Mazie Baby

by Julie Frayn

  “Can I what?”

  “Type. On the computer.”

  “It’s been a while. I’m not that good anymore. But I used to be, back in the day.”

  “I’m in a jam. I have to finish going through this discovery, but I need something typed up for first thing Monday morning. I was going to break down and call Dory, but she hates it when I do that after hours. Especially on a Friday night.”

  “Sure, I can do it. Nice break from dust and dirt. You won’t tell on me, right?”

  “Your secret is safe with me. They must be happy with you. You clean better than anyone they’ve ever had. Like the magic feather duster woman. She’d come in the office, smile at me, wave her duster in the air and leave.”

  “Cullen would have killed me —” She put her hand to her mouth.

  He nodded. “Ah. One of those guys.”

  She nodded and stared at her lap. They sat in silence, the weight of her outburst like a thick fog between them.

  “Well, let’s do this, shall we?” Norman’s voice shattered the tension. He showed her to Dory’s desk in the front of the office, booted up the computer, and pulled pages from a manila folder. “These are the questions I need transcribed.”

  She sat in Dory’s chair, seat of the infamous receptionist. Or secretary. Assistant? Whatever she was, Mazie had heard her name many times but not set eyes on her. Dory didn’t do overtime.

  Mazie stared at the monitor. She placed her right hand over the mouse, the silver paint worn through where Dory’s thumb and index finger spent many hours a day clicking and dragging. She moved the cursor to the right spot, clicked it into place, and poised her fingers over the keyboard. With a deep breath, she set her eyes on the document to her left and began to type.

  “See? You got this.”

  “I’m rusty, but it’s like riding a bike, right? Never forget?” She twisted around and smiled up at him.

  He nodded. “Yeah. Never forget.” He put one hand on each of her shoulders and squeezed.

  A jolt of energy shot through her shoulders, and not the static electricity kind from shuffling across the old polyester carpet. No, no, no, she couldn’t be attracted to him. There was too much at stake. And sex remained twisted together in a ball of pain and horror and pending death. No, her relationship with Norman had to remain as it was. Comfortable. Like a faded pair of old Levis.

  “Coffee?” He let his hands fall to his sides.

  “Sure.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “How do you take it?”

  “You sit and get started. I’ll make it.”

  She put one hand on the back of the chair and hesitated before sitting down and facing the computer.

  Her fingers found the keys and she focused her mind on the task, blocked out stupid thoughts of romance with a kind, sweet man. In no time, she was typing like in the old days, with speed and accuracy. It really was like riding a bike. Would love be like that? Sex?

  No. Stop it. Focus.

  At first it was just anonymous words, meaningless letters strung together. Soon some of them started to jump from the page.

  Struck. Broken. Beaten.

  When choked popped out of her fingertips she froze. The cursor blinked to the right of that word, like a flashing light on a movie theatre marquis advertising the horror show within.

  She picked up the paper, scanned through his loose, neat cursive. She swivelled the chair around. “What is this?”

  He looked at her through the doorway. “It’s for a case.” He took something from his desk drawer, came out and stood beside her. “It’s a woman who killed her husband. Took a shotgun to him.” He flashed a pack of cigarettes at her. “You mind?”

  She shook her head.

  “She’s charged with murder.” He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, blowing the smoke straight up. “Don’t tell Dory. She hates it when I smoke in here.”

  “So, you’re her lawyer?”

  “Yup. There’s no question she shot him. But the bastard had it coming. Maybe killing him wasn’t the right way to go, but he’d brutalized her for years.” He shook his head and sucked on the smoke. “Can you imagine?”

  Her eyelids fluttered out a slow blink. “What will happen to her?”

  “Not sure yet. We’re in discovery. Our defence will be battered woman syndrome. There came a point when it was just too much and she snapped.”

  Mazie nodded.

  Snapped.

  “She’s in a psychiatric hospital in Kingston. I asked that she be put there. Better than jail. She really couldn’t function, and her kids, grown fucking adults, pardon my French, abandoned her. They blame her.” He shook his head. “Idiots.”

  Mazie turned back to the screen. The cursor blinked at her.

  Battered woman syndrome.

  “This client never speaks to me, but she does write. That’s why I’m going to send the questions. I’m hoping this gets some answers so I can defend her properly.” He stepped behind Mazie’s chair. “I don’t think she trusts men at all. Even if they are on her side.”

  He touched her hair, an almost imperceptible brush of his fingertips. The nape of her neck broke out in gooseflesh and a shiver ran up into her scalp.

  “I’m sorry, Charlie. I shouldn’t have told you all that. Dory just ignores the words and what they mean. Just types and files and answers the phone. Maybe she’s bored. Or jaded. Or she just doesn’t give a shit anymore.” He kneeled down beside the chair and rested his forearms on the armrest. “You give a shit, don’t you, Charlie?”

  She nodded, her gaze fixed on the monitor, his gentle grey eyes tugging at her peripheral vision. She resumed typing.

  He butted the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and returned to his desk.

  An hour later she came to the end of the document. Fifteen years ago she would have had it typed, proofread, printed in triplicate, filed, and been out the door in half that time. She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m done,” she called out.

  The castors on his oversized leather chair squeaked. He leaned over her shoulder. “Great. I’ll get Dory to send it to the hospital administrator on Monday. They’ll try to get her to answer the questions.” He grabbed the armrest and spun the chair around. “Can I buy you dinner in return?”

  “No need. I’m getting paid to clean your office, remember?” She grinned. “And I have to get home.”

  “Of course. I’m sure Clementine is much better company anyway.” He smiled. “Look, if you’d rather have a day job, there might be an opening here. I need an assistant.”

  “What about Dory?”

  “Yeah, Dory. She’s fine as a secretary, but she’s got one toe dipped in the retirement pool. She won’t do anything if she doesn’t like it and never works a minute past office hours. I need someone with a bit more energy.”

  “I’m not really qualified. I have no legal training.”

  “I can teach you the legal stuff. Dory can give you some word processing training. For now it’d be filing briefs, doing research, typing, and maybe making some phone calls.”

  No more toilets to scrub or carpets to vacuum. That sounded good. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Great!” His eyes twinkled. “Why don’t you quit the cleaning firm tomorrow and take the weekend off. I’ll see you Monday morning.” He closed his laptop and pointed a finger at her. “After you get Clementine all signed up for school.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  “How about this one?” Ariel held up an eggplant blouse with too much frill in the boob region.

  “Love the colour, but too much going on.” Mazie gestured at her chest. “I need something plain”

  “I like the frills.”

  “Yeah, wait until you’re in a D-cup and see if you change your mind. Just makes everything look even bigger.”

  Ariel looked down at her chest. “I doubt I’ll ever have to worry about it.”

  “You’re only twelve!”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Sorry. I’ll get used to having
a teenager soon.” Or never. “Besides, you need a bra. You may not think so, but you’re looking just like me at that age.”

  “Should we go look for one?”

  Mazie wrinkled her nose. “Not here. I can live with used tops and skirts. Can even get my mind around wearing someone else’s shoes. But I draw the line at underwear.” She leaned into Ariel. “Besides, this place smells like pee and dirty feet,” she whispered. She took the blouse from Ariel and put it back in the rack. “We’ll go to Wal-Mart.” Hanger after hanger of used skirts got pushed aside. Too outdated. Too pink. Tear in the seam. She pulled a black one from the rack and held it out, scratched at a stain on the front. It flaked off in white dust. “Gross. Maybe next year we can afford to shop for something new.”

  “Can I get some jeans for school?”

  “Sure. You’ve grown at least two inches this summer. Get some tops too.” At two bucks a pop, they could almost go on a shopping spree.

  Mazie wriggled into her choices in the confined change room. “Can you give me your opinion?” she called to Ariel in the next cubicle.

  She stepped out and examined herself in the full-length mirror. Hands on her hips, she turned and craned her neck to check out her backside. If only she wasn’t so fat. She shouldn’t have eaten all those burgers and pancakes on their road trip.

  Ariel whistled. “Wow, I’ve never seen you dress like that. You look beautiful.”

  “Really?” Mazie turned back to the mirror. “It doesn’t make my gut look huge?”

  “Mother, you’re a stick.”

  She raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “That’s sweet. But it’s crap.”

  Ariel stood beside her in tight skinny jeans and a black V-neck T-shirt emblazoned with a glittery skull, her own curvy body screaming to be looked at. She took her mother by the waist and turned her sideways. “See? Thin. No gut. Big boobs, but you can’t help that. It doesn’t make you fat.”

  Mazie scrutinized her reflection. How many times had she been told how fat she was? Gross, disgusting, piggish. No amount of dieting or exercise made the insults stop. She turned side to side, closed her eyes and opened them again.

  Not fat. Not fat. Not fat.

  Under the green glow of the fluorescent lights, a thin line of black jumped from the part in her hair. “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “I have to stop for hair dye again.” Mazie neared the mirror and inspected her roots. Flecks of grey salted her natural black. That was new.

  “I’m going to grow mine out.”

  Mazie eyed her daughter in the mirror. Her hair would be black again. Just the colour the cops were looking for. “Will you keep it short?”

  “Yeah, I love it like this. Can I frost the tips?”

  Mazie smiled. “Of course.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  Mazie tugged her skirt down and shifted her feet. When the line moved, she shuffled forward. The sound of her heels on the waxed gym floor ricocheted off the walls like gunfire. Very slow gunfire.

  Three women sat at a row of portable tables. The one on the right motioned for them to come forward. Mazie took Ariel’s hand and tugged on it.

  Ariel pulled her hand away. “Don’t.”

  “Sorry for being your mother.”

  Ariel was focused on something across the gym. Mazie followed her gaze and landed on a tall young man, football in hand. He stood at the edge of the room by the folded bleachers, his broad smile aimed directly at her daughter. Ariel smiled right back at him.

  The woman at the table had to be ninety — tight grey bun sitting on the collar of an ivory cardigan, cat’s eye half-glasses on the tip of her nose. She peered over the top of them.

  “Name?”

  Ariel ignored her.

  Mazie sighed. “Clementine Smyth, with a Y.”

  “New this year?”

  “Yes.”

  “Grade?”

  “Eight.”

  “Fill this out.” She slid a piece of paper toward Mazie and put a pencil on top. “We’ll need a copy of her birth certificate. And immunization records.”

  Mazie filled in the form, glanced between the page, her daughter, and the too-old-for-her boy who seemed smitten with her thirteen year-old child. “We lost those in the move.”

  “Her ID?”

  “Among a whole bunch of other stuff, yes.”

  The woman gave her a scathing look and flipped through a file at her elbow. “Okay then, Mrs. Smyth.”

  “It’s Ms.”

  The woman shot her a look. “Mizz Smyth.” She rolled her eyes. “Here’s where you can get a new certificate.”

  “I have the website address already, thanks. They said it would take a few weeks.”

  “Yes. Well as soon as you have it, we need a copy.”

  Mazie nodded. “So you said.”

  “Now, about the immunization records.”

  “She’s had all her shots.”

  “I need something on file.”

  Of course she did. “I work for a lawyer. How about a sworn affidavit?”

  “Oh. Well yes, that would be fine. Clementine?”

  Mazie poked her daughter in the ribs. “Clem, pay attention.”

  Ariel turned. “What?”

  “Take this over there,” the woman pointed to a line of kids, “and get your photo taken. They’ll give you a school identification card. Then we’ll see you on Thursday.”

  Mazie took Ariel by the elbow. “That boy is too old for you.”

  “He’s cute. And he was smiling at me.”

  “No dating.”

  “Charlie, come on! I’m thirteen.”

  “So you keep reminding me. And don’t call me Charlie.”

  With Ariel’s new school ID in hand, they walked to the nearest bus stop two blocks away. “Can you walk home on your own? I’m going to grab the bus here and try to be at the office before ten.”

  “Yeah. I’m good.”

  “See you later. Wish me luck.”

  “Luck.”

  “Can I have a hug?”

  Ariel looked in all directions then gave her a quick hug.

  Mazie watched Ariel walk away. Was that swing of the hips new?

  Enrolled her daughter in a new school. Without official paperwork. Maybe she should become a spy.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Mazie stood at the threshold to the office, her hand on the brass knob.

  Just turn the damn thing and walk through, already. Dive into the deep end of a whole new life.

  She let go of the knob. She was letting too much ride on this. It was just a job, that’s all. Just another job.

  She buttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, ran one finger between the collar and her scarf, undid one button, took a deep breath, and turned the knob.

  A greying woman of ample proportions sat at the reception desk.

  Mazie smiled and approached her. “Hi. You must be Dory. I’m Charlotte Smyth.” She held out her hand.

  “Right. Mr. Day told me he’d hired a paralegal.” Dory crossed her arms over her massive bosom and eyed Mazie up and down. “What’s your background? Where you work before?”

  Mazie drew her hand away and smoothed her skirt with it. Beyond the fortress of Dory, Norman sat at his desk, the phone to his ear. He glanced up, did a double take and smiled broadly. He waved her in.

  She smiled, looked down at Dory, and tilted her head to one side. “Maybe we can talk later.” She refrained from adding “bitch” under her breath and instead stuck her chin in the air and glided past. She hovered just inside his door, straightened a stack of files sitting askew on the filing cabinet next to her.

  Norman hung up the phone, pushed his chair away from the desk and swivelled toward her. “Well, look at you.”

  Her gaze shifted to her feet, her cheeks hot. She straightened her skirt. “Is it all right?”

  “All right? You’re the loveliest thing to ever walk in this office.”

  Dory let out a snort.

  “Come on in. Cl
ose the door and have a seat so we can chat.”

  Mazie did as she was told. She pulled her skirt down as far over her knees as it would go. Why hadn’t she bought a longer one?

  He flipped through a file on his desk and pulled out two pieces of paper. “You’ll have to fill these out, so we can be sure to pay you on time.”

  She took the forms and swallowed. Social insurance number. Damn, why hadn’t she thought of that? She handed the pages back. “Maybe this was a bad idea.” She went to stand but he held up one hand.

  “Have a seat for a second.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, his head tilted. His eyebrows were furrowed, but not in anger. Concern perhaps. Affection even. He’d never shown her any hint of aggression. “What spooked you?”

  She took a deep breath. “Look, it’s complicated. The cleaning company, they just pay me cash.”

  He sat back, his eyes never leaving her face. “I see. Under the table. No tax. No questions.”

  She turned away, her eyes burned with the threat of tears. “I’m going to go.” She stood and put her hand on the door handle. “I’m sorry to waste your time.”

  “Charlie, wait.”

  She shot him a quick look over her shoulder.

  “I can pay you cash. No questions asked.”

  “Isn’t that illegal? Some kind of ethical conflict?”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

  He stood and joined her next to the cabinet and took one of her hands. “Charlie, the last thing you are, is trouble.”

  He walked her to a small desk in the front office and motioned to a chair. He leaned over her shoulder, one hand on the back of the chair, and showed her how to log on with her own user name and password, where to find the files she’d be working on. A stack of documents waiting to be typed sat next to the computer.

  Each time he reached over her shoulder to poke at the monitor or sift through one of the files, the scent of a spring meadow filled her head. Or maybe an ocean breeze. Whatever it was, it wasn’t cologne. Only laundry detergent or soap, and the faintest hint of vanilla she’d first noticed when he drove her and Ariel to the hotel their first day in Cornwall.

  “All right, you’re good to go.” He straightened and patted her shoulder. “Coffee’s in the back room. Would you like some?”