Between a Jock and a Hard Place

by Mona Ingram

  He looked amused. “No.” It came out slowly.

  She leaned forward again. “Did you know that even the women dress up in those ridiculous Canucks shirts? As a matter of fact I’ve heard that they sell as many to women as they do to the men.”

  He seemed to be trying not to smile. “Yes, I’ve heard that too.”

  They were both silent for a few moments. It felt comfortable, sitting here with him in the sunshine. She wished it could go on forever.

  Claire was the first to break the silence. “Could I ask you something?”

  He nodded. She liked the fact that he didn’t always need to speak.

  “Do you think there’s too much violence in hockey?”

  Something shifted behind his eyes. “That’s a hot topic right now.” He looked into his cup, tossed the remaining liquid out and crumpled it in one large hand. “Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s one clear-cut answer. To lump every situation together under the umbrella of violence doesn’t do justice to the individual cases.”

  She snorted. “That sounds like some sort of a slick, prepared statement.”

  Was that a flash of anger in his eyes? He placed both forearms on the table. “I will admit I’ve thought a lot about it. After all, I am closely connected with the industry.” His gaze held hers. “I’ll tell you what’s violent. A little over a week ago, a young player from the minor leagues suffered a late hit. The latest news is that he’ll be out for the rest of the year. Now I call that violent.”

  Claire sucked in a breath of air but he didn’t seem to notice. He was on a roll.

  “But hockey is a physical game, that’s all there is to it. There are body checks, and there is fighting. The players egg each other on with what they call ‘trash talk’ and fights are inevitable, sometimes even planned. If you’d watch a game you’d see that even the players seem to approve. During a fight you’ll see both teams standing up pounding their sticks against the boards.” He sat back, seemed to deflate a little. “That’s the reality of the game. I’m not saying I approve, but that’s the way it is.”

  “But not all of the players fight. Tony was saying the other night that Daniel and Henrik hardly ever fight. Why is that?”

  He looked exasperated. “Because the Sedins are too valuable. We... The Canucks, that is, can’t afford to have them out of the line-up. That’s why teams hire defencemen with muscle. There’s always at least one ‘enforcer’ on a hockey team. Hit our top scorers, we’ll hit you back harder. That sort of thing.”

  Claire considered his words. “I suppose I knew that, but it’s never been explained to me quite that well. Not that you’ve changed my mind about the fighting. I still don’t like that part of the game.”

  “Who’s Tony?” He was toying with the scrunched-up cup.

  “Huh?” the abrupt change of topic startled her. “Oh, Tony. That’s Zoey’s fiancé.”

  He nodded. “And Zoey is your friend?” One side of his mouth hiked up. “I like to keep the line-up straight in my head.”

  “Yes, she’s my friend.” Claire was relieved to see him smile. “So how did you get that broken nose?”

  He fingered the break. “Hockey.” He held up a hand. “I ran into my best buddy’s stick.” He touched it again and he smiled, reliving the moment. “I can still hear the sound it made. Anyway, my parents were away and I insisted that it wasn’t too bad, that I could tape it up myself.” He grinned. “Well, you can see what a great job I did.”

  Claire tilted her head to one side. “I dunno. I kind of like it.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “Yeah, I do,” she said, suddenly breathless. She made a show of looking at her watch. “Guess I’d better get home. I have work to do. I just went out for a quick walk to clear my head.” She was babbling, but couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Right.” He gathered up their litter and took it to the receptacle before helping her back to the car.

  “I enjoyed this,” he said as they drove the rest of the way around the park. “Even if you are a bit feisty and argumentative.”

  “Am not!” She heard herself and laughed. “Okay, maybe a bit.”

  “I take it you live in the West End?” they were approaching the densely populated area.

  “Yeah, on Robson Street. Right at the end. Where do you live?”

  “I have a place on Bayshore Drive.”

  She was tempted to comment that selling sporting equipment must pay well, but managed to bite her tongue. “We’re almost neighbours.”

  They pulled up in front of her apartment building and he jumped out and ran around to her side. “Here, let me help you,” he said, offering his hand.

  She tested her ankle by putting weight on it. “Not too bad,” she said.

  He walked her to the front door and she fumbled for her keys. “They’re here somewhere,” she said, checking her pockets.

  He pretended to study the intercom. “We could buzz you, but then you’re not in, are you?”

  She laughed. “We could try.” She pressed 803. “No, I guess not. Oops, here they are.” She turned to him. “Thank you for everything, John. I enjoyed myself in spite of getting run over.”

  He leaned over and brushed his lips against her cheek. “Me, too. ‘Bye.”

  She closed her eyes to savour the moment. When she opened them he was already at his car but his after-shave lingered. He waved and drove off, taking her heart with him.

  Chapter Four

  Jack Logan drove back to his condo deep in thought. Why had he offered to help her? And more to the point, why had he offered to take her for tea? The answer was simple, really. He’d liked the way she’d stood up for herself when that idiot on the bike ran her over. He liked the way her red hair glowed in the sunshine. And yes...he liked what he could see of her lithe figure underneath the loose sweats.

  So why had he introduced himself as John? That one was easy, too. He hadn’t seen any recognition in her eyes when he helped her to his vehicle, and besides, it was his real name. That lack of recognition was unusual in this hockey-mad town, and for once he thought it would be refreshing to have a normal conversation with a woman. Being a hockey player changed everything, no matter what level you were at. He was known for being modest but his contract and his statistics didn’t lie. Jack Logan was the highest-scoring defenceman in the Western Conference of the NHL, and one of the most valuable players on the Canucks’ team.

  Women flocked to hockey players. Even the least attractive of his team-mates had as many women as they could handle. Jack smiled to himself as he checked his messages. He’d fallen into that trap in the early years, so he couldn’t blame the young players. But even now he wasn’t sure if his current girlfriend was dating himself or his jersey. Maybe he didn’t really want to know.

  “Hey, buddy, it’s Randy.” Jack recognized his friend’s voice on the machine. Perhaps calling Randy a friend wasn’t quite accurate. The two men had an unlikely relationship, when he thought about it. For someone like himself, who preferred to keep his private life private, becoming friends with a newspaper man was risky. But Randy had proven himself when he discovered Jack visiting the Sick Children’s Hospital without an entourage. Not even one photographer. Jack had asked that his visits not be publicized, and Randy had reluctantly agreed. As quid pro quo, Jack would offer insights into breaking hockey stories from time to time, being quoted as “an inside source”.

  “Give me a call when you get a chance,” the message continued. “I’ve got an idea I’d like to run by you.”

  Jack picked up the phone, scrolled down for the number and waited to be connected.

  “The Phoenix Group. How may I help you?” A corny name, but fitting. After all, they’d taken a defunct newspaper and made it a success.

  “I’d like to speak to Randy, please.”

  “Who may I say is calling?”

  “It’s Jack Logan.”

  “Oh, Mr. Logan.” The voice changed almost immediately. “I’ll put you through righ
t away.”

  Randy’s voice was enthusiastic when he came on the line. “Hey, Buddy. Thanks for calling back. Listen, I’ll get right to the point. We’ve hired someone to blog about violence in hockey, and I was wondering if you’d like to present the other side of the story. Anonymously, of course.”

  “Come on, Randy, you know I don’t have time for that.” He checked his watch. “As a matter of fact I’m going to be late for the afternoon skate. We have a game tonight.”

  “I know...just hear me out. It’s only a couple of times a week. You’re always complaining about down time when you’re on the road. Now you’ll have something to do.”

  “You just want to stir things up so you’ll sell more papers. Besides, don’t you have writers for stuff like that?”

  “Of course we want to sell more papers, and yes, we have writers, but this is different. The person presenting the anti-violence side of things isn’t a professional writer. That’s what’s going to make this such a good knock-down, drag-out fight. Two people who each have a strong point of view.”

  Like I need another fight on my hands, he thought. “So who’s the other writer?”

  “Oh no. We’ve promised anonymity. All I can tell you is that it’s someone with strong opinions on the subject.”

  “What makes you think I’m pro-violence?”

  For a moment the phone was silent. “Are you kidding?”

  “Maybe a little. I was talking about this subject today. It made me think, that’s all.”

  “Just promise to consider it. We’ll pay, of course.”

  “Randy...” What was his friend up to? He knew Jack didn’t need any more money.

  “I was thinking we could donate your portion to the Sick Children’s Hospital, or the charity of your choice. It could be quite a nice sum.”

  He gave an audible sigh. “Okay, I’ll think about it. That was a low blow, by the way.”

  “You mean about donating your end to charity?”

  “Yeah.” Jack shook his head. “You know my weaknesses.”

  “Talk to you later, Bud.” Randy disconnected.

  Jack did the same. It was a good thing Randy didn’t know about his stealth visits to the children’s wards at other hospitals...he’d really have him over a barrel. He grabbed his jacket and headed for Rogers Arena.

  * * *

  “Zoey, I found him.”

  “Well, hello to you, too. You found who? Or is that whom? Whatever.”

  “I found the guy you’ve been telling me about. The one you said would make me go all weak at the knees, sweep me off my feet, all those other corny but blissful things you prattle on about.”

  “I don’t prattle, but that’s beside the point. Are you saying you met a man?”

  “Hello! What else would I be talking about?”

  “OMG, Claire. When did this happen?”

  “Just now. This morning.” She was at the window, looking out. “I was taking a walk and some guy hit me with his bicycle and John stopped to help me. I don’t know what’s the matter with me Zo. I’m not usually like this, but he’s so gorgeous I can hardly think straight.”

  “Well I can hear that for damn sure. So that’s it? He just helped you up?”

  “No. He offered to drive me home and it turned into something more. We had tea at a picnic table overlooking the ocean.”

  “Big spender, huh?”

  “Well, no, but I have a feeling he does fairly well. He lives on Bayshore Drive.”

  She could almost hear her friend thinking. “Yeah, there are some nice places along there. So, did he ask you for your number?”

  “No, but I have a good feeling about this. Something is going to work out.”

  “Speaking of working, have you started the blog?”

  “No, but I’ve decided how I’m going to start. When I first started brainstorming, I was going to start out with a blast against violence, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to forget all the hard facts and statistics and write from the heart about Cam’s injury. I think that putting a personal face on the story will grab the reader. Instead of a frontal attack, I’m going to be...oh...what should I call it...”

  “Reasonable.” Zoey quipped

  “Calm,” replied Claire.

  “Non-judgmental.”

  “Even-handed.”

  Zoey gave a little shout of encouragement. “And then in the next blog, you’ll give it to them with both barrels.”

  Claire laughed. “They’ll never know what hit them”

  “Well, you’re the writer on this one. Go get ‘em, kiddo.”

  “That’s the trouble, Zo. I’m not really a writer.”

  “And that’s what’s so cool. Randy thinks it will be a winner. Look at everyone out there writing blogs. People eat it up.”

  “We’ll find out, won’t we?”

  “So when will you be sending it? We were planning to run it tomorrow.”

  “In a couple of hours. It’s all written in my head. I just have to type it out.”

  * * *

  Jack adjusted the shower head so that the hot water beat down on his shoulders. It had been a hard, physical game but the Canucks had won. What he’d really like was a massage, but he didn’t have time. He’d promised to meet Melody after the game for a late supper. He turned off the water, grabbed a towel and dried himself off. Why am I doing this? he asked himself, not for the first time. But he already knew the answer. He was tired of the dating scene where women threw themselves at him just because he was a well-known hockey player. He’d met Melody during the off-season. An actress who hadn’t quite made the big time, she had come to “Hollywood North” to be available for the television shows and films shooting in Vancouver. He hated to admit it, but she was there, she was familiar with his routine, and he knew that after dinner there’d be some enthusiastic sex. At least it was enthusiastic on her part...as of late he’d been feeling that there was something missing.

  “Hey, Lover Boy!” One of the young fourth-liners was putting on his suit jacket. “Wanna come out with us tonight? We can show you a few new moves.” He adjusted his tie and admired himself in the mirror.

  Jack grinned. “I’m sure you could, but I think I’ll pass.” Even if he did want to go out, it wouldn’t be with the young guns. They invariably got their pictures in the paper, and Jack disliked any publicity that hadn’t been planned in advance. It was one of the few things about being a hockey player that frustrated him...the loss of privacy. “You guys have a good time.”

  “Oh, we will. Never fear.”

  Melody was waiting for him in the bar when he arrived.

  “Nice game tonight.” The server brought him his favourite beer without asking. Jack looked up and smiled. “Thanks, Larry. We had to scramble to hold onto our lead.”

  The server nodded and left them alone. Jack leaned over and kissed Melody on the cheek. “How was your day?” What was it about today that he was supposed to remember? Ah yes...she had been going for an audition today. “How did the audition go?” He took a drink of beer, watched her over the rim of the glass.

  “I think it went well.” She used that breathless, little-girl voice that he disliked. Someone had told her once that she looked like Marilyn Monroe and she was playing it for all it was worth. “They’re auditioning several more people, but they said they’ll get back to me by the end of next week.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” For the first time since they’d been together, he found that he didn’t really care. The girl across the table was a tempting piece of eye candy, but he kept thinking back to this morning, and the flustered red-head with the snapping brown eyes. There was no comparison between the two, a fact which pleased him for some odd reason. Claire. It was a good, solid name. He’d known too many Melodys and Tiffanys and Brittanys. He took another swig of beer. He had to stop thinking like this.

  “Your table is ready, sir.” The maître d’ stood off to the
side. Jack glanced up and recognized him. Good...he knew that Jack didn’t like to be seated in the middle of the restaurant where everyone would see them. Even so, there would be one or two diners who would interrupt and ask for an autograph, or comment on tonight’s game. He sighed. It went with the territory.

  Jack waited for Melody to order and then asked for his usual: an extra-thick rib eye steak, a baked potato and a large green salad. It was why he came here...they cut the steaks to order, and knew how to grill them. Melody picked at her lemon sole, ate a few green beans and left the rice. A vision flashed before his eyes. Claire, tearing into the Rice Krispies square and licking her fingers.

  He lifted his wine glass, then put it down and drank some water instead. He’d consumed the entire glass during dinner, and combined with the beer, he needed to use the bathroom.

  “Excuse me,” he said, and slid out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”

  Melody was on the phone when he returned to the table. She hurriedly ended the conversation and looked up. Her eyes were bright and she looked a little nervous but he was too tired to wonder why.

  “Would you like anything for dessert?” He always asked, but knew the answer.

  “No, silly.” She was gathering her things; she appeared anxious to leave.

  He paid and they stepped outside to a barrage of flashbulbs. It was probably only a few photographers, but the invasion made it seem like more.

  “What the...” Jack made a gesture to protect Melody, but she slid away from his arm and stepped forward. Was she posing? He watched her, not quite believing his eyes. She was in animated conversation with a couple of the paps but had somehow managed to stand so that he was clearly visible in the pictures. And then it all fell into place. She had been on the phone calling her ‘contacts’ to inform them that they were about to leave the restaurant. And she knew how he hated this!

  He regretted not ordering the car earlier. They had to stand there while it was brought around.