Angel in Blue Jeans

by Richard L. Coles

  Then suddenly, Dana spoke. “What we need is a Youth Centre.”

  “Hunh?”

  “Eh?”

  Those first words had shattered perhaps the longest of the afternoon’s silences. Dana had raised herself to an upright position as she had spoken them.

  “Whadya mean, Dan?” asked Iain.

  “Like the Y?” quizzed Gina.

  “Well, kind of. What I think is, like, we’ve all grown up here with nothing close by where we could go and do things together. Like, if we wanted a dance, or just to hang out, or do things, crafts or whatever. Play ball or something. Like, we don’t even have a softball diamond.”

  “We’ve used the one down Otterbrook,” noted Jason.

  “Yeah, I know, but that’s not here,” responded Dana. “I was just thinking. This afternoon’s the first time I can remember us all being together like this.”

  “Yeah, well, so what? Okay, we need a Youth Centre. Where and how do we get one?” Jason was a demander.

  “I think we’ve got one waiting for us, if we ask the right people,” said Dana, coyly.

  “Come on, Dan, give it to us,” said Tony, a little impatiently.

  “Listen up,” began Dana. “Lookit, we’ve got the buildings, and the land, all waiting. We’ve just got to convince the right people to help us make it all work …”

  “Come off it, Dana, whatcha talking about?” Jason too was not clued in yet.

  “The old brewery, you jerks,” said Dana, smiling and shaking her head. “Look, if we can convince the old guy that owns it, and get people round here to help us, I’m sure we can do it. Whatcha think?”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yeah, we’d need air conditioning!”

  They laughed. Dana stood up and smoothed the seat of her shorts.

  “Hey, you guys! You want to cool off?” came a voice from the Johnson driveway.

  They turned to be greeted by Mr Johnson, carrying a box of popsicles.

  “Hey man, that’s great.”

  “Gee thanks, Dad.”

  “Thanks, Mr Johnson.”

  They all stood in the shade, licking and scrunching their popsicles.

  “You guys been setting the world to rights, then?” Mr Johnson inquired.

  “Not exactly, too hot.”

  “Yeah, but Dana’s come up with a great idea, if it’ll work.”

  “What’s that then, Dana?”

  “Well, I think the kids around here need a Youth Centre. Like, to do things together, games, dances, crafts, just hanging out. Better than the young kids playing in the street or in the parking by the townhouses. An’ we wouldn’t have to drag off into town if we just wanted to do anything beyond sitting in somebody’s basement.”

  “That sounds like a great idea,” said Mr Johnson, but his expression became quizzical. “But what do you have in mind? Where and how?”

  “The old brewery, Dad.” Jason filled him in.

  “Hmm! That is a good idea, if it could work. You’d have to get the owner to agree. And then there’s the whole business of fixing up the place. That’d cost a lot of money. And who would run the place? It wouldn’t look after itself. And there’s the security aspect, too. And the city would have to approve—there’d be a lot of work involved.”

  “I know,” said Dana. “I know. But I’ve had this idea going through my mind for a while now. I’ve thought of all those problems. But if it’s something we all think should be done, I think we can make it happen.”

  “Good for you, Dana,” said Mr Johnson.

  “Maybe we could apply for a grant or something,” suggested Fiona.

  “Yeah, an’ maybe we could get people around here to help out, to get the place fixed up,” added Gina.

  “Yeah, why not?”

  Mr Johnson stood taller than the rest of them. He was used to coaching teams, and he began to slip into that role.

  “Look,” he started, “first, you need to find out what the old fellow that owns the place thinks about the idea. Maybe, Dana, you could contact him or, better yet, his lawyer—what’s his name now? Er—Simpson, yes, George Simpson. Mr Hampden and Mr Adkins dealt through him—oh, and so did Tony’s dad.”

  “Do you think people around here would go for the idea?” Dana looked straight at Mr Johnson. He looked back at her. She felt a hint of uncertainty.

  “Hmmm, you’ve got a point there.” He paused, and stroked his chin. “I don’t know, to be honest, Dana. There’s a few people who might not like the idea. But the only way to find out is to ask them.”

  “I guess we’d have to check with the owner first. If he’s not for it, it’s dead.”

  “Surely.”

  Dana turned to Tony. “We’ll go talk to your dad when he gets home, and see how to get hold of Mr Simpson.”

  The group began to break up. “Thanks for the popsicles, Mr Johnson!”

  “No problem. My pleasure!”

  Dana and Tony wandered across the grass to Tony’s driveway. She caught his hand.

  “How long you been thinking about that, then?” he said.

  “Dunno, it kind of grew on me.”

  “D’you think it’ll fly?” Tony’s look was sceptical. He had said very little.

  “If we all want it to, it’ll fly, yeah.”

  Tony squeezed her hand and they kissed lightly. Dana danced over the street to her house, a little puzzled by Tony’s reaction—he seemed a bit doubtful about her idea.

  - 13 -

  Mike was in a bad mood. He’d just received yet another cannonading letter from his ex-wife’s lawyer; matters were deteriorating still further. Once inside the 7-Eleven, he stormed down the first aisle. He reached into the cooler and lifted out a carton of milk. He was closing the door, when …

  “Mike Carson! What brings you here?”

  Mike turned, startled, still black in mood. An older man was standing there grinning at him. Mike frowned for a moment, and then recognition lit up his face.

  “Dave Adkins! How are you? Gee, haven’t seen you since that Jamboree in Guelph. Man, you’re looking great. How’s life?”

  “Not so bad, not so good, Mike. Got laid off at Christmas—been out of work since, but …”

  “Gee, that’s too bad. Say, how’s Jackson doing? He must be out of school now.”

  “Yep, he’s in college, doing Commerce. How about you?”

  “Not so bad. Working out in the east-end with Ferrier; you know, air conditioners and so on.”

  “So, you living around here, then?”

  “Yeah, I’m renting a room from a couple of friends who just bought one of the new townhouses. Elaine and I split last year. You?”

  “We’re in the Gardens, third house in. That’s great, Mike, you must come over and visit with Barbara and me.”

  “Barbara? I thought …” Mike bit his lip.

  “Er—I guess you didn’t know Helen left me and Jackson.”

  “No, Dave, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Anyway, I met Barbara sometime later, and we’re fine. We’ve produced another young Scout, Cody.”

  “Great. So are you still into Scouting, then?”

  “No, not really. I had to give it up; too much pressure from work. But I’ve helped out with Cody’s troop this year.”

  “That’s good. They’ll have you back in uniform before long.” Mike chuckled.

  “So are you still doing Venturers?”

  “Not really. I keep contact with some of the old companies, but they all change as new kids come through. No, I’ve been doing more with Rovers lately. Though these last two years, I’ve found it heavy going. Too many other pressures.”

  “Ah, you’re getting old, Mike. What are you? Thirty-five?”

  “Not quite, thirty-four next January.”

  “Mike, now that you’re single again, we’ll have to find someone new for you!”

  “Like heck! I’m stil
l fighting the last one!”

  “Hah. Say, look, I’ve gotta go. It’s great to see you again. What’s your number? I’ll give you a call, and we’ll get together.”

  “Six-two-five, seven-three-one-one.”

  “Got it.” David wrote the number on the packet he was carrying. “Okay, Mike, see ya.”

  “Bye, Dave.”

  David Adkins paid for his packet and left the store. Mike wandered round the aisles, looking for the rack of Kleenex boxes. He thought back to those great scouting days when he was a young Venturer Advisor, to the jamborees, to those days when Dave Adkins was the Area Coordinator, back in the heyday, when they were all younger, and fun seemed to come so much more easily.

  Boy, I could use some fun right now; that bitch Elaine has raised yet another obstacle. Let my lawyer sort it out, he thought, that’s what I’m paying him for.

  He picked up two boxes of Kleenex and walked over to the cash, glancing out through the glass doors to see Dave standing there, chatting with a very sharp-looking and pretty young woman. He kept one eye on the doorway as he dealt with his purchases. She entered, flashing him a smile on the way.

  Hmmm, he thought, nice, as he punched in his PIN; he glanced up again, but she was gone into the depths of the store.

  - 14 -

  Tony sank back into the luxury of the backseat of the Lincoln Town Car and watched distractedly as the scenes along the roadside flashed by. He had given up trying to be a part of the conversation in the car.

  In spite of the quietness of the ride, he often did not catch what Dana and Mr Simpson were saying. Sometimes, Dana would turn and throw a query back to Tony, seeking confirmation of something she had just said. But somehow, he felt out of his depth.

  This was bothering him. He was used to being in the lead. Right from the start, when Dana had first aired her idea for the old brewery, he had felt on the defensive, searching for a role.

  He had found their first visit to Mr Simpson the lawyer quite daunting, and had barely spoken at first. But he had found it easier when Mr Simpson told them that he had been a keen sports car buff in his youth. He and Tony did have a common interest.

  But now, he felt out of it. He was seeing another side of Dana that he had not really recognized before. Sure, she had led him sometimes when they were alone, like when deciding what to do or where to go. But this was different. She had a determined tone in her voice. She sounded more mature—yeah, that’s it, he realized. He had heard that tone before—Dana’s mother. But this was Dana speaking, and she clearly meant what she was saying.

  The sun shone through the car window at a different angle as they rounded a bend, and caught the edge of Dana’s hair, highlighting her face as she turned to speak to Mr Simpson. She really is cute, thought Tony, letting his concerns fall away, watching her eyes as they sparkled, her lips as they formed the words he no longer heard or cared about.

  At last, they reached the junction with Highway 2, and turned westward down the hill into the valley of the Cataraqui, between the rock faces blasted out for the roadway.

  “Soon be there now,” George Simpson turned his head to speak to both Dana and Tony.

  “This is Kingston already?” Dana queried.

  “Yes,” Mr Simpson replied.

  “I’ve never been before.”

  “I came once with the PeeWee Hockey Team,” supplied Tony. “But it was winter and dark, so we didn’t see much.”

  “What’s that place over there?” asked Dana, pointing to a collection of stone and concrete buildings, highlighted with trees, with several playing fields around it.

  “Oh, that’s RMC, the Military College. It’s like a university, only the students are training to be officers in the Armed Forces as well,” Mr Simpson explained. “Actually, I did a stint of training there myself, right after World War Two. Great place.”

  “So that’s where RMC is,” said Dana. “I can remember when my Uncle Alex used to visit us; I must have been about five or six. He used to tell us about all kinds of tricks he used to do at RMC. I remember how short his hair was, and how bristly it felt when I rubbed my hand over it. One time, he brought his uniform, and my head was only as high as his white belt. And that funny little hat he had to wear. But we don’t see him much, now. He lives in Halifax.”

  The car swung down the road, past an impressive archway leading into the college, across a massive girder bridge over the Cataraqui River, and round into the centre of Kingston.

  George Simpson seems to know his route pretty well, Tony thought, he’s probably known the place for over fifty years.

  They passed the lower ends of streets full of shops, on past the city hall and an old railroad locomotive on its stubs of track, past high-rises of luxury apartments and hotels overlooking a marina and yacht basin. They turned right, up into streets lined with large, mature trees and imposing, gracious houses. Tony had that feeling again, small and unsure of himself.

  Mr Simpson turned the car into the small forecourt of a greystone house, whose contrasting, lighter stone bay windows stood like sentries on both sides of an imposing front door recessed under a stone arch.

  “Here we are,” said Mr Simpson, pulling the keys from the ignition with a flourish. “Right on time.”

  As the three visitors approached the front door, it opened to present a middle-aged lady dressed in an ageless light grey suit, the skirt hanging decorously to slightly below her knees. Tony hung back behind Dana.

  “Sheila, how are you?” greeted Mr Simpson.

  “Very well, thank you, Mr Simpson. It’s good to see you. Are you keeping well?”

  “Couldn’t be better. Sheila, I’d like you to meet Dana Munro and Tony Ferruccio.” Turning to Dana and Tony, he added, “This is Mrs Tovey, Mr Hennigan’s housekeeper.”

  “Oh, don’t be formal, my dears. Call me Sheila,” she added, as Dana and then Tony shook her hand.

  She closed the door behind them. “Mr Hennigan is in the West Room,” she continued as she led them along the hallway to a door on the left.

  Tony’s attention was drawn to the pictures that lined the walls, pictures of ships, some ancient, some just old.

  They were ushered into the West Room. Tony was taken aback by its apparent size. At the far end, light shone in through the tall window, obviously the left-hand bay on sentry duty outside. A second window on the wall opposite the door added to the openness. But what made the room seem so vast was the height of the ceiling and the sparseness of the furnishings.

  By each window was an antique-looking couch. Opposite the bay window, the wall was taken up with a fireplace and ornate mantel surround. Two high-back antique chairs and two low-back chairs formed a rough semicircle in front of the fireplace. A small table stood in the centre of the room, behind the chairs.

  In the far corner, between the two windows, was a writing desk, and sitting at it on a straight-back chair was a very old, white-haired man. He turned and stood, smiling, as they moved into the room.

  “George, how are you, young fellow?” The voice was old, but it still had power.

  “Kurt, I’m fine. My, you’re looking well.”

  “I’m feeling well, too.” A gleam in the eyes joined the smile on the old face.

  “Kurt, I’d like to present Dana Munro and Tony Ferruccio.”

  Tony was again taken aback, this time by Kurt Hennigan’s greeting. “I’m honoured to meet you both.” Mr Hennigan first took Dana’s hand by the fingers, raised it a little, bowed his head slightly, and brought his heels together sharply. He then moved to take Tony’s hand, grasping it firmly as he shook it once with a nod of his head.

  Mr Hennigan gestured them to be seated around the fireplace. “George tells me that you have a proposal to make,” he said, looking at Dana.

  “Yes, sir, we have.” Tony noticed that Dana seemed a little nervous at this point, in the rather daunting surroundings.

  “Tell me about it then, dear, I’m very interested.”

  “You see,
sir, our community has never had a place, a hall, or a schoolyard, like, where the young people could play safely, or do things together, or just …”

  “Hang out?” interjected Mr Hennigan, smiling.

  Dana was put off her stride again, but soon regained her confidence. Tony sensed that Mr Hennigan was with her in what she was trying to say.

  “Yes—or to have a dance, or just to get to know each other better. Like, if we ever want to play softball, or football, or catch a movie, we have to go out of the area, an’ that. It’s not so bad as we get older, but the young ones need to get rides with parents all the time.”

  Mr Hennigan nodded, knowingly, and looked at her expectantly.

  “So I thought, like, the old brewery, it’s been standing there for so long, and all the kids used it to play in at some time or another, but it’s not right, like it is, all overgrown and dangerous, but it would be great if it could be done up and used properly as a Youth Centre.” Confident though she was, Dana had said it all in almost one breath. It was her key point; it had to come out fast.

  “Dana,” began Mr Hennigan, “I think that is a marvellous idea, and I want to thank you for bringing it to me. But I do want to ask you both a few questions about the idea, to dig a bit more deeply.”

  Dana swallowed and crossed her legs. Tony adjusted his position in the chair.

  “You see,” continued Mr Hennigan, “those buildings are very old, and will need a lot of work and materials to put them into usable condition. Had you given any thought about how to do that?”

  “Uh-huh, yes, I have,” replied Dana, confidently. “I think that if the people, particularly the kids, really believe this is worth doing, then people will volunteer to help as much as they can; and we could also try applying for a grant from the city, or from the provincial government.”

  Tony cleared his throat. “There’s lots of skilled people in the Gardens. Like my dad, he’s in construction, and Mr DeLaunais, he’s a plumber, and that.”