I’d been driven from one life to another so many times, never knowing where I was headed or who I’d end up with, but when I moved in with Guy the leaving was different.
I sat on the steps of my apartment block, two suitcases stacked next to me. It was a chilly morning, frost on the grass, trees in early bud, gritty swathes of sand the only remnant of winter. The perfect time to make a new start. I’d simply shed my old life and take on the new dream life. The thought of it pulsed through me like a drug. Sex and luxury and money had all become tied up with Guy. He’d slipped into my addiction and become the ultra dealer. The more I saw him, the more I craved him. And he wasn’t like the other losers. No agonizing wait for texts or phone calls. No sign of commitment phobia and broken promises. No hidden monster just waiting to leap out and show his true colors when we were alone.
Not yet.
When Guy’s car pulled up, the sun slid out from behind a cloud and I squinted my eyes against the light. The outline of his car seemed edged in rainbow flecks. A magic chariot driven by a mythical prince. I stood up waving like a kid, until I remembered to press my arms to my sides and curl my hands into fists. Eagerness could be a dangerous trait. I’d learned long ago that my best defense was to appear detached and aloof. That way you didn’t have so far to fall.
Guy wore a snowy, white shirt under a tan leather jacket. Mr. GQ. Crisp and well groomed from his designer jeans to his pale buff leather shoes and well-cut hair. The prince had chosen me. I could barely contain myself as he got out of the car. If only Birdie could see this, I thought to myself over and over, but I vowed he’d never know anything about my past. Or about Birdie and all the other hidden stuff.
“I would’ve carried these out for you,” he said, reaching for the cases.
“Didn’t want you to see the dump I was living in. You might’ve changed your mind if you’d seen the state of the fridge. It’s like a biology experiment.”
“I try not to stand in judgment,” he said, lifting the trunk cover.
I tapped his shoulder. “You should know I’m allergic to housework.”
“No worries. I have a cleaning service coming in once a week.”
“I’ll make an effort, I promise,” I said, trying not to remember the harsh, gray mornings at Luke and Esther Penner’s home. The hours spent, head down, knees aching, bladder full, scrubbing the bathroom floor with a sponge that left big soapy puddles that wouldn’t be soaked up. Esther standing above me, chewing her thin lips and tapping her feet on the linoleum.
“You’re so earnest,” Guy said, smiling as he held the passenger door open and feigned a mock bow. “Lighten up and have some fun.”
A sob caught in my throat. Birdie always said that to me.
I could’ve crumpled up in tears, but instead I nestled into the soft leather seat, ready to be properly taken care of for the first time in my life. My eyes were fixed on the road ahead. I wouldn’t look back at my old life. Ever. Now was all that mattered.
Once the car pulled away from the curb, Guy reached his hand across the seat and took my hand in his.
“Happy?” he asked.
I nodded. I wasn’t lying this time. I really meant it. “But it’s all happened so fast. Maybe too fast?” I glanced up at him, trying to catch some weird flicker of malice, some lying twitch of his eyes. But it was too late for second thoughts. I was already homeless.
“You have to grab happiness when it comes along. Don’t deliberate too much. If it feels good, go with it.”
“Is that what you tell all your girlfriends?”
“I haven’t had that many,” he said, an edge creeping into his voice. My insides scrunched a little. “You’ll soon discover I’m not that kind of guy.”
The sun etched his profile in gold. I hadn’t realized how handsome he really was. “Then what kind of guy are you?”
“I can be impulsive.” He turned and smiled a closed mouth kind of smile. “But don’t worry. I don’t go asking every girl I meet to move in with me.”
“You mean there isn’t a secret drawer full of toothbrushes and tampons for last minute overnight stays?”
He shook his head, still grinning. “Promise. Check my dresser.”
“Why me, then?”
“I have this feeling about you. You looked at me like you really wanted me and I like that.”
If only he knew the truth, I thought, staring so hard at his profile it blurred against the passing trees.
He placed my suitcases just inside the front door of the condo. Against the gleaming woodwork and furniture, they appeared cheap and shabby. I had the strongest feeling they’d be put away in a closet and never opened. That the next time I checked they’d have mysteriously disappeared. That I had to shake off every bit of my old life to become part of his.
He took my hand and pulled me towards the bathroom. I’d never showered in anything more luxurious than a plain, white tub shower with a plastic curtain, so Guy’s bathroom was a revelation. A haven of oyster-colored marble with a glassed-in shower complete with dual rain showerheads and a massive jetted tub lined with jewel-colored bottles.
He ran a bath, undressed me and once I was immersed in the scented water, he soaped my body down from head to toe and gently washed my hair, kneading at my scalp with expert fingers. I lay back as if receiving a ritual baptism. I’d never felt such gentleness – had no memory of anyone touching me so tenderly, even as a child.
Once my hair was rinsed, I opened my eyes. He was watching me. Suddenly I felt too naked and vulnerable. I tensed up and hugged my knees to my chest.
“You can trust me,” he said. “I’m a gentle person.”
I slid down into the bubbles. “That’s rare in my experience.”
“Mine too,” he said, the corners of his lips drooping slightly. I realized then how little we knew about each other. How easily I’d assumed he’d lived a carefree life.
He rubbed me down with a towel that felt weightless as a carpet of feathers. Once I was warm and tingly, he led me into the bedroom.
“A surprise for you,” he said, pointing at the bed. “Think of this as a welcome gift.”
The bed was covered with boxes and bags from stores I’d looked at from the outside but never set foot in. The ones with bored-looking security guards in navy blazers stationed at the door. Lingerie, cashmere sweaters, silk camisoles and crisp cotton shirts. Pants, skirts, dresses, a pair of tan leather boots and finally a glorious coat in soft camel wool. My hands trembled as I sorted through the pile. There were no sale stickers, no red clearance tags. I could barely imagine what he’d paid for them. I clutched the coat to my face and tears filled my eyes though I tried to hold them back.
“You said you liked to shop. Well so do I.” He watched me closely, chewing his bottom lip.
“I can’t accept all this. It’s too much.” But I was lying. An army of bodybuilders couldn’t have pried these gorgeous garments from my clutches.
He placed his hands on my shoulders. “I loved buying these things for you. Just indulge me. Put the coat on. See if I guessed your size right.”
The coat slid on like a second skin, its slippery satin lining chilling my body.
“It’s perfect,” I said, tying the belt and twirling around. “I love it.” I threw my arms round his neck and nuzzled into the citrusy scent of his neck.
“You’ll always be safe here,” he whispered as the coat slipped from my shoulders.
At first, going back to work was like crossing from heaven to hell. Mornings in the condo I’d struggle from warm, silky sheets into the glorious shower. Guy’s citrusy cologne combined with the bitter tang of espresso carried me through into the muted lighting of the kitchen and the view of the waking city with its blinking streetlights under a gray dawn sky.
We’d sip coffee, nibble on fresh fruit, bagels and smoked salmon and chat about work. He loved my stories about the kids and the crazy things they wrote in their journals. Made me promise to bring a couple home so we could look at them together. Then I’d head off from the underground parking lot past the renovated warehouses, chic artisan bakeries and brew houses, until I crossed an invisible line into grim streets lined with tenements, laundromats, pawnbrokers and beer stores, which led to the school whose corridors lingered with the stink of mildew and damp paper.
The first morning after I moved in with Guy, Sabrina zoned in on me, her eyes all over the camel coat. I’d taken care not to use all of the new clothes, but I couldn’t resist the cozy comfort of the coat on a chilly spring morning.
“That looks like it’s worth more than my month’s rent,” she said, her hand lingering over the fine wool. “You found a sugar daddy or – no…” Her hand flew to her mouth. “The prof’s buying favors. Don’t tell me.”
I pushed past her. “I won’t.”
“You can’t hide it for long,” she said, touching the side of her nose. “I have that sixth sense. Remember.”
By now her shrill voice had lured Robin from his dingy, book-cluttered lair. He stood, red-rimmed eyes blinking as if he’d just blown in from an all-night party, his wispy hair still flattened from crashing on some bug-ridden sofa.
“Did I miss something?” he said, scratching his left armpit.
“Anna’s become a kept woman,” said Sabrina.
“Bullshit,” I hissed and left them both standing, open-mouthed at the swish of satin lining and the click of my tan leather boots on the asbestos tiles.
We’d just had an influx of new students that week. A group of seventeen-year-olds who spent their nights turning tricks on the downtown riverside. They sat at the back of the class, their faces vampire white, their bleary eyes edged with smudgy black liner. The hems of their dusty black trench coats brushed the floor and each sported crazy manga style mops of hair dyed to inky blue-black. Two of them had silver and brass rings piercing their ears, while the other two wore eye shadow and blood red lipstick. Like weirdly beautiful Pierrot dolls, they sat glowering beneath their mantle of hostile silence. The other students had turned away as if they didn’t exist. Evidence, from my experience, that the new kids had viciously staked out their territory, establishing a no-go zone around themselves before I’d even entered the class.
“Morning everyone,” I said, throwing my coat onto the chair to reveal the glistening lining.
“You win the lottery or something, Anna?” said Hailey, a blonde girl with a half-shaved head.
“Just a gift,” I said, piling the daily journals into my arms.
I handed them over to Clarence, a pudgy guy with a red Afro.
“Great gift,” he said, distributing them to the class. “Some dude must really be into you.”
“Or maybe it comes at a high price,” said Viola, a muscular girl with a buzz cut and a broad smile.
“Okay. Enough speculation about my private life. Let’s welcome our new students,” I said, glancing over at the back of the classroom. “Would you guys like to introduce yourselves to the rest of the class?”
My request was met with pursed lips, scowls and shaking heads.
“Okay,” I backtracked. “Maybe when you’re feeling more comfortable we can try. In the meantime, we’ll do our daily journal writing and follow up with novel study groups.”
It took a while to convince the newcomers that I’d scan their journals but wouldn’t comment on any of the content, so they were free to write about anything they wanted without stopping to think too hard or censoring themselves.
“The idea is to fight your inner editor and tap into your most original, unfiltered ideas.”
“Does that mean we can write any swear words we like?” asked Dane, the guy with the most hardware on his ears. The other three covered their mouths and tried not to snicker. Obviously they thought laughing was uncool.
“I said anything and I meant it,” I repeated.
They grasped the glossy scribblers and pens as if they hadn’t been given anything new in years and immersed themselves in the task for the next half hour, stopping every now and again to suck the end of their pens and conjure up images from their young lives they thought I could barely imagine.
At three thirty I slipped out of the school, keen to avoid another grilling from Sabrina and not ready to tell Daphne about my change of address. I didn’t want the whole world to know about my new living arrangements until I was sure living with Guy was more than a temporary stopover. I’d had too many of those in my life. Flying under the radar was my style anyway. Low-key. Proffer the least possible amount of personal information and don’t confide in anyone. I’d learned this from an early age. Birdie was my only confidante. I’d never had a best friend to pour my heart out to.
Not that I didn’t socialize. I’d gotten into the habit of going out for drinks with Sabrina and her buddies at least once or twice a month. But a noisy bar or nightclub is no place for sharing intimacies when there’s electronic music pounding out at a thousand decibels and everyone yakking so loud you can’t hear yourself think. That kind of setting suited me just fine. Besides, I’d learned during my university days that nobody really listens to each other anyway. They’re just waiting for a lull in the conversation. The moment when you stop filling them in on your boring life and basically shut up so they can jump in and talk about themselves.
That’s why most people gravitate to the good listeners, the empathetic people who nod and sigh and shake their heads at just the right time. At college I’d become popular without anyone realizing I wasn’t actually listening to them. That all the time they were pouring out their innermost secrets, I had a whole other dialogue going on in my head.
Perhaps that’s a testament to human superficiality. Because when all is said and done, we’re alone. No matter where we are or who we’re with. We come into the world alone and leave it the same way, only I didn’t. I came in with Birdie right behind me.
I thought I’d be with her until the end, but it didn’t happen that way.
I’d found out that one of my new students, Dane, was living at the group home where Birdie and I were sent after the Penners’. Now I’d moved to Guy’s it was on my driving route home, so I drove there and pulled up to a stop on the narrow street, shaded by its arch of ancient elm trees. The house was a three-story brick structure, its front porch cluttered with broken bicycles, spider plants, boxes and an ancient refrigerator. Though spring buds were sprouting on the two lilac bushes by the front steps and the front lawn was freshly mowed, the house had seen better days. Someone had tried to scrub graffiti off the walls and abandoned the task halfway, two broken front windows were wrapped in dingy plastic sheeting and propped against the sidewall and the rusty metal gate hung off one hinge.
I sat back in the car, watching skinny, hunched kids come and go through the battered front door. I knew what it was like to be one of them. Tired, permanently hungry and pissed off. Our room had been on the top floor. I looked up at the tiny window and remembered gazing down onto the street on frigid winter mornings before school, my eyes sore and dry, nausea twisting my gut because Birdie had jerked around the bed all night drifting from one nightmare into the next.
Birdie and I landed up there after the Penners because there was no suitable foster placement available for two siblings. At nine we were much younger than the twelve- to seventeen-year-olds living there. But we were soon lost in the cloying disorder of the place, supervised by a succession of nervous twenty-one-year-olds who spent more time on the phone talking to friends rather than to us. But despite the nuisance of hair pulling, mild bullying and petty thievery it was still preferable to Luke and Esther Penners’ frigid charity. Birdie and I enjoyed our roles as the unofficial mascots of the place. We were petted, cossetted and fought over by neurotic teens who pinched or slapped us one minute, then hugged and cuddled us the next. We grew tough there and learned more than a few survival tricks.
Birdie recovered some of her perkiness when she discovered it worked like a charm with the other kids. She became the cute little performer and I her sulky sidekick, lurking in her shadow, lank hair hiding my face, lips drooping at the corners in a permanent huff. One of the older workers had grown-up kids who’d left home so she took a real shine to Birdie. She brought a massive bag of clothes for her. Some were dated from the late seventies and early eighties. Lots of plaid and neon pink and green, but Birdie didn’t care. She wore a different outfit every day. Danced and sang and kept up my flagging spirits with her endless energy.
Be pretty, twirl your skirts and pull a silly face. Hop around on one leg and play silly monkey tricks. That’s how she collected pockets full of Bazooka gum, licorice and sour peaches. We went to bed sucking on Ring Pops, Tootsie Rolls and red licorice. No wonder I had a mouth full of cavities when I got to university.
I shuddered at the thought and pulled away before Dane showed up. Didn’t want him to think I was stalking him. I just had this sudden urge to revisit places I’d been with Birdie. It seemed odd that since meeting Guy, the past was seeping into my consciousness like water through cracks in a wall. And I thought I’d barricaded my emotions in so tight that nobody could touch them, which put me in a cold sweat. I’d lost touch with those feelings long ago. They hurt too much.
Guy taught at the university two nights a week, so when I got back to the apartment, it was empty. I shucked off my clothes at the door and wandered round the place in my underwear. Pressed my body against the rough honey-colored brick wall, lay my cheek and breasts across the cool granite counter top, traced fingertips down the length of the stainless-steel fridge, threw myself onto the pale leather sectional and rolled onto the white fur rug where I made snow angel movements and looked up at the chrome chandelier. Then I pulled myself up and padded to the bathroom for a long, hot bath.
I didn’t feel fit for Guy’s place until I’d washed off the dirt from school.
Finally, I stood in the bedroom looking at myself in the lavender lace bra and panties Guy had bought me. It occurred to me that he was a very trusting man to leave me here with all his things. That’s when I went to his bedside table and slid the drawer open. Maybe I’d learn something about him from his personal stuff. Some quirk or weird habit or obsession. But the top drawer was filled with briefs and boxers. All neutral colors. Arranged in neat little rolls. Opening the drawer had shifted the rows so I tried to get them back in perfect order. The bottom drawer was filled with socks in the same arrangement. The chest of drawers revealed the same story. Sweatpants, T-shirts, shorts, gloves, each with their own exclusive drawer. All in pristine order.
So he was anally obsessive. I liked that about him. I’d lived among chaos and disarray for far too much of my life. I could actually breathe in a tidy place like this.
I decided to leave the closet for another day since I was starving. Throwing on my robe, I poured myself a glass of chilled Pinot and arranged a plate of olives, Reggiano cheese, Prosciutto, cantaloupe and focaccia. I was just about to set it in front of the TV when the phone rang. I lunged for it hoping to hear Guy tell me he’d missed me all day.
“Hello.”
“Who is this?” said a voice that sounded like Guy’s but deeper.
“Anna.”
“You Guy’s cleaner?”
“Not exactly.”
“This is Gord, Guy’s father. Tell him I called, Mandy. Oh – and tell him to call me ASAP.”
The phone clicked, leaving the dial tone purring in my ear. Who actually says ASAP? And gets my name wrong immediately after hearing it? It hadn’t even phased him that I was a stranger, alone in Guy’s apartment. Maybe there’d been many women here. But then I’d had other boyfriends too. Hey, who was I to have a double standard? Then it occurred to me that everything had happened so quickly I hadn’t even thought about Guy’s family. I hadn’t been a part of a normal family life for years. In fact, I was so used to being alone I assumed everyone else was free of all ties like me. There was nobody left in the world that gave a damn about me. Dennis was long gone and Birdie was lost.
I was sure Guy’s hand trembled when I told him his father called. He slung his briefcase down and poured a large glass of wine. When he sat on the sofa, he glared at the crushed rug that still bore the evidence of my snow angel antics. His brow knit for a brief moment.
“He asked if I was the cleaner.”
“Sorry he can be a bit undiplomatic at times,” he said, gulping down the Pinot and wiping a hand across his mouth.
“You mean he’s a dick?”
“Whoah!” He frowned and smiled at the same time. “I get on with him well enough but he has his flaws.”
“Doesn’t everyone? Do you see him much?”
He leaned an elbow on the sofa arm and propped his head on his hand to direct a weary expression my way. “Okay. Since we’re living together, I guess you should know something about my parents.”
A slight fluttering of panic whirred in my ears, a hangover from childhood and too many foster homes that seemed perfect the first few days but then the world tilted and turned upside down and they became scary, nightmare places once the doors were closed, the curtains drawn and the social workers safely back in their offices.
Guy reached over, touched my hand and laughed. “I scared you. It’s nothing bad. It’s just that we’re more than a family, we’re a business as well.”
“Like one of those soap operas,” I said, thinking of last year when I’d sworn off guys and gotten into the habit of binge-watching The Young and the Restless. “The overbearing patriarch or matriarch and the gaggle of beautiful but parasitic children fighting for Daddy’s attention and a share of the family fortune.”
I regretted the words as soon as I’d uttered them. He almost choked on his wine.
“You’re so brutally honest. That’s why I like you so much,” he said, stroking my arm. “Dad – or Gord as he likes me to address him – is the prolific author of multiple textbooks on educational methodology, now standard reading in university faculties all over the world. He’s a consultant to government and business, a keynote speaker with a year-long waiting list, and now he’s developed a series of remedial software that’s taken off beyond his wildest dreams. In other words, he’s a driving force in the field of education.”
“And you’re following in his footsteps?”
“I’m the heir apparent.”
“You like that?”
He sat back and surveyed the glossy room with its designer lighting and polished surfaces. “I like this,” he said with emphasis. “You don’t get this on a prof’s salary.”
“He wants you to call him. He said ASAP.”
He plunked the wine glass on the table, spilling a little over the side. “Guess I’d better do that then.”
I could hear the low murmur of his voice from the bedroom where he’d taken the phone. It was strange he hadn’t talked about his mom. I made a point to ask him about her. ASAP. His dad, Gord, had talked in clipped tones as if reading the contents of a memo. Suddenly, I was sober. The heady buzz of the wine had receded into a dull headache and I remembered I had to be up early for a staff meeting the next day.
On the way to the bedroom I stopped at the windows and looked down at the city spread out below, twinkling like a field of stars. Beyond the magic of brightly lit shopping areas and glossy skyscrapers was the black gleam of the Mississippi River, snaking its way round shadowy, deserted banks and side streets where faceless men in dark cars cruised back and forth preying on the young and lost and vulnerable who’d trade their bodies for money.
Shivering, I went into the bedroom where Guy had fallen asleep, the phone still clutched in his hand. I covered him with a blanket and tucked myself in beside him, trying hard to forget the sick sense of fear that always crept in with memories of the past.