Hip Check

by Deirdre Martin

  Michelle took a long sip of her coffee, trying to cover how much his sudden discomfort was wounding her. “Now let’s talk about Nell.”

  Esa kicked lightly at some gravel at his feet. “Has she talked to you about the ‘weirdness’?”

  “Yes. She’s a perceptive little girl. She senses there’s a disturbance in The Force.”

  “Good way of putting it,” he said, looking thoughtful as he ran his hand through his hair. Michelle noticed it was a little longer than usual. Usually he was meticulous about keeping it the same length. She liked it a little longer, not that she’d ever tell him.

  “She keeps asking me when we’re going to love each other again,” he continued.

  We never did, Michelle thought.

  “She asked me, too,” said Michelle, trying to match the casualness in his voice.

  “What did you say?”

  Michelle closed her eyes for a moment, letting the breeze play over her face. “I told her things were complicated. She told me that was a cop-out.”

  “Just like her mother,” Esa observed with a clipped laugh, before his face returned to the impenetrable expression she remembered all too well from when she first began working for him. “We gave her false hopes, Michelle. We did more damage than good in showing her how a ‘real’ family functioned. I should have listened to you on that. I shouldn’t have pushed you. Now things are a mess. She watches our every move.”

  “I know,” Michelle murmured. Sometimes Nell reminded her of a cat she’d had as a child: silently appraising her all the time. “I thought we already established this, that the romance element was bad. Isn’t that what you told me?”

  “I think even our friendliness gives her false hope.”

  Michelle was struck dumb. Something inside her was beginning to make her feel unsteady.

  “We’ve got to fix this.” She felt slightly better when a modicum of sadness crept into his eyes. “Back to more formality, just being employer and employee?”

  “And how are we supposed to do that? Find a time machine?” She knew she was being sarcastic, but it just slipped out. “You were the one who said it could never be done,” she felt compelled to point out.

  “I know. But it’s the only way I can think of.”

  “Do you think it would help if I resigned at the end of the summer?” she heard herself ask.

  Esa blinked, incredulous. “Do you want to?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “No, of course not! Think of what it would do to Nell!”

  “Is it worse than attempting to go even further backward? Isn’t that just a new form of ‘weirdness’?” Michelle paused. “Yes, it upsets me that we’re confusing her. But I don’t want to make things worse than they are. We’re like two people who have filed for divorce but neither one can afford to move out, except our relationship didn’t last as long as a marriage, and it wasn’t as deep.”

  Esa swirled the coffee in his cup, silent.

  “I want what’s best for Nell,” Michelle continued. “If you really think it’s possible to go back to the beginning and not weird her out even more, then I’m willing to try. But if that isn’t working, then we need to find a different solution.”

  “It will work,” Esa said adamantly. “It has to.”

  Only for Nell? wondered Michelle. There isn’t a small part of you that wouldn’t want me to go? Am I that forgettable? She forced herself to move off unsteady ground back to terra firma, where she was in firmer control of her emotions.

  “I assume going back to the beginning means minimizing even more time together,” she said.

  Esa nodded uncomfortably.

  “And what are we telling Nell when she asks about that?”

  “Revert to the original answer on that, I guess: that you work for us, and you and I shouldn’t have gotten involved—”

  “—but that doesn’t mean we don’t love her,” Michelle finished softly.

  Esa frowned grimly. “Right.”

  “And our personal lives?” Michelle asked, her right hand slowly crushing the wax paper bag holding the muffin.

  Esa hesitated. “I guess that’ll go back to the way it was in the beginning as well. Keep things private.”

  That’ll be fun, Michelle thought. “Anything else?”

  “No, I guess not.” Esa was looking straight ahead as he took another sip of his coffee. “As you know, I have no game tonight, so I’ll be home—”

  “I know.”

  He rose. “Michelle?”

  “What?” Christ, why prolong this agony?

  “What you said about our relationship not being ‘as deep’ . . . things don’t have to last a long time for them to be deep.”

  Michelle watched him walk away, his outline growing increasingly blurry until he was finally gone from sight.

  46

  ONE MONTH LATER

  Esa strode confidently into his agent’s office the day after scoring the second hat trick of his career in a 5-2 smackdown of New Jersey. Far from being a distraction for the team, his lack of a contract had become a distraction for management. General Manager Ty Gallagher and Coach Michael Dante refused to answer any questions about the matter, subtly letting the reporters know the situation was not of their doing. When he saw Michael Wilbon on PTI call Kidco management “idiots” for not already having signed him, he knew he’d be getting a call from his agent soon. He was right: Russ called the next morning. Being old-fashioned, Russ insisted on delivering the news face-to-face.

  Esa warmly greeted everyone in Russ’s outer office, politely asking his new assistant, Phyllis, to tell Russ that he was here. Russ went through assistants faster than kids went through Happy Meals. He was notoriously difficult to work for: demanding, and not big on paying attention to the clock.

  Phyllis told Esa to take a seat. He picked up a copy of Sports Illustrated, trying to find some hockey coverage. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Phyllis checking him out. She was one of those women who fell into the “Very Discreet” category, which made sense, considering who her boss was. Once upon a time, before he lived in Reality Land, Esa would have signaled his interest with a small, sexy smile that held the promise of getting to know each other better. She was certainly good-looking: blond, kittenish, with a cute button nose. There was just one problem: he wasn’t interested. He pretended he didn’t see her quick sideways glances and returned to burying his face in the magazine he couldn’t concentrate on.

  Russ’s door swung open ten minutes later. Esa rose with a big smile and walked over to the door, ignoring Phyllis’s long look at his ass.

  “Helluva game last night, huh?” Esa crowed, settling on Russ’s couch, crossing an ankle over his knee.

  “You were amazing,” Russ agreed.

  “Yeah, so amazing I want to hear Kidco’s offer.” Russ was silent. “C’mon, man!” Esa cajoled. “Tell me the suits didn’t call you last night with an offer.”

  “Not a word.”

  “What the fuck?” Esa wasn’t sure he’d ever become this enraged, this fast. “I’ve been busting my ass. They wanted the ‘great Esa Saari’ back? Yeah, well, unless my coaches, teammates, the GM, and the press have all been bullshitting me, apparently he’s been back in full force, and better than ever. What happened to ‘They’ll all be champing at the bit to get you’? What happened to you telling me that you’d put feelers out, but really, I shouldn’t worry, there’s no way I’ll have to seriously entertain offers from other teams?”

  Russ grimaced. “They’re flexing their muscles.”

  “What muscles do they have left to flex?” Esa snapped. “The season has gone great. They do know this shit is affecting team morale, right? They do listen to radio and watch ESPN, right? Great as we’ve been doing, the uncertainty of my future is always there in the back of my teammates’ minds, just like it’s in the back of mine. A few of them have mentioned it to me more than once.”

  “They’re all about saving money, Esa. You know that.”
>
  “Jesus Christ.” Esa laughed bitterly. “Now what?”

  Russ didn’t look too happy. “There are a bunch of teams prepared to make you serious offers.”

  “Right, okay, let’s hear them,” he said offhandedly. Why not? He could use a laugh right about now.

  Russ reached for a piece of paper on his desk. “Vancouver, Dallas, Edmonton, and Boston.”

  “How much?”

  Looking distinctly uneasy, Russ reeled off a list of figures, all of which were about the same as he was making now. “Look—”

  “No fucking way.”

  “Listen to me, Esa,” Russ said patiently. “This is all preliminary posturing. Kidco knows you want to stay here. They know you don’t want to uproot your niece. And they think your playing great might be because you’re waiting for them to make an offer.”

  Esa looked at him like he was nuts. “So you’re telling me to just sit and wait them out?”

  “Yes. I know that sucks. I’m pissed off Kidco are playing mind games, too, but if they want to take it down to the wire, then fine. I’ll let these other teams know that if Kidco fucks you, you’re seriously willing to consider their offers. Then I’ll go to Kidco and tell them I’ve got serious offers in hand for you, and that you have no intention of playing it down to the wire with them. So they either make a new offer soon, or else you’re going to be signing on the dotted line with someone else the second your current contract expires and they won’t have a chance to re-sign you. Sound good?”

  Esa nodded curtly. Part of him wished he had a normal job and led a normal life. He knew a lot of people who did, and they were perfectly content. There was just one problem: he only knew how to do one thing, and he only wanted to do one thing, and he was already doing it. He knew he’d have to retire from hockey eventually, but that was years away, and he knew that he’d always keep connected to the sport in one way or another. He hated being dicked around, and it made him especially furious that so little thought was being given to team morale by these tightfisted bean counters. We’re all just chattel to them, Esa thought disgustedly—chattel that makes them very fucking rich. The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became. The reality was, they knew they had him by the balls, unless he really was ready to walk. The question was, after all his big talk died down, was he willing to?

  * * *

  “I’d slow down if I were you, mate. You’re going to wind up under the table.”

  Esa glared at Rory and downed his sixth shot of vodka, slamming the empty glass down on the table with a bang when he was done. The two hadn’t gone out for drinks together in a long time, and Esa needed to blow off some serious steam. He didn’t want anyone else he knew seeing him in his current state of distress. So instead of going to the Hart, he and Rory wound up down in the Village at some bar that Erin had gone to with friends from NYU. It was small, hotter than hell, and packed with students, none of whom seemed to recognize them, which ticked Esa off.

  “Balls to that!” Esa declared. “Everyone thinks it’s the Irish who have mastered the art of drinking, but it’s we Finns! Proof? We have the highest rate of cirrhosis of any country in the world! Ha!” He caught the eye of the overworked waitress, who was scurrying between packed booths. He held up four fingers. She nodded, letting him know she’d seen him.

  “You’re not drinkin’ four more,” said Rory.

  “Two are for you, asshole.”

  “I already told you: I’m fine with pint number two.”

  “It’s not going to kill you to do a few shots with your best friend! Unless you’re worried you’ll never measure up because—”

  “Right, right,” said Rory with a bored roll of the eyes, “you Finns can drink the Irish under the table.”

  Esa’s shoulders shook with a small burp. “That’s right.”

  “You say it as if it’s something to be proud of!”

  “There’s isn’t much else to be proud of in Finland, unless you count fighting off the Russians, vodka, and hockey. Oh, and reindeer meat. And suicide. We have the highest suicide rate in Europe.”

  “Congratulations! The tourist industry there must be booming.”

  Esa laughed darkly. “It’s so fucking grim there, you wouldn’t believe. I knew I wanted to get out by the time I was nine years old.”

  “Well, you’re out.”

  “Yes, I am. Just pray to whomever it is you pray to that I don’t wind up back there.”

  Rory cradled his head in his hands. “Jesus Christ. D’ya need me to write it on the wall in blood? You know that’s not going to happen. You’re just ticked off that those pricks are playing mind games—and quite frankly, so am I.”

  “See?” Esa bellowed. “I told my agent, it’s not just affecting me, it’s—”

  “Lower your voice, for christssake! You never know who’s in here.”

  Esa turned around in his chair, carefully scanning the room. “Maybe it’s me, but I don’t see anyone in here who looks like a Blades fan,” he said as he turned back to Rory. “So relax.” He peered past his friend impatiently. “Where the hell is the waitress?”

  “Will you just calm the fuck down? It’s only been thirty seconds since you ordered, if that! Give the bartender a chance to pour your shots and I’m sure she’ll be over with them as soon as she can.”

  Esa grumbled to himself, enjoying the warmth in his belly. He hadn’t been this shit faced in a while. Bad for the team image. Fuck the team image.

  “The waitress is hot, don’t you think?” he offered.

  Rory shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” Esa said with a smirk. “Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you’re dead from the waist down when it comes to appreciating other women. Or are you that whipped?”

  Rory’s gaze was cold and unflinching. “If you ever say anything like that again, I will punch your oh-so-handsome face in so fast you won’t know what hit you.”

  Esa laughed dismissively. “You would never hit me.”

  “Don’t test me, Esa.”

  “Because you know you would lose.”

  Rory took a drink. “It’s amazing, you know, how you’re an even bigger arsehole drunk than when you’re sober. I didn’t think that was possible.”

  Esa gave him the finger. All he wanted to do was laugh and enjoy this feeling of his whole body being intensely alive.

  “Ah, here she comes.”

  The waitress put the four shot glasses down on the table. As she turned to go, Esa tugged on the end of her shirt. “Hey. Hey.”

  She turned, a false smile plastered on her face. “Yes? Can I get you something else?”

  “What time do you get off work?” Esa asked with his trademark smooth smile. He was working his magic. Oh yeah.

  Rory groaned. “Please ignore him,” he begged the waitress. “We’re gonna finish these drinks and then we’re going to leave, I promise you. No worries. Thank you.”

  Esa watched the waitress disappear into the crowd. “What did you do that for?” he snapped at Rory.

  “You’re drunk, you’re embarrassing yourself, you’re harassing her, and I don’t want to get chucked out of here. That enough?”

  Esa downed the first of the four vodkas. “Stop acting like an old lady. They can’t throw us out. We play for the New York Blades.”

  Rory threw his head back and laughed. “That’s the best one I’ve heard all night.” He drank one of the shots. “Look, Kidco are bastards, but they’re not going to let you go. I can’t believe you’re seriously worried about this.”

  “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, they don’t make me a good offer. That means uprooting Nell. Again.”

  “And leaving Michelle, if she’s not willing to move. That’s got you all upset, I’ll wager.”

  Esa frowned. “Michelle has nothing to do with this.”

  “Bullshit. I don’t see why you couldn’t just—”

  “Shut up.” Esa downed another shot. “Her father is the one who fucke
d it all up. Then I fucked it up further. Then it just kept getting more and more fucked up, and now it’s beyond fucked up.”

  “Quite eloquent, Esa. So what if it’s ‘beyond fucked up’? Look at me and Erin: whoever thought that would work out, eh? If you still want her—”

  “I said shut up,” Esa repeated sharply.

  Rory’s anger returned. “Don’t talk to me like that, you fucker. I’m not joking here.”

  Esa smirked. “You want to punch me? Go ahead.”

  “You know what? This stopped being fun, oh, about half an hour ago. So let’s leave.”

  Esa frowned. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “C’mon, you jackass.” Rory rose. “I mean it.”

  “Who are you, my goddamned mother?” Esa downed another shot. “I said I’m not going anywhere. If you want to leave, fine. But for me, the night’s still young.”

  “Suit yourself,” Rory said disgustedly, slapping some money down on the table. “Try not to crack your head open or drown in your own vomit, yeah?”

  Esa tauntingly held up a shot glass to Rory. “Kippis.” He threw the shot down his throat.

  Rory walked out.

  47

  Fuck you, Esa thought, as Rory walked out of the bar. His friend was getting on his nerves anyway, being boring and sanctimonious. What he wanted was fun. F.U.N. Christ only knew the last time he’d had any of that.

  He glanced around the bar at the girls. Many of them were beautiful. All he had to do was pick one, walk up to her, and start talking. Women loved accents. They’d ask him if he was from Russia. When he told them Finland, they’d look a little confused. Finland? He was amazed by how little Americans knew about the rest of the world. I play for the New York Blades, he’d say modestly. That’s when they’d get that look in their eyes, the one that said, “A professional athlete? Wow.” It was amazing, how it took just that one little fact to impress them. He’d offer to buy them a drink. If they were with a girlfriend, he’d politely offer to buy her a drink, too, but it wasn’t his job to tell the friend to get lost, at least not verbally. In his experience, the friend always got lost eventually, and he always got what he wanted. Tonight wasn’t going to be any different.