Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13)

by Heather Wardell

  I shook my head. "Not at night." I had more than enough trouble sleeping already.

  His eyes full of promise, he said, "Good. That'll save us some time. See you later, beautiful."

  And he headed off back to the bar without looking back.

  I stood for a second, fighting the urge to call him back and rush upstairs with him before he changed his mind, then slammed back the rest of my drink and took the others over to Candice and Ian. I'd seen a pretty dress like hers at the mall but hadn't even tried it on, choosing instead to go for my basic black sheath. I didn't do girly, but she did it so well. I envied her. Yet again.

  At my arrival everyone in the group turned to me, and Elena, my least-favorite classmate of all time, formed her lipstick-free mouth into a huge fake smile. "Larissa! Show me your kids' pictures and then I can show you mine."

  My stomach sank but I tossed my hair back, noting as I did how much nicer my carefully maintained blonde looked than her half-grey-half-brown mop, and said, "Don't have any. Kids or pictures."

  "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," she said, her voice oozing superiority like pus from a pimple.

  "I'm not," I made myself say brightly. "I'm a makeup artist for celebrities and fashion models, and I wouldn't able to do the job I love if I had kids at home."

  Eva, Elena's sidekick and my second-least-favorite classmate, ran her eyes over my face like she was inspecting me for flaws. I held still, knowing my evening makeup of shimmery silver eyeshadow and rich red lipstick was perfectly applied and she wouldn't find anything wrong, and a flash of triumph shot through me when I saw disappointment on her face. She raised her chin, though, and said, "Well, I'm so glad for you that you enjoy your career. I guess not everyone's cut out for kids."

  Trying to channel the 'I'm so much better than you' attitude of Angel Dove, the dubious singer who'd been my last client of the day, I said, "I guess not. Just like not everyone's cut out for fashion or running their own business or..." I faltered slightly but pictured Angel again and made myself roll on like the baby-blonde perfectly-groomed steamroller she was. "Or wearing clean clothes," I finished in the same 'aw, you poor thing' tone she'd used on me, tapping the sleeve of her shapeless tan dress next to a smear of what I hoped was chocolate.

  She rolled up her sleeve, flushing. "Nevaeh and Maverick were eating sundaes in the room before the babysitter arrived."

  Since when had spelling words backward made them into names? I'd always planned to name my kids Colin Christian or Maria Jessica. Not that it looked like I'd be getting the chance.

  I gave her a small smile, trying to convey, "Don't feel too bad that you're a mess," and she flushed more.

  "So you have your own business then?" Elena said. "Doing makeup?" There couldn't have been more disdain in her voice if she'd said, "Doing porn."

  I ignored her tone and lied through my teeth. "Sure do." I wanted to, desperately. From childhood I'd longed to run my own business, like my dad did with his carpentry. I kept almost managing to go out on my own, but somehow it always fell apart at the last minute. I knew Candice and Ian wouldn't call me out that I was still slave to an idiot boss, though, and I couldn't face admitting to Elena that I hadn't reached even one of my life goals.

  "And what do you do?" Candice said to Elena. "We didn't quite get to that yet."

  "Before I interrupted," I said, so grateful to my friend.

  "No time for anything but my kids." Elena ignored me. "You know how it is, with two of them." Her eyes flicked to me but she didn't say, "Well, you don't know, of course." She didn't need to: her look said it for her.

  "I do," Candice said, and I mentally begged her to tell Elena that she worked full-time and still managed to be a great mother.

  She didn't get the chance, though, because we were joined by a woman so hugely pregnant I was afraid the baby would drop at our feet.

  "Elizabeth!" Elena and Eva squealed in unison and hugged the newcomer, and Candice and I exchanged a quick 'Here it comes' look.

  Sure enough, the three of them said together, "All hail the three E's!" and burst out laughing.

  I managed not to roll my eyes but it was tough. I'd hated that in elementary school, and apparently it still grated on me.

  Elena and Eva fawned over Elizabeth's huge belly, and so did Candice though I didn't like seeing it, then Elizabeth said to me, "And what about your kids?"

  "I don't have any," I said, and I saw the light go out of her eyes as if someone had flipped a switch. She didn't even acknowledge my answer, just turned to her friends and Candice and began talking about motherhood. Apparently if you had no kids you didn't matter in her world.

  The husbands, who also didn't seem to matter, and I stood awkwardly listening and smiling at the right times, and I made my smile even brighter so nobody would know I was crying inside. I wanted to take off but I didn't have anywhere to go. All the other groups chatting looked the same as ours: mothers and outsiders.

  Though I glanced around a few times, I couldn't see Brent anywhere. Now I wished I'd taken him up on his offer to go upstairs and get a little action.

  At least then I'd have something. Right now, I had nothing at all.

  *****

  Dinner wasn't so bad, since every few minutes the DJ gave us a new topic to discuss. As our conversation ranged as instructed from our favorite memory of elementary school through what we now thought of the music we'd loved then to what careers we'd thought we'd have, I almost began to feel like I wasn't a freak. The three Es and their husbands sat with another couple at the table next to ours and their brays of laughter were annoying, but we were with two of our good friends from school and their husbands and we laughed plenty too. Only seven people at our table, though, and whenever my eyes fell on the empty place beside me where my husband would have been if I'd had one self-loathing squirmed through me.

  If I'd known, five years ago, that after Greg I wouldn't find another man even close to as good as I'd thought he was, I might not have dumped him for cheating on me. I hated myself for such weakness, but I couldn't help it. I wanted him sitting next to me now. I hated being alone.

  Our last assigned topic of conversation, as dessert was served, was to discuss how our own kids were doing at elementary school and how different it was from when we'd been. The DJ did add, "And if you don't have kids, then maybe just talk about how the kids you know are doing or something," but it was clearly an afterthought for the few pathetic ones who hadn't gotten their lives together.

  Candice's kids were too young for school, but she listened intently as the other two women at our table discussed their kids' school experiences. I pretended to listen, but I was busy thinking about Brent. I would be leaving with him, no question. Even if we wouldn't be together in twenty-five years for the next reunion, even if not in twenty-five hours, I needed to lose myself in his arms tonight. I didn't want to be me at the moment, even more than usual.

  Unfortunately, as I scooped up my last bite of tiramisu and began discreetly looking around for Brent our old gym teacher Miss McLeod dropped like a meteor into the empty chair beside me.

  "And who are you all?" She peered at us, her smile somehow evil and so big it pushed her flabby cheeks up until they nearly obscured her eyes. She'd been a large woman when she taught us, and now she seemed almost too heavy for her leg bones to handle the strain.

  The four of us who'd been her students introduced ourselves, and the other three introduced their husbands too, and Miss McLeod said, "Now, let's see what I remember of you."

  Nothing good, as it turned out. Candice's fall in front of the school on the second day of grade four, which had put her on crutches for six weeks, was the only thing that came to Miss McLeod's mind about her, and the glee with which she described how Candice had cried was indecent. For the other two, she remembered one throwing up on herself after eating too many popsicles at a sports day and the other breaking her nose during a game of dodgeball.

  "And you," she said, turning to me. "What about you?"
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  A movement caught my attention and I saw Brent at the door giving me a wave. Even from across the room I could see seduction in his eyes. "Nothing much to tell," I said, eager to get away. "And I think I see someone I--"

  "Oh, of course." She patted my hand, and for a split second I thought she was understanding that I needed to leave. But then she said, "With you it was your period."

  Candice gave a gasp of surprise and I felt my face growing hot.

  "Oh, my, yes." She gave Ian a devilish smile, which he didn't return. That didn't stop her, though. "First time, poor dear, and it was everywhere. And of course she was wearing white that day."

  I had begged my mom for that white skirt for weeks after seeing it at the mall, because its lacy trim and the way it swirled around my legs had made me feel so pretty. She hadn't wanted to get it because she'd been afraid I'd get it dirty, but I'd promised I'd be careful and eventually she'd relented. I'd worn it for the first time that day. I hadn't worn white pants or skirts since, and every time I got my period, even now, I felt a shudder of disgust and hatred for myself.

  I'd felt that something was going on down there, but I'd been busy working on a project with Candice and hadn't wanted to be bothered going to check. It had been a fiercely hot day so I'd just assumed I was sweaty. But when I got up to fetch more supplies for our project everyone around me screamed, and then the rest of the class pointed and screamed too as the horror of what their young eyes were being forced to witness rippled through the room.

  I'd pulled the back of my skirt to the front to see what they'd seen, then burst into tears. My young male teacher had clearly been embarrassed but he'd been kind to me, wrapping my gym shirt around me and sending me with Candice as an escort off to the office where an overly solicitous secretary had congratulated me on becoming a woman then called home so my mom could come get me and clean me up.

  It was Dad who came, though, since he ran his carpentry business from our house, and I'd almost have preferred staying in the classroom to how awkward he was with me. He'd always wanted a son, and he clearly hated having to deal with such definitive proof that I wasn't one.

  He wasn't mean to me. He never was. He just couldn't meet my eyes, and didn't comfort me when I dissolved into tears of humiliation in the car on the way home. Mom had taken me out for ice cream that night but it was too late to put a good face on the whole thing. If this was womanhood I wanted no part of it.

  "I don't think I've ever heard kids yell like that," Miss McLeod mused.

  "You weren't even there," Candice said, her voice sharper than I'd ever heard it. I appreciated her standing up for me but it didn't erase the awful memory.

  "I was in the hall, dear. And of course we all talked about it in the staff room. Oh, my, yes."

  I heard a soft calm voice say, "Talked about what?" and we all looked up to see Mr. Simmonds, the much-loved guidance counselor and science teacher, standing behind me.

  "When poor Larissa got her first period," Miss McLeod said. "You remember, don't you, Gary? That awful mess? And how she cried?"

  He shook his head. "Not at all. But then I prefer to remember only the happiest times at school."

  I felt sure that my nightmare had been one of Miss McLeod's happiest times.

  "Of course you remember," she said. "She was in class and then she got up and--"

  "Matilda, I think Marcus wanted to speak with you before he left. Perhaps you should go find him?"

  She muttered something but wandered off. Mr. Simmonds took her chair and gave us all a consoling smile, letting it linger longest on me. "Oh, Matilda. She's gotten worse, obviously, but she was a nightmare even back then. She could clear the staff room in two seconds flat. Of course, the principal could do it in one so I don't feel bad inflicting her on him."

  The others laughed, and I forced a smile.

  "Now, I don't know what she was on about," he said, and something in his tone told me he absolutely did know and that made me feel worse even as he added, "But I'd love to know what all of you are up to now."

  The other three explained their lives, then he turned to me and said, "And you?"

  Before I could answer he said, "You were such a clever little thing, Larissa. Still are, I'm sure, although not as little." He gave me a sweet smile. "But you were..." He flicked his eyes over the others and said apologetically, "I liked all of you, but I must confess I sometimes liked Larissa just a tiny bit more. You're not offended, are you?"

  They smiled and shook their heads, and I said, "Why?" I couldn't imagine what he meant. I'd never thought of myself as particularly likeable.

  He tipped his head to one side. "Don't you remember? You had to know how everything worked. I had that old record player in my office and you spent ages taking it apart and then even longer putting it back together. For a science teacher, you were a dream student. I always thought you'd be a scientist. Was I right?"

  I shook my head. "Makeup artist."

  "And you were also great at art," he said, smoothly covering over what I was sure was his disappointment, "so that's not a surprise either."

  What was a surprise was that I'd forgotten all about how much I'd enjoyed scientifically analyzing things. Knowing my dad hated me doing anything girly, I'd joined Mr. Simmonds' after-school science club. I'd thought Dad would approve, but he'd just muttered something about, "Too smart for her own good." I'd felt like I couldn't please him, but I'd stayed with the club because I liked spending time with Mr. Simmonds and I liked solving puzzles too.

  Then the local community centre set up a softball team for the first time, and though I hated sports I joined. Dad did seem proud of me for that, but on the way to my first game he was run off the road by a tractor trailer.

  So the one time I made him proud cost him his life.

  "Larissa?"

  I jumped. "Yes?"

  One of the other women's husbands said, "Weren't you saying earlier you'd seen someone you needed to talk to?"

  I'd forgotten all about Brent. I looked around and saw him sitting with Loretta Raymond, who'd been popular with the boys in our class for reasons involving furtive meetings behind the school and whose low-cut top and frighteningly short skirt suggested she hadn't changed. He saw me looking, pointed at his half-empty drink, and flashed me five fingers.

  Five minutes. I nodded and said, "I think I've got time."

  "That's great," Mr. Simmonds said. "I'd love to hear more about what you're doing. And all of you, of course."

  As we chatted my embarrassment at Miss McLeod's revelations began to fade. Mr. Simmonds, who insisted we call him Gary and laughed uproariously at how hard we found it to do, was a great conversationalist.

  In fact, when I saw Brent again waving at me from the door, not only did I not see how I could get up and leave but I didn't even want to. Gary was right in the middle of describing a huge fight Candice and I had had over who got to keep the bracelets we'd bought together one weekend. Neither of us remembered the fight, but his hilariously dramatic description had the ring of truth, and I didn't want to leave before it was over.

  As subtly as I could, I flashed Brent three fingers.

  He grimaced and showed me one.

  I shook my head and returned two.

  He shrugged.

  I turned my full attention back to Gary, and when he finished the story less than a minute later I looked for Brent again.

  He was gone.

  So was Loretta.

  I didn't think it was a coincidence.

  No point in leaving now, though, since I had no idea where he'd gone and he'd already given up on me, so I plastered a happy smile on my face and kept taking part in the conversation though I wanted to crawl into a corner and cry.

  A few minutes later, there was a commotion at the door, and I looked up to see a redheaded woman dragging Brent and Loretta into the ballroom. His pants were undone, his belt flapping, and Loretta's blouse gaped open even more and her skirt was caught up in black panties on one side.
r />   The redhead was shrieking at Brent. "Bad enough you're cheating on me, but with her? And in the bathroom no less? And with yesterday being Valentine's Day? When you decided to come to this stupid thing alone I knew what you were up to. You're disgusting, Brent. I told you after the last time--"

  "You have a girlfriend?" Loretta jumped in.

  The redhead laughed without humor. "I'm his wife, honey."

  Loretta stumbled back a step, and if I hadn't been sitting down I'd have done the same thing. I'd had no idea he was married. He certainly hadn't acted like it.

  "But no more." The redhead shook her head and pushed Brent away from her. "Have your stupid skanks. I don't care. Have this one. Hell, have..." She scanned the room, then pointed right at me. "Have that one for all I care. I am done with you. Expect the lawyer's call tomorrow. And stay away from me and the kids."

  She stalked out and Brent scuttled after her. Loretta stood frozen for a moment then fled too.

  The shocked hush of the room exploded into conversation as everyone discussed this new event.

  Everyone except me.

  I sat silent, disgusted with myself. I'd almost slept with a married man. A married man with kids. I should have known better.

  And by the way his wife had pointed at me and called me out, she could see, even from across the room, that I was no good.

  Chapter Two

  Candice called at the worst possible time Monday morning, as I was frantically removing a model's makeup so I could redo it in the three minutes I'd been allotted instead of the twenty a good job would take. Luckily, I was wearing my phone headset in case of last-minute instructions from my boss so I was able to take the call.

  "Candice, I have one second. What's up?"

  She didn't speak for at least several seconds, which I spent swiping the model's flawless face clean as fast as I could without tugging at the delicate skin around her eyes where she had a very few very small wrinkles, then said, "Sorry. Just wanted to talk to you about the christening. I'll call back later."