by Melanie Ting
Eric was called Burner, but she had no clue why. He had impressed her more on their second meeting. He had a calm, centred personality that made his photos some of the best of the session. Ivan, the photographer, had pointed to a shot of Eric cuddling a calico kitten, and said, “There’s your cover.”
The duo looked adorable. And Carter had torn the sleeves off Eric’s t-shirt to expose his muscled arms, which would make the photo doubly appealing.
The giant guy came out. It had been too hectic for Elaine to really look at him before, but once he sat on a chair on the set, he was the centre of attention. He would never be called handsome, but his eyes were bright blue with smiley wrinkles at the corners. His nose was broad and unnaturally crooked, and his smile was contagious. Elaine felt the weirdest urge to be held in Marty’s arms—he was a huge, safe harbour of masculinity and that stirred something inside her.
“What to do with the human refrigerator?” Carter muttered beside her, which irritated Elaine. Sure, Marty’s size was intimidating, but he was the only one who had actually played with the cats. Carter continued, “Should I go tiny kitten for contrast, or big tomcat for similarity? But honestly, any cat’s going to look small beside him. Let’s go big.”
“So, Lou the big tabby?” Elaine asked.
Marty crossed his arms and his enormous biceps strained the sleeves of the grey Vice t-shirt. Elaine felt that twinge again.
“Do I get a vote?” he asked. The question sounded polite, but there was something in his tone that suggested he was used to being listened to. “I’d like the black cat. Knightley.”
Elaine’s eyes widened. Hadn’t she explained this to him? “Knightley? Uh, he’s not quite right for this calendar. Not, um, whole.”
Amanda looked up from behind the laptop where she had been scrolling through photos. “We need cute cats, Marty. Cute sells.”
“I bonded with him back there. So what if he’s got a scar? I’ve got scars too.” He pointed to the biggest one, a crescent shape that cut across his cheekbone. Amanda didn’t look convinced, so he continued. “Cats with personality will make for a better photo.”
Carter interjected, “Why don’t we try the black one? If it doesn’t work, we’ll use the tabby. It’s the last shot of the day, and we’re miraculously ahead of schedule.”
Amanda nodded, so Elaine scooted off to get the cat. This was great. Knightley had more personality than all the kittens combined, and she was so glad he was going to get a photo op. Maybe it would lead to him finally getting adopted. He had been at the shelter longer than any other cat. The little cat was excited to get out of his cage, and she didn’t even bother with a carrier. There was nothing Knightley liked better than being in the midst of the action.
She handed the cat to Marty. Elaine watched approvingly as the big hockey player cradled the back paws so the cat felt supported. Some of these guys had handled a cat like a lit bomb.
Ivan, the photographer, called out some directions to Marty. A toy fishing rod was enough to get Knightley playing, and Ivan began shooting.
“Very nice. Looking good.” Ivan kept taking photos, and Marty looked like he was having fun. “Try standing up,” Ivan suggested. When Marty stood, Knightley climbed him like a tree and scrambled onto his broad shoulders. Marty laughed and Knightley leaned forward as if to kiss him on the nose.
“Perfect.” Amanda and Carter were both peering over Ivan’s shoulder.
“Absolutely adorable,” declared Carter. “We may have a new contestant for the cover.”
“Thank you so much for helping us get everything back into place,” Elaine told Marty. He had proven that his muscles weren’t just for show. Although Maureen had arranged for extra volunteers to come and help tidy up, Marty had done the lion’s share of the work.
The cats were nervously sniffing around the room, making sure that it was really their home and not some tricky replica. Except Knightley, who had already claimed the top of the highest cat perch.
Marty went over to say goodbye. “Hey, little buddy. You be good, okay?”
Knightley jumped down to a lower level so Marty could rub his head. Elaine stood beside them. “He’s my favourite. Here, look at this.” She pulled up a photo on her phone of a wet, bedraggled cat with a large wound on his head. “That’s how he looked when he came in. He was attacked by some larger animal, either a dog or a raccoon. He dragged himself to the closest house, and the family called us.”
She patted Knightley’s head, trying not to get all emotional. It pained her to imagine how close he came to dying. Although she knew that cats had no consciousness of concepts like mortality, she felt that Knightley understood he was lucky. He was a survivor. He had saved himself by showing up on the doorstep of that house. Then he had endured several surgeries. He was a happy cat, and he enjoyed his life here, but Elaine thought a real home would be much better. Maybe a nice couple to exclaim over his tricks and tell each other what Knightley did that day. Of course, that was a ridiculous fantasy. Most of the guys Elaine dated mocked her cat obsession, and she could never imagine discussing cat antics with them.
“You really like him, don’t you?” Marty asked.
Elaine nodded. “If I could, I’d adopt him myself. But we live in a rental complex that doesn’t allow pets.”
“Who’s we?”
“My mom, my grandmother, and my sister.”
Marty smiled. “I wish I could take him too. But I’m on the road so much.”
Another hope dashed. Elaine had thought that since they got along so well, the big hockey player might adopt Knightley.
Marty began to apologize. “Sorry, I can see that you’re worried about him. You know, I could ask around and see if anyone wants a cat. A few of the guys are married, so maybe they could take a cat.”
“That would be great. Also, I know lots of cat sitters. So, if you did want to adopt Knightley, I could make arrangements for the times you’re away.”
“Great. Maybe we can keep in touch,” he suggested.
Elaine handed him a V.I.C.E. card. “Just call our number. Anyone can help you, or you can leave me a message.”
Marty nodded. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but eventually said goodbye and left. Elaine walked around and finished making sure that everything was back to normal. Usually, these moments alone with the cats were her favourite times, but now the place felt empty.
Elaine shook her head. She was being silly. But she could hear the scolding voice of her sister, Camille, “Lainey, you go so hard after everything in your life—except men. You better watch it or you’re going to end up like that old woman I saw on one of those C.S.I. shows—all alone, and when she died, her cats ate her!”
“That’s just ridiculous. Right, Knightley?” she said out loud. He blinked agreeably at her. But then he yawned, and his teeth looked very sharp.
5
Practice Makes Perfect
Coach Gauthier whistled all the forwards in and they skated towards him. “Good practice, boys. See you tomorrow. The guys who have signed up for that seniors event, don’t forget it’s this afternoon at 2:30.”
Marty nodded. He was one of the guys who had signed up. Ever since the team management had changed, they were involved in a lot more charity work. Most of it was pretty low profile, like today’s visit to a senior’s care home, but he enjoyed doing it. It wasn’t that often that a regular player like him got treated like a celebrity. Being part of the calendar shoot made him feel pretty lucky.
He thought about Elaine for about the hundredth time since he’d met her. But it was clear she wasn’t interested in him—other than a potential source for cat adoptions.
Most of the team headed to the dressing room, but Burner skated out to move the net for the Zamboni driver. Marty followed and took the other net.
“You need help today, Burner?”
His buddy grinned. “Sure, if you’ve got time, that would be great.”
After regular practice, Burner liked to w
ork on his shooting. He took a bucket of pucks and worked on a single move over and over. Throughout his career, Marty had known guys that worked hard, but his friend was one of the most dedicated. Most of the so-called natural goal scorers worked their asses off. Marty liked to help because he figured he could pick up a few tips too. A superstar like Burner was guaranteed a contract next season, but Marty needed all the help he could get.
Once the ice was flooded, they got to work. Burner set up a hanging target on the net. While he was normally easy-going, when it came to his shooting drills, Burner was very particular.
“Pass it to me, right here.” He made a tight circle with his stick. Marty nodded, knowing he’d have to hit that exact spot over and over. This was good practice for him too, although he never played with Burner, who was on the top line. Marty was a fourth liner and more likely to be checking than scoring. But they all had their own roles.
Burner took each one of Marty’s passes and one-timed it into the net. By the end of fifteen minutes, he was hitting the target almost every time.
“Man, you’re good,” Marty said.
Burner shrugged. “You could do it too. Just takes practice. In fact, you should shoot more because you can really place the puck. That’s why I like practicing with you.”
“I’m no goal scorer.” Sure, he had scored back in junior hockey, but everyone did then. Now he was an enforcer, a tough guy who kept the other team honest. He never looked for a fight, but he didn’t back away from them either.
“If I was coach, you know what I’d do?”
Marty laughed. “If it involves me scoring, you’re crazy. I had three goals last season.”
Burner ignored that. “I’d make you the net front presence on the power play. A big body like you could screen the goalie, but you’ve got the coordination to get your stick on the puck or the rebounds. Here, I’ll show you. Stand there.” He pointed to the net.
Once Marty was in front, Burner motioned. “Tip-ins. I’m going to hit you right there.” He skated back to the half-wall, and Marty got ready. Tip-ins were tough because deflecting a puck coming in at full speed was no picnic. And during a game, a defenceman would be cross-checking you in the back. Marty had never scored one in a real game.
But with Burner putting the puck exactly where he said he would, Marty’s tip-ins began to go in. Burner starting switching up his shots, but Marty kept scoring. It was like a game of whack-a-mole, and finally they ran out of pucks.
Marty laughed. “That’s a lot of fun. I can see why you like practicing this way, you get in this zone where everything goes in.”
Burner chided Marty. “Shoot more, man. You have good hands. I bet we could score with you on the PP, right in front of their goalie.”
Their power play was in a state of flux right now. They had a new head coach, over half the team was new, and a ton of experimenting was going on. But Marty felt optimistic. Coach Gauthier was a hundred times smarter than their previous coach. Once they mastered all his new systems, the Vice would get better. Being the league laughing-stock got old quickly.
Burner was a total optimist. “I’m going to talk to Coach Lee about this.” Their offensive coach loved to experiment and innovate, and he was in charge of the power play.
The two men skated off the ice together and went to the dressing room. They showered and changed, then went out for lunch. Burner was a big fan of eating clean, and he had a few favourite spots.
“Did you ask Elaine out?” Burner asked once they sat down.
Marty shook his head. “I chickened out. You know, afterwards, when she talked to me, she was so sweet. She really cares about all those cats.”
Burner chuckled. “Well, that’s important, for sure.”
“I know. I sound like an idiot. But can I ask you something serious—do you believe in love at first sight?”
His friend looked off into the distance and considered this question seriously. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
Marty knew that Burner had a girlfriend, but he never talked about her. It was weird, since he was open about every other part of his life—including the fact that a D.U.I. had derailed his first try at a hockey career. But every guy was different, and you had to respect that. Burner was very new age and spiritual, so maybe he liked to keep his private life separate.
So he was surprised when Burner continued on the subject. “When I first saw Josie, it was like everything else fell away. Like there was nobody else in the bar and there wasn’t even a sound. It was only the two of us and there was this tractor beam between us.”
“Wow.” That sounded so beautiful.
“Is that what you felt when you met Elaine?” Burner asked.
“Yeah. Well, no. It was different, more like a physical reaction. She hit me hard. Here.” Marty thumped his chest. “But that’s stupid, right? How can you fall for someone you don’t even know?”
“It may be intuition. We place too much stock in things being ‘scientifically proven.’ But the human brain has an amazing capacity to recognize signals unconsciously. There may be things about Elaine that you noticed and responded to.”
Marty was glad that Jonesy wasn’t there to suggest exactly what those things might have been.
The server came over, and Burner ordered a brown rice bowl. Although Marty wasn’t as religious about his diet as his friend, he did feel better when he ate healthy. “I’ll have the same,” he told the waitress. Naturally she was staring at Burner as she wrote down the order. Marty wasn’t usually envious, but it suddenly occurred to him that looking good must make life a lot easier.
“I bet you’ve never had any problems getting women,” Marty remarked.
“You’d lose that bet. Just ask her out. You miss 100% of—”
“—the shots you don’t take.” Marty finished the sentence for him. “Thank you, Mr. Gretzky. I’m not confident around women like you.”
His friend laughed. “Certain women take the air out of anyone. But it’s true that most women like a confident guy.”
“You can’t become more confident,” Marty protested. “You are or you’re not. And I’m not.”
Burner shook his head. “That’s not true. You’re just confident in different areas. Like when we do any event with kids, you’re the biggest draw.”
That was true. Marty loved kids, but he figured it was because he was just a big kid himself.
Their rice bowls arrived, and they smelled great. Marty was always starving after practice. He grabbed chopsticks and started adding hot sauce. Before they began eating, Burner added one more piece of advice. “Confidence is a mental strength. You visualize yourself doing things the right way until it becomes natural.”
“In other words: fake it till you make it.”
Burner nodded. But Marty knew that was a lot harder to do in reality. And right now he couldn’t even imagine a situation where he’d see Elaine again. At least until the calendar was done, and that would be a couple of months away.
6
Adopt a Cat
Marty was in the kitchen making a snack when he overheard the name “Elaine.” He walked into the living room where Jonesy was lying on the couch and chatting on his cellphone.
“Yeah, so maybe we could discuss this thing a little more. It’s a pretty big step.”
He winked at Marty as he listened to her answer.
“Sounds good. So, did you want to meet for dinner tonight? That would give us enough time to talk.”
Marty’s guts churned at those words. Jonesy was such a player, and Elaine seemed so innocent.
“Uh, okay.” The disappointment in his voice was clear, and Marty couldn’t help grinning. “5:30, then? Sounds good. Bye.”
He stretched and sat up.
“What’s going on?” Marty asked.
“I told Elaine I wanted to adopt a cat.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. You don’t even like cats.” Marty was the one who’d been lobbying for a cat! And when Olga, their landlad
y, had asked them to feed her cat one weekend, Jonesy wouldn’t even let the cat into their apartment. He claimed it might make a mess, but he was the total slob.
“Well, no shit. I don’t actually want to adopt a cat, what I want is to see Elaine again. Well, more than see Elaine.” He snickered in a very dirty old man way, and Marty resisted an urge to conduct some unscheduled plastic surgery.
“You need to leave her alone. She’s not your usual pick-up; she’s a really nice girl.”
“What’s up your ass, Devo?” Jonesy sounded genuinely puzzled.
Marty shook his head. He couldn’t admit that he had fallen for Elaine—a woman he barely knew. “Nothing. Where are you meeting her?”
“Back at the shelter. She thinks I should see the available cats. It’s going to take all the Nate Jones charm to get her out of business mode, but I’m thinking dinner afterwards. And then a little fun with that hot body—most Asian chicks don’t have tits like that.”
“Fuck. Did it ever occur to you that it’s pretty perverted to date only Asian women?”
“What? It’s a type. Some guys like blondes, I like Asians. The day I moved to Vancouver, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven—Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Filipino girls everywhere—it’s like a fucking take-out menu around here. Asian girls are so nice too, like sweet and innocent. They don’t give me attitude.”
“That is exactly what’s wrong with this! It’s racist to think that all Asian women have the same personality. They’re people, and every woman is different.”
“It’s a cultural thing. They’re raised to be more respectful or something. Hey, I’m the expert here. Have you even dated one Asian woman?”
Marty shook his head. He hadn’t dated that many women of any race. There was an uncomfortable vibe in the room since they hardly ever argued. They both looked down at the avocado, tomato, and alfalfa sandwich in Marty’s hand.
