by Cooper, Doug
Penny was happy in St. Louis. It was the perfect-sized city for her. Still a small Midwest town, but with all the benefits of a big city. Next in her sights was the weekend sports anchor, followed by the same job but during the week. The only other thing she would have even considered moving for would have been if ESPN or one of the other national networks came calling. But Alec Baudin changed all that.
Penny and Alec had first met while she was covering the Blues. Alec was on an incredible hot streak. He had just completed his fourth consecutive shutout, and would be attempting to tie the NHL record of five set by Brian Boucher back in the 2003–04 season. Penny had been trying to get an interview since after the second game, but Alec refused, fearful he might jeopardize his streak. After the third game, he even stopped returning her texts.
Alec had been a journeyman goaltender the first six years of his career, never staying with a team more than two years. But this was his third year in St. Louis and first as their number one goaltender, and with the way he was playing, his agent assured him a long-term contract was coming in the near future.
Just as his repeated denials on the ice only encouraged his opponents more, his refusals made Penny more determined. But it was more than the declined interviews that sunk the hook and drew her in. It was that no one seemed to know much about Alec Baudin. Off the ice, he kept to himself. On the ice, the only thing you could see under his equipment were his magnetic green eyes, which fired a gaze out of his mask like a missile tracking device, locating the puck and eliminating the threat before it even got close. His combination of grace and physicality melted something deep inside her. She knew she wanted more than an interview.
In the third period against the Calgary Flames during the record-tying fifth game, Alec had denied all twenty-two shots. Unfortunately the Flames goaltender was also perfect, twenty-four for twenty-four. With a minute and a half to play, the Blues had a two-on-one break. The puck bounced back and forth between the players, sending the crowd to their feet. The Blues left wing faked the shot. The Flames defender laid out flat, skidding across the ice. The left wing slapped it across to the right wing. One-on-one with the goaltender, he showed the puck to the right then brought it back to the center. The goaltender split his legs, dropping his crotch to the ice, eliminating the five-hole. In one fluid motion, the Blues player backhanded it toward the goal, above the goaltender’s outstretched arm. The puck clanked off the left post, careening into the corner. A collective groan rippled through the sold-out crowd.
Unfortunately that was as close as the Blues would get the rest of the night. The scoreless game went to overtime, and midway through the first extra period, a deflected shot ricocheted off one of the Flames’ skates and trickled in just past Alec’s outstretched glove, bringing the shutout streak to an end. Alec had missed the record books by less than an inch.
Out of respect for how close Alec had been to setting the goal, Penny didn’t even attempt an interview after the game. The fans were crushed. She was heartbroken. She couldn’t even imagine how Alec felt.
Down on the ice, she prepared for the postgame broadcast in front of the goal to show everyone where the missed Blues’ shot hit, and how close Alec had come to tying the record. While reviewing her notes, awaiting the go-ahead from the station, her phone vibrated with a new text message in her pocket.
Still want that interview?
She typed back:
If you feel up to it. Just getting ready to go on. Come out whenever you’re ready.
Unsure when or if Alec would actually show, Penny started her broadcast: “Emotions and expectations were high tonight as the Blues faced the Calgary Flames at the Scottrade Center, and fans were not disappointed as Alec Baudin went for his fifth straight shutout and a place in the record books with Brian Boucher for most consecutive shutouts. Tonight both goaltenders put on a show, with Baudin stopping twenty-seven shots and Miikka Kiprusoff from the Flames saving twenty-seven. But tonight’s game came down to two ricochets in the goal directly behind me.
“With only a minute and a half in regulation, David Perron intercepted a pass and had a two-on-one break with Fritjof Stridh. After some back and forth, Perron got the defender to commit and flipped the puck to Stridh, leaving him one-on-one with Kiprusoff. Stridh faked right and came back left with a backhand that hit off the left post and was recovered by the Flames.”
Penny could feel Alec’s gaze burning through her. She followed it into the shadows, staring at him momentarily. With the camera lights shining in her face, she hadn’t noticed that he had come out on the ice and was standing, watching the broadcast. She had never seen him out of his pads before. “I’m joined here on the ice by the man of the hour, Alec Baudin.” Alec walked into the shot. His glowing green eyes ignited a spark within her, and his kind smile gently fanned the flames.
The producer buzzed in her ear. “Penny, ask a question.”
She blinked a few times and swallowed hard, regaining her focus. “So, two shots in this one goal. One a near miss and the other an unlucky bounce. How do you feel after coming so close to the record books?”
“Like we say in Canada, close counts only in curling and hand grenades.” Alec flashed a wry smile.
Penny laughed politely, unsure if that was a real saying or if he was making a joke. She said, “But to know you were so close has to sting a little.”
“The only part that stings is that we lost. I’m pleased to have had four straight wins, and grateful to have been in the position to go for the record. The team has been playing great in front of me, and I’ve benefited from some fortunate bounces during the stretch. I was due to catch a few bad ones.”
“After a streak like this ends, what do you do? How do you come back and get ready for the next game?”
“I’m a creature of habit,” Alec said. “I’ll do the same thing I always do after a game. I look forward to a nice meal, unwinding a bit, and getting a good night’s sleep. In the morning, we’ll watch the film and get ready for the next game. The secret is in the simple.”
Penny turned back to the camera. “Well there you have it, Blues fans. Keeping it simple at the Scottrade Center, I’m Penny Market. Back to you in the studio.”
The camera light dimmed. Penny handed the mic to the cameraman. Still uneasy and unsure what to say to Alec, she steadied her nerves with a deep breath and turned back to face him. “I really appreciate your coming down for the interview. Probably not your first choice after a heartbreaking loss. Sorry for pestering you so much lately.”
“I’m the one who should apologize for not responding. You were just doing your job.”
“Well, I don’t blame you. I’m like a dog with a chew toy. I won’t give up until it’s in pieces.”
Alec grinned. “You know, when I said I was looking forward to a nice meal, I meant with you.”
His invitation stoked the smoldering fire inside her. Sparks shot to her extremities, warming her hands and feet. The surrounding ice tempted her. She wanted to lie flat and feel the cold on her flushed skin. “Tonight? I mean, I ate some stuff in the press box, but I could still eat.” The words tumbled out of her like rocks down a mountain, each unconnected and following an unknown course. She was blowing it. She wanted to just say no, to make up some excuse and run away before she made an even bigger fool of herself.
“Or maybe another night,” he said, dropping his eyes to the ice. “I’m sorry, maybe I crossed a line.”
His vacillation quieted her unrest. Comfort replaced the searing heat. She wanted to go. She wanted to be next to him.
Dow Jones Close: 10,005.96
Chapter Five
Date: Sunday, October 7, 2012
Dow Jones Open: Closed
Les raised his arms to the congregation in the half-full Sunday afternoon mass. “The mass is ended. Go in peace.”
The parishioners responded, “Thanks be to God,
” and launched into the recessional hymn.
Les rotated toward the altar to perform the final blessing. The altar boys assembled behind him. At the conclusion of the blessing, Les faced the congregation and followed the boys in the procession out of the church. The congregation filled in the aisle behind him.
Once outside, Les blessed each of the boys and released them to their duties. He stopped the two oldest. “Lucas, Malcolm, you two make sure the younger boys hang up their robes and all the candles are out, and then clean up the sanctuary and pulpit.”
Lucas and Malcolm nodded in unison. “Yes, Father.”
Les went outside in front of the church to greet parishioners as they filed out, offering blessings, shaking hands, and exchanging pleasantries.
A Puerto Rican woman in her mid-thirties approached with three children in reluctant tow and a husband who clearly wanted to be there just about as much. The woman said, “You still coming over for Sunday dinner and to bless the new house?”
Les rubbed the top of the youngest boy’s head. “You know I wouldn’t miss a chance for some of your cooking, Mrs. Rivera.” He extended his hand to Mr. Rivera. “Congratulations on the new house. A blessing well deserved.”
“Gracias, Father. We look forward to having you.” He turned to his wife. “Voy a traer el carro.”
Les said, “I’m just going to freshen up and will be over in an hour or so.” He smiled and excused himself to greet some other families waiting on the perimeter.
After the last of the parishioners departed, Les walked back into the church and went to the sacristy. Malcolm and Lucas were cleaning the communion vessels in the sacrarium. They always did mass together and had been best friends since second grade when Malcolm’s family immigrated from Jamaica to be closer to his mom’s sister and her family, who were also members of the parish. Les removed his vestments, taking special care to store each accessory in its proper drawer and hang the alb and cope in the cabinet. Malcolm and Lucas stood by, remaining quiet.
Les said, “Double-check all the candles for me, will you, boys? I’ll be gone the rest of the afternoon at the Riveras’.”
Malcolm said, “Of course, Father.”
“Thank you,” Les said. “Nice service today. Good job.” He left and went to the rectory next to the church.
After a shower and change into the less formal black clerical shirt and pants worn outside of church, Les gathered the objects he planned to take with him: some prayer cards for the children, a new Bible for the parents, and the container with the holy water for the blessing. Going to homes and interacting with the parishioners on a more personal basis was what he really enjoyed about the priesthood. He felt too disconnected when conducting mass and functioning as a figurehead of the Church. He needed more human contact. Holding up the container of holy water, he noticed it was running low. He would need to stop back at the church and top it off before leaving.
In the church, no one was in the main room of the sacristy. He assumed Malcolm and Lucas had finished and gone home. Placing the Bible and prayer cards on the counter, he walked toward the holy water font. Voices dribbled in from the servers’ room. He called out. “Malcolm? Lucas?” He headed toward the room.
Malcolm, wearing only a white T-shirt, with his underwear around his ankles, was sitting on the bench in front of the servers’ cabinets. Lucas was on his knees between Malcolm’s legs, wearing only underwear and socks. An open bottle of church wine rested on the bench next to them.
Les froze in the doorway. “Boys!”
Lucas jerked back in shock, his head jolting toward the door. Malcolm grasped for his underwear, turning away from Les. He knocked over the bottle, smashing it on the floor. Wine spilled in all directions.
Les composed himself. “Get dressed immediately. I’ll wait for you in the sacristy.” He turned to go, then turned back. “And please watch out for the glass.”
A few minutes later, heads down, Malcolm and Lucas shuffled out of the servers’ room. Les had set up three folding metal chairs in a triangle in the middle of the room. He was sitting with his hands folded in his lap, facing the other two chairs. He motioned in their direction. “Have a seat.”
The boys slid into the chairs, their eyes fixed on the floor.
Les said, “What do you have to say for yourselves?”
Still looking down, as if performing another part of a mass ritual, they said in unison, “We’re sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Les asked. “Sorry for stealing the wine, for abusing what is intended for the sacrament? Sorry for taking advantage of the trust placed in you by this congregation? Sorry for succumbing to temptation in the house of God?”
Tears streamed down Lucas’s freckled face. “For all of it, Father. We weren’t thinking.”
Malcolm looked up, finally connecting his eyes with Les’s. “Please don’t tell our parents.” Not a drop of sadness or regret filled Malcolm’s eyes, only fear. “My dad will kill me,” he said, his eyes dropping back to the floor.
Les released a long, calming breath. Tears continued to flow from both boys. “For now, we can keep this between us until I determine the best course of action. Of course there will be punishment.”
Lucas wiped his eyes and nose with the backside of his hand in a back and forth motion. “Absolutely. Whatever it takes, Father. We’ll scrub the floors, pews, anything.”
Malcolm chimed in. “We’re so sorry. I promise. It won’t happen again.”
“I’m sure you are,” Les said. “For now, let’s get that glass and wine cleaned up. I’m running late for the Riveras’ house blessing.”
Lucas said, “We can manage, Father. You go ahead. We don’t want you to be late on account of us.”
“I think it’s best if we do it together.” Les stood from his chair. The boys followed, their gaze returning to the floor. He reached out and lifted their chins to make eye contact again. “Head up, boys. Of course I expect to see you both at confession this week.”
Dow Jones Close: Closed
Chapter Six
Date: Monday, December 9, 2013
Dow Jones Open: 16,019.49
Max sat at his desk reviewing a profit and loss projection in his office in the basement of the Lapkin factory on Eleventh Street in downtown Vegas. The hum of the machines cutting, sewing, and packing the completed Lapkins on the production floor above could be heard through the ceiling. He knew it was probably time to move the offices to a new, nicer location, but he liked being close to the operation.
Jules, his head of Human Resources, walked in holding a document. She had joined the company as an intern when they moved the operation from his apartment in Henderson and hired their first crew of workers. It was only nineteen months ago, but a lot had happened in that time. Max had always liked and respected her because of her authenticity. She was extremely professional but still always found a way to let her personality and style come through, like her outfit that day. She had on a leopard camisole underneath a tailored two-button black jacket with red plastic rectangular glasses that accented the auburn highlights in her long, straight blond hair. It was all so subtle but unique. He could tell there was a real person in there, one he could trust. She handed him the paper that she had brought with her. “Looked over the press release draft. Made a few suggestions, but overall, you’re good to go.”
Max motioned for her to have a seat in one of the three chairs in front of his desk, glancing at the changes in the document. “You sure it’s not too over-the-top?”
“Isn’t everything you do, Max?” Jules said, sitting down in the middle chair. “But in this case, I think it’s well deserved. You should be proud of what you achieved.”
“We should be proud,” Max said. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Remember when we hired that first crew? We had no idea what we were doing.”
“You’re saying we do now?” Ju
les laughed, taking off her glasses and sliding them into the breast pocket of her jacket.
Max opened his bottom right desk drawer and removed a bottle of aged armagnac and two snifters. “Celebrate with a drink? Been saving this bottle for a special occasion.”
“Are you asking the head of HR to have a drink in the office?”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Max said, pouring two glasses and sliding one across the desk to her. He held up his glass, proposing a toast. “To the McLapkin.”
They touched glasses and sipped the twenty-year-old brandy, swapping stories about those early days. Each swallow, they felt warmer and more open. Despite the trust and respect between the two, they really didn’t know much about each other. That was the way Max liked it. He was always so focused on the future, he didn’t see the point in talking about the past.
“Max?” Jules said, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol. She placed her empty snifter on the desk.
“What’s on your mind?” Max said, adding more armagnac to her glass. Usually he was closed off to people, but with the McDonald’s deal closed and the announcement about to be made, he was relaxed and feeling loose.