Page 38 of Token

“How aboutanyfriends of color. Ever?” In his case, ever was twenty-five years. Maybe he’d had one in preschool she could leverage.

Sighing, he sent her a chagrined look. “There weren’t many where I grew up, and in college, hockey was my life and there weren’t any on my team. It isn’t that much different in the national league either. Although, there’s a Black guy with Tampa who seems pretty nice.”

“Right. I understand.” And she did, completely. What this meant, though, was she’d have to employ thefakeBlack friend card. And when that was employed, actions had to speak louder than words. Especially as the phraseI have a Black friendin all its varied iterations was henceforth stricken from his repertoire, as stated in the company handbook on page three in theShow Don’t Tellsection.

“Hold on a sec—I did know a couple. They were Black—I mean, African American. They lived five or six houses down from us when I was growing up. In the first year of high school, I used to mow their lawn. I wouldn’t exactly call them friends and I haven’t seen them in a while, but...that’s something, right?”

Squee!An older Black couple whose lawn he used to mow. She’d hit the character-witness lottery. “That is more than something. They’re the perfect place to start. Do you have any idea if they still live there?”

Nodding, Roger returned her smile. “I’m pretty sure they do. My mom would’ve told me if they’d moved. She keeps track of all that stuff. The neighbors call her their one-woman neighborhood watch.”

“Perfect!” she exclaimed, relieved by how quickly things were coming together. “We’re going to need to get in touch with them and hopefully get them to provide a statement on your behalf. Do you think they’d do that? I assume you were on friendly terms the last time you were in contact, correct?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “They were always nice to me. Mrs. Simmons sent homemade cookies when I was drafted.”

She quickly jotted their name down under FRIENDS. “Next question—are you currently dating anyone?”

“Not anymore.”

“Does your ex-girlfriend know all your friends?”

“Some, not all.”

“Would any of your family and friends be surprised by the fact that you have a Black friend?”

“Maybe a little, but they also realize that living in the city and being on the road a lot means I’m always meeting all types of people.” His tone became subdued and his eyes downcast. “You know what the fucked-up part of this whole thing is, though?”

“No, what?”

“My mom blames herself. She said if she’d made sure I had a wider circle of friends and exposed me to different cultures, this wouldn’t have happened.” He let out a bitter laugh. “The day before yesterday, she sent me a book calledWhite Fragilityand she’s also trying to get everyone in her book club to read it.”

Kennedy’s heart squeezed. Poor woman. “Mothers, they do carry the world on their shoulders, don’t they?”

“My dad told her it wasn’t her fault I was a dumbass because it can’t be inherited.”

Kennedy couldn’t help but laugh. “Fathers, they tell it like it is, while accepting only the credit for their children’s successes and none of the blame for their failures.”

A faint smile curved his lips. “Yeah, that sounds like my dad. He sure won’t be going around bragging about me being a professional hockey player.”

“Hey, all isn’t lost. You’re going to be back on the starting lineup this fall.”

She couldn’t say when exactly, as that wasn’t up to her. Her job was to rehabilitate his reputation enough to tamp down calls for his job, and the key to that was keeping his name out of the news. The public had the memory of an amnesiac, and in any moment another scandal was certain to kick him off the front pages of the tabloids. A leader in the Black community had outright dismissed the idea that he should lose his career over something he believed equated to poor judgment, not racism. His was a lone voice now, but it carried a lot of weight, and she hoped more would join.

“For now, getting me back on the roster is good enough.”

Kennedy agreed with him, but she liked to shoot for the stars. “I’ve put together a plan to do precisely that. First, I’m going to have you meet Zion. He’s twenty-six, from Buffalo, and played a little hockey growing up. Best of all, he’s a Scouts season ticket holder. I’ve made arrangements for you two to meet up sometime this week at a sports bar by the name of All Bets Are On. It’s not far from Central Park. Do you know it?”

Roger nodded, then added, “A season ticket holder, huh?”

Kennedy wasn’t surprised that of everything she’d said, that impressed him the most. “Yes,hugehockey fan.”

If someone had told her a year ago that she’d need a young Black hockey-loving Scouts season ticket holder willing to contract for Token, she’d have called it mission impossible. Then about nine months ago, during a particularly boisterous office happy hour, she’d learned Jonathan’s brother-in-law, Zion, lived and breathed hockey. And basketball. And football. All right, the man loved his sports. Getting him on board with the plan had been child’s play, or so Jonathan claimed.

“Do you think it’s going to work?”

“This one is solely for you. Like many men with your upbringing, I think there’s a stereotype of Black people you carry around in your mind that’s been shaped by what you see on TV and the movies or hear on the radio. It’ll be good for you to get some firsthand experience, and that’s what I hope making friends with Zion will do.

“Having said that,” she continued, “diversity in your personal relationships can only help your predicament as long as people believe you’re being authentic.”

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