Game On

by Barbara Oliverio

  “I thought so. That’s my Maisie. Now, let’s eat this delicious dinner your mother made, and we can we talk more about the job you were offered.”

  Once we were all assembled and blessed the food, we dissected my interview yet again, then let the twins have some time talking about their T-ball game. We moved on to a discussion of my mom’s committee work with the local hospital and finished with a brisk dialog about how serious Vinnie was getting with his latest girlfriend. The advantage of a close family is that you never run out of dinner topics.

  By the time we had plowed through our chocolate cake, cleaned the dishes, and packed the twins up to go home, I was able to feel comfortable about making a decision to take the job offer. Talking it through with both my parents was always a good idea. They were agreeable about letting me move into my old room while I searched for an apartment, and while I knew they would let me stay indefinitely, I would get to searching pretty quickly.

  After my parents went to bed, I settled comfortably in front of the TV, slouched on the family room sofa in a pair of my old lacrosse sweats that I always left at the house. I was deciding the best way to resign both of my jobs and planning the time frame when my phone chirped the song “Vogue,” Madonna’s ode to fashion and modeling.

  “Phyllis!”

  “Hey, Maisie, how did it go?”

  I had repeated the events of the day so many times already that I did it this time almost by rote.

  “So, are you going to take it?” she asked. I sensed anticipation.

  “Um, I’m pretty sure.” What was up with her?

  “Good! Because Dad is sending me to work in his dealership in Denver.”

  “What!? No way! You didn’t tell me that when I told you I was interviewing.”

  “I didn’t know. He just told me about it this morning.”

  “Phyllis, it would be great to be in the same city again. That hasn’t happened since university.”

  We had been so lucky to find degree programs that fit both our passions at Villanova University, and we were roommates starting freshman year. The following year we managed to find a cute little off-campus apartment to share with a couple of other fun girls, who we continued to live with until we graduated. Our parents were thrilled and frankly, it was good to room with people who weren’t immersed in the same degree program, to get a fresh perspective every now and then. Of course, Phyllis was absent occasionally to take a few modeling jobs but not enough to interfere with her education. Her parents would never have allowed that!

  “Where will you be staying, Maisie?”

  “Ma and Pop will let me stay here until I get an apartment, I guess. It’s the best option for now.”

  “I have a proposition. What if you live with me?”

  I resisted the urge to get excited about this idea. Her job was only temporary, and the apartment Uncle Dante would get for her would also be temporary. That would be great while she was here, but what would happen when she was done and he needed to send her to another city? I’d just end up back in my childhood bedroom. I expressed my reservations to Phyllis, but she obviously had done her own thinking on the subject.

  “Maisie, I’m moving into one of the apartments in Dad’s building downtown.”

  “The one in LoHi?”

  Uncle Dante was part of a development group that had constructed Mountain Vista, a luxury apartment complex in one of the hottest neighborhoods in Denver. I had actually gone past it on my way to the studio that morning. It was pretty swish, and I was sure that Phyllis would get the daughter discount of “free,” but could I afford even half the rent? And what would happen if—no, when—she moved out?

  Phyllis anticipated my questions.

  “Dad is letting me moving into his complimentary apartment. It’s a two-bedroom, so it’s perfect.”

  “But—”

  “And I checked the map already, and it’s on the light-rail line to your studio.”

  “But—”

  “We know we’re good roommates.”

  “Phyllis!” I finally broke into her stream-of-consciousness monologue.

  “What?”

  “Thanks for letting me speak.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “Phyl, honey, I couldn’t afford even half of what the tiniest apartment in that building would cost. Then, when he sends you off to Omaha or somewhere to decorate another dealership, what happens? Who pays the other half?”

  I could feel the grudging patience on the other end of the phone. “Are you done waving your hand about so that I can continue?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t …” I looked at my hand, still poised in the air and amended my sentence. “Go on.”

  “IF you would have let me finish, you would have heard that Dad is happy to let us BOTH live there for free.”

  “No, I couldn’t do that,” I began.

  “I said, let me finish. Dad has the apartment for free. He’s certainly not going to live there, and he doesn’t want it to go empty. I would be doing him a favor. And, for pity’s sake, if he’s not charging me, he certainly is not going to charge you. Do you think he could look your father in the eye if he did? And don’t look at this as one of those ‘not doing something on your own’ situations. You are doing HIM a favor.”

  Hmm.

  “And Omaha? Really?”

  “Don’t say it can’t happen, Phyllis. Aren’t you in outer-outer-outer Illinois right now?”

  The length of her pause told me I had hit a target.

  “Don’t tell anyone, but I think this is my last marketing job with Hathaway Motors.”

  “Why? Is he firing you for your poor sense of style?”

  “As if. No, I have an opportunity with a new agency, and I think I probably will get more full-time modeling work.”

  “That’s amazing, Phyl! Congratulations! It’s one more step on your path. Can you believe we’re both getting these great opportunities?”

  “I know, right? So you see why I this apartment will be perfect.”

  “Just the opposite, don’t you think? You won’t need an apartment in Denver at all.”

  “I’ll need it more than ever. If the agency sends me out on jobs, I’ll need a base of operations. This way, my dad’s apartment won’t be empty when I’m gone. See, you’re doing ME a favor. C’mon Maisie, you know this is a good solution all around.”

  “Let me sleep on it.”

  “Fine. Just say yes when you wake up.” She prepared to end the call but returned.

  “Wait. You never told me who recommended you for the job.”

  “That’s another weird coincidence. It was Alek Markovich, from university. He works at KDW now.”

  “Alek? Just like that? Out of the blue?”

  “Not so much out of the blue. I ran into him the other week before the Steph Curry interview.”

  “What! You never told me that!”

  “It slipped my mind.” Or I just didn’t want the interrogation that would follow.

  “You ran into the guy that you were connected to at the hip for four years? The one who was a fixture in our apartment? The one that—”

  “Are you even surrounding a point, Phyllis?” I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see me.

  “You didn’t think I’d care to know?”

  “I didn’t think I’d care to be raked over the coals about it. Look, I ran into him. Period.”

  “And a few weeks later, he recommends you for a job. At the station where he works. Sure. Nothing to discuss there.”

  There wasn’t anything to discuss. I ran into an old friend, and he mentioned my name when an opportunity came up that was a good match for me. Sort of like Phyllis recommending me as a roommate to her father. I pointed that out to her sensibly.

  “That’s not the same at all. We’re like sisters or cousins who grew up together, and the fact that my father would want to have you live in his apartment is natural. The fact that one of your admirers—no, your CHIEF admirer—from college sees you
after all this time and wants you to work in the same place is a very interesting development.”

  I pounded my head on the back of the sofa.

  “Okay, first, it’s natural for someone from college to recommend a person for a job. It’s called networking. And second, admirer? Eww. He was like a brother. And third ... I don’t know, I’m sure there’s a third, but I’m too tired to think of one right now.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Please don’t give me ‘uh-huh’ in that tone, Phyllis. Just let it drop.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Hanging up now. Need to sleep. Need to wake up and accept a job and resign two others. No time to play what-if with you.”

  “Fine, Maisie, but this subject is not dead.”

  Oh, I was sure it wasn’t.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow about the apartment, Phyl. I’m going to have to let my mom know not to repaint and buy new curtains for me here, after all.”

  She laughed, and we broke off the call.

  I wasn’t sure if I was more exhausted from our conversation or the day’s events, but I gave up on TV and headed upstairs.

  10

  Moving is always chaos.

  I don’t care how well prepared a person is. It. Is. Chaos. The cardboard box gathering, the careful wrapping of dishes and other breakables, the decision making over what is and isn’t discardable. And that’s just the physical part. I’m not even counting the address changing, canceling of utilities, and all the rest.

  Before I even started that, however, I had to resign from my jobs.

  Of course, resigning from the coffee shop wasn’t so bad. Even though I offered to work a full two weeks, Joseph gave me his blessing to leave as soon as I needed to. The best part was I was able to start collecting boxes from there. I was going to miss Devaney, but she was the kind of happy-go-lucky woman who would have a good life keeping up with fashion and pop culture. She made me promise to send her autographs of any “hot sports-type guys.”

  Letting Gordon know I was leaving was a bit more difficult. But the minute I got back from Denver, I mustered up my courage and walked into his office to let him know my situation. My father had always told us that bad news doesn’t get better if you delay it, so I took a big breath and dived right in.

  The hushed pause after I announced my decision to Gordon was endless. I swear I could hear a clock ticking in the next room. Finally, he coughed.

  “So, Maisie, it would seem as if you used our little station as a springboard to your career.”

  What?

  “Is that how you see it?” I was prepared to point out that in my year—working part-time, thank you very much—I had put in a lot of diligent hours with no complaints. I was ready to back my position with many, many examples, when I saw the furrow on his brow smooth out.

  “Oh, Maisie, I’m so sorry, gal. I didn’t mean to rile you up! I was just kidding you.”

  He dashed around the desk to give me a giant bear hug, which I’m sure would not have been approved by HR. Come to think of it, calling me “gal” wouldn’t have been, either, but in a small company in a small town, the rules tend to be more relaxed.

  “I’m proud of you, Maisie. We all knew it was just a matter of time before we’d lose you. I always wished I had a full-time position for you here, but the budget just wouldn’t stretch.”

  I had to bring myself down from being indignant. Of course this would be Gordon’s reaction. At heart, he always wanted the best for employees and was a good boss.

  He returned to his well-worn desk chair and indicated for me to sit in the similarly battered guest chair. A barrage of questions followed.

  “Campbell Casey.” He whistled when I mentioned the sports star who would anchor the team. “Well, no one can say that Mathis Bosch can’t put together a good crew. You’ll be working with some interesting people, Maisie. But, listen, don’t make that your last stop if you don’t want to. You’re just as good, if not better, than any washed-up quarterback. And if you don’t mind one other bit of advice?”

  “I’d appreciate it, Gordon. You know I respect you.”

  “Don’t lose yourself.” He leaned forward, squinted, and pointed at me. “The reason you got this new job is that you are a fine reporter, but mostly because you are a fine person. Remember that.”

  “Thank you.” What a great compliment.

  He leaned back and clapped his hands together.

  “Well, back to business. I assume I have you for two weeks? And that you’ll help me find your replacement?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. I’ll have Genette run an ad, and you can go through the resumes that come through.” He pulled a squeaky drawer open. “In the meantime, see what you think of these.” Only Gordon would have a folder of paper resumes on file.

  I smiled inwardly. Yep. As much as he liked me, Gordon would get work for every last penny he paid me.

  I carried the stack of folders past reception but was intercepted by Genette.

  “Anything you need to tell me, dear?”

  “You know that you already know, Genette, so why are you playing this game?”

  The door to Gordon’s office was paper-thin, and she was not ashamed to stand close to it and listen. And if Genette knew, well, everyone knew.

  “Uh-huh. But I want to hear from your own mouth that you are leaving.”

  “Yes, I’m leaving,” I said and braced myself for the shrieks that followed. Once she pummeled me—with love, mind you—she grabbed a pad of paper and a pen.

  “What are you doing, Genette?”

  “Making notes for your going-away, girl. You don’t think anyone else is planning this party? When should we do this? In two weeks? Just wait till you see the cake I’m going to make.”

  Remainders of that cake sat in a box on my kitchen counter on a bright Saturday morning two weeks later. I taped shut the last of the boxes that would be stacked in the moving truck, which my brothers were now parking in the small alley next to my apartment. Ma was not going to allow me to move without at least one of my siblings involved, and I was getting help from three of them. Joey, Johnny, and Anthony had schedules that could accommodate flying in to help with the project—and Angelo would be waiting on the other end to help unpack. Ma was thrilled that she would have four of her boys together for at least one night, since careers had scattered them from her.

  “Maisie, did you move into the second floor of a building with no elevator just so it would be more difficult for us to carry your boxes when you moved out?” asked Joey as he strolled into the apartment.

  “That wasn’t funny when you helped me move in, and it isn’t funny now, Joseph.”

  “Hey, wait a minute. Now that I recall, it was me that helped you then!” He plopped his lanky swimmer’s frame on the sofa as if to nap and moved the brim of his battered baseball cap to cover his eyes.

  “The rest of us were here, too, so don’t act like a martyr, Joe.” Anthony walked by him and grabbed the grubby Captain America cap, beginning a game of keep-away.

  “Hey!”

  “What are you going to do? Call Ma?” Anthony asked in a mocking whine, flipping the hat up and back in his hands.

  I jumped between them.

  “No, but I might, so you two sit down and behave,” I laughed. “You too, Johnny.”

  I looked at these successful men. One was a medal-winning university swimmer turned swim coach, another had followed in Angelo’s footsteps and was a high school baseball coach, and the third was a sports attorney. They were each attired in grubby cargo shorts and well-worn T-shirts—and all I could see was three mischievous, curly-headed boys who had alternately tormented me and been the heroes of my childhood. Anthony was the last remaining bachelor of the group now that Vinny had just proposed to his steady girlfriend, and Ma was eager for him to bring a wife home, as well.

  Shaking my head, I handed them each a copy of my detailed spreadsheet of plans.

  “Noo …” they choruse
d.

  “Oh, but yes. Didn’t you think I had this organized?”

  And I did, down to the color-coordinated dots on each box.

  “Oh, we thought maybe, but we held out hope,” said Johnny.

  I ignored him.

  They read the document, reviewed my streamlined plan for keeping the boxes organized, and grunted as they stood to begin working. I attached my iPhone to speakers and cranked up the volume when I found music. The four of us worked steadily for several hours, singing along to oldies, pausing only long enough to get in an impromptu dance step here and there. At midday we broke for the lunch I had prepared and stocked in the fridge.

  We sat comfortably on the ramp leading into the truck, using it as our improvised picnic area.

  “Maisie, are you ready for your new job?” Anthony asked around a large bite of his Italian sub.

  “Think so,” I nodded, munching my own sandwich. “Why, don’t you think I can do it?”

  “Oh, if anyone can, it’s you,” he said. “I just wondered what you thought because we haven’t discussed it much. Do you think you might work with Jenny Cavnar now that you’re in the Mile High City?”

  “Wow, I’d love to, but you know she’s over at Root Sports. I’m sure we’ll cross paths, though.”

  I had a lot of respect for the energetic Cavnar, who was part of the dedicated Root Sports team and doing color commentary for Colorado Rockies baseball. She was held in high esteem in the industry and had broken ground for women like me by being the first woman to ever broadcast a National League baseball game live on the radio.

  “What about this whole moving to Denver thing, though? Did you think you’d ever be landing practically into Ma and Pop’s backyard?” asked Johnny.

  “Ha! In their backyard? She almost moved into their house,” added Joey.

  “You know, that wouldn’t have been so bad—temporarily,” I said. “I would have gotten my own place eventually. Remember when you and Tania first got married and Ma wanted you to move in?”

  “I think she overlooked the fact that my job was in St. Louis,” said Joey, finishing his piece of Genette’s delicious cake in three bites. “But she’s certainly thrilled that Angelo is only one town over, especially now that the twins are around.”