Holy shit, I mutter. Mats says nothing. Maybe his own home is even bigger.
I lift the heavy bronze door knocker because I’ve always wanted to star in a Scooby-Doo adventure. Nobody comes to the door, and it’s pretty fucking cold out here.
Mats hits the doorbell, and the door opens almost immediately.
You have to give me time to get here, scolds the older woman in front of us. She’s wearing a grey dress and black orthopedic shoes.
Showtime, Cleo.
I extend my hand and paste on my biggest smile. Mrs. Schultz? It’s an honour to be invited here. I’m Cleo Nelson, captain of the women’s hockey team.
Instead of shaking my hand, she motions for us to come in. We’re not paying to heat the neighbourhood, child.
We hustle in. She inspects us carefully and doesn’t look impressed.
I’m Geraldine. I’m the housekeeper here. May I take your coats?
Thank you, Geraldine. I’m Roy Matsumoto. He hands over his expensive-looking cashmere coat. He’s smirking, no doubt because I blew my first impression. Who has servants, for fuck’s sake?
I struggle to remove my ancient down jacket and hand it to Geraldine. A white feather floats onto her shoulder. Great, I’m moulting like a sick goose.
Old Mats didn’t spend fifteen minutes searching for an outfit for tonight. He’s perfectly dressed in cord trousers and a stylish sweater that’s probably knitted from the wool of virgin Himalayan goats. Of course, I didn’t miss Barb’s comment that Mats and I are opposites in every way. Well, hopefully Marjorie Schultz likes people who are down to earth.
We follow Geraldine down a hallway of polished wood panelling and ornately framed paintings of the Schultz family through the generations. We pass a library with wall-to-wall books, a formal office, and a room full of hunting trophies. Holy fuck, this place is the Midwestern equivalent of a palace.
I swallow. I can see why Barb Peachy was so excited. The Schultz family could fund a new arena if they wanted.
Geraldine leads us into a living room, where there’s a fire burning and a white-haired woman in an orange pantsuit and hot pink blouse sitting in a high-backed armchair. She’s fast asleep.
Marjorie! Marjorie! Geraldine calls out loudly. Your dinner guests are finally here!
Mats double-checks his watch, but we’re on time. My grandfather used to pull shit like this, trying to start you off on the wrong foot.
I march over and try once again. Hello, I’m Cleo Nelson, captain of the Monarch women’s hockey team. Thank you so much for inviting me into your lovely home.
Marjorie blinks her pale blue eyes at me blankly, like I’m speaking Martian. Maybe she’s hard of hearing? I repeat my introduction in a louder voice, and she finally nods at me.
Nice to meet you, Cleo. And who is your handsome friend?
Please, he is neither handsome nor my friend. This is Roy Matsumoto. He’s on the men’s team—but not the captain or anything. Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have added that last part, but since Mats is going to outshine me in every other way tonight, I need an edge. Also, Barb should have chosen the captain of the men’s team. Vik Zelenko is even more sophisticated than Mats, and a lot more likeable.
A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Schultz. Mats shakes her hand and flashes his perfect smile. Seriously, how can a real hockey player have teeth like that?
You can’t call me Mrs. Schultz because I’m not married, she declares.
So, Miss Schultz, then? I ask.
Well, properly speaking, it should be Ms.—like the magazine. I once met Gloria Steinem, you know.
I feel a need to grab my phone and search out the meaning of half of her sentence, but instead I smile and nod.
But I know how informal young people today are, so you can call me Marjorie.
Marjorie, you can call me Mats, my so-called partner offers.
Mats? Is that your hockey nickname? she asks.
Yes. But it’s also what I prefer to be called.
