How The Cookie Crumbles Page 2

  “Um, can someone give me a ride home?”

  There was a dead silence. Then the excuses began.

  “I have to mark exams,” said my mother, which was true even though it was a Saturday night. My grandmother didn’t drive anymore, which was something all of Vancouver should be thanking us for.

  My dad, Glen, and Allan all looked at me, aghast.

  “Frankie, hello? In five minutes it’s game two of the playoffs, Canucks vs. Kings! Nobody wants to drive you home during the game, afterwards, sure. Why don’t you watch the game with us anyway?”

  So I ended up in the family room, watching the game with the boys. Maybe it was better that I wasn’t alone, wallowing in self-pity. If Matt were still here, it’s probably what we would have done anyway. I had just forgotten about the playoffs, which was apparently a huge sin. I know the basics of the game and who the cute Canucks are, but I am not really a hockey fan. Unlike my roommate and good friend, Bianca Leung, who is a complete hockey fanatic. In fact, she was one of the fortunate 16,000 to actually be at the game tonight.

  My indifference to hockey began when I had to drive my younger brothers to their games. Mom had insisted that I stay and cheer their feeble efforts on. Glen was not bad, but Allan was too much of a dreamer. He had once scored when a puck hit him on the helmet and then went into the net. And then he expected me to compliment him on the way home! After I said, “Way to stand in the right spot and have a hard head,” he started whining and told Mom on me when we got home. Little brothers. These days, I avoided hockey whenever I could, which wasn’t easy in Vancouver.

  One ridiculous thing that happened when guys watched hockey was that they stopped speaking English. And it didn’t help that Glen’s best friend, Mitchell, was here too. Testosterone overdrive. I felt like an anthropologist observing a primitive tribe.

  “Oh baby, sweet deke!”

  “Ohhh ho! Burr’s got danglelitis!”

  “Did ya see that filthy t-drag?”

  “What a dirty gino!”

  “That’s some sick sauce.”

  “Nooooo, Luuuuu! Stay between the effing pipes!”

  “Man, the Canuck’s PK is sucking big time.”

  “Fricking Kings score again! At least Cookson gets the apple, I’ve got him in my pool.”

  I had no idea what they were talking about, so I just watched the game and resumed knitting this sweater I had started last Christmas and forgotten about. One thing was for sure: the Canucks needed to stop taking penalties, because every time they did, the Kings scored. The final score was 3-2 for the Kings in overtime, with the Kings scoring on yet another power play. All the boys were unhappy. After the Canucks had won the first game, everyone was ready to jump on the Stanley Cup bandwagon. Now everyone seemed ready to jump off the Second Narrows Bridge, but hopefully not before they drove me home. Being a Canucks fan meant living on an emotional seesaw.

  Mitchell offered to drive me home, since he was leaving anyway. My mom had packed me a little container of leftovers, since she’s always worried that nobody will eat properly once they leave her house. She was the one who taught me cooking, so you’d think she remember that I was a great cook. But maybe it was a good thing to have a healthy meal around, since I didn’t want to resort to eating junk because I was unhappy. So I kissed her and thanked her.

  “Hey Mitchell, you know that I live on the west side, near U.B.C., right?” I thought that he lived about five minutes away from here, but his parents had split recently so I wasn’t quite sure.

  He bobbed his head up and down. Mitchell was kind of on the quiet side, which was probably why he got along so well with my loudmouth brother. We drove along in silence across the Second Narrows Bridge. Since it was only Game Two, there were no jumpers yet.

  “I might be going to U.B.C. next year,” Mitchell informed me.

  “Might?” I wondered. Glen had decided on Waterloo a couple of months ago.

  “Well, I will. For sure. What do you study there?”

  “Art history.”

  “Oh.”

  Yeah, that answer usually brought the conversation to a screeching halt, and Mitchell wasn’t even a talker in the first place.

  “Maybe I’ll see you there?” He looked over nervously at me and swallowed.

  Oh man, I recognized that look. Was I trapped in a little Honda Fit with my brother’s friend who had a crush on me? Damn. This was my punishment for being too lazy to take the bus. I could remember this guy from when he showed up at our place with too-short sweatpants and bedhead to play endless rounds of Call of Duty. The fact that he was now 6’ 3” and used hair product was not going to wipe those memories away. Plus, get real: I wasn’t into little boys.

  “Maybe. It’s a pretty big campus though. What are you taking?”

  “I’m at the business school.”

  Great, just like Matt. As if I needed a reminder of my ex when I was trying to keep him out of my brain, like some horrible sea monster waiting to drag me under. It was all I could do not to tear up again. One of the benefits of having a boyfriend was that I didn’t need to deal with the attention of random guys. Just the magic words, “Sorry, I have a boyfriend,” and it was like a cloak of unavailability was tossed over me. But if I were to start crying, then Mitchell would try to be all nice and comforting, and I totally did not want that to happen. So I took a deep breath and changed the subject to one I knew he could discuss.

  “Do you think the Canucks will win the series?” I asked, and off he went. I didn’t even have to listen, which was a major relief.

  Unfortunately, not listening meant I couldn’t keep the conversation going, so after a long ride with painful silences, we finally arrived at my apartment. I thanked Mitchell and scooted out of the car before he got the courage to say anything that would make our relationship eternally awkward.

  Then I marched upstairs where I could finally be blessedly alone and miserable. I had two roomies, Bianca and Lauren, but this was Saturday night, so they’d be out on dates. Because that’s what girls with boyfriends did. Sniff.

  3. Postgame Interview

  Jake Cookson

  “Jake! Jake! How does it feel to steal one in the Canuck’s own barn?”

  “Feels good, real good,” I said happily. It felt pretty fucking amazing after all the predictions that we were going to get swept in this series. And the Canucks were pretty much the most arrogant team in the league, so beating them was that much sweeter. It was our first playoffs in five years, but we were coming together pretty good. My D-partner, Josh Malinowksi, glared at me, and I remembered I was supposed to be all humble. I’d gotten in trouble before for saying the wrong shit. “But y’know, it’s only one game. We’re happy to get the split and now we get to play in front of our own fans.”

  “What changes have you made to the power play that’s making it so successful?”

  “Uh, I’m actually getting my shot on net,” I replied, and the reporters laughed so I grinned back at them. I guess I had a rep for saying funny shit, but usually I just said whatever I was thinking.

  “Can I get some video, Jake?” This blonde reporter from an L.A. station squeezed in between me and Mally on the bench. Her name was Amy-something, and she didn’t know dick about hockey but she was pretty easy on the eyes. She was wearing a tight skirt and a tighter blouse. She turned to her cameraman, “Okay, Michael, are you ready?” And then she smiled brilliantly at me. “I’m here with the King’s star defenceman, Jake Cookson. Jake, your team squeaked into the playoffs, and you lost Game One, but now you’ve managed to beat the Canucks at home in Vancouver. What do you think the keys to tonight’s game were?”

  “Well, we got our power play goin’, which was huge for us tonight. Other than that, uh, we just try to follow our game plan.” Nothing for the other team in that, was there?

  “So, you got two assists tonight and were chosen as one of the game stars. Congratulations! It’s only your first playoffs, Jake, but how do you think you’ve matured as
a player this year?”

  I heard Mally snort, but I ignored him. “I dunno. I always compete hard every game, but I think I’m improving in our end.” She opened up her blue eyes wide and gave me a blank look, so I explained, “Y’know, the defensive part of my game is getting better.”

  She asked a few more questions, and I think I answered them pretty good. I was ready to shower and get ready to leave for the plane ride home.

  “Just one more question, Jake.” Amy leaned forward and I could see down the front of her blouse. She had nice tits, and I could smell her perfume even in the dressing room. She smiled warmly at me. “Any predictions for the series?”

  I smiled back at her. “Uh, sure, I think we’ll take it in six.” She thanked me, then they packed up and left.

  “This close,” Mally said, holding up two fingers. “This close to you getting through an interview without saying something stupid. You never, fucking never, predict a win. Now the Canucks’ll be pissed and Coach is gonna be really pissed.” He shook his head in disgust, “It’s like I’m your babysitter.”

  I had come into the league straight from juniors and I got partnered with Mally because he was a more experienced D-man. Hell, everyone was more experienced than me then. Mally helped me a ton on the ice, and he tried to help off the ice too. Even now that I was 22, I was still one of the younger guys on the team, but we were all pretty young. Only two guys were over 30.

  “Move your ass, Cookie,” someone yelled. I had spent so long with the reporters I was the last one ready to go. It was too bad we were leaving Vancouver tonight; this city had some really smokin’ chicks. Last night at the Roxy had been great. Must be all that mountain air or something.

  I talked to Mally about them on the plane. “Vancouver has the hottest women,” I said. “I mean, L.A. is great, but Vancouver chicks are more….” I didn’t know exactly what the word was.

  “You mean, you didn’t even get a good night’s sleep before a playoff game?” Mally stared at me in shock.

  “What? I played fine.” That no-sex-before-a-game shit was old school.

  He sighed, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You did have a great game. If getting some before a big game is what relaxes you, then fine. Maybe you should get a girlfriend or something, so you can get drained regularly.”

  “A girlfriend? Not this boy. I’m too young to get tied down.”

  4. Earl’s for Girls

  The next night when I showed up for my evening shift at Earl’s, I knew that Matt wasn’t working, so things wouldn’t be too awful. To be completely honest, I hated my job, but the money was excellent. Waitressing there was sexist and depressing. Like most of the expensive chains in the city, Earl’s had a rep for having attractive waitresses. Thus the popular phrase around Vancouver: “Earl’s for girls.” And guess what, if you advertise cute waitresses, you end up with the kind of clientele who want to be served by cute waitresses. Or should I say, serviced.

  I realized it was hypocritical of me to take big tips from guys who were trying to impress me and then protest about sexism, but I felt there was a professional line here. I knew my role here and a little flirting was fine, and I would certainly smile and laugh at their lame jokes and come-ons, but some guys never understood the limits.

  To hear the sexist remarks as I walked away from the table like, “Oh, I’d like to tap that ass,” or to have orders placed by guys who treated my breasts like the speakers at a drive-through was a frigging pain in the aforementioned ass. As I knew from my third year Gender Relations course, it was a part of the male patriarchal system designed to keep women subjugated and powerless. However it was hard to be a proper feminist in the short skirts and fitted blouses we all wore. Since I was trying to earn enough money to pay for my university expenses, I had to grin and bear it. When I had complained to Matt, he only laughed and told me I was lucky that guys wanted to hit on me since it meant I was hot.

  As soon as I got to work, I knew something was up. Cinnamon, who was one of my better friends there, pulled me aside once I walked in the door.

  “Oh my God, Frankie, I am so sorry to hear that you and Matt broke up! You guys were like the perfect couple.”

  “It’s okay, but wow, it doesn’t take long for bad news to spread. How did you hear about this anyway?” It only happened yesterday afternoon, and neither Matt nor I worked last night.

  “Well, Shawntell told me. Matt called her and he asked her out! Did you not know?” Cinnamon’s eyes were wide and her perfectly glossed lips formed a matching circle.

  “What! He’s going on a date with Shawntell?”

  Matt and I used to laugh at Shawntell. In addition to having a mother who couldn’t spell, she was blessed with gorgeous sun-streaked looks and a killer body. But she was so incredibly stupid that she gave dumb blondes a bad name. She was constantly getting her orders wrong, and causing all kinds of problems in the kitchen. Was dating airheads what Matt meant by having more fun? Of course, she also confided in me that she believed giving b.j.’s gave her an orgasm because she had an extra clitoris in her mouth, which now seemed to be information I probably shouldn’t have passed on to Matt.

  I hinted to Aaron, the assistant manager, that I wouldn’t mind getting cut early that night, but he just blew me off. He liked to keep more experienced waitresses around on Sundays in case it got unexpectedly busy. I managed to avoid Shawntell most of my shift since it was busy; around nine-thirty I saw Matt sitting at the bar chatting with the bartenders. I felt so weird seeing him, at first I was excited that he was there and then sad when I realized that he wasn’t there for me.

  I walked over to the bar to say hello. I could show that I was mature and adult and cool.

  “Hey Matt, how’re you doing?”

  “Hey Frankie… good, good.”

  He barely glanced at me and Marshall who was tending bar gave me a sympathetic tilt of the head.

  I walked away without saying anything else. How could we have been in love yesterday and now nothing? I started to feel really down. But that was just the beginning of my woes.

  Shawntell walked out from the back, after her shift she had switched out her white shirt and black skirt for a sheer top and jeggings.

  “Oh Frankie! Are you okay?” she cooed at me with mock sympathy.

  “Fine, Shawntell, why wouldn’t I be?” I wasn’t going to let her see how sad I felt.

  “Oh! No reason!” Her blue eyes went all big and she blinked her fake eyelashes at me. I mean, I wore false eyelashes too, but hers were like the wings of steroidal glitter moth. Then she sashayed away, went over to the bar and greeted Matt.

  Her girlish voice carried across the room, “Hey gorgeous, I’m all ready to go out and par-tay!”

  And she gave Matt a big hug and a kiss. When he looked down at her and smiled in his sweet, slow way, I was frozen to the spot. Cinnamon said something to me, but I didn’t hear her words, I couldn’t stop watching. He rose up, put his hand on the small of her back and led her out the door. He never even looked back to see how I was taking it all.

  I felt breathless, like all the oxygen in the room was gone. And I hurt inside, I think my heart was actually hurting.

  “Cinny, do me a favour,” I gasped, “Eleven is all settled, would you mind clearing and re-setting the table for me after they leave?”

  “Sure, Frankie, sure.” Cinnamon was all sympathy and concern.

  I ran to the staff washroom and barely held my tears back until I got in. I was still in love with Matt, and I had to see him going out on a date already. It was like all the months we spent together meant nothing if he could date so soon. And it hurt so much to watch him do the same little considerate things for her he did for me. They looked like such a perfect, golden couple together, even if there was only one brain between the two of them. I cried for at least ten minutes, and then I heard a knock at the door.

  “Frankie, may I speak?” It was Aaron, using the “Earl’s speak” method of addressing someone. That he was s
o formal at a time like this was just proof of what kind of knobs got promoted here.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I sobbed.

  “Frankie, let me in.”

  “Nooooo, I don’t want you to see me like this….”

  “It’s okay, just unlock the door.”

  I did and Aaron walked in. He was a bit awkward with people, so he tried to give me a hug, but it turned into patting my back, like I was a baby he was trying to burp.

  “Um, Frankie, you can’t really go out and work like this.”

  I looked in the mirror. My mascara had gone all punk raccoon and my skin was red and blotchy. I wasn’t exactly an ad for fun times at Earl’s.

  “Look, why don’t you just go home. I’ll cut you now, it’s dead out there anyway.”

  I nodded, “Thank you, Aaron.”

  “Man, you’re the last person I ever thought I’d be in the washroom saying this to, but you need to pull yourself together. What Matt did was definitely sketch, but you’re a professional, right?”

  I nodded, but the tears kept leaking out of my eyes. I was a good worker and I had never brought my personal issues to work like everyone else did, but really these were extreme circumstances. Still he was right, having a breakdown at work was totally adolescent and humiliating. And around here, it was something that happened nightly but never before to me.

  5. Daring and Adventurous?

  I rode the 99 B-line back to my apartment and looked out the bus window sadly. Sunday night and everyone was out in couples. Happy couples holding hands, smiling and talking to each other, laughing and flirting; happy frigging couples everywhere I looked. And I was alone, all alone.

  As if on cue, some drunken guy turned around and started talking to me. “Hey sweetheart, are you alone?” His breath was a winning combination of beer and garlic.