Page 44 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 11
Vivvie
Walking the few blocks to my meeting with Mary clears my head. The team is away and I need the distraction. We’re having lunch at a very small Italian restaurant I never heard of. Going into week four of our charade, and it seems meeting at Italian restaurants is becoming Mary’s and my thing. Maybe I should be concerned about gaining weight, but if anything I’ve lost weight. Probably from worrying about Finn, and about my parents finding out and . . . about Finn.
Wearing my glasses and old clothes so no one will recognize me—just in case—I push through the door of the small, fragrant trattoria. Mary is already there speaking to the portly server in Italian.
She sees me and waves me over as if I’m blind. There are only five tables in the small room that looks more like someone’s dining room than a restaurant. The man greets me in Italian and goes into what I presume is the kitchen.
“What’s with the glasses and rags?” she says.
“I’m great Mary, how about you?”
She laughs. “Getting brassy aren’t you? I’m still your boss.”
I shrug because I don’t care. I mean, I care about doing the job and I have a lot of respect for Mary, but I think she should respect me too.
“Okay, I’ll bite. How are you, little princess?”
“I’m concerned about Finn.”
“Why? What has he done? Did he make a pass at you?”
“No. He’s been a perfect gentleman.” I have a twinge about this, but it’s not a total lie. After all, I invited his… attentions. “I mean, I’m worried about his welfare.”
“Aren’t we all? That’s why we’re in this mess.”
I pick up the menu to take a look and she slips it from my hand. “I already ordered for us.”
“With the team away, I have extra time. Do you have any press releases or other assignments for me?” I’m hopeful because I can’t concentrate enough to work on my novel. A shorter piece of writing might be just the thing.
“No, but you can arrange a visit to Children’s Hospital that Finn requested to see a young boy with cancer. And you can go with him. Also rally a couple of other guys on the team to go with you.”
“That’s great. I mean—not that the boy has cancer—visiting him. Maybe we can visit other kids who are hockey fans too.”
“Whatever you want. Knock yourself out. In the meantime, Mrs. Boylston has requested your presence at a dinner party. She’s also asking lots of questions about you.”
My heart flinches. I need to stop reacting like this to that woman. I can’t let her get to me, make me nervous at the mere mention of her name.
“What did you tell her?”
The server, who’s name turns out to be Joseph, brings over two plates of frutti di mare. One plate would have been enough to feed my English Lit class. But for a hockey player, guys like my brothers and like Finn, it’s snack-size.
“I told her to back off, That I’m not the Gestapo and we don’t police the private lives of our players’ girlfriends. She thought I ought to be screening the girlfriends at least and thinks you are . . . shady, not quite right. And don’t I feel suspicious that Finn’s engaged to someone out of nowhere, just weeks after propositioning her. ‘How serious could he possibly be?’” Mary mimics Sherry’s voice, making her sound like a shrew, and I can’t help smiling.
“Mrs. Boylston has a very suspicious mind likely because she’s not a very . . . forthright person herself, I suspect.”
“You mean she’s a fucking lying, cheating bitch, don’t you?” Mary says.
I laugh, though I cover my mouth as if I shouldn’t find that so funny.
“Well put,” I say, deciding Mrs. Boylston deserves the derision. “Can I ask you something? You may not know, since as you said, you’re not the Gestapo and you don’t keep tabs on people around the players, but—”
“Don’t misunderstand, Vivvie. That’s what I told Mrs. Boylston, but in actuality, I’m like the Gestapo General. Ask away.” I should be concerned, but I know by now Mary is half bluster.
“What do you know about Finn’s mother?”
Mary pauses and studies me like she always does, like she’s measuring me and calculating what to say and what not to say, as if she ever holds back. Which she doesn’t.
