Perfect Symmetry

The phone woke me up the next morning. I dragged myself to a sitting position to answer it.

“Hello?” I yawned into the phone, trying to figure out what time it was.

“It’s strep,” a miserable voice streamed out of the earpiece.

I smiled wryly. “I knew it. How are you feeling?”

“Sick. Bored. I would ask you to come over but I don’t want you to get sick,” Viktor paused to cough, “from me,” he finished.

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “Did you get some antibiotics?”

“Taking them twice a day,” he assured me.

“Good, “ I replied. “Hopefully you’ll be fine after about a week.”

He coughed again. “How was the party?”

I grinned. “It was fun! Everyone was there; there was good food; I had to make a speech. It was lovely.”

“I wish I could have been there for you, Jazz,” Viktor sounded apologetic.

I shushed him. “Hey don’t worry about it. Jonathan was a great stand-in.” My face reddened at the thought. “anyway, I should get up and get ready, so I’ll call you later?”

“You weren’t up? It’s eleven in the morning,” he said incredulously.

I cleared my throat in embarrassment. “See you later, Viktor.”
~

By the end of March, the air was thawing out in Chicago, and my ads were being posted and broadcasted across the nation, and the NHL was making huge progress in promoting anti-bullying measures. I was treated to a raise in salary, but my hours increased a little. At least, it seemed like a little at first, and then I realized that the playoffs were approaching and I had no idea where the Blackhawks were in the standings. Turns out, they were kind of struggling, which sucked. I hadn’t properly seen Viktor in weeks, and I felt terrible about it.

I hadn’t even been to a game since February. The only time I saw Jonathan was when we awkwardly ran into each other when he was running. He usually stopped and said a quick hello, but most of the time it was less than a few minutes before he was back on his way.

It seemed I wasn’t the only one out of touch with the team, since Danielle called me randomly one afternoon and asked me if I had seen Jonathan lately.

“Not recently,” I replied coolly. I didn’t particularly like Danielle as it was, and I was wondering how she even ended up with my number.

“Oh, it was written down in Jon’s apartment somewhere,” she answered airily when I asked her about it.

She chatted to me idly, asking how that gala for my ad campaign had gone. I cautiously told her a few things, telling her how nice it was for Jonathan to fill in for Viktor when he was sick.

“Oh yes, he sounded like he had a good time. Actually, I called to ask if you were free to get a coffee,” she asked casually.

I was rather shocked. “Oh? When?”

“Like, now I guess,” Danielle snickered.

I flushed. “Um. Okay. There’s a place I like.”

I told her how to get to my local café and promised to meet her there in about fifteen minutes.

I got there early, and started reading with my coffee to bide my time and take my mind off of wondering what Danielle could possibly want. It was there for ten minutes before Danielle strode in, flashed me a breezy smile, and ordered a cup of coffee. I was envious of her slim waist, which was evident in the tight sweater she was wearing. Her hair was long and shiny and her skin was flawless.

I self-consciously adjusted my own sweater, staring miserably at my slightly wider waist. I slipped my book back into my bag as she slid into the seat in front of me. I made no move to embrace her, but I gave her a small smile.

“How are you?” I asked politely, sipping my coffee.

“Oh I’m good. Stressed out at work,” Danielle admitted with a glowing smile, taking off her scarf to reveal a turtleneck black sweater.

It hit me that I didn’t even know what Danielle did for a living, and I didn’t really care to find out to be honest. I just smiled kindly and went back to sipping my coffee.

“So Jonathan’s been a little distant with me lately,” Danielle started to explain while twirling her hair around her fingers.

“Sucks,” I replied bluntly, setting my cup down and averting my eyes.

Her eyes darkened and she leaned forward in her seat.

“Yeah. It does. And I need to know how to reach him,” her voice quivered with forced civility.

I frowned. “I’m not sure how much help I could be.”

“Oh please Jazz. You know him well. I know you do. Tell me, what does he like to do after a game?” she asked curiously.

I shrugged. “Eat, I guess. Although who knows what or what he does,” I added just to be cruel to her.

She looked taken aback and blinked at me a few times before recovering herself.

“How bad does he want to win the cup this year?” Danielle continued, brushing my comment away.

I gave her an incredulous look. “How bad does any captain want to win the cup? Well multiply that by 100 and you have Jonathan.”

She broke a smile at that one. “And what kind of girls does he like?”

I guffawed. “Well he’s with you so isn’t it obvious? Look Danielle, I don’t know what you expected to gain from this meeting, but I am feeling very uncomfortable. He’s your damn boyfriend; ask him!”

I stood up, grabbing my coat and bag angrily. “As for his girls, he prefers the young ones with big tits, small waist, pretty face, and the personality of a fucking tiger. Oh, and they’re usually blonde too, but it looks like you’ve turned him onto brunettes,” I snapped before stalking out of the coffee shop and slamming the door loudly behind me.

I didn’t care that people were probably staring at me, and judging me for yelling at the pretty girl in front of me. But seriously? She had no right to ask any of that stuff. I was very much going to call Jonathan and tell him what happened, but I decided against it eventually, deciding that there was a small possibility that Danielle had good intentions after all, although I very much doubted it.
~

It was a couple weeks before I even let myself relive that horribly outburst I had had. I was in the local grocery shop, looking for the newest edition of Time magazine to have a look at when something caught my eye in the trash section. The trash section was what I liked to call all the celebrity-obsessed, fan girl, gossip and shit mags that take up about a quarter of the shelf space. They irritated me to no end, and I wanted to curl up into a ball and question the morals of humans whenever I saw a grown up person buying one of these.

Anyway, my eyes happened to rove over and my gaze stopped at a familiar face. I laughed out loud when I saw it was Jonathan. The picture had been taken from another publication (a respectable one, most likely) and he looked good in the picture. The headline read, “The REAL Jonathan Toews exposed inside.” I flipped through the magazine, wincing the entire time, until I found the piece. The first thing I saw made me want to shit myself.

Author: Danielle Frost.

Swear words were running through my head as I read the article, which told the public all about Jon’s morning routines, what he like to eat for his meals, who he hung out with...and it looked like I was included. She wrote about my friendship with Jonathan rather tritely, and had a picture of us leaving the gala looking flustered.

And then.

It got even worse.

My name caught my eye several times in the article. She had used what I had said to her at our coffee meeting and when I had dinner with her and Jon a while ago as ammunition in her article.

Jonathan Toews’ love life is certainly extensive, and his good friend Jazz Patil emphasized that he likes them young and blonde, with big tits, small waist, and the personality of a [expletive] tiger. Jealous much, Jazz? It is plain that Jazz does not fit Jonathan’s preferences, and her anger is evident.

What. The. Fuck. Was. That.

I gaped at the rest of the article, which undermined Jonathan’s captaincy and personality I snapped the magazine closed, breathing heavily. I scooped up my basket of groceries and the magazine and stood in line. I accepted the judging eyes of the young cashier as she scanned my trash magazine and put it into my canvas bag for me.

“It’s for my sister,” I rushed to say, putting on what I hoped was a charming smile.

She put on a fake smile and nodded, clearly not buying it.
~

I called Jonathan as soon as I got outside. It was only six, and there was no game tonight...was there? I was worried that Jon didn’t even know the true profession of his crafty girlfriend.

“Hello?” Jonathan’s deep voice answered after the second ring.

“Jonathan!” I called out, “are you home?”

I could hear his confusion. “Um. Yeah, why?”

“I just have to show you something,” I explained hurriedly, “is Danielle over by any chance?”

Jon cleared his throat. “No; I’m not seeing her until tomorrow.”

“Good. I’m coming over,” I said shortly.

“Uh, okay?” he really sounded concerned now.

I was going to hang up when I realized I had no idea where he lived. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Where do you even live, Jonathan?” I asked tiredly.

He laughed at that before giving me his address and hanging up. I drove to his building and took the elevator to the fucking penthouse as I expected, since he was Jonathan Toews after all.

I rapped on his door several times until he opened the door unexpectedly and I jumped about a foot in the air. I was still carrying my groceries, which I realized too late.

“Did you go shopping for me?” Jonathan sounded amused.

I growled at the bag of food on my arm. “Why the hell did I bring all of this?”

Jonathan let me in and I barely reacted to the amazing views of Chicago that Jonathan was exposed to with his floor to ceiling glass windows in his living room.

“So what’s the matter, Jazz? I haven’t really seen you in weeks and now you come running over here in a panic?” he asked, going to the kitchen and pouring me a glass of water.

I put my groceries down and took the water silently before sitting down on a barstool on his island.

“I was at the grocery shops, and I was in the magazine aisle,” I started, motioning to my bag. “Damn, I didn’t buy Time Magazine in the end. Anyway, I was glancing around and your name caught my eye. I think you should look at this.”

I thumbed through the magazine until I found Danielle’s article and then thrust the magazine towards Jonathan. He took it slowly.

“They write a lot of shit in these trashy things, Jazz, don’t stress about it,” he assured me.

“It’s not what they wrote, Jon, it’s who wrote it,” I replied, waiting for a reaction.

Jonathan’s eyes darkened once he saw the byline, and his muscles tensed as he read the rest of the article.

“Dan...Danielle wrote this?” he asked hoarsely, throwing the magazine onto the counter.

I swallowed thickly. “I...I think so. I’m sorry.”

Jonathan shook his head angrily. “And she made up these quotes of you about my supposed love life? That’s so low.”

I winced. I hadn’t thought about this part.

“Well, she didn’t make them up,” I admitted, “she wanted to meet me for coffee and I got really pissed off and might have said those things in anger.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “So you really did say these things about me?”

I bit my lip anxiously. “Yeah, but it was meant to hurt her, Jon, not you.”

“Well I don’t see how this hurts her. But it definitely hurts me. Is this what you think of me, Jazz? This is your low opinion of me? I can’t believe you,” Jonathan snapped.

I felt tears coming but I forced them back.

“I’m sorry, Jon. I didn’t mean it. But I wanted to show you the article because it looks like your girlfriend is using you. And she tried to use me. I’m sorry I lost my temper with her; believe me, I’ve learned my lesson. But this is not my fault. I hope you see that.”

I picked up my bag of groceries and left the magazine on the table before striding out of his apartment and letting a couple tears welling up escape my eyes and drip onto my cheeks.