Betsy Wickwire's Dirty Secret (10 page)

D
olores locked the door, gave the mailbox a quick polish with her sleeve, then dropped the key back in.

“Okay,” she said. “See ya. Meet you Monday at the Oreskoviches'. You should be there by nine.” She'd finally given up trying to get me to go out with her after work.

I said, “Yeah. Sure. See you,” then walked away fast. I had an appointment. The Burtons lived just the other side of Larry O'Connell Field and Nick would be there soon.

I turned my face toward the sun and tightened my ponytail. It was another hot day. It felt good—promising—like the start of something new. A door opened and a lady came out of a house carrying a little boy and a big beach bag. I smiled and thought of that children's book again.

Maybe I could start working on it this weekend. I cut across the street to First Avenue.

The Big Nervous Spider
. I only had a title and an image — Murdoch with eight legs—but there was something about it that kept coming back to me. In fact, the real Murdoch and Murdoch the Spider were getting kind of mixed up in my head. Murdoch the Spider, I just realized, also liked to draw. I saw him working on eight different pictures at once.

Why was I even thinking about this now? I didn't have time to write a book! I had to get back in shape, fix my hair, figure this whole Nick thing out.

My mind clicked into gear. What if I just showed up at the golf course one Friday night, like I had a lesson lined up or something? Nick's dad had always liked me.

Too awkward? It's not like Nick and I could actually talk with Phil standing there, waiting to tee off or whatever. Might be better if I started by running into Cory or Stephan a few times, kind of ease myself in that way.

That got me thinking about what I should wear and how I really didn't have anything these days and whether I should get my hair done before or after I went shopping. Luckily, there was nobody there to see the stunned look on my face when I came to and realized where I was—at the edge of the field. Everyone was no doubt off swimming or in an air-conditioned mall somewhere.

I knew the heat wouldn't stop Nick from running. I wondered what type of animal he'd be if I wrote a children's book about him …

Not a spider, that's for sure. A lion? A panther?

Something strong. Something fast. What? A stallion?

That was so cheesy it made me laugh. I stared down the street trying to picture an animal version of Nick running toward the lamppost.

All I could see was Nick with his bare chest and his ripped arms and that intense look on his face, coming straight for me.

It was a perfect image and I felt myself kind of sinking into it, floating off into another daydream. Nick breaks into a big white smile when he sees me. He kisses me and he's all sweaty and short of breath but I don't care. Maybe I'm in my running gear too. I'm going to run the rest of the way with him like I used to do when we were first going out and he didn't complain about slowing down a little so we could talk along the way. Maybe afterwards we could borrow his dad's car and head out to St. Margaret's Bay for a sail before …

I woke up. How long before Nick actually got here? I looked around. What time was it? I never knew the time any more since I stopped using a cell phone.

It didn't matter. The bench was within sight. I'd be there in a second, then I could relax.

Relax?

I shook my head and started walking across the field. It was weird to think that Nick could be right there—so close—and I'd be relaxing. I remembered the first time we just hung out and watched television together, him with his arm over the back of the sofa, me snuggled up against him, ducking when he reached for the chips, slapping him when he got crumbs down my shirt.

I remembered how thrilled I'd been then to realize— what? That I was no longer thrilled. That there were no wild heart palpitations any more. No what-should-I-do-now weirdness. It was how I'd known we were a real couple.

You make the perfect couple
. Everyone had said that.

I looked over at the bench and wondered if the fact that I could relax now meant I was almost ready to make my move, go for it.

Or should I say him?

My basketball coach always said she could count on me to put the push on when things got tough. This would be tough, but that sort of made me happy.

“Betsy!”

I jumped. Who'd be calling for me now? It was like someone poured a bucket of embarrassment over my head. I didn't want anyone seeing me yet. I picked up speed.

“Bets-eeeee! For Chrissakes.”

Dolores
. I closed my eyes and let my head slump back. It was only Dolores. I laughed. I turned around and started walking toward her.

“What's up?”

She stopped running and caught her breath. She was gasping like a contestant on
The Biggest Loser
. The little tendrils hanging below her pigtails were dark green with sweat and her face was pink. It wasn't a good combo.

I was going to make some crack about it but before I could, she said, “Geez. Would you mind exiting the Paleolithic era and getting yourself a cell phone? Seriously. You practically killed me.”

“I
had
a cell phone. I just don't want to use one any more.”

Dolores was checking to see if her pits smelled. She dropped her right arm in disgust—clearly at me, not herself. “What's the matter with you? What am I supposed to do when I need to reach you? Send smoke signals? Build an
inukshuk?
Leave a message with that hopeless brother of yours? What?”

I didn't want to get into that and I was pretty sure she knew why I didn't use a cell phone anyway. “You have some important message for me or something?”

“Obviously. Believe me, I don't run for my health.”

Run
.

I suddenly remembered Nick. He could be here any second.

Panic fizzed up inside me. I'd left the Burtons' at, what?—2:15? 2:20? It was Friday. I knew Nick. He'd be here at 2:30, not a minute later. What time was it? My heart started ticking like an angry clock.

“Okay,” I said. “What do you want? Just tell me.”

“Ooh. Crabby.” Dolores had taken an old silver compact out of her plastic bag and was patting at her face with a powder puff. “Gotta ask me nice or I'm not telling.” She bared her teeth at the mirror and checked for lipstick smudges.

I didn't have time for this. Nick could be coming down the street behind me right this second. I wasn't ready. That couldn't happen. I wasn't me yet.

“Look. I've got stuff to do, Dolores. Would you just tell me what you want?”

She snapped her compact shut and put her hand on her hip.

“Who died and made you Tyra Banks? You have no right to talk to me like that. Frankly, I'm the one who organizes all this stuff, gets all the clients, makes things happen. If you had a cell phone, I wouldn't have to give myself a coronary trying to catch up with you. The least you can do is be halfway polite.”

“Oh. Like
you're
polite.” I could have kicked myself. “Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just, I don't know, tired or something.” I smiled and tried to brighten my eyes. “So what was it you wanted?”

“Thank you. You really are so lovely when you smile.” Dolores gazed at me in a totally phony way. “So. Okay. I just wanted to tell you there's been a change in plans. It's not the Oreskoviches' on Monday. Christine phoned and asked if we could go Wednesday instead because …”

I didn't hear what Dolores said after that. All I heard was Nick's war cry. We were standing three metres away from the lamppost. His finish line. Its shadow came over my shoulder and cut Dolores in half.

I was trapped. It was too late to run. There was nowhere to go. If he hadn't spotted me yet, he would, and then I would die.

I would die in my dirty old pink T-shirt and greasy hair.

Dolores was saying something about the Rau-Chaplins and their mudroom. I was trying to nod or at least not cry. I was tensing all my muscles, my brain, my heart, but I couldn't stop myself from shaking. It was like waiting for the firing squad to shoot.

And then, suddenly, on top of everything, Dolores was jumping up and down, all excited about something. What was she saying? Why was she talking so loud? Could she possibly make this any worse?

If I'd had any motor control at all, I would have kicked her, but I couldn't. I had to just stand there waiting for the guns to go off.

“You're kidding! He's taking you to
New York?”

I could hear Nick doing stretches behind me, panting. My skin had gone pebbly with goosebumps. My ears were ringing. Had he noticed me yet? Had he even looked?

“Your parents will crap! Seriously. Do they know he's twenty-five?”

Dolores was looking straight at me, making all these exaggerated expressions. She was like a host on a preschool program, acting out the word
surprised
.

“You mean, they don't care? Just because he's a surgeon? Or because he's so rich?”

Dolores took me by the arm. “Yeah. You're right. We better get going. You've got to do your hair, get out of your costume and be at the airport by six.”

She dragged me away. I felt like Frankenstein or the Tin Man or a Nazi soldier or something. My knees wouldn't bend. Dolores just kept babbling and pulling anyway.

I should have just gone with it, made my escape while I had the chance, but I couldn't help myself. I turned my head the tiniest bit. I had to look.

“Betsy?” Nick's eyes narrowed and he stopped wiping the sweat off his neck. His arm just kind of hovered in
front of him like he was paralyzed. Like the sight of me had paralyzed him.

“Take a picture, why don't you, asshole,” Dolores said, and tugged at my arm. “You know that guy? What a jerk.”

Nick didn't say anything more.

He didn't need to.

D
olores led me away like a bomb victim. I
was
a bomb victim. Everything around me had exploded. It was as if big shards of hope were lodged in my chest and behind my eyes. My heart had ruptured. My brain had stopped. I was in shock, but I knew it wouldn't be long before the pain kicked in.

“Douchebag,” Dolores said once we were back on the main street. “Didn't I tell you? Like who does that guy think he is? Seriously. And what's with the Chippendale dancer workout gear? You can't tell me that Nick My-Dad's-a-Big-Developer Jamieson can't afford a T-shirt.” She shook her head. “He's got funny nipples. Ever notice that?”

Dolores looked at me as if she was waiting for a laugh. As if this was all some hilarious joke. It wasn't, and I didn't laugh. I didn't cry either, but again that was just the shock.

We walked in silence for a while. Dolores filled the dead air by conspicuously wiping the sweat off her neck and rooting around in her plastic bag for clip-on sunglasses.

“Some hot out, eh?” This was a joke too, apparently. The goofball accent must have been the funny part.

She stopped and threw her hands out to her sides like a maestro about to conduct an orchestra. “Hey! I just had an idea. Why don't we go for a swim? Seriously. Wouldn't that be fabulous?”

Swim.

Williams Lake.

Carly in the pink bikini. Nick with his wet hair.

“There's this great spot. Quarry Lake? You know? Just off the Bi-Hi? You got to walk in a bit from the road but that's okay. Keeps out the riff-raff.”

I stepped around Dolores and kept walking. She scampered after me like one of those yappy dogs in the old cartoons.

“Know what? I was in Giant Tiger yesterday and they've got these amazingly trashy bathing suits for, like, eight bucks. We could pick up a couple of fluorescent tankinis or, say, a nice little leopard-print one-piece with matching cover-up, then catch the number 47 and charm the bus driver into dropping us off on the highway. I've done it before. They're not supposed to stop
on the highway, but they will—providing one's winsome enough, of course …”

She wasn't going to shut up.

I could easily outrun her, lose her in a block or two and then just go wherever I wanted. Problem was, I didn't know where I wanted to go. I couldn't go out. Couldn't go home. I felt panicky again.

“And … bonus! …
Tigre Géant
also has an amazing selection of foodstuffs. We could pick up some inexpensive Chinese interpretations of such classics as Lunchables, Chips Ahoy, Mountain Dew, whatever. Make ourselves a little late-afternoon snack. Sound good?”

I kept walking. By pure coincidence, I was more or less heading in the direction of Giant Tiger. Dolores took that as her answer.

“Great! This will be great. I mean, we deserve it. We worked hard this week. How much you think we made? Hmm. Let's see. Two houses on Monday, two on Tuesday, only one Wednesday but that's okay because next week we …”

Dolores kept on like that until we got to the store. After a while, her babbling became almost irritating enough to keep me from thinking about Nick. It allowed me to hover just slightly above despair.

G
iant Tiger smelled like discount stores everywhere, sort of a cross between a new plastic doll and powdered popcorn flavouring. It managed to be both too bright and gloomy at the same time. I followed along behind Dolores like some middle-aged husband. We walked down endless aisles of cheap kitchen utensils and novelty gifts until we finally arrived at the “Ladies' Wear” section in the back.

Mismatched bikini tops and bottoms were piled beneath a yellow clearance sign.

“So what size do you take? Two? Zero? What?” Dolores stepped back and looked me over. “You're definitely a zero.” No argument there. “Hmm. I wonder if they even come that small here. Giant Tiger shoppers are by and large a hefty bunch …” She began rifling through the pile, tossing the rejects to the side as if she were working on a conveyor belt at a factory. “Oh. Oh, wait. What's this? … Bingo! A zero.”

She handed me an orange tie-dyed bikini bottom with lime green rings at the side. The fabric kind of squeaked in my fingers.

“Now we just need to get you a top.” What type of top—and whether I liked it or not—obviously didn't matter. Dolores dove back in.

I stood looking at the bathing suit in my hand as if it were some complicated piece of equipment. I couldn't imagine actually finding the brainpower, the strength to put it on. I felt a dull sense of amazement. People — I knew this was true—actually changed their clothes. Actually went swimming. Actually got kind of excited about it. It was like looking up at the sky and realizing human beings had walked on the moon.

Dolores was shaking her head. “Things are pretty picked over. Think you could just wear your bra? … Oh. Hold on … Yes … Ye-es …” She pulled out a skimpy black-and-yellow polka-dot top. She slipped her glasses to the bottom of her nose to read the label. “You're in luck. Another zero. We have snake eyes, folks! They'll be kind of wild together, don't you think?”

Wild together
made me think of Carly and Nick, and Nick at the field, and how I looked, and what had happened to my life, and how there was no point to it any more, and that I was going to wind up sad and alone, an old cleaning lady in the same pair of shorts I'd worn since that day at Jitters.

The tears in my eyes made the orange tie-dyed pattern throb. I knew I just had to turn my brain off. Nothing mattered. I had to believe that. It was the only way I'd survive.

I nodded and took the top too.

“I don't have your tiny waist to show off so I'm going, instead, for an ironic ‘matronly' look.” Dolores moved over to another table and pulled out a turquoise one-piece with a big, floppy orange flower pinned at the chest. She waved her hand in front of her mouth as if she'd just bitten into a jalapeño.

“Isn't this adorable? … Oh, fudge-cakes!”

She tossed it back onto the pile. “It's a ten. Too big. Ever wish you were fatter? Had I known, I would have had a few more of Mrs. Burton's snickerdoodles. They were unstoppably delicious. Did you have any? I hope she wasn't saving them for anything.”

Dolores pulled out something that looked like the bag Granny carries her golf shoes in. It was black with runny purple flowers and pleats fanning out at the waist.

She read the size and clapped it to her chest. “Ain't life grand? Seriously. You're heartbroken about something one minute, then next minute—something even better comes along! And look. A matching bathing cap too! The Mother Goddess has smiled upon me.”

She checked the time. “Ooh. Gotta hurry.” She finished
her shopping the same way she finished her cleaning. In minutes, we were at the cash with our bathing suits, a bunch of towels and a pile of petroleum-based food products.

“That's $36.17,” the cashier said, then went back to chipping the black nail polish off her thumb. We each handed over a twenty.

I pictured the yogourt tub on my dresser. I hadn't spent a single cent of the money I'd earned until now but here I was buying a bathing suit I'd never wear again and food I'd never eat and a towel that was so thin and stiff it would never get me dry. I was wasting money that I could have used to get out of here.

My brain ran off on me again. I'd never get out of here. I'd never get away from cleaning, or Halifax, or that image of Nick looking at me in utter disgust.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

The cashier stuffed our things into plastic bags and handed back our change.

“Thank you,” Dolores said. “It's been a delight doing business with you.” She hustled us out the door.

Once outside, she seemed to slow down. She leaned against an old rust-coloured car and dumped the food onto the hood. “Just want to make sure we didn't forget
anything. We got lots of cookies but what about protein? I don't think there'll be much in the Cheez-Teezers, despite the promise the name holds out. Should we go back for … Oh, hey!”

I didn't want to turn around to see who Dolores was waving at.

“Mur-doch! What are you doing here?”

His gigantic shadow crept up from behind me, hit the curb and bent sideways at the shoulder. It looked like a pharaoh from an Egyptian mural.

“I work here. Like, next door. The Flamingo Restaurant.”

Dolores conked herself on the forehead. “I forgot about that. You're a dishwasher, aren't you?”

Murdoch's shadow shook and I knew he was laughing. “I don't like to think of myself as a dishwasher. It's not something I am. Just something I do. You know.”

“Well, ex-cuse me. We're cleaning ladies and we're proud of it — aren't we, Bets?”

Dolores had never called me Bets before. Somehow it seemed like another indicator of how far I'd fallen—as did the fact that, yet again, my response was clearly not required. I was peripheral now. Except for a moment to adjust her knee socks, Dolores hadn't taken her eyes off Murdoch.

“We're going swimming at Quarry Lake. Wanta
come? Be awful refreshing after a day slaving over a hot sink …”

Murdoch moved his head several times before saying, “Um. Well.”

The Big Nervous Spider Goes Swimming … “I don't have my bathing suit.”

Dolores made a noise like air escaping from a bicycle pump. “So? I know for a fact you wear boxers.” More fidgeting from Murdoch.

“What are you worried about, Big Man? I've even got an extra towel for you. Come on. We're just going to catch the bus at …”

“I've got my car.”

“You do? Where?”

“Your stuff's on the hood.”

Dolores coughed as if the shock was too much for her and I knew right then what she'd been up to. Giant Tiger was her park bench.

“No kidding. This yours?”

“Yeah. Or, well, now it is. It was my grandfather's.”

“Wow. He get it when he graduated from high school?”

“Close. When he left my grandmother. In 1970 or something. Not many Rebels still on the road.”

Dolores kind of barked at that. “I beg your pardon. I'm a Rebel and I'm still on the road … or will be, if you'd get a move on.”

She climbed into the front seat and motioned for me to get in too—the Rebel had a bench rather than bucket seats—but I shook my head and got in the back. Three's a crowd, I thought.

Nick and me and Carly.

Stop, I thought.

I looked out the window while Murdoch drove and Dolores talked. This was an ugly part of town. Strip malls. Beige siding. Brick apartment buildings.

Get used to it.