Shoot Me

by Lesley Crewe

  This time she really was thrilled. Her sleek pageboy never looked better. Never one for over-enthusiasm, she tempered her comments. “It’s very nice. Thank you. I may even come back,” was all she said.

  Dahlia pursed her lips. “Sure. I’ll pencil you in.”

  “You should come for a massage, Mrs. W. You look tense. See how your shoulders are all hunched up.” Slater reached over and started to massage her neck. She became a pool of liquid jelly. This was better than an…

  “Juliet…are you finished?” Robert appeared out of nowhere with Kiwi popping up out of the straw bag at three-second intervals. Naturally. It was too good to be true. Her husband always showed up at the wrong moment. Slater stopped to reach over and grab Robert’s hand in a gripping finger-grab ritual that passed for a handshake.

  “Hey, Mr. W. Long time no see. How’s it goin’ dude?”

  Robert stared at Slater with alarm. “Fine. I think.”

  “You look like you could do with a massage as well.” He reached out, but Robert held him off.

  “No thank you. I golf. That’s as relaxed as I want to be.”

  “Cool man. Whatever turns you on.” Slater gave Dahlia a dazzling smile. “And I know just the girl who does that for me. Come here, babe.” He pressed her against him once more.

  Tired of not being the centre of attention, Juliet barked her command: “Come Robert. Kiwi must be ready to go home.” She got out of the chair, grabbed her baby and marched out of the salon without paying. She heard her husband say goodbye, but no one answered him. He followed her outside.

  “I like your hair. She did a good job.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Don’t you think so?”

  She wanted him to shut up, so she could concentrate on the feel of Slater’s hands around her neck. She definitely needed to make an appointment with that boy.

  The wind had picked up in the interim, which made for less conversation on the way home. As they crossed back over the bridge, they saw the Dartmouth ferry plow its way across the harbour with a boatload of commuters. They took a right and followed the Bedford Highway back to their own neighbourhood. Juliet always hated to go this way because the container terminal reminded her of a Hollywood set. One designed for a sleazy gangster movie. It was always a relief to turn up Bayview Drive and get back to the tonier parts of the area.

  Juliet loved her home on Lady Slipper Drive. It was a modern cube style, clad with mahogany stained wood, built into the hillside. Large windows looked out over the street, but because the living room was on the second floor, it was private, and needed no curtains.

  Naturally, when Elsie and Faith first saw it, they just wandered around with their mouths open. Faith asked her if she liked the idea of living in a museum of modern art. Juliet replied it was a lot better than living in a stinking attic. That’s when Elsie suggested they all go out to dinner. Her treat.

  They turned the corner and there was Faith’s tin can of a car in the driveway.

  Juliet rolled her eyes. “Oh, great. She’s early.”

  “Be nice,” Robert said.

  “I’m always nice.”

  They pulled alongside Faith’s rusting Tercel. Faith got out of her hunk of junk as Juliet emerged from the sports car.

  “Hello, darling,” said Juliet, kissing the air beside Faith’s left and right ear.

  “I thought I might as well come over. There’s nothing going on at home.”

  Juliet rooted through her purse for house keys while she walked to the front door. “Great,” she said vaguely.

  “I think Dahlia did a nice job on your hair. Don’t you think so, Robert?”

  He mumbled something.

  Juliet told her sister to go sit by the pool while she went upstairs and changed into the new silk lounging pyjamas she’d bought the day before. She admired herself in the full-length mirror while looking at her silhouette for any unsightly bulges. Satisfied, she joined Faith on the back deck.

  It was Juliet’s favourite space. The decking around the heated pool was enclosed with expensive fencing, which in turn was covered with beautiful clematis, wisteria and honeysuckle vines. The Virginia creeper was just starting to turn a glorious red. Juliet paused to admire it.

  “I’m so glad I decided to add this to the mix.” She pointed to the newest plant, then grabbed a lounge chair and pulled it up beside Faith, who handed her a glass of red wine from the small wrought iron table between them.

  “Thank you,” Juliet smiled. “Boy, do I need this.” She sat down and took a long sip.

  Faith put her hand up to shade her eyes from the late afternoon sun. “Isn’t Robert going to join us?”

  “He’s cooking dinner.”

  “Don’t you ever cook?”

  “Do you?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Ditto.”

  They both took another gulp of wine. Juliet tried not to stare at the faint grease stains on Faith’s T-shirt, but it was nearly impossible.

  “Did you know the arrow on your ‘I’m with Stupid’ T-shirt points north?”

  “Well, duh. That’s why I got it on sale for a buck.”

  It wasn’t the first time Juliet wondered if her sisters were foundlings.

  Faith handed her a folded piece of paper. “What do you think of this?”

  Oh goody, Juliet thought, another horrible opening sentence. She reached over and gave it a quick glance. “It seems fine, although maybe he should grab her boob from behind or something.”

  “You have to build to the climax, you ninny, not have an orgasm right off the bat. That ruins the sexual tension. It’s obvious you know nothing about structure and nuance. You want your audience to turn the page.”

  Juliet shrugged and took a big gulp of wine. “Exactly. I’d turn the page if he grabbed her boob. Have you ever thought that maybe that’s why you’re not published?”

  “You’re a horny old woman, did you know that?”

  “It takes one to know one.” Juliet noticed the wine bottle was almost empty.

  “Ro! Get us another bottle please,” she yelled at the open kitchen window.

  “In a minute.”

  “Now, Ro.”

  “What a bossy boss.” He marched out with a dish towel draped over his arm, and leaned the bottle against it for their approval. “Will that be all, madam or may I get back to grilling my Portobello mushrooms?”

  “You may.”

  He put down the bottle and they watched him return to his culinary duties. Juliet shook her head slightly. Robert definitely needed that butt tuck she’d booked for him.

  Faith read her mind. “Have you ever noticed Robert has a…?”

  “Of course I have. And he’s getting it fixed…not that he knows anything about it yet, so don’t breathe a word. I have to pick my moment carefully.”

  “Do you actually love him? I mean, he looks like he’s been pulled too tight.”

  Juliet filled her glass before she offered the bottle to her sister. “Does that go for me as well?”

  “No. You must have a better surgeon.”

  “I do.”

  “Why do you call him Ro, by the way? It’s stupid.”

  “So he can pretend his name is Romeo.”

  Faith stuck her finger down her throat and pretended to gag.

  “Hey. I’ve never had a better lap dog, so back off. You’re just jealous.”

  Her sister sighed. “No. I don’t think so. No one’s attractive to me anymore.”

  “I can think of someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Slater.” Juliet lifted her eyebrows. “It was all I could do not to rip his clothes off today.”

  “He is perfect, isn’t he? Can you imagine him in bed?”

  They didn’t speak for a moment. Juliet didn’t want to ruin the steamy images coursing through her brain. She assumed that was the reason for Faith’s silence as well.

  Finally Faith leaned over to her and whispered, “I heard them once, when t
hey didn’t think I was home. Girl…it went on for hours.”

  Juliet fanned her face with the nearest coaster. “God. Stop talking or change the subject. I have to go to bed with Ro later and I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment.”

  “Elsie was pretty upset last night. She thinks Dahlia’s too young to get married.”

  “Would you wait if you had someone like him chase you? Damn. It’s so unfair. A whole lifetime of…that…waiting for her. I can’t stand it.”

  “Settle down. He might be built, but he talks like someone’s used him as sparring partner once too often.”

  Juliet brightened slightly. “That’s true.”

  “Hey. You’ll never guess who’s coming to town.”

  “Aunt Hildy.”

  “Geez Louise,” her sister frowned. “I never get to tell anyone anything. You could pretend you didn’t know. I suppose Dahlia told you?”

  Juliet nodded. “What’s it all about, anyway? She’s coming home to die? The old trout will outlive all of us.”

  “I daresay.”

  “Who does she think she is, Queen Muck? The way she carries on, you’d think she was born in Buckingham Palace instead of that old house. I don’t know how Mom stood it all those years.”

  “Not only that. She wants her old bedroom back.”

  “Typical behaviour, ordering people around.” Juliet knocked back another mouthful before hollering, “Hurry up Ro. I’m starving.”

  Chapter Three

  An airport employee whose name tag read ‘Antony’ rolled Hildy Chamberlin up to the gate at Heathrow.

  “Here we are madam.”

  “And about time too. A drugged sloth would have had me here sooner. If I miss my plane to Canada young man, your head will be on a chopping block.”

  “You have plenty of time before you board, madam. Have a safe trip.”

  Hildy looked at him as she heaved herself out of the wheelchair. “I intend to have a journey. Whether it is safe or not is up to the employees of this airline and if your shoddy performance as a chair pusher is anything to go by, I have a feeling I’ll be nose-diving directly into the Atlantic before the North American continent comes into view.”

  And with that Hildy, in a flowing North African gown and headdress and carrying an ancient carpetbag, an umbrella and a fertility mask, took her leave.

  The chair pusher turned his rig around and hightailed it to his pal at the next gate. He held his hand up to his mouth and said under his breath, “Whoever’s working business class to Halifax today will be up on murder charges by the time they land. That, or jumping out of the emergency exits.”

  Finally the announcement was made for anyone with small children or those requiring assistance to proceed to the gate. Hildy sat firmly in her chair, with her nose in her book—The Finest Hour by Winston Churchill. One of the ticket agents approached.

  “Would you like to board now, ma’am? Before the others?”

  Hildy removed her glasses from her nose and let them dangle from the silver chain around her neck. “If I wanted to board now, young lady, I would have done so.”

  “But it goes a little faster if…”

  Hildy shut her book with a bang. “It goes a little faster if the old dear is put on first and out of the way of the galloping hordes of important businessmen…is that what you’re suggesting?”

  “I only meant…”

  “I’ll have you know I’ve just crossed the Sahara on the back of a camel, thereafter joining another party to go on safari through the plains of Africa. Lions and tigers and elephants are to be respected. Not insipid, dull and dreary men in suits, who, if they can’t wait the extra thirty seconds needed for me to plant my generous behind in a seat, can feel free to off themselves in the john after we’ve reached a flying altitude.”

  The young woman bit her lip and unfortunately turned a bright shade of red.

  “Oh do buck up, girlie. You can’t let an old thing like me put you off your dinner. Where’s your backbone? You’re more than a pair of breasts in a tight uniform. Be proud of yourself. And the next time a mouthy old dame gives you a blast, tell her to get stuffed and be on your way.”

  “Get stuffed.”

  “Jolly good. Keep it up.”

  Business class was announced next. Hildy gathered her possessions and headed for the gate. Eight men in three-piece suits rose from their seats as well, but gave her a wide berth. Sound carries in open airport terminals.

  Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic, Elsie waited in agony for the elevator to inch its way upward to her office. At this rate, Aunt Hildy would be in Canada before she got to the fourth floor. It never failed to amaze her that an elevator would be this slow in a hospital. Surely the seconds saved rushing around for a code blue were a wasted effort if the poor schmuck had to get to another floor. A patient would be better off strapped to a gurney and pushed down the laundry chute to surgery. Maybe she’d suggest it at the next board meeting.

  But it wasn’t just the elevator that had her in a lather. She carried a plate of homemade cupcakes in one hand and a thermos of tea in the other, which normally wouldn’t have been a problem but for the fact that her huge purse, gym bag and leather satchel were sliding down her shoulders and digging into the crooks of her arms.

  Finally the elevator doors slid open. She burst forth and very nearly knocked over an elderly man with a cane. He shook it at her.

  “I’m so sorry,” she apologized over her shoulder, rushing to get to her office. By the time she reached it, she looked like a gorilla lumbering through the jungle.

  “Crys…for God’s sake…grab this, will ya?” She shoved the thermos and cupcakes at her assistant.

  Crystal reached for the offered items, cracking her ever-present gum. “Why don’t you just push a wheelbarrow in from the parking lot? It’d be a whole lot easier.”

  Her hands finally free, Elsie dropped her stuff on the floor. “And have one more thing to drag? I don’t think so.”

  “What are these?”

  “Carob cupcakes with cream cheese icing.”

  “Healthy but fattening…they are so you…no, I meant these things.” She pointed to the toothpicks that stuck out of the cupcakes and held up the plastic wrap.

  “Those are miniature marshmallows, so the toothpicks don’t poke through.”

  Crys cracked her gum in double time, which Elsie knew from long experience was Morse code for “you’re a lunatic.”

  Elsie picked up her belongings. “Never mind the sarcastic remarks. Just do me a favour and take those to the ward clerk on third. If I have to get in that elevator again I’ll scream. Of course I should take the stairs, since Graham continues to nag me about my lack of exercise, but I refuse to do that, just to make the point that he can no longer…”

  “You’re rambling. Answer the question. Who are these for?”

  “Someone on third is having a little do for…I forget who…and I forget why…but I said I’d bring something.”

  “So you don’t actually know this person?”

  “I don’t know if I know this person.”

  “I suggest you don’t know. I suggest you have no flipping idea who this person is, which means…”

  “…we eat them. You’re brilliant.”

  She turned to go when she looked back for a second. Crystal was already hiding the plate in her left drawer.

  “Crys…are those earrings?”

  She shook back her frizzy red hair to reveal her lobes. “You like?”

  “They’re dream catchers, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah. Great eh?”

  “They’re the size of a pancake.”

  Crystal folded her arms. “My life is a nightmare, as you well know. Better safe than sorry.”

  “Perfect. Buy me a couple of dozen on your lunch hour. I’m going to need them.”

  With that, Elsie disappeared into her office.

  The beleaguered flight attendant hurried over to seat 4B and switched off
the blinking call light. “Yes, madam?”

  “I’ve had better food in the slums of Calcutta,” Hildy barked. “And the wine is swill. Take it away and bring me a glass of tomato juice. That, at least, can’t be messed with.”

  She scurried off and came back with the juice. Her passenger took a sip and grimaced.

  “Apparently I’m mistaken. Right then. I’ll have a glass of ice water please, with a slice of lime. And if you foul that up, I’ll have no choice but to worry about the future of mankind.”

  The attendant, accompanied by her migraine, went back behind the curtain to collapse into the arms of a colleague. “I can’t take it anymore. I give up. She wins. I’m quitting as soon as we land.”

  Her friend patted her back. “We only have a few more hours.”

  “Where’s a tailwind when you need one?”

  Mrs. Abernathy was upset. “I think I still love the rat.”

  Elsie pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. She reached for the box of tissues on her desk and passed them to Mrs. Abernathy. “By rat, you mean your husband?”

  The woman sighed as she took a tissue and dabbed her nose. “Is there any other?”

  Graham. Oh God, did I say that out loud?

  “I told him to get out….I told him to leave….”

  Elsie leaned towards her. “But now you think you’ve made a mistake?”

  Her head bobbed up and down. Tears fell down her cheeks. “Is that wrong? Am I being stupid?”

  She smiled at her. “Of course that’s not wrong. And you’re not being stupid. Everyone has doubts about changes in their lives. Change is frightening. And none of us can turn off our emotions just like that. What you have to decide is whether your life is better with him or without him.”

  “Oh, I’ve already got that one figured out…it’s a whole heck of a lot better without him, let me tell ya.”

  She blinked. “But you’re still having doubts?”

  “I love the creep.”

  Elsie looked at her watch. She picked up her pen and scribbled something on the woman’s file, something she did whenever she was uncertain about how to help. It gave her a few seconds to think. The poor woman was obviously not ready to strike out on her own. It saddened her when a client didn’t know her own potential.