Game On

by Barbara Oliverio

  “Thank you!” I glowed.

  “We haven’t had a chance to talk much since you started. Are you free for lunch?”

  “Well, um, sure.”

  “Great.” I’ll swing by at about noon? We’ll just walk down to the sushi place on the corner?”

  “Sounds great.”

  He left, and it wasn’t until he was down the corridor that it occurred to me that he hadn’t asked if I liked sushi. No matter. Besides, I rationalized, I needed to ask him for something for my father for the school raffle. Yeah. That’s it.

  I shook my head and swung my chair around to get back to work. Moments later, I heard my name in a crisp tone and did a quick intake of breath. The whole Addison-and-my-brother situation. I arranged my face pleasantly and turned around.

  The Addison of the garden party dress and loose-flowing curls was gone, and the tightly wound, crisply pressed woman with the French braid had returned.

  “Good morning, Addison.” I tried to strike a tone that was midway between co-worker and I-just-saw-you-in-the-backyard-of-my-parents’-house.

  But Addison was pegging the needle straight on co-worker. Not a hint of a smile or recognition of the fact that someday I might be throwing her a bridal shower with all my cousins and aunts. Maybe because I wouldn’t ... Darn that Anthony if he had already dropped her. Or maybe she dropped him. See. It was a problem not even forty-eight hours later.

  “Maisie, I asked if that was okay?” She wore a painfully patient expression, since she had obviously just asked my opinion on something.

  “I’m sorry, Addison. My mind drifted. What did you say?”

  “I said, the front desk has been fielding quite a few calls for you this morning, and Marilyn suggests that Marie take some of them on days like today. Is that okay?” She looked pointedly at the blinking light on my phone.

  “Oh. Yes. That would be fine.” Fine? That would be awesome! Me, needing an assistant!

  Oh, but of course Addison brought me back to earth.

  “This does not give you license to ask Marie for any other assistance. She’ll help with your calls. You need to deal with your other tasks yourself.” Addison turned to leave.

  Yeah. Just as I thought. Addison giveth and Addison taketh away.

  She stopped her precision gait and returned to my desk. In a quieter tone, she said, “I had a delightful time with your family, Maisie. They are an engaging group.” Her smile, though minimal, was sincere.

  “Well, they loved having you there.” I knew better than to go further. Especially in the work environment.

  She nodded and turned to resume her walk, stopping partway down the corridor to adjust a plant on a table a fraction of an inch. I turned back to my work and shook my head. Mornings around here were more jam-packed than full days in most offices. Sheesh.

  17

  “Ow!”

  The outburst was my natural reaction to a flick on the back of my head. I pulled my earbuds out and spun around to lay into the perpetrator.

  I was greeted with an entire band of smiling pranksters.

  “How old are you people—five?” I rubbed my head.

  “Look, Maisie, we didn’t disturb you for most of the morning, but now you have to take a break and fill us in on your first gig.” Aguilar leaned on my desk, digging a couple of Swedish Fish from the giant container I always kept next to me. The other guys in the bullpen had turned their chairs toward me with expectant faces. I glanced at my watch. Yikes! Had three hours already passed? Had the guys really left me alone, or, more likely, had they just gotten in after an early morning coffee run.

  I leaned back in my own chair, tucking one foot under the other leg, willingly sharing the details of my sideline debut. With this audience, I could go into as much technical detail as I wanted to. Not that a discussion with my friends and family wouldn’t be rewarding, and my dad and brothers would certainly enjoy the sports aspect of it. But there is something about digging in to the details with people who know the broadcasting end of the business.

  I had jumped up and was doing a very passable imitation of the Blitz’s star attack man making his final score when I backed up into a solid barrier. I felt hands grip each arm and, turning around, I sheepishly shrugged as I met the hooded eyes of station owner Daniel Sofer.

  “Maisie.”

  “Mr. Sofer.”

  “A little show-and-tell?”

  “I guess.” I straightened my clothing. Why was it that no matter how well-dressed I was, I always looked like I just tumbled out of a dryer when he was around?

  “I was just demonstrating a particularly interesting play from last night to the guys.”

  I gestured around me. To empty chairs. One was still spinning from where someone had made an amazingly quick escape.

  Traitors.

  “Well,” he nodded as he walked away. “Carry on.”

  I slapped my forehead with my palm. Great. From the first moment of the first day of my interview, I never knew what he thought of me, and I certainly wasn’t racking up any points this morning.

  My audience apparently noticed that the coast was clear and returned to their places. Aguilar even reached for more candy.

  “No!” I grabbed the jar of sweets. “No rewards for people who abandon me.”

  “C’mon, Maisie. You handled yourself pretty well, just like we knew you would.”

  I glared all around. When I first started at the station, I would have thought that this type of abandonment was because I was the first woman in the department, but I knew better. They would have ignored me if that were the case. The fact that they were comfortable enough to treat me as one of the gang meant that I was accepted as an equal. They respected me for my knowledge and were respectful of me and kept their frat house antics to an innocent level.

  I didn’t keep my glare going for long, however, and instead burst into laughter. Looking at the incident, you could see that it was funny, after all.

  “I seem to have walked into a chipper crowd.”

  We had the second visitor in the bullpen for the morning. This time, the guys didn’t dash off, but the mood did shift.

  It wasn’t often that Campbell Casey came to our area. When he did, the mood usually changed much like it was changing at that moment. Everyone knew he wasn’t hired for his communications acumen, and he didn’t do himself any favors when he tried to be one of the boys by using words like “chipper.”

  Honestly.

  No one answered him, and I knew it fell on me to be the spokesperson, so to speak.

  “Oh, you know how it is sometimes. What’s up, Campbell? How can we help you?” Really, Maisie? How can we, the peons, help you, the royalty?

  “It’s lunchtime. I came to pick you up.”

  Holy moly! How could I have forgotten that? I hadn’t had time to fix my face or hair or make sure my outfit looked presentable. I guess it was good that I hadn’t had time to obsess, but I still would have liked a little time to at least tuck in my blouse. If it hadn’t been for those guys …

  Oh. Those guys. I could swear the temperature dropped at least ten degrees after Campbell indicated we were going out to lunch. I detected a lot of side eye and a few smirks.

  “Well, don’t let us keep you.”

  “By all means.”

  “We’ll get out of your way.”

  I threw a few looks of my own. Seriously. It was exactly like a frat house. Luckily Campbell didn’t notice the undertone, or maybe he did and chose to ignore it.

  “Shall we?” He indicated the corridor.

  “Definitely.” I put the jar of Swedish Fish that I was still apparently hugging to my chest back on my desk, grabbed my bag, and walked away, without giving the guys the satisfaction of one last look.

  “Mais?” I heard a voice just before we walked out the glass doors.

  Turning my head over my shoulder, I saw Alek, feet planted with his head tilted and a questioning look covering his face. I turned the rest of the way and opened my m
outh to say something, but not before he straightened and wheeled around to walk down the hall.

  Campbell put his arm on my elbow and asked if I needed a few more minutes. I shook my head, and we left.

  “And then?”

  “Then what, Phyl?” She and I were leaning on the balcony of our apartment hours later, enjoying the sunset with glasses of the wine she had brought back from her last modeling assignment. She had barely returned from the airport and had time to change into comfy at-home clothes before I could catch her up on my life.

  “You stopped your story with you and the blond hunk walking out of the office. What happened? Did you walk around Denver and get tattoos? Did you get married in a secret ceremony? Did—”

  “Seriously? What an imagination.” I walked back into the living room and plopped on our sofa, returning to munch on the cheese and crackers sitting on the coffee table. She joined me on the other end of the sofa.

  “Well, then finish the story, Maisie, and not leave it up to my imagination.”

  “We went to lunch, Phyllis. We had sushi. I had a spicy tuna roll, salmon nigiri, and unagi, and he had a California roll, tempura roll, and avocado roll.”

  “I don’t want the menu—wait. What did he have again?”

  “California roll, tempura roll, and avocado roll. Why?”

  “That’s all safe sushi, sushi for beginners. You know, vegetables and cooked things.”

  “So?”

  “So, Maisie, why did he take you to sushi if he wasn’t going to eat real honest-to-goodness sushi?”

  I stared at her.

  “What?” She took a pull of her wine and looked at me over the rim of the glass.

  “What does any of that have to do with anything, Phyllis?”

  She spun toward me, crossed her pajama’d legs under one another, and explained. “Maisie, if a guy asks you on a date to a restaurant of his choosing and the things he orders are not, like, the specialties of the house and are not even specialties within the cuisine, it’s just odd.”

  “Where did you read this? Obscure Theories Monthly?”

  “Mark my words, it means something,” she shrugged.

  “It means this conversation has taken a bizarre turn.”

  “Okay,” she conceded. “What did you talk about during lunch? What happened after? Continue with your story. I promise not to interrupt again.”

  “Uh-huh. We’ll see if that happens. Anyway. Conversation was pleasant enough. The whole ‘where did you grow up?’ ‘where did you go to school?’ you know.”

  “Sounds dull.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to interrupt.”

  “I didn’t interrupt. I interjected a pertinent comment.”

  “ANYway. Like I said, it was pleasant enough. We got to a point where I remembered to ask him for something autographed for my dad for the school auction. He said he’ll bring something to the office.”

  “What did my dad donate?”

  “I think he donated some autographed footballs and some other things. Your dad is always so generous.”

  “Sure. Unless you’re his sixteen-year-old daughter and want a car.” Her bottom lip jutted out.

  “You had a car when we were teenagers.”

  “That I had to pay half for and pay insurance. What’s the point of having a rich father if you don’t get the perks?”

  “Ahem.” I gestured around us.

  “Oh. Yes. Right.” She grinned sheepishly.

  “Besides, he only had you earn the money for your car to build character. My dad did the same for me and my brothers.”

  “And didn’t we all turn into characters?” she punned. “So, what do you think Campbell Casey will donate? Autographed hair product?”

  “Honestly! Phyllis!” Although, spending an hour or so with him this afternoon, I noticed even more closely how perfect his Thor-like coif was.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I know you looooove him.”

  I pondered that.

  “What, Maisie?”

  “Oh, Phyllis. Sure, I like him. And I’d go out with him again. But something about him isn’t quite ... real, you know?”

  She thought about that before answering.

  “Maybe he’s just used to being on air.”

  “Maybe.”

  I went to the kitchen to refill our cheese and cracker plate since we had plowed through our snack.

  “I’m trying to figure out what made him ask me out all of a sudden,” I continued upon return.

  “Seriously? You’re smart, beautiful, and a catch. Who wouldn’t ask you out?”

  “Hmm. I think he just wanted to tell me I did a good job at the lacrosse game. You know, as a colleague.”

  “Sure. As a colleague.”

  “I actually wanted to find Alek and bounce that weird lunch conversation off him, but he was busy all afternoon. You remember that Alek was always good at that sort of thing in college.”

  Phyllis smacked me with one of the stylish pillows from the sofa.

  “Hey! Watch it! You’re lucky my glass was empty.”

  “You are a complete idiot. Don’t ask Alek.”

  “Why not? Other than you and my family, he’s my best friend.”

  “You just don’t see it, do you?”

  “See what?”

  “You can’t treat Alek like a girlfriend, Maisie. He’s a guy. And, I might add, a guy who crushed on you all through school. I’m pretty sure he probably still crushes on you now.”

  “No. And for your information, I think he’s seeing someone. On Friday, he left the happy hour early and I think it was for a date.”

  “Did he come out and say that?”

  “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” I paused. “I’m pretty sure.”

  Phyllis reached over to refill both our glasses.

  “In any case, you can’t rely on him to discuss man troubles. He’s not literally your brother, even though you’ve always treated him like one. He might not want to constantly have to be your shoulder to cry on, you know.”

  We were both silent.

  “Maybe he didn’t want to talk to you this afternoon because he saw you guys leave and knew you’d want to discuss the date ad nauseam,” she concluded triumphantly.

  Unfortunately, my mind flashed back to the look on his face as he saw us walk out the door.

  “You know, Phyllis, if you have a subscription to that Obscure Theories Monthly, you need to cancel it. You are throwing out too many odd ideas this evening.”

  I just didn’t want her to know that she probably struck a little too close to home with this whole line of discussion.

  18

  The Blitz didn’t have another game for a week, so I was a bit let down returning to my regular duties, which ranged from working on the archives to fact checking for some of the other reporters. I did have time to do research on a couple of stories that I thought might make good features, but when I pitched them to Mathis in a staff meeting, the best I got were his perfunctory nods and a “We’ll see” before the meeting broke up.

  I followed Alek to his desk to discuss preparation for the following Monday’s lacrosse match.

  “Yo, Markovich, are you ready for Monday?” I hopped up on his desk.

  “Guess so.” He sat and busied himself with whatever it is that camerapeople busy themselves with when they don’t have a giant camera balanced on their shoulders.

  He shrugged off his trademark leather jacket to reveal a T-shirt emblazoned with the Batman logo. The difference between his daily office attire and his “uniform” when we were broadcasting was so interesting. On broadcasting days, he kept the signature T-shirts, but traded his black denims for a pair of trendy, baggy, ripstop cargo slacks and added a fisherman’s vest so he would have a lot of pockets available. He topped off his uniform with his grubby Villanova ball cap, usually turned backward. Interestingly, although other camera jocks wore similar “uniforms,” he always looked a bit more polished.

  “Try not to sound so ent
husiastic, Alek.”

  “Sorry, Mais. You do realize that not everything revolves around your assignments, don’t you?”

  What was eating him?

  “Of course,” I said.

  He turned further away from me.

  “Alek.”

  No response.

  I kicked his chair.

  Still no response.

  “Alek, Alek, Alek …” I continued, matching each word with a kick.

  Finally, he turned around, exasperated.

  “What?”

  “What’s with you? You’ve buried yourself over here or been goodness knows where, and I haven’t seen you in days.”

  “I was subbing for Features.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean ‘why’?” His tone was becoming strange.

  “Out of all the camera jocks, you volunteered to sub in Features? Why?” I pictured him running camera for a special on dog adoptions or something. Not that there was anything wrong with dog adoptions, but, you know, he’s a sports camera guy.

  “Because I’m a nice person, that’s why! Are you so self-absorbed that you don’t know or appreciate the nice things that people do?” With that he leapt from his chair and strode off.

  “What? Where are you going now?” I attempted to follow him and nearly collided with him when he reached a door at the end of the hall and prepared to enter.

  “Maisie,” he began patiently. “I don’t think I need you as an escort here.” He pushed through the door, and I looked up a split second before deciding not to follow him.

  I adjusted the neat mandarin collar of my dress, did a brisk turn, and paced to my own desk, hoping no one saw me almost enter the men’s room.

  Hmm. In all the years I had known Alek, I had never seen him so agitated. He was the calmest person I knew. And what did he mean? That was the second time in as many days that he implied I wasn’t appreciative. I have ALWAYS appreciated the nice things people do. My parents would never have allowed us to be unappreciative. And don’t get me started on how the nuns lectured us on the importance of being kind.

  I pushed my hair out of my eyes, then stared at my computer for a moment. No, I wasn’t going down the rabbit hole of self-doubt for no reason. I needed to get to work—whatever it was for the day.