Hardly Working (28 page)

She washed her hair, put on makeup and a new navy-blue pinstripe suit that I'd chosen for her. The skirt was short and the blouse showed a hint of cleavage. “This fits your new fallen woman image,” I said.

“Don't remind me. I feel like a total fool.” She was on the edge of tears.

I touched her shoulder. “C'mon now, Penny. Feeling like a fool is part of every woman's emotional repertoire. Don't worry about it. Now are you sure you can do this?”

“Of course I can do it. It's only a lunch.”

“Okay. Keep him away for an hour if you can. And don't scare him off.”

While Penny was out entertaining Ian Trutch and pretending there were no hard feelings, Simon and I were infiltrating his suite on the Gold Floor. There was just enough window space to stretch the banner across the outside wall and secure it by tying it to rock-climbing spikes. On my way out, I helped myself to his complimentary bathrobe. Okay, well maybe it wasn't complimentary.

 

The first Eco Girls Are Mad report got a two-minute slot on the six-o'clock news that night.

“Who are the Eco Girls?” asked the newsman, “and what are they mad about?”

We struck with the second banner at five o'clock the following morning. It was a fast operation. Simon had to perform some quick and agile acrobatics to secure the banner over the side of the Burrard Street Bridge without being seen. He dangled, almost invisibly, for at least three minutes on each end of the banner, over the black water, as he secured the spikes.

That day, on the noon news report, the newsgirl said, “And it looks as though those mysterious Eco Girls have struck again. This time on the Burrard Bridge. And people are asking, ‘What are they mad about?' Could there be a new terrorist movement behind this?”

As Joey, Cleo, Simon, Penelope and I watched our banner star on Penelope's TV screen, Simon said, “Let's do the tower next, eh, Di?”

I felt giddy. “You think?”

“Yeah, why not? Let's do it tonight.”

“We're going to be arrested anyway,” I agreed.

“Might as well be hung for an elephant as a sheep,” said Simon.

“You two are wacko,” said Joey.

“Publicity, Joey,” I retorted. “A little of it wouldn't hurt you or your so-called career.”

But the weather outside turned wicked and by afternoon we were all sprawled out across Penelope's throw cushions and plush cream-colored living room carpet, discussing alternatives. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cleo slide over to Simon and pull him soundlessly toward Penelope's empty bedroom. “Hey,” I hissed in their direction. “Don't tire yourselves out. I need you both in shape for this.”

But that night we had to pass on the tower. A storm blew up with icy rain and sixty-mile-an-hour winds. Simon and Cleo went back to Cleo's place, and Joey went out clubbing. At least somebody was happy.

I went home for the first time in a week. The mail that should have been piled up on the porch had flown about in the storm and was plastered up and down the back yard and alley. I was dashing around in the slanted rain, making an attempt to gather it up when I saw Jon, standing at his back gate, trying to keep a battered umbrella over his head.

“Uh…hi…Jon.”

“Dinah? Where have you been? I've been looking for you. You disappeared without a word. I thought something had happened to you. Is that the way you usually treat the men you sleep with?”

He seemed very pissed off.

“I don't know. How do
you
usually treat the men you sleep with?”

“Don't be facetious, Dinah.”

“There haven't been that many men in my life.”

And there are going to be fewer, starting from today.

“Well, I'm glad to see you're back. And I'm here. Whenever you want to talk.”

I winced. “How's Kevin?”

“He's fine. He'll be around tonight. Come over for a drink. He'd like to see you too.”

“I'm cutting back on the drinking.”

Look what happened last time.

“Well then. Come over anyway, for a chat. A cup of tea.”

And we'll both sit there and pretend nothing happened? Or perhaps Kevin would like to join us in a menage à trois?

“I've got to wash my hair.”

Jon laughed, then dug the toe of his boot hard into the ground. “Well, some other time then.” He turned and walked back to his house, closed the crooked umbrella and went inside.

I took my handful of soggy mail and walked carefully up the slippery steps to my place. I'd only been inside for a minute when the phone rang.

I ran to pick it up. “Where have you been?” said the Telephone Pervert voice.

“Out,” I said, as I grabbed a pencil and scribbled down the number on the call display. “And you're going to be out soon, too.” I hung up.

I knew this number.

I quickly dialed it back.

When they picked up on the other end, I said, “You are a sick man, Mike.”

“Dinah.”

“You just called me.”

“I did not.”

“I've got call display, you doughhead. It's your number.”

“It was a joke.”

“Pick up a pen, Mike.”

“What?”

“Now, write down this number. It's the number of Thomas, my therapist. He's pretty good. Then when you've had some treatment, a lot of it, maybe we can talk. Bye, Mike.”

Thursday

The good weather returned. Our last banner was destined for the Capilano Suspension Bridge, in broad daylight. Joey had changed his mind and decided to join us. In drag. My only stipulation was that we all wear green. We were Eco Girls after all. It was down to Simon, Cleo, Joey, Penny and me. Lisa was planning her wedding.

Joey minced back and forth nervously, in a tight stretchy emerald-green Catwoman meets the Green Hornet body-suit with high sparkly lime colored boots, green nail polish and heavy black eyeliner.

Nobody else was around which meant it was time. The banner was easy and went up quickly. Then Simon slung and tied all the cords over the bridge. We hitched the cords through our harnesses and got ready to dangle. Joey used his cell phone to call up the TV station and in an excited jock voice yelled, “You gotta get down here to the Capilano bridge. There's some green people dangling. It looks like the Eco Girls.”

Simon helped us lower ourselves, then came down after us.

We swung back and forth like four pendulums, the deep wild forested ravine below us making the adrenaline pump.

“I hope somebody comes soon,” yelled Joey.

“They'll be here,” I said.

“Do I look okay?” called Joey.

“Why am I doing this? Oh why?” wailed Cleo.

“Because you love me, babe,” said Simon.

“While we're waiting, let me tell you about the Whale Rub, Cleo.”

“Okay, Dinah,” she said meekly.

“When Simon and I were kids, there was this place down on the shore, a cleft in the rock where the gray whales used to come in and try to rub all the barnacles and parasites off their bodies. We were always warned never to go down to the Whale Rub. So Simon gets this idea…”

“Uh-oh,” said Cleo.

“We get a couple of ropes and tie them to the tree near the rocks. When the whales came into the cleft, we ran down and along them, kicking at the barnacles to help them get them off…of course, when those huge tails came up, we scrambled…”

“Oh, Jesus,” wailed Cleo.

“Just so you know what you're getting with a guy like Simon. He has no barriers and no rational sense of danger,” I said.

“Forgotten about that.” Simon grinned. “Fun.”

“They're coming,” I said, “Can you hear that? Sirens. That's good. It means we'll be arrested. Just as long as we're arrested.”

Penny looked down at us from the bridge. A small crowd of spectators had gathered.

There was a flurry of noise that came all at once with the arrival of police cars and a TV helicopter. We let the police talk us into hauling ourselves back up and as they were trying to unwind us from all our cords, I gasped my prepared speech at the TV camera.

“Eco Girls are mad? Yes, we're mad about the way Green World International's management has decided to run the organization. We are convinced that there has been a mishandling of funds by the same management, the new CEO to be precise. Ian Trutch's recent decisions represent the usual insular indifference of those management
elements who do not believe they will ever have to face serious water issues on a daily basis. Instead of bringing good news to the poor, we're bringing bad news to the rich. Water is everyone's concern. And I think we should all be very worried about Ian Trutch's plans to sell water, and who knows what other resources, abroad and for profit.

“We intend to restore Green World International's priorities by starting up our own not-for-profit with just such a focus. The new organization, Outreach United, will now be stepping up to the plate, not just on local issues, but on those global issues that are close to our hearts. I, Dinah Nichols-Ferrer, personally intend to—” And then a huge hand stuffed my head into the back of the squad car and we drove away.

 

At least they had the decency to put the four of us in the same cell.

Simon was calm. He kept saying, “Stop pacing, Di, and don't sweat it. They'll be here. They'll bail us out.”

“It flopped. We flopped. And we'll probably have to spend the night in here.” I slumped down onto the cell bench.

“The TV people were there, babe. They got it on tape,” said Simon.

“I wonder how I looked on screen,” mused Joey.

“Like a gay aphid,” said Cleo.

Figuring we were going to be there for a while, I said to Simon, “So Si, tell me where you've been and what you've been doing for the last couple of years.”

 

Late in the evening, a police officer came down and called out, “Dinah Nichols?”

“Ferrer,” I corrected him. “Dinah Nichols-Ferrer.”

I'd started the paperwork for the legal name change the day before.

“They've paid your bail.”

“What about me?” called Joey, grasping the bars dramatically.

“Oh, sit down,” said Cleo, sulking.

The officer unlocked the cell door. I turned back to my glum friends. “I'll get you guys sorted out ASAP.”

Simon gave me a thumbs-up. “My lawyer, Di. Call him.”

“I will.”

I followed the officer out to the front desk, dying to know who'd decided to spring me. The little clump of people blocking my vision finally parted and when I saw who had come for me, I wanted to shout with happiness.

M
y mother, Hector Ferrer, Rupert Doyle and Penelope Longhurst were all there, having a heated discussion. They spoke rapidly, a machine-gun fire of sound that switched back and forth between Spanish and English. I was seeing my mother in another life. As the person she'd been before I came into the picture. She moved her hands in an unfamiliar way. I couldn't believe it. She and my father, the man she never wanted to see again as long as she lived, were talking. Or were they talking? Perhaps they were arguing. It was hard to tell. The main thing was that she actually had red blood running through her veins.

She turned and saw me. “Di Di, you had me terribly worried. Whatever were you doing up there?”

I was excited. “Did they get it? Could you see it okay? Could you see that it was us?”

Rupert laughed. “We could see it was you. You made the
six-o'clock news. So I called your mother and father. They paid your bail.”

Penny just shrugged. “I came down to bail you all out, but they said they'd taken care of it.” She leaned in to me and spoke softly. “I met him. I met your father. I met Hector Ferrer.”

“So what are we going to do about the others? Let them rot in jail for a few nights.” I reminded her.

“No, no. I'm dealing with it right now. Everybody pitched in.” She went off to take care of the others.

Hector moved in on me, dragging on a cigarette. “Dinah,” he said through squinting eyes and a veil of smoke, “That was a foolish and dangerous little stunt.”

“Are you telling me you care?”

“I cared long before I knew your last name.”

It was the nicest thing anybody had said to me in a real long time.

Tuesday

Unemployment was hard work. My wrist was tired from circling ads in the paper. My eyes were tired from peering through my side window at my neighbor, Jon, as he lifted weights and looked angry, all by himself. I fantasized about putting aside my common sense and running over to his house, sharing a cup of tea, wine, forty proof alcohol, anything, and ending the peace. Again and again.

The new not-for-profit, Outreach United for the time being, was nothing more than an idea and a few cardboard boxes full of files and data on CD. I must have been crazy to believe that I could subtract the whole of Green World International from Green World International, and start the whole thing up, under another name, and right away. I knew that the good projects take time.

Friday

Home alone. Still unemployed and manless. Freezing January was about to turn into cold February. And then I got a phone call.

It was Jake. “Quick, Dinah, turn on your TV. Channel Two.”

“Okay, Jake. Oh my God. Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?”

“It does the heart good, doesn't it, Dinah?”

“Does it ever.”

We were watching Ian Trutch being attacked by the media. They wanted to know why he'd been fired and about the alleged charges of mismanagement of Green World International funds. He repeated over and over, “No comment,” and kept trying to cover his face with his briefcase.

I felt so good there was only one thing to do.

Milonga!

With money I didn't have, I'd bought myself the tango shoes and now I had a dress just like the one that Alicia Ferrer wore in her photo. I had found it in a secondhand store and had a seamstress make a few adjustments. It was tight and scarlet, made of silk crepe, with a diagonal twenties fringe hem, tiny spaghetti straps, and a plunging back and neckline.

And even though I knew that it takes years to learn how to tango, and that you mustn't think, except with your legs, and that it's a subtle conversation between two bodies plastered against each other and traveling to Latin blues, and that I was really quite hopeless, a perennial beginner—I put on black fishnet stockings, pulled my black hair into a tight bun and drove across town to the
milonga.

There was a party atmosphere and a mix of people. Absolute beginners, motley middle-aged men, overweight housewives and professional dancers.

When I came through the door, Victoria rushed up to
meet me. “Hector's beside himself. They've been playing ‘Scarlet Tango' on the radio. Now that they know he lives in Vancouver, they want to interview him. They want him to play. Thank you, Dinah.”

I looked over at him.

He was wearing his gangster outfit.

He came over to me slowly and raised one eyebrow. It was an invitation to dance. He took my hand and pressed my head to his shoulder. “You are just like Alicia. Don't try to dance. Walk and follow me.”

I stayed the whole night and danced with whoever asked me. I was waiting for that magic to happen. Hector's eyes didn't leave me all night.

Sunday

There was a thudding at my door. An aggravated thudding, actually. Not a normal knock. It was very late, after one in the morning. I struggled up from dark green dreams to drag myself out of bed.

“Who is it?”

When Joey's strangled voice answered, “The fucking Red Queen, who do you think?” then hiccupped, I opened the door, quickly.

Joey was weeping copiously. At first I thought he was holding a patchy old bundled up fur coat in his arms, one of those things you might find at a secondhand store, but when I looked more closely I realized it was a dog, a male with some wolf judging by the long pointed muzzle and pale yellow eyes. The animal was in very bad shape. And Joey wasn't doing much better.

“My God. Come in,” I said. I ran to find an old towel, threw it onto the couch, and motioned to Joey. “Put him down there, Joey. My God, the poor thing. Where did you find him?”

“I was coming out of Anastasia's and he was there on the street. At first I thought I was having a coyote encounter and I told him to get lost but he wouldn't. He was standing, but barely. I started walking thinking I'd lose him, but he followed me, Dinah, he followed me across the bridge and all the way home, then he collapsed. I couldn't just leave him outside our place.”

“No, you couldn't.” I shook my head. I was afraid I might start crying, too. Whoever had gone to work on the dog had done a thorough job.

“We need to get Jon,” he said.

I panicked. But Joey was right. The dog was all bones. He appeared to have been starved and badly beaten. He needed attention.

“Who gets to go and wake him up?” asked Joey.

“You go.”

“I don't know why, but for some reason it's always me that has to go.”

“All right already. I'll go.”

Like jumping into cold water, I told myself. Like pulling off a Band-Aid. Just do it really fast and it won't be painful. I raced down the stairs, out along the side path and up to their front door. I rang the bell. After a full minute the upstairs window opened and a groggy Jonathan stuck his head out.

“Dinah. What is it? What's wrong?” There was a huge stab of longing as soon as he said my name. More than a month had passed since our wonderful, ruinous St. Stephen's Day celebration.

“I'm really sorry to wake you up. I didn't want to but Joey told me to and I wouldn't do it normally if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary but it is. I mean, I know it's really late and you were probably sleeping, but we really need you to come….”

“Would you get to the point, Dinah?”

“It's an animal emergency.”

“I'm coming,” he said. “Just let me throw something on.”

He appeared at his front door, wonderfully disheveled in a fisherman knit sweater and jeans and carrying his big black bag.

“Nice to see you, Dinah,” he said brusquely.

“I'm sorry.”

“Sure.”

I started back up the path. “He's up here at my place. Follow me.”

Joey was frantic by the time we got to my apartment.

“I think we need some sedative here,” said Jon.

Joey was wild-eyed. “Really? But he's having trouble breathing.”

“Not for the dog. For you,” he said, and grinned. “Let's take a look here.” He knelt down and began to look the animal over. He was grim and silent as his fingers moved carefully over the dog's mangy fur. There was a long silence and then he gave his diagnosis. “Canine abuse. I'd like to take these bastards and do unto them as they've done unto their dogs. Jeezus.”

“Amen,” said Joey and I.

Jonathan took his time, cleaning and medicating the dog's wounds and scrapes, checking over every inch of his body, looking into his ears, eyes, jaws, between his claws. A little sigh of envy escaped from me. Jon heard it and turned around.

“So,” he said.

“So.”

“Was it something I said?”

“No, Jon.”

“Something I did?”

“What we both did.”

Joey turned his attention to the dog but he was all ears.

“We did it well. We should try doing it again.”

Amber eyes. Strong arms. Perfect touch. Who wouldn't want to try doing it again?

“You know we can't,” I said through my teeth.

“Why can't we?”

“There's Kevin.”

Jon laughed. “Yes, there's Kevin. What about Kevin? What does he have to do with any of this?”

Joey watched the two of us like a referee watching the star players at Wimbledon.

“You're gay, Jon. You live with a man and you're trying to hit on me.”

Joey's eyes got wider. Suddenly, he looked very, very sheepish.

Jon poked himself in the chest. “I'm gay? Since when am I gay? Who told you I was gay? If I am, that's the first I've heard of it. Okay, if you want me gay, I can be gay.”

“Uh… Joey told me you were.” I pointed to Joey who was suddenly trying to become invisible.

Jon stared at Joey, his mouth open, then said, “You told her I was gay? Why did you do that?”

The words tumbled out of Joey's mouth. “Well, at first, I kept seeing you around in all the clubs, you know, with Kevin. I saw you with your arms around him one night, and well, after that, I just thought, I assumed you were and then later, I didn't want Dinah to…spend all her time with you guys… I mean, we were friends first, Dinah and I, before you moved in…best friends…it's not fair.”

“But you knew,” accused Jon. “Why didn't you tell her?”

“Tell me what?”

Jon screwed up his face and shook his head. “Kevin's my brother, Dinah.”

“Your brother?”

“My half brother really. We don't have the same last name. Joey knew that.”

“I feel an exit coming on,” said Joey. He rushed to the door,
wiggled his hand and said, “Byeee. I'll be back to check on the doggie when you don't hate me anymore.” He shut the door.

Jon muttered, more to himself than me, “All this time, and you thought I was gay.”

“But Jon, I've seen the two of you, you and Kevin, holding on to each other. Tight.”

“So? Big deal. He's my brother. I can't hug my own brother?”

“Uh…”

Jon rubbed his eyes. “When Kevin's lover died, he was in pieces, completely broken up over it. My wife had just left me…”

“Whoa…wait a minute. Your wife? You have a wife?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why did she leave you? Your wife.”

“She didn't like animals in the bedroom.” He grinned. “Anyway, Kevin and I decided to make the move back up here. The scene wasn't too good for him down in San Francisco. I could see that Kevin wasn't going to do anything but mourn, so I had to drag him out to the clubs. Obviously, dragging him out to the straight clubs wasn't going to be any use, so we kind of got into a routine of doing the rounds of the other places.”

“And Joey saw you and then just never bothered setting the record straight.”

“Yeah. I was really worried about my brother for a while there. He was out of the woods, physically speaking, but not so good emotionally. He's doing better now. I couldn't leave him alone. We had lousy parents, a lousy childhood. We only have each other.”

He looked at me wistfully. “Except that I was starting to think it was pretty nice having you around, sort of one of the family, and a bit more…” He cocked his head to one side and shrugged.

I looked down at the dog, who was now dozing, then back
at Jon. I put my hand on my chest and said, “Doctor, I have this pain…right here…in my heart.”

“So do I.” He came over, put his arms around me and pressed himself hard against me. “But it's not all in my heart. Didn't you once tell me you were a man-eater, Dinah?”

I nodded and swallowed hard.

“So you better get started. Because contrary to what you've been hearing about me around here lately, I'm a woman-eater.” His magic hands were on my skin now. “And I don't mind saying I've enjoyed every single bite.” He kissed me, stepped back, took up a tango position then danced me across the room.

“It was you, Jon, wasn't it? That night with the Russians. You were doing the tango with me that night. Weren't you?”

“Lousy childhood. Parents who wanted to lease us to Hollywood as child stars. Ballroom dancing lessons. It's a wonder I didn't turn out like my brother.”

I gave him a worried look.

“Scared you there, did I? Well, it's just as well you're going to be cutting back on the drinking and increasing the dance practice,” he said,
giro
-ing me into the bedroom.