Authors: Ginger Rapsus
Greta spoke of her job too, and the speech Mr. Blakely gave. She didn’t mention the old man and the gold coin.
But April did. “I read about you in the paper. How you made sure that old man got the full value for his coin. I almost called you then.”
“I hope we stay in business. Just before that happened, we had a meeting and the boss said things weren’t going well.”
“But I’m sure things are better now. There was a lot of good publicity. Would you want to do something else?”
“I like what I do. I always wanted to do this. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
And the conversation turned to talk about dating and boyfriends. April wasn’t seeing anyone, but she knew Greta was. And she thought she knew how they met, at the hospital and then, at the baseball game.
“I feel bad about what happened,” Greta began. “I didn’t expect to meet anyone, much less at a baseball game.”
April looked at her friend. “Greta, don’t feel bad about it. You know, I might have done the same thing. When you meet someone special, you gotta go for it.”
“He is special. It was funny how we met.”
“You met in the hospital. I remember. You came to meet me for lunch, and…”
“We met before that, April. He came to the store looking for a gold ring. He gave it to some girl, or she stole it. I never got the whole story. And I threw him out.”
April laughed so hard, other customers turned to look at her. “That’s amazing! You threw him out of the store!”
“I never told my boss about that. Wonder what he’d say?”
Greta and April talked of work, old boyfriends, past times, and before they knew it, two hours had passed, and they were still picking at their food. They were so busy talking and getting caught up on each other’s lives, they’d hardly touched their barbecue.
They decided to finish when the waiters and hostess began glaring at them, as the line to get in stretched near the door.
Greta paid the tab, after a short argument with April. “I owe this to you.”
The girls found their way out of the crowded restaurant and walked to Greta’s car. “We have to do this again. You know what? Maybe we can go to a game. I’d love to sit with you during one of these playoffs.”
April’s eyes grew wide. “Playoff tickets? Greta, this is the hardest ticket in town to find. The Ice Bandits are on the verge of the Stanley Cup Finals.”
“I’ll get you a ticket. I’ll ask Brandon. He’ll get you a ticket. No problem.”
The two friends embraced. “One more thing, Greta. Promise me something.”
“What is it?”
“Promise me you’ll invite me to your wedding.”
Greta’s mouth fell open. “April, I don’t know…”
“Well, I know. I know you guys have something special. And I’m glad. I’m happy for you.”
Both Greta and April were in the crowd the night the Ice Bandits beat the Capitals to advance to the Stanley Cup Final.
The Ice Bandits fans were jubilant and noisy. But not as jubilant as the players.
Brandon, soaked with sweat and breathing hard, celebrated with his teammates. Kyle had scored the winning goal, with an assist from Brandon. Tony scored one, and Mike scored two. Mike still wasn’t talking about his knee injury, but let his play do the talking.
The Ice Bandits and Capitals lined up and shook hands. A few of the players embraced. Greta thought that was a nice touch; she didn’t know any athletes did that. She spotted Brandon in the line, right behind Zach, and watched him shake hands with every member of the Capitals.
A group of men in suits presented Kyle with the Prince of Wales Trophy, for the Eastern Conference champions. Greta thought it was funny that Kyle wouldn’t touch it, as if he were afraid of it. Then she remembered Brandon’s tales of the many superstitions among hockey players.
Greta and April were separated in the massive crowd that jammed the Arena and would not leave. The fans couldn’t get enough of their heroes. The entire Ice Bandits team came out to the ice and held their sticks high, in a salute to their devoted fans.
Brandon didn’t talk much. He and Zach kept looking at each other, not quite believing all the fuss and adoration they were getting. Even in the locker room, the atmosphere was not that noisy or chaotic.
The team was saving that for the night they won the Cup.
Greta finally caught up with Brandon an hour and a half after the game ended. She embraced him and congratulated him.
He smiled a weary smile. “Our biggest job is ahead.”
Fans still milled about the players’ parking lot as Greta drove away with Brandon. Someone—she couldn’t make out who—was signing autographs.
Brandon stared ahead at the street and didn’t talk. Greta guessed he was too tired to say anything. Then he spoke: “We leave for San Jose tomorrow. They have home ice advantage. Crazy schedule.” He scratched his playoff beard, more scraggly than ever, and pushed back his long hair.
It was their last night together for awhile. Greta stayed at Brandon’s.
They remained in bed till late the next morning.
“Hey, Greta. Question for you.”
“What is it?”
“I want to buy you something nice after all this is over. All you’ve done for me. Putting up with my crazy schedule. I want to buy you something. Name it.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Brandon.”
“You must want something. Come on. If I were Santa Claus, and it was Christmas, what would you ask for?”
“I could use a new digital gauge.”
Brandon sat up in bed. “A what?”
“A digital gauge. I use it in my work. Mine is old.”
He laughed. “That’s all you want? I was thinking of a vacation, a trip somewhere. Or a fur coat. Or a fancy dress. Think about it while I’m in California.”
“I wish I could go with.”
“So do I.” He reached for her. They embraced and kissed, clinging to each other, savoring their time together, a peaceful interlude in the middle of all the pressure.
San Jose had the advantage, and won the first game on home ice, 3-2. The Ice Bandits won the second game in overtime, and were set to come home for the next three games.
Greta woke up that morning alone in her bed.
She blinked, and looked again.
Brandon wasn’t next to her. He wasn’t in the room.
He couldn’t have gone out this early. Practice wasn’t till later this morning. And she had planned to fix a big breakfast.
A loud bang in the kitchen, and Brandon’s voice, “Shit!”
Greta climbed out of bed and walked to the kitchen.
Brandon stood over a frying pan that was upside down on the floor, surrounded by half-cooked scrambled eggs. “I wanted to surprise you, and cook you breakfast.”
She had to laugh. “This is something my mother would do. More than once, she knocked over a pan or dropped a bowl when she was cooking.”
Greta surveyed the damage. “It’s all right, Brandon. I don’t expect you to do anything today. Just go to practice. Big night tonight.”
“Big night” was an understatement. The Chicago Ice Bandits were up three games to one against San Jose. If they won tonight, the Stanley Cup was theirs. And in front of the home crowd, all those wild Ice Bandits fans.
Brandon had spent every free minute in Chicago, how few they were, with Greta, either at his place or hers. She mentioned that she brought him good luck, but Brandon knew it was more than good luck. He still knew he’d give her the gold ring, but he didn’t know exactly when.
He wanted to lift that silver Cup before he popped the question.
“Let me clean this up. You go get ready for practice.”
The morning skate and practice would be well attended by national media and whatever fans could get in, and Ice Bandits fans were a determined bunch.
While Brandon was gone, Greta straightened up the apartment and made her bed carefully. If all went according to plan, they wouldn’t sleep in that bed tonight. They’d be celebrating all night and into the next morning.
Greta’s heart shook as she contemplated the day’s, and evening’s, events. Brandon’s big dream was about to come true. And she wanted Brandon and his team to win. She saw first hand how hard he worked. How the intensity and sheer physicality of the games left him drained. He told her of his years making his game the best it could be, how his coaches continued to coax the very best effort out of him. And sometimes it just wasn’t good enough.
Whatever team lost put everything they had into their game too.
Greta looked at the clock, for the first of dozens of times that day. Time would pass slowly this day. Until the puck dropped at seven that night. And she’d be there.
Nothing short of a tornado would keep her away, and maybe that wouldn’t stop her either.
Her phone jangled.
“Hi, hon. May I speak to Brandon?”
“Ma, he’s not here. Why do you want him?”
“I need someone to unclog my toilet. I dropped a washcloth down the toilet, and it flushed, and now it’s all stuck. Am I glad I didn’t buy a new toilet! Why do I do such stupid things?”
Greta burst out laughing. “A washcloth? Ma, I think you should have used toilet paper!”
“Don’t get smart, Greta. This is serious. What if I get the runs?”
“Ma, I think you should call a plumber. Brandon is a hockey player.”
Mother blew a big sigh. “Look, Greta. You’re serious about that guy. I know you are. You can’t tell me otherwise.”
“But why do you think…”
“Greta, if you’re going to spend your life with that guy, he should know how to unstop a toilet!”
Ma was the second person to assume Greta and Brandon were a permanent couple.
The Ice Bandits practiced, with Coach Jock leading them, talking to the newsguys and radio broadcasters, as any team on the verge of winning the Cup would. It was almost like any other game day. The guys talked and laughed and the trainers checked out their various aches and pains. Mike DeBerry swore he felt fine, but he stayed with the trainer for quite some time, and his entire right leg was wrapped up and braced tightly.
Vyto spent a lot of time in front of his locker, checking and re-checking his sweater and all his gear. He spoke to himself in Lithuanian.
Brandon and Zach didn’t say much. Kyle walked around talking to everyone, as a good team captain should. But Brandon was listening to his own private talk. He always had his own way of talking to himself before a game, but this was not just another game.
If the Ice Bandits lost this game, they’d return to San Jose. But the Sharks were almost unbeatable at home. And Brandon wanted to win in front of their fans.
One fan in particular.
Brandon sent her a short text, “I’m here. Staying till game over.”
He and Zach, and a few others, didn’t bother going home for a rest or a short nap. No naps today. Maybe no sleep tonight.
Greta took her time getting ready for the game. She managed to snag an extra ticket for April, who had been a fan for years, and was beyond excited about this game. April had an old Ice Bandits sweater with an old-timer’s name and number on it. Greta wore the #48 sweater Brandon had given her.
April arrived, wearing her Ice Bandits sweater with an old-timer’s name on it. She’d been a fan for years, but tonight was her first Stanley Cup Final game. Greta offered her a drink, but she declined. “We can drink plenty of beer tonight at the Arena.”
A big white limo came to pick up the girls at five-thirty. Greta wished it had come even earlier, since traffic would no doubt be gridlocked. Puck drop was set for seven, but it would be later than that, with the introductions and all the fuss.
The girls gaped at the big crowds of people, all decked out in ice blue and silver, all hoping to see a win tonight. Fans without tickets stood around the entrances, hoping to buy overpriced tickets or sneak in. But there was so much security, Greta thought, that would be impossible.
Greta could always spot Brandon right away. And there he was, skating to center ice for his introduction, with his teammates. The fans yelled so loud, the entire building seemed to quake. Greta wondered how Brandon felt at this moment, what he was thinking, if he was nervous.
A local singer sang the Anthem, with the fans cheering throughout. And then the game began. The puck dropped, and the Ice Bandits took possession.
Before two minutes had passed, Tony Goldina scored. Greta had to cover her ears as the fans screamed, and the theme song blared. Brandon got an assist.
Brandon concentrated on playing the best hockey of his life. His game instincts took over, as the game went on, and Kyle scored a goal. The Ice Bandits led 2-0 at the second intermission.
Twenty more minutes, and the Cup would be theirs.
Fans were riveted to their seats as the third period began. Greta didn’t move, except to stand and yell her brains out when Tony scored again to make it 3-0.
The Ice Bandits played their best game of the year, when they needed to. The fans recognized this, and began shouting and cheering nonstop as the minutes ticked down.
Two minutes left in the game. No way could San Jose score three goals and tie, four goals and win. This was it.
The Ice Bandits were about to win their first Stanley Cup in twenty-eight years.
Brandon was near mid-ice when time ran out, and the final buzzer sounded. He stood right next to Zach, his longtime buddy, and Tony Goldina, whose eyes were puddled up.
The fans screamed, and waved their hands, as the players embraced.
Greta burst into tears.
Brandon was close to tears himself as he hugged Zach, his longtime teammate. They’d come up through the minors together and started with the Ice Bandits at about the same time. All the worries, wondering if they’d get sent back down to the minors, the aches and pains and bruises…it all melted away at this moment, this spectacular moment.
Hugging. Shouting. Talking. Brandon couldn’t make out what was being said, but it didn’t matter.
Vyto, wearing all his goalie equipment, cried with joy as he hugged Brandon. He was saying something in Lithuanian. Brandon guessed it was joyful words. And then Vyto shouted, in his Lithuanian accent, “We dood it! We dood it!”
Other players, and a lot of the fans too, heard his joyful rant, and took up the cry. “We dood it!”