Arto Hanstardath, the area leader, walked through the factory in a pinstripe suit, despite the heat. He stopped at Heck’s workshop and examined the young man’s work. He slapped him on the shoulder to show his approval, and moved on.
Heck walked home again, pausing only briefly at a newsagent’s to look over the headlines. They were all variations of the same message: things were fine. There were problems in the world, but they were all elsewhere. Some people complained that things at home could be better, but Heck couldn’t imagine how. He reached his house, looked out at the rosy sun setting over the harbour, took off his cap, and went inside.
The next day at work, Heck stabbed his hand with a tool while trying to fix a particularly difficult piece of equipment. As a valued employee, he was quickly rushed to the company infirmary across town. A beautiful nurse treated him, applying more than usual care. He asked her name. “Truna Instred,” she replied. Although he was a company man, there was something different about him. She knew better, but she trusted him. “I have to show you something,” she said, leading him from the ward.
Stefan watched as his mother led his father by the hand. He’d never seen her so intent on a purpose before. His father looked as if he’d follow her anywhere.
One of the footlights blew. Part of the set went dark, and a puff of smoke curled up toward the proscenium arch. Stefan blinked, and saw Chris and Serena, still hand in hand, standing, waiting to see if he wanted them to continue. Chris put a hand on his hip, and Serena looked at her watch. Stefan shook his head. “Um, take ten,” he said. He left the theatre and stood outside the stage door. Two of the stage technicians were there smoking, but he didn’t talk to them. Instead, he walked around the block, looking up at the monolithic office towers in the night. Streetlights reflected in their shiny black surfaces like stars on a still lake.
His father had given him more than just a play. Something unfinished waited in the lines of the story.
~
After the night’s final dress rehearsal, the cast retired to a bar across the street from the theatre for their nightly notes-session. Stefan flipped through his notepad, trying to decipher what he’d written in the dark, to remember what the note was about, then to explain himself to the actors. Over the weeks of working together, they’d developed a shorthand and a series of in-jokes, so the sessions went quickly now. Stefan had learned how to communicate with each of them, and who—Serena and Norman, namely—needed extra care.
Stefan finished giving his notes, then flipped the small wire-bound book closed. “That’s it,” he said, dropping the book on the table, “we’re ready.” The cast cheered, and Stefan jumped up to order them a round of drinks at the bar. He asked the bartender for more of what they were drinking, and turned to go back to the table. Across the bar, he saw Ming, his ex-boyfriend, sitting at a table with some friends. Stefan didn’t see Michael, his replacement, but somehow knew he and Ming were still a couple. He looked back at the table, where Charlene and the actors waited for him. He smiled, and went to join them.
Nine
Voice Box
Stefan ran toward the bank. The pixelboard at the base of the giant Bay Street banking tower flashed with messages about the stock market, charities the bank supported, and reasons to switch to their services. In one corner, the time flashed, 4:55PM. This was the last business day before his flight left for Scotland. He had yet to close his account. In a world of global telecommunication, he knew he didn’t really need to close the account, but he felt it was an important gesture.
He reached the large glass doors and pulled on one of the handles. He sighed with relief when it gave way. A teller looked up as he ran back and forth through the maze of poles and nylon ribbons. An illuminated arrow pointed him her way, and a small light blinked beside her. She looked unhappily at the blinking light, and moved aside the end-of-day work she’d almost finished. As he stood in front of her, she propped a smile up with her lips and asked, “How may I help you?”
“I’d like to close my account, please,” Stefan replied.
The smile fell down.
“Do you have any identification?”
Stefan knew she was trying to block him, but he was prepared. He reached into his pockets and, alternating with his left and right hand, emptied credit cards, licenses, and identification badges, then finally reached into his back pocket and produced his passport. The teller sighed, and took out several forms, which she handed to him. “Sign here,” she said, writing an X on the page. “And here, and here, and,” she flipped forward a page, “here, here, and here.” Stefan signed his name several times, his signature degrading with each successive use. He hoped she wouldn’t question him about that. It was just something that happened.
“The balance,” she said, “how would you like it?”
“In dimes,” he joked. She didn’t find it funny. “Um, a cashier’s cheque would be fine.” She typed some things into her computer, filed his paperwork, and shuffled some other pieces of paper around, then produced a large blue cheque for Stefan. He was pleasantly surprised about the amount printed on it in pixellated grey numbers. He’d arranged the cast’s accommodations, rented the theatre, and paid the actors and Charlene for the rehearsal period, yet there was still a sizeable amount left. He didn’t expect the show to make money—it was theatre after all—but he hoped that he wouldn’t be completely broke when it ended.
“Thank you,” he said, looking up from the cheque. But the teller was already gone. He walked from the bank out into the hot afternoon. The air was thick with exhaust from the cars and buses. He passed a hot dog vendor, and the smell lured him back to buy a veggie-dog. (Not veggie to comply with his mother’s rules, but because they agreed better with him.) He sat on the edge of a marble plant-box in front of an endlessly tall copper-coloured building and ate his supper. He looked at the cheque again.
What am I going to do when the show’s over? Thinking about it made him nervous. He didn’t like this about life, the having to constantly think up what to do next. He’d asked his father in his first letter to save him, and the play was his answer. But the show would only run for three weeks.
Stefan finished his hot dog and dropped the tiny napkin that came with it into a nearby trash can. The traffic signals changed in his favour, and the lumbering streetcars parted like a Red Sea. He crossed the wide street, heading toward the towering broadcast building to pay a call he’d been intending to pay for several days, but had been putting off.
He signed in at security and rode the elevator up several floors. “Helen?” he said, knocking at her door. He had a good idea she would be here, as she was prone to finishing late.
“Come in,” she said. “Oh, hello!” She gestured for him to sit at a chair in front of her desk. He plopped himself down. She sat back in her chair and looked at him. “So, you’re leaving tomorrow. I was wondering if I’d see you.”
“Of course. Though it still feels weird to think that I’m going. I find myself feeling kind of—I’m not sure.”
“Nervous?”
“Well, about the show, a bit. I don’t know how I’m going to lead this thing without you. But you’ve given me Charlene, so it’s not really that. I just feel, like—”
“Like leaving is admitting defeat.”
Stefan cocked his head, and tested what she’d said against his feelings. “Yeah. You know, that’s it. How did you know that?”
“Wisdom is just projected experience. I’m not from here. I left someplace else once. But you know what? It worked. I like it here, and things turned out well for me.” She leaned her head on one of her small arms. “Ask yourself, does it feel like you’re quitting?”
“No. I’m following something. My dad, the play—everything’s leading me this way.”
“Well then.”
“Helen, you’ve made such a difference in my life. I don’t know how I would have done any of this without you. I put off coming here because I didn’t want to say goodbye. But I couldn�
��t very well leave without seeing you.”
“Well I’m happy you didn’t, because I have something I wanted to give you.” She leaned forward in her custom-built executive high-chair and fished through the purse on her desk. She pulled out an envelope and handed it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Open it.”
He tore at the envelope, then examined the slip of paper inside, a cheque. “Oh my God,” he said, “I can’t take this.”
“It’s not for you,” she said. “It’s made out to The Raccoon Players. I’m not being charitable here, Stefan, I’m being subversive. This play is dangerous. I want it out there. I’m too established here; I’m not in a position to start over and try to create something like this. You brought it to me from wherever it came from, and I have to make the most of this opportunity. What do I need the money for? To buy more stuff? I don’t need more stuff. And the things I do want, I can’t buy. Besides, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to—”
“Helen.”
“No, seriously. My doctors... Anyway, my point is that I believe in what you’re doing, and it’s my cause now, too. Art can save the world. If we don’t have art, then the fuckers in the suits win.” She sat back in her chair, wearing a grave expression. Then she croaked to herself, giggling.
“Alright,” said Stefan, “thank you then.”
“As for you, though,” she said, “there’s just one thing I ask of you, and it has nothing to do with the show.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t hurt your mother.”
Stefan squirmed in his chair.
“No, I mean it. I know she drives you crazy, but she and I have worked together for a long time, and she’s a good woman. She doesn’t deserve your scorn. Don’t you see that she’s doing all these weird things because she cares about you?”
“I know. It’s just—”
“Don’t leave a mess. Promise?”
He sighed. He’d planned on slipping away. “Okay,” he acquiesced.
“Good. Now,” she said, “get out. I have work to do and I can’t have you taking up my whole evening.”
It was sudden, more abrupt than the goodbye he’d pictured. But he guessed this was not the first time someone left her behind. He hugged her small, lumpy body.
“Alright,” she said, “get off me. Out!”
Stefan stopped at the door and waved at her. She smiled, waved, and shooed him out.
~
The bouncer’s white dress shirt was stretched to its limits across his chest, illuminated by the yellow, blue, and pink neon tubes beside him, whose coloured gases burned the words “Girls, Girls, Girls”. The black tie he wore was too short because of the width of the neck it had to encompass. Over his head shone an old cinema marquee, now featuring one word: Lapland.
The man blocked Stefan’s entrance to the club.
“Um,” said Stefan.
“Yeah?”
“I’m here to see the band.”
The man’s stern face broke into a laugh. “Yeah, and I read Playboy for the articles. Ten bucks cover, pay inside.”
Stefan paid at the small window and moved through the darkness, weaving his way around small tables populated by lone men, moving toward the stage, where the band talked to each other, adjusting their instruments under the spotlights.
“Rick!” said Stefan.
“Hey, you made it! Guys, this is Stefan.” Rick introduced him to the other three musicians, variations on Rick’s grunge musician look, with hair gelled into post-sleep nests, baggy trousers, sneakers, and loose T-shirts of various colours featuring unintelligible names of what Stefan figured were other bands or skateboarding equipment.
“Welcome to our third gig,” said Rick.
“This is great.”
“Yup. You’re looking at an ex-window-washer.”
“You got rid of the business?” asked Stefan.
“Nope. I finally took Allen’s advice, and I got some students to work for me. And lots of insurance. So now I’m free to focus on my music. We’ve got a manager, and we’ve got two more bookings this month.”
“Wow!”
“Yeah, and with the extra money, I’m going to take a trip to Malaysia.”
“Oh, great, to meet—”
“Jennifer, yeah. I can’t wait.”
I wonder how she feels about that, thought Stefan, but he said “Cool.”
“The bar manager’s giving us the signal to start again. The audience is anxious to get to the part of the night with girls in it. The gang is over there in the back corner. I’ll join you when we’re finished. Oh, hey,” he reached into his guitar case and pulled out a CD case, “we did a demo, too!” He handed it to Stefan. “That’s an extra copy. You can keep it.”
“Alright!” said Stefan. “Wow, congratulations. I’m really happy you’ve got all this going.” He stepped off the stage and fumbled through the darkness, his night vision ruined by the stage lights. After bumping into two businessmen who didn’t make eye contact when he apologised, Stefan found Allen, Paulo, and Paulo’s boyfriend Adam at the back, where they were talking to a woman wearing a pair of sequinned Canadian flag panties and red tasselled pasties.
“So,” the woman said to his friends, “I’ve only got two more biology courses to finish, and then I want to get into a good veterinary medicine program.”
“That’s great, Wendy,” said Adam, who had a strange ability to get people to tell him their most private thoughts within minutes.
Allen stood up unsteadily and hugged Stefan. He had a deep tan and wore a white T-shirt from a recent vacation that read “The Coast is Queer”. He and his partner took the trip after they’d both received promotions.
“So,” asked Wendy, “would you guys like more drinks?”
“What about you,” Paulo asked Stefan, “would you like a drink, or five?”
“Ooh, big spender. What’s with you?”
Adam leaned forward and proudly announced that Paulo had just won a leading role in a summer stock theatre company.
“And the theatre is really close to our cottage,” said Paulo. He was about to say more, but the band blared into their last set.
“How are they?” yelled Stefan.
“Actually,” replied Allen at the top of his lungs, “they’re pretty good!.”
Stefan smiled and sat back in his chair. Wendy brought their drinks, and Stefan tried to figure out where to look as she leaned over them, tassels dangling, trying to give each of them the proper drink. The table soon became a game of alcohol chess. Her difficulty remembering their orders made Stefan worry about the animals who would be her patients one day.
He drank too quickly, and felt blissfully blurry by the time Rick joined them. An announcer spoke excitedly about each of the girls as they came on and did their themed acts. His voice, blaring over the speakers, combined with the unintelligible second voice, made Stefan feel unsteady. He couldn’t hear or follow the conversation. He just watched his friends, whose lives were already moving forward without him. They loved him, he had no doubt of that, but they all knew that sooner or later their ambitions, their love-lives, or something would send them off in different directions.
Stefan found himself staring at a naked woman who wrapped herself around a pole and moved upward like a zero-gravity fire-fighter.
He stood and announced to the others that he was leaving. They hugged, and Allen followed him outside, where the air was cool and clear after the hot, clammy atmosphere inside.
“So this is it,” said Allen.
“Yup,” answered Stefan.
“It’s not going to be the same.”
“No. It’s going to be different. But it’ll go on without me.”
They hugged for a long time, and Stefan felt Allen’s chest jerking as he cried. “Oh, don’t,” said Stefan. But it was too late. After holding each other for several minutes more, Stefan let go. They both wiped at their faces, laughing through their tears. “Okay,” s
aid Stefan, “I’m going to go.”
“Maybe we’ll visit next year,” said Allen. But they both knew it was a lie. His partner would never participate in a vacation that had Stefan as its destination.
“Yeah,” said Stefan, participating in the lie to avoid making things worse. “So I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Yeah. Good luck with the play.”
“Thanks. Okay, I’m going to—” he nodded away.
“Right.”
“Right.”
They hugged again, and Stefan walked away, turning back briefly to see that Allen had gone inside. He took a deep breath of the night air and walked across town, looking at the lights and shop-fronts along his path home, all so familiar, yet altered by his knowledge that he was leaving. He stopped as he walked by the grade school he attended for so many years, where he’d been pulled from class to be told that his father died, where the strange old music teacher was such a fan of his mother and personally congratulated him when Delonia went back on air with her own solo show. He laughed, remembering the year he started late, after his mother’s failed experiment in home-schooling.
Stefan walked around the building and sat on the steps he’d burst from for a thousand recesses and many happy final days of school before summer vacation. He looked at the basketball hoops, impossibly high. He doubted that he could sink a shot now, even though he was taller—though not as tall as he’d hoped back then.
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