Digging for Home

Frank stopped and wheeled, his gaze finding the chair. "Didn't I sit right there a few weeks ago," he mumbled to himself, "and say that I would gladly buy her?"

"Yes, Master," the computer answered. "You did. It was Tuesday, August . . ."

"Shut up!" Frank snapped. He sighed as he shook his head. Stupid computers, he thought. But stupider me; just two weeks ago I did want to buy her. I'd have done anything for her then, why not now?

Frank moved to the chair and sat, burying his face in his palms. You idiot! he scolded himself. You total fucking wimp! Yesterday was such an opportunity; you know she wanted more. You have to give her more. I know you can. How hard can it be? After all, she's the same girl she was when you all but worshipped her. That's right you moron, the same girl; and all you need to do is treat her like one.

The man's face sprang from his hands as another portion of the doubt faded from his mind. "Computer, find me New York Yankees apparel, authentic jerseys." Frank dropped his brow into a low line. "How many Yankees are in the Hall of Fame anyway?"

"One hundred and nine," the computer replied. "Counting players and managers. There are fifty-three additional inductees who played primarily for other franchises, but spent part of their career with the Yankees."

Frank shook his head and snorted. "That's just ridiculous. How many numbers have those bastards retired?"

"If by 'those bastards' you refer to the Yankees, Master, then they have retired thirty-seven numbers. In order, these are; one, Martin; two, Jeter; three Ruth; four, Geh... "

"Stop!" The man exhaled a long breath through loosely pursed lips. "I want to order a half dozen official Yankee's team jerseys," he paused to sigh. "The name will be Forbes, and the size will be whatever size Charlie Forbes wears."

"The size Miss Forbes should wear or the size she does wear?" the computer inquired.