“What’s that look?” Brian asked.
“I don’t even want to say it.”
Jeremy could tell she did. “Maybe we should change the subject.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Her jaw, Brian. He dislocated her jaw. It wasn’t even a smack – it was a punch. Estelle told me it didn’t even hurt at first, she was so shocked. You were a baby and thought it was the funniest thing ever. That’s the thing she remembered: you sitting there cackling while your father stomped out of the house and left her holding her poor face.”
“That’s nice. That’s really fucking nice.” Brian got up from the table and walked out of the room, taking his phone with him. He carried himself straight, but Jeremy saw that his eyes were already flooded. Marie’s eyes were glistening again, too, and her shoulders were stooped with guilt. She made no move to follow her husband. They heard a door slam upstairs.
Marie tried to smile. “Guess I’m not getting laid tonight, eh?”
Driving back down the long laneway, Jeremy was less careful about avoiding the cats. He felt that a sacrifice was necessary.
* * *
At the Shack, on his eighth bourbon, Jeremy announced to Glenn and Phil that he’d figured out how to eradicate the shittiness of the world. It was simple: everyone had to forgive everyone else. Just like that – a one-time, all-encompassing round of forgiveness to wipe the slate clean.
“What if they dig out another Nazi war criminal?” Glenn asked. “What happens then in this new world of forgiveness?”
Jeremy waved his hands to dismiss all these objections – they were getting lost in the details.
“It’s a one-time offer. If, after everything is forgiven, they still go out and be all Hitler, then fine: we throw away the key.”
He reached for one of the keys on his belt and nearly tipped over. Glenn caught him, and with the help of the bartender, got him downstairs and onto the couch in his office. He awoke there the next morning, covered in a coat from the lost and found. His grand idea had reversed itself in the night: now, instead of forgiveness, he wanted judgment, blood, the sky in flames, a great sword the size of highway cutting in half the guilty and innocent alike. The feeling lasted until he was able to wobble his way upstairs, make coffee, and fill a pint glass with grapefruit juice. When Tyler arrived, he requested a fried egg on toast and a large slice of fridge-chilled watermelon, and asked that the cook not play any music for a couple of hours.
* * *
Brian called a few days later. Jeremy couldn’t remember his brother-in-law ever calling him about anything, and so braced himself for news that Marie and the kids were in the hospital. Or that a divorce was imminent. Or else his mother was the one who’d been in an accident, and his sister was too broken up to call. But Brian’s news was good, at least potentially: he had been thinking about the idea of investing in the bar, and had even talked about it with his lawyer, who’d not only said it sounded like a good idea, but that he himself might be interested in putting some money in the bar, too.
“That is good news. For you, especially, I think.”
“Can we talk some more about it?”
Brian and his lawyer, a thin man named Stuart, came to the Shack one afternoon to work out the details. The three of them sat in a corner booth, and Patty brought them a tray of snacks and a bottle each of sparkling water, exactly as Jeremy had arranged beforehand. He’d had the bookkeeper prepare a folder full of financial documents, all carefully edited to show the business as unquestionably strong, but in need of an outside boost. While Brian sipped at the sparkling water and checked his emails, Jeremy showed Stuart around the place. He showed the lawyer the photos behind the bar and pointed out the one with him and the mayor. He showed him the kitchen and introduced him to Tyler, who barely said hello. He showed him the office and apologized for the mess.
“Brian tells me you’re gay.”
“That’s right.”
Jeremy said he was happy for him.
“It’s not like being pregnant, but okay. Thanks.”
“This is a totally open-minded place. We’re a family, and everybody’s a part of the family, no matter what: gay, straight, black, white, blue, purple, yellow.”
“Purple. Okay.”
The meeting went better than Jeremy had hoped and, at the end of it, an amount of money was proposed – most of it from Brian, with a small, supplementary chunk from Stuart. It was more than Jeremy had been expecting, though it came with the condition that the three of them meet regularly to talk about how things were going with the bar. Every two weeks to start, then, if need be, once a month.
“That’s more than I see my parents.”
Stuart smiled and said, “We’re not your parents. We don’t need to know every time you’re planning to fire a dishwasher. Just keep us in the loop for the big stuff.”
“Marie’s okay with you coming to the bar every couple of weeks, dude?” Jeremy asked Brian, whose expression didn’t change. “How’d you convince her to let go of the money?”
“This has nothing to do with her.”
“The inheritance money is administered through my office,” Stuart explained. “So there’s no real legal issue as far as Marie is concerned. I think we were hoping . . .” He gave Brian a quick, sideways glance. “I think it’d be easier all around if this investment was kept somewhat confidential, at least from the standpoint of the staff and people outside the Shack. It’s not really anything anybody else needs to know about, honestly. There’s no legal issue, like I said, but it just makes things simpler.”
“So don’t tell Marie, in other words,” Jeremy said.
Brian winced, which increased the glow of happiness growing in Jeremy’s stomach.
“For example, sure,” Stuart said. “Let’s keep it among us for now.”
“Happy to keep it on the down low.”
Stuart smiled again. “Not exactly the expression I’d use, but okay.”
Part of the agreement was that the other two men’s names would be put into all the Shack’s files as part owners, with equal say on the bar’s future. They’d also have equal shares in the business, shares that they could not sell to anyone other than the other two. Jeremy chose to see all that as mostly theoretical, even ceremonial, like singing “God Save the Queen” in school when he was a kid, and so readily agreed.
There was just one detail left that Stuart wanted to work out.
“There’s some money owing to your parents, right?”
Jeremy looked at Brian, who was staring down at his phone. The glow in his belly receded slightly.
“Some, yeah. Not a whole lot, but they helped out early on. It’s not a problem.”
“But – and I’m just asking so it’s clear in my head – this loan does not show up on any of your financial statements. Did I miss it there?”
“It was just a loan. A gift. They’re my parents, and it was years ago. It’s not like I’m paying interest on it.”
“I totally understand. And that was really great of them. I’ve only met your dad once, and he seems like a great guy. I’m sure your mother is, too. I will say this, though: it’s not great to have a debt like that outstanding, even a casual one. So here’s what I’m thinking: why don’t we pay them back their money, above and beyond what we’re talking about here? Put everything in the clear.”
Jeremy felt as though the warmth, ease, and optimism of the meeting were already slipping away. “If I had the money to pay them back, I would’ve done it already.”
“Oh for sure, I’m sure you would. That’s not the question. It’s more about timing. So how do we solve that problem? Here’s what I was thinking: maybe I pay them back. I’m putting less money into the bar than Brian, so that would even things out, right? I’ll write them the cheque, and we can figure out what that means later in terms of all of this.” He waved his ha
nd at the papers in front of them. “I can always write up a supplemental document to show Revenue Canada once we’re all fine and good.”
“You would pay them back? Personally?”
“To get us in the clear, debt-wise, yes. That way, we wouldn’t have to worry about screwing around with family.”
“They’re not getting screwed.”
“Sorry, let me be clear: that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying it would be easy to do, and would make everybody happy. How many things in life can you say that about?”
“Not a lot,” Brian said, looking up from his phone.
“None,” Stuart said. “Okay.”
“They’re really not waiting for it. They haven’t even asked.”
Stuart looked at Brian, who told Jeremy, reluctantly, that his parents had been bringing up the subject with Marie. His mother, mostly. She had asked her daughter more than once how if she, Marie, could ask about the money for them. She didn’t want to do it herself.
“She’s worried about your dad, about Gord.”
“What the fuck did Gord do?” The other two looked at Jeremy with alarm. He tried to laugh off his sudden anger. “Not more home brewing, I hope.”
Stuart turned to Brian. “Didn’t you say she wants to renovate their bathroom?”
“She told Marie she wants hand rails and one of those sit-in showers in the bathroom. I guess because Gord fell over that time in the backyard.”
“She just wants to make sure your father will be okay,” Stuart said. “That both of them will be okay, really.”
“Of course they’ll be okay. That’s ridiculous – they have a chunk of their money in the Shack, but I can give it back to them whenever they need it. With interest.”
Stuart held up a piece of paper. “Can I say something? Not to be an asshole or anything, but looking at the bank statements you gave us, you can’t. Not right now, anyway. And it sounds like your mother is anxious to see at least some of it soon. Honestly, this would be good for everybody – we need you to be totally clear and focused on growing the business and not worrying about tiny things like that. Okay? Let’s just get it done.”
Jeremy said he would think about it, and they ended the meeting without toasting their new partnership. After they left, he told Patty he was unavailable for a while and went out to stand on the deck.
He called Stuart the next day, while sitting in the Jeep across the street from the bar.
“Let me be the one to give my parents their money.”
There was a pause. He thought he heard the lawyer sigh.
“I don’t know if you can really afford it right now, Jer. That’s sort of why we’ve been having these discussions in the first place.”
“I mean let me physically give them the money. You give it to me, and I’ll give it to them. I don’t want them to know where it came from, I just want to be able to hand them the cheque.”
“Oh. Of course, sure. No problem. That works.”
“But don’t say anything about it to anyone.”
“Understood. We keep it on the, ah, on the down low. This is the smartest way to handle it, Jeremy, so I’m glad we’re getting it all taken care of. Okay?”
* * *
When the arrangement with Brian and Stuart was completed and the money had moved into the Shack’s account, Jeremy went to a bank machine and withdrew a few hundred dollars in twenties. He folded the money and put it all in his shirt pocket. At the bar, he walked around purposefully, handing each staffer a crisp new bill. “Little bonus,” he said. “Keep it up.” The Shack could not be defeated that easily. He’d gotten through worse. He handed out bills in the kitchen, where the cooks had already closed things down for the night and were sitting and passing joints around beyond the delivery door. “Just a little bonus,” Jeremy told them. “Don’t look so shocked. It’s not much.” He pinned a bill behind the next day’s prep list for Tyler, then gave one to the poor kid who’d been left to mop the floor and finish the dishes. He had a split-second’s regret that he hadn’t also stocked up on smaller bills for the more junior staff.
“Make it shine. I want to see that floor sparkle.”
He offered a round of shots to everyone sitting at the bar, and to the servers out on the floor. People smiled, thinking it was someone’s birthday or an anniversary. Benny stood at the bar, drinking a beer, his lower half speckled with white paint and plaster dust.
“Can I get you another one of those, on the house?” Jeremy asked him.
“I wouldn’t say no.”
“I don’t know about that – you’ve said no to me a few times.” He blew a kiss and popped the cap off the bottle.
Feeling as though the powers that had been stripped from him were finally, magically being restored, and sensing that he was once again able to resolve the stickiest of conflicts, Jeremy swiped a bottle of wine from the bar, left with a few of the bills still in his pocket, and drove to Charlene’s apartment. He parked across the street. There were lights on inside. She came down to the door in yoga pants and a T-shirt printed with a haughty-looking cat and the word OBEY below it in big letters. She put her arms around herself as soon as she saw him in a gesture that was partly a reaction to the cold air, and partly a reaction to him.
“Good evening,” he said, and doffed an invisible hat.
“What time is it?”
“No idea.” He held out the bottle of wine. “This is for you. For you and Kyle.”
“Kyle’s not home,” she said. “He’s out late with some people from work.”
She made no move to let him in, nor to accept the bottle from him. She stared at the ground between them.
“Hey look, I know things have gotten a little weird, and I’m sorry about that,” Jeremy said. “I completely understand if you hate me right now.”
She relaxed a little against the doorframe. “I don’t hate you.”
Jeremy could tell she was weighing the idea of letting him into the building, and gaming out the possible outcomes if she did. He wanted to tell her he was only stopping by, that he hadn’t intended to come in, that trying to bring about a repeat of his birthday was the last thing on his mind . . . but he couldn’t make himself do it. It was as if he were in the grip of some primordial instinct, instilled in his default male genetic coding back when his ancestors were scrambling around trying to build tribes big enough to survive the winter, that would not allow him to preempt the possibility of sex, no matter what. He thought of the moment in his bedroom when Charlene had removed her bra, making him realize how much he’d been coveting her breasts without being consciously aware of doing so. And then, all of a sudden, there they were. Despite everything that had happened up until then, that was the exact moment when he was sure they were going to go through with what they were going through with. He had been waiting for her to call a halt to everything, to say that they were being crazy and stupid. Even a word of doubt and he would’ve instantly agreed with all of it, would’ve apologized sincerely and done whatever he could to repair things. But she didn’t, and he didn’t, and she was naked in his bed within a few minutes of the taxi dropping them off at the house. He was impressed with himself – and he was certain it made an impression on her, too – the way he’d handled himself. He had learned a few things in his time; he had a few tricks up his sleeve.
He was far less proud of how things turned out the next day, and still cringed involuntarily at the memory of slipping out of the bleary bed first thing in the morning and into the bathroom. He had woken up in mid–panic attack, with his body screaming judgments at him. He stood in the shower, trying to breathe his way to calmness, and when he came out, she was gone. The texts he sent her later that day – worded as ambiguously as possible, in case Kyle looked at her phone – were not returned, and the next time she came to work, her face was set in an expression that made clear she was not prepared to acknowledge
what had happened, or even speak to him at all, for that matter.
“I’m glad you don’t hate me,” he said. He was still holding the bottle out to her. “Here, this is for you.”
She took it without thanking him, and announced she was tired – she’d spent the day with her friend Samantha, who had a two-year-old. “You’ve met Samantha; she’s been in the bar. Anyway, her little girl had me running around the whole time, so I’m exhausted.”
Jeremy nodded: message received. It wasn’t in his coding to force the issue; they would all survive the winter just fine. He took a step back from her door and began fiddling openly with his keys.
“I’ll let you go.”
“I’m actually glad you dropped by.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. It’s sort of hard to talk about anything at the Shack with everyone there.”
Jeremy wasn’t sure that was true, but nodded anyway.
“I’m still sorry about all this,” he said.
“Do you know what Samantha said when I told her? Oh, I told Samantha, by the way. Hope that’s okay. I didn’t tell her who it was.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Maybe. She said that as long as the sex was good, I shouldn’t feel too bad about it.”
He stood frozen in place, feeling as though the two of them were standing at either end of a beam balanced high in the air, waiting to see who would step off first, sending the other tumbling.
“So I’ve decided not to feel too badly about it.”
“Okay.”
“But it’s never going to happen again.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks for the wine.”
In the Jeep, he removed a small bundle from the glove compartment: a pair of Charlene’s underwear, which he’d found twisted up in the sheets when he’d stripped his bed to put everything in the laundry that morning. They were in the Jeep waiting for the moment when he could return them, or maybe sneak them into her bag. They were orange, amazingly – he hadn’t noticed the colour in the dark that night. Even more amazingly, they said Orange You Glad I Wore These? across the front. When he’d first found them, he stood for a while, staring at them, searching for the answer. Now, with Charlene’s words still in his ears and his skin flushed, he knew: he’d been very, very glad. He got out of the car and stuffed the panties into the nearest garbage can, pushing them down deep so they couldn’t be seen. As he re-buckled his seatbelt, he began humming the song that had been playing in the bar earlier in the night, the one about getting knocked down, getting up again, and never being kept down. Perfect, he’d thought at the time, and perfect, he thought now. There was a pretty part where a woman sang, then a list of drinks that everybody in the place seemed to know by heart. The whole bar shouted along. As he turned the car toward home, he decided that, from now on, that song would be played every Friday and Saturday night, right at midnight, so that the entire room could sing about how the week had knocked them down, and there they were: up again.
Congratulations On Everything Page 16
