Mr. November (Vancouver Vice Hockey Book 4)

by Melanie Ting

  “It’s a shame you couldn’t have gone to U.B.C. and done a Bachelor of Commerce degree there. You would have had such fun.”

  Maureen’s family home was right beside the university campus. She had the fondest memories of her university years, even though she had travelled all over the world.

  “Not in my budget, I’m afraid.”

  Elaine had gone to college and completed a two-year business program with an accounting specialty. That had qualified her for an entry-level accounting job. She was now working and financing the rest of her Commerce degree. With a single mom and a younger sister, she was lucky to have gone to B.C.I.T. full time for her first degree.

  Maureen continued to reminisce. “It’s not only the schooling. It’s the social experience. You don’t get that when you live at home and commute to school.”

  Maureen’s family had been rich, and sometimes she had no clue about the real costs of things. Sure, Elaine would have loved to go to university, like many of her high school friends did, but that was never an option. And she knew that when Maureen said “social experience,” she meant getting a boyfriend. Everyone else bugged her about dating, but she had hoped for more from a career woman who had never married.

  Pearl hustled over with their lunch plates, as well as a small plate of golden cylinders. “Since you are special friends, I brought you extra—on the house.”

  “Oh, are they spring rolls?” Maureen asked.

  “Lumpia,” said Pearl. “Even better than spring rolls.”

  “Thank you, Tita,” Elaine said to Pearl, using the respectful name for all her aunties. “I’m sure that every country thinks their cuisine is the best.” But Filipino cooking was the best.

  She held her breath as Maureen began to eat.

  “Oh my goodness, this is delicious,” she declared after one spoonful of her dinuguan.

  Elaine exhaled. Well, Maureen had lived all around the world, and had a very sophisticated palate. And Pearl was a great cook. Not as good as Elaine’s mother, of course. Her mother wouldn’t even go out to eat Filipino food, because she thought her cooking was the real deal. She would have welcomed the chance to stuff Maureen with home cooking.

  After lunch, the older woman patted her mouth with a paper napkin and looked around. “Perhaps we should bring the board here for dinner after our annual meeting.”

  Elaine found it difficult to imagine the proper suburban ladies who populated their board at this tiny storefront. But Pearl could certainly use the business. “Sure. Or we could get a catering order. Pearl does a lot of catering.”

  “Excellent idea.” Maureen cleared her throat. “Well, I’ve made up my mind. We will go ahead with the calendar. We'll get a snappy new name, a new website, and possibly money from these hockey people. Whatever the organization may be like, Amanda Richardson strikes me as a smart cookie. I like to know who I'm working with, and I approve.

  Elaine let out a happy sigh. “I think you’re making the right decision.”

  “Shall I leave it up to you to give Amanda the good news and schedule the calendar shoot? It would be nice if you could choose a day when you’re available to supervise things. We’ll get some other volunteers to help, of course.”

  “Sure, I’ll take care of everything. I only hope it generates some money soon.” Elaine began to worry about their finances again. Of course, they weren’t the only cat shelter in Vancouver, but if they had to close that would put pressure on all the others.

  Maureen reached across and patted her hand. “I can see you are worried, my dear. Let’s talk about something else.”

  Elaine smiled and turned to their favourite topic. “Tell me again how you found your cat when you were in Turkey.”

  “Oh my goodness. You know how they say that the streets are paved with gold? Well, near Ephesus, the streets were practically paved with cats! I was eating my lunch at this little outdoor café, and who marched along the low wall beside me but this skinny little cat. The restaurant owner shooed him away, but he kept coming back. He ended up following me back to my hotel—I’m sure that the bits of meat I slipped him didn’t hurt. My driver was shocked when I brought out a cardboard box with a furry passenger. Luckily, Kerem was a cat lover too. But Effie—I named him after the ruins—was a bold traveller. He loved the car ride. And after the appropriate vet appointments and a flea bath, Effie settled happily into my apartment in Istanbul.”

  Maureen beamed. She loved telling stories about the many cats she’d had in her life. “Did I ever tell you how Effie charmed the attaché from Greece and saved a diplomatic crisis?”

  3

  Calendar Boys

  “I heard there’s gonna be hot chicks there. Like a Victoria’s Secret catalogue photo shoot, right?” Nate Jones said from the back seat of the SUV.

  Marty Devonshire scowled into the rear-view mirror at his roommate. “You’ve taken too many hits to the head, Jonesy. Amanda explained everything at the meeting. It’s a calendar for charity, and there are no women involved at all.”

  Jonesy groaned. “Da fuck? I’m giving up my off day to hang out with cripples or something. I missed the meeting, and the Bod told me there was going to be some hot pussy there.”

  Eric Fairburn was riding shotgun. He and Marty began laughing uncontrollably. Finally, Burner turned around and explained, “Dude. It’s pussy-cats. We’re shooting photos with actual cats.”

  Jonesy collapsed against the seat in disgust. “Cats? I’m more of a dog person.”

  “You don’t have to adopt them,” Marty said. “All you have to do is hold one for a few minutes while you get photographed. Anyway, it’s an honour to go—they only asked twelve guys.” Marty wasn’t sure exactly why he got chosen, since the other guys were the best players on the team. But he was the team enforcer, and being a tough guy was popular with the fans.

  Anyway, he was happy to do this. He had had a cat the whole time he was growing up. His mom decreed that cats were the right pets for a working woman because they were low maintenance. Marty hated coming home to an empty house, so it had been great that Cleo was there. She zoomed out to greet him the moment she heard the key in the front door. He would make a snack for himself and give Cleo a treat too. She was a little black cat and on the plump side.

  Although he’d never admit it now, Marty used to tell Cleo about his day at school. She sat on the chair beside him and purred like she was listening to everything. He figured she got lonely too, since she was a sociable cat. She sat beside him on the couch while he gamed or watched TV. And Marty was the only one who was allowed to rub the soft fur on her tummy.

  Marty missed having a cat. He had suggested they get one, but Jonesy said pets were too much work. The GPS signalled a turn, and he pulled into the parking lot of a low flat-roofed building in an industrial part of East Van. There was a tiny sign on the door with the initials V.I.C.E. It didn’t look like a regular animal shelter.

  “Why did we have to come all the way out here?” Jonesy bitched. “They should have brought the cats to the rink or something.”

  Marty shook his head. “Cats are territorial. They’d be freaking out in a new place.”

  Jonesy snickered. “Cats freaking out on ice. That would be a calendar worth seeing.”

  “Guys, you made it,” Amanda said happily as they walked in. Did she think they weren’t going to show? “We’re all ready for you.”

  She led them through the building. They had converted a large main room into a photo studio, with a big white backdrop. There were lights everywhere. This was a bigger deal then he’d expected. Todd Walker was perched on a stool, with an enormous orange tabby on his lap. The player looked uncomfortable, but the cat was completely relaxed.

  “Hey, Todd the Bod! Did they make you put a shirt on?” Jonesy called out. Todd had gotten his nickname because he took such pride in his ripped physique. Todd scowled at them, and the camera flashed at that moment.

  When they got to the temporary dressing room, there was a rolling
rack with Vancouver Vice gear on it. Not jerseys, but logo t-shirts, sweat pants, and caps. And there was a makeup artist, a woman with three shades of pink in her hair.

  “Makeup? Isn’t that kinda....”

  Luckily, Jonesy didn’t finish that sentence because a thin man waltzed into the room at that moment. “The next course of beefcake has arrived? Wonderful. I’m Carter Oberon. I’m styling this event.”

  Amanda made the introductions. “Eric Fairburn, Marty Devonshire, and Nate Jones.”

  “Well, gosh. Let’s start with Eric,” Carter said with a big smile. Burner was a good-looking mofo. Usually it was women who went all gaga over him though. As he sat down in the makeup chair, Jonesy whispered to Marty, “Do I have to wear makeup? I’m not real comfortable with that.”

  Marty liked Jonesy, who had just joined the team this season. He was easygoing and cheerful, which made him a great roommate. Jonesy was a rookie, and he had come straight from being an overage junior hockey player. He was a decent player, but he didn’t have a ton of life experience.

  “You need makeup to look good under all those bright lights,” Marty explained. “You’ll look hotter. The chicks’ll be like—” he raised his voice to a falsetto. “‘Oh, Nate weren’t you Mr. November? You looked so cute!’ You’ll be famous.”

  “Dope. You’re right, chicks will be totally into this stuff.” Jonesy was fixated on scoring with women, which got old quick.

  “And the cat will be the icing on the cake. Women love cats.”

  Jonesy nodded. “Okay! Bring it on.”

  Carter had been eavesdropping, and now he walked over. “We’ll have you looking so hot, your momma won’t recognize you. And meantime, practice your smizing!”

  “Smizing?”

  “Yes, like Tyra. You smile with your eyes only.”

  Jonesy attempted this but only succeeded in looking constipated. Clearly, he had never seen the Tyra Banks show.

  “Like this.” Marty put one hand on his hip, made his mouth a straight line, and half-closed his eyes.

  “I think that’s Blue Steel,” said Carter.

  Just then, a young Asian woman walked in.

  Jonesy sucked in his breath. “Thought you guys said no ladies. That’s one fine lady.”

  She was beautiful. She was petite with long, dark hair tucked onto one side. Her eyes were big with dark lashes, and her lips looked... tasty. She had a great body too—a tiny waist, flaring hips, and a bust prominent even under her jean shirt. Marty realized he was still doing the ridiculous Zoolander pose and dropped his arm.

  She smiled at all of them and asked Carter, “What kind of cat would you like next?”

  Jonesy was muttering something about pussy, but Marty ignored him. Who was she? Not only was she amazing looking, but she was the kind of person who worked for an animal shelter. He had a pain in his chest and suddenly heard his grandfather’s voice, “When I met your grandmother—bang—it hit me right in the heart. When you know, you know.” As a kid, Marty thought that was crazy, but right now he could hardly breathe.

  Carter and the young woman walked over to where Burner was sitting. Naturally.

  Burner smiled and greeted her. “Hey, Elaine. How’s it going?” How did he know her already? Crap, Burner was one of his best friends, and right now Marty felt like yanking him out of the chair and wiping the grin off his face.

  But to Marty’s surprise, she barely acknowledged Burner and continued talking to Carter. Burner was going to be the cover of the calendar, and they decided to use several kittens with him. She exited through a side door.

  “Maybe we should see if she needs help,” Jonesy suggested. Marty agreed immediately, and they followed through the same door.

  This room was much more like a shelter, with two walls of cages. There were lots of cats in here, and it smelled of disinfectant and cat pee.

  “Euw,” said Jonesy. “Kinda reeks in here.”

  Elaine turned and stared.

  “Oh hey. We just came to see if you needed help,” Marty said.

  “Thank you.” When she smiled, she was even more beautiful. His chest tightened again, but this was ridiculous. There was no such thing as love at first sight, and he didn’t even know her.

  “We haven’t met yet. I’m Elaine Salang.”

  The guys introduced themselves. Elaine motioned to the room. “We don’t always keep our cats locked up like this. The big room where the photographic equipment is now is usually a living room full of cat perches and couches for the kitties. We had to clear it all out for the photo shoot.” She shook her arms out. “That was hard work.”

  “I could help you put everything back,” Marty volunteered. “I’m really strong.” Then he worried that sounded like bragging.

  Elaine laughed. Her laugh was low and musical, and again he felt the tightness. “I can see you are. But I guess all hockey players are in good shape.”

  “I can bench 350,” bragged Jonesy. Marty knew that was bullshit since he was the only one on the team who could.

  Marty felt pressure on his arm, and turned. A black cat had reached through the cage and poked him. He turned and stuck a finger inside, and the cat batted that as well. The cat was all black except for a pink area on his head where he had a scar.

  “Knightley! Are you looking for attention?” Elaine called out. “I’m afraid that nobody likes being in a cage when they’re not used to it. Poor guy, he’d be a perfect model—but he’s not pretty enough.”

  “What do you mean?” Marty asked.

  “The scar,” she said, pointing. “Amanda specified cute cats only.”

  “I think it’s better. You should show that you’re rescuing special cats.”

  Elaine tilted her head at him and smiled broadly. “You know, Marty, that’s exactly what I think too. But I don’t know anything about marketing.”

  He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Her praise warmed him inside.

  “Oops, I better get to work.” She pulled a cat carrier out and loaded some kittens inside. Before she left, she motioned to some toys on a shelf. “If you like, you can play with the cats. But please don’t take them out, it’s been difficult to get everyone rounded up.”

  Jonesy followed her out, but Marty stayed and played with all the cats in turn. They were clearly bored being stuck inside. Knightley was his favourite. He seemed like the smartest cat there.

  “Sorry I can’t take you out, buddy,” he told him.

  Burner opened the door. “Hey, Devo. They’re ready for your makeup.”

  “Okay. Look, I’m going to stay afterwards and help bring in furniture and stuff. Maybe you want to get a ride with Bod, if he’s still here.”

  Burner shrugged. “I can help too.”

  Marty was torn. It would go faster if they all helped, but he sort of wanted to have time alone with Elaine. If he got his courage up, he could ask her out.

  “Do you think I’d have a chance with that girl?” Marty asked.

  “Elaine?”

  “Yeah. How did you know her already?”

  “I was invited to the meeting where Amanda pitched the calendar idea.” Burner considered the first question. “Why wouldn’t you have a chance with her?”

  “I dunno. She’s so beautiful. Anyway, she probably has a boyfriend.”

  “You’re a professional hockey player. Women like that,” Burner said.

  “It’s not like I’m in the NHL or anything.”

  “Devo, why are you so down on yourself? You’re a really nice guy. Just ask her out.” Burner sounded so matter of fact, but he was probably a guy who had never struck out in his life.

  They agreed that Burner and Jonesy would get a ride home with Bod, and then Marty could stay as long as he wanted.

  He sat in the makeup chair. The pink-haired girl stood back with her hands on her hips. Her name was Georgia. She didn’t say a word, but he could see her thinking that he was a big challenge. Playing hockey wasn’t kind to faces. He wasn’t handsome to begin
with and getting punched regularly hadn’t helped. It wasn’t often that he looked at himself in the mirror unless he was shaving, and even then he focused on the beard.

  “I like the scars,” Georgia said. “They make you look tough. I’m not covering them up.”

  She sponged something over his face, explaining that she was evening out his skin tone. She also trimmed his eyebrows, then brushed them into place.

  “Is it okay if I cut your hair?” she asked. Marty nodded. His hair was dark and slightly curly. He usually got it cut at this place in Chinatown where they charged him only ten bucks, including tip.

  Finally, she brushed him off and told him he was done. Marty went to get out of the chair.

  “Aren’t you even going to look at yourself?” Georgia asked.

  He turned to the mirror. Then stared. He looked good. Not handsome like Burner, but better than he’d looked in ages. Kind of rugged, like a movie cowboy or something.

  “Jeez, thank you. Wow.”

  “You should really get your hair cut properly,” Georgia said. “Here’s my card. I’m a stylist at this place downtown.”

  He pocketed her card. He felt confident and stood up to his full height. Burner was right. Why shouldn’t he have a chance with Elaine?

  4

  A Knightley in Shining Armour

  Elaine was exhausted and grateful that this was the last photo of the day. Meeting all the creative people and the hockey players had been fascinating, but she was stressed out from getting the place ready and making sure that the cats were calm and happy. There were three other volunteers here, but everyone called on her for problems and decisions.

  Telling all the hockey players apart was tough too. They would introduce themselves by one name and immediately call each other by another. Most of their nicknames seemed to be lame contractions of their real names. Elaine tried to classify them all in her mind. Eric: the cute one. Todd: the one with the fake tan. Marty: the gigantic one. Nate: the pest. He had tagged along after her and kept talking while she was too busy to even listen.