Chapter 2: Foppa--Of Pink Bedrooms and Spaghetti

Chapter 2: Foppa—Of Pink Bedrooms and Spaghetti

Peter Forsberg had always loved blue eyes, icy blue eyes just like his own. He loved gazing into a woman’s blue eyes, right before they closed in pleasure and finish her off. It was a hobby in fact. It was easy too, women came to him so quickly, wanting the same thing that he wanted and none of the commitments of the next day. The night clubs were full of these pretty, attainable women, and so were the bars.

He didn’t know which he liked the most, scoring goals or leaving a night club after hours of invigorating, frantic dancing, with three blonds clinging to his body. This is how North America was for him, how it always has been. In Sweden, the girls were so common, at least to him. He had grown up with all those girls, and they knew so much about him. He didn’t like girls that seemed to know more about his birthday than he did. He didn’t even want to know why they all called him Foppa.

In Quebec and Denver, it was so gorgeously different. Women didn’t know a thing about him, and they were predatory, like slim, sex-starved cats. And he knew he seemed that way to them too. It was like a feast, girls, girls, girls.......and inevitably, Peter became bored.

He knew he was bored as he gazed at the naked blond on the bed, curled and tangled in the sheets next to him. She was sleeping, which meant that he could look at her as long as he wanted. Girls didn’t like it when they were awake and knew they were being stared at, they got so self-conscious. A man could defile her body in so many different ways, and yet he couldn’t look at her.

Usually he loved this part, gazing at a woman’s body, he loved the the hollow at the base of a woman’s throat, especially when they were so svelte that their pulse could be seen throbbing under the skin. He loved smooth skin, and soft hair.

This woman in the bed with him was Clarissa, or Clarise or Clare, he couldn’t remember her name. He had met her last night, she had called him today. They had made plans to have a bite of lunch, he had come over to pick her up. Within minutes they were panting and tearing at each other’s clothes, she was moaning as he squeezed her thigh in his hand. She was so thin that his hand wrapped around her leg. He noticed briefly that her bed was pink as he pressed her onto it, and that it matched her butter colored hair. But when he looked deep into her pale blue eyes and slipped into her, he felt barely the excitement he usually did. And now they were finished, and she was asleep.

She wasn’t a true blond. North American women rarely were. Usually that didn’t bother Peter, but this time it did. He suddenly felt wronged, as if she had cheated him, lied to him, and would do it again to countless other men. The mole on her shoulder which he had thought charming, suddenly seemed gross, and malformed. Her left breast was a bit larger than her right one....which meant they were real...so he couldn’t blame her for that. She was snoring! Not loudly, but there was a whistle to her sleeping breath. How had he ever thought her pretty? Peter sighed. She was pretty, something was wrong with him.

Peter sat up, trying hard not to jostle the woman. He frowned at a stuffed animal that was stuck to his side, and he tossed it into a corner of the room...which was pink, pink, pink. He stood up, running his fingers through his auburn hair as he circled the apartment, gathering his clothes.

When he came back into the pink bedroom, the woman was sitting up and blinking. She smiled when she saw him, looking like a baby fawn. She didn’t even bother to cover her breasts, and she arched her back a bit. Normally a move like that would have had Peter pawing her to death before she could breathe. Peter only smiled politely.

"Uh," he said, "Look I didn’t mean to be so fast, I don’t usually...."

The woman raised her dark eyebrows and shrugged, falling back on the bed. "It’s OK," she said, "I don’t expect a ring on my finger or tickets or anything...see ya round."

Peter nodded, flipping his hair from his face. Just like all the other ones, none of them seemed to have any feelings anymore. He was just as much as receptacle to them as they were to him. He smiled again, displaying uncannily perfect teeth, and he walked over to her. Leaning over her, he kissed her on the forehead. She pushed him away, "Go away," she said.

Back at his loft, Peter crashed on his bed, falling fast asleep. The phone woke him up, ringing at his nightstand. Peter didn’t open his eyes as he reached over and grabbed the receiver, "Yeah," he grunted.

"Hey Pete," it was Joe Sakic.

"Yeah?" Peter said.

"Yeah, are ya on your way out the door yet? Most of us are here already," Joe said.

Peter glanced up at the clock on his wall, shit, shit, shit! "Yeah I’m on my way out," he lied. Dammit he was late!

"Good," Joe said, "then can you do us a favor?"

"Sure," Peter said. "What?"

"For some stupid reason, Patty didn’t eat his spaghetti and meatball lunch so he’s really going ballistic on us. The game’s too important tonight for us to go in without him. Can you stop by somewhere and get him a spaghetti dish? Bring it over?" Joe said.

"What!" Peter cried, "This is ridiculous!"

"Look!" Joe yelled, "You’re the one who eats raw oatmeal before games! Don’t talk to me about ridiculous! I don’t care if its chef-flippin-boy-ar-dee, get him some pasta with tomato and meat!"

Peter sighed and rolled out of bed. He would barely have time for his pre-game oatmeal now. Why the hell would Patrick not eat his spaghetti lunch? He lived for things like that....damn goalie.

Patrick Roy’s eyes were flashing in anger, and his lips were tightly compressed as he sat in his long underwear in the locker room. The rest of the team was mostly dressed and looking rather concerned. Peter sauntered into the locker room with a brown paper bag in his hand. He looked briefly at Alex Tanguay who was pale and looking sheepish.

"Here ya go, roll a donut for us tonight, OK Patty?" Peter said as he dropped the bag on his lap.

Patty jumped as if startled and picked up the bag, he peeked inside and pulled out a canned spaghetti and meatballs, a can opener, and a fork. He laughed and pranced off with his new prize. A collective sigh escaped the team. Peter smiled and held out his arms. "What would you do without me?" he said.

Captain Joe Sakic was beaming, his pale blue-gray eyes sparkling, and he looked at Peter. "Thanks man," he said.

Peter looked back at Joe, and suddenly felt warm and content. He’d been looking for that feeling all day! Who knew it would come from doing a good deed?

The locker room went back to dirty jokes and bustle, with Coach Hartley talking a bit with some of the younger players, and other activities commencing. Forsberg couldn’t stop smiling as he began stripping out of his clothes to get into his gear.

"Hey, Tangers," Chris Drury barked over to Alex, "I left my Game-boy in your car the other day. I’ve been meaning to ask ya about it, have you seen it?"

Forsberg looked at Alex in confusion as the kid blanched and his eyes widened. He had that habit of looking like a twelve-year old in distress. Some girls really liked that, so Peter guessed it was a good thing.

"Um," Tanguay said, "I don’t remember a game-boy....was it pink?"

Drury frowned. "Aw come on!" he said, "I had a game saved in it, I really want to finish it. I know I must have left it in your car."

"Uhhh..." Tanguay said. "I’ll look around, OK Chris?"

Chris shrugged. "Whatever," he mumbled.

The horn blared as Peter and the team poured onto the ice for the pre-game skate. As usual, the gathering crowd in the stands broke into loud cheers, the rock music pulsing throughout the Pepsi Center. Peter loved this part of the game. He felt so strong and desirable with the wind whooshing through his tousled hair. He knew there were girls plastered against the glass, gazing at him, snapping pictures, giggling and pointing. Joe never wore his helmet in practice either, but Joe didn’t feel like Peter did on the ice....did he?

Peter thought about it for a bit. He looked at Joe as he took some practice shots at the net. Joe had great hair, but he never seemed to notice, his wife Debbie always had to fix it for him. Family man Joe.

Peter frowned. A wife, three kids...not for him.

Joe skated towards Peter, brushing lightly by him. Peter watched him woosh by. Joe always had a great tan too! He wasn’t pasty like most hockey players, he probably had some gypsy Croatian blood in him. Joe groaned and doubled over, leaning on his stick as he came to a rest next to Peter. Forsberg looked down at him, suddenly feeling covetous when he noticed how prominent Joe’s Adam’s Apple was in his swan-like throat. His hair was growing out a bit too, it had that little flip at the ends of it.

Forsberg suddenly coughed and skated around the rink, trying to cool down. He was aroused and becoming more and more embarrassed. What the hell was this? That chick must have been real bad if he was starting to think his captain was looking hot.

When Forsberg stopped skating, he looked at the net. Patty was jovial and perky as he and Footer exchanged playful stick swipes at each other. The goalie then crouched and peered forward at them, ready for the shots.

Forsberg decided to forget about it, and just fire at the net. After firing his few shots he felt a bit better, dinging a shot off the post and a few thudding off the goalie’s silver pads.

He skated a bit in a circle and gazed at the other team in practice, The Dallas Stars. They were practicing and firing shots as well in their dark green jerseys.

He frowned when he noticed Mike Modano, the slippery Stars center, as he stood on the ice. Joe Sakic was doubled over again in that hockey resting position and he was almost directly in front of Mike. What bothered Peter was that Mike was gazing at Joe. He knew lust when he saw it in another man’s eyes, and Mike was grinning at Joe just like a goofy teen would at his hot teacher bending down in front of him.

What the hell was up with that?!

Peter had forgotten his brief infatuation with the captain, more important things were at hand. Mike Modano was lusting after Joe!

"Dammit," Peter muttered to himself, "Modo’s gonna get it good tonight!"

With that Peter turned and blasted a shot right by Patty Roy’s ear.

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