by Julia Ariss
"And that's because he's a cyborg. I just figured it out and it makes perfect sense. Faulty empathy chip. Thus, my crankiness."
"Still... he could have sent his minions to the station. Instead, he took the time-"
"True. I'm not even sure why I'm letting him get to me. He started out so promising at the mixer, but then he turned out so controlling and so... spoken for. Such a turn off. Nuff said. It's all behind us now. Just need some alone time today."
"What for? You live alone Fanny. Isn't that enough? Yeesh."
"It gets a bum rap - solitude."
"Careful what you wish for."
"I know. You think everything I touch will turn to loneliness now. Don't worry. I was launched good and proper last night, and I'm looking to the future now. Full steam ahead."
"I'm glad my efforts haven't been for nothing, but you do understand my work is not done; you're a work in progress and I have loads more in store for you. You'll need to gear up."
"I'll be fully charged by Monday. Promise. Bye Evie."
Fanny felt her tummy rumble and her thoughts turned to breakfast. This was her Saturday morning ritual, unvarying and hallowed:
Rise early and throw trench coat over P.J.s
Discreetly make way out of building past unblinking, superior stares of neighbour cats peering out from apartment windows. Skulk over to corner store to buy newspaper (online on weekdays.) Utter silent scream if sold out and buy toffee and scotch mints as gesture of good will to smiling, nonjudgmental store owner.
Hurry home and play benign instrumental background music sensitive to elderly, fully-dressed-by-breakfast female neighbours and their haughty cats.
Make large pot of tea (English Breakfast, tea cosy, strong)
Fry up hash browns with onions and peppers. Scramble eggs with yummy cream cheese and chives. Serve with garnish of berries and melon, side of toast/English muffin, marmalade and juice. Or. If the mood strikes (rare), whip up scrumptious scones.
Set up tray by comfy armchair. Pace self and enjoy. Best company manners (optional).
Despite her reverence for all food and this meal in particular, Fanny never understood the joy of cooking and tuned out whenever foodie types exchanged recipes or nattered on about ingredients. She had one signature dish, a Mediterranean couscous salad, which she dutifully churned out for potlucks, but breakfast was the specialty she prided herself on. This morning she would have to forego her beloved routine and snatch something quickly en route, before her enthusiasm faded. As a morning person she woke up supercharged but peaked around 11:00 a.m. when she hit a plateau and coasted until a late lunch finished her off for the afternoon, at which point she was defenceless against the siren call of her apartment and its tattered chaise lounge, luring her back for a nap. She guzzled a glass of orange juice, showered, and dressed quickly, electing at the last minute to add a jaunty sage green beret, an impulse buy, to offset her fern print scarf. She skipped down the three floors, opened the door onto the meticulously groomed courtyard garden and carefully slunk past the ladies of the volunteer weeding brigade. As much as she appreciated her genteel neighbours, mostly elderly widows, divorcees, and single by choice, she didn't count herself among their ranks; there was no cat gazing down from her window - at least not yet.
She strode north on Oriole Parkway toward Eglinton Avenue where she would head east past the boutiques and coffee shops in the direction of Yonge St. The intersection of Yonge and Eglinton had earned the moniker, young and eligible, but the thought had crossed her mind that it probably didn't refer to people like her. From across the street she heard a loud catcall and looked over curiously as a construction worker gave her the thumbs up and bellowed, 'that girl's got city style'. She floated past with a bemused one-sided grin, trying not to giggle like a lunatic, feeling carefree and chic and young and eligible until a swift gust of wind carried her beret off and she watched it disappear into traffic. If the universe was sending her a message, it seemed unlikely to her it could be as straightforward as you're just not the jaunty type.
***
Fanny took the subway and a streetcar, effortlessly merging with the crowds into the hustle and bustle of public transit to reach her destination. Knowing with certainty that she would be spared any small talk, and in no doubt that her fellow riders would purposefully avert their gazes, she was left at liberty to people-watch, daydream with abandon or read; on such occasions she found comfort in numbers and genuine pleasure in anonymity.
Her first stop was a vintage store in the heart of Kensington Market, aptly named "Courage My Love", as she would be forced to snub the charming hatpins and assorted obsolete curios and focus on a sensible outfit for the fundraiser. And she would suppress any defeatist rumblings. This would be FUN. She marched through the door in pursuit of a dress and emerged carrying a smart little box containing a retro silk scarf. "An investment piece," the store clerk had whispered in hushed tones as though she was allowing her to leave the store with the Hope Diamond, "and yet it has a certain, je ne c'est quoix."
To be fair, Fanny had been skillfully hijacked by the world's most persuasive saleswoman. But here was an instance of a woman who had found her niche, her calling even, someone who clearly relished her work; Fanny was as intrigued by her as she was mesmerized by her hypnotic sales banter. Still it was not lost on her how easily she had been distracted from the task at hand. She would press on, but not without reinforcements.
It was as she sauntered out of the bakery, cinnamon bun in hand that she recognized him, or rather, his hair. The teenager from the police station sat cross-legged on the sidewalk corner propped up against a shop wall opposite the newsstand, strumming his guitar. His guitar case had a few coins and a couple of bills inside. He looked up at her and locked eyes, cupping his chin in his hand as if straining to jog his memory.
"Hey man, that you?"
"Yes, yes it's me, from last night," she answered brightly and then lowering her voice to a whisper added, "at the police station."
He stood up and moved toward her and after giving her a fist bump and a bemused grin he whispered back, "No, I mean, is that you in the paper? Front page. Right behind you - check it."
In the period it took to process his words and fathom their meaning Fanny smiled vacantly, not quite getting the joke but as it registered she swung around and began madly scouring the day's papers featured in the newsstand display rack. She gasped when she spotted herself scowling back from the city tabloid, looking bedraggled and deranged, all but frothing at the mouth. It must have been snapped at the height of her distress in the midst of the protest mayhem, and cunningly selected for its lurid shock value, but it quickly became obvious to her that an unflattering photo was the least of her worries.
"CORPORATE CRUSADERS CORRALLED" screamed the headline sensationally with a sub-heading "Police intercept demonstrators in 'act of defiance against greed'". Her photo, accompanied by the stinging caption, "unidentified protestor leads the charge" only increased her mortification. She felt her stomach lurch. She was incensed at how easily the press could manipulate its readers with one lousy photo. A cursory glance at the smaller inset photo showed a self-important looking Jack Fitzwilliam, his lip curled disdainfully, standing alongside his blonde and some other minor toadies, all clutching their wine glasses. Upon further examination, she decided that they did indeed look smug, just a bit too delighted with themselves and plainly unruffled by the troubles of the world. Arrogance. The paper had hit upon a moment of truth here and the camera hadn't lied.
"Me? I just got trapped in that crap," he was saying. "Bad timing, eh? Just minding my own business."
Fanny turned back to him and for the first time noticed a sleeping bag and backpack lying in a heap next to his guitar case. He watched as her eyes swept over the scene, and rattled on, averting an awkward pause. "Just got evicted from my rooming house so I been sleeping in the park...too loud and too many fights in the youth shelters, so I'm safer out on my own. I know how to take care of m
yself out here though. You gotta have street smarts is all. When my grandmother died last year, they kicked me outta her building and that's it." He paused as his finger sought out his eye and flicked at it as though there was a minor irritation, a fly or an eyelash. "I had to leave school cuz I don't like regular subjects, just music. But I'm happy doin' my thing. Long as I have my guitar. Could use a roof though."
Zeroing in on the sleeping bag had been heart-wrenching enough, but no amount of his false bravado could get her past the streak of moisture at the corner of his eye; it had already seared into her consciousness. She responded instinctively and he was still prattling on as she handed him her cinnamon bun and emptied the contents of her wallet into his guitar case.
"This is all I have - for now," she said, stumbling over his things. "I mean, I hope it helps." She hadn't intended to suggest a rosy future together, as if she was some kooky Madame Bountiful who'd revisit often. They both knew the unlikelihood of that. But his dire circumstances weighed heavily, especially in light of their shared ordeal the night before; they had a kinship and it seemed reasonable that the finger of responsibility was pointed in her direction, yet she lacked the gumption to offer him her chaise lounge... let alone a roof.
"Awesome! Thanks for your generosity," he said, pressing his palm to his chest. I mean it, you're chill. I'm Erasto, by the way. Can I play a tune for you now - bring you some luck with your campaign?" He raised a fist in solidarity, rewarding her with a warm, toothy grin. She didn't have the heart to set him straight.
The shopping expedition was swiftly abandoned. Having lost her appetite for shopping and food, she promptly threw in the towel. Sitting glumly in her subway car with his folksy rendition of "Peace Train" playing softly in her head gave her a small measure of peace, but it was fleeting, as her mind abruptly switched to fretting about her newfound notoriety. Ugh. In future, she decided, she would have to be more precise about what she ordered from the universe. But surely no one she knew read that rag, such gutter press? In any case, her saving grace was that her image was so wildly distorted she almost certainly wouldn't be recognized by anyone at work.
3
"I'm not certain they could have chosen a worse photo really, but don't despair, you scrub up nicely." Having intercepted her the moment she stepped off the elevator on Monday morning, Evie was gabbing nonstop with blithe disregard for the volume of her voice as she trailed after Fanny.
"Do you think the others have seen it?" Fanny whispered uneasily as she slid into her cubicle seat. "Because if anyone has, I'm gonna have some splainin' to do."
"Of course they have, everyone's buzzing about it. You're the talk of the water cooler and they haven't even had their first coffee break. Well done." Fanny hadn't ever seen Evie quite so euphoric, as though this was actual cause for celebration.
"Oh for gawd sake. I hope people haven't gotten the wrong impression and assume I'm the one spearheading all of that."
"Fanny, until this week-end, people had no impression of you. Not. Even. On their radar. Now you're the top trending topic throughout the company. You've arrived."
It shouldn't have been a huge shock, she supposed, what most people digested daily in the name of "news". Her own habits, if strictly examined, were somewhat questionable, especially when she considered the sheer volume of celebrity hum-drum she had clicked on and mindlessly filed away with scarcely a second thought for the space she'd need to store the names of people she had actually met.
"If anyone asks I'll just have to clear things up. I should have lots of time to iron things out today," Fanny said with resolve. After all, it was a Monday, and nothing ever happened on Mondays.
"And don't forget it's Sheila's retirement luncheon today. The whole department is assembling at noon in the corporate lounge. She's hopping on a plane tomorrow to God knows where, so this is her big send-off."
"Cripes! Right, right. Of course it's today."
Fanny filled the hours before the luncheon tackling a steady stream of visitors who circumvented their usual routes, going out of their way to stop by her cubicle with the sole purpose of alerting her, with thinly veiled glee, to the front page photo - in case she didn't know. She abandoned her post with great relief shortly after noon. Making an appearance at the luncheon was the decent thing to do to pay tribute to a colleague, a relic from a bygone era of corporate fidelity, who had managed to tough it out in the same job for an incredible thirty years. Also, this was the perfect opportunity to showcase her budding networking skills within the less daunting circles of her own department. Baby steps.
Upon entering the room she was buoyed by receptive smiles and the heartening sound of her name being called out, instilling in her a new appreciation for just how painless these things could be with a can-do attitude. As they clamoured for her attention, it quickly became obvious that they were ravenous for tidbits about her Friday night debacle. As openers went, it was as good as any. The promise of office gossip had captivated them and they clustered around greedily fixated on her, wondering whether she'd dig a bigger hole. But it was time to switch gears.
"Isn't it fantastic that Sheila, after all these years, is now free to explore the world? Imagine how liberating that must be. I wonder where her travels will take her."
No one bit. Not so much as a nibble. Instead, she was treated to the glazed-over, uninspired stares of the terminally bored. There was a tacit refusal to be satisfied with idle chitchat; the blissful retirement of a colleague was not deemed riveting stuff. Someone mumbled something about the jumbo shrimp at the buffet, the crowd dispersed and Fanny made a mental note to brush up on her segueway, bearing in mind that Rome was not built in a day.
Unexpectedly, a collective hush swept the room. Fanny turned and glimpsed Jack Fitzwilliam on the far side of the room and keeping her eye on him, watched as he strode over to Sheila and warmly shook her hand, engaging her in conversation.
"Why is he here?" Evie asked no one in particular. "He never comes to these departmental things. Well, that's a credit to him..."
While Evie nattered on, Fanny did a quick sidestep behind a pillar in order to carry out surveillance undetected and contemplate her next move. Mapping out an escape route was second nature to her, like breathing, but she suppressed the urge and focused on him instead. He carried himself well, and there was no denying he had a striking profile with arguably one of the most appealing grins she'd come across, when he bothered to reveal it, but the moment he stopped chatting with Sheila and glanced around he lapsed into the cheesed off look she'd come to know. She knew if she moved toward Evie she'd become an open target, very likely triggering her own instinct to flee, so she called to her from the safety of her hiding spot.
"Evie, why don't we make our way over to the buffet? I think there might be some small tables hidden over there behind the divider."
"Don't be ridiculous Fanny. Jack Fitzwilliam is headed in our direction. Just hold your horses a moment. And... here he is," she gushed. "Well, hello Jack."
"Hi Evie... Fanny." Thanks again Evie for your quick thinking the other night. Very much appreciated."
"Not at all. My pleasure. Anything to keep our Fanny here out of the Big House." This was followed by a loud guffaw at which Jack smiled gamely even as he trained his eyes on Fanny, whose only recourse was to shoot Evie a withering glance, stumped as she was for a snappy comeback.
"Fanny, I was wondering if I could have a word," Jack said.
"Hmmm... I think I'll just wander over and see what there is on that table," Evie said brightly before pushing off, as if she'd only just noticed there was a buffet.
Fanny took a gulp of air and swallowed before returning Jack's gaze. "I know you must be wondering about that photo and it's all just a big-."
"I haven't seen it."
"What?"
"I haven't seen it. Yet. I've been told about it, of course. Bad timing for sure but you haven't been linked in any way, which is what matters. So... not to worry."
"Sorry?"<
br />
"I mean we'll just have to be careful to keep a lid on things for now. But look Fanny, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. I don't think I handled the situation as well as I should have and I wanted to make sure you're alright. You had a rough time of it on Friday night and I'm sorry I haven't followed up sooner... been in touch, sooner. And I'd like you to avail yourself of any assistance you may need to get through this."
"Assistance?"
"I assume, in your role you're already aware of the kinds of confidential services available to staff."
I won't be trotting off to the company shrink if that's where you're headed. "Thank you, but it's really ok. Nothing a corkscrew and a half decent bottle of Pinot Noir won't fix." Jack's eyebrows were knitted in earnest, making it impossible to assess whether he was appalled or simply failing to register. "Kidding, of course. I'm a wine philistine - bland, unrefined palate. Can't taste the difference-."
"And so you've rallied," he asked, releasing his brows.
"Yes, yes. Upward and onward. Very minor in the grand scheme of things. There were others though, at the police station I mean, in much worse shape, much worse circumstances. Humbling..."
"I realize that. I know that. Fanny, I was wondering if we could keep this quiet until things blow over."
"Yes I see...the 'lid'." Loose lips sink ships.
"And so... were you able to get some down time on the week-end? Some rest?" he asked.
"Sunday was my day of rest. Very low key. While the rest of the city brunched and socialized - and took their invigorating strolls and bike rides - I was sawing logs in my apartment. Very restorative. And was yours...restful?"
"I was at the office most of the week-end."
"My condolences."
"None required." At this, he revealed the hint of a smile which vaporized abruptly. "I'm working on some interesting projects at the moment. Very time consuming."
