How The Cookie Crumbles (30 page)

Since I was missing my Contemporary Art seminar, I had spoken to Robin, the teaching assistant, to get the assignment ahead of time. When she found out that I was coming to L.A., she got all excited and told me I should meet a friend of hers from undergrad who worked at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. “Frankie, Beatrice Mann would be an excellent person for you to talk to about your grad school plans. You definitely need to expand your horizons!” Robin thought that I needed to leave Vancouver for my Masters, declaring that getting your B.A. and M.A. at the same school was too incestuous.

So here I was at the LACMA, a place I’d wanted to tour anyway. The museum was on a campus of about ten buildings, and their mandate seemed to be about extending from art to social culture, including history, film and music. Since it was so extensive, I stuck to touring one contemporary art building and then met Beatrice for coffee.

Beatrice was completely different than Robin, who was a little hippy-dippy with patchwork jeans and floaty Indian tops. Beatrice was slim with severely slicked-back hair, chunky silver jewellery and a sculptural linen dress in a non-colour which looked like oatmeal or possibly bird poop. Her chicness was a little daunting, and I suddenly felt like a hick in a homemade dress, even if that dress was a pretty turquoise sateen sheath with a notched collar. But she immediately put me at ease, and had me laughing at her stories of famous and famously insane artists she had met, huge celebrity events at the museum, and Robin’s utter brilliance in undergrad.

“So Robin told me I’m supposed to give you advice on leaving U.B.C. for grad school. She thinks you need to get kicked out of the nest.”

“I’m prepared to leave Vancouver,” I told her. This was a fairly recent development, however. Spending the summer in Kingston had made me feel more confident about living away from home. And look, now I was here in the land of palm trees and sunshine!

“Well, you probably need to leave Canada, too. Have you considered coming to the States?”

“Not really. It’s pretty expensive to go to school here.”

“Hmm, Robin may not like it if I steer you away from the ivory tower, but I’ve always been more practical than she is. Did you know that here we have internship programs here at the museum? I recommend them highly. Having the work experience while you’re still at school would be very educating and show you more about what you want from grad school.”

That idea was dizzying. Would I even have enough credits to graduate? “Wow, it sounds great. But it would be expensive, do the internships pay at all?”

“A few are paid, but most are not. But if you already have relatives in Los Angeles, then you don’t have to worry about the expense of living here.”

“Uh, friends, not relatives.” I hadn’t told Robin the real reason for my trip, only that I had a chance to visit L.A. and stay for free.

“You can get school credits for the internships, of course. I’ll send you the link. And I hate to say it, but Canadians are always more impressed if you have experience in the States. I suppose it’s part of our national inferiority complex.” Beatrice shrugged; she had already told me that she was born and raised in Canada, but had an American mother and dual citizenship.

I thanked Beatrice, who had to go back to work. I was pretty excited, so I sat down in front of a delicate Agnes Martin painting, which balanced on the border between painting and pattern, until I calmed down. An internship at this huge, gorgeous museum? That would be incredible, but the logistics were almost impossible. Anyway, why was I even considering this? It was one thing to visit Jake for a weekend, and another to come here for three months. I stared at the painting, and then I remembered that Martin had grown up in Vancouver and then moved to the United States. Was that prophetic in some way?

37. Games People Play

After a day spent alone, loving the museum and hating the L.A. transit system, I was quite excited to get to the hockey game. I went to the washroom at the arena, and I got changed into my jersey dress and the boots that Jake had insisted I wear. As I fixed up my makeup, I started getting hassled.

“Oh my God, what have you done to that jersey?” This woman with a purple Kings jersey and jeans was looking closely at me. “And it’s autographed by Jake Cookson too! Are you insane?” she screeched. Other women started coming over and looking at me.

“I made it into a dress,” I replied calmly as I glossed my lips in the mirror.

“Well it looks ridiculous,” she informed me. “An autographed jersey is sacred.”

“You look like a desperate puck bunny,” another woman chimed in. “And I’ll tell you, Jake Cookson would never have anything to do with a girl like you.”

I briefly considered showing her the hickey on my inner thigh, but unless I also had Jake’s dental records and some CSI-type technology, that would not be proof. Seeing as I was surrounded by large and scary members of the Jersey Preservation Society, I decided to keep my smart mouth shut, for now. But as I walked out the door, I turned and declared, “It was a game-worn jersey too!” And then watched the door swing closed on their horrified faces.

Attending a game alone was not much fun. After I joked around with the guy beside me, his girlfriend suggested that I get my own date next time and made him switch seats with her. I didn’t even know if I was sitting near any of the Kings’s girlfriends since I had never met any of them, but nobody in my immediate vicinity had the glossy good looks I assumed a hockey girlfriend would have. Come to think of it, neither did I, which only made me feel worse.

When the Kings won the game, perversely I felt sorry for the Canucks. I guess I was just in one of those moods. Being alone all day in a new place did not agree with me; I had so much news to share, I was bubbling over with excitement.

I found my way to the family lounge, where Jake had told me to wait after the game. When I walked in, I could have sworn that the room went silent for a moment. Not only was I a complete stranger, but I was the only one in the room over the age of ten wearing a player jersey. Not to mention that it was a strategically altered jersey. If I hadn’t just spent five minutes convincing the security guard that I belonged in the lounge, I would have walked right out.

“Are you Jake’s girlfriend?” This tall blonde came up to me in the family lounge and started interrogating me without even an introduction. Because of the jersey dress, there was no denying who I was here with.

“I’m a friend of Jake’s,” I replied politely. I wasn’t his girlfriend yet. Well, maybe, but I didn’t want to assume anything.

“Yeah, I figured that if Jake actually had a girlfriend, I would have heard about it.” And then she walked away as abruptly as she came up.

A runaway young boy was headed towards the door when someone called out, “Stop him!”

I grabbed the kid and swung him high in the air, so he didn’t start crying or anything. He laughed, and I put him down as his mom came over and thanked me. She had a toddler on one hip and grabbed her son by the hand. She looked preppy, with straight blonde hair, a hairband and minimal makeup.

“I’m Anne,” she said, giving me a onceover and clearly not approving of the boots or the dress. “I’m married to Billy, the captain.” I nodded, though in truth I still didn’t have any of the team straight except Jake, Luke, and Ryan. “So, are you Jake’s girlfriend?”

That must be the million-dollar question tonight. “I’m a friend of Jake’s,” I said again, but Anne shook her head at that answer.

“Not to be too blunt, but I wouldn’t hold my breath on that one,” she told me flatly.

“Excuse me?”

“Jake. From what I can see, he’s not the settling-down type.” Her son ran off again, so we ended the conversation on that happy note. I sat down in a corner chair and tried to make myself invisible. While I had been longing to chat to someone, now I only wished I was alone again.

Jake

Sometimes, being part of a team was like living in a gossipy family. I hadn’t said a word about Frankie to anyone but my roommates, and they wouldn’t blab. Maybe it was because I had to get a ticket for her or something, but by the time I got to the dressing room that night, everyone knew that I had a girl at the game.

“You want to put some money up, Cookie? So we’ll get a win and impress your girlfriend?” asked Mally.

“A girlfriend? No fucking way that Romeo has a girlfriend,” chimed in Duper.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I mumbled, and I tried to ignore them, but ended up putting some major bucks on the board. Of course, seeing me play hockey well made Frankie hot, so it was a win/win. But now everyone wanted to see her.

“Judging from the pucks he usually fucks, I’m not expecting much,” said Lovey.

“You have to fly girls down here to get laid?” D.J. asked when he found out Frankie was from Vancouver. Dean Jones was a huge patriot. “What’s wrong with American girls? Like girls in L.A. aren’t hot enough for you? In fact, I’m pretty sure they won some survey for best looking in the world.”

Well, once he saw her he’d get it, but no point arguing. He continued beaking me, “Oh, probably American girls won’t give you the time of day.”

“That’s not what your sister said,” I told him.

“I don’t have a sister, dickhead,” D.J. replied.

Well, in my experience American girls liked hockey players as much as Canadian girls.

I don’t know if it was the money I put up or because we wanted revenge from last year’s playoffs, but we beat the Canucks 4-1 and it felt great. Now to pick up something to eat and take Frankie home and really celebrate. For some reason, I wanted to keep her away from the guys, to protect her in some way, and I tried to get ready quickly.

Jake was one of the first guys into the lounge, and he whisked me off to the car. When we were inside, he leaned over and gave me a wet kiss. Then he pulled out of the parking lot.

“How was the game for you? Big win, eh? You getting hot for me now?”

“Jake, you’re so crass. But yeah, a little.”

“Great, let’s go then. We can pick up something to eat on the way home.”

“Oh.” I had kind of expected that we were going out with his friends or something. “Don’t you guys go out after a game?”

“Well, the married guys usually go home after home games. Some of the single guys go out to eat.” He hesitated, “But it’s no big deal.”

I sighed. “Jake, I mean, of all the time we’ve spent together this weekend, we’ve spent most of it having sex.”

“So? It’s been great sex.”

“Yes, but I like to go out to nice restaurants and meet people, too. It’s like you’re ashamed of me.”

“Oh Frankie, I’m so not ashamed of you. The guys are just assholes sometimes, and I don’t want you to have to hang out with them.”

Was I someone he didn’t want to introduce around? All summer it was totally different, but here in L.A., it seemed like things were completely warped. It had been a long day and not the best evening. Maybe it would be better if we just went home. “All right,” I agreed.

We stopped at a light and Jake was looking over at me with a half-smile on his face. “Look Frankie, we’ve got another game tomorrow night, so I need to get some sleep.” He ran a finger up my leg, pushing the jersey dress up my thigh. “Fuck, are you wearing stockings? Oh man….” He swallowed hard. “Uh, what was I saying? Oh yeah, I want to get to bed early, so we can have our fun and still get some shut-eye. Tomorrow night we’ll go out with the guys after the game, whatever you like.” He leaned over and kissed me until the light changed, and we accelerated away.

“So Frankie, do you have one of those garter things holding up those stockings?”

“You’re just going to have to find out for yourself,” I teased him.

He grinned back at me. “Oh, I will. I have plans for you, little Frankie.”

38. These Boots Are Made For…

Jake

I could hardly stop myself from jumping Frankie in the car. Not only was she wearing her high black boots, but she was wearing stockings too! It was like she knew exactly how to turn me on.

“So, Link and Domer are out with the guys now, so it’ll be just the two of us for a while,” I told her when we got home. I wanted Frankie to feel totally relaxed.