by Anna Albo
“Do I have to come to the foundation meeting today?” Kyle asked when she’d arrived at the office. He grabbed his ever-present protein shaker cup and downed what was left inside.
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“I figured you don’t need me there.”
Allie set down her messenger bag and took the seat across from him. “Kyle, am I spinning my wheels here? I get the impression that no one is ever going to accept me. And I’m pretty sure no one likes me.”
Kyle frowned. “I like you. You’re damn smart. A lot of these numb nuts could learn so much from you. You’ve singlehandedly turned the gala around, so I don’t want to hear you down on yourself. I surround myself with winners and I don’t have time for losers.”
Allie giggled, which could have easily turned to tears. “That was awesome. Thank you.”
“Look, I mean it. This whole franchise is full of losers, and it starts right at the top. And I don’t mean your uncle,” he said, a moment of panic washing over his face.
“I know what you meant.”
“And this loser attitude trickles down right to the bottom. Do you know how hard it is to keep my guys pumped? They see the Falcons play like shit and it rubs off on them. I’m constantly giving them pep talks, telling them that they can’t be complacent. When the team is the shits, the fans react and we need to keep the bad ones in check. We have to rise above.”
Allie listened, her mood lifting. Kyle cared. He had enough heart for the whole damn franchise. “Kyle, we need more people like you.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What would you do if you were president of the team?”
“I’d start by firing everyone. Except me and you, of course.”
“I think you might be on to something.”
While she wanted to discuss it further, Allie turned to prepping for her foundation meeting. Like usual, she printed off agendas and meeting notes for everyone except Tiffani. She was the only one who bothered to come prepared. Allie poured herself a cup of brown water that was supposed to pass for coffee and set off for the boardroom. Only Tiffani was there, a pile of papers in front of her. She’d corralled some of the Falcons staff who were busy bringing in donations and setting them in the corner.
“I want to show everyone all the donations I received over the past two weeks. It’s to shame them into getting off their asses,” she said.
Allie’s eyes grew wide. She’d never heard Tiffani talk about her compatriots that way. “Wow. That’s incredible. I have to admit that I haven’t been able to get much in way of donations.”
“I’m giving you a pass because you’re new to the city, but only this year. Next year you better get us lots of stuff.”
“Will do. And where are we storing all this?”
“I got some space here at the Stewart Center. There’s no room for all this at my house.”
Allie’s eyebrows raised. Tiffani asked for space and got it without much effort and Allie was still begging for one of the empty offices.
The wives piled in, some noticing the pile of donations, others oblivious to it. Allie passed out her documents and glanced at her watch a few times. Cavallo was ten minutes late and she wasn’t going to wait any longer.
“Let’s start,” she said. “Do we have anything to discuss from last week’s meeting? Or can we approve the minutes?” The unread minutes, she wanted to add.
Empty faces stared back. She proceeded with approving the minutes and getting on with the agenda. Tiffani reported on the menu and how she’d ground down the caterer for a five dollar a plate discount. She’d also gotten a discount from the decorator and a two-for-one deal on the ice sculpture, provided that the artist get a free plug in the program. She’d also sold sponsorships to the event and advertising in the brochure.
“Tiffani, that’s amazing,” Allie said. “Well done.”
Cavallo breezed in, twenty minutes late, and took the empty seat next to Allie. The soft scent of his cologne greeted her and for a moment she was distracted. He smelled heavenly. She got her wits and slid him an agenda and notes.
“Should I go through the donations I received?” Tiffani asked.
“Yes, I can’t wait to hear what you got.”
She listed them off and Allie smiled and half-listened. Cavallo had her attention. She hated how he could walk into a room and enrapture her. The little skip of her heart and her desire to make the meeting go as long as possible so that she could spend those extra minutes with him made her wince. She had to stop this. It was like grade school all over again and having a crush on Billy Sanford. And as with Billy, she’d do nothing about it.
“Would anyone else like to report on their donations? Tiffani got some storage space here at the arena, so you can drop them off at any time.”
Eyes darted around the room, but no one said a word until Cavallo cleared his throat. “I have some donations. I didn’t bring them today, but I’d be happy to bring them to our next meeting. I got a car dealership to donate a one-year lease for an SUV. I also got a donation of a Mediterranean cruise as well as the airfare from another donor who would like to remain anonymous. I have a spa weekend vacation with a value of around a thousand dollars and a friend is donating artwork that’s been appraised at just over ten thousand dollars.”
“Great job, Will,” Allie said. “Any others?”
Riley Ducharme meekly raised her hand. “It’s not much, but I have about five hundred dollars in various gift cards from local businesses around the city. I thought maybe we could do a gift card tree? My goal is to get at least another five hundred dollars’ worth.”
“I love that idea,” Tiffani said. “I can get you some gift cards. If we get enough, maybe we can have two trees.”
“I like your creativity, Riley,” Allie added.
And more silence. Allie could sense the tension rising from Tiffani.
“Do none of you have donations?” she asked. “Do you realize that once December rolls around, getting them will be next to impossible? People will be obsessed with the holidays.”
The silence turned awkward and Tiffani’s face turned cold.
“Okay, let me tell you in plain English. If you show up to next week’s meeting—yes, next week, I’m scheduling a meeting—and you don’t have at least five prizes, count yourself off this committee. Will, Riley and Allie are excluded from that quota. Do I make myself clear?”
More doe eyes and a few nods. Tiffani turned back to Allie. “Let’s move on before I have a coronary.”
Allie moved through the rest of the meeting before adjourning. The wives bee-lined out, likely afraid of the wrath of Tiffani who was busy having Falcons staff move her donations into storage. Cavallo stayed behind and Allie could feel her body warm.
“Sorry for being late. I got tied up. Tiffani was on a tear today,” he said as Allie scooped up the abandoned agendas and notes.
“I like this side to her. And if it weren’t for the two of you, we’d have no donations.”
“I’m working on more, and I can guarantee that all those ladies will have donations next week. They don’t want to be booted off this committee.”
“It’s all about the gala pictures that go in the newspaper, isn’t it? It’s nice to have your name in lights.”
“Very true.”
Allie dumped the papers into the recycling and gathered her things.
“I was thinking we could go for a bite to eat sometime. Do some more brainstorming?” He said it casually, like it was no big deal, all the while Allie’s heart threatened to beat right through her ribcage.
“Uh, sure. When were you thinking?”
“Friday? There’s this great restaurant downtown. I go all the time and the owner knows me well. I figure we can hit him up for a decent-sized gift card while we’re there.”
“I like the way you think.”
“Good. Let’s say eight. Should I pick you up or do you want to meet me there?”
“I’ll meet you
there,” she said, kicking herself the moment the words left her mouth.
“Friday, then.”
She stole a glimpse of him as he left. His blue jeans fit like a glove. Cate would be impressed.
SNOW HAD TURNED TO grey mush. Allie trudged through it hoping not to ruin her new leather boots. She found a spot about a block from the restaurant and used that short walk to burn off her excitement. What was it about this guy? She thought about him all the time. She found her mind wandering off and imagining him in the locker room, shirtless, arms and chest muscles dripping with sweat until Kyle destroyed that image for her.
“Word of advice,” he said out of the blue one day. “Don’t sit anywhere near the bench. Don’t even visit the locker rooms. You don’t want to know what twenty-five guys smell like after a game.”
And in an instant the image burst into a puff of smoke.
Allie entered Marcello’s, an upscale Italian restaurant fifteen minutes late, figuring that would still make her early on Cavallo time. She approached the lone hostess, clad in all black and wearing the highest stilettos Allie had ever seen. She towered over Allie’s five-foot-five frame.
“I believe there is a reservation under the name Cavallo. I’m sure he’s not—”
“This way,” the hostess said with little interest in Allie. She strode through the restaurant, weaving through tables, Allie having a hard time keeping up in her barely two-inch boots. The hostess abruptly stopped and Allie almost smacked into the back of her.
“Your table,” she said, pointing down. There was Cavallo, seated, wearing a dress shirt and tie. He had an open menu in front of him and smiled as she took her seat.
“Sorry I’m late,” Allie said.
“Did you think I’d be late so you weren’t going to be here on time? Am I right?”
She grinned. “Maybe.”
“I ordered some wine. You seem like the white wine kind of woman. Was I right about that too?”
“The sweeter the better.”
“I ordered their best Riesling. And I can tell you that all the pastas here are great. Everything is made from scratch, so we better order soon or we’ll never get our food.”
Allie chose the seafood fettuccine while Cavallo chose gnocchi and steak.
“That sounds like a lot of food,” she said.
“I like to eat.”
Their server returned with the wine and poured two generous glasses. Allie sipped it and the cool, sweet Riesling melted down her throat. This was the kind of wine she could get drunk off of.
“Great choice. It’s excellent.”
“Marcello picked it out.”
“The owner?”
“I come here at least once a week. I already hit him up for a donation. He said he’s good for five hundred dollars and he’s going to ask the wine boutique he deals with if they’ll donate too.”
“You’re good, Mr. Cavallo.”
He leaned forward, his arms resting on the table. “Do you think Tiff was serious at the last meeting? About turfing the slackers?”
“I don’t know. You know her better than I do.”
“She seemed pretty pissed. She’s also taking this very seriously.”
“I’m happy that she is. I didn’t want to fight her. I know I don’t always come off all fuzzy and warm, and I’m sure people think I throw my name around, but I don’t. Okay, I did once, but normally I don’t.”
“You did it twice.”
“I did? When?” she asked, taking another sip of wine.
“You did with me at that lame Falcons mixer at the beginning of the season.”
Allie bit back a smile. “Right. Okay, twice. But they were going to make me go through hoops to get your contact info. Filling out forms! We work for the same organization!”
“I know. It is strange.”
“So I had to introduce myself. I had no other choice. Besides, if anyone is really that concerned about me going to my uncle, they certainly don’t show it. Every meeting I attend with management, it’s like I’m not even there. Like I’m some mannequin propped up in a seat. I hate it.”
“Ever think about dropping your name in those meetings? Keeping those guys on their toes?”
“No,” she said and laughed. “I refuse to be that person.”
“I’d give you advice, but I don’t have any. Management doesn’t treat the players any better. They make us feel like cattle, easy to sell off or send out to pasture. The city is great, my teammates are good for the most part, but playing here can be depressing. By the time January rolls around, many of us are already planning our summer vacations.”
“Are you going to ask for a trade?” Allie asked, a hint of panic in her voice.
“Nah, at least not right now. If things don’t improve, I might try my hand at free agency, but that’s a few years away. By then I’ll be thirty-four. Hardly a hot commodity.”
Allie drank half her wine. “We probably shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She hated how playful he was because she couldn’t read him. Was it flirting or friendliness? “Who am I going to tell? The arena custodians? They’re about the only people who will talk to me.”
The server came around with fresh, warm bread and a small plate of whipped butter. Cavallo dove right in. “You think your uncle is priming you for something?”
“Likely. His kids don’t want or have anything to do with the team. But what could he be priming me for? My specialty is marketing and there aren’t any vacancies.”
“There should be,” he muttered. “Have you seen what crap they come up with? Their best fan giveaway last year was a poster. Other teams are giving out bobble heads, novelty cups, team scarves and hats, and we’re giving out lousy posters that end up in the garbage.”
“Could it be a budget issue?”
“Maybe, but come on. Come up with something! Our social media pages are a joke, merchandizing is terrible and every time they need a player to participate in something, it’s always some last-minute request. Rabid raccoons could do a better job.”
She thought of the question she asked Kyle and decided to ask Will too. “If you suddenly became president of the team, what would you do?”
“I’d fire everyone and start over.”
“Funny. Kyle said the same thing. I don’t think Eddie would go for that idea. Too much severance.”
Will poured Allie more wine. “What would you do?”
“I’d get rid of some people. Others are salvageable.”
“Who?”
“Tyler Strewchuk. Kyle.”
“That’s two.”
“I’d keep me.”
He laughed. “Okay, you’d keep three of forty? Fifty? That’s pretty much starting over.”
“What about the coaching staff? Would you keep them?”
Cavallo leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. His left eye squinted. “Can I trust you?”
“Cross my heart.”
“I’d fire them all.”
Her eyes opened wide. She hadn’t expected that answer. He seemed to like the Falcons general manager. “Why?”
“Burrows lost the team last year. No one cares about him or what he has to say. His assistants don’t give a shit. At this point they are putting in time and cashing checks.”
“Why doesn’t my uncle know about this?”
“He’s not around enough.”
Allie nodded. She was Eddie’s mole and it was her job to tell him.
The server came with their salads and the topic shifted away from the Falcons.
“Where are you originally from?” Cavallo asked.
“Toronto. And you?”
“Duluth, Minnesota.”
“And we both found ourselves in St. Paul. Did you have a hard time adapting?”
“I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen. I can adapt anywhere. And to be honest, St. Paul isn’t that much different than Duluth, just bigger and not very far from
home. How about you?”
“I’m a work in progress,” she said, not wanting to admit she was lonely and friendless.
“Being in a new city is hard, but you’ll meet people. You met me.”
She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “I’ve never been that person with a ton of friends. I’ve always had a few good ones, but now they live far away.” She knew she sounded pathetic, but it was too late to take anything back. Damn wine. “Anyway, I’m not needy or anything. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure you will be,” he said with a wink.
“What do you do for fun?” she asked when their main courses arrived. “You hang out at bars like most of the Falcons?”
“No, not really. Other than taking some online courses to finish up my university degree. In my spare time I like to build things. Over the summer I made a dollhouse for my niece. Took me the whole summer, but I was determined to finish it.”
“I’m sure she loved it.”
“She did.”
“She’s your brother’s daughter?”
“Yeah, she’s six. I also have a four-year-old nephew.”
“They live with their mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“It’s all right. I told you about my brother, there’s no hiding it. Penny left him when he couldn’t get his act together. My dad keeps hoping that Jason will turn his life around, but I don’t see that happening any time soon. He asks for a handout and my dad gives it to him. Why would he want to sober up?”
“I know what you mean.”
He looked at her, his chocolate eyes fixing on her. “I know you do,” he said. “The good thing is that you turned out all right.”
“And I owe that to my uncle. As much as I love my mom, if my uncle hadn’t stepped in to watch over me, I’m not sure where I’d be right now. She tries hard to be a good mom, but she’s got a lot going on. Depression, anxiety and prescription-happy doctors.”
“I firmly believe that your circumstances affect your life, but I also believe that we have a huge part in how we craft our lives. I think you still would be who you are today even without your uncle.”