Arthur: At least there's only one more week of calling losses

Writing a novel looks kind of easy. You figure out what you want to write about, come up with an outline, and then just do it. Especially when, as I'm trying to do, it's about your current line of work; there's not quite so much research to do. There's still plenty, though - a murder mystery has to be absolutely flawless in its details, or the fans will absolutely crucify you.

So, I've been spending a lot of my free time lately doing research, and feeling like I should be doing more; it seems like each new thing I discover about sports, broadcasting, crime, or any of the other things in the book makes me rewrite . I'm starting to think that if this book winds up three hundred pages long, I'll have written something like fifteen hundred, which is daunting.

Spare time is not something I've had a whole lot of lately, though. I'm doing anchor duty two nights a week, which means being around all evening for cut-ins, and working on writing my material. As much as the novel isn't my forte, apparently neither is voiceover work. George says otherwise, which is nice of him, but I don't know if the way I announce the scores and recap that no, Barry Bonds didn't hit a home run tonight is really noticeably different than what some other guy does.

The other thing is that the last couple of weeks have been away games - L.A. two weeks ago, Chicago last weekend. It was cool to go back to L.A.; I got to see Cassie again. She at least seems really excited by the book, begging to let her proofread it or something. I told her I would, and she thanked me, saying that if I got it published, it would be just about the coolest thing anyone she knows has ever done. Drew kind of gave me an eyebrow after that, since this wouldn't really be something done by someone Cassie knows, although when Cassie caught it, he said that hosting the show was pretty cool, too, wasn't it?

Drew does like coming down to L.A., though. I think he's kind of star-struck by it, having grown up in Michigan, which I'm sure is nice, don't get me wrong... But you come to San Francisco and Los Angeles, and you see things that you remember from movies and TV practically every time you turn a corner. Sometimes you'll see a movie star eating in a restaurant a few seats away, and it's like it's no big deal. He's spending about half the week there, right now, signing a few would-be actors and models to beef up R.J.'s roster.

Cassie teased me about that, but I told her I was cool with it. I was tempted to make a joke about not being used to having one guy doting on me all the time, based on Ray and Stewart, but I figured there was a good chance of her finding that really inappropriate based upon something in Nell's past.

I don't think I'd be too terribly upset if he found some new girl down in L.A., though. I get the feeling that Drew is becoming less and less interested in returning to his "real" life, so if he wants to settle into something, I guess I wouldn't blame him. Do I enjoy going out (and then going back in) with him? Yeah, we have fun, and there's no lying to it. But I won't even begin to kid myself that we're in love, or that I'm looking for anything permanent so long as I look like Nell.

-Art

Arthur: I (something) L.A.

I'm starting to get the impression that the Dragons aren't exactly a great team. Part of the job of announcing is to be with the audience, and though I had no idea that San Francisco even had a Major League Lacrosse team a scant two months ago, that are still my home team, and having them fall to Los Angeles is a little more galling than the other losses. It's not like the cities really hate each other; it's just a different culture, although I imagine it looks much the same to east-coasters. The biggest sports rivalry out here is in fact a transplanted east-coast one, between the Giants and the Dodgers; as an A's fan, I don't have the same sort of visceral distaste for the Angels; they're just another team in the division.

We have been playing the "Beat L.A." thing up over the past couple weeks and in promos, though, so I kind of got into it. But the game was only part of the L.A. experience this weekend.

About a week ago, I got a call from one Cassie Lane, saying that she saw the MLL schedule would have me in L.A. over the weekend, and she wondered if R.J. and I would like to meet her and Jim for dinner after the game. I stumble a little, but she gets into "oh please, please please please, it's been almost a year", so I eventually relent. I've always had a weakness for that tone of voice from a girl. Besides, I figured, if it's been a year since she's seen Nell, I probably wouldn't be too badly at a loss at any point.

It did mean calling Drew, but that wasn't too big a deal. As I mentioned last time, he asked me to meet him for lunch when I visited him in R.J.'s office, and I was happy to. I've been missing hanging out with 'Lyn, and it's very nice to have someone you can talk with about everything. I asked how the arrangements for getting back were going, and he said that New Drew was willing to switch back whenever Drew said the word, but Drew was trying to hold off until he knew the whereabouts of the real R.J. I wondered if he was maybe with the real Nell, who I hadn't heard from either. I asked about New Drew, saying he must be anxious to get back to his old life, and Drew said that wasn't the case - that his old life wasn't bad, but the guy just had no desire to go back; he was enjoying the feeling of having a new start.

"Speaking of original lives..."

I sighed. I still haven't talked to Jeremy Boyd, living the life of Arthur Milligan, even though we've been in the same city for a month. I say that I don't want to look at my own face and not like the person behind it, and, besides... Well, you've been a woman.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"It's... uncomfortable to go to a man and ask for something, even if it's just an explanation. It's like admitting that you're less than them, that you're weaker. You know what I mean?"

"Not really. I just always made sure that I didn't ask for something where I didn't know the answer, just like in court. And, besides, a lot of the time the guy only thinks he's in the position of strength."

Mm. I never managed to feel like I was the one in charge where sexuality was involved, so I changed the subject to business. I gave him a rough outline of the mystery story I was thinking about, and he put it in his briefcase to read later. He mentioned a groups people who had contacted him looking to book Nell for speaking engagements - a girls' volleyball camp and some sort of women's group - and it sounds worth doing; the money's almost as good as adding another game to the schedule.

He asks me if I want to have dinner a few days later, and I say that sounds suspiciously like a date. "I admit it," he says, "I find you very attractive. And it's nice to be with someone who is in the same boat as I am. I know the physical aspect might be weird, but we don't have to push that."

"Let's... just have dinner."

We do, and he's good enough not to push for more. Then Cassie calls me, and I call him, and we arrange to meat last night, after the game.

I hadn't actually seen Cassie before, so I was a bit taken aback upon getting to the restaurant to see that she was Japanese-American, "Cassie" being short for Kasumi. She's nearly as tall as I am; she and Nell played volleyball together in college, but instead of turning pro like Nell did, Cassie took an I.T. job, met James Lane, and got married seven months later; Nell was a bridesmaid.

They're nice folks, and though there were a couple times I had to fake knowing something from five or ten years ago, Cassie and Jim mostly talked about the present. She's a riot; I found myself falling in with her much faster than I ever did with Zoe.

Afterwards, Drew and I went to a club - he had made contact with a few people in L.A. and wanted to introduce me to them. I can't remember half of them; there was someone from ESPN, I know, and some guys in publishing. I actually recognized a couple of those - I'd sold an article to the guy from Maxim, for instance. There were just a ton of them, though, and there were drinks being served constantly. I had to give Drew credit; he was taking R.J.'s job pretty seriously.

But, oh, the hobnobbing was exhausting. I was very happy to get back to the hotel and then fly back here today. I'm a little worried, though - this studio is starting to feel like home.

-Art

Arthur: Learning

My entries aren't just going to be a running log of my experiences doing play-by-play for the Dragons, but this weekend was new in that it was my first away game. My first game was at home; my second would be in Chicago. Not only had I never been there before, but I'm not used to this kind of travel.

I'd done some business travel back when I was myself, but it was seldom this regimented - if I could, I'd allow myself some time to see the sights or otherwise spend some quality time. I was a freelancer, after all, and you can write anywhere.

This weekend, I barely noticed I was in Chicago. We did a lot of the groundwork at the Friday planning meeting at home, making sure we were up to speed on Chicago's players and a roster move that the Dragons had made. I was a bit of a target; Mike all but said I was unprofessional and unqualified. He's probably right about the second, although I don't know if I'd go with the first. I've been spending practically all my waking hours over the past two weeks trying to improve my skills as a broadcaster, and I don't think I ever coasted. George was pretty diplomatic in handling it, pointing out that Mike hadn't been particularly sharp in his first game and he hadn't had a lingering illness to deal with, but also being pretty pointed about how that had to be behind me.

Saturday was a blur; there was the airport, hours spent flying to Chicago (and lost from flying East), and hotel check-in. By the time I'd hung my garment bag in the closet, it was already six-thirty. I had a quick meal at the hotel restaurant and then retired back to my room, watching a couple of Nell's old games on a portable DVD player before heading for bed.

Sunday I was up early to check out and catch a train out to Lancaster, where the team was actually playing. Even though the game started a one o'clock local time, we had to be there hours earlier, doing last minute prep, doing our makeup (if we were covering baseball or football, there would probably be hair and makeup people on staff; I was on my own), shooting coach and player interviews to insert into the broadcast later, talking with the person doing the local sports report back home.

I did better on the actual play-by-play this week. I'm helped a little by the fact that men's and women's lacrosse are somewhat different, so Mike is the one supplying most of the actual analysis. I tried to look at it like I was trying to keep someone updated over the phone without saying something that is too obvious to anyone looking at the screen and giving Mike a chance to chime in. Then, at the end of the game, I ran down to the locker room to do a couple stand-up interviews. I drove George and the cameraman nuts because I tended to position myself wrong, and wound up facing the player while the camera got a good shot of my back.

Then it was back upstairs to pack my things up and head back to the airport. Mike gave me the cold shoulder, and I half suspect he moved my stuff so that I wouldn't be finished in time to share a cab with him. I don't know why he was in such a rush; it's not as though he was going to get on an earlier flight and avoid me.

I hope like hell that Nell never slept with him. I only mixed business and pleasure like that once or twice in my old life, so it doesn't seem like something I need to be karmically punished for over and over again.

If she did, though, it seems to just be part of the problem. George caught up with me in the airport bar and sat down beside me for a talk.

"That was better," he said. "You still seem to be having a little trouble shaking the rust off, though."

"What can I say? I had one of those vacations that you need another one to recover from."

He laughed and took a sip of his beer. "Been too long since I've had one of those. Anyway, you were pretty solid this week--" I snorted. "What?"

"'Solid' means 'unpraiseworthy', 'average', or 'undistinguished'. It's what you say about forgettable work." Nearly every polite rejection letter or review that stopped short of actual praise that I'd ever received included the word.

"See, that's why I like working with people like you. It's not about being 'good enough', but being the best. It can make you a pain in the neck, but usually pays off. Anyway, any faults with your game-calling are made up for by my magnificent direction." He barely contained a goofy grin as he said it, so we waited a couple seconds and burst out laughing.

"No, seriously, you're OK, and you'll get better. It would be great if you and Mike could work on your chemistry, though. Both games have been fairly close, but chemistry is what keeps people tuned in to a blowout."

"I'll try. It's just--" I stopped; it seemed wildly inappropriate for me to complain or try to gossip about Mike.

George knew what I was thinking, though. "Don't worry about Mike. He and Al hit it off right away when we first teamed them a couple years ago, so he kind of resents you even though Al's the one that took the radio job in L.A. He'll get over it."

"Ah." Good to know.

"Besides, the guys above me like you. Our ratings for the Stealth jumped fifteen percent this winter, you know, and I don't think there was a sudden influx of new fans of the sport. Maybe Mike just doesn't like that a woman in the booth gets more ink just for being a woman than he gets."

"Glad I can help."

"We do thank you for it." He just sort of looked at me for a couple seconds, then did the too-quick grab for his beer meant to camouflage that a guy thinks a girl is attractive but doesn't think he should say it but which only highlights it. It sloshed a little, and I felt the need to take a quick drink too, so he didn't look or feel silly (of course, that probably just signaled that I'd noticed and made him feel worse).

"Anyway, we're getting good feedback about you. They might want you on-camera more."

"That's... great." I suppose that's what Nell has been working toward. I guess it's good to know she was getting there.

They call our flight, and we separate. Then it was back to San Francisco, and another week of trying to catch up before another game.

-Art