“Is that what we’ll be doing?” Brenda asked. “Bankrupting the other company?”
I turned away from the chart. “That’s not the goal. All you want to do is get them to write you a check. But they won’t know that.” I motioned to the door. “We should go get breakfast somewhere.”
“You mean lunch?” Brenda pulled out two chairs. “We’ll go later, okay? My treat. But I want to hear the rest of this in private.”
She sat down, letting me know the matter was settled as she dragged a cup toward her. That was when I noticed the slight shaking of her hand, the dark circles under her eyes, the way her freckles stood out against the ghostly white of her skin. I sat down across from her. “Jesus, Brenda, you look like shit. Are you all right?”
“Are you kidding? Of course I’m not all right. Did you hear what I said about Hal?”
“Of course I heard. But not all of it stuck.”
“Nadia was right. Talking to you is like talking to a wall.”
“How would she know? She’s never tried.”
Fuck you very much, Nadia, I thought, and picked up the cream, tipped it over my cup. Kept pouring until the coffee reached the brim and slopped over onto the table. I shook the container and smiled. Should be down enough to be noticeable. I set the carton in the center of the table. Screw watering anything down anymore. I was done hiding. Let the bitch do her worst.
“Okay, let’s talk about Hal,” I said and went to the pantry. Reached my hand deep into forbidden territory and came out with a sugar bowl. “Tell me what happened.”
“He was sitting outside the house when I got up this morning. I don’t know how long he’d been there, but he had the nerve to wave to me when I went out to get the paper. Like he expected me to bring him coffee or something.”
I sat down and passed her the cream. “Did you call the police?”
“He was gone by the time they arrived, of course. But he’s not smart enough to be scared off by the police forever. Hal is a man on a mission.” She picked up a spoon. Stirred her coffee without adding anything to it. “The guy’s an idiot, but he’s got Mitch spooked. He wants to sell the house to pay him off. He even called a real estate agent to come and give us a price.”
“He doesn’t need to do that.”
“He doesn’t know that, does he?” She kept her eyes on the spoon, watching it go round and round. “I told him to hold off. At least wait until I talked to you.”
“Good. And as weird as it was, I’m glad Nadia let you in.”
Brenda glanced up at me. “I didn’t think she was going to when she answered the door. I’d never seen anything like her. A giant in bicycle shorts and a wifebeater T-shirt. She scared the crap out of me, if you want the truth.” She went back to stirring her coffee. “But she was polite enough while I explained that I needed to talk to you. Then she said you were passed out and wouldn’t come to for hours. ‘You come back later,’ she said, and went to close the door.”
“And yet you’re here.”
“Only because I started to cry.”
“Oh, Brenda—”
“Save the sympathy. It was my own fault. I’ve seen you on enough Friday nights to know that Saturday mornings probably don’t exist for you.” She laughed and dropped the spoon. “I don’t know why, but I had this foolish idea you might have given the Duck a miss last night. Stupid really, when you think about it.”
I winced, feeling like a traitor. “I probably should have done that, but if it’s any consolation, I missed you.”
“Too bad, because I didn’t miss you at all.” She picked up her cup but didn’t drink the coffee. Just held the mug between her hands, as though needing the warmth. “In fact, it was nice to be home for a change, to put the kids to bed myself and watch a movie with Mitch. Would have been a perfect evening all around if goddamn Hal hadn’t kept calling the house every half hour. Two o’clock in the morning, he finally stopped. But come six A.M. there he was outside, smiling and waving, letting me know he is never going to stop until he gets his money. It’s enough to make you crazy.”
“I can imagine.”
“Then you can also imagine how grateful I was when Nadia opened the door and invited me in. Brought me upstairs and showed me which room was yours. Proved to me that your door is never locked and then put a huge hand on my arm and asked why I thought you could help me with anything. ‘She is alcoholic,’ she told me. ‘Very unreliable.’ ”
“She doesn’t even know me.”
“Are you kidding? She lives in the next room. Apparently you rarely close your door, and everybody knows you drink too much.”
I rolled my eyes. “Define ‘too much.’ No, don’t. Just tell me why you sat there so long. Why you didn’t just wake me up?”
“You think we didn’t try? We rolled you over, we shook you, we even shouted in your ear, but you wouldn’t wake up. Nadia suggested a hose, but I said no, out of courtesy to the boys downstairs. So we went back to the kitchen and again she put one of those huge hands on my arm and asked what was so bad that I needed advice from a drunk.”
“She had no right.”
“No right to what? Be concerned? Understanding? Compassionate?” Brenda rose again, went to the pantry, and took out a tin. “We sat here for over an hour, talking while we waited for you to wake up. We went through two pots of coffee and she served me these.” She banged the tin down in front of me and opened the lid. “Her own homemade chocolate chip cookies, which are probably delicious, but I don’t know for sure because once I opened my mouth, I couldn’t stop talking long enough to eat one.”
She stood with her chin thrust out and her shoulders tense, every part of her holding fast, staying strong. Refusing to give in to the tears that were making her eyes shine. “I told her everything, Liz. All about Mitch, the business, the guy who won’t pay, and stupid Hal with his baseball bat.”
She sucked in a long breath and sank into the chair as though all the energy had suddenly left her body. “I can’t believe I told my life story to a stranger in bicycle shorts and a wifebeater.” She picked up her cup again. “I feel like such an idiot.”
“I know that feeling. I spilled my guts to a bartender at the park yesterday. I’m still not over that one.” I opened the tin and took out a cookie. “I thought I might never have to see her again, but no such luck.” She glanced over and I risked a smile. “I thought maybe I could thank her for listening by explaining what a petition to bankruptcy is.”
Brenda smiled a little. “Sounds a bit dry, but she might be interested.”
I laughed and got up. “Then she might also want to take notes.”
I went down the hall to my room. Took my time searching for a pen and a piece of paper under the newspapers, final notices, and clean underwear that covered my desk because I had no clear idea of what I was going to say to Brenda. I’d spent the last two years purposely avoiding anything to do with courts and legal issues. Using Car Bombs to destroy the files in my head and tequila shooters to pick off the stragglers, only to be standing here hoping for a few survivors.
“Petition to bankruptcy,” I whispered as I searched. “Petition to bankruptcy,” over and over, as though it was an incantation capable of bringing my training back from the dead. I guess being a lawyer is a little like riding a bicycle because it wasn’t long before a few of those files started to open. Words and bits of information floating slowly, haphazardly to the surface. Trustee, court, Application for Assignment … and then nothing.
No matter. That was enough to get her started. My fingers closed on a pen first, a pad of paper next. I hauled both out from under the rubble, ripped off the first three sheets of drunken doodling, and headed back to the kitchen to deliver a little free legal advice—the only kind I was capable of giving anymore.
Still, as I handed her the pen and paper, my heart started to beat a little faster and my body grew restless, just as it always had whenever I was making a presentation to a client.
“First things firs
t,” I said, leaning back against the counter, not yet ready to sit down. “What’s the name of the company that owes you money?”
“Champlain Aerospace. They make parts for jet engines.”
“Has your lawyer already made a formal demand for the money?”
“A couple of times.” She scribbled petition at the top of the page. “Last time he signed off with ‘govern yourselves accordingly, ’ and they stopped taking Mitch’s calls.”
“Trust me. Once the petition is served, they will be on the phone to Mitch within a matter of hours, guaranteed. And since they’ve already had a formal demand, all we need now is two things: a lawyer to draw up the application and a name to deliver it to.”
She put the pen down. “That’s all?”
“That’s all. Then we pray that the delivery of the petition results in a check, because your guy was right. Unless Champlain really is in financial trouble, you can’t see this through.”
Brenda looked at me blankly. “I don’t understand.”
“Okay, let me ask you this. Do you think Champlain Aerospace is in danger of going bankrupt? Could that be why they’re not paying you?”
“I don’t know. They’re pretty big, but everybody’s feeling the pinch right now, so Mitch figures they’re using our money to pay the suppliers they still need.”
“If they’re doing that, then it means they’re tight for cash and this will work. If they’re not tight for cash, however, then they could fight the petition, the court would throw it out, and they’d probably sue you.”
Her eyes opened very wide. “But you want me to do it anyway?”
“No, I want you to act as though you’re going to do it. Like when you’re playing poker and all you have is a pair of threes, but you keep a straight face and keep on bidding, hoping the other guy blinks first.”
She tapped the pen on the page. “You’re saying this is a bluff?”
“A bluff that will work.” I hadn’t done a presentation in so long I had to remind myself to slow down. Speak clearly. Take a breath now and then. “The moment your lawyer puts the papers into their hands, the directors of Champlain will shit themselves. The petition will be accompanied by a letter from your lawyer stating that a copy of the petition will also be delivered to their bank, and that they have one week to pay you out in full, or you will see them in court. Of course, their lawyers will call your lawyer and tell them you’re nuts, you can’t do this, and they’ll threaten to sue, blah, blah, blah. But your lawyer will say, Who cares? If Champlain doesn’t pay you, Mitch’s company will be gone soon anyway. That is the case isn’t it?
She nodded. “We probably have another month left.”
“So they’ll be suing a shell.”
I started to pace. Eight steps from the sink to the door and back again. “You have nothing to lose,” I continued, “while they, on the other hand, will have nothing to gain from continuing to hold on to your money. The moment that thing is delivered to their bank, all hell will break loose. Even if Champlain isn’t in any danger of going under, the letter will start a chain reaction.
“Their bank will immediately remove the amount of your claim from their line of credit, in case the petition is successful. If we’re lucky and they are indeed using the money they owe you to pay other suppliers, then their checks will start bouncing, suppliers will slap them on COD, and customers will run the other way. Even if they’re not strapped for cash, the petition will make their bank nervous, and no one likes a nervous bank.
“The directors will have to start tap-dancing to explain why they haven’t paid your bill, and nothing they say will make their bank smile. My guess is that whatever their financial situation, Champlain will cut you a check to keep any of this from happening.”
I smiled and straddled the chair next to her. “Trust me, Brenda. This is not business as usual, but it will work.”
“A bluff,” she said, and sat up straighter. Smiled and threw down the pen. “What a great idea! When do we start?”
“Should be soon as possible,” a voice with a thick Russian accent said.
We both turned to see Nadia in the doorway, huge and sweating in her bicycle shorts and beater shirt. As usual, her black brows were pinched, her mouth was a tight white line, but for the first time in months, her pale blue eyes were looking straight at me.
“So, brilliant lawyer,” she said. “who gave you such good idea?”
My spine stiffened. “Nobody gave it to me. It’s mine.”
“If you say so.” She looked past me to Brenda. “You are happy with bluff?”
Brenda smiled. “I’m delighted with it. In fact, we’re down to the details now and should be out of here in a few minutes.”
“Take your time,” Nadia said. “Is important discussion.” She came into the kitchen and plunked herself down at the table. “Is coffee still fresh?”
Brenda rose. “I’m sure it is. I’ll get you a cup.”
While she poured, Nadia reached across me for the cookie tin, as though I weren’t there.
“We don’t want to keep you from anything,” I said. “I know Saturdays are always busy.”
“Not for me.” She spooned sugar into her cup. “I have all day free now.”
“That’s great.” Brenda topped up her own cup and sat down. “How was the yoga class?”
Nadia frowned. “Good, but is hard work.”
“Those downward dogs can be a bitch,” I said. “But it explains all the thumping and banging in your room.” She finally looked at me. I smiled and held out a hand. “Nadia, isn’t it? I’m Liz. Nice to meet you.”
She ignored my hand. “I know who you are. And yoga is not just downward dogs.” She reached into the tin, took out a handful of cookies, and lined them up beside her cup. One, two, three, four, five. “I am on journey of self-discovery and spiritual clarity. Every day discovering potential for limitless joy.”
“Of course you are.”
She scowled at me. “You find that funny?”
“On the contrary, I find it fascinating.” I leaned over and nicked cookie number three, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of her lineup. “Should I assume that counting slices of bread and tea bags is one of the pit stops on this journey to limitless joy?”
“No, that is petty revenge.” She watched the cookie travel to my mouth. “But first night here, I find you on floor eating barbequed chicken I bought that afternoon.”
I shrugged and took another bite. “I don’t remember that.”
“No big surprise, but does not make it okay. I was furious landlord had not warned me about alcoholic next door.” She slid her remaining cookies into a line of four then pushed the tin toward me. “Take another.”
“Thanks,” I said, helping myself to one from the tin and one from her lineup. Number three again—always a lucky number. “They really are good. And I’m not an alcoholic.”
“No?” She eased her bulk forward and leaned on her arms. “Then what are you?”
“Nadia,” Brenda said. “This is not the best time—”
“No, is fine,” I said. “I will tell you I am drinker. I like to party. Have good time.”
Her smile was enough to make the cookie stall halfway to my mouth. “Did you have good time last night?”
I should have backed off right there, gone out to fetch some sand for her coffee. But I was still feeling good, even a little cocky after my talk with Brenda, and it made a strange kind of sense to take a real stand. To put the cookie down and lean forward on my arms with my nose only inches from her. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
“You should tell us about it,” she said. “About your good time. And where you got this.” Her hand shot out and lifted my sleeve, revealing the bruise.
Brenda drew back. “My God, Liz. Did you know that was there?”
I slapped at Nadia’s hand. “Of course I knew it was there.”
“But you do not know how it got there, do you?”
Heat moved through my body a
gain, up into my face. “Not off the top of my head, no.”
“Or why there are holes in your jeans.” I watched her sit back in the chair, fold her hands on her stomach. “If you like, I can tell you, because I was there.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, is true.” She picked up cookie number one, held it daintily between her thumb and forefinger. “You were on College Street, sitting on streetcar tracks, holding up streetcar and swearing at driver.”
“Bullshit,” I said, ignoring the sudden dryness in my mouth, the roller-coaster drop in my stomach. “She could say I was dancing on top of the CN Tower or running naked through Nathan Phillips Square. Wouldn’t make any of it true.”
“But she did know about the bruise,” Brenda said softly.
Nadia took a bite of her cookie. “Bruise came from man trying to pull you off tracks. Long hair. Beard.” She screwed up her nose. “Not attractive.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said, trying to picture the table at the Duck. Trying to remember a man with long hair and a beard, a man who might have been buying me drinks. A man I might have been going home with. Nothing came. Nothing at all.
Nadia shook her head slowly, heavily as though it was her lot in life to deal with dolts. “Does not matter what you believe. Is what happened.”
“Go on,” I said, and managed a smile. “I always like a good bar story.”
“Is natural you are curious. Lost nights are always problem.” She brushed crumbs from her T-shirt and went for the next cookie in line. “Time was two fifteen A.M. I was in taxi, coming home from friend’s house. I saw woman on tracks. I told taxi to stop and bearded man to leave you alone. He said you passed out in bar and got kicked out. Then you got belligerent in streetcar and driver kicked you both out. Bearded man called you pain in his ass and grabbed you again. I knocked him down and picked you up. Taxi would not let you in, so I carried you home.”
“You carried me? Why?”
Island Girl Page 17
