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“So you’re saying Mr. Spade is wrong?” Chris asked.

Katella opened her mouth, closed it, before finally saying, “In this case, yes, I say that he’s mistaken.  Maybe he interpreted something my grandfather said in the wrong way or misheard something.  But I’m sorry, I don’t believe my grandfather wanted to sell the team.”

Chris nodded his head, rubbing his lips together as he took a few more notes.  The scratch of the pen against the paper was the only sound in the quiet dining room.

“One last set of questions, ladies,” he said, giving them a disarming smile.  Seraphina felt her heart flutter at the sight of it, but from the corner of her eyes, she could tell her sister was unmoved.  “Thanks again for your cooperation.  We’re almost done here.”  He flipped through his pages until he reached what Seraphina assumed was a blank page just waiting for him to write down their responses.

If she was being honest, Seraphina felt herself start to get annoyed with all the questions being asked.  She wasn’t sure if Katella’s attitude was rubbing off on her or if she was just getting sick of it, but not even Chris’s charm and good looks could dissuade her from starting to feel a tad frustrated.

“Right, did either of you know of a small disagreement between your grandfather and one of his players, a Brandon Thorpe, the goaltender?” Chris asked.

“I don’t know Brandon personally,” Katella said, and her voice took a tone of unease.  “But I know of him. 
Obviously.  Matt just mentions that he doesn’t really go out with the guys after practice or games.  I never heard of a dispute.”

“What kind of dispute?” Seraphina interrupted.

“Financial,” Chris said and then chuckled to himself.  “I apologize.  It’s not funny.  But really, what else of disputes are there, you know?  Anyways, the people I’ve interviewed mentioned that Thorpe was supposed to sign a few weeks ago, but decided at the last minute to hold out for a bigger salary, and that seemed to ruffle Ken’s feathers, so to speak.”

“I didn’t know that,” Katella said.

“I…”  Seraphina sighed through her nose, glancing at the wooden table.  “Papa called me in a couple of weeks ago to talk about a player.  He never mentioned a name, but obviously I knew it was someone from the team.  Basically, he talked about a player who was supposed to sign but decided to hold out for more money.  He wanted to know what I would do if I was in his position – do I trade him to another team and get another goalie that would ultimately cost less but isn’t as good a player, or do I keep him, pay the salary, and keep the good goalie.  I asked him a few questions – was there any way to compromise?  Was this player really serious about wanting all this money?  And he answered.”  Seraphina gripped the armrests of her seat.  “I don’t know what he chose to do.  He didn’t tell me.”

“Well, what advice did you give to him?” Chris asked.

Seraphina had to think about it, her mind swimming past the strong currents of his recent death before she found what she was looking for.  “My grandfather is adamant about certain things,” she began.  “For example, the Gulls Girls aren’t only required to be beautiful and outgoing and have a passion for the Gulls, but if they’re students, they have to have at least a 3.0 GPA.  It wasn’t a league requirement or anything, it was his.  When it comes to his actual players, he wanted them to not only possess good skills on the ice, but he wanted somebody courteous and approachable off the ice.  He wanted them to look at the team as a family, and wanted them create a bond with each other, to possess a strong sense of loyalty to the team.  My grandfather rarely made trades; he believed that just give it some time, encourage the guy, and have a little faith and they would get better.  He only traded those guys who were – for lack of a better term – selfish assholes.”

“Did your grandfather consider Thorpe a selfish asshole?”

“I don’t know,” Seraphina replied honestly.  “I mean, again, he didn’t talk about business.  I’ve never really met any of the players.  But I think that Papa liked the guy.  That’s why he asked me my opinion.  Not that I’m the come all or be all or anything like that, but he only talked to me about problems that, to him, didn’t have an obvious answer.  And the thing is, if he was talking about Thorpe, I think he was looking for a way to keep him without paying him an exuberant amount.”

“So what did you tell him?” Chris asked.  He seemed more interested in the outcome of the story, at least to Seraphina.

“I told him that maybe he should see if this player would be willing to negotiate in some way,” Seraphina said.  “Like, keep the same pay, but have him on the bench more.  I don’t know.  I have no idea what he did.  But I don’t know.”  She shrugged her shoulders, looking down at her lap, now clothed in loose, grey sweatpants.  She was babbling and being repetitive, but it was now beyond her control.  She was nervous but she didn’t know why.  “But ultimately I told him that if he liked the guy, if he had a feeling that maybe the player was going through some temporary greed phase or whatever, he should be given a second chance. 

“We were supposed to meet that night.”  For whatever reason, Seraphina’s voice had dropped uncharacteristically low.  “You know, the night that I, uh, walked in on him.  I don’t know if he was going to tell me what happened or something else…”

Suddenly, she was sad.  And she wanted Chris away from her, from her sister, from the house.  There was a lot she had to prepare for today; Henry suggested that since she officially agreed to take over the team that she should formally meet them, along with the Gulls Girls, just to introduce herself and to explain briefly what was going on now.

“Okay, thanks,” Chris said, and with that, he stood up.  Seraphina knew she should have stood, along with Katella, in respect, but her eyes were focused on the cup of coffee that Chris had deemed so good, still three-quarters filled, and now cold.  “So what’s going to happen, then?  To Thorpe, I mean.”

Seraphina’s eyes shot into his.  “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well the season starts soon, doesn’t it?” Chris asked.  “How long before he either signs or doesn’t play?”

Seraphina said nothing as Katella led him out.  She didn’t know how long she had, but she realized whatever decision her grandfather was going to make didn’t matter now.

Now, it was her decision to make, and she realized she had to make it soon.

6
.
 
She liked the first outfit better.  Madison glanced at herself in the full-length mirror located in the locker room below the main floor at Sea Side Ice Palace, the ice rink the Newport Beach Seagulls called home and where the Gulls Girls would be taking their team photo.  Apparently this shoot had been arranged before Ken’s death, and since he didn’t want to pay the photographers to come back twice, the Girls would be taking the ice right after the players themselves.  Given the outfit of choice, however, Madison wished the old man had sprung for a day two.

It wasn’t as though she was embarrassed of her body, but even she had some
insecurities she didn’t want presented to the world so vividly.  And the outfit wasn’t like the one she would normally be wearing – tight pants and a short shirt - because it was much more revealing and Madison was certain the hair on her arms would draw a viewer away from the pretty faces due to how erect they were standing even now, and she wasn’t even on the ice yet.  The shirts were the same black, three-quarter sleeved tops, with a blunt diamond shaped cut that enhanced a Girl’s cleavage, and the material ended just underneath her breasts.  The Gulls’ name was scrawled out across the chest in navy blue cursive.  Stomachs were bare up until the hip bone, where a matching black mini skirt that reached just above mid-thigh took over for censorship.  The coolest part of the outfit, at least in Madison’s mind, was the socks that reached the knees, with black, red, and white horizontal stripes symbolizing the nautical colors of the Gulls, and concluding the outfit were ice skates.  Makeup was enhanced in order to bring out the best features each Girl possessed while hiding the subtle flaws that composed some of the face.  It was more makeup Madison had ever worn, and she was one of the few Girls who didn’t have very much on – just the typical foundation and powder, eyeliner and mascara, and gloss pink gloss across her lips.  Some Girls needed blush or eye shadow in order to accent cheekbones and eye colors that simply didn’t pop.

“You know,” Amanda said, coming up behind Madison in the same outfit as her friend.  Like Madison, Amanda’s red hair was left down, but the curls contrasted with Madison’s straight tresses.  “The most beautiful thing a girl can wear is a smile.”

“Is it really that obvious?” Madison asked in a soft voice.  She pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side as she turned so her back was facing the mirror and she looked at Amanda directly.  “I’ve never worn anything this revealing before.  I mean, besides that bikini from yesterday, but we were at a beach, you know?”

“Dude, who cares what
anyone thinks of you,” Amanda said, her brown eyes sparkling.  “Under normal circumstances, do you worry about the way you look?  Like, when you get ready for school?”

“Not really…” 

Amanda reached out and grabbed Madison’s arms that were crossed around her stomach.  “Pretend that this is school,” she suggested.  “I’m not going to lie and say looks are unimportant, but even you know that we are so much more than that.  We’re smart and we work hard and the outfit that we’re wearing does not represent who we are, it represents our support for a team we cheer for.  And obviously you’re gorgeous or else you wouldn’t have gotten the job, as harsh as that may sound.”

“You think so?” Madison asked, and she hated how eager her voice came out.

Amanda rolled her eyes.  “God, you’re not one of those girls who doesn’t realize she’s beautiful, are you?” she asked.  “Because, yeah, they may be endearing in, like, romantic comedies and stuff, but in real life, are so annoying.  Madison, this job requires you to have confidence about the way you look because no matter what, people are going to talk.  You have to be thick-skinned.  Do you think you can do that?”

“As long as I have you on my ass to remind me,” Madison said, smiling for the first time since arriving.

“Oh, trust me, with your ass, I’ll be there.”

The two girls shared a laugh, interlocking their arms together and heading out onto the ice.  Madison was surprised at how diverse the team looked, even in the same uniform.  There were blondes and brunettes, three girls with jet black hair, and Amanda standing out as the only red-head.  There were Asians and Caucasians, and girl from Persia, and one from Spain, all composing a fourteen-player team.  If Madison was honest, she found that she was proud to be a part of a group of such different girls with at least one similarity, and as a result, felt her body slowly start to relax.

One of the photographers positioned her on top of the goal so that her back was against another Girl, this one Erica.  Madison’s left hand gripped the red horizontal pole, her right knee bent up while her left one stuck straight out.  Her face was tilted to the camera while sections of her hair were placed over her breasts.  Two Girls were positioned on each side of the goal while six Girls kneeled down on the ice, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders.  Finally, two Girls were sprawled out on the ice, almost lying down had it not been for the elbow resting on the cold ice that kept them up.  Their legs were out in front of them, crossed at the ankles, their free hand resting on their bent knee.

Madison didn’t count how many pictures that they took of she and the Girls, but once they wrapped, she felt her cheeks pinch from all the smiling.  As she skated off the ice, she couldn’t help but laugh to herself.  It was fun, she could admit.

“See,” Amanda said once they were off the ice.  She nudged Madison with her shoulder.  “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Madison said.

Once they reached the locker room, their boss – coach?  Madison wasn’t sure – Lara Stinson called them over before anybody could begin to change.  She looked as if she could be a former Gulls Girl.  Though she was in her mid-forties, she could get away with claiming early thirties, and depending on what she was wearing, could say twenty-nine.  Lara seemed to be composed of predictable preferences.  Her brown hair was pulled into its usual ponytail, and she was wearing her usual color, black.  On her feet were worn pink ballet slippers that could have been attached to her feet given how constantly she wore them.  Each finger besides her thumbs was occupied by a different ring, and she wore bright red lipstick but no other form of makeup.  Many of the girls were weirded out by her strangeness, but Madison found she was drawn to Lara’s eccentric appearance and behavior; she seemed to know exactly who she was, and didn’t need anyone’s approval.

“Girls, girls.”
  Her voice was low and soothing, but had a firmness that caught attention.  And she always began with a ‘Girls, girls.’  “There’s a required meeting being held just outside by Seraphina Hanson, Ken’s granddaughter.  Quickly change, quickly!  And then meet outside.  Players should already be lining up.”