Between a Jock and a Hard Place (5 page)

Jack waited for Melody to order and then asked for his usual: an extra-thick rib eye steak, a baked potato and a large green salad. It was why he came here...they cut the steaks to order, and knew how to grill them. Melody picked at her lemon sole, ate a few green beans and left the rice. A vision flashed before his eyes. Claire, tearing into the Rice Krispies square and licking her fingers.

He lifted his wine glass, then put it down and drank some water instead. He’d consumed the entire glass during dinner, and combined with the beer, he needed to use the bathroom.

“Excuse me,” he said, and slid out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”

Melody was on the phone when he returned to the table. She hurriedly ended the conversation and looked up. Her eyes were bright and she looked a little nervous but he was too tired to wonder why.

“Would you like anything for dessert?” He always asked, but knew the answer.

“No, silly.” She was gathering her things; she appeared anxious to leave.

He paid and they stepped outside to a barrage of flashbulbs. It was probably only a few photographers, but the invasion made it seem like more.

“What the...” Jack made a gesture to protect Melody, but she slid away from his arm and stepped forward. Was she posing? He watched her, not quite believing his eyes. She was in animated conversation with a couple of the paps but had somehow managed to stand so that he was clearly visible in the pictures. And then it all fell into place. She had been on the phone calling her ‘contacts’ to inform them that they were about to leave the restaurant. And she knew how he hated this!

He regretted not ordering the car earlier. They had to stand there while it was brought around.

“Come on, guys, give me a break” he said, when they asked him for a comment on the Canucks’ chances of winning the Stanley Cup. “You’ve got your picture, isn’t that enough?”

He drove to Melody’s place in silence; she was wise enough not to say anything. He pulled up in front of her condo and turned to her. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” She reached out and twined her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck.

He shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

She pulled back, lips in a pout.

“You called them, didn’t you!”

Tears welled up in her baby blues. “I’m sorry Jack, but I thought a little publicity might help me to get the part.”

He wasn’t fooled by the fake tears. “You know how I hate to be ambushed. I would have helped you if you’d only asked.”

“Would you?” She leaned forward so that he could get an eyeful of her cleavage. “Will you?”

He felt a stirring in his groin, but it wasn’t enough to change his mind.

“Of course I would have, but not now.” He was being harsh; he knew it, but any trust that might have developed between them had evaporated. “I wish you luck with your acting career, but it’s over between us. You used me and I can’t forgive something like that.”

“But Jack...”

“No, Melody. If anyone asks, you can say that you broke up with me. I won’t be making any comment.”

“Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

He looked at her, suddenly sad. “Half an hour ago I was the guy who could to help you get the part...remember?” He got out and walked around to her side, opened the door. “Goodbye, Melody.”

She got out and stood on the grassy verge, looking up at him. In the glow of the streetlight, her hair stood out around her head like golden floss and for a moment he wavered. “Who is she, Jack?” She was talking in her normal voice. “You’ve met someone else, haven’t you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“No, Melody” he lied. But his heart beat a little faster at her words. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

Who are you kidding, Jack Logan?
His conscience attacked him as he drove back over the Granville Street Bridge.
You used that as an excuse to break up with her.

“Maybe” he muttered aloud. “Okay, I did. But it was going to happen soon anyway.” That much was true, but it didn’t make him feel better. He considered sending her some flowers by way of an apology, but that would only backfire. She’d think he wanted to start up again, and he definitely didn’t want that. In spite of the residual anger about the way she’d used his celebrity to promote her career, he felt much lighter...a clear sign that he’d been right to break it off.

The tall apartment buildings overlooking English Bay glittered against the night sky. Was it only this morning that he’d driven through the West End, taking Claire back to her apartment? He smiled to himself. Now there was someone who deserved flowers. He checked his rear view mirror and changed lanes just in time to hit the off-ramp. He didn’t know her last name, but he could find out. She’d pressed the buzzer for 803; all he had to do was check beside the button for her last name. The timing of their meeting could have been better; the Canucks were half way through the quarterfinals and were flying out in the morning, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to know her name.

* * *

“Yes, Mr. Logan, what can we do for you this morning?”

Jack called his regular florist first thing in the morning. The flight was at eleven and time was tight. “I’d like some flowers delivered, please.” He’d been so eager to call that he hadn’t given any thought to what type of flowers, or what to put on the card.

“What would you like in the bouquet?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know.” He paused. “Something that says ‘I’m thinking of you’, without coming on too strong.”

“Do you have any colour preference?”

What was this, a fashion show?
“No, I’ll leave that up to you.”

“All right, Mr. Logan. I have some very nice myosotis in. It would go nicely with some pink gerbera and some baby’s breath. Perhaps a few white freesia. That would make a casual statement.”

“Myo... what is that?”

“It’s forget-me-not. You don’t often see it in floral arrangements, but it’s lovely and airy.”

“Okay.” He recited Claire’s name, address and phone number. She’d been in the phone book.

“And what would you like on the card?”

“Just say ‘Thinking of you’ and sign it John.”

“Did you say ‘John’?”

“That’s right.”

The florist had been in business long enough not to question. “Right. I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Thank you.” Jack disconnected and stared at his phone for a moment. He’d entered Claire’s number last night, and he scrolled to it, wondering if he had time to call her. He’d love to hear her voice again. And then he saw the time on the display; he’d better get to the airport. He grabbed his laptop bag and his suitcase and left.

* * *

“Did you see it?” Zoey wasted no time. “It’s on the net today.”

It took Claire a moment to figure out what her friend was talking about. “Oh, the blog?”

“Yes, the blog. And there are hundreds of comments already.”

“Do I dare look?”

“I think you’re going to have to for the sake of continuity. You might want to respond to some of the disagreeable ones.”

“Are there many of those?”

“It’s about what we expected. Fifty-fifty.”

“Well, you did warn me. Oh wait, Zoey, there’s someone buzzing me.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Gotta run. Talk to you later, okay?”

Claire closed the phone and went to the intercom. “Yes?”

“Delivery for Miss Collins.”

Puzzled, Claire let him in. She should have asked who it was. She peered through the eye hole in the door and watched the delivery man walk down the hall, holding a bouquet. Who would be sending her flowers?

A tingle of anticipation raised the hair on the back of her neck. Could it possibly be him?

Don’t be silly
, she told herself and opened the door before he could knock.

“Miss Collins?” he said, and she nodded. “These are for you.”

The scent of freesia perfumed the air and she inhaled it greedily. “Sorry,” she said. “Just a minute.” She ran back into her apartment, grabbed a bill from her purse and handed it to him. “Thank you.” She stuck her nose in the bouquet again. “Thank you so much.”

She was afraid to open the card. What if they weren’t from him? What if they were from Zoey, congratulating her on the first blog?” She fussed around, unwrapping the flowers and finding a vase and then finally there was nothing left to do but open the card.

Thinking of you, John.
She almost cried with relief. For some strange reason she wasn’t surprised that he’d gone to the trouble of finding out her name. She hadn’t imagined it...there had been something between them. That intangible spark that was so difficult to describe when it happened. It had been there from the moment they touched, and it was still there, no matter where he was. She could feel it running through her body and she wondered how long she’d have to wait until she saw him again. It couldn’t be soon enough.

* * *

“Hey, Jack. I thought that guy from the
Phoenix
was a friend of yours.” The Canucks were in the air en route to California. Lars tapped the screen of his notebook.

Jack frowned. Had his friend run pictures of him and Melody?

“They’ve got a new feature,” the Swedish forward continued. “A blog about hockey violence. We should start a pool on how long they take to mention you.”

“Thanks a lot.” He knew the Swede was joking, but he was tired of people assuming that just because he was big, he played dirty hockey. The opposite was closer to the truth. He’d learned long ago that he could use his size and strength to take the opponent off the puck without risking serious injury.

He turned back to his notebook and finished reading the story about the success of the new hockey rink in his home town of Little Coulee. He’d financed the project and quietly joined with several of the town businessmen who were delighted to take credit for making it happen. In Jack’s day they’d prayed for weather cold enough to freeze the slough on the outskirts of town so they could get up a game. He smiled at the memory. It hadn’t hurt them a bit. As a matter of fact, clearing the ice had hastened his physical development and made him the ‘big’ guy on the team.

He switched over to the
Phoenix
site and read the blog. Randy had been right. It was obvious from the outset that this wasn’t the work of a professional writer. But that’s what made it so compelling; the story was told from the heart. As he got further into the story, he recognized that the blogger was talking about the young player who had been recently injured...the same one he’d mentioned to Claire. Small world.

“Good story,” he said to no one in particular, and read it over again. He decided then and there to blog from the other side. Someone had to write the opposing point of view; it might as well be him. Besides, he had a notion that he could do it without too much animosity developing between the duelling bloggers. He could start slowly, by explaining how the system works...for anyone who hadn’t figured it out for themselves. The way he did for Claire. He could do that, couldn’t he? He started to type.

* * *

“Hi Claire. Call me back, okay? There have been...”

Claire heard Zoey’s voice and grabbed the phone. She’d just come back from a walk. Okay, so she’d been hoping to run into John, but she needed the fresh air, too. Or at least that’s what she told herself.

“Hi, I’m here.”

“Hey. Just wanted to touch base with you again. The hits and comments are piling up on the blog and Randy tells me they definitely have someone who’s going to blog on the opposing side.”

“Who is it, do you know?”

“I tried to get it out of him, but he wouldn’t budge.” She was uncharacteristically silent for a moment. “But something tells me it’s a person close to the game. Maybe even someone in the Canucks organization.”

“That should make it interesting.” Claire fingered one of the soft freesia petals. “Guess what I got this morning?”

“I can’t even guess.”

“A bouquet of flowers from John.”

“I’m impressed. Are they nice? What does the card say?”

“Or course they’re nice. The card just says ‘Thinking of you’.

“And you’ve been out walking along the seawall hoping to bump into him again, haven’t you?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“That would be a yes. And no, I’m not making fun of you. I just don’t want you to hibernate at home waiting for him to call, the way you did with Harrison.”

“Who?”

“That’s the spirit. Now go and read the comments on the blog and call me back when you’re finished.”

* * *

“It’s not so bad” she said, some time later. “As a matter of fact it’s quite mild.”

“That’s what I thought, but I think he’s testing the waters, as it were.”

Claire nodded to herself. “You know what’s funny? This blog sounds like John. Those were some of the things he said to me the other day.”

“Did I hear you correctly? You were talking to someone about hockey?”