“There aren’t any plants,” I point out. “But thank you.”
Silas chews a piece of bacon with a thoughtful look on his face. “You know, this is a big issue for some players during the season. They need sporadic help with errands and groceries and stuff. If you’re looking to pick up extra cash, you might want to offer your services. You could charge by the hour. Bunch of guys live in this building, so you could take in everyone’s mail at once.”
Heidi sets a half melon down on the counter and turns around to face Silas. “Really? That’s a thing?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “Every year guys are trying to figure out how to get their groceries delivered right as the jet lands in New York. How to get their suits to the drycleaner’s. There’s services for all that stuff, but it’s piecemeal. And they’d trust you with a key. It’s like a different level of service.”
“Silas,” she breathes. “I could kiss you right now. You’re a flipping genius.”
Something goes wrong in my gut at the idea of Heidi kissing Silas.
And then it gets worse when she lunges over to him and hugs his head, which effectively puts his cheek against her boob. She says some more gushy words about how excellent his idea is.
Silas pokes his head out from under her arm and grins at me.
Annnnd I’m done here. I stand up suddenly and carry my empty plate over to the sink for a rinse.
“Just leave it,” she says. “I’ll load the dishwasher in a minute. You have practice, but I don’t have to show up for my security shift until four.”
“What’s there to guard when there’s no hockey game?” I ask.
“No idea,” she says. “But I already know it will be unpleasant.”
12
Heidi
The Bruisers are headquartered in a restored warehouse that’s part of the Brooklyn Navy Yard complex. After I pull the large brass door handle and step into the lobby, I am treated to the sight of a highlight reel playing on a big screen.
Someone changed the video over the summer, incorporating all of the team’s best moments from their winningest season. I pause to take in a clip of O’Doul scoring a goal against the D.C. team during the first round of last year’s playoffs. This is followed by a clip of Jason’s goal against Tampa. He rushes the net and puts it between the goalie’s legs. They call that the five-hole in hockey.
This week I’ve watched all three of my boys’ away games. Sadly, Jason never found the five-hole. Or any other holes. The best he could manage was a single assist on a power play. My favorite forward is still really shaken up over his move to right wing.
He’s going to be a grumpy bear when he gets home tonight. Any athlete would be.
I cross the lobby and then follow a glass tunnel down toward the brand-new practice facility. I’m on an errand for Bayer, and he’s not paying me to stand around watching tape.
When Silas suggested that I offer to do errands for the team, he was really onto something. That first morning I mentioned it to just two other teammates, and by noon I had incoming texts from another dozen hockey players. In the last five days, I’ve done errands for the lot of them.
For O’Doul and Ariana—the team masseuse—I checked on the progress the contractors were making on their renovation two blocks away. I made sure their doors were locked in the evening after the workers left.
For Trevi and Georgia, I took in the mail and the drycleaning. And I bought the groceries they wanted on hand for their return. I did the same for Beringer.
Now I’m here to pick up Bayer’s medical file from the training department. It’s x-rays of his knee, or something. I don’t ask questions, I just fetch things. I’m charging twenty bucks an hour, and everyone’s getting their first emailed invoices tonight.
My apartment money will be replenished twice as quickly this way.
The folder I need has been left for me on a desk outside the treatment room, as the receptionist had promised. I tuck it into my messenger bag and turn around to leave the facility.
“Hey!” Rebecca says, stopping to greet me. “Long time no see. What brings you here?”
“Errands for the players. It’s my second job.”
She blinks. “That’s very resourceful.”
“It was Silas’s idea. My next stop is Trader Joe’s on Gold Street. I’m delivering food to six different apartments before the team jet lands.”
“How are you going to manage it all?”
“I’ll take a cab back to Water Street and then split my carfare cost among my clients. I bill twenty bucks an hour in six-minute increments, plus incidentals.”
Becca bursts out laughing. “You’re going to run the world someday.”
“Maybe.” As soon as I get out from under my dad’s thumb.
“I hope you’re not working around the clock,” the new team owner says, her hands on her hips.
“Nope. Last week I was assigned to stadium security, but they could barely give me any hours while the team was on the road. Wednesday I got called in to work some kind of banquet across town, though. I thought that was odd. It didn’t have anything to do with the team.”
Rebecca’s eyes get round. “What? Where was this event?”
“At a social hall on Court Street. I can forward you the email telling me when and where. Do you think the security company is padding your bill, or something?”
“Probably not?” Rebecca says, but she looks thoughtful. “Send me the details, and when we receive our bill at the end of the month, I’ll check it over thoroughly.”
“That’s a great idea,” I agree, edging toward the tunnel back to the street. “I’d better get going.”
“Let me walk you out,” Rebecca says. “You’re giving me ideas.”
“What kind?”
She’s quiet as we pass the doors to the practice rink. “Could I trouble you for a report on every department where you’re working? You could bill me your standard rate.”
“You want me to spy?” I squeak.
Becca stops walking. “Is that awful?”
“No! I love espionage.” This is going to be great. “Did you know the hotdog seller uses cheaper buns for the cheap seats? But charges the same price?”
“Get out of town!” Becca gasps. “That’s awful.”
“I think they’re selling off-brand beer and mislabeling it, too. I wasn’t really paying attention but I swear someone hooked up a tap with a beer of a different label.”
Becca leans back against the glass bricks of the tunnel and closes her eyes. “I shouldn’t be so surprised, right? But I still am. What if everyone is cheating us?”
“Don’t panic. I’ll take a second rotation through concessions if it helps you. I’ll smell like hotdogs twice for you, Bec. So long as you appreciate it.”
She lets out a peal of laughter. “You really want that office manager job, don’t you?”
“Badly,” I whisper.
She taps her chin. “It’s not going to be easy to leave that position open for another two or three months. But I’ll try.”
“I’ll be worth it, I swear.”
Becca grins. “I don’t doubt it. Where are you working this week?”
“Licensed apparel. It’s boring but not smelly.” I’ve only done two shifts so far, and I can’t complain. “I’ll write you a report for everything I’ve done so far.”
“Good work, intern.” She slaps me on the back. “I’ll read every word.”
I have never seen so many groceries.
Shopping takes me a really long time, because everyone’s list needs to be kept separate. And, as I shop for six hockey players, certain trends emerge.
One—hockey players eat a lot.
Two—hockey players like avocados. I have never bought so many avocados. If there’s an avocado company listed on the New York Stock Exchange, I’m going to direct Daddy to invest part of my trust fund in it. When I finally get my hands on that money—in fifty years, when Daddy has eventually forgiven me—my inheritance will have quadrupled.
“You must be very hungry,” the cabbie says as I load fifteen shopping bags into the back of his car. I’ve already written every player’s name on the bags in Sharpie marker.