When 19-year-old Jessica Sekely first laid eyes on famous baseball player Jose Canseco in 1993, she had no idea who he was. Little did the Hooters trainee know that three years later she would become Mrs. Canseco.
Jessica's experience as a baseball wife was a tumultuous one, and she reveals all the page-turning details in "Juicy: Confessions of a Former Baseball Wife." Her marriage, wrought with infidelity, ended in divorce in 2000. She learned that the players and their wives would turn a blind eye to cheating, so no one would tell her when they saw Jose with other women when he was on the road.
She also contends that she would inject Jose with steroids and even tried them once herself.
Below is the first chapter of Jessica Canseco's memoir.
At the age of nineteen, when I still knew very little about life, and even less about myself, I fell hopelessly in love with the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. It took me the better part of a decade to get over that horrible addiction.
I was a college student at the time, strapped for cash, and one of my housemates, Cathleen, told me about Hooters, the national restaurant chain. She worked at the Cleveland branch, and she said the waitresses made very good money. "You're real pretty, and you have real nice breasts," she observed. "You'll do great."
I went in and filled out an application. The manager glanced at the application, took a considerably longer look at my breasts, and asked when I could start. I reported for work that same week, a Hooters-trainee. I had to learn the names of about a hundred beers, both the ones on tap and the ones in bottles, and I had to familiarize myself with about a dozen house wines. Those first two days were torture. When someone explains something to me in person, verbally, I'm real quick, and I don't need to hear it twice. But when I'm forced to process written information, it's sheer hell.
I was a terrible waitress. I was so nervous in my tight little Hooters outfit that I kept messing up my orders. I couldn't even keep my tables straight, or tell one set of customers from another, but the men never complained. "That's okay, honey. Don't worry about a thing. Why don't you pull up a chair and tell us about yourself?"
On my third day of training, three absolutely gorgeous men walked into the bar. One of them was wearing bright yellow pants and a vibrant red shirt, an outfit that practically screamed for attention. I thought he was the epitome of cool. Then again, that was more than a decade ago, in May of 1993, to be specific, back in the days when I was wearing gold-colored shorts and collared Izod shirts, so my own fashion sense left a great deal to be desired. Still, his clothes were the least of it. He was as stunningly handsome a man as I'd ever seen, and he took my breath away.
The man in the yellow pants noticed me, too. "Can I sit at one of your tables?" he asked. He was a perfect gentleman about it, soft-spoken and low-keyed, but I pointed out that my entire section was full. He suggested I borrow a table from one of the other girls, and that's what I did. "There's this guy and his friends who want to sit in my section," I explained to a fellow waitresss. "Would you mind?"
"This guy?" she repeated, incredulous. "Don't you know who that is?"
"No," I said.
"It's Jose Canseco," she said.
"Jose Canseco," she repeated. "The baseball player."