Brandon’s car was parked right in front of Greta’s apartment building. “I couldn’t find the parking lot…”
“It’s right in the back…” Greta pointed.
“Oh, well. We’re leaving right away, so I thought it’d be OK.” Greta grabbed her purse and her cell phone, checking for messages. None. She’d sent a text to April, telling her of her big night out at the Banquet, but April did not respond.
Quite a few residents of the apartment stood near the door, staring at the big vehicle. Greta thought she saw some people looking out their windows. They wanted to see who owned that brand new car.
A young man saw Brandon open the door for Greta. “Hey. Are you a big shot or something?” He asked Brandon.
“I certainly hope so,” he replied, as he climbed into his car.
Brandon drove fast, anxious to reach the banquet hall.
“You found my place with no problem.”
“No problem at all. I know where you work, and it’s not that far. I know the south side pretty well.” He didn’t mention to Greta that he’d driven past her workplace the day before, wishing to see her, watch her work, but then he changed his mind.
Zach and Lauren—back together again-- were already at the open bar when Brandon and Greta walked in. “Hey, Sparky! Here we are!”
“Why does he call you Sparky?”
That was something Brandon hadn’t told her yet. Then Zach came to his buddy.
“Hi, I’m Zach. And this is my girlfriend Lauren. Nice to meet you.” He shook Greta’s hand.
Zach stood a bit shorter than Brandon, but was built like a fire plug. Some coach had told him years ago that he was too small to play hockey, so he built himself up, keeping up a regimen that continued through his career with the Ice Bandits. Lauren was tiny and dark, with sparkling eyes and a wide smile.
Lauren was obviously happy to meet another female in the Ice Bandits family. She took Greta’s arm and whispered, “I remember you from picking up Brandon at the airport. You must have a funny schedule.”
“Kind of. I usually work days. I’m a jewelry designer and engraver.”
“My schedule is goofy too. I’m a flight attendant for Chicago Air.”
“That sounds interesting. How do you like it?”
The guys went to get drinks for themselves and their dates.
“It’s a pretty good job. You meet a lot of people. But it sure tires you out, and sometimes the schedule is crazy. How do you like your work?”
. Lauren seemed interested in Greta’s work and asked her a lot of questions about rings and settings. She also had a lot to tell Greta about the other players and their significant others.
“Wait till you meet Dale’s wife. Dale Wallace.” Greta didn’t recognize the name, but Lauren went on, “I don’t think she ever worked a day in her life.”
Dale’s wife, the former model, wore a glittery dress that looked like a chandelier. Her hair was the color of white out. She never stopped smiling, a broad smile that showed off her dental implants; she had more tooth replacements than Kyle MacDonald. Greta wondered what other kind of implants she had.
Greta didn’t know any hockey players, current or old-time, so she couldn’t be impressed with her company. Brandon clearly had stars in his eyes as he looked around the room and pointed out the former NHL stars who had come to this event.
“Look, Greta. Remember him? The star goalie from the last Stanley Cup team.”
Greta didn’t know him from Adam.
Brandon was thrilled beyond words when he learned he’d be seated next to Duncan MacQuarrie, a Hall of Fame defenseman who’d been Brandon’s hero. “This is it, Greta. This is the one person I’ve always wanted to meet. Best defenseman of his time. His name is on the Stanley Cup, three times. And when I visited the Hockey Hall of Fame, his exhibit was the first one I looked for.” He was as excited to meet his hero as the kids in the hospital were excited to meet him.
Greta watched this Duncan MacQuarrie. He walked a little stooped over, and his face looked like granite. He spoke little.
When Kyle asked for his autograph, Duncan scribbled his name on a napkin, without looking up, and walked away.
Well, Brandon looked up to this guy. Maybe he’ll mellow as the night went on, she thought.
Dinner was served. Strip steak, whipped potatoes, seasonal vegetables.
Greta cut her steak. Nice and pink. Brandon’s was so pink it was almost red, the way he liked his steaks. But he picked at his food, waiting to hear every pearl of wisdom out of Duncan MacQuarrie’s mouth.
“Cold potatoes again,” Duncan complained. “Every time I go to one of these affairs, they serve cold mashed potatoes. How hard is it to cook the potatoes properly?”
Brandon asked Duncan a question about a certain play he’d perfected during his time in pro hockey. Greta didn’t understand hockey, let alone the little nuances that made up the game, but she could tell Duncan was not amused by the question. He mumbled something, then took another bite of his cold potatoes.
Zach, seated across from Duncan, asked him about how it felt to see his name on Lord Stanley’s Cup, and what he did on his day with the Cup.
“Is there a waiter around?” Duncan growled. “These potatoes are lumpy, too. What kind of place is this? Lumpy potatoes.”
Lauren smothered a laugh, and Zach caught it. He tried not to smile too.
Then Greta cut a piece of her steak, and announced, “My steak isn’t lumpy. It’s just right.”
Brandon and Zach laughed out loud.
“I wonder what’s for dessert?” Lauren asked, grinning.
“Maybe something cold, to go with the potatoes.” Greta grinned back.
The rest of the night was lighthearted and fun, as the couples ignored the one grump and spoke of Zach’s failed attempt at cooking dinner for Lauren, Brandon’s inability to boil water, and Greta’s mother with her toaster. They didn’t speak of hockey, but they talked about things that they all had in common, and shared a lot of laughs.
Duncan MacQuarrie left for parts unknown before dessert was served.
“He’s missing something good. Chocolate mousse with whipped cream.” Brandon took a big forkful.
“Maybe he’d find a problem with this too. It’s not real whipped cream or something.” Greta tasted hers. “It sure tastes real to me. And delicious.”
As dessert was consumed, and coffee was poured, some of the guests began to get up and mingle with the crowd. Brandon found Kyle MacDonald and his date, and introduced Greta.
Kyle and his girl were friendly, like anyone you’d meet at a party or a get-together.
“I see you had the privilege of sitting with Duncan MacQuarrie,” said Kyle.
Brandon smiled. “All he did was complain. And then it got funny. Leave it to Greta to keep things light.”
Kyle told the story of how he asked for an autograph, and how MacQuarrie
snubbed him. “And I’m a player. I’m an NHL player, not just some fan he ran into on the street. And he all but farted me off.” The usually easygoing Kyle had been upset about his encounter with the old-time hockey star.
This banquet also attracted its share of Ice Bandits fans. There were always a few who got wind of special team events and managed to snag tickets, or passes, or get into the affair some other way. These fans usually stared at the Ice Bandits, as if the players were exotic chimpanzees at Lincoln Park Zoo. And some of them asked questions with all the tact of a paparazzi.
One of these fans followed Brandon into the men’s room. He asked for his autograph. Brandon asked him, “What do you expect me to sign with?”
Greta lost track of how much wine she’d drunk. But she never felt better in her life. Here she was, among other people her age, having a good time and laughing and making a new friend, Lauren.
As the end of the evening approached, and some of the players and fans began to leave, Greta had a big idea.
She’d ask Brandon to come home with her.
Greta hadn’t dated much in her younger years. She was too busy with school and developing her art. She’d had only one serious boyfriend, the one who’d come over and watch TV. And he wasn’t too serious about finding employment.
How did she ever get mixed up with that guy, she wondered as she watched Brandon talking to other players.
Brandon was tall and good-looking. He was serious about his work, at an early age. He was dedicated and fun to be with.
Greta knew she’d found a keeper.
Now was the time to ask him to come home with her, when the idea stood fresh in her mind and before she lost her nerve.
She approached Brandon just as he left a group of former Ice Bandits players. A bunch of fans swarmed the old-timers to ask for autographs.
Greta asked Brandon her big question.
Brandon couldn’t believe it. He didn’t expect this.
But he could not turn down a pretty girl, much less one like Greta.
They took their leave as the party was winding down.
She gave the limo driver her address, and they were on their way to Greta’s apartment.
Greta closed the door behind them, and looked at Brandon.
Well fed and well drunk, but not really drunk. Brandon felt warm from the dinner with his teammates and hockey stars. Maybe his favorite player wasn’t the person he’d imagined, but he had his beloved game, and his friends, good friends.
Including a beautiful girlfriend.
Without a doubt, Greta had been the best-looking woman in the place. Even Dale’s wife, the overdone model, and Daina Snarskis, cited by fans as the most beautiful Ice Bandits wife, could not compete with Greta Patton on this night. Even gruff Duncan MacQuarrie stole a few glances at her, when he wasn’t bitching about his cold potatoes.
“You look so lovely, Greta.” Brandon came closer. He looked into her smoky green eyes. “When I saw you in that dress…”
“Let’s not talk anymore.” Greta kissed him. She wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him again.
Her sudden move almost took his breath away. But even when he was surprised, the best defenseman in the game knew he had to respond, to live up to what the moment demanded.
Greta and Brandon held each other, embracing tightly, and kissed each other.
Brandon had seen fire in the eyes of his teammates. But this was the first time he had plainly seen desire in the eyes of a beautiful woman. This was a woman who wanted him for himself, not because he wore a uniform and could buy her expensive trinkets.
She paid her own way. And as for expensive trinkets, well, she was a jewelry expert and worked with gold and diamonds all the time. She saw expensive items in the course of her work.
Greta slowly unbuttoned Brandon’s shirt. “You look so different out of uniform.”
He flashed a wicked grin. “Yes, I told you before. I look very different when I’m not wearing my uniform.”
She blushed, and tried to hide her face. “I didn’t mean…”
“I know what you mean, Greta.” He gently cupped her face in his hands. “Look at me, Greta.”
The big strong hockey player kissed his girl as tenderly as he could.
“Please stay with me, Brandon. I want you to. Stay with me tonight.”
Brandon had taken part in this game before. This was between two people, and much more intense than any hockey game could ever be. This particular match was a special game, where more was at stake than the final tally.
Dressing up for this game, with shin pads and shoulder pads and helmets, was not the way to go. Dressing down was the way. And it was a big part of this game to help each other with this task. Dressing down, with less and less to wear, until nothing was left. Brandon and Greta were born with everything they needed to take part in this game.
In this game, speed was not of utmost importance. Instead, taking it slow was the way to play. Taking your time and finding what worked best, and what worked better yet. And staying with that game plan, even as the tension built, as the excitement grew. And not being in a hurry to finish the game. You knew by watching your partner, paying attention to her reactions and responses, and the way she did the same for you.
The game was so much better when the two partners both wanted to do their best for each other. Giving and taking, not all taking. Each to the other. Past experience did not matter. And it didn’t matter how many times a partner had taken part in this game before. All that mattered was here and now, that the two participants had found each other, and they were together for the first time. They were playing this game in their own unique way, with their own actions and reactions.
Participating in this game with a new partner was a thrilling experience. No game films, no wondering how the other team worked, or what they did to stay in shape. In this game, you knew what worked just by your own feelings. And your partner’s feelings made the game that much more worthwhile and that much more exciting. Maybe you were in this game situation before, and you knew what worked, but a different approach sometimes worked even better.
And once you found what worked best, you stayed there, and kept at it. And kept at it some more. Instead of fighting an opponent, you gave in to your partner. You weren’t afraid to surrender, and give your all.
Flashy plays weren’t always the way, and selfish play was not the way this time. Sometimes it was. Often it was, with some of the men who played this game. But not this time. Not with a special partner as Brandon picked this time around.
No big crowds, or lights, or fans screaming. This was just the two participants, Brandon and Greta, in the dark of her room. Sometimes he would speak low. Sometimes she would call his name. No crowd chanting, “We want Brandon.” Only one voice speaking softly, “I want you, Brandon.”
And when this game finally concluded, the two participants did not go their own separate ways. They stayed right where they were, each clinging to the other, who made the game possible, and who made it the best experience the two partners ever had.
Chapter 9.
“Now I want this really special. This is for my daughter when she gets married, so I need this by June tenth.”
Greta’s customer stood over her, dictating every detail she wanted in her bracelet order. That was good. She couldn’t give the customers what the wanted, if they didn’t know what they wanted. But this one was something else.
“She’s actually getting married June 27th. But I give a different date, just in case the work is delayed or it isn’t ready on time. My daughter did that with her bridesmaid dresses. She told the seamstress she was getting married two weeks before she…”
“Let me get this straight. You want fancy engraving. You like elaborate designs, not simple. And what kind of stone?” Greta wrote an outline of the project on a sheet of white paper, drawing a preliminary sketch of the bracelet she would create.
The customer had a face like a gargoyle. She carried a purse decorated with hearts and symbols, and the legend “peace and love.”
“Well. My daughter’s birthstone is an amethyst. She was born in February. Her favorite color is purple, anyway. Now my birthday is in November, and my birthstone is topaz. It’s a yellow color, and…”
I don’t care what month you were born, Greta thought. I am doing this bracelet for your daughter. And if you’d quit yakking so much, I could do my job and you would get your order that much quicker.
The gargoyle tapped her finger on Greta’s note paper. “More like a swirl, not like this. This looks like a corkscrew pasta. I want it elegant. My daughter is elegant, and her wedding will be too.”
Greta smothered a laugh.
After fifteen more minutes of back-and-forth, the gargoyle left a deposit and went on her way. Greta was glad to see her go. Customers always wanted things their way, of course; but this one was so demanding. Greta wondered what she was like with her daughter, planning her wedding.
The main door opened, and Brandon Taylor strode in.
“Hey, look who’s here!
You missed a fun customer.”
Brandon looked around the main floor of South Side Precious Metals, the two men buying gold—who were just sitting now—another jeweler who was setting a stone, and Greta, with her scribbled notes in front of her.
“Busy day?”
“Not really. I have a few projects to work on. But business has been kind of slow since the holidays.” She didn’t want to mention Mr. Blakely’s meeting, when he hinted at layoffs and bad times.
“Can you tear yourself away for a few minutes? I need some lunch. And some good company. I’m starved. We had quite a workout this morning.”
Greta glanced at the clock. “Quarter to twelve! Where did the morning go?” She was not a clock-watcher, but she was wrapped up in her orders and the gargoyle.
And she’d sent one more text to April, one more attempt to apologize, with no response.
Mr. Blakely entered the main room and saw Greta’s guest.
“Brandon Taylor? Is that you? Good to see you. I’m Thomas Blakely, the owner of this joint.” He extended his hand, and Brandon shook it.
“Nice game against Vancouver. You played them tough.”
“We like to play that team. It’s a challenge.” Brandon looked around at the main room, the work areas where the engravers, like Greta, sat and did their work. There were three tables set up where the workers appraised the gold and silver that the customers brought in, and a desk in the back where the accountant worked. That desk was cluttered and piled with paperwork, two phones, and a big desktop computer that looked about ten years old.
“Come in the back conference room,” Mr. Blakely told Brandon. “Treat today. We ordered Italian beef from that restaurant around the corner. And you are more than welcome to join us, Brandon.”
Greta wasn’t sure if Brandon wanted to stay, or if he liked Italian beef, but he walked ahead of her into the conference room. “That sounds really good, Mr. Blakely.”
“You can call me Tom.”
“But Greta calls you Mr. Blakely.” He winked, and sat down on a folding chair in the huge, sunny conference room.
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