engagement

noun

1. a formal agreement to get married.

2. an arrangement to do something or go somewhere at a fixed time.

3. the action of engaging or being engaged.

4. a fight or battle between armed forces.

Mum called, waking me up early the next morning. Just because. It was so lovely hearing her silky voice first thing in the morning, and of course her little cherub Jac-Jac, who was singing in the background. They were having a Sunday morning breakfast, so I got up, wrapped myself in a silk robe and went downstairs to help myself to breakfast as well. We all sat at our respective breakfast tables, each eating our own breakfast foods while Jac-Jac sung kindy nursery rhymes in the background. Best way to begin a day.

Saying goodbye to everyone once breakfast was over, I hung up smiling. I quickly washed the dishes, leaving them to drip dry on the dish rack, then I went back upstairs for a shower and change of clothes.

Today I left the apartment building wearing a waterfall coat made from camel wool, over top of Grant's crop top he gave me yesterday. I wore skinny jeans from a few years ago that now had holes in the knees. I still had to wear the brace still, so I stuck with black jeans to try and hide the contraption.

I didn't have anything on this morning. No appointments. No classes, no brunch dates, nothing. So why was I heading out the apartment door without anything scheduled? Sunday morning sports, of course. I may not be able to play anything at the moment, and certainly can't see myself hobbling up and down the field in my current condition. But that doesn't mean I can't watch those hot male bodz doing their thing.

OK, OK. So my star gazing isn't completely without purpose. There is another lost soul that I plan on recruiting for my baby business developments.

Patricia met me on the ground floor just as I stepped out of the lift. I pulled on a peachy pink beanie with kitty ears, and handed her a burnt orange beanie with baby fox ears.

"Wear this." I demanded as I left the building and stepped into the waiting company car. Patricia got into the driver's seat and handed me back the funny beanie but I held up a hand.

"Company outing required uniform for today only."

"Must wear?" She asked.

"Must wear," I replied. Actually I just wanted to have a little bit of fun and the mid-thirties still had a youthful vibe to her, even if she was a quite, stand-offish kind of lady. Her wearing a foxie beanie hat was really funny. As she drove, I took pics of her, then of us both together and sent them all to Grant.

We arrived at the city sports commons, field-side cafe that was really popular with families at this time of the week. You could sit, drink or have brunch while your loved ones played their seasonal sports.

Right now, we were in a prime position to see a local sports team playing touch rugby against another team from out of town. The local team was getting their arses kicked, from what I could tell, but since it wasn't a professional team with any sort of major sponsorship, it didn't really matter if they won or lost. The young adults were all university aged dropouts who only played sports so as not to be seen as complete couch potatoes by everyone else around them.

And couch potato Number One was a guy named Elijah Millers, AKA my new recruit. AkA the captain and manager of this peculiar losing team.

I sat down at an outdoor cafe table while Patricia ordered us both a morning coffee. I asked for an extra shot of hazelnut just for kicks. She came back and sat down beside me, both of us facing the closest field watching the sad game of touch rugby.

"They are really bad at this." Patricia commented in between drinks of her coffee.

"They really are." I replied with a smile, watching the guy I wanted to target for our new team membership.

"Why are we here?" Patricia finally asked, frustration seeping at little into her voice.

"Sunday morning sports. Touch rugby. A shoddy local team that never plays any away games and manages to get enough local sponsorship to cover uniforms, training equipment and free beers for the whole team every Sunday afternoon. He never asks for more than what will keep the team afloat, always greases the ref's hands to keep their team mostly on the losing side – for some bizarre reason – but still manages to convince local business owners to sponsor them every season."

"That is actually quite impressive." Patricia notes out loud then drinks her coffee as we watch the team almost win their match, only to fumble the ball at the last minute at full time and lose the game. But you can see those couple of leading characters in the local team watching each other, grinning and slapping each other on the back at a job well done. They rigged it and you can totally see it, if you are watching carefully. And both Patricia and I were. Watching closely, that is. Apart from the fact that half the local team then begin stripping their rugby shirts off and rubbing their sweaty hot bodz down.

I tap Patricia on the arm and point to the row of ladies, both young and married with kiddie strollers, all lined up both sides of us, watching the show.

I couldn't help giggling at her reaction. Crack me up, she just become another of the HotBodz drooling club.

"You're drooling!" I call her on it.

Minutes later and the field is cleared for another couple of teams to begin their game, and most of the female audience have left the side lines.

"Ah, it never gets old." I mock sigh, grinning at the antics of the local team and their supporters alike.

"This a regular thing?" Patricia asked as she finished her coffee.

"Ah-ha." I giggle. "Very regular. And it will stay that way until Elijah Millers, the team manager and leading playing, ends up being recruited as a marketing assistant for a major advertising firm from out of town. He will end up being a major player in marketing and advertising in five years time and will be head-hunted for major firms in Australia and Asia many times over."

"Impressive." She nods.

"He's a high school drop out with no university training, self-taught and I want him on my team." I turn to Patricia next to me and look her in the eyes.

"I want you to recruit him for me, in time for the fashion show, but I want you to make it known to him that we will never sponsor his Touch Team of couch potatoes. This is important. For some reason, he will pretend your first meeting with him is all about sponsorship for his sports team, then if you offer him more than he's asking for, he will turn you down flat and refuse to have anything more to do with you afterwards. He is a strong believer in doing everything for himself, working for what he is worth, and wont take anything he hasn't earned himself."

"An honourable man." Patricia commented.

"Yes, he is. The sponsorship he has for his team each season are all businesses from his block where he lives. The fruit shop, accounting firm, mum and pop restaurant, they each get a turn every season. He knows each and every business owner because he grew up with them. They love him to bits, and will miss him when he leaves the city, but they are all like an extended family for him. He's not a normal nine to five kinda guy. He networks, hussles, and pulls people in like you wouldn't believe and I want him on my team. Even if just to keep him local."

"So, recruit him, don't offer to sponsor him, give him a job and salary for what he's worth, but don't offer anything more. Anything else?"

"Rope him in, then tell him that if he can kick your arse in a fair taekwondo match then he can walk away. If you win, he has to come and work for us for a year. He is a black belt, eighth dan like you." She'd tested her latest dan recently and moved up in class. I give her a cheezy grin, then point to one of the guys who was just playing on the team, giving the current cafe owner a high five as he leaves the store. Elijah has a typical sportsman's physique, buffed but not bulky. He has a handsome, boy-next-door face, with light brown hair and blue eyes.

"What incentives will you offer him?" Patricia asked.

"None, except that I expect him to grow my local retail and tea house business and double their clientele in size within a year. How he does that is up to him, as long as it is legal. I will give him bonus for each goal reached, when he reaches it." I shrug and we both watch Elijah Millers walk away, thankfully with his shirt back on. We sit for a moment as Patricia takes it all in.

"What are you not telling me?" She asks quietly.

"Hmmm." I ponder if I should tell her or not. When she looks at me, I decided to go for it. "He dies in a hit and run in Sydney, six years from now from a rival company that failed to head hunt him. His local memorial was packed, standing room only. A lot of local people will miss him dearly if his life is cut short like that. I don't want to let that happen." My voice was laced with sadness at the loss of a brilliant life.

I gave Mr Millers one last look before he walks out of sight, then I get up from the cafe table, pick up my cellphone and purse, and head on home.