Speechless

by Yvonne Collins

  “I don’t have any proof, but I think so. I know you don’t like Margo, but she is loyal. And as for the Minister, sure she’s flighty and high maintenance—”

  “You got that right,” I snort.

  “—but she’s bright and when the pressure is on, she’s capable. She’s even got charm. I think she’s committed in her own way to seeing the arts flourish. Unfortunately, she has a blind spot for Richard and I worry about that.”

  I finish my sandwich and pick at the brownie. “I appreciate the advice, Mark, and I promise I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  “Just looking out for my favorite colleague,” Mark says, smiling. “Of course, we won’t be colleagues for much longer…” I can tell by his tone where this is going but before I can throw up a roadblock, Mark plunges forward. “I was wondering if we might get together socially?”

  He means more than a casual coffee and I don’t want to mislead him, so I say, “I’d love to keep in touch, Mark, but it’s only fair to tell you that there’s someone special in my life right now.” It’s not a complete lie: Tim is special. Getting him into my life is a minor detail.

  “I’m not surprised, but I had to ask.” He stands to collect the remnants of our meal.

  “But let’s have lunch when you’ve settled in at Education.”

  “I’d like that,” he says graciously, shaking my hand before he leaves. A gentleman.

  Today, the Minister sends both Margo and me to Richard’s office to debate the order of events for the Contact Culture launch.

  “Richard,” she begins.

  He doesn’t look up from his computer or acknowledge us in any way.

  “Excuse me, we need to talk to you about the announcement.”

  No reaction at all from Richard. It’s as if we’ve entered another dimension. He’s so fascinated by the images on his screen that he can neither hear Margo nor feel her evil presence.

  “Richard!” she barks. “The Minister sent us to talk to you about the launch agenda. I’d appreciate a moment of your time.”

  Still nothing. It’s the old I’ll-ignore-you-until-you-spontaneously-combust-and-then-I-win maneuver. Brian and I played this game often in our youth but Margo apparently never learned the rules of engagement because Richard is gaining control of the situation simply by feigning deafness.

  “Would you like me to tell the Minister that you’re unwilling to help?”

  By way of a response, he dredges a load of phlegm from his sinuses and swallows loudly.

  “Will you listen to me?!”

  He reaches into his mouth with a forefinger and explores a molar.

  “ARE YOU DEAF?!” she shrieks.

  Richard leans forward to inspect his computer screen, seemingly oblivious to Margo’s dance of rage at the door.

  “His eyesight must be going too,” I tell Margo in a stage whisper.

  He pushes his chair back from the computer abruptly and turns to give me a scathing glance.

  “Oh, hi Margo,” he says calmly. “Did you say something?”

  Margo has lost her voice. I follow her gaze to Richard’s hand, which is resting in his crotch. He gives himself a casual scratch.

  “Margo?” he asks again with a faint smile. “What can I do for you?” He adjusts his grip as he makes the offer.

  I expect Margo to bolt, but she surprises me.

  “You can review my suggestions for the launch. I’ll tell the Minister that you’re—” she pauses for effect “—caught up with a small matter and will share your comments shortly.”

  “Whatever you like,” he replies, blandly, but I can tell Margo has scored a minor victory.

  I hurry back to my office with Margo shadowing me.

  “Did you see what Richard did?” she asks.

  “Ignore you? Yeah, I noticed.”

  “No, the other thing.”

  “What other thing?” I may admire her for standing up to Richard, but I can’t pass up an opportunity to mess with her head. Can she bring herself to say the words fondle, or grope?

  “You know.” (She can’t!)

  “Sorry, Margo, I’m not sure what you’re saying.” Somehow, I keep a straight face.

  She stares at me for a long moment before muttering, “Never mind.” Maybe I should own up. I have no interest in protecting the man, yet I don’t want to get dragged into a discussion with the Minister of Richard’s nether parts. Still, it wouldn’t kill me to toss her a bone: “Margo, don’t let him know he’s getting to you.”

  She sniffs and stomps out, leaving me to ponder my lifeless crush with quiet bemusement. It’s been six feet under for days and if I ever had any fears of its resurrection, they’ve certainly been laid to rest today.

  I’m getting plenty of work done while Margo and Richard pursue their own agendas. There are other benefits, too: no surprise visits by Margo; no assignment of menial tasks like booking the Minister’s reflexology sessions; no boring events; no carrying the damn handbag. Richard, my antiprince, at least gave me this gift. But I also feel sidelined. Margo is busy protecting her turf from Richard and Richard is busy trying to look like he’s above scheming. The Minister is getting crotchety and finally explodes.

  “Why can’t I get a straight answer out of either one of you? Are these initiatives under control or not?”

  “Minister, he—”

  “Clarice, she—”

  “Enough!” she bellows. “Kiss and make up, you two! If your relationship doesn’t improve immediately, I’m hiring a baby-sitter. For now, I’m separating you. Margo, you will go to your room and handle the funding announcement. Richard, you will go to your room and manage the regulation changes. I am holding both of you accountable. Margo—call Leon and rebook my massage. I’m very tense.”

  I feel guilty that I’m not helping, but staying out of the game means I keep my sanity. I need it to handle both my speech load and the work with Lola on the wedding book, which is proceeding well despite the many distractions.

  I doubt the Minister meant it literally when she ordered Richard and Margo to kiss and make up, but he’s been positively courtly toward Margo ever since. Poor Margo has been disoriented by the about-face. When Richard attempts to guide her into the boardroom with a hand on her back, she flinches as if he’s struck her. When he gives her a cup of coffee, she leaves it untouched, perhaps fearing he’s poisoned it.

  And the Oscar for best performance of sincerity by a self-serving lead actor goes to Richard Neale!

  I still have the mentoring program’s press conference to worry about. I’m putting the last touches on the new speech when I hear shuffling in the hall, followed by clattering in the stairwell and muffled obscenities. Venturing out to investigate, I find Laurie in the stairwell, cursing like a trooper while she picks up an odd assortment of clothes, sports equipment and art supplies.

  “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t realize anyone was still here.”

  I help her gather up the items on the stairs. “When’s the rummage sale?” I ask.

  “These are your costumes for tomorrow.”

  “Can you explain to me why we’re playing dress-up again when the costumes weren’t a hit the first time?”

  “The Minister still has faith in her idea, although she’s decided to mix it up a bit.”

  “So I don’t have to strap myself into that corset?”

  “Nope, and your new costume is much roomier.”

  “Uh-oh, who am I this time?”

  “Roberta Bondar.”

  “The astronaut? Hey, not bad.”

  “Let’s see what you think when you’re suited up.”

  Something glittery catches my eye and I stoop to pick up a skimpy, sequined halter top. Twirling it on my index finger, I ask, “And who’s wearing this little number?”

  “Fortunately, it isn’t Richard, although he’s agreed to join you. He’s trying to suck up to Mrs. Cleary.”

  “Can’t he be the astronaut so that I can be a sex symbol?”

  “You’ll
have to settle for having a beautiful mind—we don’t breed a lot of sex symbols in Canada. Anyway, I promise you’ll enjoy Richard’s costume.”

  “Beam me up, Jim,” the Minister says, giggling in the back seat.

  “Love to, Shania, but my uniform is too tight to move!”

  “Oooh, that don’t impress me much!” she says, quoting a song from Shania Twain, the sexy country singer she’s impersonating today.

  Richard is dressed as Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise, circa 1965. It’s nice that William Shatner has so inspired the Minister, but I’m not sure today’s students will see it. They will, however, see far more of Richard than necessary. Laurie got the largest trekkie suit in the costume shop, but it’s still too small for him. The pants end at his shins, the sleeves far short of his wrists. While following him to the car earlier, I couldn’t help but notice his underwear migrating north beneath the rust-and-black polyester.

  The Minister is quite fetching in a long brown wig, the midriff-baring halter top I picked up in the stairway yesterday and tight, stretch-velvet pants. I’ve got to hand it to the woman, she looks damn good for fifty.

  “Ouch!” Margo yelps suddenly. “The rat is biting me!”

  I crane around to see her fighting off an energetic Pomeranian. She’s dressed as Emily Carr, the eccentric artist and author. To keep the costume “authentic and recognizable,” Mrs. Cleary insisted Margo wear a fat suit under the shapeless caftan. There’s a bowler cap on her head and she’s juggling an artist’s palette in addition to the dog. The Minister borrowed Goliath from her sister because Emily Carr, a noted animal lover, was often photographed with her dogs.

  Richard is sitting between Margo and the Minister, his legs splayed. Margo glances nervously toward his crotch. And no wonder: the man is either far better endowed than he appeared to be earlier this week, or he’s wearing a generous codpiece. When he catches me staring, he smiles and looks me straight in the eye. I shake my head.

  While Captain Kirk and Shania resume flirting, I reach over and turn down the heat in the car. It’s jacked sky-high to keep the Minister’s exposed flesh warm, but steam is issuing from the neck of my heavy space suit.

  “Bill,” Shania’s voice rings out, “it’s chilly back here. Could you turn up the heat?”

  By the time we reach the North York Civic Centre, I’m poached and open the door to gasp for fresh air.

  “Lily, close that door! People need to know who we’re representing today. Put your helmet on.”

  “Minister, this suit is very warm and the helmet makes me claustrophobic.”

  “We all make sacrifices for the job, Lily,” she says. “Look at how ridiculous Margo and Richard look, but you don’t hear them complaining.”

  Sighing, I scrunch down in the seat and slip the round orb over my head. It bangs against the roof as I get out of the car and the clear plastic visor steams up immediately, but I dutifully follow the others toward the main doors.

  “What is this about? Richard? Margo?” The Minister’s voice is muffled by the helmet, but she sounds upset.

  “I had no idea this was happening, Minister,” Margo apologizes, while Richard argues unintelligibly with another man.

  Through the mist on my visor, I make out a crowd of people around the front door of the civic center. The Minister is sufficiently distracted that I risk pulling off my helmet and see she’s standing beside Tim Kennedy. Behind him is a crowd of teachers, parents and students, all waving placards reading STUDENTS NEED ACCESS TO ARTS. Among them is the posse of girls who locked me in the Porta Potti.

  “Richard,” the Minister steps forward, “stop shouting and let Tim speak.”

  “Thank you,” Tim says. “We’re here today to protest your Ministry’s proposed changes to arts funding.”

  Margo takes a step back and whispers, “What have you told him?”

  “I haven’t spoken to Tim since the last time he visited the Minister.”

  Tim, meanwhile, calmly explains to the Minister. “I brought my students here today because they need to learn that they have a voice. Your Ministry’s changes may deny them access to the arts and they need to speak up about that.”

  “My Ministry is committed to ensuring all students have access to the arts. The new program won’t change that. No one knows better than I how important it is to expose young people to the arts early, Tim.”

  “But Minister, you usually consult with stakeholders when developing new programs and we’re concerned about your silence regarding After the Bell. How else will we understand your plans?”

  “You’re absolutely right, Tim but this isn’t the time to discuss it. I’m hardly dressed for formal consultation!” She laughs disarmingly and everyone smiles. “I’ll have Margo set up a meeting where I can get your input.” Tim lowers his placard. “Since you’re already here,” Shania says, tossing her shiny mane, “why don’t you all come on inside? I’d love to tell you more about my new mentoring program, Tomorrow’s Talent.” She flashes an engaging smile at the teachers and parents. “I know a group of role models when I see it. We could really use your support.”

  Occasionally I catch a glimpse of why Mrs. Cleary has succeeded in politics. With a few well-chosen words, she’s defused an ugly situation and pitched another project. Mark is right, the woman has charm.

  “Helmet, Lily,” she says, her smile contracting slightly. Then she takes Tim’s arm to proceed into the Civic Centre.

  “Hi, Rocket Girl,” Tim greets me as I replace my headgear.

  Any smart reply I could devise would be swallowed by my visor, so I save my strength. Besides, I’m more inclined to grovel at the moment. I’m more ashamed than ever of the way I treated him. To underscore the point, Richard passes me and plucks his briefs from his ass.

  Little Goliath is standing against my boots, yipping. Realizing the helmet is scaring him, I take it off again and pick him up. He’s licking my face when Margo swings back through the double doors.

  “There you are, you little beast.” She snatches the dog from my arms. “If he didn’t belong to the Minister’s sister, I’d dump him in the trash.”

  Goliath bares his teeth and growls at her as she carries him off.

  “I think she’s gotten meaner since the electric shock,” Laurie says, helping me put the helmet on and guiding me into the rotunda.

  During the reception following the speech, I judge it safe to remove the helmet, the crowd having had ample opportunity to appreciate the full ensemble. Gulping two bottles of water in quick succession, I help Laurie hand out printed material about Tomorrow’s Talent. I’m planning my descent on Tim when two gentlemen from the banking industry approach me for information about participating in the program. By the time I escape their clutches, Tim is talking to the Minister.

  Heading to the ladies’ room, I find it’s been commandeered by Brianne, the Alpha Teen, and her demonic sisterhood. They’re applying lip gloss at the mirror. Before I can back out the door, Shelley sees my reflection and says, “Look, Brianne, it’s Mr. Kennedy’s friend. Haven’t seen you in a while, Miss McIssac. Have you been lost in space all this time?”

  Their sniggering demolishes what’s left of my patience. “Look, ladies,” I say, slamming my helmet on the counter so hard the contents of Brianne’s makeup bag rattle, “let’s just cut the crap, shall we? If you have something constructive to say, say it fast, because I have a challenge ahead of me to get out of this suit. If you don’t, I’ll thank you to excuse me.”

  The girls stare back at me in stunned silence so I push past them and squeeze into a cubicle. At least I’ll be able to crawl under the door if they lock me in again.

  Over the noise of a steady stream of water hitting the bowl, I hear the girls whispering. I’m sure they’re planning a counterattack or they’d have left by now. Struggling back into uniform, I exit the cubicle and head for the sink, where they’re standing in a half circle eyeing me warily. They’re trying to psyche me out, I figure, so I m
ake a show of lathering up my hands and washing them slowly. I’m reaching for the paper towels when the bathroom door opens and Margo appears.

  “There you are, Libby. Where’s that wretched Pomeranian?”

  “Check the last cubicle. I think I heard barking.”

  “I don’t appreciate flippancy, Elizabeth. You’ve obviously spent too much time with these teens.”

  “Don’t give them credit for my attitude.”

  “Well, get out here and help me find the dog.”

  “In a minute. You’ve interrupted a mentoring moment.”

  She snorts in disgust and leaves.

  “What a bitch!” Brianne exclaims.

  “Just the tip of the iceberg,” I say, shaking my head. “My job isn’t all funny costumes, you know.”

  “How can you stand it?”

  “When things get rough, I just put on the helmet—it’s virtually soundproof. But it’s hell on my hair.”

  There’s a moment’s pause and then they all laugh—with me, and not at me, for a change. They look at each other, then Shelley pushes Brianne forward.

  “Listen, Miss McIssac, we’re sorry for giving you such a hard time,” Brianne blurts out.

  “Is this a trick? Have you stuck something to the back of my spacesuit?”

  “No, really, we’re sorry,” she insists. “We were just having some fun because Mr. Kennedy is our favorite teacher.” She lowers her head and mutters at the floor, “Some of us kind of have a crush on him.”

  A chorus of denials follows.

  “Speak for yourself!”

  “I already have a boyfriend!”

  “Gross—he’s old.”

  “Relax!” I say. “Believe it or not, I understand. So, you really like Mr. Kennedy?”

  “Oh yeah!”

  “He’s really cool!”

  “The best teacher we’ve ever had!”

  “What’s so great about him?”

  “He doesn’t make us feel stupid like some teachers have and he makes music fun. Everyone wants to be in his class.”

  I nod my head, remembering what Tim said about their difficult backgrounds. “He told me you’re a talented bunch.”