by Julia Ariss
But in Evie's world, calm was the enemy of fun and she wasn't having any of it. She called an emergency post-transfer, after work cocktail summit and strategy session the following day to "lift spirits" and provide an antidote to Fanny's perceived tedium. "There's a swanky new place on Wellington that serves free crab cakes at happy hour... and the business elite," she said with a sly smile, "and I expect you to put in your time. You know what they say... why limit happy to an hour?" And to this Fanny consented, with the aim of keeping Evie busy, and therefore, content.
As she suspected, the summit was an excuse to party with co-workers and, as she was sharply forewarned by Evie on their way into the restaurant the following afternoon, a place to "appear fun-loving even if you can't do fun-loving". Half way through her second glass of wine the sensory overload had dulled sufficiently, allowing her to keep up her end of the conversation and break into spontaneous laughter on cue. There were some new faces but fortunately it was a miserable day outside so she set about dissecting the forecast with them, having shrewdly checked it on the internet before leaving and mastered the jargon, as part of a new daily practice. Be prepared...to talk weather. Evie nodded approvingly from her end of the table and Fanny flashed her most convincing wasn't this a brilliant plan, I'm having such a blast smile. She figured she could safely slip out in a few minutes without arousing suspicion, but not before she had her palm read by Richard. It was her turn.
"Your hands are long and oval shaped," Richard confirmed after first bestowing upon her a glorious one minute neck massage. “You do things quietly and intuitively." Richard was the lone male from piloxing class and, as well as being a gifted palm reader and massage therapist, was a feng shui expert and former hair stylist, currently working his way through interior design school as a receptionist at Barrington. A metrosexual, Evie had said more than once, taking umbrage at any suggestions to the contrary from her female co-workers, and Fanny, loath to advance stereotypes or suggest she recalibrate her gaydar, remained mute on the subject. "You have the most gorgeous hands and wrists - like butter," Richard gushed as he stroked her hand. "I cannot believe you haven't been approached for hand modelling." Richard was all kindness, possessing charm in spades and thus, indispensible to the ego; she no longer blamed Evie for holding out hope.
Fanny was eager to hear about her heart line but Richard seemed perplexed and was massaging her hand vigorously then shaking it, as if by doing so he could produce better results. She surveyed the room to pass the time and was taken aback when she caught sight of Jack glowering at her from the far corner of the room. He was seated at a table with a small group of business people, but seconds after their eyes met he averted his gaze, returning his attention to his tablemates. They looked like financial district regulars, none of whom she noticed were stuffing themselves on free crab cakes, having opted instead for the exorbitantly priced entrées, because they could. She continued to watch covertly, curious to see whether he would glance up again, but the conversation at his table had evidently captured his complete and undivided attention. Still handsome, she noted to herself as she stroked her collar bones, even when brooding. No, especially when brooding. She hoped she'd misinterpreted his momentary aggravation - over some minor inconvenience or other - and she'd merely been the inadvertent recipient of a benign scowl.
"Well, your heart line is long and curvy," Richard said, "which is excellent because you freely express your emotions and feelings but...."
"But what?"
"But only around people you know well. You seek out intense meaningful relationships which can be tricky to find, let alone sustain. But these are the only kinds of relationships that will ever fulfil you. Unfortunately - or fortunately depending on your perspective - most people prefer to skim the surface, darling. They just don't dig deep."
"What's that you're saying, Richard?" Evie inquired loudly from the end of the table.
"You're up next, Evie, just a couple more minutes with Fanny," Richard replied, after blowing her a kiss.
Fanny thought it best to have a go at serenity in spite of feeling gobsmacked by his findings and smiled into the distance with an air of sanguine contemplation. She'd been counting on something more cheerful, good for a laugh even, but hers was the reading of gloom. She smiled even harder. This was intended to be great fun and games, or as her grandmother used to quip, 'gay song and dance', which her father had adopted as code for excruciating social obligations. And yet, she felt like she was being silently heckled and, as it turned out, she was. Jack was glaring again. And as before, he shifted his eyes back to his table, sinking into his chair and thumbing his phone the moment she looked across at him, curtailing any prolonged eye contact.
"Weird." Fanny mumbled, as Richard abandoned the reading and gave her hand a consoling squeeze.
"I know. It's a shallow world, Fanny, hence the eternal need for hairstylists and I have a vision for those lustrous locks," he said, running his fingers through her hair.
"For crying out loud, Fanny, stop hogging Richard," Evie carped from the end of the table.
"If you did nothing, it would still look runway gorgeous. Wonderful shine...so healthy," Richard said, lifting and separating, and sweetly making a fuss over her hair, in an act of contrition.
"I think your session has run over, Fanny," Evie griped, tap-tapping on her watch, slightly less amused than before.
"Or... just a few layers to frame those fabulous cheekbones. Some longish bangs...."
Fanny was desperate to tune out the competing voices so she leaned in and whispered into Richard's ear. At the same time, to test a theory, she stole a glance at Jack who was now openly frowning in her direction. Predictably, he quickly popped his head down the instant she saw him, as though they were engaged in some tiresome version of whack-a-mole. Her patience was wearing thin, and the jig was up. The noise, her ill-fated palms, and the bad vibes from Jack had taken their toll. It was time. Fortunately, Richard had taken her advice and high-tailed it over to Evie, so she left a stack of bills on the table, enough to more than cover her share of the tab and tip, and slid out of her seat while everyone's eyes were fixed on Evie. She hurriedly tossed her head over her shoulder just as she neared the exit, double checking to confirm that Evie was still the centre of the universe and luxuriating in Richard's attention, her eyes briefly flickering in Jack's direction; she then made her break for the door.
She hovered for a few minutes under the entranceway, struggling to regain her equilibrium and stared enviously at the passersby who'd remembered their umbrellas on the way out the door that morning. She did feel she'd acquitted herself with a degree of grace inside, accurately predicting the rainstorm for one thing, and under-staying her welcome, which beat the alternative. Now she could breathe easy and there was nothing to stop her from claiming her reward - tea and solitude - not even the monsoon rains.
The driving rain pelted her face, partially obscuring her vision as she headed along Wellington toward the subway, so when she picked him out in the crowd she couldn't be certain it was the right guy. He was sauntering in her direction with his head down and in no particular hurry, seemingly oblivious to the downpour, but as he neared she realized he was, inexplicably, singing in the rain, which separated him from the cheerless pack and persuaded her to speak.
"Erasto?"
He stopped in his tracks and gave her a slow smile. "Fanny, right?"
"Yes, yes. Fanny Bower. I'm glad you're okay. I've been reading about the police round-ups so I've had you on my mind."
"We poned them. Yeah, we were expecting them, so most of us just stayed on the move and it was like this massive fail." An odd, exaggerated grin spread over his face, lasting longer than it needed to, catching her off guard.
"A bit like herding butterflies, I guess."
"Wow. I'm just trying to picture that," he said, which must have struck him as unbearably funny because he clutched his stomach and collapsed into a fit of laughter.
"Let's move over here," F
anny said guiding the, still in stitches Erasto, to cover underneath an awning. You're weirding me out. "Erasto," she said, when he looked to be coming out of it. "Have you got a place to sleep tonight?"
"The youth shelter. My guitar got stolen so now I've got no way to save up for a rooming house. Kinda sucks for now, but things will get better. Can't get much worse, right?"
"No, I mean yes, things are bound to turn around for you soon. I wish I could... I am so sorry about your guitar, Erasto. Terrible-" she said, stopping short when she heard her name being shouted from the street. She swung around to see a yellow cab pulling into the curb and watched uneasily as Jack emerged from the back seat. After snapping open an umbrella, he stood waiting expectantly by the cab. "Cripes. I'll be right back, Erasto. Please, please don't go anywhere; I'd still like to talk to you."
"I noticed that you got caught out in this misery," Jack said, as he moved in close, encircling her under his umbrella.
"Yes," she said, shuffling awkwardly in their cramped enclosure. "It's the moisture ridge. It's causing some atmospheric instability and there's a strong possibility of thunder showers, actually."
Jack cocked his head to the side and took a second take, staring curiously for a couple of beats then, as if compelled to do so, leant down and brushed a stray wet strand away from her eyes. "Right. As I said, the weather stinks and I was wondering if I could give you a ride anywhere. Home, for instance?"
"Thank you for stopping," Fanny said, alert to the alarming warmth spreading throughout her cheeks. “That was... considerate, but I can't go home right now. I've got to stick around for a while. I was just talking to my comrade, Erasto, over there. We met at the police station and we've remained friendly."
"I see," he said, looking past her shoulder at Erasto, his eyebrows narrowing and lips slightly pursed. "Everything alright?"
"Yes. Well, no," she said, looking askance at Erasto who had burst into song, accompanied by an impassioned air guitar. “He's going through a rough patch. Wherever there's been a pothole in the road, it seems he's hit it. He's been staying at a shelter, and I'm starting to think he may have mental health issues."
"May have? Let me get you home, Fanny. You're drenched. Again," he said abruptly, and somewhat crossly.
"Oh, I can cope with this. I'll be just fine," she said, trying to strike a balance between cordial acknowledgement and brittle cool, then added, to ward off a looming battle and put a finer point on things, "he has no one, Jack, and he's just a kid." Jack had switched his gaze to Erasto and seemed to be thinking over what she said so, with the hope that his silence implied assent, she stepped things up a notch. "I'm just making sure he's going to be okay tonight. I'm quite worried. As you can see, he's extremely vulnerable. He's wasting away and he's weak and if he keeps up with the loopy behavior he won't stand a chance out here."
"Look Fanny," he said, after a few moments "it's obvious your heart is in the right place and you want to help, which is commendable. But maybe tonight's not the night to earn your wings. What he needs is someone specifically trained to deal with his individual needs, possibly someone from the shelter. I'm not sure you've thought it through. Are you sure this is the right approach?"
"I have no idea. And no particular plan - as you're so quick to point out - but it's better than no approach. I won't just ignore him." And you, sir, are a patronizing cretin.
"Okay," he said, opening the cab door, "then here, take this," he added, handing her his umbrella and ducking into the back seat, "you'll need it. And try to stay warm. I believe there's the strong possibility of a cold front coming in."
The cab advanced into traffic and Fanny strode hotly back to Erasto, who was still crooning. Pausing to listen, she was put even more on edge by the odd disconnect in his haunting melody. He was half moaning, half humming a vaguely familiar and sombre tune, but in a wildly discordant and upbeat tenor.
"Erasto," she interrupted eventually, after a patience-wearing interlude of muddled ramblings. "I'd like to help you, but I'm not sure quite how. But if you need anything or ever need to talk I want you to call me, okay? Here's what I'm going to do. I'll give you my cell number-"
"No need. Don't have a phone. Don't worry, I'll find you," he said, pointing to Jack's umbrella with the Barrington Global logo emblazoned on its canopy. "I got my grandmother looking down on me but I don't mind having an extra pair of eyes looking out for me - for insurance."
"Well here. I want you to have this," she said, passing him some bills and handing him the umbrella.
"Whoa. Did I clean you out? But I can't exactly refuse it, can I? So, thank you. I'm glad I bumped into you... Fanny Bower. Sweet."
She watched for a few minutes as he ambled down the street, twirling Jack's umbrella, and then she turned in the opposite direction and hurried toward the subway. She was racking her brain to remember the song that was stuck in her head replaying on a continuous loop, the one he'd been humming, whose title escaped her. Then it came to her. It was "Fix You".
***
Fanny spent a productive couple of hours on her chaise sipping tea and immersing herself in a crash course on youth homelessness in Toronto. She wanted to be primed if ever she was called upon to act as Erasto's advocate. She hoped to be able to steer him in the right direction or, at a minimum, away from the sharks, though she wasn't quite sure they weren't just hidden in plain view. From what she could gather, apathy was endemic in the system, the consequence of political buffoonery at every turn. As for the complacency, she suspected it was all too human; the depressing statistics were enough to make even the most world-weary head for the hills. But there was another less heroic motive for her research. The cramming would keep her sharp in the unlikely event of an embarrassing pop-quiz on the subject; she was still stinging from Jack's criticism. Even though she sensed they were nothing more than the inattentive and hackle-raising remarks of a bred-in-the-bone wet blanket, they were nonetheless, deeply felt. When she decided she'd reached her limit, she collapsed into her comfy chair and curled up with her cell phone.
"What's kept you up so late, party girl?" her father asked when he picked up. "Out gallivanting?"
"Just having a cuppa before I nod off and... craving something. My kingdom for a Coffee Crisp," she said, and then added, "but I was out and about earlier, fraternizing. People from work."
"What? No, 'yee-haw the party's over' tonight? Dare I ask, was there much gay song and dance?"
"Not too much. I got out well before it came to that, and the weather took a bad turn so..."
"Wise, on both accounts," he said, as he stifled a yawn.
"Sorry, am I keeping you up?"
"No, I'm working on some lecture notes but I keep getting sidetracked by this blasted crossword. I'll be burning the midnight oil. I was invited to speak in a couple of weeks - in Toronto, coincidentally, temptingly close to China Town, so I've accepted. I'm driving up and was hoping we could squeeze in an early dinner so I can get back at a decent hour. Szechuan suit you?"
"Sure, I'll skip lunch and duck out early. Yum."
"Good. Now what's a four letter word for a clueless, pompous person of arrogant stupidity? Starts with-"
"Prat."
"Gosh, you're quick."
"Just popped into my head. Um, Dad? You know how Mom used to prod us to live our lives with purpose?"
"Ah yes, during the teenage jellyfish-on-the-sofa phase. I think she thought of it more as a quest or a journey, though I have an idea that your brother rather took it to heart. I doubt it's something you need to travel the seven seas to discover."
"But what do you think she had in mind exactly?"
"She probably wanted you to puzzle out that part for yourselves. To find your inner guru, if you will. I suppose if what you're doing feels right and good, you're on the scent. Speaking of which...how is the daily grind?"
"I don't think it's panning out to be my life's work, but..."
But. As she discovered in the weeks that followed, much to her del
ight, her new position was made all the more gratifying by the subversive suggestions that she could, with impunity, feed her new supervisor. At the crux of her role were reams of personnel data that needed making sense of - data mining - followed by, idea extraction, polishing, and delivery which he in turn could present to senior management who, in theory, cared. The madcap, open-to-interpretation nature of it left her feeling like she'd been plunked into a gallery of outlandish abstract art and asked to appraise the contents. She felt ridiculously under qualified and yet, secretly pleased that her supervisor might have seen in her great reserves of untapped potential.
She had reform in mind and a hidden agenda; she would shake up their staid, conservative world and rock their boats, Jack's boat, for more often than not it was Jack's reaction that she envisioned, his pot she wanted to stir. She chided herself for letting him get under her skin, though she figured the risk was small that her "findings" would actually progress that far up the ladder; the job had make-work project written all over it.
When she wasn't attending to her new pilot project and warding off stray thoughts about Jack, she channeled her energies into tweaking her resumé and mentally rehearsing for her upcoming dinner with George. Their shared past would allow them to bypass the customary sing-song, mind-numbing prattle and pursue a richer, deeper conversation where she assured herself she would shine. Old habits die hard, and back in the day good old George always had a drink in hand; it seemed a safe bet that there would be wine involved, in fact, she was counting on it. She prayed Evie had it all wrong and this was her second chance to create a first impression.
