“Sure,” he answered. “And I play to win.”
“And do you? Do you win?” Mitch asked, his eyes taking on a wildness, like one possessed.
“More than I like to admit,” Cal answered. “So much in fact, if I reel off the list of prizes won, feels like I’m bragging.”
“Seriously, Forster,” Mitch said, practically salivating. “Are you champion material?”
Who knew that trivia would be the bait to lure Mitch into what might be a softer, kinder, more fraternal kind of interaction. Cal decided to give him a little more line, let him struggle a bit before reeling him in.
“I wrote the book on how to be the big winner,” Cal said.
That was true, though it was more pamphlet than book. He’d handed out copies at a Halloween event last year at the Cleveland pub where he’d played trivia every week. Intended more than anything to serve as a party prop, a door prize, he had signed copies, which gave it a book-like launch. And the eight stapled pages did contain some rather pertinent advice, like, Stop watching television, get off your arse, and take your lazy brain to the library.
Mitch started to smile. “Will you sub for my partner?”
“Always the sub, never the regular,” Cal said, a bit coquettish.
“I am serious,” Mitch said.
“I think you said that already.” His whole reason for the office visit subverted by the topic of trivia, Cal was starting to enjoy seeing Mitch squirm.
“Will you partner with me?” Mitch asked. “Friday nights, eight o’clock, sports bar on Taft.”
“How many people on the team?”
“Just me, and you if you’ll join me,” Mitch answered, quick to add, “I could do it by myself, but I like sharing the grand prize.”
Then why was he so desperate to have a partner?
Before answering, Cal made a show of deliberating, putting his finger to his chin, checking the calendar on his phone, then shrugging his shoulders as he said, “Sure, I have nothing better to do with my time.”
“Great!” Mitch rose up from his chair to slap Cal’s upper arm. “Good to have you aboard. Now go home to that raggedy mutt of yours.”
“Friday night, then,” Cal said as he walked backward to the door.
“And leave my sister alone,” Mitch said. “She’s just getting over the last one.” Though smiling, he had balled his hands into fists, placed them on the desktop, and leaned forward on his knuckles. “You don’t want to add to her pain.”
“Funny way to start a partnership,” Cal said, too wise to engage further. He only smiled, tipped an imaginary hat, and left the office.
So, Mitch Green and he would start seeing each other every Friday night. Well, if he was going to spend that much time with the brother, maybe he could find a way to get to know the sister. Might Bryony Green like him well enough to follow through on another walk? And if she did, what payback might her brother dish out?
“Let it go!” Cal said under his breath, and a song began to play in his head.
Hell-OH! had invited him to watch Frozen eight times before he moved to Fieldstone. He had stayed with her, beginning to end, until he knew all of the songs and most of the dialogue by heart.
He missed the little munchkin and looked forward to seeing her and the rest of his family in a few weeks. Should he hire a magician for the Halloween party? Something monstrously large would be a hit. A bouncy house? No, those things were prone to flying away. He would come up with something. Maybe he could dress Bailey as Cyndi Lauper and put an iPod on his collar with a tiny speaker. Cal burst out laughing at the image in his mind, and then wondered, Does a man’s laughter make noise if there’s no one else in the parking lot to hear him?
BRYONY’S YES
For the second day in a row, Todd arrived for work looking like a cover model for GQ. Did he want Bryony to continue to gush over him every time, or react with a subdued acceptance of his new look? She settled on, “You look nice today.”
“So do you,” Todd replied.
“Thanks.” Bryony tucked her hair behind her ear. “Hey, Todd, I want to thank you for encouraging me about the pie list. I’m taking your advice. I’m going to finish the list.”
Todd looked taken aback. “I don’t remember any adult ever doing anything I thought they should do.”
“I hope I’m not the last,” she said. “Because you have good ideas.”
“Thanks.” Todd reached for his apron. He put the neck strap over his head, and as he tied the longer straps around his waist, said, “Hey, Miss Green, if you want to make a pie with a pigeon in it, and you need some taste testers, I’m game.”
“I heard what you said.” She pointed at him and smiled. “Pigeon meat? Game?” She liked Todd, liked working with him, and was grateful to Cal for bringing them together.
They finished setting up all of the tables with time to spare. Bryony headed to the ovens. Todd stationed himself at the counter to stock the tea basket.
They were quiet for a few minutes before Todd said, “Mister Forster’s the best teacher I ever had.”
Bryony popped a tray of bagels into the oven without comment.
“Ask anybody in any of his classes,” Todd said.
“What makes him the best?” Bryony asked. She reached beside Todd for a towel to wipe down the oven door, and he moved away to allow her easier access.
“He asks about our interests and incorporates them into his lectures,” he said. “And he talks to us like we’re real people.”
“I like people treating others well, too.” She finished shining the stainless steel surface and tossed the towel into the bin between the refrigerator and storage cabinet.
