Happy Tokuda. Chaucer’s miller. Heere folwen the wordes betwene the Hoost and the Millere. Shit, here we go. The voice was jarring the same way the odor of something rotten in the back of the ice-box is when it finally hits your nose after weeks of resting undiscovered behind the fresh stuff. It was too damn late for me to run away and hide. I was trapped in Wally’s fancy entryway in a pair of wingtips with untied laces.
I tried my best to disappear right where I was, kneeling on one knee and bowing my head with my hat on, concentrating intensely on tying my shoes. I heard Wally greet him enthusiastically, saying something to the effect of what a pleasant surprise it was to see him and come inside, come inside, come inside.
Shit. I bit the bullet after finishing with my shoes and looked up to find that familiar tanned face and its idiot smile a few inches away from mine. He was wearing a bright orange shirt under his sports coat with a matching orange pocket handkerchief. The little black beret was perched precariously sideways on his slick hair.
“Eh! First Base! You’re looking good!”
“And you’re looking guilty of something.”
Happy laughed like a demented chimp. “Same old First Base,” he said.
“Who the hell invited you?” I asked.
“Right Field told me about it,” he said. “He didn’t think Shortstop would mind if I stopped by. I told him not to say I was coming. I wanted to surprise everybody.”
“Caught me off guard,” I said.
“Yeah, just like old times,” said Happy.
Ellen was suddenly behind us, holding Lizzie in one arm and using the other to brace herself against my back while she stepped into her pumps.
“Who’s this pretty girl?” Happy asked. “Don’t tell me you married this one, First Base!”
“Yeah, he did,” said Ellen. “He knocked me over the head with his club and dragged me by the hair into his cave. I’m Ellen.”
“They call me Happy, but my real name is Harry. Harry Tokuda. But you can call me Happy. Everybody else does.”
“Happy Tokuda? I’ve heard a lot about you,” said Ellen.
“Really? I’m touched. I didn’t think you liked me, First Base.”
“I don’t,” I said.
“Who’s this?” asked Happy, ignoring me and leaning over the bundled up Lizzie.
“This is Elizabeth, our baby girl,” said Ellen. She did so with the same joyful, shiny pride she always did when introducing our baby to anyone, including, it seemed, to perpetrators of every misdemeanor on the books with an occasional grand theft thrown in.
“She can’t be yours, First Base! She’s too cute.” Happy reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill. He held it out between two fingers toward Ellen. “Here,” he said. “For the baby’s college.”
I snatched the bill from between them and held it up in front of Happy’s face.
“Which old coot’s pension did you steal this from?” I asked. I flipped the bill at his face. It hit him squarely between the eyes and fluttered to the floor.
“Frankie!” Ellen scolded. “Be nice!”
Unfazed, Happy squatted down, picked up the bill, straightened back up and tucked it into Lizzie’s blankets then gave her a gentle pat. He grinned broadly at Ellen. He was working the same smarmy charm he reserved for his female marks, but this time he was directing it at my wife. I balled up my hand in a fist and got ready to launch, but Ellen got between us.
“Just like before,” he said. “Same old First Base.”
Wally ambled over in an attempt to smooth things between me and Happy. I noticed how well he moved; one would be hardpressed to guess that one of his legs was artificial.
“Hey, come on, Frankie,” he said. “You and Happy go way back together. We all do. He just dropped in to wish us all well, didn’t you, Happy?”
“Of course,” said Happy. “Shortstop with his new house and new wife, and First Base, too. What a cute little baby!”
Happy beamed. Ellen beamed back at the compliment to Lizzie. I suddenly felt like a heel. Happy stood in the entryway holding his black beret in front of his chest, reminding me of a dog begging for table scraps.
“Thanks, Happy,” I said. I said it through clenched teeth, but I said it. I even stuck my hand out in a gesture of conciliation, to make up for the uptight jerk I was being. Happy grasped my hand and shook it heartily.
“You’re a lucky guy, First Base,” he said, fairly oozing goodwill and ease of character. I managed a grin and nodded.
“How about we go inside and have a drink together?” Happy suggested. “We can catch up.”
“Thank you, he’d love to, but we have to get going,” said Ellen. “It’s our little girl’s bedtime.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s my bedtime, too.”
“Okay, then,” said Happy. “Stay in a good mood, First Base. I’ll see you next time.”
“Stay out of trouble, Happy,” I said. “Or next time I’ll arrest you. Again.”
Happy laughed. “Same old First Base,” he said
This was an excerpt from my fourth novel, Sporting Girl (Bamboo Ridge Press, 2026).
Just finished the book today. Well done! Cheers!