“Where are you going?” “Home.” “And where’s home?” She tells me. “Hop in.” And we’re driving through open farmland, headlamps swee...ing across fields, fauna dashing hither and thither in the glow. My hand is on the gear stick, my mind on the black nylon stretched tightly across her firm thighs. “So what’s the story?” I ask. “It’s a long one.” “We’ve got time.” “Maybe we have, but I don’t want you to get ideas about me.” “So it’s that kind of story?” “Perhaps, but that’s for me to know.” Silence,. "Sorry."Lois grabbed his arm. "This man was a player himself," she said. "These are his teammates. Just give the nearest Oriole player the note." I'm sorry, Miss, really. But it could mean my job." OK," Lois said. "Forget it."Standing at the railing near the dugout, Lois leaned over the rail and motioned elaborately at the nearest man in uniform, the Orioles' hitting coach, B.J. Surhoff. He ignored her at first, but his name was on his back, and Lois wasn't the shy, retiring type. "Hey,. More

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