"Rolled in Glitter"
Part one
Like the rest of the brand-spanking-new Ocean Shores Stadium, the corridors were at the cutting edge of artistic elegance. A clean, post-modern design, with a traditional twist, which spoke of good taste and affluence. Even in heels, the tall blonde receptionist kept a brisk pace, forcing Corinne Martel-Burns to break into a jog at points to keep up. Her long legs, protruding out from under her formal looking grey skirt, seemed long enough to take two steps for every one of Connie's. To their left, the wall which slanted away from them was a colourful mosaic of tiny highly polished tiles, transitioning from blue to white to gold and back again, shimmering in the early afternoon sun. To their right was a continuous wall of glass, which stretched from the floor to the ceiling, giving spectacular views over the San Marco Bay, as the waves broke gently against the white sandy beach below. The angle of the glass, and the way it was tinted, had the effect of making everything outside look like a scene from a postcard.
Amidst the gaudy hotel buildings, crazy-golf courses, and souvenir shops of San Marco; everything about the stadium seemed utterly out of place. Proof that you couldn't polish a turd, but you could roll it in glitter.
'Just a little further, Miss Burns.' Said the immaculately dressed young woman, who was perhaps ten years Connie's senior. While it was only the first time she had spoken since they had left the reception area, she didn't bother to turn around, nor did she adjust her gait. She carried herself with an air of uptight professionalism, and Connie could imagine her using catchphrases like: "Sleep is for the week" and 'Time is money." The young footballer watched as her blonde ponytail swished from side to side as she walked, with almost metronomic regularity. She was left almost hypnotised by the steady rhythm, which seemed to keep in time with her steps.
Everything in Port Christopher revolved around the heat, whether you were trying to escape it, or just going about your daily life, it was the first consideration for most people. The stadium was fitted with an expensive air-conditioning system, and despite the sun almost melting its way through the tinted glass, Connie actually felt goose-bumps running up her arms. Especially having come from St Johns in Quebec, trying to survive in this heat was something of an ordeal. Short-sleeved t-shirt, slip-on trainers, and the shortest pair of shorts she could find did nothing to make her feel any better, and the short journey from the airport had taken more out of her than last season in the Q-League. The sudden drop in temperature had also drawn her attention to how much she had been sweating, and she lifted the back of her top trying to wipe away a little of the cold perspiration from the small of her back.
'Here we are.' Without realising it, they had clearly been on a gentle incline, encircling the entire stadium, because now they were looking out over the front car park once more, and they were some thirty metres higher up. 'This is the manager's office.' The woman said with a processional smile. 'I've paged Mr Gorman to say that you were on your way. Now if there is nothing else: On behalf of Blue Coast 1981, and the Ocean Shores Investment Group, I would like to wish you a pleasant visit.'
The woman turned in the same officious manner, and headed off back the way they had come. Connie was left facing three expensive looking oak doors, with shinny brass handles and nameplates. The one directly in front of her read; Barry James Gorman, Team Manager. She took a deep breath, pushed her chest out, and pulled herself up to her full height, before knocking firmly on the door.
'Come In! Come-in-come-in, do come in..' Came the busy answer, prompting Connie open the door and step inside. The room had a distinct aroma, the smell of espresso coffee mingled with the distant scent of long extinguished cigarettes. The room looked modern, but it was sparsely decorated, and had the feel of impermanence. In one corner the window had been left wide open, and after coming from the climatised hallway, the strong breeze coming in off the car park made it feel like standing next to an open oven door. Gorman was currently hunched over his desk, busying himself with the contents of some cardboard box, which seemed to be causing him grief. He was slim with a receding hairline and a thin moustache, his pale blue shirt was open two buttons at the neck, and his badly knotted club tie hung somewhere between the two. His belt was tight around his waist, making him look even slimmer, and two large sweat patches descended from under each armpit. This final detail made Connie feel much better about her own predicament.
'I must apologise Madam, because if you were seeking employment then I'm afraid you have come to the wrong man.' He looked up at her with a broad, but forced smile. 'I have, as of this moment, been made unemployed.' He laughed, and not without genuine humour. 'So if your enquiry is Blue Coast related, then you will need to direct your questions to my successor, whoever the poor sod is.'
Connie was quite taken aback by the whole situation; Gorman clearly presented himself very differently on camera than he did in person. Whenever her nerves got the better of her, she could feel anger bubble up inside. As she began to ball up her fists, feeling her fingernails cutting unto her palms, she made a conscious effort not to lose her cool. There was something crooked about Gorman, that much was obvious just from looking at him. Not in a cruel sort of way, more like a kind of dodgy salesman - the kind of guy who could sell you the dirt from your own garden. The battered old leather briefcase which sat on his desk looked like one tap of walking cane would cause it morph into a market stall, selling things which had fallen off the back of a lorry. All of this reassured her that she was in the right place.
'My name's Corinne...'
'I know who are my dear.' Gorman cut across her smiling. 'Your shining reputation has even touched our remote shores.'
'Ah, okay... I was actually wondering if I could...' She stopped, trying to lighten her tone. It was hard trying to bridge a sensitive topic while he wasn't even looking in her direction. 'I need your help.' She added at last.
Gorman paused as if frozen solid, he was clearly thinking hard yet still he did not make eye contact. Eventually the spell was somehow broken, and after giving a small drum roll on the desk top, he opened the briefcase and produced a business card.
'Wait till you get back to Quebec and phone this number. I'll be a bit tied up for the next week I imagine, but after that I'll get onto it.' He looked her up and down. 'I'm pretty sure we can get you a move to a better league, probably a top seven UICA association. Might need to work on the image a bit though, time our press releases just right... I have an associate who will get you trending on social media.' Gorman raised his index finger. 'Oh and - in case it needs saying - I'm not a registered agent, so, if anyone says anything, you didn't get that thing from me.'
Connie looked down at the cheaply produced business card which read Gary Borman, Second-hand Car and Van sales complete with a clipart picture of a car.
'Oh, and my fee is 20% of the transfer.'
Connie shook her head violently, making to hand the card back. 'Goodness, no... That wasn't what I was getting at!' Gorman looked like a rabbit caught in the headlight, wondering how much damage had been done by his presumptuousness. 'I mean, I'm really happy at Arsenal. I wanted to know how to go about buying a football club...' She braced for impact. As yet she didn't know how he would respond. '...but like, without anyone knowing I did.'
Gorman looked thoughtful for a second longer. 'Which club might I ask?' His curiosity had certainly been aroused, and the former Schottia manager had the look of someone who couldn't help himself in these situations.
'Erm, Kirk Preston United.' Connie replied tentatively.
'You'd better take a seat.' Said Gorman pointing to a chair in the corner of the office. 'Just place the carrier-bag on the floor, quickly, we don't have very long at all.' He added as he began rearranging his desk, glancing anxiously at the clock on the wall, before removing it and placing it awkwardly on top of the cardboard box. 'I'm frightfully sorry, but I'm unable to offer coffee. The cafetiere is already packed.' Gorman nervously scratched at the back of his neck, then flattened his trousers with his palms before sitting himself down behind his desk. 'So Kirk Preston United...'
At that his mobile phone began to ring. Gorman fussed around, having to half stand up to retrieve it from his pocket, while using his other hand to signal an apology. Upon locating it, the sight of the caller-ID seemed to vex him even more, as he looked genuinely panicked. 'Here.' She said thrusting the phone in Connie's direction. 'Quickly! Pretend that you're my secretary, tell them I'll call them back.'
Connie juggled the device in a moment of confusion before franticly swiping the screen open and placing it to her ear. 'Hello..?' She said, looking to Gorman for affirmation, who in turn waved wildly, encouraging her to say more. 'Gar... I mean, Barry Gorman's office how can I help you..?'
'How can you help me indeed?' Came a sniping, voice from the other end of the line. 'And why would Mr Gorman's secretary be answering his mobile phone at this time in the morning?' Connie pulled the phone a few centimetres from her ear as the volume rose. 'Don't think I don't know what you're up to young lady. And I'll tell you this for free; he may have promised you the world, be he is a liar, a pathological li...'
Gorman reached across and snatched the phone back, hanging up the call. 'My ex-wife.' He said apologetically. 'That's actually not good... Especially not if she calls the office next...' Gorman bit hard on his finger ends.
'Okay, in second thoughts, why don't we take this conversation somewhere else?' Gorman remained standing, looking round to retrieve his suit jacket and trilby hat. I happen to know somewhere quiet near by where we can have drink, and we shan't be disturbed.' Gorman went across and closed the window; it was like someone had turned off a hairdryer.
'Here take this.' Gorman thrust a large box into her arms; inside it contained a few self-help books, a battered looking football trophy, some pens, and a packet of cigarettes. 'And this!' He added, placing a Super-League winners' medal round her neck. 'And this, open your mouth...' He put the handle of a carrier-back full of paper between her teeth. '...aaand close.'
Gorman proceeded to pick up the other box, his briefcase, and a bag, which clinked with beer bottles he had clearly pilfered from the office's mini-bar. He was doing a last minute role call, obviously deciding whether anything he had left was important. He gave off a vibe, which told Connie that this would be the last time he would set foot in this office. Moreover, he seemed to be in something of a rush all of a sudden.
Gorman sighed, dropped his shoulders then headed smartly in the direction of the door. 'Okay first door on our right - down the fire escape - and out through the exit.' He paused, looking concerned. 'Oh, and if anyone speaks to us it's probably best we don't stop... y'know, emotional goodbyes and all that jazz.' Gorman considered this for a second. 'In actual fact, should anyone talk to us, it might be better that we run... quickly.' He smiled nervously, adjusting his hat. 'Okay Mademoiselle Martel-Burns, lets roll!'