Chapter Three
I fell asleep where I lay, and woke up the next morning with a start to the light trickling in through the windows- I sat up straight, fumbling for my phone in my pocket and squinting at the screen. Thank God- it was only seven. I forced myself up, and made my way over to the cupboards, hoping I’d find something vaguely edible inside. No such luck- they were bare, and I had made my way through all the snacks I’d packed for the trip a long time ago. My stomach grumbled, but I forced myself into a shower before I went out. I wanted to look presentable for my first day on this job. I had worked in sports reporting long enough to know that if you were dealing with dudes, you wanted to look as presentable as possible. It was amazing what they would say to a pretty girl- especially when they didn’t realize that she was the journalist their manager warned them about.
I blew out my hair, dabbed on a little make-up, and pulled on some smart clothes- a shirt and a pressed pair of narrow pants with polished black pumps. The only mirror in the place was a tiny square in the bathroom, and I had to jump up and down to see what I looked like- I could see the dark rings under my eyes, a reminder that I’d spent the whole night dreaming about Joel. Other than that, I felt like I looked pretty good. I grabbed a hair tie and pulled back my brown-black hair into a high pony. I felt my most at home with a hairstyle that kept it all out of my face, so I could focus on taking notes. I grabbed my Dictaphone and my notebook, and headed out the door- barely remembering to pick up my new keys as I did so.
There was a small coffee shop around the corner from my new apartment, and I gratefully ducked inside and ordered a latte and a slice of toast. I wasn’t hungry, but the last thing I wanted was to pass out in front of my new charges the first time I met them. The caffeine perked me up, and I forced down the dry toast while I stared out the window, taking in my new home.
I’d never not lived in a city before. My entire life, I’d grown up around the hustle and bustle of things and people and places- Kingstown was the first time I’d ever lived anywhere with a population of less than fifty thousand. I observed the people walking by outside, wondering if this was how I should start my article- with commentary on the smallness of the place, on the fact that only a handful of community members were outside at this time in the morning. In an hour or so, I imagined that this place would flood with parents getting their kids to school before they hurried off to work, but for now, I found it quite relaxing to peer out the window and wonder what everyone was up to, where they were going. Maybe I was even looking at one of the players or coaches I’d be interviewing somewhere down the line. I hadn’t had a lot of time to do research on the team before I came out-I read the press release and a couple of local sports reports on the subject, but that was pretty much it. I had no idea who I was looking for or who the big stars were in the Kingstown Crows.
I finished up my coffee at a leisurely place, glad that I had woken up early enough to take my time. I double-checked the address of the stadium where I was headed, hopped in my car, and began to make the long drive across town.
I was glad, in some ways, that so much had happened in the run-up to me coming out here. It had taken my mind off the fact that I was nervous- fucking terrified, if I was being honest with myself. I had never taken on a project this big before in my life, and it was starting to get to me. My career could get a massive boost from this, or it could come crashing down around my ears if they felt as though I’d written something too fluffy or not in-depth enough. As I pulled up to the stadium, I closed my eyes and reached for my Dictaphone, wrapping my fingers around the cold metal and plastic- it fit with a comforting familiarity into my hands, and I took a deep breath in an attempt to steady myself. I knew I was probably over-thinking this, but I needed to keep calm. The last thing I wanted was for these guys to think I was nothing more than a hysterical woman- it was a response you didn’t see as much these days, but once in a while I’d have to face up to some asshole who thought that they sent the replacement reporter out when I walked through the door.
I strode into the stadium, and found myself facing a receptionist behind a glass panel.
“Hi, Emily Tennison, I’m…?”
Before I could finish my sentence, the receptionist was waving me through with a polite smile.
“Mr Mapplethorpe is waiting for you in his office,” she nodded down the hall, through a pair of slightly faded blue doors. I nodded my thanks at her and made my way down the corridor, finding myself face-to-face with an office door emblazoned with “Johnson Mapplethorpe.”
There’s a small-town name, if I ever heard one, I thought to myself, hesitating for a split second behind I rapped my knuckles on the door. I heard a rustling inside, and a few seconds later, the door opened. Behind it stood a man about the age of my father, almost a full foot taller than me, with dark hair peppered with grey and a kind if no-bullshit expression on his face.
“Miss Tennison?” He stepped aside so I could make my way into his office. I waved my hand at him politely.
“Please, call me Emily,” I replied, looking around the office- it was papered with newspaper cuttings and pictures, most of them taken from about thirty years ago (which, as I remembered in that instant, was the last time the Crows had any real success)- but a handful of them, the ones closest to his desk, very recent shots. He sat down with a small grunt, and I took my seat opposite him.
“So, the newspaper sent you, right?” He confirmed, and I nodded.
“That’s right.”
He eyed me suspiciously for a moment, then shook his head and took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment.
“Sorry if I seem standoffish,” he commented. “I just didn’t ever think we’d be notable enough to get a reporter round here for a whole month, you know?”
I laughed, and pulled out my Dictaphone, placing it on the table between us.
“You’ve signed all the release forms, right?” I confirmed, my finger hovering over the play button, and he nodded.
“Yeah.”
I began my recording, leaning towards him slightly over the table. This was the side of journalism I loved; I had started off terrified by it, convinced that I was going to fuck things up and manage to ask some question that would get me kicked out- or, worse, clam up entirely and end up not asking an interesting question at all.
“So, when did you start coaching for the Crows?”
The conversation flowed naturally from there- I was surprised at how talkative he was. Most of the coaches I’d encountered had been a little more defensive, a little more careful about what came out of their mouths- I guessed that his inexperience with the press made him a bit more chatty, and I didn’t mind one little bit. He spoke easily and happily on his history with the club, from player to coach, and I found myself growing fond of him even over the course of the conversation- he was smart and sharp, even if he was a little naïve about what the big leagues might mean for them.
An hour of conversation flew by like it was nothing, and he looked down at his watch.
“Shit,” he cursed, and then held up his hand in apology. “The guys’ll be here any second. You want to wait out on the court and I’ll introduce you?”
“Sure thing,” I agreed, following him as he opened the door for me and then led me down the corridor to the pitch. The place was a little run-down and in need of a new coat of paint, but it had a nice atmosphere- warm and communal. I took seat in one of the seats closest to the pitch and pulled out my notebook, hoping something interesting would happen, something that would give me the hook I needed to get things going.
After a few minutes, Johnson reappeared, this time followed by a ragtag line-up of fifteen or so guys. I didn’t recognize any of them from the cuttings I’d received in my press pack- except one. I couldn’t place his name, but I remembered his face- peppered with a little dark stubble, dark eyes peering out from a pale face. I couldn’t see his hair under his helmet, but I remembered it being dark and thick. He stood a little taller than me, and even under his armor I could tell that he was relatively slim. I frowned slightly, making a mental note to re-read all my notes so I had a better idea of who I was looking at when I got back to my apartment.
Training began, and Johnson started by getting all of them to run drills-little two-versus-two games, some ball control, some stick control. I could tell that he was showing off a little, making sure I knew what his team could do- I had seen it so many times before when I came to cover a team, the coach wanting to make sure that I left with a nigh-on perfect opinion of his team’s skill. And they were good, I had to admit- I had covered my local hockey team when I was back in college, and watching them practice brought me straight back to how that felt. How grown-up and new it all was back then. I tucked my hands into my pockets-now that was one thing I had forgotten, how fucking cold it always was at places like this. No surprise, thanks to the hundred or so feet off ice sharing the room with us, but still.
A training match started up, with Johnson calling direction from the sidelines, and the guy I’d noticed before- there was a reason they’d pushed him so much in the press pack, obviously. He was good. Really good. Fast, aggressive, moving up the left side of the field like it was nothing. He made it all look so easy- I found myself watching his every move, focusing in on the way his stick darted across the ice, the way he seemed to square up to his teammates before plunging past them and putting another goal away. Yeah, this was just training, but the boy had real talent.
Before long, training seemed to come to an end- I’d scrawled down a few notes as it went by, mostly about the atmosphere in the place and the aggression of Johnson’s coaching style. Johnson waved me over as the players trailed off the rink, and put his hand on the door to stop them leaving.
“We’ve got a new member of the team to introduce to you today, boys,” Johnson announced loudly as I made my way across the stadium towards him. “This is Emily Tennsion. She’s going to be writing a story on us for the big newspaper she works at. So be nice.”
There was a firmness to the last two words that made me wonder if they’d had problems with the press before-but before I had much of a chance to linger on that notion, one of the guys had peeled off his helmet and was giving me an up-and-down.
“You want to come for a drink with us tonight?” He flashed me a smile. I didn’t recognize him- he was a little older than the rest of the team, with messy blonde hair that fell down to his neck. “Get the full experience?”
I exchanged a look with Johnson, who shrugged, and I turned back to the guy who’d asked me.
“Sounds good!” I agreed. “Where are we going?”
A chuckle went around the team, and the smile solidified on my face; was I being stupid or something?
“There’s only one bar we drink at,” the guy I’d noticed on the ice was speaking now, reaching up to take his helmet off. I swear to God, it happened in slow motion- he shook his hair loose, and it fell in thick dark waves to his chin. He flashed me a smile, and I found myself blushing-blushing! Like some kind of giggling schoolgirl!
“And what one might that be?” I knew I was playing a game, knew I just had to get them on my side, but I wasn’t sure how.
“Where are you staying?” He asked.
“Pollok Street,” I replied.
“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he suggested, cocking his head and raising his eyebrows at me. He was challenging me, daring me to say yes. Well, I could god-damn use a drink. I scanned the faces of the other guys, seeing if there was something I was missing- but they seemed to be regarding me with the same challenging expression that he was. Well, if it was a challenge they wanted, it was a challenge they’d get.
“Sounds great,” I smiled in return, and made my way down past the team. I nodded my thanks at Johnson for his help.
“I’ll see you this evening,” I promised, and made my way out to my car, trying to keep the smile off my face. The air was cold outside, and I rubbed my hands together- after everything that had brought me here, I finally had something to look forward to. And that felt pretty damn good.