by Lesley Crewe
“It was dusk and pissing rain when the sex-starved creature came storming into town.”
There. That at least held the promise of excitement and danger.
She looked at her watch. She’d been at it for what…five minutes? She glanced at her wall calendar. September’s sexiest fireman looked back at her, holding out his suspenders, begging her to jump right into his pants.
Sorry. Another time perhaps. She had things to do because becoming a famous writer was really hard. So hard in fact, she decided to take a break and lit another ciggy. She gazed at her familiar surroundings, her shoulders drooping as she blew out the smoke with a long slow sigh.
It wasn’t that the attic was a dump or anything. Elsie did a fine job fixing up the joint. She’d painted the beams and walls white, and even harangued Graham into building two window seats on either end of the vast room, so Faith could gaze over the tree tops. Her best view was Elsie’s back garden, and the gardens along their street, but she had to admit, a good pair of binoculars certainly added to the overall charm of the place.
Her musing ended abruptly with a knock on the door. It was awfully late for the gang downstairs to be up. She heard slow footsteps climb the stairs.
“You better not be a robber because I’ll sic my guard mouse on ya.”
“It’s only me.”
Elsie’s pale, tired face was visible through the railing before she reached floor level.
Faith took a puff. “Can I ask you something?”
Her sister collapsed on the crappy couch. “Not if it’s hard.”
“How much do social workers make?”
“Not enough, why? Do you want my job? If you’d like to kill me and assume my identity, go for it. Do it with a knife though…I don’t want the obituary to read ‘gnawed to death by an attack rat.’”
Faith smirked. “As much as the thought of killing you cheers me up, I only ask because I need to know why you insist on wearing the world’s ugliest housecoat. Are you broke?”
“It’s not ugly. It’s comfy.”
“It’s vile. It looks like it’s been mauled by a cat in a rage of self pity.”
Elsie burst into tears. Faith crushed the cigarette into her pyramid of butts and ran to her sister’s side.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Please don’t throw me out. I promise I’ll clean up the joint more often. I’ll find a job…”
Elsie snuffled and reached in her pocket for a Kleenex. “Don’t be silly. That’s not it.”
“Thank God.” Faith went back to her computer and reached for another smoke.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?” Elsie sniffed.
Faith nodded while she inhaled, then shook out her match before she sat back at her desk. “Sure. Sure.” She threw the match on the floor. “So. What’s up?”
“Dahlia’s getting married and Aunt Hildy’s coming home to die.”
Faith reached for a piece of tobacco on her tongue. She looked at it before she spoke. “You know, that makes a pretty good country music lyric.” She pretended to strum a guitar and sang, “My Dahlia’s gettin’ married and that ol’ Hildy’s fixin’ to die.”
This time Elsie burst out laughing. She laughed so hard Faith thought she was hysterical.
“So. Why are you letting the old hag come back?”
“That’s what Graham wants to know.”
“Well, you know how I hate to agree with that man, but this time he’s probably right.”
Elsie slumped even further into the pillows. “I have no choice. What kind of reputation would I have if people found out the wonderful social worker at the hospital wouldn’t let her ninety-one year-old auntie come home? And this was her home. Aunt Hildy was born in this house, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Elsie’s goody two-shoes routine irritated Faith. “My dear girl. Aunt Hildy isn’t a sockeye salmon. She doesn’t have to return to her spawning grounds…which is a good thing, because I’d worry about the black bears cavorting along the river looking for their dinner. She’d jump out of the rapids and kill them with one chomp of that very big mouth of hers.”
Elsie gave a weak smile.
“When does she get here?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
Faith shook her head at Aunt Hildy’s nerve. And then remembered something else. “I take it our girl’s marrying that gorgeous creature Slater, or has she moved on to someone else in her usual fashion?”
“No. It’s Slater.”
Faith looked at her baby sister’s long face. “Cheer up, Else. You’re lucky she wasn’t whisked off her feet at the age of thirteen. She’s had every male from here to Montreal salivating at her door for years.”
“That’s true. I forget she’s almost grown up.”
“Almost?” Faith sang, “She’s a woman. W-o-m-a-n. I’ll say it again.”
Elsie stood and smiled at her. “Thanks. You always make me feel better. I’ll let you get on with your writing. How’s it going, anyway?”
“Margaret Atwood just had me on the phone, begging for advice about goal, motivation and conflict…I mean, I do what I can for her, but she’s a real pest.”
Elsie dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “You’re a nut. Goodnight sis.” She shuffled down the stairs.
“Good night.”
Finally. The goings-on downstairs with her sister’s family were enough to drive Faith to drink. Thank God she was smart enough never to have married and had brats. Men and kids drained a woman’s creativity to the point of extinction. Phooey on that.
Faith looked at the screen again and suddenly realized Aunt Hildy would certainly want to read her novel, now that she was coming home. She conceded the best course of action would be to avoid words like pissing and sex-starved. She wanted to be included in Aunt Hildy’s will, after all.
Okay then. Highlight. Delete.
She typed.
“It was a glorious dawn when Sister Agnes prayed for world peace.”
Smarten up Faith. You’re forty-four years old. A writer doesn’t compromise her art.
“It was dusk and pissing rain when the sex-starved creature stormed into the nunnery herb garden and loomed menacingly behind Sister Agnes as she prayed for world peace.”
Faith read it over a couple of times. It was a start. She’d call Juliet tomorrow and read it to her. Juliet liked Faith’s stuff, although she always complained about the lack of explicit sex in the love scenes. Poor Juliet. She was beyond frustrated. No wonder, with Robert as a husband.
But Faith didn’t like to write about sex. She didn’t want anyone to guess she was still a virgin.
Juliet was just heading out the door the next afternoon when Faith called and invited herself over for dinner.
“Tonight?”
“Yeah, why? Do you have somewhere you have to be?”
“I think so, just a minute.” Juliet made faces at Robert who was reaching for his car keys by the front door. “Do we have anything going on tonight? I’m sure we do.” She tried to mime the word Faith, point to the phone and shake her head all at the same time so Robert would get the message, but no such luck.
“No. The Apprentice is on tonight. You never miss The Donald.”
Faith overheard him. “I love that show. We can watch it together.”
“Great,” Juliet sighed. “Faith, I have to run. I’m late for an appointment.” She hung up before Faith could say goodbye.
“Thanks a lot, Robert.”
“What did I do now?” he frowned.
“I couldn’t think of an excuse to tell her to stay away. You never catch on, do you?”
“Apparently not. Let’s go.”
“Kiwi! Come to Mommy.” Juliet’s teacup poodle came running and jumped into her arms. A quick cuddle and kiss and Kiwi was deposited in Juliet’s straw shoulder bag before they left the house.
It was a beautiful sunny day, unusually hot for September, so Robert put down the top of his MG. Juliet reached for her silk sc
arf to keep her hair from blowing every which way and put on her ‘Jackie O’ sunglasses. As they drove down their street in Clayton Park, she waved to a couple of her neighbours. They didn’t wave back.
Robert headed out towards the MacKay Bridge. “Where are we going exactly?”
“The Mic Mac Mall. Dahlia works at the new hair salon there and I promised her mother I’d drop in and give her some business.”
“Didn’t you have your hair done yesterday?”
Juliet ignored him. She pointed to the cruise ship in the harbour. “Why don’t we go on a cruise?”
“We just got back from the Mediterranean, that’s why.”
“That was last month.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re no fun.”
Robert geared down as he approached the toll booth. “I’m no fun because I spend every waking minute working my butt off to keep you in hair appointments.”
“Do you hear the way Daddy talks to me, Kiwi? He’s a bad, bad man.” Juliet gave her baby a quick scratch under the chin. Kiwi yipped her appreciation.
Robert tossed three quarters into the toll net and threw his car into gear so he could pass the slow poke in front of him. Juliet held onto her scarf and looked the other way. Finally she said, “Who’s prettier? Me, Faith or Elsie?”
Every so often his wife came up with a question that gave him ulcers. And it usually had to do with her sisters, especially the youngest. Robert knew Juliet was jealous of Elsie because Elsie could have children and she couldn’t, but if he were being honest, he’d say it was because Elsie was a beauty. Her older sisters were very pretty, certainly, but Juliet’s comeliness was bought and paid for, while Faith had a tragic, withering vine kind of look.
“Now what do you think?” Robert winked at her and hoped that would suffice.
“I don’t have a clue. You haven’t answered me.”
“Juliet, you are the fairest of them all.”
Juliet reached over and gave his knee a pat. “I know. I was just checking.”
Thankfully they reached the Mic Mac turnoff and all conversation halted until Robert manoeuvred his way into the parking lot and found a spot close to one of the entrances. Juliet opened the car door and swung her long legs out in one swift motion. With her baby carrier tucked under her arm, she sashayed between the parked cars.
“Do hurry up, Robert.”
Robert hurried.
They found the salon and Juliet made a great fuss as she marched over to Dahlia’s station. “Hello, darling. I do hope you know what you’re doing.”
Dahlia looked horrified. “What’s that supposed to mean? It’s just a wash and a blow dry. Even I can’t mess that up, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
Juliet heaved a great sigh. “Calm down, sweetheart. I’m not insinuating anything. Don’t you know a joke when you hear one?”
Dahlia pointed to the four eager young men in the waiting area. “If you’d like to go, it’s okay by me. I’ve got plenty of customers.”
“Keep your hair on.” Juliet turned and passed the doggie bag to her husband. “Take Kiwi and wait over there. If she wakes up give her a cookie.”
Robert did as he was told, but not before he smiled at Dahlia.
“Hello dear, how are you?”
“I’m fine, Uncle Robert.” She gave his balding head a quick look. “I’m good at men’s haircuts, if you want an appointment. I’ll give you a discount.”
“I’ll do that,” he smiled again, but stopped when Juliet gave him an elbow.
At the sinks, Juliet was forced to concede that Dahlia gave a great shampoo, although she didn’t tell her so—the girl’s ego was big enough.
Back in the chair, swaddled in small white towels, she let her niece pump her up like an old tire. This was the part she hated most—when hairdressers took the towel off her forty-something wet head. Suddenly every wrinkle and saggy eyelid was magnified a hundred times over, or so it seemed. Juliet was desperate to distract herself. “So. What’s new?”
Dahlia gave her a dreamy smile. “Did you hear the good news, Aunt Juliet? I’m engaged.” She held out her hand.
Forgetting about her hair, Juliet grabbed Dahlia’s fingers and examined the ring closely. “Mother of God! It seems you’re smarter than you look.”
Her niece wrinkled her brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Juliet pushed her hand away. “I mean, my dear, it’s a clever little minx who gets a ring like that.”
Dahlia attacked her hair with a comb. “I didn’t choose it.”
“Ow. Watch it.”
“I would’ve been happy with a crackerjack ring.”
“Leave me with a bit of hair, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t mean anything by it. You’re a lucky girl, that’s all.”
Dahlia looked mollified. She put her hand on the roots of her aunt’s hair, before tugging at it with the comb.
“No doubt you want a big wedding?”
“Well, why not? I mean, it’s once in a lifetime, so why skimp.”
“True. Of course, I’m sure your mother disagrees, knowing her. Don’t you let her bully you into a cheesy affair. You come to me if you don’t get anywhere with her. I’ll make her see the light.”
“Mom wouldn’t want cheesy. She wants what I want. But I know it will be expensive, because I have to have six bridesmaids…Lily of course…but Jillian for sure and if I have Jillian, I have to have Megan, and if I have Megan, I have to have Amanda, and if I have Amanda, I have to have Samantha and if…”
“Fine. I get the picture,” Juliet said quickly. “By the way, I understand Slater works here too. How did that happen?”
“When I got the job, he applied and they hired him. It was simple.”
“Isn’t it a distraction to have him roam around all day?”
“A little,” she grinned. “But he’s really popular. His massage clients are pretty much one after the other. I don’t see him a whole lot. Just at lunch hour.”
“I can see why he’d be popular. He’s built like a brick shithouse.”
Dahlia’s mouth gaped open. “Aunt Juliet.”
“I’m only stating the obvious.”
Dahlia reached for the blow dryer and turned it on, shaking out her aunt’s expensive auburn hair. Grabbing a fat round brush, she took a section of hair at a time, and rolled it around the bristles, drying as she went. Juliet was impressed. So far so good. She started to relax.
“Oh yeah, did Mom tell you? Aunt Hildy’s coming home to die.”
Juliet bolted up in her chair. “Are you kidding me? That old boot? When did this happen?”
“Just last night. Mom got a letter asking us to take her in, apparently.”
“I know Aunt Hildy. She didn’t ask your mother anything. She told her. Well, I hope your mother sent an urgent telegram with a big fat NO written across it.”
“You know Mom. She’s welcoming her with open arms.”
Juliet practically spit. “Your mother should be put in a loony bin. Who welcomes a tyrant into their home? Your father can’t be happy about this…but no…I suppose it’s none of his business any more.”
Dahlia rolled her eyes while she brushed. “Whether it is or it isn’t, he’s still fit to be tied.”
“When’s he moving into his own digs, anyway? It’s mighty odd that he’s still hanging around.”
“I think he’s there because he’s afraid Mom can’t cope with the house on her own. The expense and repairs, I suppose.”
“That’s an excuse,” Juliet grunted. “He’s always been a tick on her backside…”
Seeing her niece’s face in the mirror, Juliet realized she’d gone too far. “I mean that in a nice way.”
“A tick on your backside is nice?”
She had to backpedal. “No. You’re right. I think it is the house. That place is a monstrosity. I should know. I was born there.” She shivered for Dahlia’s benefit.
“Hey, it’s a nice house. A little messy maybe…”
“Your loyalty is admirable, but I thank God every day that I escaped, unlike poor old Faith.”
“Did Aunt Faith ever live anywhere else? She’s been a permanent fixture for as long as I can remember.”
“Yes, she did for a time. But she got sacked for accidentally setting fire to the bookstore she worked in. Your mother naturally felt sorry for her and said she could stay with you guys until she found her feet again.”
“I guess her feet are still missing. How did she cause the fire anyway?”
“Three guesses.”
“Smoking?”
“Bingo.”
Her niece shook her head. “It’s scary to think an arsonist is living in our attic.”
“She’s hardly an arsonist, Dahlia. An absent-minded feather brain, maybe, but she didn’t intend to cause a four-alarm blaze.”
“Why can’t she stay with…”
“You’re insane if you think I’d have Faith live with me. She’s a total bloodsucker. At the risk of repeating myself, your mother belongs in a loony bin, but I don’t intend to join her.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Juliet watched the approach of Slater, a blonde surfer-boy Adonis with muscles on his muscles. No wonder his day-planner was filled to capacity. Just the thought of his hands on her flesh made Juliet want to crawl out of the chair and jump on his bones.
He grabbed his girl from behind. “Hey baby. I need some lovin’.”
Juliet wanted to raise her hand to volunteer for the assignment.
Dahlia giggled and turned around. They kissed each other with as much abandon as humanly possible in public. Was that allowed? It must be. No one stopped them.
After what seemed like forever, Juliet had had enough. If she wasn’t getting any, neither was Dahlia.
“Do you two mind? I’m in the middle of a hair appointment.”
They parted reluctantly. That’s when Slater realized who was in the chair.
“Hey Mrs. W. How’s it shakin’?”
“It’s not shaking at all, thanks to my plastic surgeon.”
Slater gave her a funny look and shrugged. Then he got the joke. “Wicked. You rock.”
“I’m thrilled.”
“I think you’re done.” Dahlia picked up a round mirror and held it up to the back of Juliet’s head. “What do you think?”
