The Fifteenth Minute: A Hockey Romance: Chapter 21

Lianne THE DAYS that follow are like a roller coaster. Whenever I try to concentrate on my coursework, my mind drifts to the R-rated scenes we played out in DJ’s bed. It’s hard to read Brecht when I’m picturing that perfect moment when DJ laid me down on his bed. Rawrrrr. I catch myself staring into space, grinning like a fool.

But whenever I remember he might be kicked out of school, I’m full of despair.

There are sweet texts from DJ that make me smile. But when he calls me to say hello, he sounds blue. And reserved, too. It scares me, because I’m afraid we won’t get another chance to be together in the same happy way we were on Saturday night. I’m haunted by the things he told me before we went into his bedroom. “I’m not a good bet.” And, “I’m done with one-night stands, so I wasn’t going to go there with you.”

I didn’t listen, did I? Now I want things from him. Big things. And he’s already warned me he may not be able to deliver.

My coping mechanism is research. And not all of it healthy.

Of course I’ve already given in to the urge to search for every Anne, Ann and Anna at Harkness. But she’s proved surprisingly elusive. I have a few clues. He said she’s a sophomore and in Trindle House.

“Whatcha doing?” Bella says from over my shoulder while I’m in the middle of this task. My screen shows the script I’ve written to parse every girl at Harkness whose name begins with A.

“God!” I leap in my seat. “You scared me.”

“I noticed.” My neighbor peers at the screen. “Did you find her?”

There’s no point in pretending I don’t know who she means. “Nope.”

“Stop looking, babe. Eat a bunch of ice cream or get drunk. But obsessing about her is not a good plan.”

As if I don’t know that. I close the browser window. “I’ve been researching the politics, too. DJ told me that the college didn’t bother to investigate his case. And apparently that’s a thing.”

“It is?”

I nod. “It’s a big problem. Women report a sexual assault to their school, and then the school drops the ball. Because they don’t know how to do it right.”

Bella lies down on my bed. “When I made my complaint to the dean, they videotaped the whole thing. Did they do the same for DJ?”

“He got a phone call, out of the blue. They’re not giving him a chance to defend himself.”

“Fuck,” Bella empathizes. “Have you seen him lately? Where do you two stand?”

Isn’t that the question? “I don’t want to be the kind of girl who demands to talk about the relationship. After…you know.”

“Sex?” Bella props her chin in the crook of one arm and looks up at me. “But maybe you’re the kind of girl who needs to know. Doesn’t make you a bad person. If you need exclusivity to be comfortable, there’s no shame in saying so.”

Coming out of her mouth, it sounds mature and completely rational. But whenever DJ and I speak on the phone, I can’t make myself bring it up. “Maybe I should have thought about that beforehand. And he’s got so much on his mind.”

“So do you, now,” Bella points out.

Right. “But he’s got this huge problem to solve. It seems rude to bang down his door and ask if he’ll be my boyfriend now.”

“But maybe you need to do that before any more banging happens.”

“Maybe,” I hedge. Wanting a label from him makes me feel needy, though.

“So can we order Thai food and drink cheap white wine tonight?”

The question catches me off guard. “Sure? Well, yes to the Thai food. No to the wine.” I’ve never been a fan.

Bella gets up to get her credit card. It’s her turn to pay. I’m firing up the order page online when my phone rings. I answer immediately, of course, hoping it’s DJ.

“Lianne,” Bob says. “I called you today.”

Right. He had. “Sorry,” I say, wondering why my calls to him are never returned as promptly as his are supposed to be.

“Did you sign it yet?”

That’s Bob for you. He’s a charmer. “Any news on the Scottish play?” It’s not nice of me to hold this contract hostage. But the minute I sign it I’m going to lose his attention again. Sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

“It’s not the only good role in Hollywood,” he snaps.

“True,” I say carefully. I want Lady M. More than life itself. But if Bob wants to talk about other good roles for me, that’s a conversation worth having. “What else did you have in mind?”

“After you’re done with Princess Vindi, we need to age you up. That’s why this sex scene isn’t so bad for your career. Directors want to be able to picture you as a female lead. We can’t keep peddling you as the wonder child forever.”

“I’m listening.” It wasn’t often that Bob wasted any brain cells trying to think Big Thoughts about my career. I pressed the phone closer to my ear, wondering if any juicy roles have crossed his desk lately.

“Have you considered an enlargement?”

“What?” For a second I don’t understand. An enlargement for…photos?

“I think you should consider it,” he suggests. “If you want to play the ingenue, you need to have the body.”

Shock makes me unable to speak for a moment. “Bob,” I finally choke. “I’m not getting bigger boobs. There have to be roles I can play without double Ds.”

“A C-cup would be fine,” he says. “Lots of parts for those. I mean you.”

“I have to go,” I manage to say. And somehow I don’t throw my phone against the wall. Though I want to.

“Think about it,” he says before nuking our call.

Oh, I’ll about it. Probably while throwing darts at Bob’s picture and grinding my teeth.

“Bella!” I call. “I changed my mind about the wine! I want some.”

“Poured it for you already,” she returns.

Bella is the best kind of friend. That is all.

On Thursday night, I get a chance to see DJ live and in person. He’s got an odd gig playing music for a skating party. Harkness College has donated rink time on a Wednesday night for a Boys and Girls Club skating party. He asks me to meet him in the booth and to come hungry.

When I get there, I find that he’s brought us Gino’s calzones and Caesar salad. And cannoli for dessert.

“Wow,” I say, stripping off my coat and putting it over the back of a chair. “Fancy.”

“Are you hungry? I’m starved.” DJ is bent over his computer, probably cuing up songs. He’s already laid out two place-settings, one for each of us. I take off my trusty baseball cap and worry it in my hands. I’m having a dork moment, wondering if I’m supposed to kiss him hello.

He looks up after a minute and smiles. “Hi, smalls. Good to see you.”

“Likewise.”

DJ drops his eyes to the screen again. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Why?”

He gives a half shrug and busies himself again. Below us on the ice, teenagers are circling to a Lady Gaga tune. “Okay,” he says eventually, moving away from the keyboard. “This is easier than a game. I’ve got forty minutes of continuous music cued up. But if you get the urge to be creative, go for it.” He comes around to stand beside me, then leans down to kiss my forehead. “Let’s eat,” he says.

So we do. And we watch the teenagers on the ice. Some of them are skating in earnest, while others cling to the side, laughing at their own attempts to stay vertical. When a slow song comes on, they pair up, holding hands while they circle. The song is John Legend’s “All of Me,” which is such an over-the-top love song it makes me feel self-conscious. “That guy right there,” I say, pointing at a kid in a green jacket. “He’s going to ask that girl to skate. The one in the pink hat. I’ll put five bucks on it.”

DJ snorts. “Okay, I’ll take that bet. I don’t like your chances, though. The song is half over.”

“True.” We watch together, waiting to see what happens. I can’t see the boy’s face, but it’s obvious he keeps looking over to where the girl stands. And every time he does, her friends poke each other and giggle.

“I’m not taking your money, smalls,” DJ says as the track plays on and on, and John Legend proclaims his undying love. “Our man would probably be brave enough to do it, but her posse is kind of a tough audience.”

Down on the ice, our guy shoves his hands in his pockets. I’m about to concede when he pushes off and skates unsteadily toward the clump of girls. “Omigod!” I squeak, grabbing DJ’s hand. It closes around mine.

I hold my breath while the boy speaks to them and John Legend croons through the sound system. Finally it happens. The girl turns her back on her friends and wobbles further onto the ice. Our boy reaches for her hand, and then they both wobble. It looks scary there for a second, but then they recover, skating off in a counter-clockwise oval with all the other brave couples.

When I catch DJ watching me, he looks away.

“What?” I ask, my voice thick.

He smiles. “You’re just so freaking cute, smalls.”

“Would you have asked me to skate? If we met in high school?” That sounds like I’m fishing for compliments. But it pleases me to think about a younger DJ and a high school me. I never went to high school. With my big life and my even bigger paycheck, nobody ever wants to hear me ask what I might have missed.

“I’d have asked you in a hot second,” he answers, chuckling. “We didn’t have ice skating parties at my school, and it’s a damn shame, because this would have been my event, right? And if you couldn’t skate, that would make it even better. Because then you’d have to hold on tight.” He squeezes my hand. “Wish I’d met you in high school. Everything would be different.”

Now I’m sad again.

The song ends, and an uptempo Katy Perry song comes on. Our couple splits apart. They were together for probably ninety seconds. I hope it’s not the end for them.

When the party ends, I help DJ pack up his stuff. “Can I walk you home?” he asks. “I’m headed to the library. With all that’s going on, I’m a little behind.”

I swallow my disappointment. I’d been hoping for more alone time with DJ. “Sure.”