“Not too much to it,” she’d started. “Two teams of six guys each. They get on the ice, skate, and try to beat the shit out of each other. If they happen to think of it they also try to put the puck in the other team’s net.”
We were definitely the outsiders here. Not only was Sandrine for the other team (and, I suppose, everyone thought I must be, too), but we were from south of the border.
Sandrine has a sharp wit, an impulsive mind (as evidenced by her dance with Keith), and a devilish knack for pushing peoples’ buttons. I doubt anyone in the room had been called a ‘canuck’ so much in a long while.
As the game progressed the two teams played to a standoff. Even I could tell it was an amazing defensive game. Sandrine explained to me that players were taken off the ice when they committed infractions, leading to a ‘power play.’ The other team would have one more man on the ice for the duration of the penalty. I remembered once seeing that movie Slapshot with Paul Newman, and when she mentioned penalties an image came to mind of the three Hanson brothers, enforcers with their black and taped horn-rimmed glasses, all in the penalty box together.
The Stars got the first such advantage, but failed to capitalize. Later in the first period the Flames got their chance but also came up empty.
During the second period Sandrine explained to me about how hockey is an ‘off-side’ game. Forward passes of the puck are permitted. Before the 1930s that hadn’t been the case, and hockey had only allowed passes backward, like rugby.
As the teams skated up and down the ice during the last two periods, often coming close to scoring but never succeeding, she told me about being off-sides. How an attacking team had to advance the puck over the blue line before any of its players could enter the other team’s zone.
As the scoreless third period wound down the Stars got another power play, and Sandrine pointed out to me how the Flames, a player short, would use every opportunity to shoot the puck down to the other end of the rink to take time off the period. She explained how if a team did that and the puck crossed both the center line and the other team’s goal line untouched it was called ‘icing the puck.’ One of the skaters on the offensive team had to skate the length of the ice and touch the puck before the clock was stopped. An official would bring the puck back up the ice for a faceoff in the defending team’s zone. But precious seconds would have leaked off the clock.
Soon the Flames were back up to full strength. As the last seconds wound down, a Flames skater got a breakaway and raced down the right side of the ice toward the Stars’ goalie, the puck at the head of his stick. Another Flames player was ten feet behind him on the left side of the rink. The first player bore in on the goalie, the tender coming out from the net to reduce the shooter’s angle on the goal. The player shot and the puck was smothered in the goalie’s pads.
Seconds later, the period, and regulation time, ended with the score 0 to 0.
I was surprised by the reaction of the guys. I thought they’d be inconsolably disappointed. Didn’t a tie mean that there was no loser, and therefore no strip show? I expressed this to Sandrine.
“There aren’t any more ties in the NHL,” she explained. “They play a five minute extra period. Sudden death. If a team scores it’s over. That Flames forward really saved my bacon.”
“How so?”
“Didn’t you see him?”
“Yeah, it looked like he was way open and had a pretty good chance to score. A shame the goalie stopped his shot.”
Sandrine gave me a smack on the back of my head. “Watch, numb nuts,” she said and indicated the screen where a replay was up. “See the other guy on the left?”
“Yeah.”
“See how far the goalie is out of the crease?”
“Crease?”
“Never mind, douchebag. Now see the other guy on the left?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, the dawn finally breaking. “If he’d just passed the puck over to that guy he would have had an easy shot.”
“That’s right. And I’d be gettin’ ready to strip down and have Danielle tell me how to shake my bare ass. Close call. That guy’s gonna get his nuts chewed off in the locker room.”
“He wanted to be the hero?”
“Yeah, and they didn’t win because of him. Just one of the many downsides of testosterone. Man, if I ever did something that stupid in a game I’d just go home and smoke a shotgun.”
Everyone was using the break before the overtime period to get another beer, hit the head, or both. I went and got fresh beers for Sandrine and me. As I handed the sweating bottle to her I saw a devilish smile on her face and a naughty gleam in her eye.
“Oh, shit. What now?” I asked.
“I’m gonna take that last play as an omen. The Flames didn’t win it there, they’re not going to win it. I don’t think an innocent little strip is good enough for the payoff of a bet on a game this classic. Watch this.”
Sandrine took a long pull on her beer. Then she leaned on my shoulder to steady herself and rose to her feet.
“Hey, Danielle,” she said in a loud voice. Immediately, all conversation came to a halt. The telecast was in a commercial so the sound was muted. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. “We’re into OT. Wanna up the bet?”
Danielle was curled up against Keith on the other love seat. I’d noticed she’d been nursing her beer, probably still on only her second. She straightened and looked at Sandrine. I saw a hesitant expression pass across her face, but then she seemed to decide she didn’t want to look like a weenie.
“Okay. You just name it. I’ll go for it,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster. She had to know by now that Sandrine was capable of proposing just about anything.
I'd thought the silence was deep before, but now it was profound and eerie. Chips and bottles came to a stop halfway to someone’s mouth.
“Okay. Loser strips and dances. Then she sucks off every dick in the house. She does it any way the winner wants her to do it. Winner gets to humiliate the loser any way she wants.”
Even I’d not been ready for that one. There were a few murmured comments. “Shit.” “Hell, yes.”
Danielle’s face took on a stricken look, her eyes wide and staring. She started to speak a couple of times before meekly saying, “That’s, um, don’t you think that’s a little extreme, Sandrine?”
The hook was in Danielle’s mouth. Now Sandrine set it.
“Hey, all you fuckin’ canucks. You gettin’ a load of this chickenshit you’ve got on your side. She said she’d take whatever I came up with. Well, come on, girl. If I lose I’ll blow Keith first. I know he’s dying to get his cock in my mouth. If you pay attention you might even learn a trick or two to try out on the next guy you shack up with.”
I thought Danielle might give it one more try to reel Sandrine in, but the gibe about Keith set her off, as it had in the kitchen.
She started to jump up, and Keith restrained her. “I’ll take that bet, you fuckin’ slut. Loser sucks every cock. You’re not gonna wanna go to another Stars game in your life after I get through with you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sandrine said, laughing. “Flames are a bunch of limp dicks. So are their fans. If I lose I don’t think I’m gonna see a single hard dick. But, you know what? I don’t care what the bet is because I know I’m not going to lose. Go get your kneepads, cunt.”
I stood at that and encouraged Sandrine in the direction away from Danielle and into the kitchen.
Out in the living room I heard one of the guys speak up. Apparently, what was on his mind was the possibility that his cock might end up in his boss’s girlfriend’s mouth while the boss looked on.
“Hey, Keith,” he said. “Look, if Danielle loses…..”
Keith cut him off. “If that happens you paint this girl’s tonsils with my blessing. Danielle’s an adult and can make her own decisions. She’s a dumb, loudmouthed, act-before-she-speaks, let-anyone-push-my-buttons-and-lead-me-around-by-my-nose adult. But still an adult. What happens, happens. You’ll not get any grief from me.”
I wondered how that speech went down with Danielle. As much as they’d been snuggly during the game I couldn’t help but sense some distance between them. Keith washing his hands in that way couldn’t be good for their relationship, and maybe after today Keith and Danielle would be history, especially if Danielle lost and he had to watch her get used like that. I suppose a strip show wasn’t all that big a deal in the scheme of things. It seemed that just her act of accepting this latest risk might have really put Keith off. If he had to watch his lady get humiliated by Sandrine and her mouth get used as a cum dump by the guys he worked with, how would that impact their relationship? Would the episode end it?
In the kitchen, Sandrine hopped her ass up onto the counter surface.
“Man, this is a hoot!” Sandrine said. “It’s like having a couple of fingers up her nose. I can make her go anywhere I want. Did you see the look on the bitch’s face when I mentioned the blow-jobs? She looked like she had a hockey stick up her ass!”
I’d seen some crazy wagers, but this one topped them all. I tried to bring Sandrine back down to terra firma.
“Sandrine, you know the Flames just might win.”
“No, they won’t. I’m planning to watch Danielle choke on cock. I told you: they missed that chance at the end. That’s the omen. That’s how I know the Stars will end up winning.”
“Sandrine? An omen? Are you nuts? Did you check your horoscope to see who was going to win? ‘Aries - Don’t miss an opportunity! Jupiter is in the Seventh House so it’s a safe day to take a risk!’” I snapped my fingers in front of her face. “Hello? You might lose, Sandrine. Suck all those cocks? And Danielle has carte blanch to humiliate you any way she wants? No hockey game is worth that, Sandrine.”
“It’s not the hockey game, Michael. It’s the bitch who’s got her mouth bet on the Flames. That’s what’s important.”
We were at the end of the kitchen farthest from the refrigerator and the guys going back and forth to fetch fresh beers. Our conversation was soto voce. Most of the guys coming and going studiously avoided looking at Sandrine. Only one guy paused on his trip to the fridge. He stopped to ask Sandrine if she’d open her month and let him see, make sure it was big enough for his cock. Sandrine showed him a middle finger.
I got the sense that Sandrine was finally starting to reflect and think of this seriously and analytically. The adrenaline was becoming more dilute in her system, and Sandrine was starting to see that her actions had consequences she’d not thought of in the heat of the moment.
This was strange. I’d known Sandrine at work for five years. I found I could connect with her most of the time. We had occasion to talk from time to time about personal matters - one or the other of us starting or ending a relationship, maybe - and about business. In all those instances, I thought I was really clicking with Sandrine. Especially in the last few months before we left for Calgary, I’d found Sandrine willing to talk about personal matters, and I found a lot of traction. I could tell we were talking honestly and reaching each other. Now, though, in this situation, it was like she was covered in a thick and shiny layer of lacquer. I wasn’t getting that adhesion. I knew I wasn’t really connecting with her. She was on her own wavelength, hopped up on some combination of dislike for Danielle and partisanship to her team. It was probably ninety percent the former and ten percent the latter. The faith in her team was just the means to an end: humiliating Danielle. Was that really worth it to Sandrine, taking a risk like that?
“You see what I’m saying, Sandrine? Naked? Your mouth getting gangbanged in front of an audience?”
I knew right away my words had slid right off. Whatever reflection she had been engaged with was gone and she was back to acting on pure bravado.
“Not gonna happen, Michael. But your concern is sweet. And even if - hypothetically speaking, very hypothetically speaking - I lost what’s the worst? I have to suck a few dicks? I’ve sucked dick before.”
“A dozen of them? One after another? Naked in front of an audience?”
The impervious exterior was still in place.
“Michael, sweetie, you’re a dear to look after me, but it’s my mouth. Hey, what do you have to be worried about? You get a blow-job either way.”
“Sandrine, you know that’s not what I’m concerned.….”
Keith entered the kitchen then and strode up to us.
“You a little shitfaced, Sandrine?” Keith asked.
“Not at all,” Sandrine answered. She got a look on her face like she was probing deep inside herself. “A nice buzz, but definitely not shitfaced. Really, not even crocked. Your little pet is trying to weasel out, isn’t she?”
“No, as a matter of fact she’s not,” Keith said. “She’s right where you manipulated her to. Look, Sandrine, I don’t know where you got the idea that you and me are going to have some kind of roll in the sack, or relationship, or whatever, but it’s…..”
“I never thought that for one minute, Keith. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Keith stabbed her with a cold stare that went on and on. He was trying to come up with something that might explain what this crazy bitch was about. Finally, he let it drop with a “Fuck it!” Then he turned to me. “Michael, let’s keep these two apart until this is settled. Then we’re all going to talk and see how this is going to play out.” With that, Keith turned and headed back to the living room.
A few seconds later we followed him. The start of the overtime period had to be imminent by now.
The puck dropped, and the action started. It looked strange to see only four skaters per side rather than five. Sandrine and Danielle diligently ignored each other. This period was only five minutes long and the time sped by. The Stars got a power play opportunity in the middle of the period, but like earlier they couldn’t put the puck in the net even with the advantage. The period limped to a close with the score still 0 to 0.
When I looked at Sandrine I sensed that maybe the lacquer was thinning a little. She was casting her gaze about the room, occasionally letting it light on Danielle and Keith. I didn’t think it would do any good to push her. There was nothing that could be done about the reality of the bet now. It was her or Danielle, and the fact that Sandrine was maybe moving in her mind to the realization that it might very well be her, and beginning to feel the dread of what that meant, didn’t change the fact of the wager.
I asked Sandrine what happened now. She seemed to need a moment to come out of wherever she’d gone in her mind.
“Um, now it’s a shootout. Each team chooses three players. They each get a penalty shot. The puck starts on the red line and the guy skates forward toward the goal and tries to score.
