Fuck. You again? She holds open the door, even though she’d clearly prefer to slam it in my face.
I’ve noticed that Cleo dislikes me, but I’m not sure exactly why. It can’t be anything personal, because before last night we’d never spent more than five minutes together.
Nice to see you too, Cleo.
I’m from the kill-it-with-kindness school of conflict management. Eventually, she’ll take the big stick out of her ass and realize that I’m a nice guy. Or not. I don’t really care. I roll my neck to ease the tension. My break-up feels like a 200-pound gorilla on my back.
Are you following me? she demands, when we both go up the stairs to the third floor.
Not deliberately. I’m going to Room 303.
Shit, says Cleo, whose every second word seems to be a curse. As a hockey player, profanity is my second language, but I’m not used to women who swear constantly. Lana never did. But before I can dwell on the loss of my girlfriend, Cleo asks, Do you have a meeting with Barb Peachy too?
Yeah, at 4:00.
Why are we in a meeting together? she demands.
Coach Norman said it had to do with charity work. Cleo needs to chill; it’s not like we’re going to be paired up for some Amazing Race competition. Maybe we’re getting awards.
Cleo does a real-life harrumph, like she’s sixty years old. You would think that, Mr. Sun-Shines-Out-His-Ass.
Today, I’m feeling the opposite of optimistic, so I don’t have the energy to debate this.
We arrive at the office of the college’s Alumni Relations Manager, and I motion for Cleo to go in first. She scowls at me, taps on the door, and then opens it.
Cleo and Roy, you’re both here. Please come in. Barb is a middle-aged woman with a silvery-blonde bob and a wide smile. I’ve met her a few times, and she’s always energetic and cheerful.
Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?
We sit across from her and refuse any refreshments. All I want to do is get out of here and take some time alone to decompress before my game.
Well, let me get right down to it. You’re both the leaders in charitable activities on your respective teams. Roy, you ran your team fundraiser in the fall, worked with the Active Kids charity, and you volunteer at the St. Viola animal shelter.
Cleo mutters something about fucking sainthood, but Barb doesn’t notice and carries on. Cleo, you also managed your team fundraiser in the fall, as well as the work you do with Big Sisters. And both of you are exemplary athletes. So, you’ve been chosen to attend a special dinner at the home of an important alumna of the college, Marjorie Schultz.
Barb pauses, as if she’s expecting a big reaction from us. I blink.
She sighs at our cluelessness and continues. The Schultz family made their fortune in railways back in the early 1900s, then expanded into transportation companies. Marjorie has always been generous to the college, so we’re excited to accommodate her requests. Apparently, she’s considering a donation to the hockey program and wants to meet some of the athletes.
Cleo snorts. I mean, thanks for the honour and everything, but I’m not sure if I’m the right person for this job.
Barb tilts her head. Why wouldn’t you be?
Well, this do will be at some fancy mansion, right? I have no fu—uh, freaking idea about which fork to use, or stuff like that. She jerks her chin towards me. I’m sure Silver-Spoon-Ken-Doll here will be right at home, though.
But you don’t get to be the Alumni Relations Manager by accepting the word no. Barb beams at Cleo. But you were recommended to me by your coach. She places both palms on her desk and leans forward. If I may be honest, Marjorie is a touch eccentric and difficult to predict. We hope that at least one of you will connect with her.
Great. If she’s a normal, polite lady, she’ll like me. If she’s an ornery ex-sailor, she’ll like Cleo.
When is this dinner? I ask.
Tuesday night. I checked and neither of you have practices or meetings. She pushes two envelopes towards us. Here are information packages for each of you. They'll give you a background on the Schultz family. Make sure you study them beforehand.
Marjorie Schultz must be a very big deal. I’m not worried about which fork to use, but I am worried about having enough energy. After seeing Lana, I’m mentally exhausted. But I have four whole days to get over the end of my long-term relationship before having to make a good impression.
Barb smiles at us. Don’t worry, Cleo. I’ll be there as well, so I can smooth over any etiquette issues. If either of you needs a ride, just come to my office at 5:00 PM.
I’ll take that ride, Cleo says.
