Heart of Man

I sat in the stiff chair of Chicago O’Hare, watching the violet-orange light dance across the skyline. Terminal A18 was approximately three hours away from having my flight parked against the chute, giving me plenty of time to kill.

“..You know what you are, you are
Sex bomb, sex bomb, you are a sex bomb
You can give it to me when I need to com-..”

I pressed the green button on my blackberry, not even bothering to decipher the number’s origin, as I raised it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Yes, am I speaking to a one A. Trovato?” The deep, male voice resonated from the other end, though it held a light air to it. I shifted in my uncomfortable plastic seat, as I pondered my response to the mystery stalker caller.

“Yes, this is Stephen Yzerman, and I was wondering if I could speak with him for a few minutes?” His voice held a hint of hesitation, as I twirled my dark hair around my finger, while it rested on my knee that sat up in the seat with me.

I internally groaned. “Yes sir, however, would it be possible to call you back once we have made it to our destination? We are in the middle of connecting flights right now.”

“Say no more. Call me when you can. I hope to speak with you soon.” The line went dead.

I threw my phone into my pocket, as I let my head rest against the glass behind me, allowing my eyes to fall closed. The airport was heating up with the mass amount of people. I was supposedly on the same flight as two contenders in the Olympics, and we were flying together. Their ‘fans’ had, unfortunately, gathering to wish them good-bye. Even though they weren’t due for at least another two hours or whatever.

“It was a long and dark December,
From the rooftops, I remember
There was snow, white snow..”

Sometimes, having your ringtone set on [Random] was not the best idea. But at least I was getting into the American music, right? Most of it wasn’t half bad. Though there were the several creepy songs my agent threw into my suitcase that I would never touch again.

Jerking the damned device out of my pocket, I again attacked the green button, raising it to my head again. “Hello?”

“I am looking for Mr. Trovato. This is Jeffery Vanderbeek. May I speak to him?” His short tone disgusted me, but there wasn’t much I could do. Screams began to erupt to my left, as I tried to drown out the voices.

“I’m sorry, he is unavailable at the moment. May I ask her to give you a call back?” I tried making my voice higher that normal, so I wouldn’t dig myself into a hole. I really didn’t want to talk on the phone. My phone beeped.

“That would be wonderful.” Click. Jeez, these rude ass Americans. I looked at my screen, to show that I had four missed calls and voicemails.

Think this is fun? It’s been like this the past week. Once the Olympic Rosters were distributed, people had gone nuts, and my phone had rung off the hook.

A hockey bag was slung into the seat next to me, scaring the shit out of me, causing me to jump a few inches out of my own, before looking up at the offender.

“Sorry about that. Kind of frustrated with having to deal with so many people right now,” came a softer, yet serious voice. I quickly made my way to my feet, extending my hand, making me grateful he returned the gesture. “Jonathan Toews, Captain of the Chicago Blackhawks, and member of Team Canada. It’s a pleasure to meet you.I'm afraid I lost my team mate, or else I would introduce him before he had time to make a fool of himself.”

“Same here, Mr. Toews,” I smiled, slowly relaxing as we began the formalities. I didn’t realize how miserable I had been by myself, sitting here for three or four hours so far. “Is your team mate on his way?”

“Kaner? Yeah, he’s still in security. Or in a bathroom making out. Whatever floats his boat. He’ll be here though. I guess we are sharing the same flight?” This caught my attention, but didn’t hold it as I felt a hand slide around my shoulders, pulling me into the owner.

“Hey there, Buttercup. Tazer, find yourself a girl already?” I looked up to see a lopsided smirk aimed at ‘Tazer’, a mess of dirty blonde hair, and a baby face. “And who might you be?”

I smiled, before doubling up my left hand, and punching his face in. It did knock him back a few feet, earning a laugh from Jonathan.

“Well, welcome to Chicago, Anna. Shame you won’t be here longer. I think you’d do well.”