A/N: Let’s do the disclaimer song and dance! Weeeeee! I know nothing dah doo dah dooo I know nothing at aaaaaall of the paaast dodo dah doo!
Chapter 99: Mimi XIII—The Gift
Montreal—1986
"Patrick we’re going to get caught!" Michele whispered as he pushed the newly unlocked door open and led her inside the building. "Don’t they have guards or watchmen or something here?" She had a nervous twinge in her stomach and now she was wishing she hadn’t eaten so much at dinner. Already she was imagining a watchman’s flashlight on their faces, freezing them in place. Her stomach gurgled angrily and she definitely wished she hadn’t eaten so much.
And what was this brilliant idea of Patrick’s? He had been bursting with an unsaid secret all evening, his face glowing and happy. She had been begging and begging him to divulge and now here they were. This was it?
"Not really," Patrick said, holding onto her arm lightly in his hand and leading her through the minimally lit hallways of The Forum. It was cold, it smelled musty and their footsteps were echoing in such a way that made Michele uneasy. This building gave her the creeps. "The guards aren’t here after eleven. Who would want to break in?"
"I agree," Michele muttered. "Who would want to? Where are we going anyway?"
"Shh," Patrick said. "Feel that?"
Michele frowned and stood still with him. It was completely quiet, so quiet that she could hear the hum of generators and light bulbs and the sound of Patrick’s breathing. She had never been in the Forum when it was this empty, she had never thought that it could be empty. Always it was buzzing with the fans and noise and now here they were in the empty building. Feel what? She was about to ask and then she didn’t need to. A cold overtook the air around them, biting at her neck and cheeks and slicing all the way into her legs which were covered in a heavy ankle length skirt. It felt like a wind.
Michele hugged herself and looked around; it felt like a frigid mid-winter breeze.
Drafty old building! She thought, it needed to be ripped down. And then down the hallway she could hear the pounding of brisk footsteps. She grabbed Patrick’s arm and he shook his head and smiled at her. "A guard!" she whispered.
"In a way," Patrick said and he led her away from the footsteps.
"Won’t we get caught?" she asked.
"They know we’re here," he said.
Incredible! Michele thought feeling angry. "So now what? We’re not supposed to be here!"
"It’s OK," Patrick repeated, "They don’t mind. They said it’s OK."
"Who management?" she asked feeling a bit calmer knowing he had permission at least.
"Sure," Patrick said. "Management. Here we are."
Michele looked around when Patrick flipped on the light. "The locker room?" she asked.
"You’ve never been in here," Patrick said in a cheerful voice.
Why would I want to be? Michele thought sniffing instantly the old soured sweaty smell of hockey player soaked into the pores of the wood no doubt. And how old was the building anyway? Decades? Almost a century? She began to feel a little dizzy. "No," she said, "I never have been in here."
None of the wives or girlfriends had ever been in this room; there was a separate room for them a few doors down where the players could come in to see them if they had to. It was a nice room with a table and Michele liked playing cards with Mrs. Gainey, Carbonneau, DeBlois, and Robinson. None of them had ever spoken about trying to see the main locker room that she could remember, and none of them had ever wanted to.
Lately though, in the past few weeks the women had seemed to pull away from her. She could barely get a word out of any of them and even the aforementioned wives wouldn’t play cards with her anymore, they just ignored her or looked at her with odd expressions. Michele had begun to feel like a leper or someone with a terminal illness that made other people uncomfortable. Obviously her presence had begun to bother them for some reason and so instead of dickering with them any further, she had stopped visiting the wives room and keeping to her usual seat by the glass during games, all alone.
Something had happened that was important, and Michele could tell by the sudden happiness in Patrick and the lightness in his manner that whatever it was had relieved him of his troubles with the team. His troubles with Tremblay for that matter. That had to be the case because Mrs. Tremblay seemed to have monopolized the affections of the other wives, and then they would give Michele those looks. What did I do? Michele wanted to yell at them, I’ve never shared so much as a word with the man!
Michele looked around the locker room, so this was the place that Patrick used to dread so much, the place where the men gathered, the wolf den. "It feels..." she began and then she gasped when she saw the black and white, staring eyes rimming the ceiling. "My God!"
"Can you imagine?" Patrick said in an excited tone. "In this very room Maurice Richard sat! Just the thought of him just breathing in here, and so many others. Laughing here, fighting here! It’s amazing, you can feel it especially when it’s quiet."
Michele kept staring at the eyes, until she realized they were just black and white faces, faces of the old Habs stars, enshrined here forever.
"They’re still the heart of this building," Patrick whispered. "In a big way, they don’t want anyone to forget that."
"They?" Michele said looking away from the pictures and at Patrick feeling a little worry. "They? Are THEY the ones that gave you permission be here now?"
Patrick grinned in that adorable, impish, infuriating way.
"Oh Patrick!" Michele sighed putting a hand on her forehead. "Don’t be silly!"
Patrick laughed. "OK. I won’t worry you anymore yes? I just thought it would be nice to bring you here, I mean somewhere the other wives haven’t been, just something for us, you know?"
Michele smiled suddenly seeing it from that perspective. She knew what an encyclopedia of old hockey information he was, him and those silly cards he collected. This was intensely special for him, and he was trying to share it with her. That was the part she understood, and she didn’t want to ruin it for him. "Thank you," she said, kissing him softly on the mouth and hugging him. "It is nice, and I’m not to tell anyone?"
"Oh no!" he said quickly. "Of course you shouldn’t tell anyone, you’re not supposed to be here, that could be bad."
Michele frowned. "What could they do to you?"
Patrick looked worried and then he shook his head, like he was shaking off the thought, his eyelid fluttering quickly. "Don’t matter," he said.
The footsteps caught them both by surprise and Patrick grabbed her, holding her.
There were two people they could hear them, two voices echoing in the hallway, indistinct French words and then they passed by fading away into the belly of the building. Michele sighed and she could hear Patrick laughing quietly. "I’m so stupid," he said.
"We should go now?" Michele whispered.
"No, No," Patrick said. "That was not a guard."
"No?" Michele said. "Then who was that?"
"Them," Patrick said, glancing up at the ceiling before looking back at her.
"Them?" Michele exclaimed. "Patrick you’re saying those were ghosts?"
Patrick grinned sheepishly. "They’re everywhere here, even the old concession vendors and equipment managers and even old fans, men and woman up in the stands who never leave. They’re all here."
Michele shook her head not knowing whether to feel irritated or worried.
"Jacques Plante is here too," Patrick said quietly. "He just arrived."
"Oh really?" Michele said, nodding her head. Jacques Plante had died a week ago and she had known the whole province was broken up about it but she hadn’t known that the whole thing would drive Patrick batty!
"Yes," he said. "New resident." He was quiet for a moment before he looked at her. "I really wish I hadn’t been so bad with him the first time we met. I fought with him and insulted him. I don’t know why I handled that so badly."
"Well, maybe now, seeing how reverent you are he will forgive you, yes?" Michele said, patting him on the arm.
Patrick brightened. "Maybe!" he said looking suddenly boyish and naive. "Do you think?"
"Why not," Michele said. "Perhaps he will guide you along your way," she walked around him tickling her hand on his shoulder. "Whispering over your shoulder..." she blew lightly across the back of his neck.
Patrick laughed. "Maybe not," he said. "Not for a shit like me he wouldn’t..."
Michele shrugged.
"Mimi," he said, changing his tone to a soft one, "I also wanted to give you something, and, well I wanted to be somewhere special when I gave it to you."
Michele could feel a heavy throbbing inside of her throat; he wasn’t going to, was he? The thought had never crossed her mind! What was she going to say? Was she ready for this?
"Sit down," he said quietly and he sat with her on one of the smelly benches, holding her hand in his. "Mimi, you’ve helped me so much through all of this and out of it... I mean if it hadn’t of been for you I don’t know what I would have done and now everything is so perfect! I want to show you how much you mean to me and..."
"Oh, Patrick," she said smiling, deciding she knew what she would say.
"And... well I had to... I had this made especially for you... I mean.." he was blushing all over, looking so adorable. Michele’s heart melted for him even after he pulled a large velvet box from a corner of his locker where they were sitting, not a small box. It wasn’t a ring he was offering her.
When he opened it, her heart stopped.
"This is for you," he whispered, "My love."
Glinting merrily inside was a shining; gold bracelet lined with rubies, sapphires and diamonds. The sheen, the sparkle, the very essence of it was unmistakable. The jewels were real, the gold was precious, it must have cost a fortune. Michele knew her mouth was opening, and she couldn’t speak, no one had ever dreamed of giving her something this beautiful. She didn’t know if she could touch it, much less wear it!
"Patrick.." she gasped.
Patrick’s smile was overwhelming and he lifted it out of the box and held her wrist gently in his fingers as he clasped it onto her. It was cold and smooth and it almost felt that it could cut her skin. It somehow felt dangerous. "I can’t.." she began.
"You can!" he exclaimed. "It doesn’t belong to anyone else."
Her heart had resumed a feverish pace as she held it up to her eyes, looking at it as it hung loosely on her wrist, sparkling like an exotic treasure. There was a pendant on it too, a gold heart shaped one that dangled off the clasp and she looked at the inscription, "My heart, my soul, it is yours."
Tears inflamed her eyes as she looked up at him, trembling all over. "Thank you so much," she whispered.
He hugged her to his body and she squeezed him, feeling the happiest she had ever been in her life.
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