Over Time

by Kyell Gold

  “Somehow I don’t think Fisher or Gena would appreciate the kind of experience you have.”

  I laugh. “You never know. Maybe it would calm him down. No, no, I’ll be good, I promise. I’m just going over to help Gena out today.”

  We say good-bye after I promise to keep him updated with my itinerary. Then I head back upstairs and find Dev sitting on the couch staring at his phone.

  “Having trouble setting up the new one?” I ask, going over to sit beside him.

  He shakes his head. “I got the number of Fisher’s agent. How do I fire Ogleby?”

  “I thought you already did.”

  “Sort of. Over the phone. But he pretended not to hear, and god, I don’t want to call him…”

  “Call Fisher’s agent.” I point to the number on his phone. “Tell him you want to hire him and ask him how to proceed.”

  “Yeah.” He taps the phone. “I guess I can do that.”

  I lean against him. “You want me to do it for you?”

  He holds out the phone. I reach for it, and then he laughs and grabs my paw. “Nope, I can do it. You’re just taking charge of everyone these days so I thought maybe I’d let you do it all. You can call Hal and set up lunch and I’ll call Damian.”

  “Deal.” So I go to the kitchen and ask Hal if he’s free for lunch, and he says he can clear time off his schedule.

  “How’d it go with Fisher?” he asks.

  “I’m going to see you in two hours,” I say.

  “I know. But Miski’ll be there. So tell me privately, how’d it go?”

  I sigh. “Well, we didn’t ask him. But I’m going back tonight so I’ll see if there’s a chance. He’s…the loss hit him pretty hard.”

  “Imagine so. Pretty near the end for him. What’s the team say about the concussions?”

  He’s sharp, Hal is. I start to tell him and then catch myself. “Don’t know.” I keep my tone bland. “Not sure they’ve said anything.”

  “All right. See you in a couple hours.”

  I hang up and wait in the kitchen. Dev’s still on the phone with Damian and it seems to be going pretty well. He’d sounded tentative when he first called, though I was talking to Hal and didn’t catch most of the words, but now he sounds at ease, and he’s talking about the Firebirds. “…it’s a great group of guys, and it’s a great situation for me, honestly.” He listens. “I think they do. But…” Another pause. “No, nobody. I mean, we talked about wanting to stick together and win a championship.”

  Leaning against the kitchen door, I watch him. He relaxes back in the couch and laughs. “Yeah, for sure. You think I’ll be able to…?”

  He listens intently and nods for a bit. There’s a few more words and then he says, “Sounds great. Yeah. I’ll do that and I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks, Damian. Yeah. Me too.”

  When he turns around, he sees me, and he gets up off the couch and stretches. I walk toward him. “Can’t think when I ever heard you that relaxed talking to Ogleby.”

  “Can’t remember the last time I didn’t hang up on Ogleby. Damian is, like, a professional. It’s weird.” He scratches behind an ear. “He says he can get me a good five-year deal if I want it, but he’s also not sure it wouldn’t be better for me to play out my current deal. He wants to look into my situation more closely once we’re officially in business.”

  “Is he going to fire Ogleby?”

  “Ah.” His ears fall. “No. No, he said I have to do that, because if I decide to terminate his services in a few years, he doesn’t want to get a call from some other agent. He’d want to hear it from me.”

  “Good point.” I look at the phone he’s still holding. “When are you going to do it? Can I listen?”

  “I’m not happy about firing him,” he says.

  “I don’t think you should be.” I reach out and take his wrist. “But you have to do it. Do I need to read off the list again?”

  He says no, but I do it anyway. “The press conference. The Ultimate Fit contract. The fake engagement.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Your upcoming contract negotiation.”

  He sighs. “How do you tell someone they’re not good enough for you anymore?”

  “Tiger,” I say, “if you could do that easily, you wouldn’t be the tiger I love.”

  “So why do you want to listen?”

  I grin. “Because I want to be able to tease you later about what a softie you are.”

  He growls as I poke his stomach, and he grabs me and shoves his muzzle at my ear. “I’ll show you how hard I can be,” his bass voice rumbles through me.

  “N-not now.” I twist away from him. “You have to fire Ogleby first.”

  “Now?”

  “Well, before we go to lunch with Hal. So you have two hours to work yourself up to it.”

  He lets go of me and walks to the kitchen. “I need a beer.”

  “It’s ten-thirty in the morning.”

  At the door, he turns. “So think of something to do until noon. Then I’ll fire Ogleby and we can go.”

  “Well,” I say, “you could tell me about the conversation with your brother.”

  He glares at me. “Look,” I say, “I heard the yelling. I just want to know what happened and if there’s any way I can help.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I can tell you I got an e-mail from Brian.”

  “Ugh.” He grabs my paw. “Later. Let’s just walk.”

  As we get to the door, he says, “I will talk about it, I promise, and I want to hear your e-mail. But let me get through one thing at a time. I think talking about Gregory and Brian will just get me worked up, and I’d like to relax.”

  “Fair enough.” I kiss him. “It’s a nice day out. I’m up for a walk. You want to go to the gym? Miss workouts yet?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Sex is about the most intense workout I want for a couple days.”

  So we go out and walk in Chevali for an hour, and he gets recognized and asked for autographs. We don’t talk about Ogleby or Brian or Gregory, and probably as a result, we return to the apartment around quarter to noon in good spirits.

  Once he’s cracked open a beer and drained half of it, he sighs and picks up the phone to call Ogleby. I gesture to the couch. “Don’t you want to sit down?”

  “I don’t want it to last that long,” he says.

  We’d discussed some of the things he could say, and I’m pleased that he starts out all professional. “I’ve been evaluating my needs over the last year and I don’t think that our relationship is the best thing for me at this time. I really appreciate all that you’ve done for me in the past…”

  There’s silence while he listens and then tries to break in. “No…Yes, of course, but…no. I haven’t forgotten…but…Ogleby, just…Ogleby…” He shoots an exasperated glance at me and mimes a mouth chattering with his free paw.

  “Ogleby, listen. I appreciate the Ultimate Fit deal, but I would appreciate it more if I didn’t have another commercial to film with them for no extra money. I know. I know contracts are hard. Yes…okay, but you didn’t get me that deal. Strike got me that deal and you made me read the contract!”

  He paces around the room, his tail lashing now. “No! I will not…” He comes up face to face with me. I put my paws up to try to calm him, but he rolls his eyes and turns away. “I’m getting new representation, Ogleby. I’m sorry. No. No. No! We’re done.”

  His thumb cuts off the call and then he stands there staring down at the phone in his paw. After a moment, he drops it and looks up, trying to muster a smile. “Did we really think it would end any way other than me hanging up on him one last time?”

  “Do you have to do anything official?”

  “Yeah, I have to fax him an official letter of termination. I’ll do that after lunch.” He sets the phone down and stands there.

  I walk over and hug him. “You had to do it, you know. He drove you crazy and he wasn’t go
od for you.”

  He presses his nose down against my ears. “That doesn’t make it easier.”

  “No, I know.” I hold him and rub up and down his back. “Like I said, I love that about you.”

  He holds me tighter. “Thanks.”

  The letter of dismissal is easy because Damian sent Dev a template to use. We modify it slightly—I hold back my suggestions to fill in the whole section about “reasons for termination” and allow Dev to type in “different philosophies.” We print it out and then meet Hal at a brew pub downtown with great old wood beams and the smell of malt and hops mixed with burgers and fry oil.

  The swift fox is sitting in a booth; we slide in across the dark wood table, me on the inside so Dev has room to stretch out. While he picks up a menu, I pass Hal a pile of folded sheets with a gift bag on top.

  His nose twitches as he takes it. “What’s this?”

  “Just a thank-you gift. I really appreciated you letting me stay with you.”

  He peers inside. “Aw, dammit. It’s too much. And anyway I told you I didn’t need one of those.”

  I flick my tail and wink. “I thought Pol might be impressed if you had one. It makes texting easier, you know.”

  He grumbles at me, but he does take the iPhone box out and turn it over. “You gonna help set it up?”

  “If you want, sure.”

  “Well.” He puts the phone back in the bag and sets it and the sheets on the seat beside him. “Thanks. Wasn’t necessary but it’s nice of you.”

  “You put up with a sick, mopey fox for the better part of a week. It’s a fair trade.”

  Dev lowers his menu as Hal starts to protest that it wasn’t that bad. “I’ve seen him mopey,” he says. “It’s from me too, for taking care of him and putting up with him.”

  “Oh, well,” Hal says, and his smile widens. “Thank you, then.”

  “Oh, it’s okay from him but not from me?” I put on mock annoyance. “I have a job now too, y’know.”

  “Yeah, don’t rub it in. And congratulations. I guess it’s official?”

  I tell him about the offer letter, which should be coming in today, and after we order, we talk a little about the Whalers. When he finally gets around to asking about Fisher, Dev and I go quiet and look down at the table, at the burgers we haven’t started eating yet.

  Hal looks between us. “What, things not going well?”

  I get Dev’s nod of permission to answer. “We didn’t really get to talk about the injury much. It was just a social visit. But I’m going back there today to help Gena with some stuff, so I’ll see if I can ask him then.”

  “Right.” Hal looks up at Dev. “Championship loss hit him hard, huh?”

  “It hit all of us.” Dev takes a big bite of his burger. “Fucking sucked.”

  “Sure.” The swift fox nibbles on his chicken sandwich. “He’s been through it before, though. Shouldn’t he be the one with the perspective? Lose it one year, win it the next?”

  “Most championship-losing teams don’t make it back to the game the next year,” I say, and then wince as Dev glares at me. “That doesn’t mean there can’t be exceptions.”

  “Most championship-winning teams don’t make it back the next year either,” Hal points out. “People remember the old dynasties like Kerina’s four straight or Hilltown’s four out of five, but those were thirty, forty years ago. Highbourne was the last team to get to the game three times straight and they only won two of them.”

  “So what kind of perspective should Fisher be offering?”

  “Well.” Hal puts down his sandwich. “You don’t start the season assuming you won’t get back. You tell yourself and your teammates you’re going to be the exception.”

  “We are.” Dev sinks fangs into his burger.

  “Course y’are,” Hal says. “I’d put down money on it.”

  We eat a few more bites, and then Hal says, “Course, I’d also put down money that Fisher Kingston won’t be with the team when you do.”

  Dev puts the burger down. “What do you mean?”

  Hal faces him with the composure of a guy who’s been through a lot of press conferences and maybe locker rooms, facing much bigger guys. “Just that they gotta figure out if they’re gonna commit to a 36-year-old defensive end who can still play, or if they’re going to go with a 25-year-old polar bear who’s got his best years ahead of him. You want one more year of Kingston, maybe? Risk another concussion or another injury? Or you want a young, healthy guy who’s maybe not as fast, but with a summer to prepare you can build your plays around him?”

  Dev scowls, and I don’t want to say anything. “It’s a business,” Hal goes on. “I know you been kinda shielded from that, being on the bench.”

  “I got traded.”

  I rest fingers on his wrist. “But you didn’t really ever feel like part of the Dragons. They had you on special teams, on the bench the whole time. You told me you hoped you’d be traded, even.”

  “Yeah, but…” He shakes his head. “I know. I know he probably won’t be back. I just kinda hoped we’d keep all the guys together. I know it never happens to those other teams, but I thought…I thought we had something pretty special here.”

  “You do,” I say. “And you will again. Because the thing that’s special, it’s partly you. You mesh with your teammates, you bring out the best in them and they bring out the best in you. This isn’t a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. There’s a lot of good guys out there. Yeah, you might get on a bad team once in a while, but you,” I poke a finger at him, “won’t let them stay bad for long.”

  He looks startled and then hmphs in a way that I know means he’s more pleased than he wants to let on. “Just so we don’t lose Gerrard.”

  “Oh yeah,” I say. “If you lose Gerrard, you’re screwed.”

  Hal laughs. “Marvell ain’t going anywhere, not with his contract. Look, I don’t mean to put down Kingston. For his age—for any age—he had a pretty good season. But the team won most of the games he didn’t play last year. Yeah, that was a lot of things: you, Lightning Strike, Marvell, whatever. Point is, when they look at people who were essential to the team’s success and people who’re worth investing in, you probably got two dozen names come up before his.”

  Dev sighs. “He was talking about maybe retiring.”

  Hal pauses to evaluate that while I register some surprise that Dev told our friend the reporter. Dev goes on while we’re both silent. “What do you think? You think he should?”

  The swift fox shakes his head. “I can’t answer that. Sure, financially he’s probably fine. But I don’t know how he feels, what passion he’s got inside him to drive him to keep going. If he’s ready to hang ’em up, then yeah, this is a good time. If he’s not, I’m sure he can find another team to take him on if the Firebirds really don’t want him.”

  Silence ends that conversation, so after a little while, I ask, “How’s Pol? When do we get to meet her?”

  “When you set up a dinner date. She works out in Yellow Springs. Can’t come into the city for lunch.” He finishes off his sandwich and takes a drink of beer. “Pity though that is.”

  “Okay, well.” I tick off nights on my fingers. “I’m busy the next couple nights, and we’re going to Yerba soon after that. Maybe when we get back? How about Wednesday night?”

  “Sure. No rush.”

  I grin across the table. “Things going that well, huh?”

  “They’re stable. We’re just having fun for right now.”

  “Good.” I wag my tail. “How’s the article?”

  He raises an eyebrow in Dev’s direction. My tiger rumbles, “I already know about it. I was trying to get Fisher to talk to you. Well, I was going to try. If he—anyway.” He stuffs his mouth full of fries.

  “Yeah.” Hal grins. “Appreciate it. Article is fine. It’s hard to get people to talk to me about it. Y’know, the league got wind of it and they’re trying to stop it.”

  “Can’t imagine why.”
I growl. “Protecting their brand, not their players.”

  “Basically.” He rubs his whiskers. “Also, well, you’ll probably read this in a couple weeks anyway, but they’re looking to expand next year. They want to add four more teams.”

  This is something I’ve read about for a few years already. “It’s going to happen next year? Where are they looking?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but…” He ticks off on his fingers. “Mostly midwest. Big opportunity there—college ball is huge and they think they can get more pro teams going. So Cuyahoga, Crockett, Cansez—they’re really building up the C-cities—and either St. Clair or Deleon. Both of them have bids in and I think the owners are leaning toward Deleon because they’d like to be able to head down there for vacation.”

  “Better than St. Clair. It’s colder than Hilltown.” Dev finishes off his burger. “I played a college game there. Run down city.”

  “They’re hoping the team would revitalize it.” Hal flicks his ears. “Anyway, they don’t want anything coming out that would harm the league.”

  “Coming out, eh?” I elbow Dev. “Too late for that.”

  “I didn’t know!” he protests.

  “Hey,” Hal says with his paws up, “you and Polecki, that’s been terrific for the league. You might not’ve got that, but they love it. It’s positive publicity outside the game—usually that’s charitable foundations and that stuff is boring like a town without a sports team. It’s got lots of attention focused on the league and they can show how progressive they are by how accepting they are and how homophobia is down and all that shit. No, trust me, the league loves you, Dev. Don’t know about the individual teams, but at the top they are all on your side.”

  “Loves me, like, big bonus to my salary love?”

  “Good luck with that.” Hal laughs. “Leave it to your agent to work out, which means probably not.”

  So then we tell him about firing Ogleby, which Dev is still flat-eared over, and Hal nods when we’re done. “Good for you. From what I saw, you deserve better. That guy Fisher’s got—I don’t know much about him, which is a real good sign.”

  “Yeah.” Dev toys with his fries. “Still feels crappy, you know? Disloyal.”