Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5)

by Heather Wardell

  I hated it. Hated the music blaring into my ears, hated the way it felt like cheating to go for what Jayne commanded instead of what felt right, hated how no part of the process flowed naturally. But at least I had something. Half a something, anyhow.

  Unable to face any more time chained to my table, I returned to the computer, then reconsidered. What if Pam had sent me hate email? Maybe I should check later, avoid getting myself upset, not get my hopes up.

  Hearing those words in my head, in my mother's voice, made me grab the mouse. I wouldn't live that way. Go big or go home, as Jen often said.

  I'm glad you wrote. Lunch is great. Will you have a car or should I pick you up? My car's a bit old but it still runs. Haha. Let me know.

  Her car was old? When she'd been home she'd shown off pictures of the new car she'd bought to celebrate finally snagging an art store job after months of schmoozing with the owner. Something didn't add up.

  I replied, asking her to meet me at the hotel, then sent myself back to my art table. I couldn't work, though; unfinished business hung over my head.

  Uncomfortable, but knowing I needed to, I went in search of Jen, finding her sprawled on the spare room bed reading a romance novel.

  "Hey."

  She closed the book. "Hey."

  "I'm sorry. I was a jerk."

  She tipped her head from side to side. "Yeah, a bit. But I'm more worried about you than offended. I am offended, don't get me wrong."

  We smiled at each other, and she added, "But I'm worried too. Are you okay?"

  I turned my hands palm upward and looked down at them. "I don't know. I just want it so much, but it's like... like the whole universe is fighting me."

  She considered this. "I'm not."

  "True."

  She grinned. "And neither is Forrest."

  I rolled my eyes. "Are we sure? He keeps telling me when to be at the airport and not to bring anything sharp, as if I'd try to fly with knives taped to my ankles or something. He even told me to lock the front door before I left. I finally told him to email it to me so I wouldn't have to listen to him any more, and he's sent three different emails all with the same information. Information I already know, because I'm not a five-year-old."

  "Sounds like he's as tense as you are."

  "He makes me look relaxed," I said, then slapped her on the arm for her look of mock horror. "Seriously, though, he's losing his mind."

  She shrugged. "First game against his old team, thousands of fans who hate him for leaving, teammates who probably hate him for leaving? And if they don't hate him, it's only because they're glad he hasn't been playing so well. Can you blame him for being a little uptight?"

  "I guess not." I had bigger concerns. "We're okay, right, you and me?"

  She nodded. "You're a jerk and I'm okay with that."

  I laughed. "Glad to hear it. I'm off to the bathroom, then do you want to go out for dinner? My treat."

  "I'm always happy to spend your money," she said, then frowned. "But what about your work?"

  "The last time I went out I came back with the starfish idea. Maybe it'll happen again."

  In the bathroom, I encountered my bathing suit under my sweat pants and remembered I'd skipped showering after the meet for a quicker escape from the other swimmers and their unwanted sympathy. Not bothering to tell Jen since she'd hear the water running, I took a short shower.

  Once I'd dried off, I heard her calling me so I wandered out to find her in the living room looking nervous. "What's up?"

  She ostentatiously covered her eyes. "Must you always walk around naked?"

  "I'm a swimmer, babe, I'm used to being naked in the change room. Why, am I making you jealous?"

  She took a mock swing at me then sobered. "Forrest called."

  I dropped onto the arm of the couch and she said, "I'd joke about the ass print you're surely making over there, but I think I'd better not. His mother emailed him."

  She'd changed her mind, didn't want to see my work. Horror hit me, along with an unexpected hint of relief, and the horror must have shown because Jen quickly said, "She's still interested, don't worry."

  "After all that work, she'd better be. So?"

  Jen pulled her ponytail over her shoulder then pushed it down her back again. "One of her European contacts had a heart attack and can't work, so she's coming home early."

  "How early?"

  She sighed. "She comes back next Sunday and wants to see you Monday."

  I cupped my hands over my mouth, hoping re-breathing my own air would keep me from passing out. I'd just lost a week.

  "I've got the address of the restaurant where she wants to meet, and Forrest said you can skip massages if it helps."

  I took one more breath into my hands then dropped them to my sides. "I can not. He needs to be ready for Denver. She still wants five pieces, I guess?"

  "He didn't say. She can't, though, can she?"

  I shrugged. "I think she can do whatever she wants."

  Jen shook her head and sighed. "I'll stay out of your way so you can work. You don't still want to go out, I guess."

  What I wanted was another week. What difference would a few hours make? "We need to eat, right?"

  "I could order pizza and you could work until it gets here."

  Staying in the apartment was suddenly too much to bear. "No, we'll go out. Where do you want to go?"

  "Realistic or dream?"

  "Oh, dream," I said, my conversation with my mother filling me again. "Dream big."

  She grinned. "I really want to go to Steel. You know, that new place?"

  I gave her a considering look.

  "What?"

  "Let me see what I can do."

  *****

  One hour later I sat in Steel with my excited but agitated friend. I'd refused to let her listen in to my phone call and she was desperate to know how I'd got a table. I was about to tell her when the man I'd called arrived.

  "The lovely massage therapist, so nice to see you again," Kegan said, shaking my hand and giving it a squeeze before releasing me. "And your equally lovely friend."

  His cobalt blue shirt made his eyes even more devastating than before, or maybe it was Jen giving them that ravenous glint.

  She looked up at him as if at the Holy Grail and held out her hand. "I'm Jen."

  "Kegan." He took her hand, and electricity snapped so hard between them I could almost see the sparks. "Welcome to Steel."

  "How do you know him?" Jen said, gasped really, when he left us. "He's stunning."

  I blinked in mock surprise. "Oh, did you think so? Hard to tell, since you kept staring at him."

  "You don't look away from the Mona Lisa when it's right in front of you."

  I laughed, and she said, "Seriously, how do you know him? And can I have him?"

  She knew I'd gone out with Forrest but I hadn't had time to tell her much more than 'dinner and a movie', so I described our night out, ending with, "I wonder if that woman got her tattoo. And Kegan's all yours. Too pretty for me."

  She fanned herself. "Your loss, missy." Studying Kegan as he chatted with his customers, she said, "I guess I'd have expected Forrest to pick a sports bar."

  I explained why he hadn't and she nodded. "He's had it rough, with everyone second-guessing his every move."

  "Must be awful."

  "Yeah." Her gaze drifted back to follow Kegan again.

  "Would you like a napkin?"

  She turned to me, startled.

  "For the drool."

  "Oh, you're hilarious," she said. "Okay, let's come up with tons of ideas for your miniatures so you'll have lots to choose from."

  "I'd settle for one or two good ones. Plus, they need to be something I can sell."

  "How will you know you can sell it until it sells?"

  I shrugged. "I have to make what Jayne'll like."

  "But you've never met her."

  "She gave me all those notes, though."

  "What have you got so far? The sta
rfish one, right?"

  "Yeah, But it doesn't fit with her rules. I'm half-finished one that does, a woman holding a baby while six different men watch."

  She blinked. "Which symbolizes what?"

  "Her note said its meaning was obvious, so I just built it even though I didn't understand it. Maybe it's one of those 'which of these men is my baby's daddy?' TV shows."

  She laughed. "Classy. So what's next?"

  "Beats me."

  Jen gestured with her chin, and I looked to see Kegan kissing the cheek of an older lady whose blush was visible from across the room. "Make one about him. Naked, preferably. Naked with me."

  "Way too much information."

  She laughed. "But it would be gorgeous, I bet you."

  "Got any ideas I can actually use?"

  She didn't, but we had a great time coming up with ridiculous ones. Packs of vicious giraffes roaming Toronto's streets, a lightning strike smashing open city hall to reveal actual weasels within, literal death by chocolate as a woman exploded spreading candy bars everywhere. Those were our best ones: the rest were even weirder.

  Laughing about my art felt wonderful. But when we returned home, Jen clutching the business card Kegan had presented along with a meaningful look and the insistence our meal was on him, I sat down at my table and wished we hadn't gone. I still had next to nothing complete, and now I was even further behind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Monday, I refused to accept the truth. I massaged Forrest, worked on the 'baby daddy' piece, and almost convinced myself I'd only skipped my swim because I was tired.

  When I woke up Tuesday, though, I could deny it no longer: I had an ear infection. My right ear was blocked solid, full of stuff I didn't want to imagine, and my head felt like an over-filled water balloon.

  My doctor's surly receptionist informed me he couldn't see me before tomorrow.

  A whole day like this? "But my ear really hurts."

  "Go to a walk-in clinic."

  Those clinics were always packed. I'd spend hours waiting, hours I couldn't spare, surrounded by sick people. "No, I'll see him tomorrow. Could it be first thing in the morning?"

  No, it could not. She first wanted me to 'show up and he'll fit you in somehow', but when I pushed she reluctantly agreed to an appointment at three o'clock. Only twenty-nine hours away.

  I longed to crawl into bed and sleep away as many of those hours as possible, but I couldn't. I still wanted five pieces ready for Jayne, to impress her with my commitment, and my schedule was now tighter than Forrest's shoulders the day we met. I took some painkillers, which did nothing but leave me with a strange cherry flavor in my mouth, and set to work on the baby daddy piece. By sheer refusal to quit, I finished in four hours.

  My outing with Jen, amazingly, had produced a solid idea after all. I'd woken up on Monday with the 'city hall of weasels' image clear in my mind, nearly crowding out the pain in my ear, and I went with it, including a snake, two rats, and a cockroach with the weasels, all wearing suits or dressy skirts.

  The piece amused me and distracted me from my ear, but would Jayne like it? It did follow some of her guidelines but not all.

  Forrest didn't seem to notice my discomfort, even on Wednesday morning when the pressure had reached such a peak my head throbbed whenever I moved. He'd been cool to me since our Monday evening session, speaking only when he had to and not even requesting hand massages. I considered asking what was bothering him but couldn't muster up the energy to care.

  After a few hours of work on the city hall weasels, I arrived at the doctor's office twenty minutes early in the hopes he could see me sooner. Naturally, he was running behind and I succeeded only in giving myself a longer wait. The receptionist kept sighing, and I suspected she wanted me to ask what was wrong. So I didn't. I had enough problems.

  Forty-five of the longest minutes of my life later, the doctor called my name and I was soon fidgeting on the examining table while he peered into my ears and made those sounds you never want to hear from your doctor.

  "Hmm. Ah. Oh."

  He washed his hands while I took deep breaths to release the additional pain his exam had caused, then he said, "Well, it's infected."

  Startling observation, doctor. "What should I do?"

  He wasn't interested in treatments yet. "I've seen several patients this week with ear infections. Tell me where you've been lately."

  "Nowhere unusual." Then I remembered. "I swam on the weekend, and the pool didn't look clean."

  "You and all the others." He shook his head. "I've called the health department to shut that pool down."

  A little too much 'closing the barn door after the horse has an ear infection', but at least it would stop the spread.

  "As for you," he said, scribbling a prescription, "take these drops three times a day and get some rest. Come back next Wednesday. No swimming until then."

  "I'm flying to Denver tomorrow. Is that okay?"

  He raised his eyebrows. "Don't expect to enjoy the flight, but unless your eardrum ruptures you'll be fine."

  "How will I know if it ruptures?"

  "Blast of pain and you'll go deaf on that side. Trust me, you'll know."

  Chapter Fourteen

  I waited outside the hotel for Pam, nervous at first but then annoyed as time passed, time I could have spent resting. Despite the soothing drops, my ear still hurt, especially after the worst plane takeoff I'd ever experienced.

  As we ascended, I'd felt the pressure building in my ears despite chewing frantically on the three pieces of gum I'd stuffed into my mouth. My good ear cleared, but the bad one's pressure continued to build. Build and build and build and like a hum steadily growing louder the pain and pressure increased until tears filled my eyes and I almost wished the eardrum would rupture.

  When we finally leveled off my ear began to settle down, and after a few minutes it was back to its previous state, aggravated but not trying to do its best volcano impression. I'd never thought 'standard ear infection' could feel so good.

  I'd spent the flight fiddling with the new sketchbook and gorgeous colored pencils I'd bought to comfort me after my doctor's appointment, fiddling and failing to find any good ideas. The city hall weasels were nearly done but I had no plans for the last two pieces. I wanted them to be fun to make and based on my own experiences and creativity, but they had to fit Jayne's guidelines, and I couldn't find anything that met all those restrictions.

  By the time we landed, I'd put in more eardrops and the pressure didn't bother me quite as much, but I still felt tired and shaky in the taxi Forrest had arranged for me. I did want to see Pam, but I'd also have loved to relax in my room and go through the gift basket I'd found there along with a photocopied note from Filmore wishing everyone luck.

  Not just luck on the ice, apparently: a box of condoms showed through the basket's plastic wrap. Better that than little unwanted hockey players running around, I supposed.

  Twenty minutes after Pam was supposed to arrive, I decided to go back into the hotel and phone her, but as I headed in I heard her call my name.

  I turned back and shock zinged through me. She looked so old. Old and tired. Her ponytail, the same blonde as my hair but without my chlorine-induced green tinge, should have made her look young, but the dry patches around her eyes and the wrinkles beneath them negated any effect the ponytail could have had. She'd aged ten years in the last month.

  She pulled her mouth to one side. "I look bad, don't I?"

  I shook my head. "Not at all."

  I heard my insincerity, and she did too. "I thought I was okay but now I see how I'm supposed to look." She heaved a great sigh. "Well, I thought we could go to my house and then have lunch. Good?"

  Glad she was moving on from her appearance, I nodded. "I need to be back here around four. Is that okay?"

  "I work at four, so no worries." She led me to a car splotched with rust and unlocked its doors with a key.

  "You decided not to keep the other car?" I loo
ked around at the worn upholstery. "This one's been well-loved, hasn't it?"

  She laughed, and the pain hidden below it tore at me. We'd always known each other better than anyone else could, and I knew something was horribly wrong. "Abused, you mean. And I had to give up the good one."

  "Ah." I tapped my fingers on the door panel, wondering whether to push the issue.

  I didn't have to. She said, defiance in her voice, "I lost my job."

  "At the art store? I'm sorry. I know how much you wanted that. What happened?"

  She started the car, which took several attempts, and drove in silence for a full minute. I was searching for something to say when she spoke. "I screwed it up."

  "Oh," I said, trying for neutrality. "How?"

  Another long pause. "I missed too much work."

  I nodded. "That'll do it."

  "Yup."

  I had an awful feeling I knew why she'd missed work, and she confirmed it. "I had a bit too much to drink at night, and then I was tired in the morning and couldn't get there. Getting over the jet lag from flying home, that's what did it."

  Translation, either still drunk in the morning or just too hung over.

  "Anyhow," she said, forced gaiety in her voice, "I have another job so it's all good."

  "Congrats." I heard her tone in my voice and hated it. We'd always been able to talk about anything and everything. "Another art store?"

  She shook her head. "It's a bar, actually."

  My alcoholic sister working at a bar. "It's going okay, I hope?"

  "Yup, it's fine." Her dismissive tone might have fooled someone who didn't know her well. "I stay up late working and then paint during the day."

  "Well, I'm glad," I said, wishing I could take her home and get her some help.

  We didn't speak for a while, then she said, "Hey, why are you here? I never thought to ask."

  I explained about Forrest, and her face lit up. "Can I meet him?"

  "Did you ever see him play, before he moved to Toronto?"