The Golden Beliveau by Katie McN <katie@katie-mcn.com> Note: This story contains no sex and was included so all the stories fromthis series would be in one place. My name is Claudette du Nord. I'm 14 years old so of course I know everything including a secret I'm going to tell my best friend, Katie Richardson, as soon as she wakes up. Most Canadians never wander far from home. It hardly makes sense to hook up the dog sled and travel a great distance when one tree pretty much looks like another. I was lucky. I was selected to be an exchange student and allowed to attend middle school in Big Spring, Texas, where I was exposed to all America had to offer. The best part was meeting Katie R. She's the most beautiful teen girl in all of Texas which is saying a lot because Texas is the home of the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. Katie R helped me dress like an American, introduced me to all her friends and made me feel right at home. Best of all, I switched my school major from math and science to cheerleading and cosmetology. Now it was my turn to be the hostess. My mom and dad said I could invite Katie R to stay at our palatial mansion during Spring Break. Our home is at the top of Mount Trudough and it has a wonderful view of the Timmins, Ontario metroplex. Even though he's French-Canadian, my daddy is a very successful business person. He owns several strip mines, a couple of rendering plants and a major brewery. I was known around town as the pretty rich girl which is sort of embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as being known as the ugly poor kid. "Morning, Katie R. Did you sleep okay?" I was worried. We'd been home for three days and had visited most of the main tourist attractions. So far Katie R seemed bored. "Ready for another big day?" "I guess so," she said. "Do I have to wear those stupid clothes again?" "You look very cute dressed like a Canadian girl. You need to develop a fashion sense." French-Canadian girls are expected to be modest. It's not unusual to see a group of teen girls dressed in flannel shirts, bib overalls and knee-high swampers. I wanted Katie R to fit in and was getting a bit miffed with her disdain for my stylish wardrobe selections. I was glad when she changed the subject. "What smells? Something die in the kitchen?" "No, silly. I know you like health food so I had cook fix us a special breakfast. She calls it her 3 B Special." "What the heck are you talking about? 3 B what?" "3 B Special. Back bacon, beaver tail and butter tarts. You'll love it." My mouth was watering. Cook learned her skills in the Northern Territories and no one could cook beaver tail better than her. "She's also whipped up a batch of poutine with timber wolf gravy. I'll get us a couple of Moosehead beers to help wash down the goodies." "Sounds interesting, Claudette. Why don't we start with the beer." What a disappointment. I thought a holiday meal would cheer her up. I decided I better tell her my secret. "We're going to do something very special today." My friend's mood didn't change much. She seemed to be holding back a yawn and said, "I hope we're not going to visit another strip mine." "Quit complaining about our Canadian national treasures, Katie R. Cook might hear you." "I wasn't complaining. I mean who would of thought to build a lumber mill in the middle of the downtown business district?" "Yes, we're proud to be Canadians and not afraid to show off." I restrained myself and didn't sing the first stanza of O Canada even when I felt the words on the tip of my tongue. "You're in for a big surprise and that's all I'm going to say." *** We started our pilgrimage an hour after breakfast. Americans pride themselves on not knowing anything about foreign countries. I heard Katie R's daddy once say that if God wanted us to do all that foreign crap, he would have put it in the States and not wasted it on foreigners. I had no idea what he meant, but liked finding out he was a religious person. Every Canadian is expected to make a pilgrimage to the holy city of Schumacher at least once in his or her lifetime. I decided it would be wonderful to share the experience with my best friend. About an hour after breakfast, Katie and I joined the many pilgrims who were walking the yellow brick highway to the Shrine of the Golden Beliveau. We'd made excellent progress. We already passed the beautiful Super 8 Motel and were waiting for a street light to change at the corner of Porcupine Boulevard and Fifth Avenue. The journey had been uneventful until a strange man stepped out of the shadows. "Do you want a fig newton little girl?" He was wearing a wool cap with the ear muffs pulled down. I doubt his purple raincoat was ever considered stylish and he seemed to lack a basic understanding about personal hygiene. "Thanks for your kind offer, sir, but my parents don't allow me to speak with strangers." I really wanted the tasty snack, but breeding always tells. "You don't gotta talk, just put your hand in my coat pocket and grab on to what you find in there." I took Katie R by the arm and marched the two of us across the street. "Let that be a lesson for you, Katie R. Never trust a geek bearing fig newtons." "Yah, I'll be sure to remember it, Claudette. What's for lunch?" I realized that we'd been on our trek for quite awhile and a light lunch seemed like a good idea. I noticed a coffee shop and decided we might as well stop and get a bite. I ordered a selection of croustades to nibble on while we studied the menu. I decided to have the truffle soup Elysée, but felt it might be too rich for Katie R and ordered a simple bouillabaisse for her. I felt we needed something to clear our pallets before the main course and ordered a goat cheese and apple salad. The mushrooms in snail butter was tempting and I asked our server to bring us a small order on the side. Our main course was delightful. The chef prepared pochouse with scallops in champagne sauce. The plate was balanced with some magrets de canard and shrimp quenelles. I decided a bottle of wine would hit the spot. I was torn between a Chassagne- Montrachet and a Joseph Drouhin, but decided to get a special import to help Katie R feel at home. I'm sure our server was impressed when I said, "Bring us a bottle of Thunderbird, please, and make sure it's fresh." I was watching my weight and decided a low calorie dessert would be best. We had pear tart with frangipane filling and a small slice of butterscotch pie. We each had a split of champagne with dessert followed by a coffee and B & B. "Let's get started, Katie R. It's a long way to the golden Beliveau." "The golden what?" "Beliveau is the only word that has precisely the same meaning in both French and English." Every school child in Canada knows the story, but I decided it would be better to let her see for herself instead of trying to explain the meaning of the word. "We're getting close to the Shrine. Please, try to show some restraint." "Who do you think you're fooling, Claudette? This ain't no shrine, it's a damn hockey rink. Whose playing?" "The ceremony will be performed by our beloved Montreal Canadiens and the hapless Toronto Maple Leafs if you must know." "Hey, ain't hockey the national sport of Canada?" "Certainly not. Lacrosse is our national game, hockey is our religion." The crowd was already pushing into the shrine. We had reserved seats in the first row near the Canadiens' bench. I usually try to speak no ill, but made an exception when I explained why people in Timmins had such a low regard for the Leafs. I suspected her Texas enthusiasm would stand her in good stead when the teams took their places on the ice. I wasn't wrong and I'm sure many people were surprised to hear such language from a girl her age. "Hey, it's kind of nice that kids can buy beer and wine under age." Katie had already pounded down a six pack of Labatt's Blue and was signaling a vendor to bring her a couple more. She made new friends when she screamed out to the Toronto goal keeper that he couldn't stop a slap shot from his own grand-mother and then threw one of her empty beer bottles at the goalie. "Beer and wine are not considered alcoholic drinks in Canada so there's no reason to check identification." I decided not to explain that French people considered wine to be one of the major food groups and English people thought beer to be part of a health regime. It took our most famous Prime Minister Wilfrid Laurier to decide that the 20th century belonged to Canada and every citizen should drink as much beer and wine as possible. We've never looked back. "Get me a couple of bottles while you're at it, please." The game was fairly routine with the Canadiens up by two goals at the half. I still hadn't told Katie about the special half- time activities and couldn't wait to see the look on her face when they got started. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud to present our half-time master of ceremonies, Ed McMahon." We watched the big man skate around the rink at high speed. He finished his run with a triple Salchow followed by a double Lutz and then he slid toward the Montreal bench and sprayed the players with ice. The crowd went crazy and let out a big cheer. "Hey, Claudette, what's Ed McMahon doing here?" "He's the master of ceremonies," I said. "You don't think he can make a living addressing envelopes do you?" Ed is much beloved in Canada. He looked quite snappy in his latex skating togs and red knit cap. He had done so much for Canada that his picture was displayed in almost every school room in the country. The crowd went silent as the big man took the microphone and got ready to speak. He started with an emotional monologue and I could feel my heart thumping in my chest. I usually control my emotions, but he was as powerful as Avril Levigne singing a medley of her greatest hits. Most people are familiar with Ed so I won't try to explain how he managed to bring the crowd to its feet. When the audience finally quieted, Ed said, "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud to introduce Wayne Gretzky who'll be helping with our half-time ceremony." I almost passed out. Wayne Gretzky is our greatest national sports treasure and to have him perform at the ceremony made the day the most wonderful of my life. I didn't think there was anything that could top seeing Wayne in person, but I found out I was wrong." After slapping Wayne on the back and telling a few more jokes, Ed made another announcement. "I'd also like to introduce Katie Richardson who'll assist Wayne with the ceremony." I looked to my left and saw an empty seat and then I noticed a Zamboni machine take the ice. A tall blonde girl was standing next to the driver. She was waving at the crowd and holding something under her arm. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't seeing things and then wondered how Katie R got selected to be part of the event. I knew there was going to be trouble. She was holding the Stanley Cup and she didn't seem to realize it was the second most sacred object in Canada. The Zamboni pulled up in front of the Canadiens net and Gretsky took his place at the blue line. Eight bearers skated up to where Wayne stood. They were holding the Arc of the Covenant and the crowd knew it wouldn't be long before they saw the golden Beliveau. One of the referees reached inside the Covenant and removed the golden object. He carefully placed it on the blue line near where Wayne was standing. The crowd went silent. Anticipation filled the air. Wayne made ready to hit a slap shot that would send the Beliveau flying. If he landed it in the Stanley Cup we'd only have another twenty-six weeks of winter and no more than fifteen or twenty feet of snow before summer arrived. If he missed, we would be in trouble. He brought his stick back and then made a smooth forward motion that told me he would once again save the day for Canada. "That girl looks like an American." Someone in the crowd noticed that Katie R didn't look a thing like a Canadian flower of womanhood even in her traditional Canadian garb. I'm not sure if her touching the Cup was a sacrilege, but there were those in the audience who wouldn't appreciate American participation in the sacred ceremony. Wayne must have been startled by the news and instead of flying the Beliveau into the Cup, it hit Katie R in the head and knocked her off her perch. When the Zamboni driver heard the Cup crash on the ice, he panicked and decided to drive his vehicle away from the action. Somehow the Stanley Cup got sucked into the ice smoothing device and was torn to shreds. The crowd looked at the scene in stunned disbelief. I knew it wouldn't be long before they reacted so I ran on the ice and carried my unconscious friend to safety. We were hiding in the parking lot and so far no one had noticed us. I could hear the sounds of the crowd as they ran amuck inside the building. I could also hear the screams of the Zamboni driver who no doubt paid for his indiscretions by having a boot forced into a certain part of his anatomy. Katie R was starting to come around and when she looked at me I said, "I'm so relived, there's a spark of magic in your eyes and I can see you're going to be okay." "What the heck are you talking about, Claudette? The magic is all about my eye turning black and blue from getting hit by a hockey puck." I decided I had to do something so my parents wouldn't find out what happened. I had an idea. Most people who see Celine Dion in concert think there's something wrong with her. It turns out that she's a witch and is casting spells on her fans so they won't realize she keeps singing the same song over and over again. I decided if I asked her real nice in French, she'd cast a spell on Katie R and fix her injuries. *** Most Canadian celebrities live in Timmins to include our national singing treasure Celine Dion. I dragged Katie R over to Celine's house and knocked on the front door. The maid answered and when I said some secret things in French, me and the body were invited in to meet Celine. "Le crayon est sur la table." Celine said a lot more in the mother language until I asked her to switch to English in honor of Katie R. Celine was lounging in a hot tub and didn't notice Katie R's body on the floor. She peeked over the side of the tub and said, "She must be an American. Those people just can't hold their liquor." I asked Celine if she'd use her magic witch powers to revive Katie R and maybe fix her black eye. I was in luck. Celine mumbled a few incantations and then had me throw Katie into the hot tub. "This stuff taste like crap." As soon as she was submerged in the green pool, Katie R regained consciousness. She didn't seem to like the hot tub. "Lime Kool-Aid? No one in America drinks this stuff. What's wrong with you people?" *** It only took two or three weeks before the green tinge on Katie's skin faded away. My parents always thought Americans were eccentric so telling them Katie dyed her skin green for St. Patrick's Day was all the explanation they needed to hear. "I hope you're still not mad at me Katie R." "Why would I be mad at you, sweetie? We had a good time in Canada and a person can't expect to bake a pie without cracking a few nuts." Katie R often quoted famous Texas philosophers. I pretended to know what she was talking about so she wouldn't realize how little we learned in Canadian schools. "Besides, I have a present for you." She handed me a beautifully wrapped package topped by a big red bow. I love presents and mushy notes are even better. A tear came to my eye when I read, "Dear Claudette, You're my best friend. I brought something back from Canada to show you how much I love you. Your best friend, Katie R." I almost fell off my chair when I opened the package and saw what it contained. "It's the golden Beliveau. Katie R, we're going to get into a lot of trouble." "No way, it's only a hockey puck covered in yellow paint." Katie R never worried about things, but I wasn't so sure. "Not every country is rich like the United States." Americans seem to think all the people living in other countries were rich and liked Hawaiian shirts just as much as they did. "A Canadian dollar is only worth about two cents American so we have to cut corners where we can." I explained that a gold hockey puck would cost a bunch of money and even if Canada was able to come up with enough cash to buy one, a lot of sticks would get broken trying to hit it and we'd go bankrupt replacing equipment. She seemed to understand. "By the way, Claudette, if Beliveau isn't a French word what the heck does it mean?" "Jean Beliveau is only the greatest hockey player of all time." I couldn't imagine that I'd have to tell anyone the story. "He led Montreal to ten Stanley Cup victories and won all kinds of awards. We've got to give it back, Katie R." "Don't be silly, they're not looking for it." "What do you mean, not looking for it? It's the most sacred Canadian relic ever." "It's been two weeks since the Stanley Cup was destroyed and the Beliveau went missing. Have you heard anything about it in the news? Nope and there's a good reason." I'm so naive. Katie R explained that no one would know if duplicates were made of the Cup and the Beliveau and she was right. Fake icons of Canadian culture replaced the real thing and no one was any the wiser. "I feel betrayed, Katie R. How could this happen?" "Oh, baby, I should have known you'd take it hard. Tell you what, I have another present that I was going to give you on your birthday, but you can have it now." I almost went into shock when I opened the second package. Katie's dad found out where the duplicate Stanley Cup was made and bribed someone to make a second copy. Now I had my own Stanley Cup. "I've got to hide my icons, Katie R. What if someone finds out I've got them?" "The only way you could get in trouble is if the Canadian government wants to admit what they did. No chance that's going to happen." I was the happiest Canadian girl in Texas. I had my own Stanley Cup and golden Beliveau and I could play with them anytime I got bored. The End Tel me what you think of my story: Katie@katie-mcn.com check out my wegbsite for other stories www.katie-mcn.com