She turned to look at me. “Yes. Halfback, quarterback…” She trailed off when she saw the glee on my face.
“One-third back?” I teased.
The pink returned to her cheeks. But I could tell she had no idea where she tripped up. “Yes, thirdback…” She cleared her throat and pushed some imaginary loose strands of hair behind one ear. “Of course.”
“Come on, let’s keep going,” I said, saving her.
We walked the wide hallways around the stadium toward the field.
“So where are you from?” I asked.
“New York. Just flew in last night.”
“Ah. That makes sense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, clearly offended.
I offered a half smile. “Nothing. You just have a certain…attitude.”
She tilted her head to one side. There was fire in those eyes. “Attitude?”
“Yeah. Like you own the place.”
“Well, as a matter of fact…” She started to say something, but it was cut short when I opened the large door to the field. We were standing in the nosebleeds, but you got a fantastic view of the whole thing.
It had been ages since I’d been up here. It was dawn, so the sky was a gentle pink and orange. I was hit by a wave of nostalgia. I had played here my entire career, over a decade. Ever since I was a rookie. Worked, bled, fought, lost, and won here. I still played here, still practiced like it was game day every single day. I glanced over at the owner’s box. It was never going to be the same.
“Amazing,” she whispered. She stood right at my shoulder. She had been keeping a certain distance before, but maybe the overwhelming size of this place made her want to get closer to me or something. I was totally fine with that.
We stepped down into the bleachers. The frost wasn’t here yet, but it was early in the day, so she wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm. She seemed vulnerable all of a sudden. I had a real urge to put my arms around her and keep her warm myself—which was surprising, given that I’d just met her.
“It is,” I said, looking out onto the field. I really wanted to ask her if she forgot to bring a jacket because she assumed it would be warm and humid here like in New York this time of year. But I was having trouble flirting and teasing her at that moment. This place was more than just amazing. There was magic here. It also hit me how much of that magic was behind me instead of ahead. I pointed to the owner’s box. “That right there… That’s where the best damn owner in all of sports sat.”
I glanced over at her. She was staring in the direction I was pointing, but her face was a mask. “What made him such a great owner?” I swore I heard her voice tremble a little. But if she was experiencing any kind of emotion, she wasn’t showing it on her face. A good trait for a secretary, I figured.
“He cared. He cared about everyone. From the janitors to the secretaries.” I nodded at her, and she gave me a weird look. “Executive assistants. Right.” Undeterred, I continued. “To the concession people, to all the coaching staff and the players. He was true blue. And a football guy to the core.”
“And that’s a good thing?” There was an edge to her voice. Not just a New York edge, but something more.
I indicated the beautiful, enormous cathedral to football around us. “Here? Yeah. Here, that’s a great thing.”
“Well, I guess it’s a great thing when you’re surrounded by the people of Boston—who are well known to be calm and level-headed. Soooo much more tranquil than New Yorkers.”
Yeah, I heard the sarcasm. But I just shrugged and smiled. Which only seemed to wind her tighter. I’m not saying it made me a good person, but I was really enjoying it.
She blew air through her nostrils and then took a few steps away from me. This woman was absolutely filled with tension that needed to be released. She spun around and said, “I guess I’ll just have to get used to nonsensical shitty roads and words being pronounced wrong and deep-dish pizza.” The sarcasm was turning to straight anger—out of nowhere.
“Deep-dish pizza? That’s Chicago.” I said, my grin wide, my tone disbelieving. “I guess you’ll also have to experience Boston’s other local treasures and traditions, like luaus, surfing, and wicked awesome Texas barbecue.”
Her frowning face was telling me to shut up, but those flaring nostrils were just egging me on.
“I could give you a tour of Mount Rushmore and the White House while you’re here too, if you’d like.”
She couldn’t even form words, she was so pissed at me.
“So, you’re one of those New Yorkers who actually believes the rest of the universe outside of New York doesn’t exist.” It wasn’t a question.
It might have been my imagination, but it looked like her eyes were welling up with tears. “It just so happens I was born in Boston. But I’m not the one who ignores the real world. It’s all the idiots in here!” She was yelling. Actually yelling. Her voice ricocheted off the empty stadium walls. Wait, were those tears in her eyes? “The painted-faced morons getting all worked up over a stupid game.”
My grin fell. Now that’s not cool. “Whoa. Easy there. It’s not a stupid game.”
She pushed imaginary strands of hair behind her ear again and lowered her voice again. “It is a stupid game. It’s an opiate for the masses, distracting them from the people and things that really matter in life. Forgoing responsibility to get a dumb ball from one end of a lawn to another.”
“Hey. You clearly don’t know anything about football. You don’t know anything about this town. You’ve made a lot of judgments about things you know nothing about. Yeah, I’d say you’re a true New Yorker.” My words were harsh, but my tone was calm. That was what I did when the pressure rose. I got calmer.
“And you’ve made a lot of judgments about a person you just met that you think you know but you don’t. That sounds like a true Bostonian to me.”
“Well, actually, I’m from Ohio.”
“Well, we’ll just see if you should still be working here because maybe you should go back there.” She stepped closer.
“Well, maybe we’ll just have to see if you’re a good fit here, or you can go back to New York.” I stepped closer, towering over her.
“I would love to,” she said, looking straight up at me and not backing down an inch. “Where is Walter’s office?”
“Down that hallway to the left. There’ll be a sign.” My eyes were locked on hers. Our faces were inches away from each other. I smelled strawberries. “The sign will be in English.”
She turned sharply and stomped away in those heels. I watched, enjoying every determined sway of her hips.
I wasn’t actually going to talk to Walt about her or prevent her from getting hired.
But I was certainly not going to ask her out.
Hopefully, even if she started working here, I wouldn’t have to interact with her again.
High. Maintenance.
Three
The Boston Chronicle
From the desk of
Eddie “No, the Irish One” Murphy