Page 9 of Honkers Under the Holly

The bell above the shop door chimed again, and Sara Jayne’s voice floated down. “Mac? You might want to come back up. Tommy’s teaching Sir Honksalot to catch, and I don’t think it’s going well.”

I stared at my parents, then at the worn wooden floors I’d learned to walk on, then at the walls that had sheltered me my entire life. “Right before Christmas,” I repeated. “As in, six weeks from now?”

Mom squeezed my hand. “We know it’s sudden, honey. But you’re a successful sports agent now. You can afford your own place.”

I thought about my one client, my dwindling savings, and the current state of LA’s rental market. Success was a strong word for my career trajectory.

Another crash echoed from upstairs, followed by Tommy’s voice: “It’s cool. You needed a new lamp anyway, right?”

“I should...” I gestured toward the ceiling.

“Of course, honey,” Mom said. “We can talk about all the plans to pack up more later.”

I headed back upstairs, my mind spinning. Six weeks. I had Six weeks to figure out how to afford a place in LA’s ridiculous housing market, or I’d be homeless just in time for the new year.

The scene in my office temporarily distracted me from my impending housing crisis. Tommy stood on my desk chair, holding a mini football over his head, while Sir Honksalot honked menacingly from atop my filing cabinet. Sara Jayne filmed the whole thing on her phone, providing commentary.

“And here we see the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” she narrated. “Or possibly the start of a hostagesituation. Stay tuned to find out! #FootballPlayerMeetsGoose #UnlikelyFriends”

Oh, god. Was this my life now? Mac Jerry, struggling sports agent, soon-to-be homeless, and now, apparently, goose custody mediator. If anyone had told me this would be my holiday season, I’d have asked what they were drinking and requested a double.

Two hours and seventeen takes later, we finally had something InstaSnap-worthy. Tommy sat cross-legged on my office floor, Sir Honksalot nestled surprisingly peacefully in his lap, both of them wearing L.A. Bandits caps that Tommy had signed.

“And that’s why Sir Honksalot, Sara Jayne, and I are teaming up to raise awareness for animal rescue organizations,” Tommy read from the cue card I held up. “Because everyone deserves a second chance—even if they’re a little different, a little messy, or sing karaoke very, very badly.”

Sir Honksalot honked right on cue, and Sara Jayne handed me the phone. “Follow us on InstaSnap and stay tuned for our first fundraiser. Can you say Bandit signed ball cap?”

She nodded at me and I stopped recording.

“That’s was great. Magda was right about InstaSnap being a great way to get some notice. I can’t do that at a photoshoot.”

I handed the phone back to her, and she clicked away, posting the video. When she was done, she looked up at me and smiled, so happy and carefree. God, she was beautiful.

I wanted to cross the three feet between us and pull her into my arms. I’d dip her in that classic way and give her a long, deep celebratory kiss.

“Honk.”

That was Tommy, and he was staring deep into Sir Honksalot’s eyes. This looked like the beginning of a beautiful friendship indeed.

The phone dinged in Sara Jayne’s hand. Then it did it again, and then it blew up with incoming notifications. She glanced down and her eyes went as wide as basketballs. “Whoa. They weren’t wrong when they said this InstaSnap was the next big thing. We’ve already had a couple thousand views and hundreds of hearts. It’s only been three minutes.”

“That’s fantastic.” I was trying to focus on work instead of the fact that I’d be sleeping in my car by Christmas.

Sara Jayne refreshed the page on her tablet. “The teaser posts from earlier today have already gotten ten thousand hearts. I didn’t even know there were that many people on this media picture sharing thing. Magda’s going to be thrilled—she’s been pushing me to build a bigger social presence. Says the plus-size market is all about engagement these days.” She trailed off, frowning at her screen. “Oh wow, speaking of Magda...”

She turned the tablet toward me. There, right under our post, was one from Magda Krol, owner of the Elite One modeling agency.

It was a picture of her and her husband hanging up some twinkle lights over the doorway to their McMansion. The caption read: Annual Fall Holiday Bash next Friday! Celebrating another year of breaking boundaries and making headlines. Special guests include models, football players, including Denver State’s legendary Coach Bridger Kingman and supermodel April de la Reine! #ModelLife #FootballRoyalty #HolidaySeasonBegins

My heart did a little flip. Bridger Kingman wasn’t just any college coach—he’d led the Denver State Dragons football team to three national championships in the past five years, and his DSU youth development camps had become the pipeline for top college recruits. His eldest son Chris was already being called the next great quarterback prospect…at twelve.. If I could just get my foot in the door with anyone in their world, it would be literally life changing.

“You should come with me,” Sara Jayne said, as if reading my mind. “Magda’s parties are legendary. Everyone who’s anyone in L.A. shows up.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Plus, she specifically told me to bring a date. Says the football crowd can get a little... enthusiastic when they see a beautiful woman alone.”

“You think I’m good holiday date material?” I tried to sound casual, not pathetically hopeful.

“Well, you did help me catch a rogue goose at Oktoberfest.” She smiled. “And Magda’s husband Jones played pro ball—apparently he and Coach Kingman go way back. Could be good for your agency to make those connections.”

Tommy looked between us, grinning. “Oh, he’ll be great at connections. He’s been practicing connecting with—ow!” He rubbed his shin where I’d kicked him.

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