12
ABBOTT
I pullopen one of the gleaming glass doors and step inside. It doesn’t smell or look like any other arena I’ve ever been in. It’s smells like fresh paint and the windows are so clean they sparkle and the floors are unscuffed. The colors of the team are navy and green, and a touch of off white. Like the old school state of Maine flag but instead of a star and a pine tree, we’ve got a pine tree planted firmly in a curling wave. Honestly, I wouldn’t care if they had a moose slow dancing with a bear on the front. I’m just overjoyed to be on Maine’s first professional team.
This time last year I was struggling to score and perform in general. After I punched a guy in a bar and screwed up my wrist, I was dropped down to the farm team. They told the media it was because I needed to train more before resuming my spot on the team. They told me and my agent that I needed to clean up my act on and off the ice before they’d even consider pulling me back up to the pros. But then, right before playoffs started, other members of the team got injured and they had no choice but to call me up. And I had done what they asked - I cleaned up. I got the job done, scoring in every game, in every round, until that Cup was ours. And they paid me back by trading me, which might have been their way of offloading a problem they didn’t believe was solved. But for me it was a reward. A dream come true.
A short girl in a summer dress and linen blazer is coming down the hall towards me, her high heels clicking loudly. “Abbott Barlowe! So great to meet you. I’m Pennie. I’m the head of public relations for the Riptide. I’m also a Mainer. Grew up in Biddeford. Went to school in Orono. Watched you play hockey for South Portland when you were a kid. We’re almost the same age. I’m two years older. So great to finally meet you!”
It’s a truck load of information, just dumped out on the pristine floor between us. Pennie is a lot, clearly, but most people in this business are. They wade through a lot of bullshit to get their job done. I smile and shake her hand. “Hi Pennie. Good to meet you too.”
“Okay so, first off, reporters from the local papers will do a quick Q and A with you and Mitchell and Jay.”
“Press?” I feel my mouth go dry and glance down at my outfit. I’m wearing a golf shirt and a pair of khaki joggers. “I wasn’t aware I’d be doing press today.”
“Oh, it’s so quick.” Pennie waves her hand in the air like she’s swatting a fly. Her smile is unwavering and also fake. Not in a mean way, but in that pageant girl way. It’s just always plastered there. “Do you mind? Jay and Mitchell don’t mind. What they do mind is being called Jason or Mitch. I asked. It’s important we get it right so that the press get it right, and subsequently the fans. I worked for a baseball team in New Jersey before this and the catcher got called Phil and it stuck. But he hated it. He was a Phillip. And I’m Pennie with an i and an e, not a y. I see it spelled with a y and cringe. So yeah, I like to establish everything up front. You’re Abbott? Full stop? Or do you have a nickname? Abe? Bot? I don’t know but I’ll go with whatever you want.”
“Abbott is good. Just plain old Abbott.” I smile at her. “You had a coffee yet, Pennie?”
“Downed two iced vanilla lattes before nine a.m., Abbott.” She grins. “It’s a big day. I need to be running at a hundred percent.”
She swipes the pass around her neck at a black pad on the wall and pushes open a door for me. I hold it and insist she go first. “I don’t remember Maine men being so gracious.”
I laugh. “We’re the best, Pennie. You must have been in New Jersey too long and forgot.”
“I must have,” she laughs, and then looks almost sheepish. “I gotta be honest, I thought I was done with Maine forever, but it’s good to be back.”
“I love being from here. It’s a miracle I got to end up here professionally,” I reply.
“You earned it.” Pennie smiles confidently. “I mean, I heard you had some rough points in the past. Did a debrief with your old publicist in Boston, but he feels like this move will be beneficial for you to stay on track. I sure hope so because a hometown hero will really help sell the team.”
“Barlowe!”
I turn toward the other end of the hall and see Mitchell Briggs stalking toward us. He’s a hockey legend at this point because he’s been on three Cup-winning teams. At thirty-eight years-old, he’s past his prime, and last year in San Diego he was a healthy scratch more than not. But I’m betting he’s still got more to offer than anyone gives him credit for and clearly the coaching staff here believes it too. He grins at me, the battle scars on his face creasing deeply. The guy has never met a hockey fight he didn’t love. He extends his hand. He’s in a summer sports coat and dress pants. I’m kicking myself that I didn’t dress better.
“Hey Briggs,” I grin. “So, they’ll just let anyone in here, huh?”
He laughs. “You’re likely going to be my captain so I can’t tell you to go fuck yourself.”
My heart jumps. Briggs thinks I’ll be made captain? Wow. “That’s just a rumor started by a local paper,” Pennie interjects, and my heart stops jumping. “Ocean Pines Community site or something. I don’t know but the coaches haven’t made any decisions.”
“Do not listen to a word that online site says,” I warn Pennie. “It’s run by a woman with too much time on her hands and a thirst for malicious gossip.”
Briggs raises his eyebrows. “See, Pennie. Helps to have a local guy around. Even if he’s got a thing for boxing in bars.”
“One time incident,” I reply and smile at Briggs. So very kind of him to bring up the off-ice fight that injured my wrist last season. Not. “But now I want to tellyouto go fuck yourself.”
We both laugh and Pennie joins in but it’s high-pitched and nervous. “You guys aren’t going to use that sort of salty language with the press around, right?”
“Don’t worry Pennie with an i and an e.” I give her a wink. “Baseball players may not have the potty mouths hockey players do, but we know how to clean it up for the cameras.”
Briggs nods and Pennie seems to loosen up a bit. He turns back to me, growing a little more serious. “So you single, or did you have to move a wife, three kids, two dogs, and a turtle here like I did?”
“Single,” I mutter because this isn’t going to make things go in a different direction. “I mean, sort of.”
Briggs tugs on the front of his suit jacket, like he’s trying to tug out wrinkles, and lifts a bushy brown eyebrow. “Sort of? Left someone in… where were you again?”
“Boston. You know, Cup winners this year?” I reply and he grins.
