CHAPTER 29—CRUSADE

Her eyeballs darted. She tasted ore. An altar. She flailed under Jason. He rubbed her throat and wrapped his hands around her neck. He knelt on her chest, smiled and squeezed. His eyes rolled back, he screwed up his face and grunted.

She jolted awake. Blackness whirled. She rolled onto her back. Nauseating pain radiated through her body and head, terror clenched her heart. Objects began to come into focus. Chair. End table. Phone. Alarm clock. She looked at the time: 6:40. She squeezed her head. Throbbing pain pounded against her skull, a parched mouth and esophagus made her gag. She rolled off the bed and stood. Dizzy and weak, she flopped back down. She raised herself up on her elbows and stared into the darkness.

Swallowing back a rush of vomit, she reached over and switched on the bedside light. Her eyes felt swollen. Had someone beaten her up? She grabbed the phone, needing to talk to someone. Trembling, she pressed out Gordon’s phone number. An answering machine invited her to leave a message after the beep.

Suzanne cried into the phone. “Gordon. Gordon. It’s me. Suzanne. You work with me. I, uh, I need, uh. I don’t know. Help me. God . . . is the campaign—”

A loud squealing sounded as Gordon picked up his phone. He shut off the machine. “Suzanne? Hi. What’s going on?”

“Gord, is it morning or night?”

“Morning or night? It’s Friday evening, around quarter to seven.”

She guessed she had been unconscious over twenty-four hours. “Fuck. I’m in agony. I think I have brain damage.”

“What’s wrong? I’ll come over right now if you want.”

Her stomach pumped again. Hot vileness shot up. She ­swallowed it back. The instinct for survival, however feeble, overcame. He was her lifeline.

“Suzanne.”

Her thoughts started to clear. “Friday. It’s Friday? Tonight’s the first night of the campaign! Shit! Fucking shit! Jason will be reading my script!”

“Yeah. It’s finally happening. I’ll come over, right now.”

“Christ! I gotta get there! I wanna see him go down! I’ve been waiting for this, living for this!”

“We can watch it on television. Together. I’ll come over.”

“I gotta go! Meet me at ABS. It’s time to move on!”

She hung up and sprang from the bed. Vomit gushed. She covered her mouth and staggered to the toilet, thin puke and blood leaking from her hand. She heaved her stomach contents, gut pumping violently. Quivering, she wiped her mouth and spun around to find some clothes. She pulled on something black and headed for the kitchen. She gulped water from the tap.

Frantic, barely able to see straight, she charged down the hall and pounded on Wilma’s door. Suzanne could hear Wilma lower the volume on the television.

“Just a goddamn minute,” Wilma barked. Lethargic steps neared and locks were unfastened. Wilma opened the door a crack.

“Oh. YOU.” She opened the door wider and waved Suzanne in. “What the hell is the matter with you? Do you want to get yourself evicted or something?”

“No time for that. Get your coat on now!”

“Get my coat on? What the hell are you talking about? You need to sleep it off. What’s the big idea passing out in the vestibule? Me and the super had to haul your sorry ass up the stairs and dump you on your bed. You want people to start talking? Keep it up.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hurry, there’s no time to lose.” Suzanne handed Wilma her coat. “Can I borrow some toothpaste and some aspirin?” She headed for the bathroom.

“I guess so. Look, I feel pretty shitty tonight. The chemo is making me really tired. Although I look better than you right now. I don’t want to go out.”

Suzanne opened Wilma’s fridge and grabbed some bottled water. “What are you doing with bottled water?”

Wilma folded her arms. “It’s my new health regime. Try it sometime.”

Suzanne guided Wilma toward the closet by the door. “You have to come out. You’re going to be on television.”

“I’m going to be on television?” said Wilma flatly. “Right. Me and the King of Kensington. You’re nuts, you know that?”

Suzanne held Wilma’s coat for her and slid her arms inside. “You’re going to help save ABS.”

Too stunned to resist, Wilma let Suzanne bundle her up. “ABS? The place you work?”

“Yes. I need you to answer phones. On TV.” Suzanne unzipped Wilma’s boots and slipped them on her puffy extremities. “Tonight, you will be seen by millions.”

“Millions?”

“Okay, thousands. Maybe hundreds. You’re going to be a part of history.”

Wilma looked dazed. “I’m going to be on TV? I should phone someone.” She clutched her chest, her breathing shallow. “I don’t feel so hot.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. You’re doing a tremendous service for the people of Alberta.”

Suzanne opened the door for Wilma, who shuffled into the hallway. “All right, I guess. Get my purse, will you?”

“Don’t ask questions. Just do what I say and everything will be all right.” Suzanne lost her balance and crashed into the wall.

Wilma shook her head and went to retrieve her purse. “You might need a shot to keep you steady, kid,” she said, producing a mickey of rum. “I’ll keep it, just in case. Have a snort.”

Suzanne blinked at the bottle and felt the scorch of dry regret in her mouth. “No. Ugh. God, no. Let’s go. Hurry.”

In the vestibule, the Fellow leaned near the door, appearing alert and ready to flee at the first sign of trouble. He weaved in place and tried to be inconspicuous.

Suzanne nodded vigorously. “Yes. Yes. You too. Fellow.” She stretched out her hand and placed it on his shoulder. He looked ahead, but tilted his head toward her.

“Mr. Fellow. I apologize for never learning your name, but how would you like to come with us and have something to eat? Get out of the cold for a while. I’m sorry if I imposed on you the other night when I passed out. That wasn’t polite. You were very kind to share. I don’t remember. I feel very sick.”

“Are you crazy?” said Wilma. “Don’t invite the Newfie!”

He shifted his weight and shyly glanced at Suzanne. She smiled at him. “Trust me. Have some food.”

He nodded. “Okay.” He snapped up his Eskimos jacket and followed Suzanne and Wilma out the door.

They stood on the corner of Jasper and 114 Street, the winter night deep and freezing and still. Across the street, Teddy’s beckoned. The occasional car rumbled by.

Wilma began to cough and wheeze. She closed her eyes. “I don’t feel so hot.”

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do.” Suzanne gathered them in a huddle, addressing them like a coach. “No waiting for a bus tonight. Let’s hail a cab.”

“A cab?” said Wilma. “Nobody just ‘hails’ cabs. How long have you lived in Edmonton?”

Suzanne nodded. “Right. Okay. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

She left her charges on the street corner and rushed into Pharmasave. She hurried toward the prescriptions counter, bellowing. “Manny. Manny, buddy! Could you please call for a taxi?”

Manny and Sabrina were quietly preparing orders. He raised his head from the pill bottles. Suzanne leaned over the prescriptions counter. Manny scowled. “What do you want?”

“I need a cab. Now. Please help.”

Sabrina rolled her eyes. Manny stopped what he was doing. “Do I look like a . . . taxi guy whatchamacallit dispatcher? Use the pay phone!”

“Please. It’s an emergency. I’ll be outside.”

He looked at the rash around her eyes and couldn’t ignore her agitation. Her mouth hung open. He sighed and nodded at Sabrina. “Would you mind calling Miss Suzanne a cab?”

“Thanks, Manny. You’re a lifesaver.”

As Suzanne hurried away, he called after her. “Stop doing what you’re doing to yourself. I’m tired of it. And you’ll be dead.”

Wilma and Mr. Fellow hadn’t budged from the street corner. Under the street light they looked almost romantic together, their icy breath a conduit.

“Okay, I had the pharmacy call a cab for us,” said Suzanne, “everything’s under control.”

“Why are we standing out here?” asked Wilma. “Let’s go inside for Christ’s sake and warm up.”

“No time. No time.”

The humane sight of a glowing taxi sign approached.

“That’s us, gang.” Suzanne walked into traffic and waved her arms. A car swerved to avoid her. The cab screeched and pulled over. Wilma and Mr. Fellow climbed in the back while Suzanne slid in beside the driver.

“That wasn’t too smart,” he said, “you coulda got killed.”

“The Alberta Broadcasting System, please.”

“Out on Stony Plain and nowhere?”

“That’s the place.” Suzanne pulled out a bottle of water, a toothbrush and toothpaste from her coat pocket. “Don’t mind me, sir, I’ll be careful.” She quickly brushed her teeth.

The cab driver grimaced. “Hey! Don’t gob on anything.”

She scraped her tongue, rolled down the window, leaned out and spat. “Better.”

“I can still smell the booze on you,” he said.

She was about to retort but kept quiet. She knew the smell of her slow death hung in the air.