“I’ve seen what you can do with wicker baskets,” I countered.
She thought about that a few seconds, then gave me a grudging nod. “Fair point, but I don’t want to be known as ‘that wicker basket woman.’”
Time for optimism. “Well, that’s not going to happen because you’re going to be selected to star in the next season of Home Sweet Home. I’ve seen your work, and they’d be idiots to pass you over. That pre-Civil War townhouse and the convertedHessian Barracks in Frederick county? That early eighteenth-century stone farmhouse that was close to being condemned? Girl, you’re a genius. If I had more than five bucks to my name and actually owned real estate, you’d be top of my list to call.”
She laughed, then shot me a shy smile. “That farmhouse was a lot of sweat and tears, but I’m super proud of it. The Maryland Historic Trust had zero findings with my work on their inspection and they are insanely picky about the properties on their register. I’m on their pre-approved contractor list for historic renovations.”
Stephanie had a right to be proud. She took such care with her work, and often cut her margins to the bone to meet a client’s budget limitations without needing to sacrifice quality. I thought about my tiny rental apartment, and sighed with a tinge of regret. I could have chosen a different career, but I hadn’t and for the most part I was happy with sacrificing income to do a job I was truly in love with. But today the thought of being eighty years old in a shabby rental studio apartment, scraping by with the small amount I could make at that age teaching senior yoga and water aerobics…
I needed to work up the nerve to pitch the owner of the Tusks on my services. And if that didn’t fly, then think of something else. Not that I wanted to switch careers entirely or anything, but I wanted to shift to something with more staying power, or a side-gig that could supplement my meager income. Influencer work? Abby would be thrilled to help me build and grow an online platform, but I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about shilling sponsored products. And while I was fit and attractive, I didn’t think I was the body-type that garnered the huge numbers of followers in today’s world. A bi-racial woman with lightish, gold-toned skin, a broad nose, thin lips, and thick, tightly-curled black hair? Maybe if I got a boob job, butt implants, nose work,and lip fillers, but I didn’t have either the money or the desire for that.
“Enough about me,” Stephanie said, interrupting my thoughts. “How are things with you?”
“I’ve got this crazy idea of being the team trainer for the Tusks,” I blurted out, because being on a treadmill was evidently like being in a confessional box.
“What?” Stephanie grinned and reached out to lightly punch my shoulder. “That’s amazing! How did you score that gig?”
I winced. “I haven’t exactly scored it yet. They don’t have a trainer. I mean, they don’t have a coach or a PR firm, or even team shirts, but I can fill the trainer need and do it cheap. They’re leaving for a few weeks of away games this Thursday, so I’m going to try to set up a meeting with the owner and pitch the idea to him before they leave.”
“They seriously need all the help they can get, but I think you should hinge your pitch on more than ‘I’m super cheap,’” Stephanie told me.
“I’m really good?”
“Yes, you are,” the werewolf agreed.
“I can tailor fitness plans for each member of the team, specialized for their position, and work with them one-on-one to ensure they reach their maximum capabilities.”
“Now you’re talking,” Stephanie said. “Can you mention winning games? Scoring points?”
“No I cannot. Now, if they had a coach working on their game skills and strategy, and helping them with their skating, then I could coordinate with them and possibly see points and maybe even a win this season if we’re lucky.”
“I guess it would be too much to pitch the need for a coach as well,” Stephanie mused.
“I’ll be lucky if I can get the owner to signmeon, let alone a coach.” I paused for a few seconds. “I get the impression thatthe owner doesn’t really care about wins. He cares about the entertainment factor and the money that brings in.”
“Then your ‘optimizing performance’ speech might not have the desired results,” Stephanie said. “How will your services impact the entertainment factor? And the money?”
I contemplated her questions for a few minutes. “There’s a reason he makes them play without shirts. Fans like seeing half-naked orcs on the ice. Those guys are seriously built.”
“Eye candy,” Stephanie agreed.
Total eye candy. “I guess I can play to that angle. Say I’ll make sure they look like male erotic dancers for games as well as for whatever marketing events the owner might have planned for them.”
“Not sure those guys can look any more buff, but you can make them run the Baltimore Marathon without their shirts on for promotion,” the werewolf pointed out.
“I can do that. And make sure if they’re walking down the runway at the BARCS fundraiser half-naked,” I replied.
We continued jogging on the treadmill, then Stephanie spoke up again.
“How are the booty-calls with the red-flag hottie-asshole working out?”
She was the only one of my friends who knew about Eng, although she didn’t know who he was or that we’d been watching him not-play just last night.
“He asked me on a date. An actual date.” I couldn’t help my grin at Stephanie’s enthusiastic squeal. “Tonight. I don’t know where we’re going or what we’re doing but it involves dinner after throwing axes at a wall.”
The werewolf burst out laughing. “Iloveaxe throwing! And I love eating, too. Does he have any brothers? Cousins? Ones who’ve escaped the controlling parents?”
“I don’t know. And I’m not sure you’d want to date someone who lets you know right away that whatever amazing sex is happening, the relationship has an expiration date.”
