Icing the Puck (New York Empires Book 2) (19 page)

Max swallowed.

“And the thing is, the organization wants you to play up here. We think you’re ready and we think you’re going to be here for a while. So instead of sending you back down to Stratford to keep you out of that spotlight, this is what we propose. It’s a simple proposition. If you’re not fluent or whatever you want to call it by the time we play the Winter Classic , we’re hiring you an interpreter. And the cost is coming out of your salary.”

There were no words he could say. He was in trouble.

Merde.

Kayleigh

One of the new pieces was first on the agenda at the Philharmonia’s full practice: an arrangement of an aria from Carmen. Kayleigh found herself having to focus. The arrangement was a bit interesting, but in a good way. It was fast, furious and forced her nimble fingers just beyond their limits.

Finally, the piece was the way Arun wanted it, and he gestured to the ensemble to put their instruments down. “Good job, everybody,” he said, pride in his voice. “We’ll take five in a minute and come back to the Vivaldi. But before that, I have an announcement.

Announcement? Another announcement?

She sighed, then realized she wasn’t the only one. It was all she could do to keep from laughing.

“This isn’t bad, guys,” Arun qualified, his hands out in a motion of surrender. “So there’s been a change to this year’s schedule.”

Another change?

She bit her tongue, holding back any possible comment she might have made. The rest of the orchestra wasn’t as successful; she could hear the undercurrent of chatter around her. She just shrugged her shoulders and held her breath.

“Yes,” he continued. “I know. This has been a tumultuous year already and we haven’t even made it into December. But this year, we are getting a gala holiday party.”

Gala? Holiday? What???

She sat up straighter in her chair, carefully holding on to her violin.

“Because this year presents more opportunities for subscribers to spend time with orchestra members, as well as increased opportunities to gain new subscribers and charitable contributions, the board decided it would be a better use of time and money to give the Philharmonia a reward. Thus, instead of the midwinter charity gala, this year, we will have a mid-winter orchestral gala. Orchestra members, some selected board members and invited guests will attend. Attendance is mandatory. Plus ones are allowed. Dress code is black tie. Now take five, and we’ll go back to Vivaldi after the break.”

Kayleigh sighed. The very last thing she wanted to do was to have to deal with some of the members of the orchestra on an off day when she wouldn’t otherwise have to. It was one thing to see some of them when she wanted to but this?

“Aren’t you excited about the gala?”

Speak of the devil. Joe. One of the very last people in the world she wished to see.

Instead of answering him the way she wanted, she bit her tongue and focused on putting her violin back into its case. She absolutely did not want to go to this gala. But she wouldn’t tell Joe that. She had no desire to socialize with him. Especially since the man reminded her of an overexcited Chihuahua, and there was nothing she liked less. “Sure,” she said, picking words that would get her out of the conversation as quickly as possible. “Black tie, right?”

“Yes. Formal setting for us requires black tie.” He paused. “And it would be better for you to bring a date. It seems…awkward if you don’t.”

“Sure,” she said, preparing to leave Joe before he had a chance to continue the conversation. Because he wasn’t who she wanted to talk to. She needed to talk to Arun. Immediately.

And as soon as she put her violin case back on her chair, with a peripheral “Excuse me,” to Joe, she headed toward Arun. Thankfully, her friend had stepped away from the podium, and smiled when he saw her standing in front of him.

“Kayleigh, how are you?”

“Do I have to?”

Arun laughed, and rolled his eyes. “Not willing to mince words, Kay?”

She shook her head. “Not so much. Come on,” she pleaded. “Do you know what December is going to be like for me?”

Arun threw back his shoulders. “I do, or don’t you remember discussing this a few weeks ago?” he replied. “I’m guessing your parents are coming in?”

“Yep. And most of my relatives and half the province of Saskatchewan. It’s like my brother’s never played in a hockey game before.”

The sound of Arun’s laugh was almost enough to make her smile. “And haven’t you already noticed that ‘the powers that be’ were already making special arrangements for you? You know, your addenda to the schedule where you were told you didn’t have to attend certain events?”

She nodded, remembering the papers she’d been handed three days after the original schedule went out. “Yes. And…”

“This is not on the list of events you can miss. No buts, no excuses if not something major.”

Fuck.

Resigned to the inevitable, she prepared to head back to her seat.

“Oh, and Kayleigh?”

She turned toward Arun. “Hmm?”

“I’m going to bring Jonathan,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Could you…bring someone as well? He’ll need someone to talk to.”

She nodded; she couldn’t say no to her conductor. Especially when he was a friend asking her for a favor.

“Someone to take his mind off of how nervous he is, maybe a hockey player?”

“Like they grow on trees,” she said, laughing.

“Please?”

Once again she nodded. “Sure, Arun. I’ll see what I can do.” If she were being honest with herself, she knew exactly who she’d ask. Except it was a horrible idea. A very bad, horrible, no good idea. But that didn’t stop her from thinking about it.

Max

Merde.

He was screwed.
Tabern
…

“
Hein, petit
,” his grand-père said, laughing. “
Arrêt
with the
tabernacs
or we’re going to put you in that church two blocks north.”

He laughed against the broom. He’d desperately hoped he’d be able to sweep out his frustrations on the floor of the poutine shop. Apparently, this was not going to happen. Especially when grand-père was in town, watching the shop so Alain could go fishing before the period he called ‘peak poutine season’ started. “
Désolée
,” he said, his voice full of regret. “I…”

“No,” Grand-père said, halting the apology with a smile. The World Series was on the television, a French language broadcast courtesy of a Quebec sports station that took pity on the shop. “S’OK. So what’s causing the trouble? Your schedule? You need a…”

“Another head is what I need,” Max answered earnestly. “I have to…be better at English, or I’m going to be forced into a translator.”

“So it is the language.
Merde
.” Grand-père swept at the counter with a towel. “Is there someone you can ask for assistance with English?
Un Anglo
? You know, what about a pretty girl…”

“
Arrêt
!” Max shouted, half laughing, half shaking his head. His grandfather meant well, but the idea…well… “I don’t know.” He paused and drummed his fingers on the countertop. “Maybe.” But would she? Would Kayleigh help him? Not that he’d mind having the excuse to spend time with her, but
tabernac
…

“
Mon dieu
, it’s like you have the world on your shoulders,
petit
. Be smart,
hein
? Not…like you search for the cure to cancer, you know?”

He nodded, smiled and sighed. An email wouldn’t hurt. The worst she could say would be no. And he could live with that.

Kayleigh

There was only one place Kayleigh felt comfortable going when she was on the verge of making a bad decision: Sousa’s bar. So immediately after rehearsal, she got on the subway, got off at the stop that took her to the right part of the Village and walked the few blocks to the Elk (not the poutine shop).

The Elk itself was a nondescript spot with a comfy atmosphere. Wooden bar with hand-carved bar stools and leather cushions. Small tables in the corner and a stone fireplace. She was there often enough nobody looked twice at her as she walked in with a violin case.

“Hey, Kay,” Sousa said as Kayleigh walked in. Her friend was behind the bar, swabbing it down with a cloth. “What do you want?”

“The Good Ship Bad Decision,” she replied, shaking her head as she sat down on a stool. “Dear god, Souze.”

Sousa began to make her drink—a Shirley Temple with a shot of vodka. “So what brought this on?”

“So there’s this gala,” she began as she reached for a water glass. “The management turned it into a gala for orchestra members only, when before it was for subscribers. Kind of a way to get everybody together and…relax? I guess?”

Sousa nodded as she passed her the drink. “Go on.”

“So anyway, I don’t want to go to this thing. Really don’t. For reasons.”

“Which don’t involve the viola player that deserves his bow shoved up his ass?”

“Yes. And definitely do involve the fact I am tired, what with the fifty million things I need to do…”

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Go on.”

“And I especially don’t want to invite someone.”

“Come again?”

Kayleigh sighed as she took a swallow of her drink, letting the fizzy soda dance around her tongue. “See, Arun freaked out because he’s bringing his husband, of course. Problem is, Jonathan’s a total sports guy. So Arun asked me to bring someone, preferably a hockey player, to talk to Jonathan so he’s not bored.” She took another drink and sighed. “Basically.”

“And you’re thinking of asking the guy you had me give your email to?”

“In a nutshell. Hence the Bad Idea Express.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Sousanna replied matter-of-factly. “He’s hot. You’re asking him if he wants to go with you to a gala.”

“He’s on my brother’s team. He’s barely comfortable talking to me when my brother’s around.”

“You and he have been emailing, right? And is your brother going to be attending this gala?”

“Yes,” she replied. “We’ve been emailing, so it’s not going to be a random email out of nowhere. And no. My brother is not invited. He is not my guest.”

“Not your date, thankfully. So, again, what’s the problem?”

Kayleigh sighed, reaching for anything she could think of. “His English is not the best. What if he can’t keep up a conversation with Jonathan? What’s the point of bringing someone who can’t have a conversation with Jonathan, when the express purpose of bringing someone is to keep Jonathan occupied?”

“Does he have a cute accent? I mean what’s the point of an accent if it isn’t…”

“You’re not even listening.”

Sousanna glared at her, then swiped the bar with a towel. “Just because I think you’re being completely idiotic doesn’t mean I’m not listening to you. I hear every single word, Kay, even if I don’t want to. Yes. He’s on your brother’s team. But you knew that. And he
still
emailed you after I gave him your email address. So he has trouble speaking English. I’m sure Jonathan will ignore that particular fact because he will be talking to a hockey player. And maybe forcing him to speak English will help him learn.”

“But…”

“So what’s the harm, Kay? What’s the problem?”

“What if he makes a fool of himself in front of Jonathan and feels worse about himself? I mean, yeah, he could be better, but he could be worse, too…”

“Which him? The conductor? His husband or the Frenchman?” Sousanna poured another drink for a patiently waiting customer before turning back to Kayleigh. “I’m confused. You need to be specific with your pronouns, especially when telling this story.”

Kayleigh put her head against the bar, defeat and exhaustion weighing her down. “What the hell should I do?”

Sousa, like the best friend she was, rolled her eyes before patting Kayleigh on the head. “Ask him. And then tell me how it goes.”

Kayleigh sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Got a question for you but I can’t ask it over email. When can you meet?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

I have a question for you too. Are you free Thursday evening?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Yes. Where should we meet?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

630 at Westside, between centre Javits and Penn Station?

Kayleigh

Kayleigh examined her surroundings when she got out of the brand new subway station. She rarely took the subway this far west, so she’d never taken the time to notice what the area was like.

Now, she took the time to investigate as she walked down the street toward Max’s meeting place of choice. And she liked the combination of business and industrial, of new office buildings and old, crowded restaurants.

The place that Max had chosen stood out, and yet was firmly a part of the area. The doors opened to reveal a space that looked much bigger than the brick building made it seem. The wooden floors spread from wall to wall, the bar space to the left, the tables to the right. It was huge and cozy all at the same time. She looked around and took a breath.

He was sitting there in a corner table, waiting for her. She watched his shoulders, the way he breathed in and out with each passing minute. It seemed as if he’d been there awhile, the way he seemed to try and focus on everything but the chair in front of him.

“
Ouais
?”

She blushed. She’d been caught. “Sorry.”

He shook his head as he stood. And she couldn’t help but watch him. Damn, he was graceful. Like he only seemed to use half of his muscles with twice…

“Are you here?”

She laughed. He’d caught her. Again. “I’m so sorry…”

“
Arrêt
.” His voice was wonderful, and she laughed. “
Franchement
, if you think you have to apologize for paying attention to me, or anything else, I…well,” he shrugged. “It’s OK. It’s fine. Join me?”