The Hole

by David Halliday

She waved off his gesture, climbed to her feet, and ran to her car. Once inside, she locked all the doors and started up the engine. It stalled. On her second attempt, the engine roared. She sped out of the parking space, squealing around the corner, just missing a cab, and raced down Bloor Street.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Mazda

  The red Mazda slipped easily in and out of traffic along Dundas Street. Music blared from the radio. Wind swept through the car, tossing Johnny’s hair back and forth. Wiggy looked at Johnny and wondered if he shouldn’t let his own hair grow. Perhaps his image was too severe.

  Chicks weren’t deep. They didn’t see into you. Don’t want to look. I’m too deep. Brooding chicks don’t like brooding. Maybe he should grow his hair long. He hated his hair, hated the color, hated the receding hairline. I ain’t going bald! Wished he could shave his head like a bowling ball. A brush cut just wasn’t short enough. Wasn’t worth thinking too much about yourself. Too much to worry about. What about the chicks? Johnny never seemed to be short of women. He had that light wispy blond hair that flowed over his shoulders. Girls were always asking to touch it.

  What else did they want to touch? There ain’t anything else. Just chicks and cars and rock’n’roll. Johnny turned up the radio. Beach Boys. Johnny smiled and continued to talk. Wiggy couldn’t hear a thing he said. It was better that way. Johnny never had anything very important to say. What did Terry know? Writing his stories. Talking about the meaning of life. What difference did it make? Wiggy smiled. It was comforting to think that the chicks didn’t listen to Johnny either. Johnny just had to be Johnny and the chicks came running. He was like Mecca for chicks. They don’t want deep. Johnny leaned against the driver’s door, one arm along the back of the seat, the other straddling the window, a couple of fingers steering the Mazda. Wiggy shook his head. Johnny is just too cool. He smiled at Wiggy.

  He was always smiling. How could you not like the guy?

  “I can’t hear you,” Wiggy yelled.

  The car slid onto a ramp and sped up as they moved north onto the Johnny turned the music down. “Don’t you just love The Beach Boys?

  Sun, sand, and babes. Man, that’s the life.” 73

  “Ya, that’s the life.” Wiggy nodded, leaning back in the seat, taking in the sun. “Where are we going?”

  Johnny grinned, tapping the steering wheel with one of the two fingers that was steering. “What difference does it make where we’re going?

  You can’t get all caught up in destinations. You’ve got to focus on the journey.”

  Wiggy never understood Johnny’s philosophizing but it seemed to make Johnny happy that he listened.

  “Your old man let you drive his car?” Wiggy asked.

  “It’s my old lady’s,” Johnny yelled, his voice still barely audible over the wind. “Dad won’t let me near his BMW. Oh man, you should feel that thing move. It’s like sitting in your living room couch in a wind tunnel. I want to take it up to Wasaga. You could get any babe you want with a car like that. They love to feel their bare asses on the leather upholstery.”

  Wiggy laughed. “Bet you got a lot of pussy at college, eh?” Johnny smiled and pointed at Wiggy. “Believe it,” he said.

  “How do you do it?” Wiggy asked. “Attract so many babes, I mean.” Johnny laughed. “Good breath,” he said.

  “It can’t be that easy,” Wiggy responded. “I brush my teeth half a dozen times a day. I set my alarm so that I can wake up in the middle of the night and brush them. And I’m very conscious of body odor as well.

  I heard that chicks can smell you coming from a mile away. It’s some kind of evolutionary skill. I shower constantly. My folks are always complaining that I use up all the hot water. And I always carry around a stick of deodorant.” Wiggy took a small plastic container from his back pocket. “I figure I smell as good as the next guy. Frank says that you have to change your clothes a lot, that clothes carry your stink as well.

  I’m always changing my clothes. I got more underwear than Zellers.” Johnny laughed at Wiggy, leaning over to push in the lighter. With one hand on the steering wheel, he retrieved a package of cigarettes from his pocket and jiggled a cigarette out of the pack and into his mouth. A moment later, he grabbed the lighter and lit up.

  “Motivation,” Johnny said, turning his head from Wiggy to the road and back again as he talked. “You’ve got to figure out why girls are where they are. If a chick is at the beach with her parents then you can be pretty sure that you ain’t going to become more than acquaintances. But if she’s with a girlfriend then your chances improve as long as you are with a buddy. If she’s with a group of girls then she’s either a tourist or she’s looking for it. Understand?”

  “Ya, well, I keep running into tourists,” Wiggy said, keeping his eyes on the road. He wished that Johnny would slow down when he talked.

  “And,” Johnny turned to point at Wiggy, “you’ve got to read messages. Chicks are always giving off messages. If a chick is on a bar stool sitting beside some dude and she keeps swiveling on her stool then you know she wants to be rescued. If she’s smoking a cigarette, she wants to talk. If you make eye contact then she wants you.”

  “I guess I’m illiterate, man. I think I’m a pretty decent-looking guy, with average intelligence, no genius but average intelligence, funny, charming. I don’t know what it is but I’m in a real slump. I had a girlfriend for a while. Well, not actually a girlfriend. We fooled around a bit but her parents got too upset so she got grounded. They said I was too old for her. She looked sixteen.”

  “How old was she?” Johnny laughed.

  Wiggy looked puzzled. “What?”

  Johnny pushed a button to roll up the windows.

  “How old was she?”

  “Lisa? Thirteen,” Wiggy cried.

  “Jail bait!” Johnny laughed.

  Wiggy continued. “She’s got a twin sister, Lilly. Those girls are wild.

  Always hanging out at Plantation Bowl. Terry told me that they were giving blowjobs in the back parking lot one Saturday afternoon. I was working that day. Can you imagine the luck? I can’t buy a break.” Johnny nodded. “He was jerking you around. I know that guy. He’s always jerking people around.”

  Wiggy responded. “He’s a friend.”

  “Who needs friends like that?” Johnny rolled down the window, spit, then flicked his cigarette out. “Where are you working?”

  “McCall’s Bakery. I make doughnuts and meat pies.” Wiggy laughed.

  “We cook the meat in big pans in the ovens and let it cool off outside the back door. One day I saw a dog come up and piss in the stew. I laughed my ass off.”

  Johnny laughed. “You’re kidding. You had to throw it all out, eh?” Wiggy shook his head. “No way, man. I wasn’t going to make that shit again. Fuck old man McCall anyway. I’m underpaid. People sure love those pies.”

  Johnny choked on his laughter. When he recovered he asked Wiggy if there was any chance of getting a job in the bakeshop.

  “You need a job?” Wiggy asked.

  Johnny nodded.

  “I’ll ask. Old man McCall has been pissed off recently. Him and his wife aren’t getting along. They work beside each other all day and hardly speak. I’ll tell you one thing, I ain’t ever getting married. All the married people I meet seem pissed off with each other. Who needs it?”

  “It wouldn’t be so bad,” Johnny responded. “You’d have someone to cook for you and you’d have sex any time you wanted it.” Wiggy laughed. “You haven’t met my parents. And my mom cooks like shit. She burns everything. Terrified of food poisoning. My old man ends up doing most of the housework. She has her volunteer work. I think she just wants to get away from the house. My old man’s always threatening to walk out on us. Mom says that if he walks out, he leaves with nothing but the shirt on his back. That’s why my sisters moved out.

  They couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “You have sisters?”

  “Two. Ugly as sin. Monica
is a dike. She’s built like one. Gwen moved to Vancouver so who knows what she’s up to.”

  “Didn’t Terry’s old man walk out on them?” Johnny asked.

  Wiggy nodded. “That was years ago, man. Why you asking about Terry?”

  “Are those stories about his mom true?”

  “What stories?”

  “You know the stories.” Johnny punched Wiggy playfully in the arm.

  “I wouldn’t mind having a little bit of that. She’s still pretty good-looking. Older women can teach you stuff.”

  Wiggy was silent.

  “I remember when we were kids, how she’d wear those low-cut dresses and lean over so you could have a peek. Remember when I had the motorcycle? Mrs. Hendrix asked me to take her for a ride. I had an incredible boner all the time I was riding her around the block. Her arms were tight around me and every time I changed gears I could feel her breasts against my back. When I dropped her off at her house, she said the next time we should go farther. Man, I was clueless. I never gave her another ride. What an idiot, eh?”

  “I don’t like to talk about her. She’s Terry’s mother and he’s a friend.” Johnny smirked. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive. You should use that, man. Chicks dig sensitive guys. A few tears drop and before you know it they’re dropping their panties.”

  Wiggy turned to Johnny. “You’ve done that?”

  Johnny smiled. “Works every time.”

  The Canadiana

  “I’m sorry to call on you at work like this,” Detective Kelly said as he lifted his coffee mug to his lips.

  Mary smiled and stirred her coffee. She wondered what the police officer wanted with her. She prayed it wasn’t about Terry.

  “Would you like to order something to eat?” the detective asked. “It’s on me.”

  Mary shook her head. “I’m trying to lose a little weight, Officer.” The detective smiled. “Call me Sam. You look fine if you don’t mind me saying. I’ve seen you in the Zig Zag.”

  Mary nodded then whispered, “To tell you the truth, Sam, I can’t stand the food here.”

  The detective laughed. “I would have talked to you at your office,” he continued, “but I thought we’d have more privacy here. And the air-conditioning is better.”

  Mary smiled.

  “I understand you know Joe Mackenzie?”

  “Old Joe? Not very well. His wife and I used to be friends when we were kids but I don’t know Joe too well. Only what June told me. They didn’t have much of a marriage, but that ain’t news. Joe works as a security guard at night here in the plaza if that helps.” The detective took out a pad and pencil.

  “I’m just going to take a few notes if you don’t mind,” he said. “My memory isn’t what it used to be. Do you know any of the other Mackenzies?”

  “June said that there were a couple of other brothers and a sister too, I think. I never met them. They all left the area. I think one of them lives in Winnipeg. June said he got married to some farm girl. June wasn’t the type to talk much about Joe’s family. She mostly complained about Joe.”

  “They fought a lot?”

  Mary nodded. “June did most of the fighting. He was several years older than her. I don’t know what she saw in him but to each his own.

  She hated living in that old house. All Joe wanted to do was read his books. June liked to dance. And Joe wasn’t much good in the sack ac-cording to June. They hadn’t been doing it for years.” The detective looked up. “Why did they get married?”

  “He was smart,” Mary responded, lifting her cup to her mouth and blowing over the hot coffee before sipping it. “She liked the fact that he was so smart. June had always gone out with stupid men and Joe was a 77 genius. She figured that they’d get rich some day. June wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. Women always marry for the wrong reasons. June fooled around a lot.”

  Mary took a package of cigarettes out of her purse. The detective fished in his pocket for a match but found nothing. Mary smirked and handed him her lighter. He leaned over and lit her cigarette. There was a smell of lilac.

  “I like your perfume.” He smiled and stared a little too long at her.

  Mary sucked slowly on her cigarette, looking the detective in the eyes.

  Is this a date? she wondered. She’d seen Sam Kelly in the neighborhood for years and had never thought of him as anything other than a police officer. Was he married? How old was he? Get that thought out of your head, girl.

  “Is that all?” she asked, smoke lazily slipping out between her lips.

  The detective cleared his throat and diverted his eyes from Mary. He looked down at his pad. Mary almost giggled. He’s embarrassed. It was the first time she’d seen the little boy in Sam Kelly. She began to see what her friend, Margaret, found so appealing. Must remember that he’s Margaret’s.

  “Did she ever feel threatened by her husband?”

  “Did you really ask me out for a coffee to talk about police business?” Mary asked. Why not put it right out there? she thought. Margaret will kill me.

  The detective swallowed deeply and looked up from his pad. “Yes,” he said apologetically.

  Mary stubbed her cigarette out into the ashtray. She was angry. Once a cop, always a cop. “Joe was a chump,” she said, blurting out her words.

  “He paid the bills and never asked questions. He was steady. June was spoiled. If I had met him first, I would never have left him. He was the gentlest and kindest man. June was a fool.”

  Mary looked around. She saw Margaret over at the counter staring at them. Mary smiled. God, I hope she doesn’t think I’m trying to steal him.

  “You liked Joe.”

  “I still do,” Mary replied. Then quickly added, “Not romantically. Not now. But Joe wasn’t a bad-looking man fifteen years ago.” The detective scribbled in his pad. Mary leaned back in her seat and sipped at her coffee, staring at the policeman on the other side of the table from her. Margaret came by and offered to refill their cups. Mary nodded. Margaret did not look her in the eye. “You haven’t touched your coffee,” Mary said.

  “It keeps me awake.”

  “Isn’t that the idea?” Mary asked.

  “I’m an insomniac,” Sam confessed.

  “I sleep like a log. I’m always tired. Some nights I could fall asleep in my working clothes.”

  “I have no such luck,” Sam replied with a smile.

  Mary looked across the room at Margaret who had returned to the counter. Margaret wasn’t smiling. She’s pissed. Mary turned to the detective.

  “What do you think about when you can’t get to sleep?” Photos

  Cathy moved uneasily in her seat. Adelle looked at her and then peeked behind her.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Terry’s mother. She’s sitting across the room. I don’t want her to see me.”

  Adelle turned around again.

  “Don’t look!” Cathy whispered hysterically. “She’ll notice us. I hate that woman.”

  “Who’s she sitting with?” Adelle asked.

  Cathy shrugged. “One of her boyfriends, I guess. If she comes over here, I’ll die.”

  Adelle sipped at the tall Coke in front of her.

  “God, you don’t have to have a stroke over it. Why are you so paranoid about her?”

  “She thinks I was snooping in her bedroom,” Cathy said. “Terry and I were fucking in her bed and she must have noticed something.”

  “You did it in his mother’s bed!” Adelle giggled.

  “She’s got a fan in there,” Cathy smiled, “and her bed is bigger.”

  “And it was dangerous,” Adelle added.

  Cathy nodded sheepishly.

  “So did you snoop?” Adelle asked.

  Cathy was silent.

  “Well!” Adelle insisted.

  “A little,” Cathy finally confessed. “Terry went out to get some smokes and there was nothing else to do. I was looking at some of the magazines on her bedside table. Co
smo and Vanity Fair. I opened the drawer of her 79 dresser. Checking out what kind of lingerie she bought. I came across these pictures.”

  Adelle leaned forward, her mouth open, the straw in her drink hanging out of her lips.

  “Pictures!” she cried.

  “Keep your voice down,” Cathy insisted, then leaned over the table and whispered, “It was like a porno show. You should have seen them.

  All sorts of poses. And her looking so slutty. There was even a pic of her… ”

  Cathy whispered in Adelle’s ear.

  Adelle gasped, slamming her drink on the table.

  “Quiet!” Cathy whispered, then giggled.

  “Did you recognize the guy?” Adelle asked.

  Cathy slapped Adelle’s wrist playfully.

  “How would I know? Don’t they all look the same? But it was huge.”

  “You think it’s the guy she’s with now?”

  “Maybe. There weren’t any pics of his face. Just her face and you know…”

  “No!” Adelle responded.

  The two girls began to giggle. Cathy put her hand over Adelle’s mouth, which only made Adelle laugh louder. Tears began to run down the girls’ cheeks.

  “The thing is,” Cathy continued, “the pictures looked different. In some she had a different hairdo.”

  “You mean they were with different guys? Different…?” Cathy nodded.

  Adelle leaned back in her seat and tried to catch her breath. She picked up her glass and sucked on her drink until the straw began to rattle in the glass. Cathy slapped Adelle on the arm. Adelle put down the drink.

  “Would you ever do that?” Adelle asked. “I mean, let some guy take pictures of you?”

  “Of course not. Anyway, I think she knows that I’ve seen them because the next time I was in the room, I couldn’t find them.” The two girls were silent for some time.

  “I’d do it,” Adelle said. “It might be fun having someone take pictures.”

  Cathy slapped Adelle’s wrist playfully. “You are a pervert.” The girls continued to giggle for some time. Then the conversation turned to Cathy’s problems with Terry and Johnny.

  Adelle shrugged. “Maybe. You have to feel sorry for Terry. Are you going to tell him?”