Authors: C. K. Kelly Martin
At work Marta is
also pleased to hear that Yunhee’s on the road to recovery. We hit a busy patch
just after five-thirty, around the time she’d normally leave, and once the
store begins to clear out we realize a silver-haired man in a navy suit and
fedora has been standing stock still in front of the DVD shelves for some time.
I wander over and ask him if there’s anything in particular I can help him find.
“I’m just not
sure where it is,” he says unhappily.
“And what would
that be?” I ask him. “Can you remember the name of the DVD?”
The man taps the
top of his fedora lightly, his features set in a gauzy-confusion. “It’s the
place with all the people. Where they all go in their chairs, you know?” He
smiles worriedly and tugs at the cuff of his sleeve.
I return his
smile, confused myself now. “The chairs?” I ask.
“The chair, the
chairs,” he insists, growing agitated. “Yes. In the chairs, most of them. I should
be there now too, but where is it? Have you seen it?”
My heart sinks.
He’s so well-dressed that it’s clear someone takes good care of him, but he
appears to be suffering from some type of dementia. “Do you live around here?”
I ask, trying again, smile glued to my face so I won’t upset him.
“All the time,”
he tells me. “That’s the way it goes.”
He’s not making
any sense but I persist. “And what’s your address? Is there someone there I
could call to come get you?”
“I shouldn’t
think so. Would you?” The man turns away, gravitating towards the door.
I follow him,
pausing at the counter to whisper to Marta, “I don’t think he remembers where
he lives. Should we call the police?”
Marta nods.
“I’ll call. Try to stall him.”
I sidle up to
the man again. He’s only six feet from the front door and I touch his navy
sleeve and say the first thing that pops into my head. “Would you like a cup of
tea, sir?”
The man perks
up, either at the mention of tea or the use of the word ‘sir’. I lay my hand on
his back and guide him away from the door and back towards the DVDs. “We’ll
just wait here and Marta will make you one in a minute.” I make small talk
about the weather and the store, keeping up a steady patter. It doesn’t seem to
matter much what I’m saying as long as my mouth is moving, and I’m smiling and
not posing any questions he doesn’t know the answers to.
A couple of
minutes later Marta approaches and suggests I take him into the back room where
he’ll be able to have a seat at her desk, but when we try to coax him in that
direction the man scowls and snaps, “No, this is not the way.” He stomps
towards the door again and this time I can’t convince him to stay. I follow him
out to the sidewalk, where the air is crisp. He swivels on his heels, staring
repeatedly east and west along Lakeshore Avenue and then stepping into the
stream of traffic, where an oncoming sedan honks loudly and screeches to a halt
directly in front of him.
I wince at the
close call but don’t want to send the man scurrying further into the street. “Hey
there,” I call casually, my friendly face in place as I stride out to meet him.
The man turns to
me, his cheeks pink in the cold and his eyes clouded with uncertainty. “Hello,”
he ventures, crossing back to the sidewalk to meet me.
“It’s pretty
cold out here,” I say in a matter-of-fact tone. “Would you like to come inside
awhile?”
I can’t talk him
into returning to the store, but he stands outside O’Keefe’s front door with
me, the two of us shivering, until the police arrive five minutes later and
greet the man by the name Mr. Bonner. One of the officers explains, in a low
voice, that Mr. Bonner has wandered away from his daughter’s house twice
before. Then he turns to Mr. Bonner and offers to drive him home.
Mr. Bonner
smiles warmly at me before he climbs into the squad car. “You’re a lovely
girl,” he says with a glint in his eyes that makes him look like an old-time
movie star. “They should all be so lucky as to be half as lovely as you.”
I feel my face
light up from the inside. “Thank you,” I say sincerely. It’s the sweetest
compliment I’ve heard in months.
With Mr. Bonner
taken care of, Marta can finally leave for the day, and the second she’s out
the door I grab the phone behind the counter and place the call I didn’t have time
for earlier this afternoon. It goes to message on the first ring and because I
was hoping to speak to Liam directly I automatically hang up. Ten minutes later
I decide it’s best to leave a message after all and run through it quickly in
my head before calling a second time and reciting, “Hey, Liam, it’s Leah. I
really want to thank you, again, for keeping me company last night. There was
great news about Yunhee not long after you left. They moved her out of ICU this
morning and I was able to have a short visit with her earlier. I thought maybe
we—you and I—could celebrate sometime soon, if you want to.” I pause for a few
seconds to gather my thoughts. Then I give him Abigail’s phone number, in case
somehow he doesn’t have it after all, and add, “Okay. Bye.”
I feel nervous
about Liam in a way that I didn’t before because what I’m doing now is
premeditated. Because of Bastien that doesn’t feel completely right, but I
wasn’t willing to stop myself the first time and am even less inclined to try
to stop myself now. I’m thinking about Liam even as I make change for
customers, reliving what happened between us two weeks ago on the pier and then
his kitchen, and wondering what else we might have done if I hadn’t left.
At five after
seven the telephone rings and though I’m not expecting it to be Liam, because
the number I left was my home one, I’m also not surprised to pick up and hear
his voice at the other end. “That’s fantastic about Yunhee!” he declares after
we swap hellos. “You must be over the moon.”
The more I hear
Liam’s Irish accent the sexier it sounds, and his enthusiasm makes me laugh
lightly into the phone. “I’m ecstatic! It was
so
good to see her. She’s
still going to be in the hospital for who knows how long but she’s definitely
rounded the corner.”
“That’s
brilliant,” he says. “Listen, I don’t have much time now because I’m at the
theater and I know you’re at work as well, but by the time I get out I thought
it would be too late to ring you. Usually I’m around on Sundays, but I’m going
to a Halloween fundraiser tomorrow.”
Simon and Louise
walk through the door as I’m listening to Liam, which immediately makes it more
difficult to carry on a conversation. “Okay,” I tell him. “Well, maybe there’ll
be some time during the week.”
“There will be,”
he says. “Definitely. But the other thing is, and I meant to clear this up when
you rang yesterday, but with your friend in hospital it wasn’t the right
conversation to have so…I just…I hope this doesn’t sound cold because that’s
not how I intend it, but…”
“Just come out
with it, Liam,” I prompt, louder than I mean to, causing Simon to glance my way
over his shoulder.
“I’m not looking
for a girlfriend,” Liam admits. “Toronto is just a stopover for me. Five more
weeks and the play will be finished.”
He’s not telling
me anything I haven’t already guessed about the finite nature of whatever
exactly we’re going to be to each other, but it’s good to get the truth out in
the open. And the truth is, I’m not ready for a serious boyfriend either. I
wouldn’t have guessed that I’d be open to having a physical relationship in
advance of being part of a couple again. Looking back, the disapproval I felt
when I first found out about Chas and Yunhee hooking up makes me feel somewhere
between hypocritical and hopelessly naive.
“It doesn’t
sound cold,” I tell him. “You’re just being real.”
Simon is ambling
towards the counter with a package of frozen steak and stilton pies in one hand
and a jar of lemon curd spread in the other. Two steps behind him Louise
clutches a couple of DVDs to her bosom. “You seem like a really nice person,”
Liam says as Simon and Louise set their purchases down in front of me, “and I
know you’ve been through a lot in the past year, so maybe this isn’t what you
need right now.”
“And maybe it
is,” I say casually, so Simon and Louise won’t guess they’re hearing something
intensely personal, which would only make Simon listen more intently. “I should
go. I have customers here. But there’s still tonight if that works.”
“Oh, is there?”
Liam says, his voice shifting into a teasing tone. “I didn’t realize that was
an option.”
If I were alone
I’d say something more flirtatious, but with Simon and Louise at arm’s length I
go with a nonchalant: “It is. A distinct possibility.”
“The word
distinct
sounds promising. Does it involve a lighthouse?”
There he goes
making me smile again, even though he isn’t here to see it. “Wouldn’t you
prefer to watch the rest of
Life on Mars
?” I kid, and it’s difficult to
keep my rising sense of mischief in check considering what we’re talking about,
but I’m also keenly aware of the middle-aged couple standing in front of me,
patiently waiting for me to get off the phone.
“I’ve seen it
before,” he says. “And I’d rather look at you.”
My neck and
cheeks are so warm that I’m sure I’ve started to blush. “So is that a yes?”
“That’s a
distinct yes. See you later, Leah.”
“Bye.” I hang
up, feeling like I need a minute alone to digest what Liam and I just decided.
Yes, we’ve already been together, but deliberately planning to do it again is
filling me with a mix of nerves and excitement that makes it difficult to
concentrate on things like steak pies and lemon curd.
“So you’re
enjoying the DVDs, then?” Simon ventures with a grin. “I overheard you mention
Life
on Mars
.”
“It’s
brilliant,” I say, quoting Liam. “And
Spooks
too. I’m hooked on both of
them.”
“We’ve the other
season of
Life on Mars
and plenty more
Spooks
too,” Simon tells
me. “You can borrow them whenever you like.” He winks at me. “Watch them with
the boyfriend.”
Louise smirks
and pinches the back of Simon’s neck. “He’s incorrigible,” she proclaims. Simon
shrugs innocently as he swivels to look at her. “You shouldn’t be listening
in,” she tells him.
“I’m sure you
heard her just as well as I did,” Simon declares, facing his wife. “We’re not
invisible. She can see us standing here and knows she’s not having a private
conversation.”
Louise snorts.
“Not with you around she’s not.”
I smile during
their exchange, but refuse to let them drag me into a conversation where I
either have to admit or deny having a boyfriend. Then I slide their purchases
into a bag, tell them I should be able to return some of their DVDs soon and
would love to borrow more.
At eight o’clock
on the nose I lock the front door, and by ten after I’m strolling up Allan
Street towards Shoppers Drug Martbecause this time around I’m going to be
smart. I buy lubricated condoms whose packaging proclaims: “feels like
nothing’s there.” Since I know Liam won’t arrive for hours yet, back at home I
have time to sift through my underwear drawer to the sexy stuff I haven’t worn
in almost ten months. Bastien’s favorite was a sheer purple babydoll, which
means that’s out of the question; I need to keep him out of my head as much as
possible tonight.
I settle on a
satiny black and hot pink bra and thong set because it’s one I bought myself
for my eighteenth birthday. At the time I thought, why should I wait until
there’s a guy in the picture before I buy nice lingerie? Can’t I look sexy for
myself?
I shower, shave
and trim and then squeeze myself into sexy black and pink. The preparations
have made me increasingly anxious. If there was a cigarette around I’d probably
smoke it, although I can count the number of times I’ve smoked on both my
hands. I pull out my copy of
The Handmaid’s Tale
and open it to a random
page, hoping it will offer some wisdom regarding my situation. Unfortunately,
page ninety-five is merely a section heading. VII appears at the top with the
word
Night
directly underneath it. I flip over to the following page for
more words and what I find there, near the bottom, speaks to me but offers no
clear answers: “Can I be blamed for wanting a real body, to put my arms
around?”
I don’t blame
Offred and she wouldn’t blame me. That has to be answer enough.
Shortly after
eleven-thirty the doorbell rings. I smear on invisible strawberry-flavored lip
gloss, toss my purse over my shoulder and slink towards the door. Wearing tight
jeans and a purple V-neck that only hints at my breasts, I probably don’t look
much different than when I said goodbye to Liam this morning. I don’t want to
appear as if I’m trying too hard.
“Hi,” I say,
shoving my arms into my jacket as I step outside with him.
“Are we
leaving?” he asks in surprise. He’s clean shaven again and I wonder if that’s for
me or the play.
I begin to blush
for no particular reason. “I thought maybe we could go back to your place. It
would seem kind of strange here with it being Abigail’s house, you know?”
It didn’t seem
strange last night, sleeping innocently on the couch together, but Liam must
understand the difference because he nods and says, “Sure, if you think that’s
better.”
I don’t know
much of anything anymore. I’m so jittery that I’m practically vibrating. Maybe
we need to jump ahead like that time on the pier, get the second time over with
so I don’t explode worrying about it.
We walk down the
driveway together, Liam close to me, nudging his nose into my hair and saying,
“You smell good.”
He does too.
Like suede mingled with jasmine.
We climb into
his car, which I suppose must be a rental as his real car would be back in
Dublin somewhere, sitting in a driveway. The rental’s a metallic gray sedan and
I ask Liam what make it is and what’s happened to the car he has at home,
neither of which really matter, but Liam humors me and begins to explain about
the cars.