10
Ultimatums
JANE WAS BAKING under her covers. Angry voices filtered through the darkness. She threw off the sheets and listened. Deb and Leonard were fighting. Their distant argument seemed to seep through from another time.
“What else am I supposed to do? I’m her mother, Leonard. It’s not like I can turn off my love and just see the athlete, just see the skating machine. That’s my little girl striving for something.” Deb paused and Jane strained to hear.
“Preposterous.”
“I’m not saying I support it exactly …”
“I would stop coaching her, right now, if I could.”
“What crap, Leonard. Your glory lies with her, and you know it.”
“Careful, Deb.”
“Of what? Trampling your precious ego? I’m so sick of your damned ego I could puke.” The front door was opened. “Leonard. Please. I apologize,” Deb said, her voice low, “but I’ve got to go to bed. Can you please leave?”
“No. We’re not done.”
A long pause. Barely audible to Jane, Deb said, “I think we are.” Jane sat up.
“What do you mean? You’re dumping me?” Leonard bellowed. Deb shushed him.
“We were never together, Leonard. Not really. You just liked to think so.”
“I’ll stop coaching her, Deb, I swear.”
“If you need ultimatums to direct the course of our relationship, Leonard, then it is definitely over. I’ll have her on the ice tomorrow morning, first thing.”
Jane heard more protestations from Leonard, but the door closed on them. The doorbell rang a couple of times, and he pounded vigorously, yelling Deb’s name, but her mother ignored his dramatics. Jane heard Deb sigh, and begin to climb the stairs. Jane shut her eyes. She smoothed out her breathing, stilled her heart, and pretended she was asleep for the hovering figure in the doorway.
Half an hour later, after Deb had gone to bed, Mike stole into Jane’s room. “Hear that?” he asked.
“How could I not?”
“Feel better now?”
“No. Now I just feel sorry for Mom … But not really.” She grinned. “Let’s just hope she sticks with it.” Jane thought for a moment. “It almost sounded like she was going to support my hockey there … for about half a second.” Mike grunted and was quiet, but he seemed like he wanted to talk. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t exactly the chatty type, so Jane didn’t kick him out, sleepy though she was.
“Irina …,” he began, “doesn’t seem to like me anymore. She avoids me whenever she can … it’s hopeless, Jane … I’m lying there in bed, coming up with ways to talk to her, but when I see her, I can’t get up the courage to try … I’m too worried she’ll reject me.”
“I don’t think it’s that she doesn’t like you,” Jane began carefully. “I think it’s more than that. When a person’s got something so huge as her mother’s disappearance on her mind, then … I don’t think she can think about anything else. And I really don’t think she can think about loving someone else until that huge thing is dealt with. It’s consuming her.”
Mike nodded, like her ideas were wise. As he spoke, he twisted her bedspread around his fingers until it was a tangled mess of material; he pulled it right off her. “Whenever I see her on that pond,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion, “it’s like my heart is in my throat. It’s like … it’s gonna burst through my mouth and my head fills up so much with the beating I can’t even see anymore … I can’t hear anything. It’s like I’m tasting my heart. All I can do is taste.”
Jane laughed. “Wow,” she said. “That’s so poetic. That’s so unlike you … Sorry,” she said quickly, when she saw his hurt face. “You’re better at English than I am. Give me back my bedspread, please.”
“Sorry,” he said in return, covering her with it.
Expecting he would leave, Jane was surprised when he lay down beside her instead, put his hands behind his head, crossed his legs, and stared at the ceiling. “I can wait,” he intoned. “I can wait as long as George can wait for you.”
“Oh, George is not serious about me. Not really.”
Mike guffawed. “George would give up hockey for you!”
“More poetry!” Jane said, laughing again. They heard Deb’s bed creak, and shushed each other. “He’s already tried to patch that friggin’ pond,” Mike said.
“What?”
“He’s just trying to figure out ways you girls can still play. He was really pissed off I was standing there with Mom, not supporting you. Which I wasn’t, by the way. Not supporting you, I mean. Mom made me come. And I’m weak when it comes to her. I know it. I admit it. Doesn’t mean I agree with her. But George reamed me out anyway. That guy’s your champion, Jane.”
“He sent you here to talk him up, is that it?” Jane teased.
“No. I just feel sorry for the guy. His face, looking at you on the pond, probably looks like mine when I’m staring at Irina. His face looks how I feel.”
“Again! Love has turned you into Shakespeare.”
“Will you shut up?”
They listened to the wet, rainy snow batter the window. The pond was probably a sopping mess by now, ruined beyond any human’s ability to fix it.
“Well, maybe he can convince his father to let us use the arena,” Jane said eventually. “If he figured that out, I’d marry him.”
“Well, then, I guess he’d better figure it out so I don’t have to keep lookin’ at his moony face.”
The next morning at dawn, Jane stood before the full-length mirror in her mother’s bedroom, examining her body. Taut muscle greeted her gaze. Her supple figure skating arms seemed a thing of the past. Defined shoulders, biceps, and triceps tapered down to strong forearms, her tiny wrists and hands and long, elegant fingers the only remnants of a figure skating body. At least the hands have grace, she thought wistfully. What surprised her were her legs. Huge quadriceps and hamstring muscles curved to bruised and knobby knees under which bulged beautifully carved calf muscles. Her tiny ankles echoed her wrists’ elegance. Jane pointed her toes. Her leg muscles smoothed out, her strength less obvious. Just gotta wear tights, she thought wearily.
As she battled piles of unplowed wet snow making a mess of the roads, smoothie in hand, she marvelled at how a human body could respond. She’d only been playing hockey for a short time and her muscles were already changing. Maybe she was just a freak.
The sky was laced with wisps of pink clouds as she approached the arena from the top of the hill. Staring at the intensity of the world, Jane did not see Leonard’s car in the parking lot until she was halfway down. There was the rusting junk heap, sitting in judgment of her. Even after — maybe especially after his argument with her mother the night before — he’d made it a point to get to the arena before Jane. What stumped her was the car beside it. A cream-coloured Cadillac sparkled radiantly like a bride beside a dumpy, shorter husband. Had Al Leblanc’s salary gone up that drastically?
With trepidation, Jane opened the arena doors. There, waiting for her, with arms akimbo, stood Leonard and Canadian Figure Skating Association president, Gerald Finch.
“Jane!” Mr. Finch said, greeting her enthusiastically. “Your first day back! Leonard and I are so excited! I had to come and see how our champion is doing!”
“But I haven’t even practised since the competition, Mr. Finch,” Jane volleyed, trying to head them off. “I’ve been recovering from an injury. I think I’ll just be doing some stroking around for a bit. Right, Leonard?”
“Oh. I think you’ll be doing a lot more than that,” her coach said, smirking. “You are already in good shape from your activities on the pond, wouldn’t you say?”
“Look, Mr. Finch,” Jane said as calmly as she could, ignoring Leonard, “I know you drove all the way up here and everything, but I’m not ready to show you or any other official anything right now. I’m just getting back to skating.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard,” the president said, low. “We had better see some amazing results in the next few days or I’ll drop you from international competition like you dropped that gold medal on the floor. It is embarrassing that I have to come here and tell you and your mother this. Get it together.” He turned to Leonard. “I’ll be back in an hour to see some results. What is your address, Jane, and how do I get there?”
“My mother is sleeping. She has to work in two hours. She’s trying to adjust to day shift. Leave her alone.”
“We can sleep our entire lives away, Jane, or we can wake up and smell the coffee. Give me the address.” Miserably, Jane gave it to him.
“Back in a moment!” he chirped, and pushed out the door. Jane heard his Cadillac purr to life and creep up the hill, a cat about to catch its prey.
Jane couldn’t look at Leonard. “You’re a rat,” she said, trying to get past him. “You think I’m going to want to practise for real with him around? I’m just getting back!” He grabbed her arm. “And I’m just forcing my hand, Jane. I’m just playing my cards, hoping you’ll fold. Cut the hockey. Cut it out.”
“Cut the stupid poker metaphors, you jerk.”
“When exactly did you lose all respect for me, Jane?” he asked flippantly. “You used to be such a nice girl.”
“You are not exactly motivating me to put my skates on right now, Leonard. You are motivating me to walk right back out that door.”
“All I have to do is mention how much this all means to your mother, and I’ve got you right back in the palm of my hand.”
Angry tears were starting to blot her vision. “You used to be such a nice coach, Leonard. At least, I think you used to be.”
“Go get ready.”
“And for a moment there, in New Brunswick, when I was hurting … it almost seemed like you could be nice again …”
Leonard grew momentarily pensive. Then he said, “Nice doesn’t count when you’re trying to win.”
He would never leave her alone. The only thing she could do was insult him. “I’m so glad Mom dumped you last night. I just wish I could, too.”
But Leonard seemed to float above her barbs. He said, serenely, almost singing, “Go get ready, Jane. Go get ready.”
“Your right arm is drooping out of that Axel. Hold it in position, for Pete’s sake!” Leonard hollered. Jane instantly stopped before him.
“I hurt my shoulder on that last fall,” she snapped.
“Boo hoo. Shake it off and do it again. Jump higher, damn it. Bend your knee. The more you bend, the higher you jump,” he said patronizingly, giving her a rudimentary lesson. “You know this. This is not new information. The more height, the more you can delay the rotation, the more beautiful the Axel will be. That is why it is called a delayed Axel.”
“Really? This is not new information?” Jane began, but Deb, who stood bleary-eyed and in her work uniform at the boards with Gerald Finch at her side, interrupted her, glancing at the president for his reaction. “Don’t be rude, Jane. Just do as Leonard says.”
“Excuse us for a moment, Leonard? Mr. Finch?” Jane asked sweetly.
“One minute,” Leonard scowled. “Don’t waste my time.”
“We’ll have to talk after I get home from work, Jane,” Deb said, but came close to her daughter, putting her hands over Jane’s on the boards. Leonard skated down the ice and Gerald Finch moved up into the stands. Jane pressed her forehead against her mother’s.
“Please, Mom. I’m cold and miserable. He’s too much. Let me stop. I can’t be late for school again.”
“No. Can’t you see we’re being watched? Finch is here to test you.” Patches of colour were blotting Deb’s cheeks, a sure sign of her nervousness.
“Well, at least make Leonard stop being so mean.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because your hatred is motivating you, darling,” Deb said cryptically.
“That’s just twisted, Mom.”
“Because your skating is brilliant.”
“Brilliant, my butt.”
“It’s so obvious to everyone but you. When are you going to see it?”
“Never,” Jane said, despising how sulky she sounded. Her mother took Jane’s hands in her own and squeezed them. “Liar,” Deb whispered. “I know you know this.”
“And I know that you know that I hate it.” Deb’s exhausted gaze remained on Jane and she refused to let Jane pull her hands away. Instead, Deb stroked her fingers gently over them, warming and convincing her with touch. The gentle gesture of affection and the open desperation in her mother’s eyes weakened Jane’s resolve to leave the torturous practice.
“Please, Mom. Please, see things my way.”
“I’m trying so hard, Jane,” Deb whispered, “but don’t you see? I’m caught.”
“I am, too.” Jane felt her entire body clenching, in tune with her rage.
They looked at Leonard who was twirling into a tight corkscrew spin, showing off for Gerald Finch as mother and daughter worked things out once again. Suddenly, he slipped and landed on his behind, the fur on his coat shimmering with the fall. Jane giggled.
“Don’t. He’ll hear you.”
“Don’t care.”
“Go help him up. He is wallowing in his mink. He looks like a beached beluga.”
“Or a stranded polar bear. Let him stay there ’til he frosts over.”
“Jane.” Deb lifted her hands off Jane’s, releasing their connection, and Jane reluctantly skated to her coach and hauled him to his feet. “Let’s go,” Leonard said rudely as a smile played on Jane’s lips. She turned and skated away so he would not see it. She glanced up into the stands. There, in his chosen spot, sat Gerald Finch, judging her, judging them all. I want him to praise my hockey skills, Jane thought absurdly. My hockey skills need some praising.
“Jane, I said, let’s go!” Leonard snapped, breaking into her thoughts. “Delayed axel. Again.” Jane nodded, set up for the jump, bent low into the takeoff and soared through the air. She landed it beautifully and waved to her clapping mother.
At lunch, Jane found herself sitting in front of the desk in the principal’s office, the team standing behind her. As they waited for Mr. Marsh, she stared at the sculpture of the Eskimos with their dog sled. The little huskies were straining so hard, seemed capable of travelling a hundred miles an hour, there was that much effort sculpted into their tiny muscles. Jane felt weary just looking at them. Her butt was sore where she’d landed hard on it after an off-balance attempt at the combination. At least her rib didn’t bust apart, but her unused figure skating muscles were killing her. Leonard’s admonitions and recriminations still rang in her ears. And Deb just let Leonard rant, a scared look on her face. No matter what, just when relations seemed improved between herself and her mother, Leonard — and the pressures of figure skating — were there to wreck things.
That morning, coming in late and forced to sign in, Jane had spotted Mr. Marsh’s notice announcing the need for used skates and equipment for children in the Arctic. As soon as she saw it, Jane had interrupted the student announcers, grabbed the microphone, and asked members of the girls’ hockey team to join her outside the main office at lunch. She had totally exposed them, basically announced their existence to the world, but she didn’t care. It was time to act. If Mr. Marsh supported hockey players in the Arctic, then maybe he would support female hockey players in his hometown. He was such a manly man, though, Jane doubted he would want anything to do with them.
The team was getting fidgety, but even Jenny, Patti, Karen, and Katherine had arrived from the technical wing. Best of all, Mike was in the room. If anyone legitimized their cause, it was the captain of the Junior C Shamrocks.
Mrs. Blackburn sat behind Mr. Marsh’s desk, staring back at the silent group. Jane sat directly across from her. “He’ll be just five more minutes,” she said. “He’s dealing with some smokers in the back parking lot.” Jane wondered how Mrs. Blackburn could possibly know his exact movements, but adults were funny that way. They said things and hoped they would come true.
Five minutes later, Mr. Marsh came in.
“What’s this? What’s this?” he chortled, excusing himself around Jane’s girls. “Are you all in trouble with Mrs. Blackburn?” The head secretary giggled and squeezed herself out as he squeezed himself in, bumping the dog-sled sculpture over. Jane wanted to reach out and set it right, but Mr. Marsh placed it back into its perfect position and she could breathe again.
The principal wedged himself behind his desk, leaned back in his chair, scanned their faces, and nodded at Irina. “How’re those snowshoes working out?” he asked.
“Very nice,” she said. “They help me a lot. Thank you.”
“Glad to see you back in school. You left no number with us.”
“Yes,” she said. “I come back.”
“Good. Good. What’s up, girls?” Mr. Marsh asked as George knocked on the open door and crammed himself in. “Oh, sorry, Mike. Didn’t see you there. Hello, George.”
“Mr. Marsh,” George said, nodding at him.
“Jane? Are you the leader here?” the principal asked, noting her proximity.
Jane swallowed. Why did this feel like the only chance they had?
“… I’ll do the talking,” she said.
She dove in and explained everything: the team’s existence, the cracking of their playing surface, Al’s hatred of them, Ivan and Irina’s defection, and the firing of Ivan and his need for a job. She omitted the Russians’ personal dilemma, and her own difficulties with her coach and mother, but wondered if she should include them. Everyone listened, and Mr. Marsh ignored his phone, staring at each of the girls’ faces as the information unspooled. When Jane finished, the team was as still as the tiny figurines.
“How did you find each other?” Mr. Marsh asked, his deep voice huskier than usual.
“We just did,” Jane said.
“Ivan Stepanov has been in our midst and I did not know this?” He stared at Irina.
“No one knew, Mr. Marsh,” Jane said. “Even some of these girls, until right now. And no one must know … we are … just telling you.”
“And your mother is okay with this?” he asked Jane. “You’re Canada’s figure skating champion, for crying out loud.” Jane didn’t answer. “Mike?” he asked, looking at her brother in the corner. Mike looked down. Jane had pointed Gerald Finch out to him between her practice and his, and Mike had immediately understood the pressure she was under. “I can’t answer for her, sir,” he mumbled.
“Jane,” Mr. Marsh repeated softly, “what about your figure skating?”
“I … I’m doing both, Mr. Marsh,” she said. “My mother’s cool with it.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“She understands that the team needs me. I’ve … I’ve talked to her about it. Really, Mr. Marsh, she’s cool.”
Mike cleared his throat. Even Susan held her tongue.
“Well. All right, then,” Mr. Marsh said. He grabbed a pen. “What do you need from me?”
“We need a place to practise,” Jane said.
He put the pen down. “I’ll have the janitors flood the back field every night. Let’s pray the weather cooperates. It’s been far too mild for the beginning of February.”
“I was hoping you were going to offer something like that,” Jane said, beaming.
Mr. Marsh stood up behind his desk as the warning bell rang for afternoon classes to begin. The girls began to filter out.
“Would it be okay if I mentioned this to my daughters?” he asked, suddenly shy. Everyone turned back to him. “I — I’ve been flooding my backyard for years. We’ve just been … playing on our own all this time … But if I kept this from them, the possibility to play with other girls like them, as passionate as they are … Brenda’s just in grade eight, but she’s very tall. And strong. And a very good hockey player. I’ve taught her myself. My other daughter is too young, I suppose, just in grade six, but she could collect your jerseys, do something for the team.”
“We don’t have jerseys,” Susan said. Jane elbowed her.
“What position does older daughter play?” Irina asked.
“Well, Brenda’s very defensive. Defensively inclined. But, of course, she’s never played on a team …”
“That’d be great. We’ve only got four on defence right now,” Jane said. “She could spell them off.”
The bear-like principal reached across his desk and shook her hand. He wouldn’t let go. Without extracting it, Jane asked, “And your younger daughter? What’s her name?”
“Valerie.”
“Is she any good?”
“Fast. But little.”
Jane grinned. “You never know. Bring her, too.”
Mr. Marsh pumped Jane’s hand. “I can’t wait to tell them.” The second bell marking the beginning of classes rang out. He turned back into a principal before their eyes. “You’d better go,” he ordered. “Except for you, Irina Stepanov … I want to talk to you.”
Jane ran up the steps to the front porch just as her mother drove up from work. Deb was slow to get out of the car. As she did, Jane called out, “I’m just getting my gear. Is my practice dress washed?” Her mother didn’t answer. She shuffled up the walkway, looking more tired than Jane had ever seen her. “Mom?” Jane questioned as Deb brushed past, put the key in the lock, and opened the door. She slid out of her parka, and left it for Jane to pick up. She didn’t even bother to take off her slushy boots. She did not say a word. Frightened, Jane followed her up the stairs. In her bedroom, Deb was unlocking the trunk.
“What are you doing?” Jane asked from the doorway.
“Losing myself in memory.”
“Why?”
“You were a little rusty this morning, Jane,” Deb said, looking at the contents of the trunk.
“Mom …?” Jane said, alarmed. “Why are you acting so weird?”
Deb pulled out a figure skating outfit with white fur trim around the edges of its pale blue collar and skirt. She stroked her worn cheek with its softness. “I’ve been given a warning at work. I’m kind of stupid there. So tired. I gave Mr. Malone his pills. I am a nurse’s aide. It’s not my job. It’s the nurse’s job. Someone caught me. They want me to take some time off.” Jane knew that was impossible. Her mother’s work was their only source of income. “And Gerald Finch said you’ve got one week to get it together or he’s going to dump you.”
As a wet wind shook tufts of melting snow from the treetops, Jane ran drills on the janitors’ bumpy ice surface, parts of the school track visible below. The team buzzed around her, adjusting to the patchy ice; Ivan coached; George helped Tina; Mr. Marsh watched proudly as his girls practised with their new idols. His eleven-year-old had actually put on her skates and equipment, hoping to be called on, and Jane couldn’t resist her hopeful face. Valerie was fast; not so strong on the puck, but that would come.
The janitors had worked feverishly the past three nights to scrape back the wet snow and build them a practice area on the back field, and Mr. Marsh had actually told them what it was for. Instead of giving Jane the evil eye during the school day, they gave her sly, knowing smiles. Jane loved them for that; the last two mornings she had brought coffee and doughnuts from Steve’s after her figure skating practices so the janitors, led by Mr. Starr, could warm their hands in their tiny cubicle of an office.
It was freezing at night, but the girls were having a hard time with the softening ice during the day. At least we aren’t going to fall through, Jane thought. At least her dad wasn’t waiting to trap her with his voice and his memories under uncertain ice. She was just here for the team. She tried a slap shot on Tina. The puck bounced slowly toward the net and rebounded off goalie pads lent by George. Jane deftly nabbed the rebound and flicked a wrist shot past Tina’s short side. She rounded the net and stopped. She cupped a ball of snow into her glove and sucked some of its moisture. The damp air cleansed her face. She could smell the evergreens that ringed the field. The lengthening evening light gave the team the chance at an extended practice, and Jane realized she wasn’t tired, even though she’d had tense figure skating practices that morning and after school in front of her particular panel of judges: Leonard, Mr. Finch, and Deb. Hockey just invigorated her.
As the sun was halved by the horizon, Ivan called them in and introduced a new play to Mr. Marsh’s daughter, Brenda, and the rest of the girls who had not learned it. The team now numbered fifteen souls, sixteen if Jane counted cute little Valerie’s eager face. Standing for a moment at the side, Jane scrutinized the team, listened to her coach, and munched on the snow. The Ojibway girls were fantastic, very skilled in their quiet way; the older converts from figure skating were improving their stick-handling skills all the time; the recruits from the technical school were brawn and willingness combined; Irina was just unbelievable. But they all looked to Jane for guidance. Tonight, Jane observed, Ivan was particularly tense, and the girls stood by uneasily as he and Irina argued about the new play. As their loud Russian voices reverberated off the distant high school walls, Jane thought, smiling, they sound just like Leonard and me.
Ivan abandoned his latest idea and his argumentative daughter, and skated past the idle Jane. He grunted, and slapped his stick on the ice, snapping her out of her reverie. They had talked the night before. The moment of truth had come. She sighed as he fed her the cue.
“Jane? We are ready to move on?”
The players turned to her, unsure where this was leading. She nodded and said, “Absolutely.” Ivan cleared his throat.
“Tomorrow, ladies, we are going to travel to a game.” Startled faces greeted them. Jane glanced at Irina, who was analyzing the reaction of her teammates as intently as she.
“What do you mean?” Susan exclaimed.
“I mean, we have organized our first game. In Mississauga.”
“Who has?”
“Jane. George. Irina. Me. Mr. Marsh.”
“How is that possible?” Susan persisted, agape.
Jane listened carefully as Ivan revealed the connections and detailed plans for the away game that the five of them had quickly arranged in the guise of a school field trip. She skated quiet circles around the astonished group, occasionally nodding, checking their reactions, smiling at their furtive glances. Susan caught her attention. Deep within the huddle, her eyes glowed.
“We need radio exposure. Immediately,” Susan said, taking charge. “I’m gonna call Bobby.”
“No radio announcements yet,” Jane said. “That will kill it. And don’t call Bobby. You can soon. But not yet.”
“Mom’s gonna find out.” Mike lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. Jane stood before him, breathing shallowly. “Yet more lying required. You can’t just disappear for a whole day.”
“I don’t care if she does find out. I’ve learned some strategies now. Instead of asking permission, ask forgiveness later.”
“You’re insane.”
“You’ve just got to cover for me. Just for a day.” Jane lay down beside him.
“No. Just tell her you’re going. You’ve openly defied her so many times now, just be honest for a change.”
“I can’t trust her … Sometimes I think she’s coming ’round to seeing that I need this, and then Leonard sucks her right back in. She’s too wrapped up in what he needs, what she wants for me, her own life, to get it.”
“You go to Moscow in six weeks. Figure skating should be all you are thinking about.”
“You, too, Mike?” Jane sighed, turned onto her side, and looked at her brother. “If we don’t play another team this year, before spring, before the snow melts, if we don’t prove ourselves now, it’ll never happen. Girls’ hockey will be as dead as it’s ever been in this town.”
“You can’t just go off and play hockey somewhere without the CFSA’s permission. Man, Mr. Finch is still kicking around town. If he hears about this, he will go through the roof.”
“Pretend I’m sick.”
“Your magic year will end.”
“Well, I’m trying to make my peace with that,” she said, flopping back onto her back beside him. “If he dumps me from Moscow, then it was supposed to happen all along.”
Mike put his hands behind his head, still talking to the ceiling. “I just don’t get it. Someone who has worked as hard as you have to get to the level you’re at. You’re an elite athlete. You can’t just throw it all away. It erases everything that’s happened to you in the past few months, all the support behind you, your years of work. It’s just … well, it just seems ungrateful and childish.”
“You’re one to talk. You’re an elite athlete and look how stuck you are. You should be long gone from this town. Mom won’t let you grow up.”
“We’re not talking about me.”
“Sorry. I’m so bored with the subject of me …”
“Figure skating — ”
“Figure skating is going to be there for me for a few more years, if I want it.”
“You’re being cocky. I wouldn’t be so sure. They could totally shut you down.”
“I’m not being cocky, it’s just the truth. Who’s to say they won’t want me next year? I’m not saying they’re going to after my bad attitude finally gets to them, but it’s a possibility. This chance to play hockey could disappear if we don’t fight for it now. Girls are gonna graduate … the team could fall apart. It’s a very fragile thing. You know it, Mike. And you also know I need it. I need it like I need to breathe.”
“Why you gotta be so dramatic?”
Jane tried a different tack. “Look, we’ve got to play at least one team before we try to take on you Shamrocks and Al Leblanc.”
Mike sat up and looked back at her. “What are you talking about, ‘take on the Shamrocks’? You girls can’t play us. Do you have a death wish? We’ll squish you. Just like last time. You got squished. Remember?”
“We are better.”
“I honestly don’t know anyone as stubborn as you. You get something in your mind … Suicide. All of it. You’re not just attempting it. You’re committing it. Get this now, Jane. I’ll never play you. Ever again.”
“Yes, you will. I think you actually like playing me. Reminds you of your childhood.”
Mike lay back down beside her. “You’re so full of it.”
“George is coming with us to Mississauga. He’s been helping us get organized, on the ice and off. He’s into a game against us.”
“He’d do anything for you! I’ll have to straighten him out.”
“I’m going for one day. She’ll forgive me. She’s my mother. And as much as Gerald Finch and Leonard threaten, I think they are bluffing.”
“Finch is itching to get rid of you.”
“Then why is he still here?”
“I don’t know!”
“Because they need me. He would have dropped me long ago if he didn’t.”
“He could easily send Geneviève Côté instead. She’s totally hot. They could send her or Stacey Mueller or whoever’s next and leave you out in the cold!”
“Then let them! You’re not hearing me, Mike. I don’t care anymore. I’m done with being controlled. I mean, I feel for Mom, I really do, but I have to take control of my own life. And that means pushing things in the direction of hockey.”
But as she said it, a vision of her mother’s tired eyes flashed before her; Deb’s new stooped way of standing, her face as she came out of the car saying she was dangerous at work … Jane began to breathe shallowly again, guilt crushing her chest, pushing her deep into the bed. All she had to do was think about her mother to feel it. She tried to push back, push that guilty feeling back to the ceiling.
She whispered, “This is our time. The team’s time. I can just feel it.”
“This is your time, and you’re throwing it all away.”
“Well, Mike, you can help me with Mom or not. Just do whatever you want. I can’t talk to you anymore.”
She jumped off the bed, and ran out before the guilt on the ceiling could squash her.
Jane bent over her hockey stick, breathing hard. The puck was in the net. She took the final face-off, but the buzzer rang two seconds later. They had scratched out a win. Their first win! Jane unfurled from her rigid position, and stood up straight, the exhaustion of her limbs beyond anything she had felt yet. Gonna need a day, she promised herself, but remembered Gerald Finch and her mother in that instant. Maybe Mike was right. Another day off figure skating could mean expulsion from Worlds. Even coming here could mean expulsion from Worlds. She dropped her stick and gloves on the ice and skated to the end of the line. As the opposition neared, she surveyed them. Ladies. Women. Lining up to shake their hands. As each woman passed by, she gave Jane an extra pat on the back, that extra look in the eye.
“Jane Matagov,” said the small, friendly woman walking in her boots at the end of the line. “That was a stunning final goal.”
“Mayor McCallion.” Jane’s heart skipped a beat. George had done some research and had realized that the Streetsville mayor could be an ally. And that’s what she had become: a small force behind their little game, the first person, it seemed, in any kind of political position in Canada to acknowledge women’s hockey. Her enthusiasm gave Jane hope. “Thanks for hosting this event,” Jane said.
“Anything to get girls playing,” the mayor bubbled. She held tightly onto Jane’s forearm, forcing Jane to help her off the ice. “How much more money do you need?”
“Pardon me?”
“You’re going to need a sponsor,” Mayor McCallion said, immediately sounding like the politician she was. “You’re going to need money to help knock down the prejudices of the male establishment. You’re from Parry Sound, for goodness’ sakes. The heart of conservative Ontario. I can’t imagine businessmen there lining up to sponsor a girls’ hockey team. They’ll simply scoff at you. Tell you to stick to ringette …”
“Not when they know who our coach is.”
“It’ll take a lot more than that, even if he were the great Soviet Coach Bobrov himself.” Jane smiled to herself. The mayor had obviously followed the Summit Series closely. Ivan’s close enough, she thought.
“I want all the details of your plans,” Mayor McCallion said as they neared the side of the rink. “I know you’ve got to get back and figure skate, but I want details. I want plans. I want to start a female league across this province. Parry Sound will be the first stop. This is the beginning of something beautiful.”
Jane stopped for a moment and held tight to the tottering mayor. “But how did you do it?” she asked. “How did you get your team started? These ladies have so much skill. They were just toying with us.”
“Well, it helps that they have a woman for a mayor. I have influence. But so do you, Jane,” the mayor prodded. “As a figure skating champion, so do you.” Jane smiled faintly, wishing it were true.
“Come,” Mayor McCallion said, gripping her arm even more tightly. “Get me to that carpet before I land on my head. It’s time for the presentation.”
“What presentation?”
Mayor McCallion ushered Jane to a hastily laid red carpet on which stood a microphone. Jane removed her helmet and waited beside the much smaller woman. Mayor McCallion began to speak to a row of reporters. “On behalf of our fabulous women’s team and the people of Streetsville and Mississauga, I’d like to present these excellent hockey players from Parry Sound with newly minted jerseys that they so obviously need to look like a real team. Thank you for such an exciting game and congratulations on your win. What talent these young skaters have!” She held up a stylish powder blue and yellow jersey in front of Jane, who took it and held it in her tired arms — now new-shot with energy. As the cameras flashed, a spattering of cheers greeted her from the sparse crowd. The mayor leaned into Jane and whispered, “I took the liberty of designing your logo. Hope you like it.” Jane loved it. “Put it on,” the mayor urged. Jane did so.
“That’s not all,” Hazel McCallion said into the microphone. “Nora? Nora Blake, ladies and gentlemen.” An energetic, thin, sixty-year-old woman, sporting a huge purple hat, a tight dress with feather boa to match, and spiked purple heels, emerged, clashing with the red carpet, and carrying a huge cheque for a thousand dollars.
“For your team, darling,” Mrs. Nora Blake oozed, passing the large cardboard placard to Jane. “To get you truly started.” Several flashbulbs exploded. Many of the departing crowd stopped to watch. “If you ask my opinion,” Nora continued, “you girls need matching helmets. I suggest canary yellow or cyan. Wait, do they make them in yellow?”
“This is an incredible gift,” Jane said to the ladies beside her. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Jane felt waves of energy pass through her, and she handed the cheque to Susan, who skated around the rink with it over her head. Women helping women. A fantastic gift.
The mayor had Jane’s arm again. “Take all your vitamins,” she said. “It’s absolutely ludicrous what you are doing, but you are young.”
“Iron pills,” Nora advised. “And trust me, sweetheart, I’m all about the figure skating.”
“Calcium/magnesium supplement,” said Hazel.
“An apple a day,” Nora countered.
“Sleep every chance you get,” Hazel said.
“And forget about school,” Nora whispered, poking Jane’s arm. “Just for the next two months.”
“All right,” Jane agreed, laughing. She looked out at the few enthusiastic audience members who were encouraging the girls to pass the cheque between them, and do a lap around the rink.
Could this really be the beginning of something beautiful? Jane wondered.
In the dark of the morning, Jane heard a knock on her door. The team had returned at eleven the night before, after her mother had left for work. Jane had been welcomed home by a note explaining that Deb was needed at the nursing home, and lambasting Jane for her disappearance. At least she didn’t have to face a furious mother right away. She had knocked on Mike’s door, but he wouldn’t respond. Jane had crashed, but here it was not even quarter after four, not even time for her alarm to go off. She roused herself from her bed, got into her clothing, forced her tired legs down the stairs, and opened the door.
“What, George?” she said sharply as the winds from the blizzard that had greeted them home blasted inside. The janitors at the school would have to do double duty shovelling the ice on a night like this. “What do you want?”
“It’s in the newspaper,” he gushed, brushing snow off the soggy paper in his hand. Dripping, he directed her to the final page of the Toronto Star sports section. There she was, beaming between Mayor Hazel McCallion and the bright purple Nora Blake, millionaire socialite, the thousand dollar cheque in front of them.
“Someone’s gonna think I’m accepting a cheque for figure skating,” Jane said, smiling. “I might lose my amateur status.”
“You’re in hockey gear in this picture,” George said, stating the obvious.
“The figure skating people are going to be very angry with me.”
“You probably can’t even accept the gift of a hockey jersey without repercussions, true?”
“True.”
“So what are we going to do?” he continued. “It’s public now.”
“Well,” said Jane, sitting down. “We can hope. It’s the last page. Maybe no one will notice it.”
“My father reads the sports section from front to back. He’ll blow his top.”
“We’re screwed, then.” She smiled at George’s discomfort. “We can’t keep it from them,” she said softly. “That’s why we went. To draw attention to ourselves. A little at a time.”
“But they mention you as Canada’s number one figure skater.”
“Well. Exactly. That’s the news.”
“Your mother will have a conniption.”
“Let her. Let them all.”
Jane got up, went into the kitchen, and started stuffing her usual ingredients into the blender. George followed her. “Have you spoken to your father yet, George?” she asked.
“Kinda,” he said, looking down. “Hypothetically.”
“What?”
“I floated a hypothetical situation past him when I got home.”
“Did you tell him where you’d been?” Jane interrupted.
“I lied rather ineffectually — said I’d been to Toronto to watch a show for English.”
“That’s kinda true … we kinda put on a show …”
“… I said — hypothetically — that if we could get a game together, you girls against the Junior C guys, and the girls won, would he give you ice time?”
“What’d he say?”
“He said, ‘When hell freezes over, the girls can have ice time down there.’”
“You had one job to do. One.”
“I know.”
“As hard as Mr. Starr and the rest are trying, the ice behind the school sucks.”
“I know. But then I asked, ‘If they won, could you just try it for a week?’”
“And he said?”
“‘They can have the figure skating ice time for drawing those stupid figure eights.’”
Jane blasted the blender in disapproval. “We need equal access to ice time. We have to get serious here.”
“He’s hard to talk to,” George said.
“No kidding.”
“I … I can’t talk to him. He has his own ideas.”
“‘Breaking down prejudices …,’” Jane quoted Mayor McCallion. “We’ll just have to get in his way.” Jane started to pour the smoothie into her usual glass. George watched as the delicious mixture settled into the container.
“Can I walk you to the arena? Watch you skate?” he asked, longing in his voice.
“It’s a free country.”
“Jane. Don’t be mean.”
“Sorry.” She stopped in the middle of pouring. “I’m just tired. Sure. Come along with me. Want some cold, nutritious smoothie?”
“Definitely.”
As the two of them wandered into the never-ending blizzard, George silently took Jane’s figure skating bag and shouldered it.
“Been snowing for days,” he observed.
“Yeah. Cold again, too.”
“We’re lucky we had a good bus driver yesterday.”
“Yeah.” They jumped the snowbanks and entered the park by the library.
“This is a lot lighter than your hockey bag,” he said.
“Just two pairs of skates, a scribe, a chamois, a sweater, and a flimsy dress.”
“In which you look — ”
“Exquisite,” they both said at once, and laughed. In the middle of the park, in front of the war veterans’ monument, George stopped her.
“Is it tomorrow yet, Jane?” His voice cracked. Fat snowflakes landed on their faces.
Jane regarded him seriously. “You’re not just supporting us because you like me?” She had to ask.
“I love women’s hockey!” George enthused.
“Then I think it could be,” Jane said. “You’re so sweet … I think it is.” Jane took his smoothie glass, tucked it into the crook of her arm, and took his hand. They continued their journey to the arena in silence, wrapped in their own private worlds. They entered the building, cloaked in snow. Jane took him to the elite skaters’ dressing room, sat him on the bench, and kissed him.
“Tomorrow has definitely come!” George exclaimed, and kissed her back.
Leonard and Gerald Finch found them there at six a.m., locked together, still shivering in their wet coats. Jane’s figure skates remained in their bag. Leonard brandished a wet newspaper open to the back of the sports section. He was spluttering, trying to articulate his rage. Mr. Finch’s skinny frame was shaking, too. He spoke first.
“You have … flagrantly … mocked the decisions of the Canadian Figure Skating Association … A governing body that made you a champion, nurtured you, provided you with a coach — who nurtured you — ”
“A mother — who nurtured you — ” Leonard added. Bizarre, Jane thought. The Canadian Figure Skating Association did not provide me with a mother.
“ — You have flagrantly gone against our wishes, our rules governing amateur status, disappeared without a word, done your own thing, continued to flout our expectations and wishes for you — ”
Gerald Finch was gathering steam as Jane nodded encouragingly.
“ — You are the most unappreciative, selfish child I have ever met!” Leonard blasted. They were like two spinning tops with no space to topple over. Jane watched them spin.
“That you have so publicly announced your activities, when we were trying to keep them under wraps — ”
“Trying to humour you, give you ‘time’ — ”
“Speaks to your true nature,” Mr. Finch finished.
“Humour me?” Jane said, risking a finger by poking the spinners. She guffawed. “Oh, Leonard. Humour me? That’s rich.” She got up and took off her wet coat.
“Sit down!” Mr. Finch roared. She did so. “I cannot make this right,” he said. “You have blown this for yourself. You have completely and utterly buried your hopes for a chance at Worlds. By putting yourself in the newspaper as a hockey player … don’t you see … it will cause an uproar in the figure skating world. Not only that, but you accepted gifts! Gifts! A substantial cheque and a bunch of jerseys! You have effectively ruined your amateur career and made me look like an idiot in the process — ”
“No one will support you — ”
“You’ve blown it. It’s over.”
Jane could only think of one word to say: “Good.”
“Gentlemen. Can you leave us alone, please?” George asked politely. “You kind of interrupted something here.”
“Mind if I interrupt?” The four of them looked to the doorway. Deb stood swaying in her nurse’s aide uniform, a newspaper in her hand. Jane’s trapeze heart did a curious leap. There was a sensation that the circus tent was collapsing above, threatening to crush her. She tried to push the feeling away with flippancy. “I didn’t realize Toronto newspapers arrived in Parry Sound so early,” she said in jest, “otherwise, I’d still be sleeping.”
“No! You’d be skating!” Leonard shrieked. “You’d be skating! It’s six o’clock. You’d be skating! You’d be doing your patch. You would be tracing out your circles with your scribe, you would be practising your figures, and then we would work on your long program like we planned!!!” Jane could never get used to the fact that his coat was like a live animal. She focused on its movement, fascinated, trying to send her mind elsewhere. She heard her mother say, “Gentlemen. You need to calm down. Leonard. Give me some time with her alone. Please. Go for a walk uptown.”
“It’s snowing!” Leonard yelled. “I had to sleep at the Kipling Hotel. Listen to banging, hammering music until one in the morning! Listen to the drunks puking in the snow! I did not go home in this weather. I stayed in this rinky-dink town for you!”
“Yes, Leonard. I know,” Deb soothed. “You’ve done this for years. Please. Gentlemen. Go for a walk. And George,” she said, looking at him, “go find your father. He’s looking for you. He has a few words he wants to say to you.” Jane grabbed George’s hand.
“No, thanks, Mrs. Matagov. I’m gonna stay right here for the moment. Jane wants me to stay.”
“Jane?”
“Please, Mom. Let him stay.”
The spinning tops sped out the door, and the tiny room settled for a moment. Deb wearily entered and sat beside Jane. Their hips were touching.
“Well. This is rather serious, Jane.” Deb took Jane’s free hand.
“Yeah,” Jane agreed.
They sat in silence, staring at the newspaper in Deb’s other hand. There was so much to say and Jane didn’t know how to say it. “You leave work early?” she asked.
“Yeah. It’s not good. I’ll be docked pay. But at least they called me back in. Short-staffed.”
“Oh. I wondered.”
More silence. George kneaded Jane’s fingers. They listened to the clock ticking in the quiet dressing room. In the distance, the Zamboni sputtered to life, Al Leblanc doing George’s job.
“You know the strangest thing?” Deb said.
“What’s that, Mom?”
“When I got out of Mike where you’d gone — ”
“I figured he’d tell you … he’s hopeless at lying …”
“I realized … I was the most hurt that you didn’t ask me to come along.”
Relief flooded Jane’s heart. “Oh, Mom,” she said as Deb closed her eyes. Her hand went slack in Jane’s and the newspaper fell to the floor. Jane looked to George and said, “We’d better get her to bed.”
