by Eve Morton
But none of it mattered. His intention was clear. He knocked on Sherry’s door.
He wasn’t going to get his show back. After he’d downed his conciliatory drink at the bar in one swallow, Sherry offered to go over the numbers with him in the corridor outside the party. It wasn’t that the radio station was struggling, but times were changing. No one wanted to hear a voice over the speaker that lulled them into complacency through nice little stories. Or if they did want to hear that, they went for NPR. The only people who still used the radio for that type of programming were in their sixties, and quite frankly, they were dying off. His audience was literally disappearing and the radio couldn’t find enough sponsors to keep him on the air. Original programming wasn’t what the station needed anymore, except morning shows and the regular gossip hour. Online ads and repeat programming. From the way Sherry had spoken about the other original programming, like Andrew’s Book Talks, it seemed like it wasn’t going to be long before Andrew was off the air, too. The only thing that seemed to keep Andrew afloat were his commentaries, which often descended into humorous rants, and the book blogs he wrote alongside his hour-long show.
Every single conceivable compromise had run through Cosmin’s head last night. He could start a blog for the show. He could go down to every two weeks. He could even find some sort of strange advertiser or sponsor to keep him afloat, maybe even sponsor it himself. But each and every time he came up to a roadblock that he could not ignore. The audience. What was the point of having a show if no one was listening to it anymore?
The realization stung him like freezing water from a drainpipe. He was alone. He’d started speaking into a mic believing that there would be someone on the other side who’d hear him, but he was actually all alone. In the depths of his sorrow last night, he feared that it wasn’t just his radio program where he was alone, but everywhere.
When Sherry answered the door, some of his fear was assuaged. She sighed as she stood in her doorway, arms across her chest. The frown around her mouth seemed just as well-worn through age as his own grin had become lately. There was only five years parting them, with Sherry nearing her fifties. Her blond hair was dyed and perfectly maintained, her wardrobe just as sophisticated and carefully put together. Today she wore black slacks and a black turtleneck, completely slimming. The diamond studs in her ears swayed in the light of the office, making her seem iridescent. “Come on in, Cosmin. I would normally tell you to go home, take some time off, and enjoy the holidays, but it’s you. And I love you. So come.”
Cosmin stepped inside and took a seat in one of the office chairs. A coffee mug was near her laptop, her email opened. She poured him a cup without asking and set it in front of him. She sat down without another word, skipping all the small talk.
“I have an idea,” Cosmin said.
“I know you do. You have a lot of them and they’re often quite good. But I still think we should at least pretend to talk about Christmas first before you launch in. Then you can tell me all your ideas. So what are you doing for Christmas?”
Cosmin shrugged. He hadn’t thought much beyond this meeting. “For the last ten years, I’ve used the two weeks where the world shuts down to get caught up on my ideas for this show, quite honestly. Sometimes taxes too.”
“Fun.” Sherry shook her head. “You’re coming to our house this year. On the day. Get drunk with Hal and me and make sure Cassidy eats all of her desserts. Then maybe we’ll put on some ugly Christmas sweaters and take some pictures.”
“No, thank you.”
“They don’t have to be ugly. I can find you a Prada one.”
“I appreciate the thought,” Cosmin said. “And you know how much I love coming to your place. But I think your Christmas should be a family-only one.”
“You are family.”
“Again, I appreciate the sentiment. But I would much rather focus on the show.”
“I think you need to let this go,” Sherry said, her words sharply edged. “I’ve done all I can.”
“I know you have. But I also can’t let this go.”
“I understand that it’s always hard losing something, especially on the tail end of another recent loss, and especially during the holiday season. I wish I’d told you sooner, when we first got the numbers in, but it was so close to your father’s death that I told myself to wait. Because you are family, Cosmin, and when that happened I hurt right alongside you. I shouldn’t have waited so long to tell you, though, and I apologize for that.”
Sherry’s words were genuine, so Cosmin hid his frown with a sip of his coffee. His father had been dying a long time before he finally didn’t wake up in November. That was not what upset him the most about all of this. Two losses back to back sucked, but he was well practised at that.
The loss of a job, and the income it gave him, wasn’t really a factor either. The radio show never netted much to begin with, but it had been an easy way to keep adding to his retirement fund. And his retirement fund would honestly be just fine, especially with what his father had left him. He was not hurting for cash, or work to fill his time, in the least. He still had his teaching career, his books, and speaking gigs.
He could even guest star on the radio’s other shows. Sherry seemed to fixate on him as a guest star, and was in the middle of pulling up a production schedule to give him spots on the air when he finally set down his coffee cup.
“No. Thank you, Sherry, for trying to find spots for me, but that’s not what’s upsetting me. As much as I like hearing my own voice, it’s not what I miss and will continue to miss.”
“You miss the show itself. I know.”
He wanted to snap “Do you really know?” but he let it go. Before she became the lead owner and president of the radio station, she’d had the most popular morning show on the air. It had been usurped when her daughter, Cassidy, fell ill and her attendance was sporadic. Instead of letting a younger, perkier host take over and fading away from the limelight, she’d decided to invest in the programming instead. It made her famous and rich through another means—but it also forced her to make practical decisions, no matter the personal cost.
“I know it sucks not having a show. Which is why I suggest being a guest star—it’s all the talking and none of the paperwork. But if you do like being your boss, and who can blame you, then there are podcasts. I think what you do is great—very Canadian Ira Glass—but it’s just moved to a different form.”
“I... I don’t know how to make those. I’m sure I could learn. It’s not that I’m worried about that. Again, it’s not the point. That’s not why I came here today.”
“What is, then?”
“Legacy.”
“Legacy?”
“Yes.”
Cosmin flashed to the Word document he kept on his computer all year-around, filled with notes and ideas. The show he’d always wanted to do was always at the bottom. Always there, year after year. He always thought there’d be enough time to do it, and he never thought he was skilled enough yet to accomplish it. Just wait. Another month. Another idea, another year. Something always came up and he always psyched himself out.
Now there would be no time. He’d recorded his last show and it had already aired. If he had known it would have been his last, he would have done something different.
“I don’t want to be remembered the way I am now,” he said. “I know there’s nothing wrong with what I did. I’d even say that my last show is one of my favourites I’ve ever done. But it’s not my last show. Not in meaning. It’s simply my last one in chronology.”
Sherry nodded along. She folded her hands over her chest, signalling her patience.
“So what I want may seem silly. Foolish, even. But I want another show. Just one more, please. I want to write and do the show I’ve been meaning to all these years. Sort of like my dying wish before fading out.”
“Your bucket show
.”
“Yes, sure. I was thinking more my last Sermon on the Mount, but sure. Go secular.”
“Always.” Sherry smiled. She glanced at her computer again, assessing her schedule. Cosmin’s tension released. He’d asked for what he wanted—a hard task for him—but more than that, he saw the acquiescence in Sherry’s gaze. She retrieved her glasses from the string around her neck and narrowed her eyes at her computer screen.
“How long would you need to prepare it?”
“Not long. Why?”
“Because I fucking hate The Countdown.”
Her cursing startled him into a small laugh, one which she also mirrored. The Countdown was the year-end show the radio station did. It pulled in almost no listeners anymore, not when there were a dozen countdown shows that were far better produced and covered more interesting topics than the best rated radio clips. The Countdown lasted from twelve to six the day of New Year’s Eve, and then the radio station played generic music the rest of the night with one of the interns acting as DJ since no one wanted to work it.
“Are you saying I would replace The Countdown?”
“I’m saying you would complement it, so it’s not an entire day of nonsense recapping. Maybe this will also give one of the interns a chance to get smashed.” Sherry took off her glasses and chewed on an earpiece in thought. “I’m effectively giving you the keys to the radio station for half the day, on the last day of the year, and telling you fill at least six hours with whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?”
“Still run the ads, though. We need those. And the occasional Canadian song to make sure we hit quota there, and you’re golden. You can have a marathon of Sleep Alone. On New Year’s Eve.” She made a face. “Oh, that sounds depressing.”
Cosmin rose from his seat. He met Sherry on the other side of the desk and wrapped her in a hug. “No, that sounds perfect. Thank you so much. You have no idea—”
“I do, Cosmin. And you’re welcome.”
The hug lasted for another beat more. Then Sherry shoved her glasses back on her nose and wiped away all her sentimentality. “Now, go home. I’ve still gotta schedule this and make sure our payroll is set, but there’s no other reason for you to be here. Prepare for your headliner. And come by for a drink on Christmas!”
Cosmin nodded. For what she’d just given him, he’d bring all the booze in the world and wear all the Christmas sweaters.
* * *
Eric’s to-do list grew as soon as he was conscious again. After working until two in the morning, and then waxing nostalgic for far too long last night as he lay in Trina’s guest bedroom, he was shocked when he only slept until ten a.m. Trina and Michael were both still snoring along, even as the Toronto streets bustled outdoors. Eric took the constant honking of car horns and shifting of streetcars as his sign to gather his things and leave. He wrote Trina and Michael a nice thank-you note on their grocery list pad against their fridge and signed it with a smiley face.
Then he remembered his audition.
His Christmas shopping.
And the fact that it was December 20th and he had only so long before he was going to need to talk to his mother and the rest of his family to figure out what was going on for the holidays.
Ever since his two older sisters married and had children, his mother’s house had stopped becoming the main focus point for their Christmas celebrations. Sometimes Margo wanted to be the main attraction, and so her husband’s Jamaican family in Eglinton opened their doors to Eric and his parents, while other times Dana couldn’t manage to drive from the almost-always snow-covered Ottawa with twins strapped in her back seat, plus a rambunctious older son, so people went to her large three-storey house, which was almost always too cold no matter the weather outside. Then there were his mother’s brothers and sisters, all without children of their own, and who all lived along the East Coast of the US, who often wanted to tag along for whatever gathering there might be. Sometimes Aunt Berta would offer up her spacious house in North Carolina and they’d all have Christmas on the shore, or sometimes his parents ditched the kids entirely for a road trip to Uncle Mac’s house in Boston. Wherever his parents went, Eric knew he’d follow like a lost dog—but it would need some planning. Especially since he didn’t have a car anymore. When he reached into his pocket for his phone, though, it was dead. His cascading list of items to shop for and things to do ran to a stop.
Shit.
He didn’t have a cord to charge the phone. He walked back the three paces to Trina’s house and grabbed one of her charge cables. They had a massive pile of them in the centre of their living room. Eric thought about writing a note to explain that he’d taken one, though they probably wouldn’t notice, and when he figured Trina’s exact response would have been for him to plan better, he merely took the cord and ran.
Fifteen minutes later, after walking through dense sidewalk streets packed with ornate storefronts, he found a Starbucks. He set his phone up to charge and approached the counter.
The man behind the counter seemed too young to be there, but his voice was pitched deep. He greeted Eric with the standard hello, but soon paused. He sized up Eric from his head to his toes, then back again. Eric scratched his beard self-consciously and wondered just how bad his bed-head must be.
“The name for the cup?” the man asked after Eric had given his order.
“Eric.”
“Eric. I thought that was you.”
Eric froze. People normally didn’t recognize him from his work—or if they did, in that rare occurrence, they used his stage name or “that guy from the robot show”—so his first name acting as the final piece that fell into place made him edgy. Nervous. Especially in Toronto so close to some of his old haunts.
The man’s face started to seem familiar, too, especially the light blue eyes and curly black hair. Oh God. Did I fuck you when I was with Trina? Oh God. Oh shit. Eric was about to stumble away and hide his face, completely abort this mission of charging his phone, when the barista spoke again.
“It’s me. Um. Well. You would remember me from high school, but under a different name. Natalie.”
Eric let out a breath. Oh. Natalie. He could see her in the face now. The ruddy cheeks of his first girlfriend in high school now seamlessly morphed into a well-defined face that was dotted with hair above the lip and chin. Her once long curly hair had been cut very short, making the curls into tight rolls that stuck close to the scalp. And the eyes—the blue eyes that gave away their intention, whether it was the punchline of a joke or wanting to fool around before class—were still there and the same as ever before. This was Natalie.
“But obviously you’re not Natalie anymore,” he said, rolling with the change easily enough. “So what do I call you?”
He gestured to his name tag. When he smiled, the dimple in the side of his cheek was visible.
Eric had kissed that dimple so many times. He was shocked to find that he still wanted to now. “Dillon,” he read off the name tag. “Interesting choice.”
“After Matt Dillon. Remember?”
“Of course.” Eric flashed to their numerous high school hallway conversations about the work of S. E. Hinton, someone they both loved, and how their group of friends had resembled the cast of The Outsiders. Natalie had always wanted to be Dallas Winston, the character played by Matt Dillon with a punk rock leather jacket and a knowing smirk, while Eric always wanted to be Ponyboy, the main protagonist, but got slotted with Two-Bit because of his cocky attitude and shades of red hair only then-Natalie knew about. “Looks like you finally got to be Dally.”
“Totally.” When Dillon smiled, it didn’t seem like the smarmy grin the real-life Matt Dillon often possessed, but it suited him nonetheless. When Eric’s coffee was ready, along with his breakfast sandwich, Dillon gave it to him with another nod before he sat down.
While Eric’s phone ch
arged, he was left alone with the déjà vu, which crept into his skin. He’d long associated Toronto with his failed acting career, and then his failed marriage. It was a city he wanted to avoid, always holding his breath past certain landmarks that left black marks on his psyche and biography. It was a city to pass through as he took a Greyhound to see his parents or sister, a city to deal with, to read about in the pages of Canadian fiction like Dionne Brand and in the rare romance novel he picked up. Toronto was not a city to live in.
But in only two days, more like twelve hours, he’d seen two people from his past who gave him good feelings. Warm feelings. And even Trina didn’t treat him poorly. Sure, she took care of him because in some way she probably still saw him as a fuckup, but it wasn’t like he was in exile here.
Unless he counted Cosmin. No, the feelings with him may have been warmly nostalgic, but Cosmin was still definitely out of his league. Eric would always be a fuckup there. But there could be so much more to this city, if he let it in.
He looked out the Starbucks window, focusing on the steam from the grates which turned into colder condensation; he surveyed and counted the different coloured hats and types of jackets on children and adults and watched the swarm of people who always had places to go. There was a bustle to the place that he had missed. If he walked the two kilometres to Union Station, he could get to anywhere he needed to be. That sense of mobility made him feel connected, and it was always there, always running, even on Christmas Day. Toronto was good. It was nice. And maybe it could be his home away from home again in some way.
When he noticed a laundromat across from the Starbucks, he remembered his dream. Was this the place Michael said he had connections for? Or at least hinted at connections? Eric saw no For Sale sign, but there were also a dozen people in the way. He didn’t have time to search one out as his phone was chirping now that power had been restored. Eric shelved the dreams for a moment as he combed through his messages.
Cameron, of course, had sent him a handful of texts apologizing. He claimed to have left cash on the counter but wasn’t going to be around for the rest of the week. So one car was gone. His mother had emailed him—and the entire family, it seemed—the casual Christmas plans. His parents had apparently gone to see the American relatives earlier in the week to catch up, and everyone was going to fly back to have Christmas in their home. Margo was heading to Ottawa to have her toddler meet the cousins there, which meant that her family and Dana’s family would stay in Ottawa, almost three hours away.
