Lucy's Launderette (26 page)

“I
t's a boy,” I said.

An angry red jowly little face, like an old man's, with a few scraps of black hair and very black eyes, blinked at us all and then began to cry the strangled indignant cry of newborn babies.

“Isn't he beautiful?” said Connie.

We could hardly tell her the truth, that he looked like a cross between a marmoset monkey and Winston Churchill. We all echoed, “Beautiful. Just gorgeous.”

Jacques reappeared again. “The ambulance is here.”

“Perfect timing,” said Sam, staring down at his ruined clothes.

Jacques ushered the paramedics into the office. They took over quickly, checking the baby and Connie. Connie was made to lie on the stretcher with the baby in her arms. They were bustled out through the eager crowd, out the front
door and off to the hospital, choruses of “way ta go, Connie” following in their wake.

Sky snapped to life and said to Sam, “Take those clothes off right now. I'm very good with stains.”

Sam stared at her wanly.

“Go on,” she said.

“Yes, go on, Sam,” I said. I went over to the lost-and-found box and began to burrow through it. “I'm sure we can find something for you to put on. Something in checks. Or a nice plaid maybe.”

Sam gave me a wry look and began to unbutton his shirt reluctantly. I didn't hurry. When I finally came up with a slightly holey men's T-shirt and some baggy drawstring cotton pants, I was slow about handing them over. I was checking out every inch of his body. And it was a very firm body that was standing there in socks and briefs. Washboard stomach, muscular arms and legs, and broad chest covered with a pelt of golden hairs. He gave Sky his clothes and she rushed away to work her stain-removing magic.

Sam had just finished yanking the other clothes on when Max poked his head through the door. Max did a double take, smiled at the both of us and said, “There's a man asking for you, Lucy. Should I send him in?”

“A man? For me?”

“Look for yourself.” Max indicated the two-way window. Pacing nearby was Jeremy's lawyer, Doug.

“Yeah, tell him to come in,” I said. Doug appeared in the doorway, very elegant in a dark blue suit. I went up to him and shook his hand. “I'm glad to see you made it, Doug. So now you've seen the launderette.”

“Congratulations, Lucy. Jeremy would be proud of you all. I'm sure of it.” Then he looked beyond me and over to Sam.

“Sam,” he said, his voice full of surprise.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Dad?” I said. “Doug's your father?”

“Yup,” said Sam.

“But he's Jeremy's lawyer.”

Sam said, “It's right there on the letterhead. Take a look at it sometime. Hackett, Steel and Trelawny. He's the Douglas Trelawny.”

No wonder he'd seemed familiar. It was Sam I was seeing in Douglas Trelawny, not the man who'd been at the funeral.

Doug said, “We missed you at the dinner tonight, son.”

“Yeah, I know, Dad. I was on my way when I got a call from Lucy here.”

“I imagined something of the sort must have happened. They were moving pretty slowly, only up to the appetizers when I left. Thought I'd just pop round here and see what this young lady has dreamt up. I was curious. I must say, I'm impressed.”

“She's impressive, our Lucy Madison,” said Sam.

And that little word of possession,
our,
only one step away from the word
my,
washed over my body like a warm glow, made all my extremities tingle, made me wonder what it would be like to be possessed by Sam Trelawny. If anybody had looked at me with infrared viewers in that moment, I would have blinded them.

Douglas Trelawny picked a bit of fluff off his suit and said, “Well, I better get back. You know those Foundation dinners. They may be endless but it doesn't look too good if you're not there for the speeches.”

Sam smiled and nodded. “Bye, Dad.”

“Drop round whenever you feel like it, Doug,” I said.

“Nice to see you again, Lucy. We'll be expecting great things from Lucy's Launderette.”

“I don't know about great. I'd be satisfied with good.
Thanks again for coming.” Something tugged at my heart as I shook his hand again. I was looking for Jeremy in him. No doubt about it. And he must have known because he held my hand a little longer and gave it an extra squeeze.

When his father had gone, Sam stood up and said, “There wouldn't happen to be a little of that food left, would there? A few of those nibbly things I saw on the way in? I could eat a couple of head of cattle.”

“So you're not a vegetarian, I take it.” It was important to get these things established right away. The first thing on the human survival list is food. Sex comes after that and then comes more food and more sex. If I was going to consider Sam as potential boyfriend material, I had to know exactly what we'd be licking off each other's fingers.

“Not likely,” said Sam, “A cow is beef to me, a nice juicy steak with legs.”

“I'm sorry. Stupid me. You were on your way to a dinner when I called you…”

“The Foundation dinner. They're dull but there's usually lots of food. I was kind of counting on eating at least once today.”

“The Foundation…” I said. Something was starting to click over in my mind.

“It's more my father's thing…” said Sam.

“Wait a minute.” Once again, my one-track mind had kept me from seeing what was in front of me. “Trelawny,” I said limply. “That wouldn't be the Trelawny Foundation, would it?”

The biggest donations in the city. Name at the top of every list of contributors. For the SPCA, the Symphony Orchestra, the Art Gallery, the Women's Shelter, the Hunger Project, Greenpeace, the Heart Foundation, the Cancer Foundation…the list went on and on. In these parts, it was a name like Rockefeller or Mellon or Carnegie.

Sam looked at the floor and then at me. It was a guilty look, as though I'd caught him at something.

“Oh dear,” I said. “If you're…a Foundation Trelawny…of THE Trelawnys…I mean…then that means…that your family…is very…very…rich.” The last word barely came out. There were no vowels left, just consonants.

“'Fraid so,” said Sam.

It shouldn't have made a difference, his being one of the “Foundation” Trelawnys, but all of a sudden I was afraid. I'd never known anybody that came from old money, and piles of it. And I'd certainly never had a rich boyfriend. But then I looked at Sam in that holey T-shirt and ugly drawstring pants and it was easy to say, “C'mon, let's go find some food.”

Max had sagely held back a platter of goodies. He was hiding it under the counter. He saw me coming, and spotted the way I was frowning at the picked-over trays sitting on the countertop. He pulled out his hoard.

“You're a genius, Max,” I said.

“I know,” he sighed.

We took a table in the corner. The crowd had finally started to thin out a bit and the atmosphere was relaxed. Leo had lapsed back into easy jazz.

Sam gobbled a few appetizers and then said, “So now tell me, Lucy, who is Connie exactly? It's nice to know whose baby you're helping to deliver.”

I laughed. “Connie was my grandfather's girlfriend. This place is hers now. Jeremy, my grandfather, died a few months ago.”

“So the baby is your uncle,” he mused.

“Uh-huh.”

“That's pretty interesting,” he said.

“My grandfather had some kind of tumor. I figure he must have been pretty sick. He drove his Harley into a ravine.”

“I'm sorry.”

“So am I. I miss him so much. Did you know that your father met Jeremy in a cancer clinic a few years ago? That's how he became his lawyer.” I was probing. “I'm assuming that your dad's okay now. He looks very fit.”

“Yeah,” said Sam, “he's had a clean slate for about seven years. Gave us all a pretty big scare for a while there. I was back East fooling around at the time.”

“Fooling around?”

“I was trying to break into show biz, doing a bit of theater, singing with a band.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was just playing. As I say, fooling around. It wasn't really for me,” he said.

My hand was placed flat on the table. He started to trace around my fingers with one of his, then slid his hand over mine. I didn't change my attitude though. I wanted to hear the whole story, ugly bits and all.

“Why wasn't it for you?” I asked.

“Everybody's on an ego trip. Haven't you seen the way actors are always catching themselves in mirrors and checking themselves out. It's me, me, me all the time. Maybe my parents did a better job than I knew. I kept having the feeling that I was useless to society, that I ought to be doing something to help other people and not just thinking of myself all the time.”

“That's very noble,” I said.

“Yeah. I'm a noble sort of guy. Modest, too.”

I laughed.

“Well, then, Dad announced that he had this tumor and the rug came out from under me. I was living with Jennifer, my girlfriend at the time. She suddenly got a bad case of Family Values and suggested we get married and move back West.
She knew I wanted to be closer to my father. I should have smelled a rat right away.”

“Sorry?”

“Jennifer wasn't really the family type. I didn't find out till much later though.”

“What was she interested in?”

“Money.”

“Oh dear,” I said.

“Yeah. I think she figured Dad would kick the bucket and there'd be something huge in it for her. A few of the Trelawny millions. Suddenly wanting to get married like that. When we moved back here, I made sure that life stayed pretty humble. You have to see the way my parents live to understand this. Conspicuous consumption was never really a theme in my family. The idea my father always promoted was that if you're lucky enough to have money then you try to do something useful with it. That's not to say we don't have fun from time to time.

“I went back to university to get the courses I needed for social work and Jennifer mooned around wondering when she was going to see some of the Trelawny loot. It was a big shock for her when my dad came through his treatment and survived.” Sam laughed bitterly.

“So what you're telling me,” I said, “is that you're a stingy SOB.”

“Only when the person trying to pry open my wallet has no ethics.”

“You're being awfully hard on poor Janet.”

“Jennifer. She was a better actress than I took her for. She'll be able to mold herself to the next man and maybe he'll appreciate her more than I did. When I put her on the plane for Toronto, I felt like a thousand tons had been lifted.”

“That day in the airport…I saw you kissing a beautiful brunette. Was that…?”

“Jennifer. I couldn't let her go with all those sour grapes. After she trashed the house, I made a deal with her, a cash deal. It was no skin off my nose. I have a few good investments. I just regret…”

“What do you regret?”

“That I've wasted so much time.” He reached out and touched an escaped strand of my hair.

We stayed in that corner all night talking about our hopes. He asked me what I'd be painting next and that took us into new territory of art and music and books. He had slowly shifted around so that we were sitting close together side by side. He held my hand but that was all. Very innocent. I was so content I could have stayed like that forever.

My friends had come over to say goodbye one by one and I'd barely been aware of them. Bob was the last to leave and said he'd take care of things the following morning, that I didn't need to worry. The place was empty and it was starting to grow light when Sam stood up brusquely and said, “Listen, Lucy, I better get down to the police station and find out what they've done with Dirk. There's going to be a load of follow-up and paperwork and bureaucratic crap to deal with. I'll talk to you soon.” He gave me a lingering kiss on the mouth, gathered up his ruined clothes, said, “I'll call you,” and was gone.

 

The next day, Sky phoned me. “Have you seen the paper?”

“No. My eyes are too sore for reading. I didn't just drown my sorrows, I pickled them, too. It was those two enormous gin and tonics I drank as I watched the dawn. Alone, I should add.”

“This isn't over that Sam guy, I hope?”

“He could have stayed longer.”

“No, he couldn't, Lucy. He came when you called, he had your brother arrested, he delivered a baby, and he ruined an Armani suit. Well, almost ruined. I think I managed to salvage it. That's enough for one evening. What did you expect? That after all that, he was going to throw you down on the new carpet and have passionate, uncontrolled sex with you?”

I said, wistfully, “It would have finished off the evening nicely.”

“Well, I know it's fun to be an obsessive compulsive but some people have other schedules. And what about all those other women you said he had. You don't want another Paul Bleeker, do you?”

“Paul Bleeker never kissed me like that. And those other women are accounted for. At least I think they are.”

“Forget about all of them. You wanna know what the Mortician said about your show?”

“What?”

“Well, the title was ‘Grandma Moses Goes Punk.' There were only a few lines in the night-life section.”

“With all those notes he took?” I said.

“Who knows? To paraphrase, he said the show was puerile and apparently lacking in technique, though whether this was intentional he couldn't say. The show is curious enough to merit a quick visit, but not if you don't already happen to be in that part of town.”

“Well,” I said, “he hates everything and everyone. Coming from him, that's almost high praise. Usually he tells people not to bother at all.”