Rich Man

I take pride in my work.

I’ll admit that sometimes I can be a tad too proud, which leads directly on a one-way route to recklessness. Maybe sometimes my methods can be bit unorthodox, but in the end everyone is happy and I have a huge check in my wallet.

Stress on the huge check in my wallet.

Of course, playing God with these kids was never easy. I had to get deep into their core circle of friends, make everybody trust me, and manipulate my way to that massive check. That’s what I did. That’s what I do.

“Ooh, this baby is going to pay for my new hot tub,” I hummed to myself, stuffing the five thousand dollar pay check into my pocket. Most of that fee came from the time it took me. The rest was just my usual flat rate. Pop stars these days… Pft. They’re absolutely oblivious to everything.

I go by the label of ‘Professional Mediator’ and literally trick people into liking each other, solving potentially career-endangering problems, etc. My usual clients are the young and rich; all of them are around their mid to late twenties and hardly ever older. Most of the time it’s their parents, agents, or close personal friends who call on me-all of whom are extremely good people, by the way. I wouldn’t answer to anyone holding less than decent intentions.

After all, I wouldn’t want my life to be like some poorly written soap opera about betrayal and love and all that bullshit.

City lights buzzed over the frame of my sunroof. The streets were crowded with people all flooding into the Garden for tonight’s home opener of the 2009-2010 season. Wild cheering could be heard from all sides following calls of “Pittsburgh sucks” and then more avid cheering. I simply straightened out the pair of Dior sunglasses sitting too low on the bridge of my nose and pumped up my already loud music.

I mean what can I say?

The open manila file on the dashboard glittered under the changing glow of street lights and open signs. A name, Lexis Brooks, smiled up at me in bold black letters with a cell number beside it followed by address and so on. I stabbed the numbers swiftly on the little screen in the center console and pressed ‘call’.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

“Hello?”

“Lexis, right?”

“Yes… Who is this?”

“Roark.”

“OH! You’re coming? I didn’t expe-”

Before the girl could continue, I cut her off with a blank tone, “I’ll be at your place in twenty.”

Click.

It wasn’t unusual for my clients to be amazingly apprehensive around me. Most of the time they’re skeptical of me when I say, “I’m about to turn everything right-side-up. Just do what I say, pay me when we’re done, and we’ll be alright”. It was the same routine every time. This short blonde stood before me after hearing those very words, staring at me the way they all did: Uneasily. She shifted her weight back and forth between her jean-clad legs and stared at me with a questioning gaze.

“I read the file,” I said, stopping her once again before she could get words out of her open mouth. Removing my gunmetal goggle-style stunners, I eyed her honestly. “How long have they been having sex?”

“E-excuse me?” Her eyes widened, almost shifting to anger. Her fist clenched.

I rolled my eyes. “Look, sweetheart, I’m diving head first into your and her personal lives so I can make this better. You said that your goal was to make him actually love her rather than the casual sex. I’m going to do all of that for both of you. To do that, once again, I’m going to need your full support. And don’t worry,” I pulled a “client-Roark” contract from my black tote and handed it to her along with a pen, “by signing this, you agree to my terms as well as I agree to preserve your rights and blah blah. Basically it means what we do and say go nowhere and this little business transaction never happened as far as we’re concerned.”

She took the paper tenderly and glanced over it. The desperation in her eyes to get out of her dilemma was pushing her to sign without reading. It was plain to see that she was anxious and confused as well as excited. She had every right to be. Within five minutes she had read over the entire thing up and down, left to right, and signed swiftly, half shoving the document back at me.

Lex, as she later commanded that I call her, had come up with a pretty decent plan for us. While scrambling around her apartment for one more of her four Bruins jersies, she explained to me our back story. “Alright. Everyone’s going to wonder about you, even if they don’t bring it up around you.”

That’s always the case.

“So I was thinking we have you-“

Be a relative.

“-tell everyone you’re one of my cousins-“

From either Canada or another state.

“-from Arizona, since I have family there. Your name will be…?”

“I’ll stick with Roark, thanks,” I coughed out through the fabric of the musky scented jersey she was currently shoving in my face. I removed my heavy black coat and set it neatly on the arm of her white couch.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I gave you one of the guys’ jersies. My other one is in the wash so it was all I had,” bashfully explaining herself, Lex straightened out her shirt, which barely peaked from the bottom of her jet black jersey. She stood there for a moment, mentally assessing any other things she’d need to cover.

Here is where my great plethora of aliases comes into play. Having been in this utterly exclusive business for so long, I had developed quite the stock of false identities. Each one had her own story, personality, etc. all with the intent on bending those I encountered to my will. For this rather touchy task, seeing as, surprisingly enough, situations such as these didn’t arise all too often, I designed a girl perfectly fit for the job: Myself.

From the description Lex was currently giving me on the main antagonist of the hour, I knew the real me would be the best possible candidate. Apparently he was stubborn and anything but an idiot, but also crude and, at times, a tad childish. He was terrified of commitment, from what I easy gathered, which wouldn’t be overly hard to fix with a little time and maybe by putting forth enough inspiration.

“So this Wheeler kid… How long has he been sleeping with Tera?” Yawning, I shoved my wallet in the back pocket of my tight black skinny jeans.

Pulling on her shoes beside me, Lex answered, “Since the end of last season and all through summer.”

“And you told me he’s really cocky, right?”

“That word was invented for him, yeah. You’ll see for yourself tonight after the game. Right now we need to get going so we can meet up with Tera.”

I decided it would be best if I drove myself, considering the fact that I had done some very brief research and knew how party-boy some of these guys that I'd be working on were. I didn’t want to end up getting dragged to some stupid club or wild party after a preseason game that really didn’t matter. That would just be a waste of my time. Instead, I was just going to get a general sense of what I had to work with then call it a night.

Unable to help myself, I inhaled the scent of the borrowed jersey currently hanging loosely from my skin. It fit like a circus tent, but I didn’t mind it much at all. Instead, I tied the back of the black and gold sweater with a hair tie and pumped my music up even louder. Fifteen minutes passed. The puck had officially dropped almost an hour prior, according to Lex. When we finally found parking spaces and got into the Garden, she began telling me all of this stuff about how I should act and what I should expect…

“How about you just introduce me and let me do my thing, eh? I don’t make a living off this because I enjoy inventing back story.”

Uneasily, she shifted, but opened the suite door for me anyway. “A-alright… I just don’t want any of them to-“

“Trust me, Lex,” I took her arm in the door way, eyes on hers with a reassuring serious smile, “No one will ever know, not unless you tell them.”

“What are you going to do?” She asked me almost silently, the question burning her insides finally bubbling to the surface.

“Simple,” I said, smiling wider, “I’m going to raise a little Hell.”

------------------

Raise a little Hell.

Heh. How often have you heard the mediator of a situation say that?

I was rocking back and forth on my heels, watching people pass me by. Lex introduced me to a few new faces, none of whom mattered much to me. Still, I slapped a smile on my face and shook many a hand in hopes of finally meeting someone of use.

No dice.

Well, the situation seemed hopeless until a certain spiky-haired male entered the room. By the way the crowd of men and women swayed at his entrance I knew he would be a great tool. Actually, Milan Lucic would prove to be quite the asset considering he was one of the head honchos in the group. That being said, I made a mental note to get into his head a little.

Or a lot.

He greeted all those who approached him in one of those ways that made you know this was a bitter sweet experience. While no one made note of his little limp, I paid very close attention to it. “High ankle sprain?” I asked, a half smile tugging at my lips for some reason.

He gave me a look that read “who the hell are you” and replied with what I later learned to be a trademark grin, “Yeah, actually… And you knew that how?”

I took a sip of from my icy cold glass of lemonade. “Your limp is angled inward rather than out. The way your toe points inward when you put weight on it gives you away.” The toothpick in the left corner of my lips drifted to the right as I spoke.

Brows nit together, he held his hand out for a shake. I took his hand and squeezed it with a dominant force, making sure that the back of my hand was the one showing most skin to the ceiling. He studied me carefully in curious manner, a tinge of playfulness irking its way into his growing smile. “I don’t believe I’ve met you.”

“The tag’s Roark.”

“Roark…?”

“Traverse.”

“Are you a doctor, Roark Traverse?” he asked, slowly stepping to my left. I joined his stride and floated with him across the room to the last open set of seats available.

Sitting beside him, I answered, “Not in the least.”

“Hm.”

“Hm, what?” I inquired with a playfully raised eyebrow. I watched him intently from the corner of my eyes.

“You’re just –uh- different is all. Where’d you say you’re from?” His voice instantly snapped to all seriousness as he asked me this. I felt his eyes scan my body as I turned most of my attention to the game at hand, which was tied 3-3 in the 3rd. Imagine that.

“She’s from Arizona,” replied Lex for me from over both of our shoulders. We turned at the same time, both giving her a little wave and a welcoming smile. As if a fixed routine, he stood and gave her what looked like a bear hug and sat back down. “Ray, Looch, Looch, this is Ray.”

“Ray?” I questioned her for a moment, wondering if she had forgotten my name.

She replied, shrugging, “Roark is so masculine. I think Ray suits you better.”

I shrugged as well. “Works for me.”

Armed with a new nickname, I mingled with other guests. Of course, I kept close watch on Mr. Lucic and his behavior. I knew within the last half hour of the game that he was quite the egotist and definitely thought he was better than just about everyone in arena. Only, he never once made it sound so. It was his body language and the rare usage of words that gave away his still flocculating ego.

After quite a few conversations with the man, I was beginning to wonder how fake he was being with me. It sounded as if he was attempting to pick me up until Lex gave him my slightly more formal introduction. From there, he seemed to back off slightly, still flirting of course but never really anything more. I half expected to be talked dirty to by the end of the game, which didn’t happen, thankfully, or else I may have done something stupid.

Hah, kidding.

As soon as the final buzzer sounded, a cheer of victory and utter rejoice echoed through the Garden. I followed Milan and Lex down elevators and hidden halls until we reached what I assumed to be the Bruins locker room. Looch slipped inside and left Lex and I standing in the hall.

“So,” she began, rocking back and forth on the balls of her heels, “What do you think of Milan?”

I shrugged before replying, “He’s cool. A bit proud, but I like him fine.”

“Good, I’m happy.”

“Actually, you look deadly nervous,” I returned quickly.

Her cheeks flared a bright tone of red resembling a faded rose. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Yes. You need to relax. Just breathe. Everything will be fine.”

“What will be fine?” A blonde boy opened the locker room door and spoke in my direction, giving me a clean once over.

His stare was a simple, light gaze. There were bags under his eyes and liquid still weighing down his shiny gold hair. Shooting this new handsome friend a soft half smile, I let Lex introduce us. “Oh, nothing. Lex’s just worried about getting a stain on her new jeans.” That being said, I pointed out the small mustard spot inconspicuously left on her thigh.

The woman grumbled something and shrugged in false agreement, then led me into the hot, hockey-man-scented locker room. At first the smell of gear and about a billion different deodorants shocked my senses, but it became completely irrelevant to my thoughts the moment my eyes settled on him.

Throwing things in his hockey bag was a boy with the most vacant look on his face. I watched him from across the room nonchalantly as he wrinkled his nose a bit in what was apparent confusion. He then proceeded to knit his eyebrows together and dig through his locker in great pursuit of something important.

“Which one is he?” I asked Lex shyly, not wanting to seem like a clueless moron. Yes, I had done my home work, but that didn’t mean I knew all of them well. It was only Wheeler I did a decent amount of research on.

The blonde beside me followed my line of sight to the boy and then she replied, “That’s Bergy. You’ll meet him in a second.”

“Oh, okay.”

Patrice Bergeron intrigued me. Keep in mind that I stress having no attraction to him when I say this and I do have my reasons for interest, of course. The second I set eyes on him in person, a deep feeling jabbed me in the stomach. This was not one of those more normal anxious feelings one gets when they find someone attractive, oh no. A feeling like this could only be described as physical foreshadowing. I knew he would be important. I knew I’d need him. I just had no idea for what.

And of that, I was terrified.

Nothing good ever came out of the uneasy feeling that followed my realization of blind interest. I had no idea who the hell he was and yet I wanted to know about him. To catch my attention all in itself could be a miracle for many at times. That being said, you can understand why I was unnerved by this. As they say, only time will tell.