by Melanie Ting
Lucky laughed. “I can’t believe you’ve noticed that already.”
I looked down at the roster. My main concern for next season was player personnel. You couldn’t make a silk purse from pigskin. There would be contract and financial considerations, so we might end up with some of these guys anyway. So the real issue would be getting a better performance out of them.
The current team reminded me of a book I’d read on the lifting of Communist rule in Eastern Europe. People were used to rules and restrictions and many of them found the new freedom terrifying. Pankowski hadn’t been a popular coach, but once players got used to being told what to do, they were like sheep. And sheep needed direction.
“Hey, Goats. What limitations could I leverage?” Lucky’s voice was genuinely curious.
“Well, you’re a popular guy from your playing days—which weren’t so long ago. So you’ll be able to get meetings and calls returned. But you’re inexperienced, so other GMs will try to take advantage. Let them think they are.”
“How is getting suckered going to help the Vice?”
“Well, we’ve been talking analytics right?” Lucky had hired a young guy to crunch numbers for us. Apparently he had been some kind of blogger before and was happy to get paid to do the same thing.
“Yeah.”
“We may end up asking for guys that teams don’t put a ton of stock in. You might make a better deal than someone who’s supposed to be more savvy.”
There was a long pause while I shuffled papers from the desk. Many of them were dated from three years ago. Merde.
“I have to tell you, I’m not completely sold on analytics like Amanda and Greg are,” Lucky confessed. “I prefer to judge guys by character. That always worked in my playing days, you figure out the guys you can count on.”
“Do both. Use the analytics to narrow down the field, then go in and talk to your finalists.”
I liked to see a guy play too. His skating was key for me. And character was important. You wanted guys with the right attitude who didn’t give up. You wanted to know how they faced adversity. Smarts were important too. That didn’t mean going to university, but more that they thought about the game in bigger terms. You could only coach so much, and every night a player was going to face some completely new challenge. You wanted guys who would make the right decisions more often than not.
Lucky nodded and then excused himself to take a call. It sounded like Millionaires business. My talk with the Millionaire’s brass had gone well last night. No promises were made, but there was definitely a possibility of getting more involved with the NHL coaching staff if—big if—I could improve the Vice.
He finished his call. “Want to catch dinner? We can talk some more.”
“Yeah, sure.” I gathered up my laptop and the few papers I needed from the mess. “Could we get some of this stuff cleared out?”
Lucky nodded. “Sure. I should have thought of that, but it seemed a little disrespectful while the guy’s still in the hospital.”
That reminded me of Lepper’s question. “What’s going to happen to Bob after he gets out?”
“Cripes. I have no idea. I’ll ask Amanda.” Lucky shook his head. “I feel shitty about this, but Bob wasn’t the most popular guy, so nobody has really worried about that.”
“How’s Bob doing?” I asked as we walked back to Lucky’s office. Incredibly, his office was even smaller than mine. Half of it was taken up by an expensive ergonomic chair.
“He’s better, I hear. Amanda’s been going to see him regularly and giving me updates. I’ve been meaning to drop by, but I keep putting it off. You want to go tonight? We’ll do dinner afterwards.”
“Sure.” It was a chance to pay my respects.
We took Lucky’s SUV and headed to Vancouver General Hospital. Bob Pankowski had a private room with a wide view of Vancouver. The team might be skimping on facilities, but they treated you right when you got sick. Or maybe they had a good health insurance plan.
“Hey, Coach,” Lucky said. “How you doing?”
Pankowski scowled at him. “About as good as you’d expect. Hospitals aren’t my favourite place.”
Lucky pulled over a couple of chairs for us. “Bob, this is Leo Gauthier. He’s taking over the head coaching job.”
“Jesus, the body’s not even cold yet,” Pankowski said, but he didn’t look surprised that I was here. He nodded at me. “I’ve heard of you. Big deal coaching prospect, right? Have you turned around the team yet?”
“Not yet. But I’d appreciate any guidance you have.”
“Can’t. I’ve been told not to think about work.” He motioned to the TV. “I’m not even allowed to watch hockey.”
Man, if the three of us couldn’t discuss hockey, what the hell would we talk about?
“I hear you’ve started rehab already,” Lucky said. “How’s that going?”
Pankowski patted his chest. “Because of the stent, I have to take it pretty easy. Around here they think that walking is the best exercise. Got me out of bed every five minutes to do one lap. Ridiculous.”
“Now, Bob, that’s not true,” scolded the nurse who had just walked in. “As a coach, you know you have to use it or lose it. Are these your sons?”
He snorted. “Not likely. This is my boss and my replacement.” He placed a scornful emphasis on the words.
“I’ll only be a minute, gentlemen.” She was a tiny Asian woman who bustled around taking his blood pressure. She looked over at Lucky and her eyes widened. “You’re Lucky Luczak! Man, do the Millionaires ever miss you. They’re struggling even to make the playoffs.”
I smiled. I had wondered how much of a hockey city Vancouver was, but there were lots of fans. They just weren’t Vice fans. As the two of them discussed playoff chances, I watched Pankowski. Anyone would look like crap lying in bed in a hospital gown, but he looked old and frail. He’d really let his fitness go. It was easy to think that skating around at practice was exercise, but it wasn’t. I worked out regularly, and I was still at playing weight.
His office had given me insights into his personality. It was sloppy, full of paperwork and tasks not completed—like he was struggling to stay on top of things. The team played that way too—with a desperation to stay in the game, all the while knowing they were doomed. They focused on an antiquated defensive system, and they didn’t even do that well. Bob struck me as someone who might have been a good coach once, but he couldn’t evolve. Players today were different; they had attitude and expectations at all levels. You had to harness that to get the most out of them.
To me, it was attention to detail that made the difference. Begin with the first building blocks like fitness, skating, skills, and nutrition. Then add on proper practice, mastery of plays, and continuing to do the right things in our system. There would be many call-ups and injuries during the year, so the system might have to be adapted. But as long as everyone was on the same page, winning would follow. It always did.
Pankowski’s eyes met mine. I was surprised at the fear I saw there. He knew it was the end of his coaching career. He’d driven this team off a cliff, and now his reputation was shot. He scowled at me, and I tried to ease the situation.
“Bob, if you do think of anything, call me and we can jaw about the team. I know how invested you are in their success.”
“Did you even play NHL hockey?” he asked, knowing full well I hadn’t. How many times I had I heard exactly these words? Old-timer prejudices were something I’d seen at every level of hockey.
I shook my head. “I played university and in Europe. But I never played in the NHL. Like you did.”
“Damn straight I did. How the hell can you expect to coach a professional team without being in the show?”
“Bob,” the nurse chided him. “Please try to stay calm. Stress management is going to be a key part of your lifestyle from now on.”
He sighed and deflated onto the bed. “If you can teach them some team defence, you’ll be way ahead.�
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My plan for team defence was controlling the puck more in the offensive zone, but I figured that telling him that would blow out his arteries completely.
5
Property Sisters
Jackie
I was lying down on the coach’s new bed staring at the blank wall. To me, it was vital to look at something positive first thing in the morning because that would set the tone for the whole day. I could see the narrow teak dresser I’d placed against the wall. It was an amazing find from a second-hand store on Main Street—all I had to do was clean and oil the exterior, then line the drawers with striped paper, and now it looked fabulous. And cost a quarter of the price of a new dresser.
When I woke up at home, I looked at one of my own paintings. It was a still life with flowers and fruit, and the energetic colours made me feel happy. Brent had taken the oil painting that used to hang in our bedroom. It was a hyper-realistic landscape of British Columbia mountains and sea that he had bought at some charity auction. I never liked it, so hanging my own painting was a both a decorating move and a declaration of independence.
So far this job had been a dream come true. At the beginning, I met with the divinely organized and slightly scary Fiona Houston. Wayne said she was the top designer at his company, but she was quick to correct that title.
“What I am is a budgetary genius. I have a degree in interior design, but in reality, all I do is manage the budget. Our specialty is getting people settled into their new homes as quickly as possible. Usually, it’s a matter of moving and logistics, but in a case like this.…” She peered at the papers in front of her. “Leo Gauthier. He needs a completely furnished apartment, and he needs it right away. Must be a short-term assignment. Most people have their own stuff.”
“Ummm,” I didn’t know if I should be the one to point out my inexperience, but Fiona’s confident manner was making me more nervous. I could imagine her chewing me out when I screwed up. “You know I haven’t done this before, right?”
She lowered her green-rimmed designer glasses and stared at me. “Oh, I am well aware of that. But Wayne vouched for you and apparently you are willing to work for far less than a real designer should be paid.”
I swallowed. “So I have to arrange everything?” My voice squeaked on the word everything.
Fiona smiled. “Don’t worry, Jackie. We won’t throw you into the Pacific Ocean without a life jacket. Ian, our leasing agent, has already found a place that’s suitable. A nice two-bedroom. I have a list here of all the necessities that we supply. Your challenge will be getting in under the budget.” She squinted at the paper. “Darn, I was hoping I had missed a zero somewhere. The real miracle will be if you come in anywhere close.”
Did I look as scared as I felt? Fiona smiled at me, or rather bared her teeth. She wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type. She made a circle with her hands. “Think of your budget as a big circle. If you spend too much on furniture, there won’t be enough for kitchen supplies. But there’s no leeway. If you go over, it comes out of your pay.”
Was that even legal? But I got her point.
“What I do is to make up a rough estimate of what I can spend on all the major items and a more general one for the smaller stuff. Don’t go over the budget on any item and you should be fine. Here’s a list of suppliers where we have discounts. You can call me if you’ve got a big problem, but I don’t want to hear from you more than once a day. Questions?”
“What about the design aspects? Like colours and style?”
She snorted. “Well, given that you only have a week and no money, I would be amazed if you can add much. Our clients expect a nice, neutral space. No weirdness.”
“Should I ask Leo Gauthier what he wants?”
“No. What if he asks for something you can’t afford? He’s a businessperson. He wants a functional place to live.”
I must have looked shocked, because she added. “I ask clients about colour preferences, but only on bigger projects. He didn’t fill out his questionnaire, so I wouldn’t say he cares much about where he lives. All we know is that the extra bedroom is for his young daughter and he needs a place to work. Is there anything else?”
I swallowed and shook my head. But since that first day, I hadn’t needed to call Fiona at all. First, I went to the apartment and took all the measurements. I’d followed her advice and made a detailed budget for everything I wanted to put in the place. The first draft was horrendously over budget, so I went back and pared down. The style was going to be cozy minimalism, if that wasn’t a contradiction in terms. My biggest budget breakthrough came when I realized I didn’t have to buy new furniture. I was already good at painting and refinishing, so I snagged some second-hand furniture on Craigslist. Couches and beds had to be new, but nobody could tell if your wood table was slightly distressed on purpose or not.
Again I looked at the bare wall. What if I put one of my own paintings up? Then I would actually be “selling” a painting, although I wouldn’t charge much. I’d never sold a painting. Sometimes friends made noises about buying something they saw on my walls, but I was too shy to follow up. Selling a painting would be the ultimate thrill. Besides, an original painting would have more personality than an Ikea poster or those bargain monstrosities at Winners. The only thing that made me hesitate was that I didn’t know a thing about the tastes of the mysterious Leo Gauthier. I’d defied Fiona by calling him, but I had yet to hear back.
So, I’d developed my own idea of the coach and done the apartment for this mythical person. He would be a high-powered version of Larry, my son’s favourite hockey coach. Larry had been patient, fair, and quiet. Tristan didn’t do well with shouters. This year’s coach, Don, was a shouter. Poor Tristan was having a terrible season. Brent had always been an assistant coach for his son’s hockey teams, and Tristan was used to going to practices and games with his dad. Now I drove him and watched his games too. He was struggling on the ice, but the season was almost over. Maybe during the summer, he’d do a good hockey camp and—
My cellphone buzzed and startled me.
Leo Gauthier. Finally.
“Hello.”
“Hey, is this Jacqueline Wagner?” His voice was hoarse and had the tiniest of accents. He made “this” into “dis,” which made him sound like a tough, street-wise person. As usual, my imagination ran with the slightest clue. I sat up because I felt guilty lying on his brand new bed.
“Yes, this is Leo, right?”
“Yeah, you called me a few times. Sorry, I’ve been busy. What’s up?”
“I’m the person furnishing your apartment. I was hoping you could tell me what colours you like and if you have any special needs for the place.”
His exhale was more than a snort. “What I need most is to get in there, and get my home office set up. When will you be done?”
“Well, it’s about sixty percent done now....” I hesitated. Today was Wednesday and Fiona had given me one complete week, so I’d counted on all that time.
“So, tomorrow?” His voice was assertive and demanding. Now I had a better vision of what kind of coach he was. He’d be a shouter.
“Make it Friday. The couches aren’t arriving until then.” Fiona had arranged for the more expensive pieces from her wholesaler.
“I can live without couches. Is there a bed and a desk?”
“There’s a bed. The desk is here, but it’s not set up yet.”
“Look, uh, madam, I like to spread my work out and watch a lot of game video, and a hotel room isn’t real good for that. I need to get my own place and set it up the way I want. I don’t need a lot of fancy designer stuff.”
And at your budget, you’re not getting any. And madam? Did he forget my name in the two minutes we were talking? Eff right off. Out loud, all I said was, “Sorry, but I’m not done yet.”
“You can work around me. I’ll give you my schedule, and you can come when I’m not there and do whatever it is you do.”
My opinion of this guy wa
s falling rapidly. “Okay, give me until the end of day tomorrow. Anything else I’ll do when you’re not here.” I wanted to photograph the place once it was all done, but now that wasn’t going to be possible. “But I do need some direction about your daughter’s room. She’s seven, right? What kinds of things does she like?”
“She likes cats and the colour purple. But she’s not arriving until the summer. That’s where you can save time. Okay, I’ll move in tomorrow after six.”
“I’ll arrange for you to get keys,” I said, but he’d already disconnected.
What an enormous jerk.
The next day, I went straight to the apartment after I dropped the kids at school. Sharon met me shortly after.
“I’m busy as fuck. Can’t believe you roped me into this.”
“You’re a dream to help me,” I said. “I want to convert this closet into an office, so I need you to remove the hardware and add a desk and shelves.”
Sharon laughed. “I’m not doing all the work. I’m going to show you how.”
“Sharon Zennaro: empowering women one by one.” I passed her the large thermos of coffee she had requested.
“Ahhh. Just what I need.” She took a big sip, closed her eyes, and smiled. “Mmmm. Did you make this?”
I nodded happily. “Of course. Fresh ground Guatemalan is the only thing good enough for my bestie.”
“You’ve got a lot of work to do today,” Sharon noted. The place was still filled with boxes and misplaced furniture.
“I know. The timeline was tight enough before I talked to that coach.” I shouldn’t have let him walk all over me. If the place wasn’t finished right, it would jeopardize my getting more work with Wayne’s company. Fiona had already told me off when I told her the news. She was right, I should never have called him. “I haven’t touched the little girl’s room yet, other than get the bed. I hardly know anything about her. What am I supposed to do, fill her room with purple cats?”
