Moondance (17 page)

Her cell phone rang.

• • •

MILENA WAS FROM ROME and had worked in Canada for a year. She was aggressive and extremely bright.

“Sit down.” Milena gestured, simultaneously checking her email. Althea sat, her head pounding. She had had a quick shower before coming in, but it hadn’t done the trick. Her throat was raw. She was close to exhaustion. Milena’s eyes shifted, like cards in a Rolodex. She turned, and opened a file on her immaculate desk. She leaned forward.

“Althea, starting tomorrow, the firm has decided to sever our contract with you as part of some restructuring efforts. We’ve pre
pared a package. It’s more than we’re legally required to give you. If you sign it now, this offer remains valid and you must agree not to share the details of the package with anyone.”

Althea head spun.
Daniel knew. Of course he knew. What restructuring efforts? Can they do this?
She didn’t think so. She looked at the offer. She knew it was more than they owed her legally, but what about her bonus?

“Althea, do you understand?”

Althea’s face was hot. She could barely swallow and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse. Numb with anger, just wanting to sleep, not knowing if she was doing the right thing, she signed the agreement.

• • •

AS SHE FELL INTO her bed that night, she felt as if she was plunging to the bottom of the sea. Just before she passed over to sleep, she felt a feather-light touch on her cheek, familiar and comforting

an amber sweet scent

and she was sitting on the cool, soft earth cross-legged. She wanted to stay where she was and his voice came
It’s time to go now
he sang and the figures stood in a row, one stepping forward, bowing slightly and extending its hand, passing her metal moist and red, and she recoiled from it, the earth beneath her becoming water, which rose like a vortex
Look at me, he said
, and in the dream, she heard screams and ran, but it was like running in a viscous liquid against a river current, the parade of figures still and waiting onshore as she turned around and around

awake now gasping

stretched on her cold floor, her hip throbbing, her tongue raw, the taste of her own blood salty and warm.

chapter 24

ALTHEA NEVER SPOKE TO Daniel again.

After leaving a stream of voice mail, she wrote him an e-mail and got no response. At first she wanted to confront him about work. Then she wanted to talk, to work things out. She re-played the conversations they had, searching for clues, wondering what she had done to deserve this, her guilt inexplicable. We talked about moving in together.
You talked
.

Why did you choose a lover who ...

She shut the question out of her mind. Her body shook with the effort to hold on to her anger. She didn’t choose Daniel’s chickenshit behavior. She didn’t choose to be fired. That was bullshit.
Then why did she feel guilty? As if she had done something wrong? Again?

As the weeks lurched by, she rarely left her condo. She ordered her groceries on the internet. At night, she’d order food in, often drinking until she slept. She spent most of her days in bed, crying, dozing, dreamless. She decided to spend Christmas alone, leaving Sophie a message to say she was out of town.

On Christmas day, she lay in bed, curled up in a ball on her side, her fingers in her hair, an empty glass of scotch on the floor beside her. Clothes were strewn around her bedroom, into the living room. Cartons from take-out foot littered her small kitchen.

She had had it all. The degree, the money, the job, the travel. Every-thing she said she wanted.

Almost everything. All gone
.

Kevin and Tori
just like yesterday
. Her heart burned and she could feel the tears coming again and she pulled at her hair and squeezed her eyes, a scream rising in her throat.
Do you want to see?

“No, no, it hurts too much. Too much. Please stop. Please no more. Don’t want to, can’t.”

You fucked up again, the small voice said. He didn’t even care enough about you to say goodbye. At least Kevin and Tori tried to talk to you. At least George could look you in the eye. Not Daniel. It’s getting worse. Your life is getting worse. Anything you do now will only hurt more. It’ll be a bigger and bigger joke. Joke’s on you.

Daniel. Gone. Poof, like a puff of smoke. Dissipating into nothing.

It had taken her a month to tell Celia everything that had happened. This morning, the light from her living room window touched her cheek as if coaxing her awake. She resisted. Last night, as she fell asleep, she didn’t want to wake up at all. This morning, she was on edge, annoyed that she did. The phone rang. It was Celia, so she picked up.

“How are you doing?”

“Mmmmmm.”

“Have you heard anything?”

“Sonya e-mailed me.”

“And?”

“He moved to Singapore at the end of November, three weeks after Paris.”

“Are you looking for work in Toronto?”

“I have two years of bonuses in the bank that I haven’t time to spend, so get off my back and let me spend it.”

“Okay, you deserve to enjoy what you’ve earned. But it’s been three months now, Al. Don’t you think you should start doing something?”

“I don’t do nothing. I also drink scotch.”

“I’m worried about you. It’s not healthy.”

“Who said I wanted to be healthy right now?”

“Christ, you’re stubborn. What would you say if I told you McKinsey
in Toronto is looking for someone with your kind of background. They’re a pretty good group.”

“I’d say I’m not interested. Unless, of course, they make it really worth my while.”

“Well, for the people they want, McKinsey makes it worth their while. You were good at consulting, Al. I’m serious. Even if you don’t get it, what do you have to lose?”

“Let me think about it.”

“Okay, but I’d recommend you think about it fast. They’re moving quickly.”

Althea got off the phone with Celia, feeling irritated, defeated and ashamed. Celia didn’t deserve to be treated that way. It wasn’t Celia’s fault her life was a disaster. Althea cried bitter, self-pitying tears, curling her body as if she was shielding herself from physical blows. Her cries rose into a wail and she threw a pillow across the room, knocking over her lamp, which thudded quietly to the floor.
This is the way the world ends, she thought. This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper
. She felt pulled up just then, as if she hovered over the bed, watching herself.

What do you choose?

This was a different voice, compassionate,
curious
.

Her tears stopped. She could feel only her breathing. She didn’t answer. She thought back. When she got into consulting, she didn’t even really care if she dated anyone. She had money, she had friends, she had her new condo, she had a life — why did she need the hassle? Daniel had been persist
ent. Like George had been persistent. He had worn her down. When she met Daniel, she thought she had been at a turning point.

She gave in to Daniel’s advances believing that she had left all the bullshit behind, believing that finally, she would achieve the life she had first begun to imagine as she began her affair with George. The money was already coming, the travel, the experience. This was the logical next step, right?

This time, what do you choose?

She didn’t answer but lay quietly, exhausted. The tears had stopped. Her head hurt. Moist balls of tissue littered her bed. She rolled to her side with her left hand over her face, between waking and sleep. A gentle warmth settled over her hand and she could smell the familiar powdery scent.
Knows me
, she thought, and her tears surfaced again.

She felt as if she was drunk, even though today she hadn’t had anything to drink yet. Her head was fuzzy and her nose was stuffed. The enveloping pressure on her hand remained and another stroked the side of her face, smoothing her hair. Then came the voice she knew
Look at me
it said
It’s time
and though she couldn’t see, she knew if she opened her eyes, an alabaster figure would be holding her hand and his watchful eyes would glow green, so she squeezed her eyes tight, her nails biting into her hands
No
she thought
No
and her whole body shook with the effort of

the sensation she felt, the trace of lips on her cheek Gone for now
his scent lingering, dissipating into air.

She slept for six hours, dreamless, until early evening. When she awoke, the sinking sun shone through her window shades, painting in delicate pink-orange strokes, the lines converging like paths in the distance.

chapter 25

THE FIRST INTERVIEW WITH McKinsey had gone well, despite Althea’s indifference to the position, or perhaps because of it. She had met with Candace Shermann, a thin, articulate woman who had been with McKinsey for fifteen years. For the second, she faced Candace again, with four others who would question her in a group. This interview, with a written assignment, would take most of the day.

That morning, she woke up when the phone rang. Scrambling out of bed, she answered the call just as it went into voice mail: George, all business, asking her to let him know how the interview went, and was she available for dinner later this week.

Panicked, Althea arrived at McKinsey fifteen minutes late. Her poise and confidence faltered, and she never regained it. The interview was cut short before she had a chance to do the written assignment. She had been dismissed.

Althea stepped into the frigid winter weather, her head reeling.
She hadn’t even been sure she wanted the job. How had this happened?
She had let Celia down: her guilt gnawed. She stepped onto the street, disoriented, slipping on some ice, going over on her ankle and falling to the ground. Flustered, she hobbled across the street. A taxi cab screeched to avoid hitting her. The light had been red.

Waving at the taxicab driver who was yelling obscenities at her in French, she sobbed silently as she limped to the subway.

• • •

“WE ARE EXPERIENCING A mechanical failure on the Yonge-University-Spadina line. We expect that full service will resume within fifteen to twenty minutes. Thank you for your patience.”

Althea squeezed out of the subway car between the layers of people.

Could the day get any worse?
She fought her tears, wanting to be at home in bed. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t ready to look for work. Especially not in consulting. She felt embarrassed and angry at herself and sorry that Celia had become involved in her
mess.

She found a coffee shop, sitting at a table at which someone had left the most recent NOW magazine, Toronto’s weekly alternative and entertainment mag. She picked up the paper, flipping through it randomly. A headline with a photo of a man with thinning grey hair and sunglasses caught her eye.
Convicted Hoffman disappears
. “Local internet entrepreneur Dieter Hoffman, convicted of fraud for his role in an investment scam, has disappeared. His wife says ...”

She flipped to the sex column Savage Love on the last page, which was taking a poll on what to call a sexual act involving a woman, her boyfriend and a strap-on penis, then quickly worked backward.

A red circle caught her eye.

chapter 26

“SO YOU BLEW OFF consulting for a promotions job?”

Celia found that fascinating. Celia would. She was in Toronto to see Althea, just having finished up an assignment in New York.

They were having brunch at Le Petit Dejeuner, a narrow, bustling diner on King Street East. Their seats were plastic glitter green, the walls were brick, and an ornate walnut bar, which the owner said he purchased on E-bay, was the focal point of the small room.

“New age publishing, huh?” Celia continued to study her, smiling. “Michelle will be proud.
I’m
proud.”

Althea smiled. She was sure Michelle would know White Light. She had learned that White Light was to new age books, as Windham Hill was to new age music.

“Yes, I’m sure she will. Oh yeah, there’s something else. I’m moving in with Sophie at the end of this month.”

“A promotions job
and
you’ve been seduced by suburbia. Wow.” Celia motioned to their waitress who topped-up her coffee.

“It makes sense for now.”

White Light Publishing was a few blocks east of the downtown core and the St. Lawrence market in Toronto’s interior design district. White Light’s founder and chief editor Vince Moccia looked a bit like a gangster from the Sopranos, with bright white hair.

“Basically, Althea, my wife has convinced me I can’t be everything
to everyone anymore. I’m looking for a right hand to head up publicity,
media and promotions for our new releases, and someone who can maintain our retail relationships. I’ll still have a hand in it, but I want to concentrate more on the authors, finding new ones, and keeping our successful ones happy and productive.”