Steffi

5:
October 30, 1996
Joe Louis Arena, Detroit MI

“So what’s that Chinese chick’s name again?” Kirk requested, as he unlaced his skates. He tilted his head in Brendan’s direction, waiting impatiently for a response.

Brendan irately snapped, “Naomi. Why are you still talking about her? She is such a bitch sometimes.” He started to peel off his hockey equipment; it had almost seared onto his skin during practice.

“Hey Malts, is she that new hot chick at the Post?” winger Darren McCarty piped in. “I went to the Post the other night with Drapes, and I saw this hot new Asian waitress.”

“Let’s see. She have a pretty face? And a nice chest? And long legs? And an ass of steel?” Kirk described, as he digitized a photograph of Naomi in his mind.

“Yep, then that’s the one. Did you try her out? She looks like she’d be good,” chortled Darren, as a few of the knowing Red Wings chuckled.

“Tried her out. I still can’t believe she shot me down! And she shot Shanny down too! Maybe she’s a lesbian,” reasoned Kirk. “But it’s alright. When I saw her at the game against LA, she was there with her friend, a friend I slept with once in Canada. And well, let’s just say, I got in touch with her friend last night and we have some plans tonight. She’ll be waiting for me after I'm done here. Too bad though, Naomi’s friend isn’t nearly as hot as she is. But she’ll do. Hey, she’s the same friend you slept with, right Shanny?”

Brendan stammered, “Huh? Oh. Yah.”

Kirk approvingly tapped Brendan on the back, and then ambled to the showers. After a swift spray, he dressed up in his informal street clothes. When he exited the locker-room, Amelie was waiting for him, as promised. Naomi was there too, rapping her foot against the ground with annoyance. Before Kirk left with Amelie, he raised a flirtatious eyebrow at Naomi; Naomi assuaged her aggravation and returned an equally teasing smirk. When the two “lovebirds” disappeared down the hall, Naomi was about to leave herself, but a hand on her wrist prevented her from doing so.

She glared into the eyes of her assailant, Brendan Shanahan. Brendan, fresh from his shower, had but a towel wrapped around his midsection. Beads of water were clinging to his forehead, face and chest. Naomi unintentionally looked him up and down; she undeniably enjoyed his well-defined form.

Brendan jeered narcissistically, “Looking for me? Or looking at me?”

Naomi puffed, “You wish, Playboy. I was here because Amelie was waiting for Kirk.”

“Well, Amelie’s a big girl, I think she can come to the locker-room all by herself,” Brendan guffawed in a high-pitched, girlish voice.

“She likes me to accompany her so she doesn’t feel alone. And I can’t say I enjoy being near a hockey locker-room after practice. And trust me, I would rather have rectal cancer than run the risk of seeing you when I don’t have to,” Naomi hissed, as bile began to bubble in her veins.

“Tsk, tsk. Is someone PMSing today? But it seems that every time I see you, you’re PMSing,” Brendan mocked.

“I only PMS for you, Brendan. You piss me off because you’re so self-righteous. Be careful, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone out there is plotting to teach you a lesson,” Naomi warned.

“Does the lesson involve whips and chains? I learn best with them,” Brendan hooted, as he made a whipping motion with his hand. Naomi had enough of him; she turned on her heel and thundered down the hall.

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Steffi