The Further Investigations of Joanne Kilbourn (42 page)

“The point is, you wouldn’t have been in that spot if you hadn’t been with me.”

“Alex, I wanted to be on the spot with you. I still do. Come over. Please. Let’s talk about this.”

“I don’t think so. When we’re together, it’s just too easy to lose sight of the facts.”

“What facts?”

“The ones we’ve been ignoring. Jo, that guy in the truck last night was not an aberration. That’s the way it is.”

“I know that’s the way it is. I just wasn’t prepared. Next time, I’ll be ready.”

“Nobody’s ever ready for it. You’re talking to an expert witness now. It doesn’t matter how many times that kind of crap happens, it’s always an ambush. And defending yourself against it changes you.”

“Alex, you’re one of the best people I know.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then he said, “And you’re one of the best people I know, but, Joanne, you don’t know what you’re getting into here. And you don’t know what you’re getting your kids into. Angus and Taylor are great kids, Jo – so confident, so sure that all the doors are open for
them and that when they walk into a room people can’t wait to welcome them. I don’t think you want that to change.”

As soon as he mentioned my children, I felt a coldness in the pit of my stomach. “It wouldn’t have to change,” I said, but even to my ears, my voice lacked conviction.

“Maybe we should step back for a while,” Alex said. “Take a look at where we’re headed.”

I should have told him that the last thing I wanted to do was step back. I should have said that the direction in which we were headed was far less important to me than the fact that we were headed there together. But those were the words of a brave woman and, once again, I came up short. “Maybe that would be best,” I said. And that was it. We told each other to take care, and we said goodbye.

I replaced the receiver slowly. My eyes were stinging. From the moment Alex had called to tell me about Reed’s death, it seemed as if everything I’d done had been wrong: I’d failed a student who’d turned to me for help. I’d pushed my best friend so hard that I lost her. I’d been fired from a job that I liked. I’d made a scene in a restaurant. Worst of all, I’d betrayed a man I cared about deeply, and now I’d lost him. When I reached for a tissue to mop my eyes, I knocked over my coffee cup, and then, because I figured I’d earned it, I swore.

“I thought there was a major penalty for using that word.” Angus was standing in the kitchen doorway. His face was swollen with sleep, and he was wearing the black silk shorts his sister, Mieka, had sent him for Valentine’s Day. He yawned. “What’s up?”

My first impulse was to protect him. Then, remembering how much he liked Alex, I decided it would be best to tell him the truth. I poured us each a glass of juice, then my son and I sat down at the kitchen table and I told him about the incident on the bridge, and that Alex and I weren’t going to be seeing each other for a while.

He was furious. “That’s totally stupid,” he said.

“I think so too,” I said, “but Alex is worried about us – not just me, but you and Taylor. Angus, has my relationship with Alex ever caused any problems for you?”

“No. Alex is a cool guy. Hey, he taught me how to drive, didn’t he? And he lets me drive his Audi.” He patted my hand. “C’mon, Mum. Lighten up. And tell Alex to lighten up. If other people are having a problem because you two are going out together, it’s their problem.”

“And Leah feels the same way you do?”

“She really likes Alex. They’re both kind of independent.”

“And no one’s ever said anything?”

He shrugged. “Some of the guys sort of wondered, but you know me, Mum. I’ve never cared what people say.”

It was true. Of my four children, Angus was the one who cared least about the opinion of others. “Inner-directed” was the term my college sociology book used to describe people like my youngest son. Ian had valued the trait more than I did. For me, Angus’s indifference to praise or punishment meant he’d been a difficult kid to raise, but Ian saw it differently. “It means,” he’d said, “that when Angus is older, he won’t be blown off course by every wind.” Ian had been right. Angus wasn’t easily blown off course. But he didn’t take after me in that, and I knew it.

I picked up our juice glasses and took them to the sink. Angus followed me over, and gave me an awkward one-armed hug. “Mum, don’t worry about other people. Do what you want to do.” He leaned forward and peered into the bowl of pancake batter on the counter beside the griddle. “Now, is this all for you? Or can I score some?”

In a few minutes, Taylor and Benny joined us for breakfast, and the conversation drifted to Samantha’s birthday party. By the time I had scraped the plates and rinsed them for the dishwasher, Taylor’s story was still crawling inexorably
towards its climax. It was a tale with tragic possibilities. The flashlight had been a hit, but Samantha kept shining it in everybody’s eyes, and she refused to relinquish it when her mother asked her to. Finally, Samantha’s mother said there’d be no cake until Samantha started behaving, and Samantha said she didn’t care. Events at the party had reached a
High Noon
standoff when our phone rang.

As I went to answer it, Taylor called out, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell any more about the party till you’re back.”

When I heard Rapti Lustig’s voice, my first thought was that somehow I was back on the political panel. Rapti was an assistant producer on Jill’s show, and usually she was unflappable, the calm at the eye of the storm, but that morning she sounded harried.

“Jo, I’m glad I got you. Listen, this is Tina in makeup’s last show before the wedding, and we’ve just decided to have a little party for her after we wrap tonight. I know it’s short notice, but we’d really like you to come.” Then she added wheedlingly, “Please. For old time’s sake.”

“Rapti, it’s only been a week.”

“Maybe,” she said, “but a lot of us here are already nostalgic for the good old days. Jill’s new man is a royal pain. Anyway, say you’ll come. Tina likes you so much, and we’re ordering from Alfredo’s. I’ll get a double order of eggplant parmesan. I remember you like it.”

I thought about Alex and about the empty evening ahead. I hated showers, but I did like Tina. “I’ll be there,” I said.

“Great,” she said. “Now, people are bringing gifts, but don’t get anything cutesy. One of the techs had a kind of neat idea. He suggested a tool box and tools. Tina and Bernie are buying that old wreck on Retallack Street. They’re going to be fixing it up themselves. What do you think of the idea?”

“I think it’s inspired,” I said. “No bride can have too many hammers.”

“We’ll see you at six then.”

“But the show starts at six.”

“That’s why it’s our best time to get everything ready so we can surprise Tina. Makeup’s through by six, so Bernie’s going to take Tina out for a drink and bring her back as soon as the show’s over. If you come early, you can help me decorate the green room and stick the food around.”

It seemed my penance was taking shape already.

Rapti was buoyant. “We’ll have fun,” she said. “We can get started on the wine. I have a feeling we’re going to have to be totally blitzed to endure Tom’s
TV
debut.”

“You don’t think he’s going to be good?”

Rapti chortled. “I have a premonition that Jill’s boyfriend is going to be a twenty-two-karat, gold-plated, unmitigated disaster.”

I was smiling when I turned back to Taylor and her narrative. “Okay,” I said. “Did Samantha back down, or did her mother have to shoot the cake?”

Our day filled itself, as Saturdays always did, with the inevitable round of lessons and practices and errands. Twice during the day I told myself I should try Kellee’s number again; both times, I drew back before I even picked up the receiver. I felt fragile, like someone whose energy has been sapped by a long illness, and I was grateful for the Saturday routine that carried me along in spite of myself. Whenever I thought of Alex and what he must be feeling, I wanted to be with him, but the best I could do was hope that his Saturday had its own pattern of mindless, sanity-saving errands.

In the afternoon, Taylor came with me when I went to Mullin’s Hardware in search of something glamorous in a tool box. Then we came home and I made chili while T sat at the kitchen table and worked on her sketches of Nanabush and the Close-Your-Eyes Dance.

After she’d been drawing for about thirty minutes, she called me over. “It’s not working,” she said. “I’m trying to make it seem real but not real, like the story. But I don’t know how to do it.” I sat down and looked at her sketch. To my eye, it was amazing. The section Taylor was working on was the one in which the hungry Nanabush tries to convince a flock of plump ducks that if they join him in a Close-Your-Eyes Dance, they’ll have the time of their lives.

“See, it’s all too real,” Taylor said. “Alex’s story wasn’t like that.”

When I looked again, I saw what she meant. “I have something that I think can help,” I said. I went into the living room and came back with a book on Marc Chagall that Taylor’s mother had given me years ago. I flipped through till I came to an illustration of the painting “Flying Over Town”; in it, a man and a woman, young and obviously in love, float above a village. The village is very real, and so, despite their ability to defy gravity, are the young couple. But the world they inhabit is not a real world; it is a world in which love and joy can carry you, weightless, above the earth. In “Flying Over Town,” Chagall had created a fantastic world that transcended physical facts; it was the same world that came to life when Alex told Nanabush stories.

Taylor leaned so close to the book that her nose was almost on the page. Finally, she said, “Nanabush and the birds don’t have to be on the ground.” Then, without missing a beat, she ripped up the sketches she’d been working on for days, and started again.

Taylor was still at the table when I left for Nationtv at 5:15. I kissed the top of her head. “Chili’s on the stove,” I said. “Angus promises to dish it up as soon as his movie’s over, and I’ll be home in time to tuck you in.”

For the first time in months, Taylor didn’t even turn a hair
when I announced I was going out for the evening. “Good,” she said absently, and she went back to her drawing. Finally, it seemed I had done something right.

It was strange to walk across the park towards Nationtv on a Saturday evening without feeling a knot of apprehension about the show, but I was grateful that there was no hurdle I had to leap that night. I’d had enough. All I wanted to do was take deep breaths and look around me. In the park, the signs of an early spring were everywhere: the breeze was gentle; the trees were already fat with buds; the air smelled of moisture and warming earth. As I walked, my mind drifted. Once I had heard a poet describe the eyes of Hawaiian men as “earth dark,” and I had thought of Alex’s eyes. When I told him, he had laughed and said I was a hopeless romantic. Maybe so, but I had still been right about his eyes.

The first person I ran into when I walked into Nationtv was Tom Kelsoe. He was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. Very hip. My first impulse was to pretend I hadn’t seen him, but if I ever wanted to reconcile with Jill, I was going to have to bite the bullet.

I smiled at him. “Break a leg,” I said.

Tom Kelsoe looked confused. “What?”

“Good luck with the show,” I explained.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. For once, his tone wasn’t rude. He seemed genuinely perplexed; somehow my presence had knocked him off balance.

“It’s personal, not professional,” I said. “There’s a party for the woman who does makeup for the show. She’s getting married.”

“I guess Jill mentioned it,” he said warily.

“Anyway,” I said, “I’m glad I ran into you. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you and Jill at the service for Reed yesterday.”

I could see the pulse in his temple beating. “Who put that display by the door together?” he asked.

“I did,” I said. “What did you think of it?”

He flinched. “It was fine.” He checked his watch. “I’d better get down to the studio.”

“Have you got another minute?” I said. “I need to ask you about Kellee Savage.”

“What about her?”

“Apparently, Reed Gallagher had a very high opinion of her work. I wondered if you shared it.”

Tom looked at me coldly. “She’s a troublemaker,” he said; then, without a syllable of elaboration, he headed for the elevators. Apparently I wasn’t the only faculty member Kellee had gone to with her charges against Val Massey.

I was the first person at the party. The green room was empty, but somebody had brought in a clear plastic sack of balloons and made an effort to arrange the furniture in a party mode. Two tables had been pulled together to hold the food and drink, and the chairs had been rearranged into conversational groupings. The effect was bizarre rather than festive. All the furniture in the green room had been cadged from defunct television shows, so there was a mix of styles that went well beyond eclectic. I was trying to take it all in when Rapti Lustig came through the door.

Rapti was an extraordinarily beautiful young woman: whip-thin, with a sweep of ebony hair, huge lustrous eyes, and a dazzling smile. But as she looked around the room, she wasn’t smiling.

“What do you think?” she said.

“I think it looks like the window of a second-hand furniture store,” I said.

Rapti made a face. “A cheesy second-hand furniture store.” She pulled a roll of tape out of her pocket and handed me a balloon. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

It didn’t take us long to get the balloons up, cover the tables with paper cloths, and set out the paper plates and glasses. Rapti had bought everything in primary colours and, despite its entrenched charmlessness, the room was soon as cheerful as a box of new crayons. At 6:00, Rapti gave the room a critical once-over, pronounced it not half bad, walked to the television set in the corner and turned on our show. When the theme music came up, and I heard the announcer’s familiar introduction, I was grateful that I was sitting in the green room with Rapti. In less than a week, I had lost my job and my man. If I’d been sitting home alone, it would have been hard not to feel my life had become a country-and-western song.