Chapter Thirty-Six
For the first time in a while, Dame found herself walking into Lath & Plaster, a dimly lit, well-stocked hole in the wall where no one would bother her. She ordered a shot of mezcal and sat down at the bar. The air was a comforting stink of old beer and — despite a decade of anti-smoking regulations — old cigarettes. Behind the liquor bottles, a warped antique mirror reflected her image. She held up her glass to the strange Dame. Here’s looking at you, kid.
As the bartender poured her another, she turned her attention to the flat screen mounted on the wall. CP24 was cycling through the news, the banner near the bottom of the screen boiling it down into digestible bites: “Trudeau Picks His New Cabinet.” “A Mass Shooting in Colorado Springs.” “Kansas City Takes the World Series Lead.”
“You want to start a tab?” the bartender asked.
Dame shook her head. “Think I’m going to head out after this one.”
But as she put the glass to her lips, something orange flickered on the screen. She put the drink back down on the bar and slid off the stool. On the television, lights flashed and a powerful jet of water arched through the sky. She took a step closer. A moment later, the scrolling chyron confirmed what Dame was already seeing. The Atkinson Theatre was on fire.
She looked back at the bartender. “Maybe I’ll start that tab after all.”
Dame had been knocking for a full minute when Gus finally opened the door. His hair was wet and dark, and he was only wearing a towel.
“Well, that explains why you wouldn’t answer my texts.” Dame pushed past him into the apartment. “God, who has a shower at” — she checked her watch — “one o’clock in the morning?”
“Shift workers.” Gus closed the door. “My sleep schedule’s still messed up.”
“Well, that works out well for me.” She stepped closer to him and hooked a finger where the towel cinched at his waist. “You’re all nice and clean.”
“So, let me guess,” he said. “You just happened to be in the neighbourhood.”
Dame shook her head and pulled him toward her. “I was nowhere near your neighbourhood.” She kissed him on the mouth. “In fact, I came from a completely different neighbourhood.”
The firefighter smiled. “Was there a bar in this completely different neighbourhood?”
Dame wrinkled her nose. “Obviously. There’s a bar in every completely different neighbourhood.”
She tried to kiss him again, but he stopped her.
“Hey, just — hold on. Is everything okay?”
“Well, let’s see” — Dame stumbled back a step and counted out her trouble on three fingers — “my friend’s in the hospital. The Atkinson Theatre burned down. And I’m too afraid to sleep in my own apartment tonight. So, no. Everything is decidedly not okay.”
“Wait. Who’s in the hospital? And why are you —”
She put a finger to his mouth. “Long, long story.” Dame walked past him into the living room. There was a crumpled pack of Dominions on the coffee table. “You smoking inside again? Smells like smoke in here.”
“Could I make you some tea?” Gus moved into the kitchen and took a mug out of the cupboard. “I’ve got orange pekoe, Earl Grey, and that stuff with the tiger on the box.”
Dame walked over to him. She took the cup out of his hand and put it on the counter. “I don’t really want any tea right now.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Could you at least tell me what happened?”
“I don’t really want to talk right now, either.” She took his hand and led him to the bedroom.
Dame woke up the next morning breathing the salt and smoke of the firefighter’s skin. The first grey efforts of dawn were breaking through the window, and in the pale light she could make out the strange, corrugated flesh of his shoulder. She resisted the urge to reach out and smooth it with her fingers. For a moment, she let herself think of Jamie Carnegie. But just for a moment.
She sat up and fumbled for a glass of water on the nightstand. The full hangover hadn’t arrived quite yet, but it was definitely in the mail.
Gus shifted under the blankets, and then turned over to face her. He squinted at the glowing alarm clock. “It’s still early.”
“I know.” She kept her voice morning-quiet. “But I should get going.”
“Are you sure?” He sat up beside her.
“There’s a couple of things I need to do before work.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. In the sunless gloom, she realized just how naked she was.
“I thought maybe we could go get some breakfast,” Gus said. “There’s this place on Richmond that makes really good eggs Benedict.”
“Sorry.” She gathered up her underwear and T-shirt from the floor. “Going to have to take a rain check.”
“You’ve said that before.”
She kissed him on the cheek and left the room.
The overhead lights in the small, windowless bathroom seemed impossibly bright and she squinted at herself in the mirror. She looked pale, and the slow thump in her brain was already starting to pick up speed. Dame washed her face and squirted some of Gus’s toothpaste on her finger.
“Could I at least make you something to eat?” he said through the door.
She spat into the sink. “I’m good.”
“I’ve got granola, grapefruit, toast. I think I might’ve missed the window on this avocado …”
Dame shimmied into her jeans, clipped her bra behind her back, and pulled her T-shirt over her head. When she left the bathroom, Gus was puttering around the kitchen in his underwear. He had the kettle going and was opening a bag of bread.
“I’m not really hungry. But thanks, though.” She looked at her phone. “Shoot. I should get going.”
“Is this —” Gus started. “Is this all there is?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, is this all you want? Because I thought maybe this was going to be — I don’t know — something more. But whenever we’re together it seems like you’ve got somewhere else you’d rather be.”
Dame frowned. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Look” — Gus sighed — “I know you’ve got some baggage. I’ve got baggage, too. I thought that’s why this might work.”
“Could we maybe talk about this later? Now’s not really the best time.”
“Okay. Sure.” Gus nodded his head, but he wouldn’t meet her eye.
Dame’s brain was pounding by the time she started down O’Hara, and the Advil she’d swiped from Gus’s medicine cabinet wasn’t doing whatever good it was supposed to do. When she got to her place, she walked up the front steps and opened the door. Sooner or later, Ray was going to have to change these locks. She wondered if she’d still be living here by the time he did it.
“Hello?” she called out.
There was no answer, but it didn’t make her feel any better. She stepped into the front hall. Lewis’s blood had dried in small, dark continents on the hardwood.
In the morning quiet, she surveyed the violence. Her shabby credenza — the one she’d bought with Adam when they’d first moved in together — was turned over, one of its legs snapped and splintered. All over the floor, books lay with their covers open like wounded birds. Dame picked up Aki’s copy of Wuthering Heights and dusted it off. She put it back on top of the bookshelf.
Surprisingly, the kitchen wasn’t in bad shape. There were a few broken cups and dishes, but with all the fragile things in the cupboards, Dame figured it could’ve been a lot worse. But then, as she crossed the linoleum, she accidentally kicked something with her toe and sent it skittering.
She picked up a small shard of orange ceramic. “They got you, too, huh?”
The little tiger had been smashed open, its body in pieces across the floor. Dame picked up a few of the fragments and set them on the kitchen table.
The back porch was a disaster. In the pile of debris that carpeted the little room, the first thing that caught her eye was her wedding album. It was hideous — all white leather and rose gold inlay. Adam’s mother had given it to them as a gift, but somehow, Dame had become its caretaker. Some of the photos had already slipped loose and Dame gathered them up and shoved them back between the covers. She caught a glimpse of her bridal party: Adam cinched up in his tux, the white circus of her wedding dress. Meera and Lewis, just recently married themselves. Six young, optimistic people, dressed in clothes they’d never wear again, caught in a conversation that never really happened. The moment was so acutely invented.
And there was Rachel. Even in the unflattering bridesmaid’s dress, her old friend couldn’t help but look beautiful. All smiles. The youngest of their gang. Had she wanted Adam even then? Had Adam wanted her?
Half an hour before the ceremony, Rachel had held back her hair while Dame tried not to puke on her wedding dress.
It’s just nerves, Dame said after, touching up her lipstick in the bathroom mirror.
You sure about that? Rachel said. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes —
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
God, I’m so jealous. Rachel offered her a piece of gum. I so want what you have.
Dame hurled the book across the room.