Moondance (23 page)

• • •

FOR ALL HIS HEALTH problems, Vince was all charisma. Only those that knew him well wouldn’t be fooled. After doing the introductions, he opened the meeting. It was an exploratory meeting, Althea knew, and she and Peter were here as a courtesy. She was careful to keep her face alert yet neutral while she absorbed the conversation in the room. One by one, she considered each personality.

Stefan Garneau, the tall man with the impeccable manicure appeared
to be leading the show. He had a soft voice and spoke slowly and precisely. His eyes were piercing grey, if grey could be piercing, and his gaze was unblinking. His voice was relaxed, with measured ranges in inflection and his body was still and composed. Now and then, at an appropriate time, a slow smile spread over his face and he nodded, his eyes like flat metal coins.

Exeter’s lawyer Ralph Silveria was dark, Mediterranean, formal, fully involved, making notes, asking quick, clipped questions. Sharp. If I reported to you, you’d keep me on my toes, Althea thought.

Vince’s lawyer, Stephen Kovacs, was tall and imposing, with shocking white hair. Althea had met Stephen at White Light’s holiday party last year, and he was much less formal than his appearance would suggest, with a laugh that was contagious.

Vince provided some context for the meeting. Exeter had signed a confidentiality agreement. The purpose of these meetings weren’t to finalize a deal. They were to start getting the facts on the table. Vince and Althea covered the marketing and new projects in the White Light pipeline, which took most of the morning.

At noon, they broke for lunch. Vince stood until the others left. Althea stayed behind.

“How’re you doing?” she asked. “Am I going to have to report you for bad behavior?” The threat was to tell Phyllis of his overexertion. Althea knew he had been here since seven that morning.

“Nah, you don’t have to report me. Or should I say, please,
please
don’t report me.” Althea laughed because that’s what he wanted her to do. Underneath, Daniel clutched at her. Kevin and Tori lay entwined together, watching.

She felt as if her heart would never stop aching.

• • •

MICHAEL HAD SEEN ALTHEA’S name on White Light’s agenda the day before. He suspected there weren’t too many Altheas out there, and before he arrived, he had a chance to recover from his surprise.

He couldn’t help but stare at her. She was more beautiful than he remembered, more beautiful than in her internet photo. When he first shook her hand, her eyes met his and he sensed she was on autopilot, as if one of her secrets had caught up with her. Later, he turned away, embarrassed, when she caught him looking at her. When she presented the marketing portion of the meeting, he enjoyed watching her speak: she was composed and businesslike.

By lunchtime, he hadn’t made up his mind whether or not he would mention their prior meetings and he knew that he definitely wouldn’t mention the internet ad. After all, in this scenario, he wasn’t the nice guy by the side of the road: he was the enemy. But there was no reason he couldn’t talk with her a bit. As a matter of fact, he knew he’d go out of his way to talk with her a bit.

At the lunch break, Michael went downstairs and outside, past the smokers creating a cloud at the front of the building. He held his breath as he walked through them and continued across the road into the park, where the wind picked up. A homeless man was lying on one of the benches, wrapped in a blanket, with an empty plastic container tucked next to him. Michael groped in his pockets and dropped in a few coins that emitted a synthetic, hollow sound as they landed. He sat down on the next bench and used his cell to pick up his voice mail.

Nothing pressing. He looked at his watch. He had a bit of time. Have a sandwich. Then maybe talk to Althea.

• • •

ON THE LUNCH BREAK, Althea wrote Stacy a note:

“Uncle! I say uncle! No more sandwiches! I’m begging you pleeeeasee???” Then she added a phone number of Pearl Court, a restaurant in the Gerrard Street Chinatown area that delivered.

She put the post-it note on Stacy’s computer screen, and turned toward her desk so that she could call Celia.

Chuckling behind her. Mike Foster.

“Althea, you can cater my business meeting anytime.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know my taste in Chinese isn’t even more hideous than the sandwiches we were served today?” As she spoke, she glanced up at him and into his eyes, which were like faded moss and so familiar.

“I don’t. But I’m guessing you’re a barbeque and martini kind of woman.”

Althea frowned.

Foster looked away. She walked into the boardroom to get away from him and he followed. She felt as if she was being stalked.

“So are you
ready
?” Foster asked.

“Ready for what?”

“Marathon financials.” His voice had a teasing, casual quality about it that she felt was inappropriate. Althea shrugged and picked out a grilled vegetable and cheese wrap and a bottled water, sitting down at the boardroom table to eat it. Foster sat down beside her. She wanted to get out of there. She wanted to make her phone call.

“How long have you been with White Light?” Foster asked, his voice more serious. Annoyed, Althea kept her answers brief.

“Almost two years.”

“You like it?”

“Yes.”

“Great.”

“Okay guys, let’s get back to it.” Vince was back in action.

“Militant dictator,” Althea said, ignoring Foster. Vince grinned, and sat down. The rest of the participants joined them, and then Vince and Peter presented the financials.

Althea learned that Mike Foster was Exeter’s chief financial officer. Though he initially came across as casual and somewhat distracted, Althea had to admit, he knew his stuff. Once and a while he would write something on his notepad and tap it with his pen to get Stefan’s attention. As she observed him, she realized that he wasn’t distracted, his body language just appeared that way.

As he talked, Althea had a better look at him. He had a boyish face, a soft voice and a dry, quirky sense of humor. Unlike the others, he was moving all the time, subtly shifting his position in his chair. As his hands moved, she remembered where she had seen him before: at a gas station. Must have been three years ago.

• • •

THE FIRST MEETING WRAPPED up earlier than expected. Despite this, Althea was exhausted. There were more questions than answers at this point, but she knew that this was a normal part of the process. It was still before midnight in Paris, so she called Celia, who didn’t answer. She thought about emailing Ivana and decided against it. The news about Daniel returned, hot and raw.
Francis Wu
.

Later, Sophie was curious about the first meeting with Exeter.

“How did it go?”

“Intense, within the range of normal. Vince was covering it up well but he was exhausted.”

“What are they like?”

“Your regular corporate clones, blue suits and all.”

“How are you feeling about all of this. Have you thought of making a move?”

“Well, not this week, Sophie. I haven’t figured it out yet. I haven’t figured anything out.”

“You talk to your friend Celia lately?”

Althea felt like she was being interrogated. It was preferable to the sinking despondency that was barely beneath the surface. “I called her today, but she wasn’t in.” She took a sip of wine. Her chest felt as if there was a weight on it. She didn’t feel like finishing her
dinner.

“Does she know about Exeter?”

“Yes, we’ve spoken about that.” She could feel her face redden as Sophie waited. She didn’t want to talk about it, yet she felt an irresistible compulsion pluck at her chest. “That isn’t why I called her.”

“What happened?”

As her words tumbled out, she felt the despondency tugging at her, sucking her down like a vortex. She told Sophie about the email, about her suspicions about Francis Wu. Sophie’s reply startled her.

“
I knew
there was more to it,” Sophie said.

“More to what?”

“His leaving you. You’re so lucky to be rid of him.”
Why did I open my freakin’ mouth
, Althea thought.

“I don’t feel so lucky, Sophie.” Althea felt hopelessly tired and slightly indifferent, as if all of her passion and fight had been drained. It was like lying passively on the bank of the deepest, coldest, river, a river with
teeth
, terrified to fall in, yet
wanting
the licorice-black water to wash over her and fill her lungs. She waited for Sophie’s next words and she knew what was coming.

“I never thought you should be together. I didn’t like the sound of him,” Sophie said.

“I loved him.”

“He doesn’t know what the word means.”

“I think I’ll go to bed now.”

“So soon?”

“I feel something coming on.” That wasn’t true. Althea didn’t feel a cold coming on. It felt worse than that. A knife. Embedded to the hilt.

It was a relief to be away from Sophie’s penetrating gaze.

Later, she couldn’t sleep.

Just after one in the morning, she got up and turned on her computer. She logged on to the internet, and started a search. She typed: “Daniel Bellows and Bering & Associates.” Bering’s press release came up. She clicked into it and re-read it, her nose close to the screen as if the words could give her the answers that would take away her gnawing sadness.

She found an address search site, and typed “George O’Sullivan”. George’s address came up and she stared at it. She had slept with the man for almost a year and had never called him at home. George and she had made plans for dinner five times since she arrived back in Toronto and he had cancelled each time. It started to be a running joke with her. Every time she forgot about him, he’d call her, most of the time at odd hours. Their conversations would start out around business. Didn’t end up that way.

At least someone was interested.

She clicked on Search again and typed “K Wilkins.” A dozen K. Wilkins came up and second from last “K&T Wilkins.” She stared at the screen, unblinking.

She switched from the internet and opened a Word document. She stared at the words she had written in the first person, describing what it was like to be blindfolded and bound, under the full control of another. A story she had read aloud to an audience of one. She thought about the other stories she had written, stories of a universe filled with everyday magic, an unseen spirit world, and obstacles overcome. Stories that were full of tension, humor, love and hope. Buried in a box in Sophie’s basement. Kevin’s voice.

Tell me a story
.

Althea opened a new document and typed:
This story is about betrayal
. She stared at the screen and her eyes filled with tears. Althea leaned over, her face in her hands, and cried.

• • •

SOPHIE WAS DISAPPOINTED THAT Althea went to bed early. She wished they could have talked more. Althea was hurt, she knew that, but she also knew her daughter was strong, would move past it. And when she did, everything would fall into place.

She lit the incense and began her meditation, envisioning Althea’s face, imagining her pain transforming into strength, imagining her strength transforming into desire, imagining Althea’s desire increasing, acting like a magnet.

Then she went to find him.

• • •

MICHAEL LOGGED INTO THE personals site, searching for Althea’s ad. He re-read her ad and looked at her photo, which was smiling at him and toasting a martini.

There she is.

Michael recalled his brief conversation with Althea earlier that day. He had almost blown it with the barbeque and martini comment, but overall it had gone better than he had hoped. Her sense of humor was elusive, but that would come. Given time, he could always figure that out.

Michael sat with his hands on the keyboard, leaning forward, a
glass of Laphroaig beside him. As he went to print her ad, his shoulders
became very warm. He had a reiki treatment done once. The warmth now was like that, localized, growing, until his right ear burned and itched, and he rubbed it
Hello my love
, the thought came like a whisper. Exactly how he imagined psychotics heard voices.

And something else. A shuffle.

Behind you
.

Michael jerked to his feet and spun around, knocking his glass of scotch to the floor, the ice cubes scattering. His adrenaline pumped and he shifted his balance forward, ready to fight. He searched his office, on the bookshelves, behind the chair, outside the window, in the closet.

Nothing, save his imagination.

chapter 36

THE DAY AFTER THE meeting with Exeter, Althea arrived early and found Vince sitting alone in his darkened office.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“Come in for a minute.” His eyes were unreadable.