"You Can't Stay a Saint in This City"

We had our first elimination thing whatever today. It was going to be the first time I would get to see the contestants. Not going to lie, they’re probably more excited about this than I am.

“Hi, everyone.” I say as I walk into the board room where approximately ten eager contestants are occupying the chairs. There are also three more cameras than usual, I assume to capture footage from every angle.

“I am Ambrosia Li and this is where I work.” I say beaming at all the contestants “So Greg, tell us about the assignment you gave them to work on today.” Greg goes on to talk about the 3D models we had them do with a split complementary color scheme. We do the whole reality show thing where we send them out, pretend to discuss the task, bring them back in, and then release everyone except for the bottom three. Then the editors will probably put in some dramatic music to build tension.

“We’ve made our decision.” I say looking at each and every one of the faces.

“I’m sorry David but you won’t be working with me.” I say as all the contestants hug the lanky dude in the tweed suit.

“Best of luck in your endeavors” I call to David’s back as he exits the room.
_______

I’m wearing my Datsyuk jersey tucked into a pair of high waist sailor shorts and sitting poolside barefoot. I ask Milan the question that’s been on my mind for days. “So tell me about the Flyers.”

“Why?” Milan asks almost automatically.

“Because you’re playing your first regular season game against them. I think I need some background knowledge.” I tell him.

“What do you want to know?” Milan asks as I stare at the skyline. My house is literally perched over a cliff, maybe not the ideal place to raise children but I have killer views of Downtown Los Angeles.

“I don’t know…” I reply “you played them in the Winter Classic right?” The only reason I know this was because during June, back when I was cyber stalking Milan, I found a bunch of his interviews from when he was trying to promote the Winter Classic at Fenway Park. I wished HBO would’ve made a 24/7 for that series then I would know the state of despair Milan’s North End apartment is in.

“I wasn’t there but yeah everyone else did.”

“So you two must have some kind of beef.” I prompt him “You have to have beef if you play each other in the Winter Classic like Chicago and Detroit” I loved Detroit’s jerseys for the game with the big gothic D. I literally have the entire roster from the 2009 Winter Classic.

“Beef? Oh Amber, you and your outdated slang.” Milan says and I giggle. “We didn’t then but I think we might now. We gave away a three nothing lead in the quarterfinals to them in 2010 and then they beat Montreal to play in the Cup Finals against Chicago. This year we swept them in the quarterfinals and then played Tampa. Anyway I think you know the rest.”

“What was wrong with them this year?” I see Mike walking out of the house looking like he’s about to go clubbing. Again. I wonder how he even gets in. Being an athlete here in LA must be totally different from being an athlete in Philadelphia. LA isn’t exactly a sports city and by that I mean that hockey players are only D-listers in this town. I on the other hand am on the B-list, which I will proudly accept.

“Nothing really, things just didn’t work out for them the way they were playing so they decided to just rebuild during the off season.”

“That’s nothing juicy at all.” I say disappointed.

“Well what did you think happened?”

“I don’t know… I was expecting some sort of sex scandal.” Like someone recording you while you have sex with the windows open. I would do that solely to teach him a lesson however: one, that is creepy; two, he could easily tell who filmed it since I would be recording it from the confines of my home (not lesson is worth standing outside his window in the middle of the morning); three, I baked him a cake so that we would be on good terms, I can’t fuck that up now. In all honesty there’s a petition going around the neighbourhood after Mike’s whole escapade with Ashley. Is it weird that I still remember her name?

“There were rumours about their team partying and drinking too much.” And so the pot calls the kettle black. I set a Google alert for ‘Milan Lucic’ and from what I’ve heard he’s been hitting the bars pretty hard. In fact ‘Hockey Insider Bob Mackenzie’ called Milan out in an article for it. That definitely seems like a perk of living in LA, people like Mike Richards slip right under the radar.

Milan could too if he lived here.

“Do you think that could ever happen to you?”

There’s silence. I know it’s something he doesn’t want to talk about until it happens.

“I wish I could be there for your home opener.” I tell him even though the only time I like seeing orange and yellow together is in my Reese’s Pieces.

I get a text and it’s from the boy lying on the lawn chair several meters away. I don’t remember giving him my number. But it seems that Bravo is giving it away like it’s going out of style.

Mike: I need to talk to you

“Amber I want you there too but I have to go now.” As if Milan can tell that I’m no longer listening to what he’s saying.

“Okay,” I say clicking the end button.

“How much did you hear?” I ask walking towards the four foot hedges that separate our property.

“I’ve got better things to do than eavesdrop on your conversations. The Red Wings suck by the way.” He says, noticing my ensemble.

“How come no one like the Red Wings?” I ask “The only real reason you have to hate the Red Wings is if you like Pittsburgh?” I ask raising an eyebrow.

“Well I don’t like the Penguins either, that goes without saying Ambrosia.” Mike says “So who were you talking to?”

“My boyfriend, he lives in Boston.” It feels really good to get that off of my chest. Now Mike knows that I am in a committed and happy relationship.

“Ah, so he’s the sugar daddy who pays for the house and clothes.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe that I have an actual career?”

“Because pretty girls don’t have to work.” He says like he’s kidding, well kind of “You kind of look like a trophy wife”

“I don’t need a guy to pay for my stuff”

“So you just have rich parents then?”

That one kind of hurt. It couldn’t be more untrue, my parents have never supported me in anything.

“Do you hate the Penguins?” He asks picking up on the somber look on my face.

“I like their color scheme.” I offer, in fact I love it. Way more versatile than red and white.

“What?” Mike asks looking confused.

“You know… their colors black and gold.” I think about the amazing wallpaper in my main floor powder room I have that’s basically black velvet with flowers printed in gold foil. Dammit I should’ve sent in an order for more of that wallpaper when I was decorating Milan’s house this summer.

“Wait so you like teams based on the colors of their jerseys?” Mike seems to think I’m joking.

“Yeah,” I reply as I subtly look down at the phone in Mike’s hand to check the time. Shouldn’t he be leaving for the club by now? “What did you want to talk about?” I ask him.

“The Kings have a really long road trip starting tomorrow night.”

“How long?” I ask. I wish my job involved road trips and traveling.

“About three weeks”

“That effin ridiculous.” I say before my brain catches up with my mouth. Three weeks? That’s like… That’s like the amount of time I spent in Vancouver during the summer.

“Tell me about it.”

“A lot can happen in three weeks…” I say cryptically

“Any way Ambrosia, I need you to ask you for a favor.” Mike looks … kind of earnest. Well that’s different.

“Well ask away.” I tell him as I cut across the gap in the hedges.

“I would like you to watch my house. You know collect my mail and shit like that when I’m gone.”

I count three week on my mental calendar “I have to go to New York City on the sixteenth…”

“That’s fine, we’ll be back by then”

“Then we have a deal.” I tell him as we shake on it.