[ five ]

Sebastian felt chuffed. Twitter was effusive with praise. Tweet after tweet loved him. Just one week in the anchor chair and he owned it.

@newswench You’re a natural. So relaxed and smart. Easy on the eyes too.

@stompin’dave Garrison who? Here & Now has found its new anchor.

@cbcfan The king is dead. Long live King Sebastian.

“Ten seconds,” said the director in Sebastian’s ear.

So much exultation, so little time to scroll. The business of reading the news kept getting in the way. Sebastian sat upright and hid his phone. Camera two’s red light came on. He delivered clarity and calm.

They are women who have done bad, but now are trying to do good.

Inmates at the Women’s Correctional Centre are knitting teddy bears for children traumatized by natural disasters.

The program is called Teddies for Tragedies.

Here & Now’s Janice Stone went behind bars to report on these special gifts.

The clicking of needles filled Sebastian’s earpiece. The monitor showed hands knitting a teddy bear’s ear. Janice’s voice sailed over the video.

She once stabbed a man with a knitting needle. That got her jail time.

Stabbing a ball of wool makes the time pass.

She does so much knitting that she has a nickname—Purl, as in purl stitch.

“I bet they have great stitch-and-bitch sessions,” said Sebastian to his co-host. Samantha Cormier laughed.

Purl was on camera. “These kids have nothing. I can knit them a toy. Making kids happy makes me feel better about myself.”

Photos of shoeless children hugging teddy bears drifted through the monitor. Both bears and kids had smiley faces.

They live in Peru, Bangladesh, Sudan—wherever misery lives.

“The justice minister is such a hypocrite,” said Sebastian. “If we want to do a story about drugs in prison, overcrowding, prisoners shanking prisoners, we can’t get anywhere near an inmate. Privacy concerns, my ass. Somebody knits Winnie the Pooh, and they’re pushing the cons toward the camera. We should tell the justice minister to go shove it sometimes.”

Samantha checked her watch. “Just ten minutes since your last rant. Could we have a rule, please, that you’re limited to just one rant per newscast?”

“You’re gagging my creativity. It’s your loss.”

Sebastian texted Janice.

Nice story. I’m free tonight. You?

He was in the mood for a tryst. His phone vibrated.

Yes. You bring the Chianti. I’ll bring the garter…stitch.

“Here we go,” said the director. “Outcue is Lakehead Prison.”

Janice Stone, CBC News, Lakehead Prison.

Sebastian moseyed into the bumper, the teaser before commercials which promotes what’s ahead on Here & Now.

After the break, we’ll see who’s celebrating a special day. Your birthdays and anniversaries are next.

Long-retired reporters had christened birthdays and anniversaries as The Happy Happies. The impish derision passed from generation to generation. The ride to the end of the show would be a coast. The Happy Happies were already on tape.

“The Happy Happies are Pablum,” said Sebastian. “When will we kill them?”

“When you’re eating Pablum,” said Samantha.

The commercials babbled on. It was a convenient time to razz. Sebastian pressed the intercom button to the control room. “Hey Roddy, need any help getting The Happy Happies to air.”

“I’m good,” said the voice in Sebastian’s ear. “But if I ever need a megalomaniac with a potty mouth, you’re first on the list.”

“Roddy, a trained monkey could do your job.” Sebastian slapped the desk. “Space bar.”

Tapping the space bar on Roddy’s properly-coded computer would indeed roll The Happy Happies. But that code and the hundreds of others which synchronized cameras, microphones, lights, graphics and anchors with the live and taped reports took four hours of Roddy’s time.

“It only takes one hand to eat a banana,” said Roddy. “Try not to slip on the peel. You’ve fallen on your ass enough today.”

The Happy Happies rolled the moment the commercials finished.

“Space bar,” said Sebastian to his pre-recorded self.

Bring on the cake. Bertha MacDonald turned ninety-four yesterday. Bill and Edna Conley celebrate their sixty-first anniversary on Saturday.

“Which one is Bill and which one is Edna?” asked Sebastian. “Why do old couples look like each other?”

Ralph and Blanche Hayward celebrated their fifty-seventh wedding anniversary on Tuesday.

The photo showed an effervescent Blanche and a forlorn Ralph.

“Couldn’t even muster a smile,” said Sebastian. “He’s a broken man. That’s what 57 years with the same woman does to you.”

“You think she’s happy being married to a sourpuss,” said Samantha. “Women are just better actors.”

Sebastian’s taped voice trudged through an interminable list. The Happy Happies always devoured the last block of the show. Sebastian fired up the Angry Birds app on his iPhone.

Coleen… Colene… JesusH. Christ…Collena Snowisninety-eighttoday.

Sebastian dropped his phone; his eyes crashed-landed on the monitor. They saw a photo of a bubbly Collena Snow, but Sebastian’s taped voice no longer glorified her longevity.

God damn it.

“Roddy, it’s the wrong tape,” Sebastian screamed into the intercom.

I’ve got to do the whole fucking thing over.

“RODDY.”

The screen went black.

“What was that?” Samantha’s face blended shock and disgust.

“Somebody fucked up,” bellowed Sebastian.

Sebastian imagined bedlam in the control room. Likely harried intercom snippets between Roddy and the media centre, trying to figure out what the hell happened and what to do about it.

Five seconds of black.

Ten seconds of black.

Fifteen seconds of black.

“We’ve got to do them live,” said Roddy. “Apologize, then go.”

Sebastian sat ramrod. The list of birthdays and anniversaries rolled up the teleprompter. The monitor dissolved out of black to the studio.

Obviously, we’re having some technical difficulties and we apologize, especially to Mrs. Snow. Sebastian sounded uncharacteristically contrite. We’ll start over.

Take two. Bertha MacDonald and her birthday cake materialized on the screen. Sebastian couldn’t shake the tension out of his voice until after Collena Snow’s birthday. Three minutes and thirty seconds of special days, punctuated with off camera dabs to his forehead. Sebastian reappeared on camera with just twenty seconds left in the show.

Once again, I’d like to apologize for the unacceptable language you heard earlier in our newscast. We’re truly sorry. Goodnight and have a safe weekend.

Samantha’s eyes stayed glued to her laptop during the closing wide shot. No benign chitchat or orthodontic smiles between the co-hosts as the Here & Now theme played. Sebastian shuffled his scripts. Ten agonizing seconds to seven o’clock. The instant the screen faded to black Sebastian tore off his microphone, flung it over the desk and stormed upstairs.

“Not my fault,” snarled Sebastian as he blew into Evan’s office. Evan’s elbows rested on his desk, his hands in the praying position, fingertips touching his lips.

“There’s an idiot down there,” spewed Sebastian. “That tape was supposed to be wiped. I’ve been set up. Someone is out to get me.”

Evan curled his hands under his chin. “The only idiot is you. And the only person out to get you is you.”

Evan pointed to an empty chair. Sebastian sat down.

“The first rule of TV news is never swear into a microphone. The second rule of TV news is NEVER SWEAR INTO A MICROPHONE. Now get out.”

Sebastian slinked to the door.

“By the way,” said Evan, “the Twitterites are wondering if Jesus H. Christ is celebrating a birthday too.”

•

Sebastian sat alone in the newsroom. His only company was a muted News Network anchor. Her lips flapped silently; her words trapped in the monitor hanging over The Desk. His phone rang. Roxanne was on the other end of a video call. He had his spin ready.

“Hi, honey.”

“Please tell me,” said Roxanne, “that I dreamt hearing you swear on the air.”

“Wish I could.”

“What happened?”

“The tech was supposed to wipe the first tape and record the clean version, but he didn’t. Brain dead, I suppose. Evan fired him on the spot.”

“Oh no,” said Roxanne.

Sebastian’s explanation was a half-truth. Incompetence never got anyone fired at the CBC.

“Why did so much get to air?”

“Roddy was nowhere near the switcher. I think he wandered off to get a banana. The guy is addicted to them. I can’t believe he abandoned his post.”

Another blending of fact and falsehood. Roddy stepped away from the switcher not to pursue fruit, but to replace a burned-out bulb in the control room. The perils of being a conscientious one-man band.

“Why were you swearing in the first place?”

Sebastian played turtle with a retractable flash drive, the head ducking in and out of the shell with increasing speed. He disliked the role reversal—the reporter under fire with his own weapons. He had shared too many trade secrets with Roxanne over bottomless glasses of Bordeaux. She employed open-ended questions, questions which couldn’t be answered with a simple yes or no. What and Why always extract more. Even outright lies.

“It was a dare. Samantha threw down the gauntlet. Bet me a beer I couldn’t get through The Happy Happies in three minutes. I hate losing. I just forgot where I was.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Evan wants to wash out my mouth with soap and water, but I’m okay otherwise.”

“Sebastian, I’m worried. You haven’t been yourself since Garrison died and now this—machine-gun swearing on the very spot where he went down. Something is wrong.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Maybe sitting in his chair triggered something.”

“It was a lapse in judgment. Nothing more.”

“CBC has employee-assistance programs. Perhaps you should talk to a professional.”

Sebastian laid the flash drive down. “Are you suggesting I should join the ne’er-do-wells around here who spend all their time talking to psychologists instead of actually working? I don’t need anyone to hold my hand. That would be a career killer.”

Roxanne rebounded from the screen. “There’s no need to be snippy. I’m just trying to help.”

“I’m sorry. I appreciate the concern, but you don’t understand. This place exiles damaged goods. Even a whiff of mental illness and it’s anchor aweigh.”

“It’s all confidential, Sebastian. No one would ever know.”

“Roxanne, we report on privacy breaches every other day.”

“Reaching for a helping hand doesn’t carry the stigma it once did.”

“Everybody says that. Nobody believes it.”

“I give up.” Roxanne checked her watch. “I should go. There’s a session in ten minutes.”

“Enjoy the conference,” said Sebastian, trying to sound conciliatory. “I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

“Thanks. You’ve had a tough day. What are you doing tonight?”

“I think I’ll go to bed early.”

•

Sebastian propped himself against the headboard, reading a brochure entitled Teddies for Tragedies. “You know, you should have asked those women to knit a teddy for me.”

“I don’t think an anchor gone ballistic is the kind of tragedy they had in mind,” said Janice from inside the walk-in closet.

Sebastian sipped a glass of Chianti. “Sure it is. It says so right here in the brochure. ‘Whenever catastrophe strikes somewhere in the broadcast world, the first journalist to suffer is the innocent host. But you can alleviate his pain with a simple gift—a hand-knitted teddy bear.’ ”

Janice laughed. “They’re for children in natural disasters, not anchors in career disasters.”

“ ‘A teddy comforts these broken men,’ ” read Sebastian from the bogus blurb. “ ‘They are brought down by the ineptitude of others. They deserve admiration, not scorn.’ ”

“Sebastian, you are bad to the bone.”

He turned off the night-table light and skulked through the darkness to the window. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the shadows before opening the curtain, just a crack. The covert reconnaissance found no spy in the bushes. He picked his way back to bed.

Janice opened the closet door and breezed into the blackness. “Since when did you get shy?”

“Since I acquired a stalker.”

“Forget him. You’re safe here. But what’s done in the dark needs a little light."

Janice pawed through her dresser. A match flared. She lit a candle.

“Now, what were you saying about a teddy?”

The candle’s luster revealed a red, lace teddy with a plunging neckline and thong bottom. Little bows decorated the straps. Janice posed like a Victoria’s Secret model—one hand on her hip, the other on her thigh. She spun around to reveal a lace-up back.

“Now that’s a Teddy for Tragedies,” said Sebastian. “I need consoling. I need a teddy.” He lifted the duvet and Janice slid underneath.

•

Sebastian swiped his security card over the sensor. The lock clicked open.

“I’m still working for the CBC, Joanie,” said Sebastian as he entered the lobby. Making the receptionist smile was a routine part of his grand entrance, though today’s smile was smaller than usual.

“The feedback around your Jesus Christ tirade is ninety to ten in your favour,” said Joan. “Only the bible thumpers want you fired.”

Sebastian looked around. There was no one else in the lobby. No one coming down the stairs. “Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke,” whispered Sebastian. Joan laughed.

“There’s a buzz upstairs, Sebastian. This could be the day.”

“Destiny calls, Joanie.”

Sebastian grabbed both handrails and propelled himself up the stairs. “Morning, Zoe,” he said, passing The Desk.

“It wasn’t me,” she said.

Sebastian stopped. “What wasn’t you?” Zoe pointed to his cubicle. He wandered over.

A banner exclaimed Happy Birthday Jesus. Tacked above—a refashioned copy of The Last Supper. Christ’s outstretched arms framed a birthday cake with lit candles in the shape of a cross. One hand clutched a cake knife, the other a server. The disciples wore pointy party hats. Several blew noise makers. The bubble above Judas’s head said, “That cake cost me thirty pieces of silver.”

“I’ll get you back,” yelled Sebastian to no one in particular, but to everyone within earshot. No doubt his tormentors smirked.

The Last Supper reeked of Janice Stone. How dare she repay virility with lampoon. How dare she reward an orgasm with ridicule. Next time, Janice, thy kingdom will not come. Where is the Judas hiding?

Sebastian’s eyes lay siege to the newsroom, like a centurion scouting an enemy of Rome to crucify. He found her. The traitor was in Evan’s office. The door was closed, but a slight head-tilt let Sebastian see through a window running the entire length of the doorframe. When Janice was agitated, she talked with her hands and right now her hands shouted.

No more musical chairs for Here & Now, perhaps?

Janice’s tantrum gave way to a sulk. Her hands fell silent.

Hunter comes out on top in jobs, as well as sex.

Janice stomped out of Evan’s office and stopped by Zoe’s desk, her hands in full rail again. Zoe laid a frog stress toy on the counter. Janice smashed it with a fist. The frog’s eyes bulged.

“Sebastian, can I see you for a few minutes?” Evan stood in his doorway.

News anchor walking.

Sebastian felt taller, more handsome. He could feel Janice’s gaze. It followed him into Evan’s office. He would go in a peon; he would come out a star.

“First of all, I want to say you’ve been doing a great job filling in for Garrison,” said Evan. “This hasn’t been the easiest of circumstances. The man was an icon and never more so than after his death. My mother still tears up and asks how his wife and kids are doing. Never how my wife and kids are doing.”

“Your mother needs a new anchor to love,” said Sebastian.

“I agree. It’s time to move on. It’s time to bury Garrison. As long as we keep switching the faces on the desk, Garrison will be a ghost in the background.”

Sebastian nodded gravely.

“You’re a natural performer in the studio. You’re smart, funny, quick on your feet; a solid reporter and despite your cock-up on Friday, the audience still likes you. And most importantly, the network still likes you.”

Sebastian beamed. He prepared to extend his right hand.

“I’m ready for the chair, Evan.”

“I know you are. I also know how disappointed you’re going to be.”

“What!” Sebastian’s chest fell.

“Sebastian, you’re not getting the job.”

“If it’s not me and it’s not Janice, who?”

“You can’t breathe a word of this until the official announcement later today. It’s Ethan Tremblay.”

“The CBC’s Ethan Tremblay?”

“Yes.”

“The Ethan Tremblay in Jerusalem?”

“Yes.”

“The Ethan Tremblay who got his balls shot off.”

“Yes, the same one.”

“What the fuck is he doing coming here?”

“He doesn’t want to be a road warrior anymore. He’ll be here in a month. In the meantime, you and Janice will continue alternating in the chair.”

Sebastian bristled. He frowned at the Gemini sitting on Evan’s desk. He imagined snatching the statuette and cracking Evan’s skull with it.

“I have a runner-up prize for you. Toronto wants to borrow you for a couple of months once we get settled. You should go. They’ve got national reporter jobs to fill and they like your edge.”

“Always the bridesmaid,” said Sebastian before opening the door.

He made himself stand tall. He wouldn’t give Janice the satisfaction of seeing his dejection. He passed her desk.

“Dead man walking,” said Janice, not lifting her eyes.

•

Sebastian and Janice leaned against The Desk watching a monitor hanging from the ceiling. Channel 124—the closed circuit feed from the studio. The screen was split: Samantha Cormier sat poised in one video box, Ethan Tremblay in the other. The studio director typed Jerusalem under Ethan’s video cell.

“He is my enemy,” said Sebastian in a hushed voice.

“Mine too,” said Janice softly.

Sebastian turned to Janice. “The enemy…,” to the screen, “of my enemy…,” to Janice, “is my friend.”

The interview would unveil Ethan Tremblay to Here & Now’s viewers as Garrison Hill’s successor. Because of the time difference, the chat needed to be pre-recorded. Ethan would be dreaming when the tape aired, while Sebastian would be plotting.

Sebastian turned up the sound to eavesdrop on the satellite confabulation.

“Hi Ethan, can you hear me alright?”

“No problem, Samantha.”

“Ethan, you look fabulous.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “That’s a new record. Just five seconds for her to serve up the first vacuous compliment.”

“It’s not me; it’s the golden hour,” said Ethan.

He had a yellow cast on his face, compliments of the setting sun. Warm colours filled the Jerusalem sky behind him.

“Ethan, the backdrop is perfect,” said Samantha. “The Temple Mount, no less.”

“Nothing is too good for the yokels back in Canada,” heckled Sebastian.

“We’re recording here, Ethan. We’re going in five.”

Samantha and Ethan looked straight into their respective cameras, staying quiet while waiting for the cue.

“Joining us now from Jerusalem is the new co-host of Here & Now—Ethan Tremblay. Ethan, congratulations. We’re all very excited that you’re coming.”

“Can’t wait to bask in your glory,” said Sebastian. He crumpled an abandoned outlook and pitched it at the screen. The paper ball bounced off Ethan’s face.

“Thank you, Samantha,” said Ethan. “I’m excited too. I’ve been away from Canada for twelve years. I’ve loved every minute as a foreign correspondent, but it’s time to go home.”

“I’ve loved every minute as a foreign correspondent, except for the time I got my balls shot off,” mocked Sebastian.

“But your crotch looks normal,” said Janice.

“Walnuts,” said Sebastian. “I always slip two in my underwear. They’re the perfect prosthesis. And I never run out. You can buy them on any street corner in Jerusalem.”

“Ethan, reporters would kill to have your career,” said Samantha. “You work in one of the most exhilarating cities of the world, but you’re giving it all up to host a local newscast. Why?”

“Twelve years ago I didn’t have kids,” said Ethan. “Now I have two. I think they deserve to see their dad for more than a few days a month. Plus, this city—this country—can be dangerous. I’d like them to live in a place where there’s no chance of a bus blowing up.”

“Two children—that’s astonishing,” said Janice. ”Quite the feat for a man who, shall we say, doesn’t have any family jewels.”

“What is a walnut if not a seed,” said Sebastian. “I can’t explain the miracle, but walnut gonads behave like the real love spuds.”

“Ethan, when will you get here?” asked Samantha.

“We’re packing right now and hope to be there by the end of the month,” replied Ethan.

“We’re coming after Christmas,” said Sebastian. “I want to avoid The Nutcracker Suite.”

“Good precaution,” said Janice. “And I also suggest not watching America’s Funniest Home Videos Christmas Special. They’re very fond of testicular trauma.”

“Thanks for doing this, Ethan,” said Samantha. “We’ll see you soon.”

“You’re welcome, Samantha. I’m really looking forward to hosting Here & Now.”

The screen went black. Sebastian laid the remote on the counter.

“Nuts to you, Ethan.”

•

“There you go,” said the waitress, as she laid a coffee in front of Sebastian. He didn’t bother to look up; he was too busy reading the smartphone version of his Lotto Lush story, though the web folks opted for the timid headline: Lotto Millionaire Blows It All.

“Our barista is trying some new latte art,” said the waitress, fishing for feedback. Sebastian laid his phone down and examined the coffee foam.

“Do I look like a Snoopy kind of guy?” said Sebastian, wearing his best stone face.

“Now that you mention it, no.” The waitress bit her lower lip. “I don’t suppose you’d like a cat either?”

Sebastian shook his head. “I’m allergic. Has she used up all the ferns?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll have a fern, please.”

She reached for the cup. Sebastian held up his hand. “It’s okay, he’ll have it.” Sebastian pointed at Dozy Dan skirting between tables. Sebastian pushed Snoopy away. The two men shook hands.

“Thanks for coming, Dan.”

“I’m a little pressed for time,” he said, taking his chair. “I have a flight to catch.”

Dan glanced at the cup. “Oh, Snoopy,” he said with childlike delight. “And he has happy feet.”

Sebastian forced a smile. “Yes, they’re quite talented here. I knew you’d be rushed so I ordered already. Mine’s coming. There was a mix-up in the order.”

“I just heard your radio story on that alcoholic millionaire. Absolutely compelling.”

“He had a brilliant business plan—buy a million dollars’ worth of beer and live off the empties.”

“Terribly sad,” said Dan, missing the joke as usual.

“Wait until you see him. He’s right out of central casting: bloodshot eyes, red nose, hasn’t shaved in days and he’s wearing a wife beater undershirt.”

“Evan says you found his ex-wife.”

“She’s a piece of work too. It took a while to track her down and convince her to talk, but I can be very persuasive. We’re saving her for the Here & Now story”

Dan sipped his forgotten coffee. “What’s on your mind, Sebastian?”

“Ethan Tremblay.”

“What a coup, eh,” said Dan. “He’ll improve the quality of journalism at Here & Now simply by walking into the room.”

Sebastian imagined ramming Ethan’s head into the bull’s-eye of a CBC logo, kicking him in the ass and snarling, “Improve this.”

“He certainly comes with a reputation,” said Sebastian.

“One fern, just like you ordered.” The waitress barged into their conversation. “Anything else? Something sweet?”

“No, thank you,” said Sebastian.

“I thought so,” said the waitress. “You don’t look like a sweet kind of guy.”

Dan craned his neck. “A fern. I think you got short changed in the artistic department.” He slurped Snoopy’s nose.

“Dan, I was under the impression that I would be getting the job. You said I have a bright future.”

“You do. The door is open to Toronto, isn’t it?” Dan winked. “Look, no son-in-law of mine will founder on my watch, but I never said you’d get the job.”

“You implied it.”

“If I misled you, I’m sorry.” Dan laid his cup on the saucer. “CBC has more than one talented journalist. We had to find a spot for Ethan.”

Dan’s seriousness triggered a memory, a cryptic conversation in Sebastian’s dining room about a bit of trouble in the Jerusalem bureau.

“Why did you have to find a spot for Ethan?”

“I can’t get into it.” Dan used his teaspoon to scoop foam off the sides of his cup.

“If I say something that’s true, take a sip of coffee,” said Sebastian. Tacit answers were better than no answers.

Dan raised his cup, letting it hover near his lips.

“Ethan did something he shouldn’t have.”

Dan sipped.

“He embarrassed the CBC.”

Dan sipped again.

“You had to get him the hell out of Dodge.”

Dan took a third sip and laid the cup down. “I have to get to the airport.”

The two men walked to the cash register. “I’ll get this,” said Sebastian, pulling out his debit card. He lifted the lid off a jar of chocolate-covered coffee beans.

“Care for some?”

“No thanks,” said Dan. “I’ve spilled enough beans already.”

•

Sebastian used the drive home to reflect on how to turn the oblique into the candid. First thing tomorrow, he would canvass the best gossip mongers in the CBC. Thanks to the Training Department he had bonded with dozens of them—reporters from across the country. They had shared band-of-brothers training at the Toronto Broadcast Centre and, more importantly, band-of-brothers drinking along John Street. Some Deep Throat knew what Ethan Tremblay was hiding. Sebastian would turn over the rock and uncover the slime underneath.

Sebastian parked in his driveway and shadowboxed as he ducked left and right up the walk.

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”

He’d win the fight with Ethan Tremblay by a knockout. Sebastian gave the coat tree a left jab and then a straight right.

“Hello, Sebastian.”

The greeting landed like an uppercut to the jaw, momentarily dazing him.

“Hello, Donna.”

“Picking on a defenceless coat tree. Why not fight someone your own size?”

Sebastian countered with a short, crisp punch. “How nice to see you, especially when you’re not shouting the C word.”

“Sebastian, please,” said Roxanne, charging between the two fighters like a referee about to send them back to their respective corners.

“Hi, honey.” He kissed the referee harder than usual, just to annoy Dour Donna. “Mmm, you taste good.”

Sebastian steadied himself for another round. “I haven’t seen you in ages, Donna. Did you take your little show on the road?”

“Couldn’t. We all have respectable day jobs. But it certainly was a fun evening, wasn’t it?” said Donna.

“Are you including the part where your mother walked out in disgust?”

Donna moved closer, planted her feet and turned Sebastian into a punching bag. “Disgust! You took advantage of an alcoholic lotto winner. Now that’s disgusting. You have no shame.”

“This is not the night, Donna,” scolded Roxanne.

“I’m sorry, I forgot,” said Donna. “I heard you didn’t get the big job you were after. I’ll leave you alone to lick your wounds in peace.”

Donna headed for the door, but paused at the mirror. She took a lipstick tube out of her purse. Scarlet lipstick. Sebastian watched in slow motion—the removing of the cap, the twisting of the base, the head poking up, the deft covering of the lips.

“When did you start wearing lipstick, Donna? I thought you vetoed cosmetics.”

“It’s an experiment. I’m writing a paper on the psychology of colour. Red is the colour of arousal. It’s also the colour of anger. What does red mean to you, Sebastian?”

“I was taught red means stop.”

•

No son-in-law of mine will founder on my watch. Sebastian dissected the words. Dozy Dan didn’t say, “No future son-in-law of mine will founder on my watch.” The pledge was predicated on marrying his daughter. An engagement wasn’t enough. His arid pontification on family was a coded message: Get on with it—make my daughter an honest woman. Sebastian calculated that his future success would come with a price. And he would pay it.

Roxanne touched his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been thrown under a bus. I hurt all over. I was cheated. I deserved that job.”

“I know you did. You worked hard for it. I’m sorry you didn’t get it.” She hugged him. “Besides,” she said, wearing a wry smile, “I was looking forward to telling people that my fiancé hosted Here & Now.”

“About that word fiancé, I was thinking that my career isn’t everything. Family is important too. Maybe we should set a wedding date.”

“I’m in no rush to get married,” said Roxanne.

Not quite the swoon he had hoped for. “Let’s recap the history. I get down on one knee. You say yes. Your mom and dad host this huge party. All our friends are there. You show off your ring. They all coo. And that’s the last time either of us mentions the word wedding.”

“You don’t get a job, so you want to get married. What’s all this about?”

“It’s just…,” Sebastian turned to the window. He focused on a kid walking his dog. Sebastian mentally counted one thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three. He rotated back to Roxanne.

“It’s just…I need you. Journalism is a black pit. I fall into it every morning. You pull me out at the end of the day. You’re the decency in my life. I want to show the world what you mean to me.”

Roxanne stepped back. Not quite the teary embrace he had hoped for. She was more cautious than adoring.

Sebastian had seen that pensive look before. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Women are always flirting with you.”

Sebastian spun an imaginary game-show wheel. The pie wedges clacking past the flapper contained flippant phrases: I’m man enough for all, They’re only flesh and blood, Handsome has its benefits. Roxanne tolerated his conceit, knowing he cast the bait in the hope of hooking a live one. Dour Donna offered no sport whatsoever. Roxanne was a much harder fish to land. The wheel ticked past Bankrupt and stopped on Jackpot.

“Who wants a man that no one else finds attractive?” Roxanne’s solemn face signalled that his attempt at levity had fallen flat.

“You don’t discourage them.”

“Roxanne, you have a lock on my heart. I love you. I won’t stray. I’ll never hurt you.”

She moved closer. “If you do, let’s just say that Lorena Bobbitt has set the standard for divorce.” She exuded grit.

Sebastian graced her cheek. He kissed her the way Rhett Butler kissed Scarlet O’Hara.

“A fall wedding would be nice,” said Roxanne.

“Let’s celebrate,” he said. He loaded a disc into the CD player. Of all the burdens he carried today, this was the heaviest. He pushed play.

Roxanne melted into a glow of recognition.

“May I?” Sebastian held out his arms for a ballroom dance.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

They fox-trotted through the dining room.

Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight.

Sebastian synced with the vocals. “Gonna grab some afternoon delight.”

He removed his hand from her back and scooped up the bottle of Chianti Classico. He twirled Roxanne; she lifted two glasses off the sideboard.

Slow, slow, quick, quick. Sebastian and Roxanne zigzagged down the hall to the bedroom.

•

Paul Bennett sat on a park bench watching ducks poke about the grass. He heard the occasional quack, but mostly they kept their heads down and stayed quiet.

Maybe I should be doing that, thought Bennett.

A couple holding hands passed in front of him. They paid no attention to the in-limbo police chief. He tapped his fingers on the bench.

“Hello, Chief.”

“Hello, Janice.” He stood to shake hands.

“Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

“I don’t know why I did.” The chief’s eyes spurted around the parking lot.

“If you’re checking for a camera, I swear I didn’t bring one. We’re alone. Well, as alone as you can be on a walking trail.”

“I’m not keen on the idea of people seeing us together.”

Janice took the sunglasses off the top of her head and perched them on her nose. “I’m a master of disguise.”

The chief smiled, just a little. “My encounters with your profession lately haven’t been pleasant. I have my reasons to be suspicious.”

“I’m not wearing a wire either. You can frisk me if you want. People like to.”

He waved her off.

“Care to go for a stroll around the lake?” asked Janice. “We’ll have more privacy in the trees.”

The chief sauntered past the ducks. Janice matched his pace.

“We could have had this conversation over the phone,” said Janice, “but it’s better in person.”

“I’m listening.”

“You need some good PR, chief.”

“Your colleague said an identical thing to me at Garrison Hill’s funeral.”

They heard running feet on the boardwalk and stayed quiet as a jogger slipped by.

“I know Sebastian asked you for an interview. Enough time has passed to have done a dozen interviews. I don’t think you’re going to give him one, are you?”

“I thought about it, but I couldn’t get past one inescapable fact—I don’t like the son of a bitch.”

Janice laughed. “Chief, remember the old saying—don’t get angry, get even. If you really want to stick it to Sebastian, do an interview with me. He’ll be apoplectic.”

The chief stopped dead. His face filled with astonishment. What a revelation. There was no thin blue line at the CBC.

“I take it that you don’t like Sebastian Hunter very much.”

“Quite the opposite, really. I like him a great deal. But this is business. He had his chance to get your story, now it’s my turn.”

The chief leaned behind Janice.

“Anything wrong, Chief?”

“Just checking for a dorsal fin.” He started walking again.

“People go on TV all the time to apologize for lapses in judgment. Tiger Woods and Bill Clinton both said I’m sorry in front of the cameras.”

“I didn’t cheat on my wife, I drove…,” Bennett stared into the woods, “drunk.”

“The point is—an apology is good for the soul and it’s good for the image.”

“Now you’re really sounding like Sebastian Hunter.”

Janice cut in front of Bennett. There was no missing her emphatic expression. “I’ll tell you the difference, Chief. Sebastian would never have sat on the information that I’ve been sitting on.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know your connection to Garrison Hill.”

The chief rubbed his lips. “Go on.”

“Stop me when I’m wrong. You and Garrison met at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. You went through the twelve steps together. You got off the bottle together. And as far as I can tell, you stayed sober until that night in Florida.”

“Garrison took my secret to his grave. I will take his.”

“I’m not asking you to betray his secret. Garrison’s name never has to come up. I’m only interested in your story.”

“Why should I? Why should I get on TV and tell people that I’m a recovered alcoholic who faltered?”

“Because if you don’t, it’s going to squirt out anyway.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Not me, Chief,” said Janice, touching her chest, “but your background is not safe. Someone else is going to discover it, eventually. Someone not as understanding as I am.”

Janice filled the chief’s silence. “This story is not over. You’ve still got your court case. You won’t survive as chief. Set the agenda and get ahead of the bad news. Release the details on your terms. Apologize. Then climb out of the hole.”

The chief’s face twitched. He made fitful glances, but avoided eye contact. “I need to talk to my family. Sebastian wanted them involved. You’d want the same?”

Janice nodded. “Sebastian might be a son of a bitch, but he’s a smart son of a bitch. He’s knows what works on TV. And so do I.”

Janice and the chief continued their circuit. Bennett caught a glint in the bushes. He bent down and pulled out a Sleeman beer bottle—clear glass embossed with a beaver and maple leaf.

“Not mine, I swear. Though I’m sure no Canadian jury would believe me.”

“Now that’s a money shot. And me with no camera,” moaned Janice.

Bennett pushed the bottle back between the stalks and wandered away.