Chapter 22
Otto
Dialing for Dollars
I’m bored. Not being able to have any “screen time” really bites and Joey is every bit the tyrant I predicted he would be. When I click on the TV, Mr. Eagle Ears promptly turns it off. Then, to add insult to injury, he confiscates the remote.
“Where’s your phone?” he demands, determined to cut me off completely from society. With his hands on hips and a scowl on his face, he’s an intimidating sight.
Subtly sliding the device under the couch cushion, I say, “I don’t know.”
He holds out his hand. “You don’t want me to search for it, do you?” His eyes glare directly at the seat cushion where the device is hiding.
Ugh! I can’t slip anything past my jailor.
Fumbling under the cushion, I pull out the banned gadget and reluctantly hand it over. “What if Mia texts and wants to know my lunch order?” I whine.
“I’ll reply,” he says matter-of-factly, then strides off to his room.
“I want extra pickles with my burger!” I yell at his retreating back. Of all days for Joey to have neither hockey practice nor class, it’s just my luck for it to be today.
Wandering over to the fish tank, I grab the food container and sprinkle some bits into the water. Bambi and Pete rush to the top, eating the tiny granules as quickly as possible. Chuckling, I remember Mia’s shocked expression when she saw the aquarium. I knew she’d call me out on it, so I purchased the fish and the tank about a week ago just in case she would happen to stop by. Truthfully, I don’t know either fish’s gender, and Bambi isn’t Joey’s. But it sure was fun pulling Mia’s chain with the concocted story.
“Pete,” I say, addressing both fish since I can’t tell them apart. “I need some relationship advice.” Neither one even glances my way, but that doesn’t deter me, so I continue. “I’m worried that after this project ends Mia’s going to disappear faster than a puck off a slapshot.”
The unfortunate analogy makes me wince and I carefully touch the bandage on my forehead. It’s still tender and I’m still feeling a little woozy. Guess a concussion is more difficult to get over than I thought.
Back to conversing with the fish. “She’s focused on her lawyer career and I fully support that. She never saw herself with a guy like me—a hockey player who may or may not get drafted. If I’m lucky enough to get an NHL contract, what will happen to our already tenuous relationship?” I think I know the answer to that. When the fish swim off to inspect the pirate ship, I trudge back to the sofa and fall asleep.
~*~
“I brought a Monster Burger with extra pickles, just like you requested,” Mia announces as she bursts through the door, looking a bit disheveled, but oh-so-kissable. Leave it to Joey to order the biggest burger on the menu. At least he remembered the additional pickles.
“Thanks,” I say as she thrusts the bag in my hand while juggling her laptop and purse. If I wasn’t still feeling a little woozy, I’d yank her into my arms and kiss her silly. Instead, I trail behind her like a faithful golden retriever.
“Are you feeling better?” she asks as she quickly rearranges the throw pillows on the sofa, collects some of my discarded dishes, carries them to the kitchen, then pulls her laptop from its bag and takes a seat on the couch. All this is done in the span of a few seconds. My head spins watching her mini tornado act.
“Join me,” she says, patting the cushion beside her.
I place the food bag on the coffee table and drop down beside her. My weight sends her airborne causing her body to slide into mine. There are certain advantages to this lumpy couch. Grin!
“Goodness!” she says, trying to put a little distance between our thighs.
“Stay right where you’re at,” I say, tugging her even closer.
She blinks at me, her eyes wide as saucers, then clears her throat. “I see someone’s feeling better.”
When she focuses back on her laptop with that stuffy all-business expression, I put my finger under her chin and tilt her head in my direction. “Mia,” I say softly.
Her eyes flit to mine. With her fingers poised above the keyboard, she’s ready to open that blasted spreadsheet, I’m sure. Without a moment of hesitation, I lean in and gently connect my lips to hers. When she expels her breath, it brushes against my cheek like a whisper. She kisses me back. The attraction instantly flares between us and we continue kissing like two teenagers making out in the parent’s basement. When our cheeks accidentally bump together, I jump back in pain. “Ouch!”
She points a finger at me. “In your condition, you shouldn’t be doing activities like this!” she scolds.
“Activities like what?” I ask, playing dense.
She waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. “You know.” She then returns to typing on her keyboard as if nothing happened.
I slide back to my side of the couch with a pout. My brain still feels a bit scrambled and my face throbs, so maybe she’s right, but I’ll never admit it.
“Okay, I printed off the faculty call sheet,” she says crisply while handing me a piece of paper. Her eyes scan my face. “I assume you’re feeling better?”
“Marginally,” I mutter.
Her expression morphs into one of concern. “Oh no! I just assumed you were much better, based on your, er, um, rather virile greeting,” she says, with a blush staining her cheeks.
A belly laugh escapes and I wince in pain because it makes my head throb even worse. “I’ll just sit over here and look virile,” I say weakly.
She pats my arm. “You do that. Let’s eat before we talk about the call list.”
My stomach rumbles at the mention of food. I had forgotten about the burgers during my virile greeting, as she calls it. Mia picks up the bag and distributes the food with the same drill sergeant precision as when she updates that dang spreadsheet. I feel the urge to salute but refrain when she hands me my burger. I unwrap the paper and take a huge bite. “Thanks! This tastes great,” I mumble between bites, as if I can’t stuff the food into my mouth fast enough.
“I assume you have a sufficient number of pickles?” she says, her lips twitching at the comment.
“Hey! Pickles and burgers are like a goalie and their favorite lucky socks; you wouldn't want one without the other,” I snort, defending the extra pickles.
Mia rolls her eyes after taking a petite bite of her burger. As she chews daintily, I stare at her outfit. She’s not wearing her usual stuffy business suit today. Her ensemble is much more casual, consisting of black pants and a blue button-down collar shirt. She smoothed her hair and re-tucked her blouse after my virile greeting, putting everything back into its proper place.
To be honest, I like the slightly disheveled look because it gives off a messy, sexy aura which is quite alluring. With everything tucked and smoothed, she looks a little too hands-off, which makes me want to rumple her a bit. But that would take too much energy—something I’m short of right now—so I concentrate on eating instead.
After chomping down the Monster Burger, I’m exhausted. This concussion has really taken the pep from my step, so to speak.
“Ready to discuss the call list?” Mia says as she cleans her hands on a wet wipe she pulled from her purse.
I nod and wiggle my fingers requesting her to hand over the wipe. “I’ll get you a new one. I have plenty in my purse.”
“Gee, I wouldn’t want to get girl germs,” I snark as I grab the wipe from her hand and make a show of cleaning my fingers.
“Make sure you get all that special sauce I saw running down your hand,” Mia comments. After I finished my clean-up, she hands me the call sheet. “This is the list that Dean Smith provided. I also checked with Dean Hutchinson who provided some additional names. There are thirty-four total on the list.”
Even with a foggy brain, I can do quick math. “We’d net over ten thousand dollars if I can get all of them to purchase a ticket.”
Mia replies, “True. How do you feel about your sales pitch? Honestly, I can’t sell water to a fish.”
“I believe I can pull off the balance between friendly and high-pressure,” I say with a confident smirk.
Her eyes roam my face. “Be honest, Otto. Do you feel like doing this?”
I shrug. “Maybe not today, but I promise to call everyone on the list by the end of the week.”
She nods. “I’d like to discuss a few more items on the spreadsheet, if you’re up for it.”
“Sure, why not,” I grumble. If we didn’t have that darn spreadsheet, would we have anything to talk about?
~*~
I tackle the call sheet first thing the next morning. This should be a breeze! My strategy is to call the lowest ranking professors first in order to refine my pitch. I’ll tweak my spiel on the ones least likely to purchase a ticket, then move up the list.
“Good morning, Professor Cornfoot,” I say, barely managing to suppress a chuckle. I double checked his last name before calling and yes, it’s Cornfoot.
“I only take calls during my office hours. They’re posted outside my door.” Click!
Huh? He didn’t even give me a chance to practice my spiel! I angrily cross his name off the list. After taking a few calming breaths, I place the next call, using a new strategy.
“Professor Mulligans, I’m calling on behalf of Dean Smith.”
“Oh? How can I help you?” the female voice replies.
“Dean Smith is hosting a fundraiser for a very good cause, and she’d love to have you attend.”
“And I suppose that means selling me a ticket?” she replies with an edge in her voice which doesn’t bode well.
“Yes, we’re raising money through our ticket sales to fund a community project,” I rush to say in an upbeat tone. “It’s the first ever inclusive—"
“Let me stop you right there. How much is a ticket?”
“Three hundred—”
“What! I can’t afford that. The university doesn’t pay me beans.” Click!
Regrouping, I dial the next number on the list, confident that my new strategy will work this time.
“Professor Jackson, I’m calling on behalf of Dean Smith. She’s hosting a fundraiser for a very good cause, and she’d love to have you attend.” The words tumble out in one, long rambling sentence as I try not to let the professor turn me down until I’ve finished my sales pitch. “We’re raising money through our ticket sales to fund a community project, the first ever inclusive park in the area."
“I’m not much of a nature guy, so why would I support a park?” he asks.
Glancing at the list, I notice that he’s in the Costume Technology department. Huh? “Many theatrical productions are held in parks so this should be right in your wheelhouse,” I blurt, attempting a Hail Mary.
“Email me the information,” he says with a grunt. Click!
Staring sadly at the phone in my hand, I slump back onto the sofa cushion, discouraged and defeated. After all these rejections, I need a nap.
~*~
Rejuvenated after my nap, I scan the list for professors who know me. Surely, I can break the ice easier if they know who I am. A name leaps off the list and I place the call.
“Professor Hollyhocks! This is Otto Stagmeier. How have you been?”
“Otto! Nice to hear from you. I’m well.” Professor Hollyhocks was one of my favorite teachers. Her American History class was interesting and engaging. She is a master at making history come to life in the classroom.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Dean Hutchinson is co-sponsoring a fundraiser. I’d like to tell you a little about the cause and see if you’d be interested in purchasing a ticket.”
“I’m all ears,” she replies.
Relief flows through my body. There’s no indication she’ll quickly hang up, so I don’t have to rush to describe the inclusive park and how it will impact the community. We chat for over five minutes. The professor asks insightful questions while being her usual engaging self.
“My niece has cerebral palsy, so I understand very well the challenges you’re describing. Can I purchase a ticket online?”
My heart soars at my first sale. “Yes, I’ll email you the link! Thank you for helping with this worthy cause. I’m looking forward to seeing you at the gala.”
She laughs. “So am I and I’ll bring my niece along. She’ll love to learn about this new park.”
“Professor, I don’t know if I ever told you, but I truly enjoyed your class. You have a knack for bringing history to life.” Hopefully she’ll know that I’m being sincere and not trying to be a brown noser.
“Thank you! Your kind words have made my day. See you at the gala,” she says and hangs up.
Basking in my first successful call, I scan the list for other professors I know. The third name on the list is a rabid Golden Stars fan. I see him at games all the time. Swiping the screen I place the call.