by Gail Bowen
Zack’s brow furrowed. “What are emos?”
“It’s a term teens use to describe kids who are too emotional. Emos tend to exaggerate life’s problems and take things too seriously. Danny’s twenty-two, but he’s young for his age.”
“Sounds like Danny is about to win the lottery,” Zack said. “When shooting starts for Sisters and Strangers, he’ll get to see you every day.”
“The spell will be broken as soon as he and I get back to playing Snap between takes,” Vale said. “I’m a loud, mean card player.”
“Luckily, Danny and I are able to get past your loud, mean card playing, and adore you,” Taylor said, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend.
We continued to chat about mutual acquaintances and future plans as we enjoyed our entrees. We were all too full for dessert, so we ordered ginger tea. When it arrived and was poured, Vale said, “No food on the table, just tea, and Zack, you told me Cronus’s story was a story I should hear. I’m leaving tomorrow, so it’s either now or a month from now. You said Cronus died a hero. Was he happy at the end?”
Zack shook his head. “That is probably the most unanswerable question anyone has ever asked me. Cronus died an agonizing death. He was strangled, and then his body was beaten to a pulp. But in the twenty-four hours before he died, Cronus found peace; he gave meaning to his life, and he knew — I suspect for the first time — how it felt to truly connect to another human being.” He paused. “Has Taylor ever mentioned the Racette-Hunter Community Centre to you, Vale?”
“She took me there before Christmas,” Vale said. “The director, Kerry Benjoe, gave us a tour. It’s terrific — the gym, the child-care space, the programs for at-risk kids and abused women; the upgrading classes — Kerry said that Racette-Hunter is changing lives in the community.”
“And without Cronus, it might never have opened,” I said. “We’d planned a big community picnic for the community centre’s first day with barbecues, races for the kids, softball — all the usual activities. Everything was going smoothly and then Cronus arrived and told Zack and me there was a rumour that a child would be kidnapped from the celebration.”
Zack leaned forward. “I was running for mayor, and the abduction plan was part of the opposition’s vicious campaign. If we couldn’t keep one child from harm, how could we possibly run a city?”
“The plan had to be short-circuited,” I said. “Cronus was the only one who knew enough to abort the plan, but we all realized that would mean putting his life on the line. He had told me many times how grateful he was for my belief in his innocence, so I thought there was a chance I could get through to him. I was always physically uneasy around Cronus, but that day, I stood so close to him that our faces were almost touching, and everything that had separated us fell away. I saw a human being who, like me, was deeply flawed, making a decision that he knew might kill him. I saw the marks life had left on his skin, and he saw the marks life had left on mine. Finally, he said, ‘What the hell? We only live once. Might as well make it count. Right, Joanne?’ And I said, ‘Right.’”
Remembering that moment now, my heart sank.
“Cronus didn’t hesitate,” Zack said. “He took out his phone and sent the message that would put an end to the abduction plot and might well result in his death. I shook his hand and Jo embraced him. When the hug ended, Cronus said, ‘That was nice.’”
“That was the last time we saw him alive,” I said. “There was so much I wanted to say to him . . .”
Zack’s voice was strong and reassuring. “He didn’t need words, Joanne. I saw Cronus’s face when he walked away from you. He’d done the right thing, and he was a happy man.”
Taylor and Vale both had tears in their eyes when they left to take a second look at Cronus’s apartment, and I wasn’t surprised that they were back at our table before I had a chance to pour Zack and me a fresh cup of tea.
“We’re taking it,” Taylor said. She was beaming and so was Vale. “We didn’t even make it in. We got to the front door, looked at each other, and we knew Cronus’s old apartment was the place for us. It’s a great space with a great location, but it was the story that got to us. Cronus was a man who did the right thing when it mattered, and that’s a good memory to carry with us as we start our new life together.” She took a breath. “So what do you think?”
Zack picked up the dessert menu and handed it to her. “I think this decision calls for desserts all around. Sky’s the limit. This has turned out to be a very good evening.”
Chapter Seven
Zack’s paraplegia affected every area of his life. There were the everyday frustrations of living in a world that often was not accessible. There were times when he was assaulted by muscle spasms or by pain in his shoulders that had simply been performing too many functions for too long. There were complications that arose because the body’s organs and circulatory system were not designed to be locked in a partially paralyzed body. He never complained. He accepted his deeply flawed body as unquestioningly as he accepted his thousand megahertz brain. For him, it was all part of the package.
When we decided to marry, Zack arranged for me to see his doctor, Henry Chan, so I could, in Zack’s words, know exactly what I was getting into. I left Henry’s office shaken but determined to do whatever it took to make a good life with the man I loved. Zack’s wheelchair of choice was manual. That meant that for at least sixteen hours a day, he was literally pushing himself around. He was strong, but by the end of the day his muscles were tight with effort. Nightly massages relaxed the muscles and gave me a chance to check my husband’s body for pressure ulcers that if left untreated could kill him. Winter and summer he wore cashmere socks because his circulation was so poor. Exercise was essential so Saturday morning, despite his grumbling, he was headed for the gym.
Taylor and I had plans of our own that Saturday. After we dropped Vale at Ainsley’s, we went to take stock of their new apartment. It was painful to think of Taylor no longer spending her nights in the pretty white and Wedgwood blue room down the hall from Zack and me, but our morning of measuring, taking photos and deciding which pieces should find another home and which should stay was filled with laughter and shared memories. I was grateful for our time together, but it didn’t change the hard truth that our daughter had come of age and that meant letting go. When the last photo had been snapped and we locked the door, I felt the stab of loss, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last.
When we arrived home Vale was waiting in the hall. At breakfast she had been on edge but determined to sit down with Ainsley, face to face, and clear the air before they began working together again. When she saw us, Vale’s smile was open, and I felt a wash of relief.
“It was hard for both of us,” she said. “But Ainsley and I will be able to focus on the work now and Jo, your story will be in caring hands.”
“That’s a relief on so many levels,” I said.
Vale’s voice was low and compelling. “I hope you know how much getting the story right matters to me — not just for you and Taylor but for Sally.” When Taylor held out her arms to Vale, I knew it was my cue to leave. Vale had to be at the airport in an hour, and she and Taylor needed time alone.
“I have a couple of errands to run,” I said. “And Zack’s going to be at the gym all morning. Vale, would it be okay if we said our goodbyes now? You can give me an extra hug to pass along to Zack.”
I was sitting in the car trying to figure out how I could kill the next hour and a half when Georgie Shepherd texted asking if there was a time that day when we could get together. I was on my way to meet her in two minutes flat.
At her suggestion we met in the writers’ room at the sound studios. I’d just taken off my jacket when Georgie came in. She was carrying a small paper shopping bag with the logo of a snazzy new bistro on Broad Street. She reached into the bag and handed me a steaming drink. “Chai rooibos latte, right?”
&nbs
p; “Right,” I said. “And a large one costs eight dollars at that place. What’s the occasion?”
“Assuaging my guilt for interrupting your Saturday.”
“Consider it assuaged.” I sipped my latte. “This is good. So what’s up?”
“Lots. One advantage of living on the main floor of Ainsley’s building is that communication is a snap. I texted you because Ainsley came down to my place and told me that Vale Frazier had visited her. Did you know about that?”
“Only that it happened and that it went well.”
“Ainsley said she was glad Vale had taken the first step because they had unfinished business to discuss. Apparently they resolved the issue and had, and I quote, ‘an open and rewarding discussion’ about Roy’s vision for the series.”
“Sounds like it’s a done deal, so what are we meeting about?”
“We’re meeting about you, Jo. Is there a problem between you and Ainsley?”
“There was,” I said. “I thought we were past it. Did Ainsley say something?”
“No, but when I said you and I were working as a team now, she was quick to point out that you have no experience writing a television series.”
“She’s right about that.”
“But you’re bringing as much to the writing now as I am, and Ainsley should be aware of that. If she has an issue with you, we need to deal with it.”
I looked closely at my latte cup. The logo was a latte-art heart, beneath which were the words ‘‘the only drink in which creativity can be consumed.” I turned my cup to Georgie. “Did you notice this?”
She shook her head and smiled. “Very clever, but I still need to know why Ainsley’s uneasy about you.”
“I was really hoping this would never come up again,” I said. “Ainsley and I clashed about Vale. Apparently, Gabe Vickers felt the only way he could get sexual release was to masturbate in front of a young girl and then shoot his semen onto her body. Vale got the role of Ursula in The Happiest Girl because she agreed to let Gabe do that with her.”
Georgie’s pretty mouth twisted in disgust. “God, that is so sick. How old was Vale when this started?”
“Sixteen. When Taylor and Vale became close, Ainsley was apparently afraid Vale would tell Taylor about her relationship with Gabe. Ainsley came to our house and tried to convince me that Vale couldn’t be trusted. She said Vale had problems and I should be careful about believing what she said. I told Ainsley that Vale was Taylor’s friend and that Zack and I both liked her and then I showed her to the door.”
“Had Vale told Taylor about Gabe?”
“No, she hadn’t. She was ashamed. Vale didn’t say anything about her relationship with Gabe until she learned that he had assaulted Chloe Kovacs.”
Georgie’s peaches-and-cream complexion was mottled with anger. “My God. How could Gabe do that to a child like Chloe? She’s so innocent.”
“You and Ainsley were close,” I said. “Was she aware of Gabe’s proclivities before she married him?”
The news about Chloe had clearly shaken Georgie, and it took her a few moments to answer. “I’d heard rumours about Gabe, but in our business, there are rumours about everybody. By the time Ainsley married Gabe, I was working in Los Angeles, and she and I had drifted apart. I remember being surprised at the news. I knew what was in the marriage for Gabe. He got the whole package: the option on one of the hottest shows on Broadway, Ainsley Blair as director and Roy as scriptwriter.” She paused. “But I was never quite sure what was in it for Ainsley.”
“I can shed light on that,” I said. “Roy told me Ainsley married Gabe to protect Roy from another breakdown. According to him, a dozen production companies wanted to option the play; none of them was willing to take a chance on a director and a writer who didn’t have movie credits. Gabe was the only producer who offered Ainsley and Roy money and key roles in controlling the project.”
“So Ainsley married him. And look how well that worked out for her.” Georgie’s voice was bleak. “Gabe is dead and Roy is dead.”
“So much talent lost.” I paused. “Georgie, did you ever see Roy and Ainsley dance together?”
“Sadly no,” she said. “By the time I knew them, their dancing days were far behind them.”
“I saw them perform in Studio One last December at an evening honouring their old teacher. It was set up like a rehearsal hall, and the audience sat so close to the stage, we were almost part of the production. Ainsley planned the entire evening, and it was breathtaking. She and Roy came out to greet the audience and explain what was to follow. They were dressed like a couple in a forties movie musical: Roy was all in white, very breezy, very Fred Astaire. Ainsley was all sparkle — strawberry blond curls sprinkled with glitter, sequins on her pumps, on the bodice of her dress and strewn on her filmy chiffon skirt.
“They danced to ‘Begin the Beguine.’ Their movements were nonchalant, seemingly effortless, but even I knew the amount of skill required to produce an endless cascade of taps while matching their partner’s every movement perfectly. They were so joyful, Georgie, so fully and beautifully alive. Ainsley has lost so much. Let’s cut her a little slack about her attitude towards me.”
“All right, but we’re having a table meeting Monday morning to report on how our part of the pre-production is coming along, and I want you sitting right beside me.”
I picked up my cup and drank the last of my latte. “I’ll be there.”
* * *
The table meeting was being held at the Living Skies office in what was called, accurately if unimaginatively, the Big Room. Georgie was waiting for me inside the building when I arrived. Standing beside her was a broad-shouldered imposing man with obsidian eyes, a mellow brown complexion, a shaved head and a captivating smile. Georgie introduced him as Hal Dupuis, the costume designer for Sisters and Strangers, and when Hal’s large, strong hand enclosed mine, I felt the warmth of connection.
“You’re Ms. Ellard,” he said. “Thank you for sharing the home movies Ben Bendure made of your family’s life. They’ve been an inspiration.”
“Please call me Joanne,” I said. “And it’s Joanne Shreve now. I haven’t been an Ellard for almost four decades.”
He bowed. “I apologize.” Hal Dupuis’s voice was low and sonorous, and he spoke with the precision of a man who treasured language. “I didn’t know about your marriage. We’ve only been given the films of the years between your birth and your sixteenth birthday.”
A frisson of apprehension rippled through me. “I didn’t realize those movies had been circulated.”
“Then I must apologize again,” Hal said. “But please know those home movies have been invaluable not just to me and my colleagues at makeup and wardrobe, but to the production designer, the locations manager, the set construction coordinator, the music producer, the food stylist — everybody!”
I was overwhelmed. Suddenly it seemed that, like Alice, I’d stumbled headfirst into the rabbit hole. “There’s a food stylist?”
Hal Dupuis’s hearty laugh seemed to come from somewhere deep within. “Oh yes,” he said. “And he has had far too much fun learning how to make candied violets the way Nina Love did.” Hal cupped my elbow in one of his large hands. “Let’s go in and meet everyone. Once you see the ways in which we’ve used what you’ve given us perhaps you’ll forgive us for being intrusive.”
There were perhaps twenty-five people at the meeting. Except for Nick Kovacs, who greeted me with a hug, and Ainsley, Georgie and Fawn Tootoosis, I knew no one, but as Hal guided me around, making the introductions, everyone was cordial and commented on how helpful Ben Bendure’s home movies had been to their preparations.
Ainsley was at the head of the table, and when she spotted us, she gestured to the three empty places to her right and Georgie, Hal and I settled in.
“I should have told you about the movies being circulated,”
Georgie said.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “They’ve obviously served a purpose.”
Georgie tented her fingers and looked at them thoughtfully. “There’s something else. Because of the movies, everyone at this table feels intimately connected with your family and Sally’s — but for us you’re all characters to be dressed or lighted or moved in and out of a scene. No one will be intentionally insensitive, but . . .”
Ainsley cut her off. “I’ll handle it, Georgie.” She was very pale and the circles beneath her eyes seemed to have darkened with every sleepless night. Ainsley was forty-four, Roy’s age. The night they danced so blissfully to “Begin the Beguine,” it seemed they were two people whom age would never touch. But they had been mortal after all. Now, five months later, Roy was dead, and Ainsley was suddenly old. As soon as she turned to face the group, the chatter stopped and the room became quiet. “Before we begin,” she said. “I’d like to welcome Joanne Ellard Shreve to the table and ask everyone to remember that the characters we’re dealing with were people Joanne knew and loved. I know you will show them and Joanne the respect they deserve.” She turned to the series’ producer. “Now, Fawn will get us started.”
I had only met Fawn Tootoosis on a few occasions, but each time I’d been impressed by her quiet intelligence and her composure. She’d spent years in the film industry and had also learned the importance of watching and listening from the elders on Poundmaker Cree Nation, near Cut Knife, Saskatchewan. Gabe Vickers’s sudden death had rocked the lives of everyone in his orbit; it had also raised serious questions about the fate of his company, Living Skies Productions, and about the future of the company’s major project, Sisters and Strangers, but whatever else he was, Gabe Vickers was a dynamic executive producer, and he left what would turn out to be his final project in great shape. The financing for Sisters and Strangers was in place; two of the principal actors had been signed, and negotiations with Gabe’s first choices for the other five principal roles were in final stages. The heads of all the departments had been chosen and the series’ director and writer were already at work.
