I guess. So you think he'll void the demotion?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Julie said. "The man is like a sphinx. I couldn't tell if he was even paying attention to me most of the time. Still, he asked me questions afterward that let me know he was listening. I got Alex's official protest last night. That helped a lot, I think. I mean, the commissioner knows him. He has no idea of who I am, although he was very gracious. He complimented me on my promotion, as tenuous as it is. He also said that he couldn't have hand-picked a better standard bearer if it turns out I get the job full-time."

"Well, no offense, but a ruling in your favor sure wouldn't hurt things," Brock said.

"That's pretty well what I told him," Julie said with a laugh. "Are you on your way yet?"

"Meredith is hailing a taxi as we speak," Brock said. "I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

"Then I'm going back upstairs to wait for the announcement," Julie said. "Someone from the team will meet you at the player's entrance. I'll call you when I hear something."

Brock and Meredith arrived at Tropicana Field only a few minutes after the call ended. Despite the holiday, Brock knew it would be not be hard to secure tickets if the commissioner's office ruled against him. The Rays were one of the best young teams in the American League but they were always near the bottom in attendance – and thus in payroll. They routinely shipped their emerging stars off in their arbitration year to restock their minor leagues, which were always among the best. Thus they maintained a talent pipeline that other teams envied.

It allowed them to compete in the same division as the free-spending Yankees, Red Sox and Orioles yet fans were few and far between. Part of the lack of fans could be chalked up to the fact that many people in that section of Florida were retirees from other parts of the United States and already had their allegiances firmly in place before coming southward. Brock saw many more Yankees insignia on the streets then he saw Rays caps.

Another part of it was Tropicana Field. It had been home to the Rays since they arrived in the league in 1998 but it was built almost a decade before it hosted its first game. It was one of the old-style stadiums that went out of vogue in the early 1990s when Oriole Park at Camden Yards was opened. It didn't have many of the amenities that fans had come to expect at a ballpark and it lacked the fan-friendly, intimate atmosphere of the smaller, baseball-only parks. Also, it was impossible to get to because of the way the city and the major highways were situated. The fact that it was a domed stadium in sunny Florida made little sense to Brock. He understood the weather was unpredictable on the Gulf Coast but he doubted it was any more unusual than the weather in Miami or Atlanta.

Another problem with the facility was the unique design of the dome. It had a series of catwalks which frequently interfered with fly balls, creating the need for a host of "ground rules" that were used only in Tampa. Brock hoped he wasn't stationed in the outfield during his initial foray into the stadium because he had no idea of what those ground rules might be. He remembered a video of a fly ball hit there a few seasons before that rolled around the catwalks long enough for the batter to race around the bases. Then the ball fell down and was caught. The batter was out and a long and lengthy argument ensued.

It had been funny to watch on a television screen but Brock doubted that he would see the humor in it if he was one of the participants.

The member of the club's travel squad was standing outside the player's entrance when the taxi pulled up. Meredith decided she would spend time wandering around the area near the stadium and wait for Brock to call.

The locker room was empty an hour before game time. The players and coaches were out on the field, familiarizing themselves with the nuances of the stadium and getting a look at the pitcher's mound and the batting areas.

Brock found his uniform waiting for him along with the personal items he had left with Zack He had just tucked his jersey into his pants and tightened the belt when his phone buzzed again.

He took a deep breath when he saw it was Julie Archer.

"Let me read this to you," she said before he could even get the last syllable of "hello" out of his mouth. She didn't wait for an answer before she continued.