Kaleidoscope (19 page)

“Thanks,” Zack said. “Because that portrait was the last thing I looked at every morning before I went to work. If I was taking a beating in court, I’d remind myself that the girl in that painting was my daughter. That always put things into perspective.”

“As soon as I get my supplies, I’ll start,” Taylor said. She hesitated. “Where am I going to paint?”

“Upstairs,” I said. “We caught a break with your studio. It’s well away from the house so your art supplies are fine. Norine called a company that will deliver everything tomorrow.”

“Where are we going to put all that stuff?”

“That’s up to you,” I said. “You’ve got a huge space on the second floor. That master bedroom is three times the size of your bedroom at home, and the guest bedroom and the office are both large. I thought you might want to use the master bedroom as a studio and have the smaller rooms for your bedroom and whatever else you need.”

Taylor’s brow crinkled. “Are we going to be here that long?”

“It looks like we are. I didn’t want to tell you before dinner, Zack, but Ed and I met some of Leland’s men outside the house. They think we may have to start over with the house.”

“You mean, tear it down?”

“I think that’s a possibility.”

Zack wheeled back from the table and looked around the condo. “This isn’t all that bad,” he said.

Taylor shrugged. “It’s beautiful, but we’re going to have to make it feel as if we really live here.”

“I’ve seen what you can do to a room,” Zack said. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

For the first time since we started talking about the old house, Taylor smiled. “I do kind of unfurl, don’t I?” she said. She had her mother’s broad mouth and her smile was open and infectious. “Do you know what I think we need right now?”

“What?” Zack said.

“A swim. We’re all tired and crazy. That pool in the courtyard looks really nice.”

“I brought our suits from the lake,” I said. “And Taylor’s right, Zack. I think we all need to un-knot.”

Zack scowled. “I don’t feel like a swim.”

Taylor went over and kissed his head. “Because you don’t like strangers looking at your legs.” Her voice dropped into the growl Zack used when he was uttering one of his saltier pronouncements. “You know, Dad, everybody’s
got their own shit. And they don’t really give a shit about your shit.”

Zack held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender. “Fair enough,” he said. “Time for me to man up and hit the pool.”

In Regina in mid-June the sun sets at around 9:15 p.m., which meant that after a half-hour of vigorous swimming with Taylor, Zack and I were still in bed in time to watch the fading of the last light of day.

For a while we were silent, then Zack said, “The swim was a good idea. We should do it every night.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I said, “but tomorrow night we’ll be swimming late. It’s Linda Fritz’s dinner for Margot.”

“I don’t have it on my calendar.”

“That’s because you’re not invited. It’s for women only.”

“Ah, Margot’s stagette.”

“Can you imagine Linda Fritz giving a party with girly drinks and male strippers?”

Zack’s laugh was low. “No, I can’t. Linda’s fun, but she’s not that kind of fun. So – just an all-female dinner.”

“With a twist,” I said. “Since Margot’s so proud of being a Wadena girl, the menu is all Saskatchewan. The invitation said, ‘Go locovores!’ What are Leland’s friends doing for him?”

“A bunch of us are going to the Broken Rack. I’m guessing we’ll shoot a few games of pool, drink a few brewskis, and tell a few jokes.”

“To each his own,” I said.

Zack’s only response was a snort that graduated into a satisfied snore.

CHAPTER
10

The next morning at five, when Leland and I stepped out of our building, he was quick to get to the point.

“Mind if we talk a little while we run today?”

“Not at all.”

“The situation with the Village Project is not good,” Leland said. “The police don’t know for certain if Danny Racette’s death and the explosion at your house are directly tied to the redevelopment, but that’s the public perception, and it’s hurting us. The media are no longer painting our mayor as the golden boy who’s cleaning up the slums. Now he’s the political bumbler who committed the city to an ill-advised project that’s caused a man’s death and a bombing in an upper-middle-class neighbourhood. People who have no stake whatsoever in the project are starting to take sides, and they’re not taking our side. Joanne, I was sick about what happened to your house, but there was a small part of me that thought the bombing might have been providential.”

“How could that possibly have been ‘providential’?” I said.

“Because it exposed the thugs opposing the Village Project for what they are,” Leland said. “Criminals whose only
interest is destroying what other people work for. But nobody’s giving our side the benefit of the doubt. The police have completely cleared us of fault, but people still believe Danny Racette died because of workplace negligence.”

“What’s the public perception of what happened to our house?” I said.

Leland shrugged. “Some of our fellow citizens aren’t crazy about people who are successful.”

“Zack is the millionaire lawyer who takes on questionable clients and deserves what he gets?” I said.

Leland’s smile was faint. “Something along that line.”

“And I’m the wife of the millionaire lawyer who doesn’t care if blood money pays for my nice life.”

“Sticks and stones. It’s the price of doing business, Joanne. But I have an idea about how to turn perceptions around. You and I talked about the possibility of Peyben building a shared multipurpose facility as part of the Village Project. Obviously, there are a number of issues that have to be hammered out between us and people like Delorme, who are opposed to the project. What do you think about us approaching Delorme and asking him to make the conversation between him and me public?”

“You mean a public forum?”

“No. The facts are on my side. I could win a debate against Delorme without breaking a sweat. But that would mean winning a battle and losing the war. Delorme and I need each other. He needs to show that he can do things for North Central.”

“And you need to show that The Village isn’t just a development, it’s a way of changing the face of our city.”

“Right,” Leland said. “And that means getting as much publicity as possible. I think Delorme and I can stage something that will work for both of us, and this is where you come in. I saw two of those shows you wrote for Nation
TV
giving people an inside view of the institutions that govern their lives. Do you think your producer would be interested in showing a conciliation process from the inside?”

“Peyben sitting down with the group who opposes The Village?”

“More personal than that – me sitting down with Riel Delorme.”

“Working out the agreement for the shared facility while the cameras roll? You and Riel would both have a lot on the line, Leland.”

“We already do,” he said. “Delorme doesn’t trust me, and I’m not sure I trust him. If we make our deliberations public, there’s more pressure on both of us to come through. If I commit myself publicly, he’ll know I can’t back out. And if Delorme can get this for the community, he’ll show that he’s a leader to be reckoned with.”

“And Red Rage is just going to slink off into the sunset?”

“No. But they won’t be able to take credit. They’re criminals, Joanne, and criminals don’t welcome the spotlight.”

“I’m not sure about this, Leland. In theory the plan is great, but I don’t think Riel will go along with it. Yesterday, I said you were interested in talking to him about the shared multipurpose centre. He was furious. He thought the invitation was a trap.”

“Because if I made the offer public, and Delorme didn’t accept, he’d look bad in his community.”

“Riel’s words were more dramatic. He said if he turned you down he’d be seen as the guy who would rather lead his people over the cliff than take the enemy’s hand.”

“That’s a little self-dramatizing, isn’t it?”

“He’s young and idealistic,” I said.

“Then it’s time for him to grow up,” Leland said. “He can’t afford to lose this one. Neither can I. Neither can you. Neither can North Central. You’re going to have to try
again, Jo. Mention the
TV
angle. Delorme sounds like a guy with a big ego. I’ll bet he’ll go for it.”

Okay,” I said. “I’ll talk to Riel again. And I’ll call the producer I worked with at Nation
TV
. Jill Oziowy’s smart, she’s fair, and she’s principled. She can also be very convincing. I’ll see if I can get her to talk to Riel.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Leland said. He gave me one of his slow-blooming transforming smiles. “I’m in favour of anything that will speed the day when we take down that security fence around the condo and Margot and I become part of the neighbourhood.”

We spent the last half of our run talking about what would need to be done to the master suite in the condo to transform it into a studio, and Leland promised to get some of his men on the job that day.

Leland wasn’t joking: Zack and Taylor had barely left when the crew from Peyben arrived. There were three men: all were muscular, all were young, and all were unnervingly deferential. I led to them to the second floor and explained what we needed.

When I expressed concern about the floors in the room that would be Taylor’s studio, a freckled redhead who had introduced himself as Colton was reassuring. “We’re installing temporary protective covering. We know our job, Ms. Shreve. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

So I left them to it and went downstairs to read the morning paper and decide what to do with my day. As was often the case, the day presented its own agenda. I wasn’t eager to talk to Riel, but I knew that I’d be fretting until I made the call. I didn’t have Riel’s number, so I had to phone Mieka. By now, Riel would have undoubtedly told her about our ugly exchange outside the old synagogue, so I was dreading the call, but Mieka was clearly relieved to hear from me.

“I was just going to phone you, Mum,” she said. “Riel waited until this morning to tell me about the fight you two had yesterday.”

“And …?”

“And I told him I thought he should apologize. I also told him that the shared facility could be a great thing for North Central, and he should at least talk to Leland Hunter about it.”

I was taken aback. “Wow. Thanks. Mieka, do you think I should call Riel?”

“No,” she said. “He’s proud – too proud sometimes – he has to learn that there are situations when he has to make the first move.”

Shortly before nine, a courier arrived with the clothing Norine had ordered for Zack. After I’d put the new clothes in place, I stood back to make sure Zack could reach what he needed. Everything was accessible, and as always, everything was exquisite. Zack’s closet always made me think of the scene in
The Great Gatsby
where Daisy Buchanan weeps over the beauty of Gatsby’s shirts. Because of his paraplegia, it was vital that Zack care for his skin – the slightest irritation could turn into a pressure ulcer that could become infected, and even fatal – so his shirts were the softest cotton; his underwear was silk; and winter and summer, his socks were cashmere.

Satisfied that all was in order, I picked up the current issue of
The New Yorker
, told the workers upstairs that if they needed me I’d be in the roof garden, and headed for the pleasures of a soft June day. When I stepped off the elevator, I found myself face to face with Ed Mariani, who was carrying a tray of empty bedding-plant pots. Like characters in an old cartoon, we both jumped back. “What are you doing here?” Ed said.

Once again, my grandmother’s maxim that
a lie will always find you out
had been proven true. “Putting in time,” I said. “Leland offered us the use of his place when we were in town and at loose ends.” Not the truth, but not a lie, and Ed seemed satisfied.

He held out his tray. “If you’re at loose ends, you can help me do some planting. I found some healthy strays at the greenhouse, half price, and I thought I’d plant a little vegetable garden up here for Leland and Margot. I’ve just put in three kinds of basil, and I have tomato plants, thyme, rosemary, and seeds for romaine and lettuce in my car. By August, Leland and Margot will have fresh produce. Next year, I’ll plan something more ambitious, but I thought this would be fun for them.”

“It will,” I said. “And I’d love to help. I need to get my hands in some potting soil.”

For the next hour, Ed and I revelled in the smell of warming soil and new plants. “I get to put the tomatoes in,” I said. “Nothing says summer like the smell of tomato plants.”

“And basil,” Ed said.

“And basil,” I agreed.

I was so absorbed in gardening with Ed that I forgot about the workers from Peyben. When Colton’s feet appeared beside me, I was startled. “Looks like you’re having fun,” he said.

I looked up at him. “I guess we’re never too old to play in the dirt,” I said.

He smiled. “I guess not. Anyway, Ms. Shreve, we’re finished. At least to our satisfaction, but our satisfaction isn’t what matters. Do you have time to check the rooms?”

I stood up. “Of course.”

Ed looked at me questioningly.

I met his gaze. “I’m not just putting in time here,” I confessed. “During the week Zack and Taylor and I are living in Leland’s condo. We’re going to be here for a while. This
is Colton; he works for Peyben. He and his crew came this morning to rearrange the upstairs so Taylor has room for a studio.”

Ed nodded, but his eyes were hurt. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s complicated. Would you come downstairs with Colton and me? I could use an inspired eye.”

Ed pushed himself to his feet and the three of us walked to the elevator.

Colton had pulled out his BlackBerry to make notes as Ed and I inspected the rooms. The master bedroom was huge, and with a skylight and a wall of windows, including a northern exposure, it was an ideal space for an artist. The crew had covered the shining hardwood with an industrial protective covering that had been cut to fit snugly over the floor beneath. I turned to Colton. “This is perfect, thanks.”