Chapter 96: Patty XI—Be Patient
"I’m going to kill him! I’m really going to kill him!"
Patrick yawned and tossed his shirt on the carpet, stretching and scratching his side. "Kill who? And why?" he said as he flopped down on the bed, already he was beginning to feel the black laziness of sleep.
"Wake up!" Michele snapped and Patrick sat up straight.
"Huh? What?" He muttered blinking. He wasn’t quite sure if he were dreaming yet or not.
He remembered driving home from practice. He remembered coming into the house with that fluffbutt snarling at his ankles he remembered using his foot to shake the fluffbutt off, and he remembered the fluffbutt growling and hanging onto the back of his ankle until Michele had yelled something at him and snatched the puppy. He knew that hadn’t been a dream because his ankle was still sore and raw. And now Michele was muttering about killing someone?
"What did Jonathan do now?" Patrick asked with another yawn.
"It’s not about Jonathan," she sighed. "Although I’ll get into that later! No, what I mean is this. Mrs. Trepanier brought it to the house this morning."
Patrick sniffed and watched the TV that Michele was pointing at. Using the remote control, she pushed play and a tape started. Right away he could tell it was a home movie, and grinning right in the center of the screen was Pascal Trepanier’s round face.
"Good morning kittens!" he said with that permanent grin of his. "If you are watching now it is because I have won and you have lost. How does it feel?"
"Filthy bitches!" Michele snapped.
"Where’s Jonathan?" Patrick asked keeping one eye on the TV.
"Alex picked him up a half hour ago," Michele said. "Now watch!"
"...in closing," Trepanier continued. "I would like to remind the both of you that losing in this game does not have to be horrible... it could be pleasurable, as you’re both about to see. So enjoy this tape, and soon... we can discuss your favorite parts."
The tape skipped time and then it was the face of Pascal’s wife as she grinned into the camera, tapping on the lens and she whispered, "How are we doing? Is taping? Good, good, good." She disappeared and presumably it was she who was controlling the focus and zoom of the camera.
The camera was filming the goings on in the living room of the Trepanier house, there was Trep, three other men and three young women whom Patrick immediately recognized. And all of them were in the process of removing clothing and pawing at each other in a breathless, confused way. "My God!" he breathed. "Mimi what the hell did you get us into? I think you really underestimated him."
"I say he drugged them, or hypnotized them or something... I know he cheated!" Michele sniffed. "It’s not my fault!"
Patrick shook his head and fell back on the bed, tossing an arm over his face. "I am too sleepy for this!" he moaned. He was about to drop off to sleep, listening to the slow moans humming from the TV when a question jabbed at his brain. "How could he have hypnotized them Mimi?"
"Well," Michele said quietly, lying down beside him, "You’ve seen him! He has the gaze of a snake! Remember when he was a little boy and he would just grin and stare at you, getting whatever piece of candy he wanted? He still does that... I always knew there was something not right about that boy."
"Hmm," Patrick said, glancing at her briefly before he closed his eyes and pulled her to his body, holding onto her. The orgy on the TV was becoming louder and more frantic. "We’ve been through worse," he muttered kissing her. "I’m sure it won’t be so bad eh? You just don’t like losing."
"I didn’t lose!" Michele said in a petulant voice. "He cheated! I know it!"
"Hmm.." Patrick said and he inhaled her sweet perfume, falling fast asleep before he could hear her say anything else.
Pascal had barely changed from when he was a boy. Patrick remembered those large, owl-like eyes of his and those small, pearly teeth. And the smile, that infuriating smile that would deepen on his face, almost at the same moment an adult would show any sort of displeasure with him. Never really had the boy ever bothered Patrick. He had always found him entertaining, especially when he would drive his Uncle Mario insane. Small pleasures in life, small pleasures.
That wicked smile greeted Patrick in the locker room of the Pepsi Center as soon as he walked in. Smiling inside, Patrick narrowed his eyes at him and shook his head.
"And is your charming wife looking forward to it? Eh?" Pascal whispered to him, standing near him.
"You’re a silly boy," he said.
Pascal laughed quietly.
Post to post, Patrick slid and the puck whacked him on the pads, where he scooped it up and waited for the whistle. His lungs felt a little constricted and he groaned as he stood up, feeling a dull, throbbing twinge in his left hip. He closed his eyes and muttered, "It passes, it passes."
It was a TV timeout so Patrick took a quick swig of water and he skated to the team bench.
"How’s it going, Patty?" Danny asked, looking at him with big, shining, sincere eyes. How the hell could Michele have let him go? He was irresistible!
"Bon, bon, bon," Patty said cheerfully. "Just getting a little bored," He added with a quick wink. "You’re blocking so many shots, you should let me see something eh?"
"Oh we’ll have to work on that," Danny said in a mock serious tone, "maybe allow you a breakaway, take a few bad penalties?"
"Oh that would be heavenly!" Patrick sighed. "Keep it a little dirty yes?"
Danny flashed a white, perfect grin and Patrick felt suddenly annoyed as he skated back to the bench. He glanced up at the glass and Jana waved at him, but Michele seemed occupied with rummaging through the contents of her purse. There was once a time when she would be leaning forward, her fingers over her mouth, her eyes locked onto the ice. He coughed and turned around, setting up for the next face off.
"Oooh, Patrick darling I’m too tired.." Michele sighed.
"Eh?" Patrick asked, as she pulled away from him, pulling the blanket around her body.
"And you should be too!" she exclaimed. "You played such a tough game tonight."
"I only made seventeen saves!" he replied crossing his arms over his chest.
"Important ones," Michele pointed out. "A shut-out is very tiring is it not?"
Patrick frowned and sighed loudly. He ran his fingers through his hair.
"I’m getting some water," he said keeping the edge out of his voice. "Do you want some?"
"No," Michele said with a yawn. "Just don’t make too much noise, you know how you are in the dark."
The first thing Patrick tripped over was one of Freddy’s toys in the hallway outside of the bedroom. "Bitch!" he snapped, pushing the toy out of the way.
"I said be careful!" Michele’s voice rang.
Patrick shook his head and walked slowly down the stairs, rubbing at his sore hip, feeling a slight numbness in some part of it. It was a pain he had been feeling for almost ten years now, nothing too worrying. A good massage would probably be the first thing he would look for tomorrow.
He smiled as he pulled the glass out of the cupboard. When he had thought of the word "massage" he remembered what the guys had been snickering about in the locker room. Apparently, the rumor was that The Coach was sleeping with that kitten of a masseuse. Peter had refused to believe it, stating what a frigid bitch she was.
Patrick was about to turn on the faucet when he heard a quick, sharp scream from the basement. It wasn’t a terribly loud one but it was noticeable enough. Putting the glass down he walked quickly to the basement door, opening it and ducking his head in. He couldn’t see anything but he could hear frightened breathing. "Are you alright?" he called down the stairs.
"Oh God!" he heard Cecile moan.
Patrick sighed and went down the stairs, he found the girl standing on her bed in her nightclothes, clutching a pillow to herself. Fear had turned her face as pale as milk and her green eyes shone out like burning jewels. Pleasing thing was an understatement. Her pajama top was clingy and spaghetti strapped, showing pretty shoulders peeking over the pillow. Her neck was long and slender; in fact most of her was long and slender. It was a shame her legs were hidden under the overly baggy, striped pajama bottoms.
"What’s wrong my dear?" he asked.
"Huh?" she gasped looking straight at him, noticing him finally. The large eyed fear, when it was turned to him, suddenly touched something inside him, something a little beastly. "A.. it was a mouse!" she whispered.
"A mouse?" Patrick asked with a smile. "We don’t have mice here."
Cecile nodded with an almost frantic intensity, tears wobbling in her eyes. She dropped the pillow and pointed to a corner of the room. "It went over there, under the shelf!"
Patrick took a quick moment to glance at the rest of her body now that she had dropped the pillow. He had hoped she would drop it to point. Lovely. She wasn’t bony, she was slim and had a deep curve to her waist, and was quite well endowed. Before she could notice his gaze, he turned away and peeked under the shelf. He saw the small, beady eyes and the familiar tawny body. "Not a mouse," he said.
"No?" Cecile said with a quivery almost annoyed tone. "Then what?"
"It’s Gumper," he said.
"What?!" she exclaimed.
Patrick looked up from the shelf. She had her arms crossed over those large, soft breasts, and already she looked flushed and irritated. "Are you teasing me?" she asked.
"Non," he said. "Gumper is Jana’s hamster, she lost him a month ago. We have sightings every now and then. Jana, she is leaving food and water everywhere for him, I think he’s settled down here."
"Oh," Cecile said quietly, she sat down on the bed cross-legged. "I like hamsters."
"But not mice?" he asked.
Cecile shook her head, "Or rats." she said. "If it had been a rat, I would have really brought the house down."
Patrick smiled. "I once had thousands of rats thrown on me, bounce, bounce!"
The girl’s eyes fluttered and she frowned. "You’re teasing me now, I know it. That’s not funny."
Patrick shrugged. "I am not lying. They weren’t real of course, but eh, the effect was what they wanted I suppose."
"They?" Cecile asked swinging her legs off the side of the bed. "Was this a game?"
Pretty feet too, Patrick thought.
"Oui," Patrick said. "Years ago... Stanley Cup finals. The fans tossed them onto the ice after I allowed a goal and the sound as they hit my helmet... rang in my ears for days."
The girl wrinkled her nose, a move that made her look hauntingly young. "I don’t get it," she said. "Danny tries to explain it to me."
"What?" Patrick asked.
"This whole... playing through pain, the masochism!" she exclaimed gesturing with her long arms, a strap slipping down her shoulder. Pretty shadows around her collar bones...
"Masochism?" Patrick said with a laugh.
"Well!" Cecile said brushing a strand of ebony hair behind an ear. "What else? You playing with a bursting appendix for two weeks, how do you explain that?"
Patrick couldn’t stop smiling. "I won a Stanley Cup once with a dislocated shoulder too." When was the last time he had seen a horrified expression like that on a girl? An honestly horrified face on an innocent mind.
"You’re lying!" she whispered.
Patrick shook his head.
"It’s insane!" she gasped.
"It’s my job," Patrick said, taking care to say it slowly and clearly, feeling the words with his lips. "I like to earn my paycheck, I like to wring out the excitement, and excite the fans. In truth I think it is not anymore stressful than a lawyer sitting in his office, doting on his client or the accountant who loses the numbers in his head. It is a job, and I love it. You must admit, it is rare to find someone who enjoys what they do nowadays?"
"I’ll give you that," she said quietly, looking away from him.
You’ll give me a lot more than that my plump breasted little dear, he thought.
"Do not you see Danny’s enthusiasm?" Patrick said. "When he plays?"
Cecile sighed and pulled her blanket around her body, covering up her charms. It was almost hard for Patrick to hide his disappointment. "I don’t know," she said. "I usually have my eyes covered... hehehe... stupid huh? I don’t care about what he does, I just care about him."
"You’re a rare bird then," he said. "Danny is fortunate."
The girl reddened and looked down at her lap. "Thanks," she whispered.
"I don’t mean to upset you," he said quickly.
"Oh no!" she said just as fast. "No you... I didn’t mean to give the impression... I mean... was I giving that impression?"
Confused and flustered and she looked adorable like that too. Patrick could almost taste her now, but he could already tell that she wouldn’t be simple. "Well, I can catch The Gumper if you want me to," he said, "If he bothers you..."
"It’s OK," she said with a small, pink smile. "I’m real sleepy."
"Good," he said in French, standing up slowly and yawning. "Good night then, sweet one. And dream well."
"I will," she answered back in French, drawing a delighted smile from him. "Thank you for your concern."
Patrick nodded and as he was heading up the stairs she called out again. "Hey," she said.
"Yes?" Patrick asked.
"That was a great game from you," she said. "I mean that you didn’t allow any goals or anything... that was pretty keen."
"Thanks," he said.
"That was some drink of water," Michele murmured as he crawled into bed.
"Oh," Patrick said casually, "Our little guest found Gumper."
"Mmm, really?" Michele said with a sigh. "And?"
"Patience!" he laughed. "That’s all, be patient."
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