The Change Room

by Karen Connelly

  “I don’t care where he called you from.”

  “Eliza, I promised you that the next time he was in Canada, I would make sure he came to see us and to see the boys.”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “And I can’t tell him to go stay in a hotel. He only has a couple days. He’ll come for dinner, then we’ll go out to Mom and Dad’s tomorrow. They’ll be thrilled to see him.”

  She turned her head to the ceiling, as though beseeching a higher power, and saw a little grey moth instead. “Damn!” she muttered. “I thought I’d killed them all during the winter!” Andrew was coming back toward her now. She realized that getting angry would ruin everything. But how like Martin to show up when she least wanted to see him.

  Andrew tore away the paper around the flowers. She’d already made and brought home an elegant table arrangement from Fleur. These ones could go on the little table in the entranceway.

  “Where do you keep the vases again?”

  “You could have asked me first. For form’s sake. Obviously you want him to be here so we won’t be able to discuss anything openly.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to discuss anything openly.” Projecting fake officialese, he said, “All right, Shar, you can fuck my wife on Monday mornings, Wednesday afternoons and Friday evenings, but her children need her the rest of the time.”

  “Darling, I’m going to take that as a joke. That’s not how we would talk. About anything. The children are not—have never once been—neglected. So you’d never say anything like that.” She smiled. “Fine. I can hardly wait to see your lovely brother. The vases are in the sideboard. The green ceramic one will work with those.”

  He wheeled around and went to the sideboard. After poking around inside, he said, “I don’t see any green ceramic thing in here.”

  “In the back. Behind the glass ones. You’ll have to take a few out to get to it.”

  He brought the green vase to the counter. “I told you that I wanted you to be happy, remember?” He let the generosity of the declaration stand. “Seeing Martin will make me happy, no matter who our dinner guest is.”

  “Did you put him up to it?”

  “Eliza, please. He had a meeting in Ottawa and was supposed to go straight to New York, but he had a spur-of-the-moment desire to see us.”

  Eliza pursed her lips. Andrew’s only serious fault was that he loved an obnoxious man. But if Andrew had not loved his brother, she never would have met him. Martin was not heinous. He did important work—for an egomaniac. And he was a good storyteller, at least at the beginning of a dinner party, when there was still a lot of space.

  As Andrew began arranging the flowers, she said, “Dear, let me do it.” She took the scissors, removed the flowers from the water and began trimming the waterlogged ends.

  Andrew stood beside her, watching. “Oh, you’re so good at that.”

  “Piss off.”

  “I love the way you handle those flowers. They certainly know who’s boss.” He stepped behind her, put his arms around her waist and bit her neck.

  She shrieked. “Be careful. I have scissors in my hands. And I just sharpened them.”

  “She sharpens her own scissors. What a woman! Let’s go to bed right now.”

  “I was hoping to do exactly that, after dinner…”

  He lifted his hands to her breasts. “Don’t tell me that you thought the three of us might leap into bed tonight? Eliza. Please.” She pushed his hands away. “I meant you and me.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did. See? You are the one having fantasies.”

  “No! I’m just trying to do the impossible and keep a step ahead of you. I can’t believe what my life has become.”

  “It’s not that bad, is it?” She snipped away. “Our lovely children are not in the house. Anything could have happened. But now Martin is coming to dinner. So nothing will happen. Except a lecture, or three, by the famous anthropologist.”

  Andrew leaned against the granite island beside her.

  “I’m glad we didn’t have a fight just now,” she said.

  “Me, too.”

  “Just try to keep Martin from taking over the whole evening, would you? And not a word to Martin about…this.”

  “What?”

  “Shar is just a friend of mine.”

  “With so many benefits.”

  “Andrew.”

  “Don’t worry. Sex is one thing I never discuss with him. Too private. And I’m the boring math brother, remember?” He laughed.

  With a little too much delight, she thought, drying her hands.

  37

  What a Coincidence

  ELIZA HEARD THE DOORBELL FROM THE THIRD FLOOR. She was standing in front of the mirror with one eye closed as she applied dark blue eyeliner. Martin’s voice boomed into the house. She pictured the brothers giving each other a serious hug, more Russian than North American.

  She blinked into the mirror, the made-up right eye markedly bigger than the left. Smiled. “Martin!” she said in a low voice, practising. “What a wonderful surprise!” She stuck her tongue out at her reflection. She did her other eye, then applied her lipstick and rubbed her pale pink lips together. Smiled and tried once more, with feeling. “You bastard. How did you manage to show up tonight? Why couldn’t you have come next weekend?” There. Perfect sincerity.

  Her husband’s laughter carried up from the first floor. Or was that Martin? Their voices were like echoes. No, it was Andrew. Her mouth felt dry; she was so nervous. She exhaled a long slow breath. Shar and Andrew were going to meet tonight.

  It didn’t matter that Martin was here.

  —

  By the time Andrew poured them a glass of wine, Martin was in full grand-man mode, talking and gesticulating. Eliza was sitting across from him but to his left, to be out of the direct line of fire. He was regaling them with details from his latest adventure. She listened more carefully than usual, because he’d been in Greece.

  “But the day before, some anarchist—they actually have self-proclaimed anarchists—had thrown a bomb at one of the government buildings, and there was a huge protest downtown. I couldn’t get it out of the cab driver, though: Was the protest related to the bomber, or was it against something the government had done? Total chaos, basically, like the economy. Because of the protests, the roads were jam-packed. I almost missed my plane.” He laughed heartily. In the end, he did not miss his plane, and leaving behind a mess never seemed to bother Martin. He always described his experiences in the fucked-up world with jocular excitement.

  Eliza, she scolded, do not be a bitch. Appreciate the fact that Martin the Great is being more restrained than usual.

  He went on talking. “I guess that’s what happens when you accept honorary degrees in disintegrating countries. But I’d never been to Athens before, weirdly enough, so I wanted to see it. You know, before the total collapse. And one of the conference organizers has a house on an island. Gorgeous place! Oh, I almost forgot!” He rose, went back to his luggage in the entrance hall. From the depths of the bag, he produced a rectangular tin can and returned to the room, proffering the gift to Eliza. “This is the most incredible olive oil I’ve ever tasted. For you. It reminded me of Thalassa. And you learned to cook in Greece, right?”

  “You have a good memory, Martin,” she said, accepting the gift. “Thank you. We’ll have this on the dandelion greens tonight. And the salad.” As she read the label on the tin, her heart started to beat double-time. Lesvos. Martin had been on Lesvos.

  Without noticing the expression on Eliza’s face, Andrew asked, “Do you really think Greece is disintegrating?”

  Martin sat down. “It’s pretty fucked up. They took all that money for joining the EU and used it to line their own pockets. That’s what my Greek university friends talked about throughout the conference. There was so much thievery that nobody could keep track of it. The country is a mess. And now they’re being besieged by Syrians, Afghans, Libyans, thousands of
illegal migrants.”

  “Uh, refugees,” Eliza said.

  “Yes, they are refugees, but Europe hates the responsibility that term carries. And it’s just going to get worse now that Syria is exploding.”

  Eliza held up the can of oil. “And for those who want to get to Europe, Lesvos will be among their first points of entry.”

  “Exactly. I couldn’t believe how close it is to Turkey.”

  “That’s the island you visited, right?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes brightened. “Hey! Didn’t you live on Lesvos?”

  “Mm. On the west side of the island.”

  “In Eresos?”

  “Yes, in Eresos.” Eliza nodded.

  “The birthplace of the poetess Sappho! What a coincidence! That’s where my colleague’s family is from. He has the most gorgeous house there, in the countryside. An extraordinary view of the valley and the Aegean.” He grinned at Andrew. “Man, you are lucky she ever came back to Canada. I think it’s one of the most beautiful places in the world.” He raised his glass. “To Lesvos!”

  Eliza smiled, shakily, and drank the toast. Martin knew so much about a place that had shaped her life. She had lived there. Why had she never been back? She knew the answer immediately, and hated it: she had been afraid. A memory came: Thalia walking across the field, hauling a bucket of water for one of the horses. Eliza had just told her that she was returning to Canada. Thalia set the water down for the horse and kept walking.

  Martin had hit his stride. “It’s too bad about Greece as a whole. We should start vacationing there, to help the wrecked economy.”

  Andrew said, “We were just talking about going there next summer.” He was giving Eliza an out, to talk about something lighter, but she didn’t take it.

  Instead, she asked, “Isn’t the real failure the Eurozone? Greece didn’t used to be a failed state. It was just small. And poor.”

  “Everyone I talked with there said that the country has always been corrupt. There just hasn’t been enough political will to change the culture, despite all the financial opportunities. It’s tragic. The modern Greek tragedy. Not everyone knows what to do with the responsibility of money.”

  Eliza shook her head, frustrated. She glanced at Andrew. He wanted her to change the subject, did he? All right. She would. “You know,” she said, slowly, “Andrew and I have been talking about exactly that, only when it comes to families.” Martin smiled at her blankly, eyebrows lifted. “Sorry to change tack so abruptly. But all this talk of economics had reminded me of…” Her voice trailed off. She could feel Andrew looking at her now but she ignored him. “It’s not easy to talk about this on the phone.” She and Martin never spoke on the phone for more than thirty seconds. “We’re really worried about your parents.” Andrew was staring so hard at the side of her face that she could feel the pressure of his eyes on her jaw.

  “My parents?” Martin said, sitting up straighter, the smile dropping away from his face. He turned to Andrew. “What about our parents?”

  Andrew turned to his wife and said, “Eliza. Let’s not talk about this now.” He pulled his hand down over his mouth and cheeks, rubbing the day-old growth there. “This is not the time.”

  “Yes, Andrew is right. Let’s not talk about it now. But in the near future, we do need to discuss the financial disaster closer to home.” She knew that if she didn’t state the facts clearly, Andrew might never do so. “We just can’t keep covering so many of their expenses. It’s too much for us. As a family, we need to figure out what the plan of action will be if one of them gets ill. Those assisted-living homes are expensive.”

  Martin’s voice rose in alarm. “What’s going on?” He kept looking at his brother, who was staring at the olive oil tin in the middle of the low table. “Is one of them sick? Is Mom ill?”

  Eliza’s tone became softer. “They’re both fine. For now. I just don’t think much money is left, except for your father’s pension.”

  She finally looked at Andrew, expecting him to growl at her. But his head was angled down. He ran a hand through his hair, scratched. Martin asked him again, “What the hell is Eliza talking about?”

  Oh, she thought. The astonishment hit her hard, but slowly, like a drill going down. Martin did not know that his parents had lost their retirement savings. He did not know that she and Andrew were supporting them.

  Andrew said, “They didn’t want you to know. Especially Mom.” He explained the situation to Martin carefully, without revealing to Eliza why it had been a secret from his brother all this time. Nor did he give away any clue about why that secret had been secret from her. While he spoke, he slowly drank her entire glass of wine. Martin shared the last of the bottle between the three glasses. “I’ll get another bottle,” she said.

  Then the doorbell rang.

  They all froze. Shar.

  Andrew put his hand on Martin’s arm. “We can talk about this tomorrow, on the drive to Uxbridge. Eliza, I’ll get another bottle of wine. You answer the door.” He jumped up and rushed off to the kitchen. She wondered if Martin might be angry, but he only looked baffled. And weary.

  The front door was visible from the living room. They both stared through it to the hazy figure on the other side of the frosted glass. Eliza rose to open the door and Shar stepped into the house, her hands so laden with tulips and wine that the two women could not embrace. They kissed each other’s cheeks instead, and talked at the same time, then laughed. “Should I take off my shoes?”

  “No, no, come in. What a beautiful dress! Is it really that warm out?” Shar was wearing a vivid blue linen dress, sleeveless, which Eliza had never seen, and open-toed purple sandals with heels. She looked summery but formal, and taller than usual in the shoes. She had straightened her hair, which fell in two shining black folds around her face. Glittery pink lipstick.

  It’s amazing, Eliza thought, as a cascade of lust fell through her, how quickly the mind and body can change gears. She sought Shar’s eyes but Shar was gazing into the living room. In fact, she was looking at Martin. Eliza could see that she recognized him. She must have read his books, or seen one of his documentaries.

  She put the flowers and wine on the bench by the door. It was only a few steps across the carpet that marked the boundary between the living room and the entrance; Shar followed her in. Martin was watching her, too. Eliza hoped that he wouldn’t flirt with her all night. She smiled. “Do you recognize him from his books?”

  Shar looked shocked. “I—I—didn’t know your husband was a writer.”

  “What? No! This isn’t my husband, this is my brother-in-law, Martin! Didn’t you get my text?”

  “I’ve been out for the last couple of hours, I haven’t even checked my phone.”

  “I texted you. This is Martin Taylor, Andrew’s brother, our unexpected dinner guest from Geneva. Author of numerous books about linguistics and disappearing languages. Maybe you’ve seen his documentaries?”

  Shar said, “Yes! You look so familiar.” When she smiled at him, Eliza wanted to step between them. She introduced Shar, working hard to smooth down unexpected spikes of jealousy. Shar asked Martin, “Have you literally just arrived?”

  “I was in Ottawa yesterday for a meeting. But I barely slept last night, so I’m feeling pretty wiped out.” He gestured to the table. “That hasn’t stopped us from downing a bottle of wine.”

  Eliza said, “Shar, please have a seat. Andrew just went to get more wine. I’ll go see what’s keeping him.”

  38

  Tell Me

  SHAR SAT DOWN ACROSS FROM MARTIN IN AN UPRIGHT wingback chair and crossed her legs as unsexily as possible. “Hello,” she said again, with a warm smile. No threat, no threat; she’d let him decide what to do. There was no need to say anything, if he didn’t want to. She’d had these brushes with fate before. Once, she’d found herself in a Gap store, standing one rack away from a former client and his wife; Shar saw him before he saw her. She did an about-face, straight out of the shop, out of
the mall. Another time, walking in downtown Ottawa, she’d passed a politician who’d just become a cabinet minister—she had seen his craggy face in the media for a week—and their eyes had locked for two or three seconds, long enough for Shar to see that he feared her. That sobering moment had made her glad that she was in the master’s program. She didn’t want to depend on the vicissitudes of sex work for much longer. The politician had been set to become a regular—they’d had a few languid, post-coital talks of a chateau hideaway in the Gatineaus—but she never heard from him again.

  Martin said quietly, “It’s weird to meet you here. Now.” His jaw muscles rippled.

  Her response betrayed no nervousness. “I have to say the same of you.”

  They heard the voices of Andrew and Eliza in the kitchen, suddenly raised; it was impossible for her to tell if they were arguing or attending to some minor kitchen mishap. Martin downed his last mouthful of wine. He leaned forward to put his glass on the table and whispered, “What…what are you doing here?”

  Shar smiled. “Like you, I’ve been invited to dinner.”

  He didn’t smile back. “I mean, are you…do you live here now?”

  “I left Ottawa last year. Career change. I’m now a Master of Psychology. After I finish my specialization at an institute here, I’ll start practising as a therapist.”

  “Oh,” he said, abruptly sitting back. She could see how badly he wanted to fold his arms. “I…Well! That’s great. Good for you.” He folded his arms.

  Her voice was a quick, low murmur: “It was, what? Three years ago?”

  “Uh. Hmm. Maybe.” He looked away. “I think it was longer.” He turned to stare out the window.

  But she knew it was three years, because she’d just begun her master’s at the University of Ottawa. It was, in fact, in early October. Martin had been a one-time client. After a delicious dinner, they’d gone to her work condo for the big dessert. She’d been genuinely attracted to him; it was going to be an easy date. But after ten minutes of excellent foreplay, he still didn’t have an erection. When she asked him about it, he got angry, stood up, said he was leaving. He had already paid her, according to her rules. And though she had nothing to apologize for, she apologized, and soothed; she didn’t mind. She was concerned about him, in that complexly braided professional-personal way she cultivated with most of her clients. “It’s all right. We had so much fun at dinner,” she said. “Let’s just have a drink and keep chatting.” After he let go of his embarrassed bluster, he began to talk. Because she kept asking him the right questions, he couldn’t stop talking.