by John Mackie
“Do you? It sounds to me like the gears are turning in that head of yours.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
“Well don’t. Listen, I’ll be on nights for the next week or so, but call me if anything else comes up.”
“Sounds good.”
That should have been it. A simple ‘talk to you later’ and I would have been home free. But oh no, I couldn’t possibly be that intelligent. I had to stir up the wasp nest, then drop it down my own shorts.
It occurred to me, out of the blue, that I no longer had any chance with Kara in the foreseeable future. Not only were things incredibly awkward, but how could either of us tell whether it was just some strange after-effect of the love potion? Let alone the fact that she worked for me. So just yesterday, I had two intelligent, sexy women that acknowledged my existence. Now I only had one! For some reason, that led me to think that I should make my move on Amy.
I had forgotten my own cardinal rule of dating. The possibility that a girl might go out with you is far preferable to the certainty that she never wants to see you again.
Stupid, stupid me.
“Say, are you up for a drink at some point?”
“Why, Mr. Elder. Are you asking me out on a date?”
Well yes, I was. But I hated it when girls focused that much attention on it. Freaked me out. Not that I’m commitment-averse or anything.
“Depends. How do you define a date?”
“Hm. Let’s see. OK. One person asks the other out, with the hope that it might turn into something.”
“Turn into what?”
“A long-lasting relationship. True love. Marriage. Kids.”
“Aagh!” I admit it. I panicked. Or maybe it was an after-shock from my experience with Kara. Either way, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “What if one person asks the other out, with the hope that it might lead to meaningless sex?”
The line was quiet, and time seemed to barely move, like the flow of ketchup from a bottle when you’re desperate to cram down a plate of French fries. I stopped breathing, and imagined tearing out my own tongue by the root, then flogging myself with it as penance for my outright stupidity.
“Was that what you had in mind?”
Kill me. Kill me now. I was caught in a dilemma of my own making. Tell her no, and have her think I was not attracted to her. Tell her yes, and have her think I was only interested in her body. It was like I had littered a field with landmines, blindfolded myself, and gone for a walk. There was no good answer. I was gay or an asshole. Not that there’s anything wrong with either.
“Donnie?”
“Hi. Uh-.” Crack a joke, that’ll break the ice. “Uh-.” Say something! “Uh, I’d love to have sex with you! But that’s not why I’m asking you out for a drink. I mean, that’d be great, but I like you too, and we wouldn’t have to, you know, not for like a while. And if you just wanted to be friends that’s OK too. But I am attracted to you. I mean, you’re hot. Totally. But I’m a bit of an idiot, so I know I don’t have much of a chance. I, uh, shit.”
It would have been easier to get on a plane, fly to Tehran, and walk through town wearing an “I Love George Bush” t-shirt while drawing humorous caricatures of Mohammed. At least then I would know for sure I was a dead man. In fact, I was holding the phone away from my ear in order to press the Off button, when I heard her laughter build from a whisper to a roar. Putting the receiver back to my ear, I heard her laugh and laugh and laugh. And laugh. Only problem was, I didn’t know if she was laughing with me, or about me.
“Hello? Hellooooo? Amy? You having a good time?”
“Yes- Ha ha- Oh, Donnie. Yes, I am having a good time. Boy, for a good-looking guy, you are the most insecure thing. Don’t worry. I’d love to get together for a drink, date or not. See ya.”
She hung up, and I sat back in my sofa, feeling pretty damned good about myself for the first time that day.
CHAPTER 10
For the second time in just two weeks, I was visiting a customer on a mea culpa visit. Not the best for customer relations, if I was going to take over this business from Clay one day. There was no getting around it, though. Pain deferred is seldom pain avoided.
As it was, there were worse places to visit. Hidden Pleasures was a gentlemen’s club. Or, as some of Ted’s buds might have called it, a titty bar. Admittedly a higher class of joint than the type those guys frequented, but the basic concept was the same.
No one out front, so I strolled through two large oak doors into a lobby, reception at one end and coat check at the other. A young lady — clothed — welcomed me at reception.
“Welcome to Hidden Pleasures. Table for one?”
This was mortifying. I found these places embarrassing as it was, never mind being on my own in one. Not just that, it was my second visit in two weeks. I wasn’t here on “personal business”, but good luck explaining that if I ran into someone I knew. I would rather be found wearing woman’s underwear. Maybe not. But it would be a toss up.
“Uh, no. I’m here to see Melodi Roberts? I’m with Arcane Transport.” I tapped the company logo on my shirt.
“Sure, come with me.” She led me through another set of doors, these with clouded glass inserts.
The inner sanctum.
A stage dominated the room. Shaped like a “T”, the main stage ran across the back of the room, with a single runway platform extending out into the seating area. A few poles were scattered around the stage, with pot lights, a couple of mirrors and the ubiquitous mirror ball.
Chairs lined the front of the stage, paired in front of small tables. The rest of the main floor was taken up with large round dinner tables surrounded by chairs and a small stool at each. My recollection was that the stool was for the girls — easier to step up onto the table for a dance. It was three in the afternoon, late for a liquid lunch, but even so there were groups at five tables, and another six or seven loners interspersed between the bar and the stage-side seats. Two girls were dancing on stage to some Nickleback song, and a lady clad in a bikini was sitting with a group at one of the tables. A waitress was carting a tray lined with pints of beer toward the same table.
The opposite wall from the stage was broken up by two bars, both western-style with brass foot rails to rest your boots on, fixed bar stools and a lighted canopy. At the near end of the bar was a narrow hallway to the washrooms (men and ladies, I was interested to note).
“Just in here.”
The hostess led me through an access hatch in the bar to the door of the Manager’s office. She entered ahead of me, leaving me standing on my own for a moment. I smiled awkwardly at the bartender, who was stocking one of the multiple fridges lining the inner wall of the bar.
I heard a brief conversation, then the door opened and the hostess waved me in.
Now let’s get something on the table right now. While my experience with peeler bars was limited, I suspect my expectations regarding the owners of such establishments are typical. Overweight bald guys with hair sticking out of the back collar of their shirts, rings on every finger, and various scars that hinted at their management techniques. When Kara had told me that the owner was a lady, I had revised my mental image to include as an alternate an overweight frizzy haired woman with rings on every finger, multiple gaudy necklaces and a drinker’s voice. As usual, I was dead wrong.
The office was simple and professional. Oak desk, two simple visitor chairs, a bookshelf and a few old movie posters. Seated behind the desk was a petite lady wearing a tan jacket, black silk blouse open to the navel over a white tank top, and beige slacks. She wore funky oval glasses, with long straight brown hair swept back from her pretty face. Combining the look with her rather significant frontal globes, she had the sexy librarian look down pat.
It was official. The specialty courier industry had the hottest chicks. Hands down.
“Melodi Roberts.”
“Donnie Elder.”
She smiled, shook hands and off
ered me a seat.
“Would you like a drink?”
Lord, could I use a beer. “No thanks.”
She nodded, and the receptionist departed the room, closing the door behind her.
“So you’re working with Clay now?”
“Yeah. He was looking to take on a partner. Though I don’t think anyone anticipated the last two weeks.”
“Oh my God, yes. Kara was telling me about his heart attack. Is he alright?”
“I think so. He’s heading home tomorrow. Seems to be in good spirits.”
“Well, I’m glad.”
That was it for the pleasantries, and a split second gap in the conversation stretched into a pregnant pause. I focused on keeping my eyes up. For a second, I thought I saw a smile cross Melodi’s face, but that was no doubt my own paranoia.
“I thought I should apologize in person for my mess-up with your package yesterday.” Maggie had called to let them know while I was on morning deliveries. She said they were fine, but I was not. I couldn’t afford to screw up like this. Clay was depending on me.
“It’s-.”
I raised my hands, asking her patience to let me finish.
“I feel terrible about this. The last thing you need to worry about is whether you can trust us to service your company. It won’t happen again.”
“I know.” She smiled, and again I felt like I was missing out on something. “Kara called me, and told me all about it.”
Aaagh. It had never crossed my mind that Kara might speak to the Hidden Pleasures folks, let alone that she might be friends with the owner. What had she said? Did she make me out like some kind of jerk, trying to get in her pants? Who else had she talked to? I felt my ears and neck heating up, and here it came again. A blush crossed my cheeks.
Melodi burst out laughing.
“She said you would be embarrassed!”
I have come to believe that my primary reason for being on this planet is to provide women with a few laughs. Every day, I endure some form of confirmation of this belief.
“I just feel like a total ass. I mean, here she is, this wonderful lady, and I manage to spill a love potion on myself? A love potion? Come on. I’m a total dickhead.”
“Relax. She’s not blaming you.”
“Good. I’m trying to make a good impression, you know — as her boss and everything. And-,” I shrugged.
Melodi smiled, and said exactly what I wanted to hear.
“Don’t worry. Kara’s not mad. If anything, I think she’s as embarrassed as you are.”
“Oh God, I hope not.”
“She’s pretty embarrassed. One thing, though. I’m curious. When Clay was telling me about your coming on board, he said you had never had any exposure to magic?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“But the potion didn’t affect you?”
People kept asking me that. “Nope. I mean, not in the same way it seemed to effect Kara.”
“A quarter of the bottle?”
I winced. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay, it’s just — that’s quite a lot for it to have no effect on you.”
I shrugged. “Can’t explain it.”
“Hm. Interesting.”
I waited for her to follow up on the thought, but apparently it was something she wanted to mull over.
After that, we spoke about my background. I had a question of my own, though I was reluctant to ask it.
“You’re asking yourself how a lady like me ended up in a place like this.”
I am transparent to women.
I nodded. Don’t take me wrong, if Melodi wanted to work in a club, so be it. It was none of my business. Still, she didn’t seem the type, whatever that was.
“Well.” She leaned forward, a wonderful sight if I hadn’t been so focused on not looking. A perfectly manicured hand turned a picture frame resting on her desk towards me. The photo showed a father and daughter. Melodi and her dad, I presume. Dad himself was nothing like my mental image of the peeler bar owner, either. Tall, slim and well-groomed.
“My Dad and me. He started the club with my mother when they first moved here from Windsor. When my mom left, it was just him running the place, so I started helping out. A little time at reception, then the bar.”
I said nothing, but once again my poker face was not up to the task.
“No, I never danced. But when my dad passed away, I had a choice — sell the place or run it. I can’t say it was one of my lifelong dreams when I was a little girl, but it’s a good place to work. I get some of the best girls because of the way I treat them. And we have managed to maintain a high level of customer.”
“Makes sense, to be honest. Just wasn’t what popped into mind.”
“No, I guess not. But it’s worked out pretty well.”
“I can see that. Well, listen. I wanted to apologize to you, and to say that if there’s anything we can do to make it up to you down the road, you just-.”
“Kara said you would offer.”
I paused. I felt like I was a marionette, with every woman in my life holding the strings. Most days my mother was the number one puppeteer, but on other days it was just whichever woman happened to get a hold of the controls.
“Uh huh.” Master of witty repartee, that’s me.
“And there is something.”
The strangest feeling came over me. A mix of dread, anticipation, excitement and fear. Seemed like I was incapable of experiencing one emotion at a time anymore. Partly I was curious to know how I could help out around this place. Can’t say it seemed like hard time.
“One of my doormen can’t work this week, and we have a big convention renting the main floor on Thursday night. I wouldn’t worry about it, but the guy who can make it is pretty green. Kara said she thought you or your brother had worked door in the past?”
Kara had said? When the hell had I… Oh, yeah. We had talked about jobs in college over lunch the other day, and I think I had mentioned that Ted and I worked door at the University Pub. She remembered that?
“Yeah. We both worked door at one of the U of T pubs. Ted still works door on occasion. He’s done the Brunswick House, Horseshoe.”
“The Brunny?”
“Yeah, I guess they sponsored his hockey team one year, and he got to know the manager.”
“Any chance you could help us out?”
I paused for a moment. I could offer to help out, but I hadn’t worked door in a long time. Can’t say I was looking forward to standing up to a bunch of drunken businessmen on a weeknight. Ted, though… He still worked door from time to time, and he was always looking for a free beer. The only problem was that he was Ted.
What was more important? Saying yes to her request, or taking the chance that Ted might make a complete ass of himself, resulting in the requirement for another apology? It was a coin flip at best.
But I owed her. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a sucker for a pretty lady. So I told her I would call Ted right there and then. And lo and behold, he agreed.
CHAPTER 11
The next three days were uneventful, other than several awkward moments when Kara and I found ourselves together. Plus the one afternoon where Chad dropped by to have lunch with her and spent the entire time scowling in my direction.
As the days passed we both relaxed and things returned to the comfortable atmosphere of the prior week. I have to admit, though — every time I was within three yards of her, the hairs on the back of my neck rose and I felt blood rushing to a certain extremity. It was like I was addicted to her fragrance. Men are dogs, and Dr. Pavlov would have found me a very predictable one indeed.
On Thursday night I was resigned to an evening in the office. John Vranic was in a bit of a panic about our GST returns, and had asked if I would mind keeping the office open one night so he could get them done. I agreed, figuring I could use the time to catch up on a few things that had fallen between the cracks with Clay out of the picture.
Jamar was th
e last out the door after Kara had shut down Dispatch, and couldn’t resist getting another dig in. It had become a daily ritual.
“I’m telling you, Donnie. This would be a lot easier if you two just got it on.”
Right. As if that was ever going to happen.
I took a playful swipe at him, but he danced out of my reach and threw his backpack over his shoulder.
“See you tomorrow.”
So I was the only one in the office when the walking flagpole showed up.
“Hey, thanks for sticking around. I want to get these filings completed, so we don’t end up with any late filing penalties or interest.”
“No problem.” I stepped aside, and John maneuvered past me with a barrister’s briefcase and two expanding files in his arms. “Better you than me, big guy.”
As John worked his way to the back, I glanced around the lot. Signs and More closed at six, like we did. A rusted Accord that the building janitor drove sat out front of their unit. We had him in twice a week, but I was pretty sure the other tenants had him in more often.
The Sofa Gallery was open until nine, but I had never seen any vehicle parked in front of that shop other than the Lexus that sat there every day. In front of the Urban Jungle sat ten or twelve cars — every one of them a minivan. Must be a birthday party or something. I locked up, and headed back.
John was seated and hard at work in one of the offices. He looked like one of those dipping birds, his head and shoulders at a precarious angle over the desk as though he was about to tip forward. Same white shirt, solid charcoal grey suit and black tie he was wearing the last time I saw him. His initials were stitched on the cuff of his shirt, which made sense since there was no way he was buying suits off the rack.
“John.” He glanced up. “Feel free to go casual whenever you’re in the office. We’re a pretty relaxed place.”
“Thanks.” He stretched back in the chair. “I prefer the suit. Helps me stay focused.”
“Really? I got fed up with ties.”
“I tend to forget I’m even wearing one.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll be puttering about. If you need anything, just let me know.”
