Page 76 of Hot for the Hockey Player
Laughing, I set my almost-empty mug down.“Exactly.I have no idea how I’d find those people.Aren’t they living under bridges somewhere?”
Her snort rattled her face enough that her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose.She pushed them back up.“Let me put you in contact with Alice Wu.”She clicked a bunch of things on her computer, and a moment later an email popped up.“There.I just sent you and Alice an email introducing you guys.Alice is a podcast marketing genius.She took me from ten listeners to ten thousand in two months.I know Jasmine has worked with her too.She will help you find the listeners you want.”Her eyes went wide.“And I know she’ll beallover this.”
While I initially dismissed Char’s suggestion, as she went on about finding therightaudience and changing their minds, I didn’t find the idea of having a podcast on positive masculinity nearly as intimidating, or outlandish.
“There’s nobody out there doing this yet.Not a professional hockey player anyway, with a teammate who is getting ready to go to trial for sexual assault.You could be the flagship.Get in on the ground floor and start a revolution.”Tugging her long, light brown-ponytail over her left shoulder, she started to stroke it like it was a cat or something.Probably a nervous tic.
I glanced at the clock on my phone.It was nine-thirty.I needed to get ready for physiotherapy.“I’ll chat with Alice and see.Thank you for connecting us.”
Char’s head bobbed.“I hope to start editing this interview today and get it up and live by Friday.I’ll send you a link when it’s ready.”
“Appreciate it.”
We said our goodbyes and just as I was about to close my laptop, an email from Alice Wu popped up.I still had twenty minutes before PT and it was only a ten-minute drive, so I opened it up.
Hey, Maverick!
So amazing to connect with you.I would love to chat more about what you’re looking for.I have to say, the concept of this podcast sounds INCREDIBLE and I will do whatever I can to be part of it somehow.I’m already thinking up ways we can advertise and market this thing to reach the “lonely boy” audience.You know who else we should target?Moms—and dads.But particularly those of certain racial backgrounds.I know for a fact that my parents think my brother can do no wrong, and that any wife he has should basically wipe his ass for him, as well as do all the cooking, cleaning, and child rearing.Which is probably why that dumbass has never had a date, still lives with our parents, and he’s almost thirty.They are part of the problem, and if we can somehow reach them, then holy shit, we’re going to be part of a revolution.Let me know when you want to connect.So excited to work with you, Maverick.Have a fantastic day
-Alice
My jaw dropped.Her enthusiasm was contagious, and excitement began a slow, steady simmer in my belly and arms.I grinned as I re-read her email.Char wasn’t kidding, Alice was a genius.
I shot her back an email right away saying I’d love to connect with her as soon as she could, then headed out the door to physiotherapy, unable to wipe the grin off my face—not that I tried.
Maz made me work hard for the forty-minutes I had him.He corrected my form, because apparently, I wasn’t keeping my hips square at home when I did some donkey kicks and other bilateral movements.I was sore, but in a good way, when I left.
“Oh hey, man,” Jagger greeted me in the parking lot as I headed to my truck.He had a serious limp to his step, but no cane.
“Hey.How’s it going?”We shook hands, and I ran back to open the door for him, which actually earned me a small glower.
“Thanks,” he grunted.
“Have a good day?”I said, though I phased it more like a question, since the man didn’t seem to be having a good day at all.
All he did was grunt again.
Hmm.
I didn’t really have too much time to ponder Jagger’s mood.I promised Man I’d be at his place by eleven, and he lived all the way out on the peninsula.Man Patel was a short, thin man from India, but he’d been on the island for at least the last ten years.His wife had recently passed away, and all his children lived on the mainland.He spent his days in his little cottage, whittling spoons and feeding his ducks.When I mentioned to Carol Robbins that in addition to woodworking, I’d love to learn to whittle, she told me about Manpreet, or Man, as he liked to be called, and said I should pay him a visit.That he sold his spoons at the farmers markets and in the giftshops, but not out of his home and didn’t offer classes.
So I went to see a man named Man about whittling, and he told me to come back today and he’d show me how to whittle.
Like all the other workshops I’d taken so far, I had no idea what to expect, but I was excited nonetheless.
I pulled into Man’s driveway in front of his shake-sided garage, and nearly had a heart attack at the deafeningquackof a duck right at my feet when I hopped out of my truck.
“Dandelion, leave him alone,” Man called from the doorway of his garage.
Dandelion, a big white duck with a tuft of feathers on top of her head, didn’t seem to agree, and proceeded to lecture me in her native language, flapping her wings and pecking—not too gently—at my jeans.
“Just keep walking,” Man said.“She’ll get the hint.She’s a …Karen,as the kids say.”
Dandelion followed me as I navigated the narrow stone path with what I’m assuming would be flowers on either side in the spring until I reached Man.
He waved her away, then threw a handful of sliced grapes out onto the grass.Her fluffy little tail wagged, and she quacked loudly, which set off a storm of other quacks from multiple directions.Then, dozens of ducks of every size, shape, and color came out of the bushes and down various paths.
“Inside, before they ask for more.”Man held open the door, and I zipped into his garage which he used as a workshop.The screen door closed with a sharpbang.
