For Charity's Sake: One

Amber knew that that she was in for some trouble as soon as Mrs. Roberts had called to say that she’d be in town and wanted to see her to catch up. Mrs. Roberts was a great lady, but the two of them had never been friends. Amber had babysat Mrs. Roberts’s daughter Jordan when the Roberts family lived in Pittsburgh as a way to make some cash while in university; once the family had moved away, they sent Amber Christmas cards but had otherwise cut off communicating due to distance and a general lack of necessity.

At least, that was the way it had been up until earlier in the year, back in February. Mrs. Roberts had called Amber back then too, completely out of the blue, to ask her a favor.

“Amber, hi! How are you?”

“Good, Mrs. Roberts,” she responded, surprised that she had called. “How are you, and Jordan and Mr. Roberts?”

“Oh, everyone’s fine here, thanks for asking. How’s Pitt? That’s where you were studying, right?”

“Yeah, it was. I graduated last year. I’m working for Highmark now downtown.”

Her tone of voice changed slightly. “Oh? So that means you’re still in Pittsburgh then?”

“Yeah, I am.” Amber wondered what she wanted, what she was trying to get at. This was all too random-seeming to not have a reason behind it. “Is there something you wanted, Mrs. Roberts?”

“Please, call me Michelle. And yes, I did want something. I have a favor to ask of you, if you’re not too busy this week.”

She was weary of her request and unsure of how to answer. There was no way of telling what Mrs. Roberts wanted of her, so she was putting her in a tough position. In the end, Amber decided that she would do what she could, since she must have really needed her help if she was calling like this. “Not too busy. What do you need?”

“Well, it’s not really me. It’s one of Gary’s clients, actually. He just got traded to Pittsburgh, and, well, he could really use some guidance, some help in getting used to a new city. Would you be able to help him out? Show him around, answer any questions he has, you know, help him get adjusted to the area?”

That sounded easy enough to Amber. She was living in the suburbs with her parents, but she was very familiar with the city. It was the nice thing to do, so she agreed. “Oh, uh, yeah, I can handle that, I think.”

“Great, Amber, thanks. Does tomorrow work for you?”

It was very sudden notice, but she felt put on the spot and like she couldn’t possibly say no at that point. “Uh, I can do tomorrow evening, after work.”

“Great, I’ll tell James to meet you at the Starbucks downtown after five. He’d never admit it, but I think he can really use some guidance right now. Thanks so much.”

Unfortunately, nothing had ever come from that conversation. Amber had waited at the Starbucks at Sixth and Penn for over thirty minutes before she gave up on expecting James and headed home. It was beyond rude to ditch her when she was the one doing him the favor. Once she was home, she put it all out of her head and vowed to forget it.

Now, however, Mrs. Roberts was calling again and Amber was worried about what this would lead to. But she couldn’t say no. It was a weakness; she was too nice. So one night in early December, when she should have been working on her Christmas shopping list, Amber met up with Mrs. Roberts at the Original Fish Market beneath the Westin, where the Robertses were staying while in town. Mr. Roberts had some more gray hair than Amber remembered from the last time she saw him, but he otherwise looked great. Mrs. Roberts had a couple more lines around her eyes, but she was aging well. Amber assumed that it must have been their super-strict diet that kept them looking so good.

Amber hadn’t expected Mr. Roberts to join them, but she knew that she should have checked her expectations at the door, because she knew there was more to this meeting than “catching up.” She recognized them sitting at the bar, and she quickly headed over to them. Whatever it was that they wanted, she hoped it would be quick so she wouldn’t have to join them for dinner. They had some weird food restrictions and requests, and Amber felt uncomfortable eating around them.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Roberts,” she greeted, dropping her purse on the floor by the empty stool and shedding her coat. “It’s nice to see you both again.”

“Amber, you too,” Mrs. Roberts replied, rising. “I hardly would have recognized you! I know it’s only been a few years, but you look so much more grown up.”

She wasn’t sure how to reply to that; it sounded like both a compliment and a slight cut. Mrs. Roberts hugged Amber, and then Mr. Roberts extended his hand. “We’re all adults now. You can call me Gary.” After they shook hands, he thumbed at the jacket perched on the seat next to him, meaning they weren’t alone. It didn’t look like a girl’s or woman’s jacket, so it couldn’t have been their daughter’s. “And James is joining us for dinner. He just headed for the restroom.”

Amber’s spine stiffened when she heard the name, recognizing immediately that he must have been the same James that Mrs. Roberts had tried to help ten months ago—the same man that had rudely stood her up without a text or call of explanation. “Actually, I don’t think I can stay for dinner.”

“Oh, no! Please stay.”

“It’s just, you know, December is such a busy month....”

“I’m sure you can spare an hour. You’re already here. And look, there’s James. Now we can grab a table.”

Amber didn’t look at James as the three other people grabbed their things and drinks, nodding at the hostess and heading for a table reserved for them. Because Amber didn’t look at him, she didn’t see that he didn’t look at her either. Neither one of them was looking forward to the next hour and a half.

There was one chair per each four sides. They sat down, with Mrs. Roberts sitting catty-corner to her husband—and leaving Amber to sit next to Mrs. Roberts on one side and James on the other. She was pretty sure that she hadn’t been in such an awkward situation before in her life; to make it worse, neither of the Robertses seemed to notice it.

Mrs. Roberts took her seat and started right back into the conversation. “I always loved Pittsburgh around this time of year. Something about the lights and the rivers, I think. Although it certainly doesn’t feel like winter. Where’s the snow?”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll have had plenty by the time spring eventually rolls around. We always do,” Amber said with a polite smile. She didn’t repeat the often heard joke around the ’Burgh—that the four seasons were almost winter, winter, still winter, and road construction.

“It must remind you of Dallas, doesn’t it, James? A nice mild winter,” Mrs. Roberts added, glancing up at him as she spread the linen napkin across her lap.

James offered them a brief, small smile, which looked more like a slight grimace than a smile. “Yeah, a little, I guess.”

“It was so nice of you to help James when he moved here from Dallas,” Mrs. Roberts continued the conversation, as planned, to get to the whole point of this strategic meeting. Amber looked at James out of the corner of her eye and watched him freeze in his chair. Apparently, he hadn’t said anything to the Robertses about their botched rendezvous, or maybe even lied to them so they thought that they had actually met up. She kept quiet, even though she was seething on the inside—James was making a fool of her.

Mrs. Roberts went on, “New cities are so difficult, especially when you don’t know anyone. But James has done such a good job this season, now that he’s adjusted.” James looked down, suddenly fascinated by the ice in his drink, and tried to hide his embarrassment. He was disappointed by his performance after his trade, and being reminded of it—compared to how he was doing this season—was a constant source of irritation. “Which is kind of why we’re hoping you’d be willing to help him out again.”

Amber couldn’t believe it. She was nice and always tried to make an effort to be a good person, but she felt like this was pushing it. Just because she was nice didn’t mean that she didn’t hae a limit, or a temper. At first, it was just a huge inconvenience to be called upon for a favor and then left waiting in the café until her coffee was cold, but this was another burden altogether. It was one thing to help a stranger for karma points, but she definitely didn’t want to help a proven jerk who was unappreciative when people had tried to help.

The corners of her mouth pulled down toward her chin. “I’m sorry. Normally, I’d love to help but....” She thought as quickly as she could. “Like I said before, December... the end of the year... it's a very busy month for me.”

Mrs. Roberts saw right through her façade. She didn’t know why Amber was lying, but she knew, for sure, that she was. So Mrs. Roberts upped the ante. “You said that about dinner tonight, but here you are.” Amber sucked in a breath, so she knew she hit her mark. Mrs. Roberts smiled; she didn’t want to be mean, but she had a point to make. “And luckily, this is just a tiny favor compared to what you did in February.”

Amber picked up the menu to keep her hands busy, but she didn’t read it. Instead, she nodded once to signal her agreement. She suddenly and impulsively decided that her resolution for 2012 was to learn to be a bitch and use that power accordingly.

“Oh, good,” Mrs. Roberts smiled, contented. She was happy to see that James was getting the help that he refused to ask for or even let on that he needed, and she knew that Amber was a sweet girl who had always offered to do what she could. In her mind, it was the perfect situation, and she had no problem pushing to make it happen. “You see, every year, the Penguins do these raffle baskets. I did them for Gary, and they’re a lot of fun to do.”

Amber nodded but didn’t understand. What could this possibly have to do with her?

Mr. Roberts spoke up. “You see, the Wives Association puts together a basket for every player. Every wife and girlfriend is responsible for making a basket for her husband or boyfriend. Then there’s an online auction, and the money goes to charity. It’s a great way to raise money for good causes, but it’s a little, well, awkward for the players who don’t have someone in their lives to actually make the basket.”

James scratched his forehead, wishing the ground would swallow him up. Lately, it had been good to be James Neal in Pittsburgh. He was playing great and things had never been better. But then he heard about this stupid basket thing, and it was mandatory for each player—not like other projects that wives and girlfriends had the option of chipping in for or volunteering. Since it was his first full year as a Penguin, this was the first he knew about it. But even worse were the girlfriends and fiancées of his teammates, who all teased him about needing to call his mom to put something together for him. James didn’t have any female friends in town to do it for him, since all the girls he knew were through his teammates. And he had planned on just throwing some things in a basket when an accidental gripe to his visiting trainer, Gary, led to this entire mess.

Amber did the math and added up how she fit into the situation, but Mrs. Roberts explained, “So really, all you have to do is a little shopping. And who doesn’t like shopping?”

She went on to describe exactly what it entailed: it had to be at least one hundred dollars in value, and it was supposed to represent the player. James would cover the cost, but he needed a girl to brainstorm and assemble it—and do so before the twentieth so they had time to list it before the auction began.

It didn’t make any sense to Amber, how she was supposed to magically and psychically figure out what he liked in order to construct a basket to represent him when all she knew was that he was a jerk. Maybe she could buy a day planner, so whoever bought it could keep track of their appointments. Or a self-help book like How to Win Friends and Influence People. Either of those would work, because James obviously needed help in those departments himself.

They were interrupted by their waiter, so they put their conversation on hold to order. The Robertses were extremely healthy people, and since James was a student of the Gary Roberts High Performance Centre, they all ordered the most nutritious things on the menu. Amber followed suit to fit in, ordering some sushi, but keeping it light because she knew she’d stop for fast food on the way home.

Once their meals arrived, Mrs. Roberts began to ask Amber more about her life—what her job was like, how her parents were doing, and what she had been up to otherwise. Amber got a full update on their daughter Jordan, too. It was perfectly cordial. James and Mr. Roberts talked amongst themselves on the other side of the table to pass the time.

As soon as their plates were cleared, Mrs. Roberts insisted that Amber order dessert. However, once she ordered the classic opera cake, Mrs. Roberts stood and declared that they had to get going. “But I’m sure James will keep you company while you finish up here. And we’ll leave our credit card on file for the bill. Enjoy the rest of your night.” With a few handshakes and head nods, they were out the door and Amber and James were left alone.

They didn’t speak for a few moments. Amber was mad, and James was embarrassed—and neither one of them wanted to engage the other. Finally, though, James cracked. He had to, if he wanted Amber’s cooperation. “Uh, I came prepared, in case you said yes.” He reached for his wallet and pulled out a crumpled envelope. “There’s a hundred in there, for the basket. If you need more, just let me know. And I do, uh, really appreciate your help with this. It was Michelle’s idea, of course—”

“And why was it her idea?” Amber asked, her voice quiet but acerbic. “Why does she even think that I helped you the first time around?”

His ears turned bright pink. He couldn’t meet her gaze. “Yeah, I know, I lied to her. I told her we met and talked. It was the only way she’d get off my back about meeting you—”

“You never showed up! No call to say ‘forget about it’ or a heads up to let me know if you were running late or anything. Instead, you let me sit there and keep expecting you. It ruined my whole night. I could’ve made plans or something.”

“I’m sorry,” he said back, just as quietly. He didn’t like apologizing, and he hated even worse when there was a reason to legitimately apologize for something he did wrong. “I didn’t intentionally do that. Michelle and Gary just thought it would be helpful to have someone in town to lean on, I didn't ask them—”

Amber interrupted again. She was too bitter about it still to let him finish any of his thoughts. Despite her attempt to always be nice, she held grudges. “Yeah, we all thought we were helping. Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, me.... So why not be at least courteous about it and let me know you were gonna blow me off? Why not tell them that you didn't need my help in the first place? Why act like a total ass about the whole thing? Because not only did you ruin that night for me in February, but you made this dinner awkward, too.”

“I got lost, okay?” he admitted, looking from side to side to make sure no one was listening in. Like it was a big deal. Then James leaned in toward Amber and whispered, “Do you know how many Starbucks there are in downtown Pittsburgh? More than one, I’ll tell you that. And then, once I figured out which one it was, I didn’t know how to get there. The one-way streets, the confusing signs. And where the hell do you fucking park downtown? I don’t know. I still don’t know.

“It was my first week in Pittsburgh, I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't know how to get around town either. By the time I finally found the Starbucks, finally got there, I looked around but you weren't there. I almost called Michelle for your number, but I felt so....” He took a deep breath, not wanting to admit how stupid it made him feel. His lack of confidence in Pittsburgh had fed his lack of confidence on the ice, and the insecurity was a self-feeding circle that wrecked his season. He had never been good at compartmentalizing. “So I'm sorry, but I didn't want to tell her what happened. I didn't know she'd do all this, too.”

“Oh.” Amber felt bad. It was obvious that he was completely incapable of asking for help in any situation—and also blatantly obvious why Mrs. Roberts had felt the need to assist him. The poor boy was apparently hopeless. But that didn't mean that his poor behavior was excusable; he still should have called or something when he knew he wouldn't be on time. Hell, Amber could have even given him the directions he needed, or gone to meet him on familiar territory.

Since neither Amber nor James knew what to say next, they didn't say anything at all. Several moments passed by in uncomfortable silence. Their waiter dropped off the dessert, placing it between them with two clean forks. Like they were sharing it. Like it was a date. The waiter said, “Enjoy,” and then was gone.

Amber picked up a fork and cut off the point of the slice. For some reason, she always felt like the tip tasted best; maybe because it was from the middle of the cake and not part of the edge, which could be dry, or maybe because it was the initial taste, a sweet shock to the palate, and every other bite never quite lives up to it. Once she swallowed, she said to James, “Want some?”

He smiled sadly. “No thanks. I can’t do it knowing Gary’s in the same city.”

“Afraid he might catch you?”

“No, I’m just really trying to adhere to his program throughout the season.” James lifted one shoulder slightly, shrugging away the intensity of his attitude. “It’s worked so far, so I might as well keep it going.”

She took a few more bites, slowly chewing each one, before setting her utensil down and crossing her arms over her chest. “So. This basket. What do I buy for it?”

Relief visibly washed over James. Even his posture changed. “So you’re gonna do it?”

“Yeah, sure. I guess. I mean, I need to start my own Christmas shopping, so I might as well just pick up a few extra things while I’m out and about. Which brings me back to my original question: what do I put in it?”

“Honestly, I don’t know much about these things. It’s my first year having to do something like this. The girls just said that it’s supposed to be representative of me.”

A couple of questions flashed through Amber’s head, like who the girls were and why they weren’t doing it, or how she was supposed to assemble a basket for a charity when she couldn’t even get a good, full answer from James about what it was supposed to be like—but she tried to focus on the task at hand. “Okay, I get that, but, I mean, I don’t know you, James. So how am I supposed to make something representative of you?”

“Oh. Uh, well, I guess any Penguins memorabilia would be good. And I like to golf, I golf a lot over the summer.” He shrugged. “I don’t really know what else.”

Amber picked up her fork again and proceeded to take another bite of cake. She needed to keep her mouth busy with eating, or else she might have started yelling at him. Here she was, trying to the right thing in this situation and help someone out, but it seemed like he was just making it more and more difficult on her to do so. James handed her the envelope, and Amber slid it into her purse for safekeeping.

When she swallowed, she asked, “And then what?”

“If you could just bring it to the arena sometime next week? That should be plenty of time.”

She nodded and decided that she was done—done with her dessert, done with dinner, and done for the night. It was time for her to go home, change into her PJs, and veg out in front of the TV. “Fine. Can we call it a night now? I have to get going.”

“Sure, great.” They flagged down the waiter, who assured them that their bill was taken care of and wished them a good night. Amber and James made the arrangement for her to drop the basket off and then barely said good night to each other before they went their separate ways.