Page 102 of Hot for the Hockey Player
“You play an instrument?I didn’t know that.”
“Aunt Raina is a piano teacher and had taught all of us.I goof around on the keyboard sometimes.Have tried writing a few songs.They’re not very good.”
“Bullshit,” I blurted out, which made him smile but only for a second before his shyness got the better of him and he went stoney faced again.“I bet they’re amazing.Does your mom know?”
“Maybe?I dunno.It’s a keyboard where nobody can hear it if I’m wearing the special headphones.So maybe not?”
“I’d love to hear one of your songs sometime.That’s really cool.I’m not musical at all.I wanted to learn how to play the guitar, but my dad said practicing an instrument took time away from practicing for hockey.”
Color filled his cheeks.“They’re not very good.It’s just goofing off stuff.A way to blow off steam or whatever.”
“All brilliance has to start somewhere.”
He rolled his eyes.“Whatever.”
“I appreciate you coming with me and helping me out with the tech side of things.I had no idea it was so complicated.”
“You want good sound and the ability to edit out background noise, or a sneeze or something.The software I have is good.It shouldn’t be too hard.Have you decided on a name for your podcast?”
I turned onto Man’s road.“Everything I come up with sounds lame or is already taken.Do you have any ideas?”
His lips twisted in thought.“What aboutMan Advantage?It’s a hockey term for when it’s five on four, but because you’re aiming for positive,wokemasculinity, it has a double meaning.Men need to use their privilege, their advantages in life to lift women up, rather than oppress and knock them down.”
I nearly drove off the road.I was gaping at him with such shock.“That’s perfect.That’s fucking perfect.”I reached out and gripped his shoulder, giving it a shake as a big smile took over my face, then one grabbed him by the lips as well.“Well done, Damon.You just named my podcast.”
I could tell he was proud, but that rush of color was back in his cheeks as he tried to hide his smile and broke eye contact with me.But I didn’t care.I was too excited.My podcast had a name, and it was a great name at that.We pulled into Man’s driveway, but couldn’t get right up in front of the garage because the ducks were having a meeting of the minds and feathers.As soon as I turned off the ignition, several of them—including Dandelion, the Karen with the bad toupee—came over to stand beside my closed truck door and proceeded to lecture me on my driving.Or so it seemed.
“Is it safe to get out?”Damon asked, glancing down at the ground outside his door.“They don’t look very friendly.”
“Are they on your side too?”
“Yeah, two white ones and three brown ones.”
“I have six white, four brown, and three green-headed ones.”
“They’re not going to try to bite us?”
I shrugged.“They might.Dandelionisapparently quite the Karen.”
He looked at me like I was crazy.“Which one is Dandelion?”
Just then, Man appeared on the stone footpath, a big glass bowl of cut up green grapes tucked in the crook of his arm.He waved us in, then tossed handfuls of the grapes into the grass.The ducks went nuts, quacking and flapping as they waddled—excitedly wagging their little tails—over to where their breakfast was, leaving Damon and me to escape in one piece.
“That’s no way to greet guests,” Man lectured the ducks, who had called in reinforcements, and now there were close to thirty noisy, feathered fowl digging for grapes in the grass.He held out his hand to me and I shook it.“Good to see you again, my friend.”
“And you, Man.This is my friend, Damon Campbell.Damon, this is Man Patel.”
Damon nodded and took Man’s offered hand.They shook, and then we followed Man into his house that overlooked a small, sheltered bay known ironically as Duck Cove.
“Tea?Coffee?”Man asked, shuffling through the entryway into his kitchen.The woodstove roared bright and orange in the far corner, and while the day was sunny, it was a cold wind.Family pictures in various shaped black frames took up one of the terracotta-colored walls while a few images of Hindu gods like Ganesha and Vishnu—I Googled them when I got home after I had dinner at Man’s—and other cultural items took up the other wall as well as the television.
“I’d love a tea,” I replied.
“Masala chai?”Man asked.
“That sounds amazing.”
“Me too,” Damon replied, sitting with me on the couch while Man went to work in the kitchen.He must have had them already partially prepared because he joined us shortly, setting down three steaming mugs of heavenly smelling tea.Damon was busy setting up the microphones and his laptop.
