by Melanie Ting
“So this guy made a great impression on you?” Sharon laughed as she strapped her tool belt on.
“He’s seventeen kinds of a jerk-head.”
“Oh, go crazy with the bad language.” Sharon might pretend she learned her swearing on job sites, but she dropped the f-word more than anyone I knew even before she went into construction. What was crazy was that her daughter never swore. Maybe it was Kayla’s way of rebelling.
I sipped from my travel mug and then continued my complaints. “He was so arrogant. Like everything I’m doing—just for him—is not important enough for him to give me any time or information. He’ll probably be like Brent, ‘Oh, you decide on the new sofa, honey, the house is your domain.’ But then he’s the first one to complain if he doesn’t like what I’ve chosen.”
“Sometimes I wonder why you stayed married to that fucker for so long,” Sharon commented as she measured the wall inside the closet. For the desk, there was a piece of white laminate and trestles, but Sharon would cut it to fit exactly.
“Really? I can’t count the number of people who told me how lucky I was to be married to a great guy like Brent. Even after he left, someone said I’d never find a catch like that again.”
“Brent seemed like a great guy on the surface, but once you got to really know him, he was never really happy. And that was wearing you down—trying to make things perfect all the time.”
I dropped the linens on the bed. “What? I can’t believe you’re telling me this now.”
Sharon bit her lower lip. “I didn’t think you were ready to hear it before. You were too busy beating yourself up over the marriage breaking down. People split up. It’s not anyone’s fault that things change.”
“Can I blame Brent instead?”
Sharon laughed. “Sure. He’s arrogant as fuck. But take it from me, the real breakthrough comes when you don’t need to assign any blame. Okay, so you want to hang these floating shelves?” Sharon asked.
“Yes, the only thing that Coach Jerk-head wanted was a place to work. And since the extra bedroom is for his daughter, this closet is the only place to put an office.”
After the phone call, I recalibrated my idea of what kind of man he was. A divorced workaholic with crappy people skills who had a big belly and a receding hairline. The visual image came from Don, Tristan’s current screamer coach. Still, even a loser like Leo might have a lady friend over, so closing the door on his work would be a good thing.
“He’s probably going to put heavy books or binders on the shelf.” Sharon pulled out a yellow plastic tool. “To make sure that we fix the shelf to something strong, we’re going to use this.”
“What’s that?”
“A stud finder.”
I giggled. “We could use that when we go out to bars.”
“Oh ho. Are we going to start going clubbing?” Sharon ran the stud finder slowly across the wall until it began to beep. She made a pencil mark, then continued and made another. “Remember, the stud finder only finds the edges of the 2x4 underneath the drywall.”
“I only understood half of what you just said. But how else do you find guys? Bars were how we found guys in the eighties.” I met Brent at a pub.
“Now apps can find men for you. Or websites.” She handed the stud finder to me. I copied her slow motion until it beeped.
“Have you had any success finding dates that way?” I wondered.
“Define success.”
“A guy to go out with—like on nice dates. To dinner or movies, stuff like that.”
“No.”
“Sharon! Are you hooking up with random men?”
She only laughed in reply. Did I really want to know the answer to that question? It felt weird to think about having sex with someone who wasn’t Brent. “I wonder if I’ll even find anyone attractive again.”
“Of course you will. Now, where do you want the shelves?” We decided on the best placement, and Sharon made a few marks. “I’m going to do the first shelf, and you’re going to do the second one.”
“Can’t I just watch you admiringly? I’m worried that my shelf is going to fall down and knock the coach out.”
“From the sounds of things, that’s exactly what you want to happen. Don’t worry; I’m here to supervise you. Anyway, don’t you find it liberating to live on your own?”
I watched as Sharon drilled holes, inserted plugs, levelled the bracket, and then hung the perfect shelf. “Liberating? Yeah, kind of. I don’t have to remind anyone to take the garbage out. No more nagging or argument—I just do everything myself.”
“You know, it’s only a thought, but maybe you should do some fun things too. Especially on the weekends you don’t have the kids.”
“I do. I paint.” Painting was the perfect mental escape.
“Fun things that involve leaving the house,” Sharon eyed the shelf and then handed the drill off.
I panicked. The drill felt heavy, and my hand shook. “I can’t use power tools. What if I mess up?”
Sharon raised an eyebrow. “It’s been two years since you had real sex, right?”
“What? Well, uh, yes.”
“Well, if you can handle a vibrator, you can handle a power tool. You’re going to need to learn if you keep doing this. Don’t hold it like a grenade. You’re the boss—you show that drill you’re in charge.”
I grinned and gripped the handle firmly. Sharon had already marked the wall, so all I had to do was drill those spots. It did feel surprisingly good to use a power drill. I felt even better once the shelf was mounted.
“Ta da. I did that.”
“Yup. Keep it up and I’ll hire you on my crew.” Sharon’s philosophy was to hire as many women as possible. She had trouble getting her first break, so she wanted to help other people. “Okay, I’m off to the site now. Good luck.”
After Sharon left, I worked steadily. It was satisfying work, seeing a place come together. I attacked the bedroom first. The little office looked bare without papers, so I added a few accessories I’d bought at a garage sale and then spray-painted white. Now the wire pencil holder and in-baskets could pass for brand new. I rolled the blue office chair into place, and then shut the closet doors. Now it was a bedroom again. I dressed the bed, adding two shams and throw pillows. Brent used to complain about all the extra pillows, but they made the bed look so inviting. I laid a throw on the bottom corner of the bed and stood back. The bed was smartly made up with burlap-textured shams, white cotton sheets, and a knitted throw. I hung my lovely new painting of white peonies. With the teak dresser, the whole room looked neutral and classy. I had even added a few potted plants. I choose cacti because they matched the coach’s personality and didn’t need much work. They also looked stylish with white pea gravel. The whole room was masculine yet cozy.
The place was shaping up. The kitchen was almost fully equipped, but I realized I had forgotten a box of new utensils at home. That would have to wait until I got into the apartment again. I had managed to fit in a small table and two chairs. That would be enough for the coach and his daughter, and he didn’t strike me as the entertaining type.
There was a rap on the door, and I ran to answer it. A burly man in a navy coverall was standing there.
“I’m from MacDermitt’s. We’ve got the couches downstairs.”
“Great, they’re for the living room.” Fiona had magically moved the couch delivery earlier after I messed up. Wayne wanted the place to be as finished as possible when Coach Jerk-Head arrived. The deliveryman eyed the living room, nodded and disappeared. A few minutes later, he returned with a younger man, both of them bearing a beige couch.
I motioned for them. “Right here. I’ve marked the floor with tape where the couches go.”
The bigger man grunted an acknowledgment and they placed the couch perfectly. I had removed the plastic by the time the loveseat appeared. He pulled out a tablet and got me to confirm that everything had been delivered in good condition.
“Thanks for being
organized,” he told me. “You wouldn’t believe the people that want us to move things from place to place to see where they like it best.”
I beamed. It wasn’t much, but it was the first positive comment I’d heard since I took on this job. Of course, it wasn’t like anyone had seen it yet. I checked my watch. Only ninety minutes left. I hurriedly hung the large striped abstraction I’d painted for this room. For the whole place, I was using a colour scheme of a neutral beige colour with blue accents. The stripes were in blues ranging from navy to turquoise, as well as a few lines of yellow, white, and taupe. I was very happy with the final effect. I added the other accessories: a beige patterned area rug, a distressed coffee table, a refurbished lamp, cushions, and another cactus in a striped pot I’d also painted. I twirled around and admired the room.
There was a knock on the door and then it opened.
“Hey, Jackie.” Wayne was dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase. Since I was used to seeing him in jeans or track pants, this was a little odd.
“You look very professional.”
“Thanks. I’m meeting Leo Gauthier here in twenty minutes.” When Fiona filled him in on the situation, he had arranged to meet the coach and show him the place. He wanted to manage any concerns about how things weren’t finished yet. “Can you show me what still needs to be done?”
“Sure. It’s really only his daughter’s room.”
Wayne cast an expert eye around the living room. I held my breath as he eyed my painting, but he didn’t say a word so it looked professional enough to pass muster. He stuck his head in the kitchen and bathroom, but I hadn’t had to do much in either except add all the necessities.
Next we went into the little girl’s room, which was pretty bare. The naked bed and dresser were in one corner.
“I left this to the end because the coach mentioned that she wasn’t coming right away. It’s going to need a coat of paint. I found out her favourite colour is purple, so I’ll do an accent wall in lavender. And maybe get a pouf and some accessories.” I was intending to do a cute cat painting this weekend. Minx had all the qualities of a good painter’s model: attractive and able to stay motionless for long periods of time.
“Okay. Have you arranged for a time to come in and do all this?”
“Not yet. He mentioned a road trip, so I thought I’d do it then. I’ll use a low fume paint, but I’d still prefer to paint while nobody’s home.”
Wayne closely examined the master bedroom. He poked into the closet office, opened drawers, and even ran his hands over the old blue hardcover books I bought as accessories—for only five dollars! However he never said one word about how the place looked. I felt so disappointed after all my hard work. “You still have a few things to clean up here,” he pointed out.
“I was just going to do that. I’ve been here since first thing this morning.”
“When you’ve got the whole thing done, Fiona wants to have a look and you can settle everything with her. I assume you’re keeping to your budget.”
“Yes, I have everything right—” I motioned towards my plastic file folder, but he waved me away.
“I leave all that to Fiona. It’s a shame we couldn’t have finished everything before the client moved in, but I’ll try to smooth things over.”
I felt strangely deflated. I’d worked so hard for the past week, and apparently I had still screwed up.
Wayne finally smiled at me. “Thanks a lot for doing this, Jackie. I hate to give you the bum’s rush, but it’ll probably go better if I’m alone with this Gauthier fellow and can explain why we’re not done. I’ll get the details on his road trip and let you know when you can come back in.”
I nodded and gathered everything up. Disappointment clung to me like the misty rain that was falling outside. As usual, I had been stupidly optimistic. I fantasized that Wayne would be so impressed by the work I’d done that he would offer me a permanent job on the spot. Instead I was back to the art store and haunting the online job postings. I sighed and started up the van.
But as I headed home I remember that I’d “sold” a couple of paintings, and nobody could take that accomplishment away.
6
Meet Suite
Leo
I paused the monitor on the video of our latest game. “See. Right here. Dom makes this outlet pass and gets the puck up to Rams who moves into the attacking zone along with Burner. It’s a great play and an example of what we want. Controlled zone entries.”
I looked around the dressing room. It was like I was speaking Swahili. Everyone’s face was completely puzzled. Dom looked the most concerned.
“Is something wrong, Dom?” I asked.
“Is that it?” Dom asked. I didn’t know him that well yet, but he was a pretty quiet guy.
“Uh yeah. What else would there be? You done good.”
His eyes widened. “Um, thanks.”
I pointed out a few other plays I’d noticed that worked out well. To be honest, there wasn’t a ton of good stuff happening on the ice yet. Zero response. I moved into an overview on our opponents for tomorrow night.
Afterwards, I motioned for Ian Lee to come in my office.
“What the hell was that?” I asked. “It’s like the guys have never done a game review before.”
Lee nodded. “Well, nobody’s ever told them they were doing anything right before. Usually we go over all the mistakes that got made and whose fault it was. Especially during a loss. Even after wins, the focus was on tightening up our game.”
“That’s not the way to get better. We need to build up everyone’s confidence.”
He blinked at me. “Wow. This is the way it goes, right? Management alternates a negative coach with a positive coach.”
I laughed. “I’m no fucking Pollyanna, and it’s not going to take the team long to find that out. But nobody ever played his best game looking over his shoulder the whole time.”
It was a matter of psychology. Right now the whole team acted like a beaten dog. It wasn’t about winning at this point, but in order to genuinely evaluate the players, we needed to boost their faith in themselves. We talked more about what we needed for tomorrow’s game. I was a big believer in preparation or even over-preparation. Lee left, and I was getting hungry. I decided to pack up and head home. I could have dinner and finish my work there. Now that I was out of the hotel, I could really get things done with all my stuff at hand.
There was a knock on the half-open door, and Amanda Richardson leaned in. “Hi, Leo. I noticed you were still working. I thought I’d check and see how you’re settling in.”
“Everything’s good, thank you.”
So far, I liked Amanda. She was smart and dedicated to improving the Vice. But her motivations puzzled me. With her designer suits and tied-back hair, she looked like a stereotype—rich, sophisticated, and cool. She came from a wealthy Vancouver family who still owned sixty percent of the team. But if she was as rich as reported, why did she work so hard? Her car was often the only one in the staff parking lot when I left.
She wasn’t exactly the type of woman I would have pictured with Lucky, but he was completely head over heart. But as promised, they were absolute professionals at work. If it wasn’t for the heated way they looked at each other occasionally, I wouldn’t have even known they were dating.
Amanda perched on the corner of my desk. “You’ve lived in a lot of different places, but I don’t think you’ve lived on the West Coast before.”
“Yeah, I’ve spent most of my career back east—both coaching and playing. Mostly in Quebec. I played in the Q, then at McGill, then Europe. I went back to McGill to start my coaching career. I’ve moved around a lot since then.”
“Yes, you’ve changed jobs every couple of years.” She smiled, but I sensed uneasiness in her tone.
“I go where the problems are. Like a fixer.”
She laughed at that. “Then you’ve come to the right place. And how is the apartment working out for you?”
It must have been Amanda who arranged for my new place. I’d only been there a week and it already felt like home. “I can honestly say that it’s the best equipped place I’ve ever lived in. And I’ve had a number of furnished suites.” I was surprised at all the little details, from the welcoming fruit bowl to the toothpaste in the bathroom. It was like someone actually thought about what I needed for my everyday routine. Charlotte’s room wasn’t complete yet, but the designer people were coming in when I went on the road trip.
“Did they do a good job on the interior design part?” Amanda asked. “It’s the first time I’ve worked with this company.”
I shrugged. “It looks fine to me, but I’m no judge. Feel free to drop by anytime and check it out.”
“I’ve got houses on the brain because I’m closing on a new condo myself.” Her steady gaze reminded me of my grand-maman, a woman who always saw through to whatever bad things I might be up to. “I’m sure it must be lonely for you to move in the middle of the season. Do you know anyone in Vancouver?”
“Hockey’s a small world, so you always know people. Besides, I’m used to it.” Used to being self-contained and self-sufficient. Used to moving and starting over.
Her eyes were still boring into me. “I have a vision for the Vice to be more of a family organization—we’ll appeal to families and the organization will feel like a family. I know we have a long way to go, but you’re going to be a key player in making that happen.”
“My opinion is that winning will go a long way to making the guys feel good about themselves and each other. And that’s why I’m here.”
Amanda nodded. “Chris said something similar. But there’s more to life than just winning.”
That was bullshit. The Vice were a hockey team, not a life philosophy. If you took the focus off winning, you wasted energy. Winning was the key. Winning sold tickets and made a team profitable. It helped good players make it to the next level. Being a winning coach was why I got hired, and how I was going to get promoted.
