âYes, you're looking really good. How far along are you?' Karen lifted her head slightly to look more directly and pushed back her hair. It was a nervous gesture, no hair being out of place. Greedily, her eyes soaked up all of Sidonie. How she loved that fair hair, burnished almost to silver in the summertime; the highlights would just dance before her eyes. She felt a tug at her insides, a tiny glow warming some deep place. She shouldn't have made herself available to Mitch. Without warning, she felt memory spear through her present thought and take her back, back to that day when they had first met.
Sidonie had been standing in line waiting to be served. She was joking with the girl next to her and she had watched her throw back her head and laugh, her hair had been longer then and it had swirled about her face, joyously. The gesture had revealed her throat, pale and somehow intimate. Then she had seen those brilliant, piercing blue eyes, glinting at her in amusement, as if sharing the joke.
She opened her eyes and stared again at the girl, forcing her body to resist the tingling she could feel creeping through her and brought herself forward to the present. Mitch was really nice, in fact she deserved better, but when Sidonie was around ⦠she knew she was the one she really wanted ⦠even now. After Sidonie had told her they couldn't continue as lovers, she had thought she would get over her feelings. They had been enrolled in pre-veterinary courses at George Brown College. Sidonie planned to go through the full course to become a Vet, but she wanted to work at Toronto Zoo. They both loved animals and everything seemed to be going well between them. Not so. At the end of the spring semester, she had dropped her bomb. She was going to Woodbine Racetrack for her summer job and was taking the year off to earn money for her studies the following fall.
That summer she went to live with her parents in North York. She didn't know what she'd do for work, too completely devastated. Life without Sid. Her dreams had been as threads of gossamer, fleeting and insubstantial. Sidonie, for all her gentleness had made it plain her mind was made up and her decision was incontrovertible.
Karen's eyes dulled with painful memory. Now they saw each other rarely. Only at the club if they happened to turn up on the same night. She heard her voice, those resonant tones jerking her back to the present, yet saying such banal words, she could have screamed, her voice loud and shrill in anguish.
â â¦Oh, another four months yet. It's not 'til August and I don't want to peak too soon.' She looked at her watch again, her mind already moving on.
Karen remembered when Sidonie had bought that watch. She hadn't been able to resist the âHappy Face' Swatch; bright yellow with a black smile. No numbers ⦠just hands; totally impractical, but it had been fun and they had been happy.
âTime to go backstage. Dale and Shaneen are on soon.' Sidonie nodded to Mitch as she slid out of the booth and told them to take care of themselves.
It was a relief to be gone. In a way she felt ashamed of this relief. That two people who had been important to each other should come to this? It stabbed her to the heart to see the hurt in Karen's eyes, but she could not turn back the clock, not for Karen, not for anyone. Karen watched her as she walked towards the dance floor, her strides long and rolling, her posture upright and confident; and Mitch watched Karen watching.
Two inspiring women, their voices raised in harmonious song. There was none of the glitz of a drag show tonight. The mood was laid back and intimate. Dale and Shaneen spoke from their hearts; their experiences. Some of their material was humorous. Great guffaws were let out as the women identified with the lyrics. When she diffused the lights, the chords were minor and once again the audience was transported to another time, another place. So many encores. They finished with the Aretha/Annie collaboration, SISTERS ARE DOIN' IT FOR THEMSELVES. It was one o'clock when they were finally released and then only after promises to return soon.
âWe need more time than that to write our material,' Dale protested.
âSing the same ones,' happy voices cried out. âWe want to hear them again.'
âAnd again.'
Sidonie congratulated her friends on their success. Some of the songs she had heard before, but this evening they had been inspired. She stayed on for a dance, but had to call it a night. It was getting late and her routine required her to be up at five-thirty in the morning, seven days a week.
She revved up the engine of her trusty Tercel, happy to have wheels on such a frigid night. The track was an awkward place to get to by TTC. Heading north to the 401 on deserted streets, she thought how she'd much prefer to be driving that sleek, white Prelude she had her eye on; two-door, air conditioned; everything push button and automatic, but she enjoyed changing gears. She could picture that slick chick in the purple swimsuit sitting next to her, her thighs and shoulders still glistening from droplets of water after her swim.
“Oh God Sid, you do dream on. You wouldn't want water all over the front seat of your new Honda now would you?”
she chided herself, as she turned onto the highway, but still well travelled by the heavy transports. Her turn off was Belfield, then she'd soon be home. Home. It was funny to call it that ⦠one small room in a residence. No kitchen facilities, just a tiny bathroom off to one side. She was lucky. She had the place to herself. When the season got busier, she'd have to share.
When she had moved, she bought a second-hand bar fridge and coffeemaker. The main meal of the day she ate at the track canteen, like all the other stable lads. The company was pretty rough and the food uninspired, but she was trying to save for the fall. She was careful what she ate and followed a strict regimen; it had to be balanced. In the last month she would increase her first class protein intake and was already concentrating on carbohydrates. She preferred fish to red meat. Vegetarianism interested her, but with competitive bodybuilding she couldn't do both.
It had been a long day. Almost three o'clock when she pulled into the parking lot. She was glad she was a good sleeper. Two and a half hours only. The stables where she worked were closer to the main gate than many others, so she didn't have far to go. On the bike it took five minutes. The Security checkpoint knew her well; a cheery wave was all that was needed to get her through. In the wee small hours it was a different matter, the guards were constantly changing. She had to present herself at the office and show her pass. This was photo ID. Security was strict at the track, millions of dollars on the hoof slept behind these fences, not to mention the potential millions in prize money these magnificent horses represented. Once she'd forgotten to front up at the office; all hell broke loose, sirens blaring, huge spotlights turned on and someone with a loud hailer telling her to freeze. She never made that mistake again.
Her boss, Michael McTeer always arrived late and trusted her to open up. She was happy she worked for a good outfit. They were sincere about their horses' welfare. There was one person she wasn't keen on, an exercise rider. He was mean-spirited and she suspected him of yanking, and over-use of the crop. His horses came back skittish, their sides streaked with foam and hard to handle. She always had to gentle them down.
Sidonie was a hot walker. The grooms took over after she'd finished with the mounts, putting her in the best place to know how the horses had enjoyed, or not, their daily workout. By the time they finished their twenty minute cool-down, walking with her round the stable yard, they would be ready for the groom. It was during this period the grooms cleaned the stalls. After all the horses had been seen to, she swept the yard and dubbined the tack. Her final chore before lunch, was to give the horses their feed and fresh water. After lunch the stables were eerily quiet, the horses resting. The next feed was at four o'clock, the grooms' responsibility. Between twelve noon and one o'clock, her working day was over.
Unlocking her door, she experienced that welcome blanket of warmth; central heating she didn't have to pay for. Currently her rent was $80:00 per week in advance, but if she shared, that would go down. The room had two single beds, rather like a motel. She couldn't stand clutter and in a confined space like this, was careful to maintain her belongings in strict order. Right now, she guessed, it was like being in the army, a place for everything and everything in its place. She smiled to herself, as the hackneyed words took her back to her girlhood. Her Ma would try to maintain order in the house, but the little ones were not interested in putting toys away. She would say it to them in the same voice her mother used, all firm, brooking no nonsense. Being the eldest she was expected to reinforce house rules and to police the goings on. Billy was a handful; his spirit wilful. They were too close in age to make it easy for her to lord it over him, only three and a half years between them. He always put up a fight. Chelsey was difficult in her own way; ten months younger than Billy. She had been a mistake. After Billy, when Mavis had known that Dan would not stick by them, to her shame, she had tried to abort the next baby. The attempt had been unsuccessful and the baby had been born brain-damaged. Now Chelsey was retarded and would always need looking after. With a loving disposition she tended to be spoiled; surprisingly adept at getting her own way. Her social conditioning was an arduous task. Much of the time Mavis was away at work, so it fell to Sidonie. What a struggle, the load too heavy for such young shoulders. Billy and Chelsey were teenagers now, but their idiosyncrasies were still intact. However, Billy had learned to take some responsibility.
Sidonie handed over a cheque regularly and Mavis depended heavily on this. The contribution made up a little for her absence. Going over to the house once a month was not often enough for them, but she had to be strong; avoid being swamped. If that happened, she feared she would come to resent her commitments instead of, as now, feeling felicitous.
A voluminous old T-shirt, the colors of the moose representing Moosehead beer from Sudbury, long since faded, was Sidonie's favorite nightwear. She responded to the softness of the fabric against her skin. It had been washed that many times, it was a luxurious delight to slip it over her body. She wanted to sleep; needed to sleep. The alarm would ring all too soon, but somehow â not tonight. Her thoughts kept reverting to the phantasmal Honda, or more specifically, the sensuous woman reclining in the passenger seat. This was ridiculous. She had seen her for not above two minutes
. “Long enough to take in the salient points,”
her alter ego chipped in.
“There's got to be a face, Dummy.”
she admonished her ego.
“Hell, perhaps next time you can be smart enough to get the face and complete the picture? Canoe Head,”
her alter ego retorted.
“Enough, enough. I've got to have sleep. You're cut off.”
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
This was an unstructured weekend. Following work she went to the canteen for lunch. It was noisy and hot after the relative quiet and stillness of the outdoors. The horses breath had hung in clouds about their heads as they snorted and pawed the ground, young dragons in the making. The servers were hopping today, everyone in a hurry it seemed. She found a seat at a table where she could watch the videos of yesterday's races. Some of the lads followed them with avid interest, not she. Seeing these magnificent beasts in motion was glorious. They were built for speed and when it all came together it was a privilege to watch the rippling muscles moving in co-ordinated action. She believed the horseracing world was exploiting these beautiful animals. At two years old they were still immature, both physically and mentally. The stress on their body could be excessive. Breakdowns were common. Even at four years, they could still be emotionally unstable, acting up on the track and running amuck. She felt six was the ideal age for their racing pleasure.
It was important to Sidonie, stuck out as she was at the track, to keep in touch with friends in the city. Unfortunately no one could call her. Many had urged her to purchase a mobile phone, but this was out of the question on her wages. Instead, she kept a ready stack of quarters on hand in her red and white Canada mailbox, moneybox. The public phone was located in the walkway giving access from the back of the dormitory to the offices at the front. It was a cold, draughty spot, discouraging anyone to linger and chat.
She shrugged into her down-filled parka, quarters at the ready and slipped along past two rooms to the kiosk. She wanted feedback on last night. Dale and Shaneen were very pleased with the outcome. It had led to another booking for a gig at one of the clubs in Oshawa.
Next she checked in with Milka. She got Edina, Milka being at her mother's, helping her get the house in shape after winter.
âListen, I'll try and get over one day, soon.'
âYes. It's been too long. We'll forget what you look like,' Edina quipped.
She made one other call, but Reine and Thea were out. That was it. Time to get on with her chores. Collecting her laundry, she took it round to the machines. While it was going through the cycles she moved on to cleaning. The dormitories were regularly inspected. It was given to the security to fulfil this duty. They would pick at random, but she never had any trouble. She was extremely conscientious over her personal space. It was pleasing to her eye to have everything looking as good as she could make it. Yes, it was just a single room in a women's residence, but it didn't have to be grotty.
Later, when the laundry had been washed and dried, she put the basket on one side for ironing and set off for Woodbine Mall to find something to eat. Wearing casual jeans and her sturdy boots, she took the short cut across wasteland, buffeted by freezing winds. Patches of dirty snow still remained in the deeper hollows. She crossed Highway #27 to Rexdale.