she smashed the ball. Unfortunately, Martha had decided this in the middle of a game, and the first-base coach (Red Mabel) cursed her and pushed her off the bag. Martha declared she would walk to second base, if necessary. Of course, Laverna was apoplectic, but Ginger offered up her teenage daughter as a designated runner. Shyanne Fitchett upped their beauty quotient, could hit the shit out of the ball, and filled in whenever Red Mabel was in county jail.
Laverna’s own offspring was currently examining her makeup in the mirror of a small compact.
“I think all of you know my daughter,” said Laverna. “Or at least you’ve heard of her.” There were nods all around.
“You screwed my older brothers,” said Della. Her tight face and lack of eyebrows made it hard for Laverna to figure if Della was angry about it.
“Probably,” said Rachel.
“Drive-in movie,” said Della.
“AMC Pacer and Chrysler Cordoba,” said Rachel. “I remember that.”
“Engine Number Three,” said Ginger.
“Excuse me?” Rachel clutched at her turtleneck.
“My husband,” said Ginger. “You fucked my husband in a fire truck.”
“Oh,” said Rachel. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” said Ginger. “He left town. I should buy you a drink.”
Laverna was impressed by all of this teamwork.
“I’m putting Della at first,” announced Laverna. “She says she can handle it.” Laverna’s former first-base player moved to Spokane to open a tanning salon. Laverna couldn’t begrudge her for it, as she believed in the power of women in small business. “Krystal quit the team.”
“Where I’m from, quitters get scalped,” said Red Mabel. In response, Ronda moved her chair away from Red Mabel, silent as always.
“You were born in Pasadena,” pointed out Laverna, sighing. “I’m going to be blunt,” she said, although this was hardly necessary. Laverna was always blunt. “Rachel has never played a sport in her life. She’s in right field for a reason.”
Rachel smiled, not realizing that her mother was insulting her. Behind Rachel, lesbian Elvis put another miner in a headlock, took her down to the floor. This was common when there was cheating, at cribbage or in relationships. Laverna ignored it and continued. “And we have another problem. Ellis is fielding a new team this year,” said Laverna. “High school girls.”
“Athletic little bitches,” said Red Mabel.
“Exactly,” said Laverna. “So that makes an even eight teams in the league.”
“We should send Winsome Shankley over there to fuck them until they’re crippled,” offered Red Mabel, met with toasts and cheers from Martha and Ginger.
“Enough,” said Laverna, and the cheering stopped. “They are teenagers, and that is disgusting.” She leaned forward and whispered to her team. “I made a deal with the Ellis cops. If those goddamn little princesses get caught with beer, they’re out. I’ve already arranged a kegger in the woods.”
The cheering began again. Red Mabel stood and helped their coach sip more whiskey through the pink straw.
“The tournament is in Missoula this year,” said Laverna. “We just need to win half of our games. I have faith.”
Rachel raised her hand. “Have we made it to the tournament before?”
“Shut up,” said Laverna as Tish returned with another round of drinks, including a fresh can of Diet Coke. “We’ve got a good team,” said Laverna. “Minus a few question marks.” Red Mabel pointed at Della, who blushed, and Rachel, who ignored her. Rachel watched as the headlock in the back degenerated into some sort of crabwalk leg wrestling. The cribbage boards had been abandoned. “I’m certain that you veterans will help whip these girls into shape.”
“You got it, Coach,” said Diane Savage Connor, always the team cheerleader.
Laverna scowled. “First practice is in a week. Get your gloves out of the closet, girls. This year, let’s try not to embarrass ourselves.” Laverna’s version of a pep talk elicited cheers from the usual suspects. Her entire outfield remained quiet.
The other teams in the league had uniforms. The other teams in the league had burly batters and outfielders who darted for balls like they were lottery tickets falling from the sky. The other teams practiced four times per week. The Flood Girls had Laverna, and this year, she had already been shot and hijacked by the return of her daughter. Nothing worse could happen.
Her positive thinking was interrupted by the silver miners, as usual. Elvis and her crew yanked another miner by the feet, pulled her past the Flood Girls. Laverna checked to make sure the woman was conscious. The miner sliding across the floor had a baby face, and a shaved head that struck the legs of several empty chairs.