by Howard Engel
“Don’t play dumb. My eyes are twenty-twenty and I keep my rear-view mirror clean. You owe me an explanation!” She was wrapped up in her camel-hair coat, which made her look taller than I knew she was. Her long hair was swinging freely as she shouted; her face had taken colour. I backed off a little.
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know is that first you started honking at me, then you followed me around three right-hand turns. You know how often that occurs in nature?” She suppressed a more friendly expression and went on with her questions.
“Who sent you? Who are you working for? Did Orv hire you? I have to know!”
“Look, lady, you’ve got me mixed up with a bad movie.”
“Not a chance. I’m still in my right mind. I’m not paranoid. I haven’t started talking to the birdies yet!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“And I’m still this side of Alzheimer’s,” she shouted, running on, not listening.
“A man’d have to be out of his mind to follow you.” Then I pretended to do a double-take. “Hey! Aren’t you the woman who reads the news on CXAN? I thought I’d seen you. Just wait till I tell the wife that I saw you!” I laid on the celebrity recognition bit to try to change the subject. She looked like she was buying it and backed towards her car.
“If I see you again within a car-length of me, I’m going to the cops! I’m not kidding. This is what they call harassment. And harassment is something I know all about!” she said, opening up her door. In a moment she realized that she had spoiled her exit by opening the front passenger door. She slammed it angrily and walked around her BMW. I let her see my grin as she drove off with a screech of tires.
I killed the expression as soon as she was out of sight. As I started to the right door of the Olds, I pondered a few things. First of all, I had to admit that I was getting sloppy in my technique. When McStu drove up behind me that first night, I had called it a case of bad luck. It could have happened to Dick Tracy and to Sam Spade. But this, tonight, this was faulty technique. There was no way around it. I was going to have to be careful: all of the people I shadow aren’t under five feet three.
Then there was the other thing: she thought that Orv Wishart had set me on her tail. She complained of harassment. Was this the general harassment that a good-looking TV anchor has to wade through or did she mean Wishart specifically? What was it that Robin O’Neil had said? He’d hinted that Catherine Bracken might owe her job to Orv and may be having to play games with him in order to keep it. It was certain that there was no “part” in the local media world that ranked quite as high as the job Bracken had landed and kept. Robin had hinted that she kept it in spite of bad performance. I can’t remember seeing any spectacularly bad performances. Sure, she goofed on a word once in a while, but they all do. No, I was sure that she could have held the job on her own. She didn’t need Wishart’s influence any more, even if she had once upon a time. The question was, did she know that?
I was driving over the high-level bridge in the direction of the station. I had no business there, but I thought that the ride might help clear my head. And I knew that this was one direction in which Bracken was unlikely to drive.
“Did she know that?” I said out loud. In the time I’d been following her, she hadn’t once driven to Wishart’s house. Nor had she met him anywhere. She had a full life with McStu. That was certain. She didn’t need a second string. Lucky McStu! Poor Wishart. How could he be taking this change in his plans? He wouldn’t be happy about it, but there was little he could do. She was doing a good job; he couldn’t fire her, even if he had a long-stemmed replacement for Bracken warming up in the wings. Someone who was more obliging than Cath Bracken. Maybe he did.
I bought a few packs of cough drops at Binder’s Drug Store, where I used to get cigarettes and the best milk-shakes in town. I would have stayed to have one at the greenish marble counter, but I felt that I hadn’t been earning my money this evening. I had to find out more about Orv Wishart’s hold on Bracken. I found a parking spot on St. Andrew Street and went up the stairs. Naturally, the toilet was calling out to the empty hall and locked offices. It was like the Siren in the story of Ulysses, only she didn’t have a good location for picking up homesick sailors and the only rock around was the stained porcelain of the toilet itself.
I looked up the notes I’d made on Wishart. From all accounts, he was a frisky devil, an opportunist of the first water, and one who was no longer as young as he used to be.
My research was interrupted by the telephone. Thinking it must be Anna, I answered it: “Cooperman.”
“Benny, is that you?”
“Ma! You never call me at the office. Is something wrong?”
“That’s a matter of opinion. The clerk here thinks I’m a crook. I’m collecting quite a crowd. Will you come and get me out of here?”
“Where are you? I’ll be right there.”
“You know the new twenty-four-hour supermarket on Lakeshore Road, Benny? The one with the posts so you can’t wheel the buggies out?”
“I’ll find it. Tell them I’m on my way. Try to stay calm!”
“Calm? I’m like an English cucumber. I’m vibrating with control. Only I haven’t got any money So, Benny, for once come right over.”
“I told you I’m …” I heard the click and spoke the rest of the sentence to the wall across from me. Grabbing my coat, I snapped off the light on the run. In a minute I was making a left turn and beginning to find my way to Ma’s side. It was Benny to the rescue. Even I could see it. What I couldn’t figure out was how she got herself into such a scrape at such an hour. The very idea of Ma shopping at all gave me a shot of anxiety. She who shops by phone, if at all, what was she doing cruising Lakeshore Road at midnight?
The place was well lighted. But that made it almost invisible in that neighbourhood, where every gas station and fast-food outlet is lit up like a Mardi Gras until all hours. But, I was able to locate the place with a gigantic “24” spinning above the nests of shopping carts. I abandoned the car illegally near the door and raced inside to see what was the matter.
“What kept you?” Ma was in good form. The manager, three clerks and a crowd of onlookers surrounded her heaping shopping cart near the “express” check-out chute.
“Ma, tell me exactly what happened. Take a deep breath and stay calm.”
“Calm! I told you on the phone I’m calm. The manager, talk about calm to the manager!” I looked at the manager and tried to catch his attention, but he was busy with one of the clerks, rehashing the argument that had failed to work on my mother. He seemed genuinely puzzled about where he had gone wrong.
Ma was wearing black stretch pants with a top that combined six or seven different samples of handicraft weaving. To top it off, she was wearing a gold medallion on a chain that made her look as though she could invoke invisible powers.
“Please, Ma, tell me what’s happened.”
“It’s a simple story, but he, that manager, he won’t believe me.”
“From the beginning. Please!”
“It’s your father’s fault. He said he was going to bring home the groceries, but he got into a game—you know your father and his games!”
“Yes.”
“Well, I told him I’d go out for them myself when he came home and I got him to give me the money. You know I never carry the stuff.”
“Yes.”
“And I meant to bring it with me, but I left my purse in the hall by the door.”
“How did you get here?”
“I was going to take a cab, but I saw Shirley from next door. She dropped me here. She was going to pick up her Karen who’s been babysitting over on Lake Street.”
“Never mind Karen. So, Shirley gave you a lift?”
“If she hadn’t I would have discovered that I’d forgotten my purse when I went to pay the taxi! Then I could have gone home for it. If Shirley hadn’t done me such a big favour, I wouldn’t be
standing here!”
“So, it’s all her fault for being a good neighbour?”
“I didn’t say that! Shirley’s a wonderful person. You don’t know half the things that girl has done for me. She’s a saint. Still, if I’d taken the cab …” She shrugged and left the thought unexpressed. I turned to the manager and he identified himself as though there might be a rival claimant.
“How much does my mother owe you?” I asked, and he looked at me as though I was missing the point. I hoped he couldn’t guess that I was carrying less than twenty dollars in my wallet.
“Are you Mrs. Cooperman’s son?” I acknowledged that I was. “Well, Mr. Cooperman, your mother has no right to expect to get credit when she isn’t carrying any identification!”
“My mother forgot her purse! I’m sure she told you that.”
“Oh, she said something …”
“Which you chose not to believe? Do you have many elderly customers? Do you know anything about the aging process, Mr.…?”
“Carmichael. Lester Carmichael. Ah, no, I can’t say I do.”
“For your information, Mr. Carmichael, elderly people have pride and dignity just like ordinary people. In fact they are ordinary people. They try to remain independent for as long as they can. And with some compassion and common courtesy they do very well. Occasionally, of course, they run into a manager like you!”
“Really, Mr.…”
“Did my mother say that she would get the money?”
“She said something about …”
“And again you chose not to believe her! I see. The world is full of people like you, Mr. Carmichael, people who won’t give our senior citizens a chance to make it on their own. Have you made out the cash-register receipt?”
“Hawkins has it, haven’t you, Robert?”
“Right here, Mr. Carmichael,” said an acne-spotted young man.
“Have you any serious objections to my driving my mother home and returning with the money?”
“Well, it’s highly unusual …”
“Then, suppose you keep the groceries and I take my mother home or to the Emergency Department at the General to have her blood pressure checked?”
“Now, look here, Mr. Cooperman, I …” Carmichael went on talking, but I didn’t hear a word of what he said. This was because at that moment I caught sight of Catherine Bracken standing with a shopping cart, watching the proceedings. She was quietly amused by the battle of the check-out counter. I swallowed hard as our eyes met briefly. I had lost steam when I turned back to Carmichael.
“What did you say?”
“Please, Mr. Cooperman! Take your mother and the groceries with you. Drop the money off in the morning or when it is convenient. Please accept my apologies for this whole misunderstanding.”
“That’s easy to say now!” I said, turning away from the manager’s pale face. “Shall we go?” I asked Ma.
“Your father will be wondering what’s happened to me, son,” she said in a faltering voice. I averted my eyes. “You know how your father worries.”
A clerk loaded half of the plastic bags of groceries into the trunk of the car. A second clerk, Robert, carried others and put them on the back seat. With great dignity and carrying a plastic bag of oranges, Ma walked regally to the open car door.
FIFTEEN
Except for a skeleton staff left at the supermarket, we all ended up at Ma’s place: Mr. Carmichael, Robert and another clerk whose name I didn’t get, a fellow customer named Bill and Catherine Bracken. How did that happen? Don’t ask. Ma and I’d been ready to leave, I was walking around to the driver’s side of the car, when Ma yelled, “Stop!” I looked around and saw that Ma’s bag of oranges had split. Oranges were rolling all over the Tarmac. People from the supermarket, who had been watching our progress under the mercury lights, came running to help. While we were racing after oranges, a clerk appeared with a forgotten shopping bag. Carmichael picked up his apology where he had broken it off. Cath Bracken was watching it all standing beside an island of shopping carts. Then I heard my mother inviting everybody back to her house for a drink. I couldn’t believe it! She shouted the address and waved at the crowd as she got into the car.
While we were driving, of course, Ma had her chance to get to me.
“Thank you for coming, Benny,” she said. At least she’d dropped “son,” which she hadn’t called me since the day I recited my Bar Mitzvah portion without distinction.
“Quite all right,” I said.
“Eh?” she said. “Stop whispering!”
“It’s your hearing going, is it?”
“There’s a lot about the aging process you know nothing about, Benny. All we old-timers want is a little dignity and courtesy.”
“Knock it off, Ma, or I’ll let you walk.”
“Benny, this is your mother you’re talking to!”
I had just piled the groceries on the kitchen counter when the supermarket arrived with more bags. Ma poured Carmichael a drink of rye and tried to overcome the two clerks’ reluctance to drink under their gaze of their boss. Robert was coughing after a swallow of VO, when Catherine Bracken came in the door with an armful of oranges and frozen vegetables.
“Put them down anywhere, dear,” Ma said. “We’re drinking rye and water.” Bracken put her burden in the refrigerator and caught my father coming up from the TV room to see what was going on in his kitchen at nearly one in the morning.
“I’m Cath Bracken, Mr. Cooperman. How do you do?”
Pa blinked and grinned and took her arm to lead her into the tangerine-coloured living-room. Ma looked up just in time to hand Cath a drink. “This is for the heroine who saved my oranges!” Cath took a sip, while Ma poured a drink for my father. “If the bag had ripped here in the living-room,” she said, pointing at the broadloom, “We might not find them all for weeks.”
I took a chair across from Cath Bracken, waiting to see if I was going to be offered a drink. Ma was sometimes funny about drinking with either of her sons. Cold sober, she knew we wouldn’t try to upstage her; after a drink, there was no telling. Bracken had taken off her coat and was wearing the green silk blouse I’d admired a few nights ago on the small screen. She was listening to something Carmichael was saying, but her attention was on Ma, who was telling Robert what to do to clear up his complexion. Ma believed that an active sex life was a boon to the whole system and to the complexion in particular. Robert was listening like he’d never heard the word “sex” spoken above a whisper before. Cath was grinning.
I got up and found the heel of the bottle of rye in the kitchen. “What the hell,” I thought, “I might as well join them.” I poured a shot and added some ginger ale from the fridge. I had just taken a gulp when Cath Bracken walked into the room. “My name is Cath Bracken,” she said with a warm smile. “Shall we start all over again?” I took her hand, which was cool from her glass, and held it for a moment while I tried to figure out what I could salvage from this shipwreck.
“I’m glad to get a second chance,” I said. “Thanks for helping out.”
“You didn’t need any help. I was very impressed. Your mother tells me you’re a private detective.”
“Investigator. She doesn’t listen. What else do you want to know?”
“Who set you on me, naturally. But that can wait.”
“Miss Bracken—”
“Cath. People I like call me Cath. And you’re …”
“Benny. I prefer Ben, just Ben, but everybody calls me Benny.” We clicked glasses and drank in silence for a moment. “You know I can’t tell you who I’m working for. That’s rule one. Break that and I’ll be condemned to searching titles for my cousin Melvyn from now on. I’d prefer not to, although my parents can’t see the life of a private investigator as something to boast about.”
“She boasted to me about it. Right after she told me about your brother, Sam.”
“Yeah. Sam’s the big success.”
“I think she likes you.”
�
�She can’t remember I’m here.”
“It’s just her way. Trust me. I know a thing or two about women.”
“You seem to handle both sexes well,” I said.
“Ah, that’s right. That was you who had a blow-out with McStu, wasn’t it? He sounded ferocious. But he wouldn’t have hurt you. He couldn’t. He doesn’t see well enough without his glasses to do any damage.”
Carmichael came into the kitchen and got some ice from the freezer. We both watched him being aware that he was interrupting something. When he had gone, Cath asked if I’d rather not talk shop and I nodded. “I’d just as soon talk about the rich and famous, but I don’t think I can.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Until I can fit you into a context, I’d just be rattling on.”
“No focus. That’s right. To tell you the truth, I’d like to find out why I was hired in the first place,” I said. Cath raised an interested eyebrow. “McStu is married, right? Is his wife giving him a hard time?”
“Moira? Moira wouldn’t sic you on me. She’s happy with the way things are. She’s got McStu’s money, such as it is, and I’ve got McStu.”
“People change. Could she be looking for a bigger piece?”
“What’s bigger than all? Look, Benny, she’s a healthy, childless woman in her mid-thirties. She’s smart and has a degree in business management. She’s sitting pretty. I admit she put on a show of being a cast-off little church mouse, but that was just for the settlement. Since the divorce was final in September, she has been spending a lot of time in Mexico between consulting jobs. My heart cracks wide open for her. It would be different if McStu was loaded, but he isn’t. He lives on advances from one book to the next. Just because he appears on television whenever they need a black commentator, everybody thinks he’s independently wealthy. He needs that teaching job at Secord. It’s the only steady thing he’s got.”
“And you,” I offered. She grinned, tilting her head to show that she was no prize package. From where I was standing, I could have argued that. She was little, but there’s nothing wrong with little when it looks like Catherine Bracken.
