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A/N: Again, I would like to say muchas gracias to Jadzia for her ideas on this segment, even if I am blowing them outta proportion!
Chapter 16: Footer II or The Affair of the Gift Baskets Part II
Footer could hear Joe gargling shower water and then belting out the words to "Goldfinger". All Foote could think was, thank God Saks had a penchant for bad showtunes. If he was on James Bond themes, then he definitely was gonna be in there for a bit longer.....but how much longer?
It seemed the deluge of giftbaskets had dried up but there were dozens of them on both beds! What were they gonna do with em? Well, Patty knew. Foote raised his eyebrows as the goalie immediately cracked one open and began gnawing on a loaf of Rosemary bread.
"This musta cost Modano a pretty penny," Patty muttered.
Alex Tanguay was pale and shaking his head. The poor kid looked at his wits end.
"What do we do, Footer?" he asked.
Foote curled his lips in thought and looked at the shining baskets. He looked back at Tanguay. "OK," he said, "We need the guys to help us. I’ll get the guys, Tangers, you go into that bathroom and you make sure that Joe does not come out until we knock on the door."
Tanguay’s eyes widened. "How do I do that?" he asked.
Foote tapped Tangers on his forehead. "Be creative kid. You room with him, bring something up!"
Foote got up to rouse the other guys.
"Hey!" Patty said, rolling a wad of bread in his left cheek. "What should I do?"
Foote shrugged. "Just stay there and sign for any more giftbaskets if they come."
Foote took one last look at Tangers as the kid looked almost sadly at his hands and then with a sigh, he trudged into the bathroom as Joe was in the midst of another tune. "Hey!" he heard Joe yell.
Foote stood still, him and Patrick exchanging looks and holding their breath, they could hear the shower water still going and low tones of voices. Foote waited another minute and noone came out. Good, Foote thought, the kid had him occupied.
Foote dashed out of the hotel room, down the hallways and right to Foppa’s room. He burst through the door. "Peter!" he yelled. "Peter!"
Forsberg sat up from bed, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah?" he said
"You and Kaspar have gotta come with me, we need your help," Foote gasped.
Kaspar frowned, his blond eyebrows knitted. "What happened?"
"I’ll explain on the way, come on," Foote said.
It didn’t take long for some of the team to be assembled in Joe’s room. Blake, Drury, Foppa, Kaspar, Patty, Abby, Keaner, and Rheino were there. Everyone seemed quite concerned with the dilemma on hand....well except for Keaner who had an immense smile splitting his orange beard, and Patty who had cracked into the bottle of red wine from one of the baskets and was laughing uncontrollably at Blakie who had gotten into another basket and was pressing a can of Cheez-Whiz against his left nostril and shooting cheese onto crackers. "Hahahahha!" Patty cackled. "Cheez-Whiz nose!"
Foote shook his head and concentrated on the guys who were still sober, if not completely serious. "Alright, guys, you know the story. We’re trying to keep Joey from finding about Modo, so we need to make all the baskets disappear now! There’s eight of us so if we each take two baskets and take ‘em back to our rooms, we’ll need only four trips to clear ‘em out so Joe’s none the wiser."
"Shit!" Foppa said. "How many baskets does that make?"
"Just add ‘em up," said Blake as he wiped a smudge of Cheez-Whiz off his left nostril. "Simple, math."
Forsberg glared at Blake.
"Sixty-four baskets," Patrick said, wiping tears from his eyes.
"How do you do that!" Kaspar giggled. "Was that just in your head?"
"Yup," Patty said.
"Sixty-four baskets," Blake said, "Man, Modano is really trying to get some ass here! I wouldn’t do so much for a woman."
"Come on guys!" Foote barked. He didn’t know how long Tangers could keep Joe in that bathroom. The kid should get a freaking medal for whatever he was doing in there. And the shower was still going too! Good, that way Joe couldn’t hear Patty all soused and rowdy.
It didn’t take long for them to haul three trips of baskets to their rooms. The concierge was getting wind of the odd happenings going on in the tenth floor and bellboys and hotel maids were beginning to appear at all corners of the hallways to peek at the guys as they carried the baskets. Foote laughed when Patty handed the satin wrapped basket of sex toys to a bell-hop who upon peeking in it, screamed and dropped it.
"One more trip, aye Footer," Blake grinned as they dropped off their baskets in Blake and Drury’s room.
Foote looked at Blake and sighed. "Whew," he said. "I swear, next time we play Dallas, we’re gonna make Modano the meat in a Footer, Blaker sandwich, OK?"
Blake continued to grin like a dumb school-kid and he said, "Yeah....don’t you think Modo would like that though? I mean wouldn’t it be his dream to be squished between two stud defensemen like us? I know I ain’t goin’ at him ass first next time I hit him."
Foote’s mouth dropped open, he hadn’t thought about it that way. Before he could say anything to Blake, though, Rob tapped Patty on the shoulder, and when the goalie turned around to look at him, he sprayed him full in the face with the small canister of Cheez-Whiz. "You shit-head!" Patty screamed while everyone else hit the carpet floor laughing.
Twitching like a house-cat sprayed with water, Patty wiped at the Cheez-Whiz with his hands, cursing in French and flicking the cheese onto the carpet. Footer couldn’t stop the smile on his face as Patty pulled out his handkerchief and began to wipe off the rest of the cheese.
"Aw, come on!" Blake exclaimed, "That’s good Cheez-Whiz! Don’t toss it on the carpet!"
Patty sniffed and tossed his handkerchief into a trash-can. "Then lick it off the carpet!" he snapped. Foote decided not to tell Patty that there was still a glob of Cheez-Whiz sitting above his left eye.
Blake leaned back against the wall, grinning and licking his lips.
Foote shook his head, kicking Drury in the rear knocking him forward into the hallway. "Come on!" Foote snarled in mock anger, "Let’s get that last line of baskets outta here."
The rest of the guys couldn’t stop laughing as they staggered down the hallway towards Joe’s room. Blake and Patty were behind them, and Foote almost laughed so hard he vomited when he heard Patrick ask in a more worried voice than an angry one, "Blake did you just lick my eye?"
"What the hell are you guys up to?" a familiar French Canadian voice barked at them from down the hallway.
Foote cringed and whispered, "Oh shit!" and he turned around with the other guys. The coach, Bob Hartley was standing at the other end of the hallway, he looked like he had spent a day at the golf course and he was still wearing his little golf gloves. Foote leaned over to Keane and whispered out the side of his mouth to him as the coach approached. "Look, Keaner, you take Kaspar with you and finish getting rid of those baskets, we’ll keep Bob busy. I don’t want him to know what’s going on either OK?"
Keane was smiling and he looked up at Foote, widening his big, blue eyes and fluttering his red eyebrows up and down. "Yah," he said, "Good idea good idea. Kaspar, come my cabbage-head!"
Kaspar,. jovial as ever, followed Keane without question.
Foote took a deep breath and the group went forward to meet the coach.
Hartley’s gloved hands were on his hips. "Where do I begin?" he asked. "I think I’ll start where I came on.......Blake did you just lick his eye?"
Patty reddened and crossed his arms as the rest of the guys broke out laughing again. Foote didn’t laugh, he just stood still and grinned. Blake blushed. "It’s good Cheez-Whiz," he said quietly.
Hartley continued to stare at Blake with that same expression of calm disbelief that he always used whenever the team was scored on. Foote shrugged, "It was just a little cheese," he said.
Hartley shook his head and leaned back against the hotel wall. "I got a call from the hotel while I was on my way back here," he said, "They say you’re walking around the hallways nude or partially nude, kicking in doors, and raising hell! Now I come here and I see that it’s true."
Keane and Kasper should be cutting behind them with baskets soon, Foote thought, the Coach was bound to see that.
"Coach, Coach," Foote said in a genteel tone as he put his arm over Bob’s shoulders and steered him around the other way so that Bob’s back would be to the guys with the basket. "We got it under control," he said. "Patty just went a little wacky, he’s real depressed you know. We’ve calmed him down."
Please, please, Patty go along with it! Foote thought.
Hartley looked at Patty with his dark eyes, squinting in anger. Patty shrugged. "It’s true coach," he said, "I’m at my wit’s end."
"Really?" Hartley asked, and then he looked at Dru, Foppa, Blake and Reinprecht. They all nodded their heads in confirmation. "What’s wrong Patty? Is it what happened at your home?"
Patty’s eyes widened with tears and his bottom lip crumbled. "Oui," he said quietly, "I’m so scared for my Mimi that I think I’ve forgotten how to read! I look at menus, at books, at signs, and nothing! Non, non! Ooooooooooh I’m useless, I’ve lost my mind! In fact I feel sick too! Like I puke everywhere and then Robbie licks my eye!"
Foote had to fight from laughing even harder. Now he knew where Jana Roy got her melodramatic tendencies from.
Hartley just looked horrified.
"Hey," Drury said in a tone that reminded Foote of one of those after school specials where someone makes a pointless, statistical speech, "You know Patty, you needn’t feel too bad. Because nine out of ten traumatized goalies often forget how to read!"
"Really?" Patty asked hopefully, his eyes stopped the waterworks and brightened like a woman’s would when she’s in love. "Is there any hope for me?"
Damn! Footer thought, Jana definitely was picking up her coquettishness from her father. He noticed Keaner and Kaspar sneak behind Hartley, they each had three baskets piled on them, that meant there was ten left.
"There’s hope Patty," Drury said, "Bed-rest, a good breakfast and you’ll be right as rain. There’s no hope for Foppa though, he’ll never know how to do math."
"Hey," Forsberg barked, "Shut-up college boy!"
"You know," Blake said holding his hand out, "Three out of four centers turned right-winger can’t do math very well."
"Which reminds me!" Forsberg snapped, Foote noticed Keane and Kaspar sneak by with more baskets, one more trip to go, "Coach! I want my center position back!"
"Snowballs chance in hell!" snapped Drury. "Center ice is mine spleen-boy!"
"Hairy assed monkey!" Foppa snapped.
Foote noticed Keane and Kasper scampering with the last of the baskets. Keane winked at Foote to signal that they were done. Cool, Foote thought.
"Look, coach," Foote said as Hartley had his face in his hands. "We all just need a nap or something, maybe some dinner we’re all runnin on fumes here. Just lets forget about what happened, we’ll pay the hotel if there were any damages and I don’t think there was....."
"We’ll send em a nice gift basket!" Patty chirped.
The guys hit the deck laughing again and Hartley just waved his hand at them and walked away muttering to himself.
Foote leaned against the wall and sighed. "Thanks guys," he said. And then he bolted down the hallway again to give Tangers the signal.
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