I turn right like the customs official told me and head downstairs to the baggage carousels. I look for my flight number on the screen, noting that they've already got bags moving according to the display, and head down to carousel fourteen. I packed light, figuring I'd pick up most of what I needed in Toronto. A little bit of clothes for going out, some personal items, and I'm good to go.
I find my two bags quickly and look around, wondering what to do next when I see a girl holding a white sign that says "T. Paulson" on it, looking my way. She's wearing a pair of slacks and a polo shirt from the Fighters, and while she's cute, the outfit does nothing for her. Her face and hair are cute, with high cheekbones and shiny black hair that makes me think she could at least be partially Indian . . . or First Nations. Someone, somewhere used to prefer that term.
"Tyler Paulson?" she asks, and I smile. She's shy, which is a shame, because she's prettier than she lets on. She just wears her shyness like a cloak, hiding behind it. "I'm April Gray . . ."
She says her name like I'm supposed to know who that is, but when I give her a blank look, she continues. "Anyway, I'm with the Fighters. I'm your personal assistant."
"Thanks, I remember Mr. Larroquette said he was going to assign someone to help me out. Tyler Paulson, but I guess you already knew that."
“Of course,” April says quietly, and I wonder how long she's been doing this — she doesn’t seem too confident in her job. Football players tend to be outgoing, and a shy pretty girl like her could get run over easily, especially by a quarterback. Thankfully, I'm not as much of an asshole as I let on. "I'll be working with you throughout the season, to help you off the field. Most of it will be during the first couple of weeks, but I’ll be here the whole season if you need me.”
"That sounds great, I can use the help. Let's get going, shall we?"
April nods and reaches for my wheeled bag, but I take the handle before she can. "It's okay, I think I can haul my own bags. I need an assistant, not a maid."
She nods again, her eyes barely coming off the floor, and we go out to the parking lot, where she hands me the keys. I barely notice, grinning at what I see. "A 'stang? How'd you know? You guys even picked out the right color. Or was that luck?"
"No, not luck," April says as I open the trunk and put my bags inside. "I asked for electric blue."
I slam the trunk closed and give April a smile. "Who told you my favorite color?"
She shrugs and goes around to the passenger seat. "I figured you'd like to drive. I can give you directions to the hotel. It's not too hard."
"Okay," I say, getting behind the wheel. They rented me an eco-engine? This thing must go zero to sixty in about five minutes. "Wow, worried I'd wrap this around a pole or something? I think my grandmother's car has a stronger engine."
"The team wants us to be as careful as possible," April says, "so the team tries to balance it with what players want. I . . . I tried."
I look over, and see that she’s actually nervous. I start up the Mustang and rev the engine once, humming. "Well, the interior's nice — I can dig it. Thank you,” I say, trying to ease her worry.
I pull out, and look over to see April giving me a strange look. "What?"
"Nothing," she says after a moment, even though I can tell there is. It's like she keeps expecting me to say something. "If you turn right, you can get over to the Gardiner Expressway that takes you downtown. I chose a hotel close to the stadium to help you out, but you’re free to change if you want.”
"Speaking of that, what do you recommend?" I ask. "I lived in the athlete's dorms at Western."
She's relaxing, maybe because I'm asking her stuff that she's obviously prepared for as she pulls another packet out of her bag. "It depends on what you are looking for. Downtown, especially around Yonge-St. Clair is nice, and close to the stadium. I'd stay away from directly around the waterfront, just because you'll want some separation from work. But if you really want to be by the water, New Toronto is nice too."
"Well, we'll talk about that later. Here's the Expressway.” I spent most of the drive looking around as we make our way toward the stadium. I see a plane descend, and I realize the island just off the coast has a couple of runways. "Hey . . . what's with the other airport?"
"They only have ferry service, and it's a city airport," April explains. "Pearson's the best option for coming into the city."
I shrug, I come from LA with enough airports to confuse anyone, and we keep going. "The stadium looks kinda small from here."
"So far, but next season it's going to expand to fifty thousand seats, which makes it equal to the old home. The team used to play at the Sky Dome, but the team moved out of there starting this year."
"Why?" I ask. April sounds surprised that I'm asking, but listening to her talk, she knows more than she lets on.
"Uh . . . well, it's just my opinion, but . . ."
“Wait," I say, stopping her. "If you're going to be my personal assistant, I don't need you to sugar coat stuff. Just give it to me straight."
She swallows and nods. "Okay. The stadium's newer, and it has a grass field. A lot of players didn't like the turf at the Sky Dome."