Untamed: (Heath & Violet) (Beg For It) (21 page)

Tonight was an epic
showdown between our boys and those who should not be named from a
county in the southern part of the state. True, they’d won the
state championship last year but everyone knew that was a fluke. It
wasn’t the championship, yet. That wouldn’t happen until March.
But this was the first playdown weekend, when top contenders knocked
each other out in the battle for the top prize. It was on.

I brought Violet into
the thick of it. My buddy Dave and I had seats front and center. His
friend was an assistant coach and he’d hooked us up. I’d played a
little hockey as a teenager, but never anything like this. These kids
were 15 years old and played like pros, with the heart and soul of
champions.

Violet had never seen a
hockey game.

“So, they play with a
puck?” she asked as she gingerly took her place on the metal
bleacher seats. Right. She probably would have liked to sit on one of
those padded seat cushion things. I hadn’t thought of that. Next
time. Only there might not be a next time, I reminded myself. Violet
was set to leave in a week. And we had the town hall tomorrow night,
with a big vote deciding whether the town would even invite them to
stay and film.

Dave gave Violet a
questioning look. Then he looked at me. “Is she serious?”

“She’s never seen a
game,” I confirmed.

Dave raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve seen games
before,” she protested. Then trailed off with, “I mean, not in
person. And not exactly hockey.”

“Not a big sports
fan?” Dave asked, clearly wondering if she’d dropped down from
Mars. What did people do with their time if not follow sports?

“Not really,”
Violet admitted. “But I used to do some figure skating. And I love
watching it in the Olympics.”

“The winter Olympics,
yeah,” Dave agreed, warming up. “You ever see footage from the
Miracle on Ice?”

“That was the hockey
game with the US and the USSR?”

“One of the greatest
upsets of all time.”

“I think I saw a
documentary about it on HBO.”

That was all Dave
needed. He talked Violet’s ear off right up until the game started,
all while I went and got her a hot chocolate, while different folks
came up and tried to say hello.

“He’s talking up
your girl, there.” Helga, an older German woman who taught dance
downtown came up and teased me.

“Aw, I don’t mind
him,” I assured her. And I didn’t. Dave was harmless. And I kind
of liked seeing how sweet Violet was being to him, listening so
politely now as he started in on some other great Olympic moments.

“Well, time’s a
ticking,” Helga warned me, waving a boney finger in my face. “You
snap that one up.” She pointed right at Violet, just in case I had
any question as to what she meant.

“Yes, ma’am,” I
agreed. Maybe it was the influence of my gram. She’d always been
such a large presence in my life, commanding such respect. I’d been
taught from an early age to listen to the older women in my life.
They almost always seemed to know what they were talking about.

“See that you do.”
She left me with a significant nod, and then a saucy wink.

A little hippie organic
farmer girl who’d moved into town about a year ago came over and
gave Violet a hug like a long-lost friend.

“I’m so glad you’re
here!” she sang out.

“I’m excited for
the game,” Violet agreed, and she sounded as if she meant it.

“It can get a little
violent.” The girl widened her eyes. She’d painted green stripes
through her hair.

“OK.” Violet
nodded, duly warned.

Crotchety old Fred made
his way on by, knocking people he passed with his cane. “Watch
where you’re goin’!” he barked at them, stopping from time to
time to tip his cap or snarl at certain individuals. It was all or
nothing with Fred.

The game started in
with a goal in the first minute. Against us. Violet was clutching my
shirt and screaming in no time, just how I liked her, only we kept it
PG in the stadium, our attention riveted out on the ice.

“Shoot it!” Violet
was screaming along with the rest of the fans, not a clue in the
world what she was talking about but boy did she mean it. Dave gave
her a high five. Apparently her fervor had won him over.

At halftime, Violet
turned to me, flushed with excitement, her eyes alive and bright. “I
freaking love this game!” she declared.

“Yeah? You a hockey
fan now?” I smiled.

“I don’t know about
hockey.” She shook her head, “but this game? I love this game.”
She gestured all around her. The whole town had come out, not just
the siblings, parents and grandparents of players but anyone who knew
anyone, and then the ones who didn’t came anyway, too.

“It’s a good
crowd,” I agreed, surveying it, the mix of ages, the depth of love
for the team.

“Is the entire town
here?” she asked, amazed.

“Pretty much,” I
agreed.

“Is it like this for
every game?” She noticed a middle-aged woman with her face
completely painted the team color green.

“Pretty much.”

“Heath.” She
grabbed my hand between both of hers. “I know you think I’m
crazy, with this reality show. But, seriously, a show here could
really work. There’s so much in Watson people would love!”

“You think?” I
looked down at her, enjoying her excitement, but still having my
doubts.

“I know it!” she
insisted.

“Aren’t you worried
about ruining it by brining in cameras?”

“They won’t! We
have cameramen in town already and they’re not disrupting
anything!”

“You do?” Since
when had they started filming?

“They’re just
getting some preliminary footage, only with a couple people who’ve
signed off. And who knows what’ll happen at the town hall Monday
night anyway. But I’m starting to get really excited about it,
Heath. This could be such a cool opportunity for Watson.”

A cool opportunity? I
wasn’t sure about that. But Violet looked so cute standing there
beside me, big chunky woolen mittens covering up her hands as she
clapped them together and screamed her lungs out for our boys to
bring home a win. And win they did, in the final seconds of the game,
making everyone in the stands jump up and down like it was scripted
out of a Hollywood movie.

§

Violet had mentioned
she used to ice skate. But she hadn’t skated in years. That seemed
a shame. We had plenty of ice to go around, a couple of indoor rinks
within easy driving distance and an outdoor pond that froze over good
by the middle of winter.

I picked up a pair of
skates for her, nothing fancy, but they’d do. It was easy enough to
figure out her shoe size. When she stayed over after the hockey game
I’d shagged her so good she’d passed out cold. I had, too. The
girl was a potent drug. But Sunday morning, I’d awakened before she
had and checked the size of her shoes.

I had to drive a little
ways away to find a sports shop that was open. New England had gone a
long time since the Puritans, but a lot of places still closed up
shop on Sundays. I drove the 45 minutes telling myself I had a few
tools I needed to pick up in the nearest Vermont version of a big
city.

But I knew why I was
driving the 45 minutes. OK, nearly an hour. I wanted to see the smile
on Violet’s face when she went ice skating. She lit right up, that
one, when she got excited. I was still getting to know her. There was
a whole bunch left unshared between us, but I was getting a good feel
for her. She held herself together tight. She’d mentioned growing
up with a busy single mom and I got the picture. She’d had to take
care of herself from a real young age, then moved out to L.A. at 18
and had been hitting the pavement hard ever since.

I knew back in L.A.
Violet supposedly did things “for fun.” She hit private parties
and clubs and events, the line between work and play at those sorts
of things all blurred since the goal was always the same: cultivating
an ever-expanding network. But watching Violet unwind over the past
few weeks in Watson, it was like watching a flower bloom, all that
change happening so naturally and yet unexpected and amazing all at
once. It was hard to believe the woman screaming her lungs out at the
hockey game last night was the same one who’d tottered into Dave’s
bar two weeks ago and ordered an appletini. Next step: ice skating.

I left the box on her
front door. I wanted to give the skates to her, not make a big deal
about it. She’d know they were from me. I wasn’t trying to go
stalker on her, but the gift was about making her happy, not making
her give me a hug of gratitude. Though I’d take one.

A few hours later I got a text from
Dave:

Your girl’s out on the ice.

That was a small town
for you. No one could do anything without everyone knowing. I grabbed
my jacket and headed for my truck.

I tried the pond first
because it was my favorite spot, and I was right. She’d headed
there. Dusk was falling, the sky a rich, dark purple, and the couple
of outdoor lights the town had managed to fund blinked on. Suppertime
on a Sunday, Violet nearly had the rink to herself, only a couple
other families out there on the ice with her.

She looked like she was
flying, gliding around on her skates with a huge smile on her face.
I’d meant to park and get out, say hello, but instead I found
myself sitting there. If I got out and waved, she’d stop skating,
and I didn’t want her to have to do that. I wanted her happy,
gliding around, lost in whatever world she’d discovered out there
on the ice. She must have taken more than a few lessons as a kid. She
was good. No triple axels or anything, but she had an easy grace as
she swept along the ice and made a few twists and turns that showed
she knew what she was doing.

And me, I sat there in
my truck and had one of those moments. The kind when you might not
know how you know, but you just do. And as I sat there watching
Violet in the fading, soft purple light of dusk, I knew. I knew I was
in trouble deep.

§

“What’s that on
your face?” Dave asked me at the town hall meeting. Monday night,
the first of February, and everyone had turned out. The possibility
of filming a reality show in Watson was the biggest thing since
sliced bread. Bigger, even.

I reached up and wiped
my lips. Maybe I had some ketchup on me from my burger for dinner.

“Looked like a
smile.” Dave ribbed me as we walked in and found some seats. “Seen
that more in the past week on you than I have in the past year.”

I grunted. He might be
right. But I wasn’t smiling right then.

Violet was up front and
center, her hair all blow-dried out, her heels and full makeup and
attitude projecting L.A. powerbroker. I knew her well enough by then
to understand that she was nervous about tonight. She’d put on her
armor.

But me sitting in the
way back, her up there with that coworker of hers, Sam, plus the
mayor, it didn’t sit well with me. It reminded me too much of all
the shit in between us.

The town hall forum got
started up and people started talking, but I’d learned in life to
not listen so much to the words people said as to how they said them.
First the mayor gave an intro and I didn’t get much out of him, he
was all slick polish that one. Or at least he wanted to be. Then Sam
said a word or two and if Violet hadn’t been about to speak next I
would have up and walked right out. Sam was a snakeoil salesman with
a mean, cold glint in his eye. I wouldn’t trust that man as far as
I could throw him. Probably less. I could throw him a good distance.

Then Violet started
talking and the air in the room changed. People went from rustling
around and clearing their throats, to still and silent listening to
every word. She showed us some footage from around town. I guessed
camera crews had been filming. There was our covered bridge with the
sunset behind it framing it just so. There was the local brewery, a
couple of folks enjoying the mighty fine hard cider. Helga got on
camera and had us all laughing as she kept directly dressing the
cameraman, asking him nosy questions, completely disregarding
instructions about ignoring the filming.

“You’ve got so much
to share,” Violet concluded, her eyes glowing, her cheeks flushed.
“I hope you give us the chance to film here in Watson. I’d love
to help people discover everything that’s so special, so amazing
about this town.”

Her eyes flickered over
to mine just before she sat down. I gave her a brief nod, letting her
know she’d done well. She gave me a relieved smile.

In the debate that
followed, it seemed most people were excited about the show.
Shopkeepers wanted to expand their businesses. Restaurant owners
raved over the free advertising. The mayor, of course, was over the
moon.

I knew I was a cranky
motherfucker, used to keeping to myself like a grizzly in
hibernation. But that was the value of majority rules. Seemed like
the majority wanted a reality show in Watson. And who knew, maybe my
misgivings had been off base? Maybe I’d been wrong?

“What do you think,
Heath?” Harriet was finishing up speaking, saying how much she
hoped the town would vote to approve filming the pilot. She’d
talked about all of our local artisans and how many struggled to make
a living, how a show broadcast to millions could change their lives.

I cleared my throat and
stood up, reluctant but understanding she wanted my voice in there,
too. I appreciated that she respected my opinion.

“I’ve been worried
about what filming a show here would to do Watson. The exposure, the
cameras, all the hype. And I’m still worried about it.” I looked
up straight at Violet. I could tell she was holding her breath,
gripping her water bottle so tight her fingers were denting the
plastic.