Chloe Sparrow

by Lesley Crewe

  “Damn, girl. Make that man yours before someone comes along and jumps the queue.”

  I ask about Jason and the kids just to shut her up. That takes up the rest of lunch. Then off we go to buy her an outfit for some mucky-muck cocktail party Mr. Gardner is hosting. While she’s in the dressing room, I’m outside holding some of her choices. She emerges in a gold lame top and pencil skirt.

  “What do you think?”

  “You look like someone’s Rolex watch.”

  Back she goes and tries on a green flowered number.

  “Lily pad.”

  “Fine, but floral is the latest trend. Pass me the red one.”

  While she’s trying it on I ask her about work. “Do you think they miss me?”

  “We’re just numbers on a pay stub, Chloe. Everyone is replaceable.”

  “You could have said no.”

  “No.”

  “Good. Now I can move on.”

  She appears from behind the curtain.

  “That dress won’t be on for long.”

  She looks pleased.

  Catching up with old friends is fun, but I invite Trey and Jerry over with a purpose in mind. After we polish off the cheesecake, we take our coffee in the living room.

  “I am in love with this dog!” Trey says. “We have got to buy a bassett hound, Jerry.”

  “No, Austin says you should adopt a rescue animal from a shelter.”

  “Fine, we’ll get one of those too, but I still need this dog.”

  “You can’t have him. Now what do you think about this room? I’m asking you because your place is so fabulous, you must have some tips for me.”

  “Burn it to the ground?” Jerry says.

  “Besides that.”

  “I have no clue. We pay someone to do ours,” Trey says.

  “But...”

  “You think all gay men are fabulous decorators? I’m highly insulted. It’s such a stereotype and you should know better.”

  “Sorry.”

  “But if you want advice about musical theatre....”

  Jerry gets up and moves about the room, Rosie and Peanut at his feet. “The first thing you have to do is get some light in here. That fireplace is beautiful, but you can’t see it in the dark, so if you added a big sparkling mirror above the mantel with two crystal light sconces on either side that would help enormously. Then you’re going to need a stunning crystal chandelier with a ceiling medallion, some pot lights, and two lamp stands and some table lamps—”

  “I’d have an operating room! Would I need that much?”

  Jerry gives me his impatient eye roll. “Who’s the lighting expert here? Everything will be on a dimmer switch to suit your mood.”

  “What’s your decorator’s name? Although, I don’t want anything too modern, like Lucite chairs or sofas with no arms.”

  “We have Lucite chairs and sofas with no arms.”

  “Yes, in your modern condo. This is a turn-of-the-century house. I want to keep the integrity of the space.”

  “Integrity? This place has been hanging its head in shame for decades. It’s used to being neglected and ugly. Anything would be an improvement!”

  “Dudley, go bite that bad man.”

  Dudley snores on.

  “If you want inspiration,” Jerry says, “walk up and down your street. Every single one of these houses is perfection. You and the house next door are the poor relations.”

  “Thank you for your insults. They’ve motivated me to never invite you over again.”

  Before I go to bed I wonder around my empty rooms. Am I really going to do this? Make changes my parents might not approve of? Then I remind myself that they’re ghosts and other than cracked china and swinging doors, what are they going to do about it?

  When Tinker shows up later that day, I decide to tag along for Dudley’s walk and really take a good look at my street. The houses are immaculate, with gorgeous landscaping. Then I look at Gramps’s and mine with a new perspective. We’re eyesores! It’s a wonder the entire street hasn’t served us with a petition from a betterment committee. Our two houses look sad, like no one cares.

  I care. Suddenly I care very much.

  On the walk home, Tinker opens up. “Have you ever stopped thinking you were responsible for…you know?”

  “Yes and no. There’s a part of me that carries that burden, but now that I’m older I see that I didn’t make them go up that ladder. My father should’ve known better.”

  Tinker looks away. “It’s different with a car accident.”

  “Were you driving the car?”

  “No, but they left the house because of me.”

  “People leave their houses ever day and get in a car of their own free will. We are always at risk. It’s the luck of the draw whether we make it home safely or not.”

  Tinker doesn’t look at me as she bends down to pat Dudley’s soft head. “I told my mom that Dad was abusing me and she didn’t believe me. They said I was a liar and needed to get away from me. Do you think that’s awful too?”

  “Yes, Tinker. I do think that’s awful. They didn’t deserve to die, but as your parents it was their duty to protect you. Nothing in this situation now or when you were growing up is your fault. They were the adults. You’re the child.”

  “I hate them.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “But I miss them.”

  I’m aware that tears are falling down her face, but she hides them from me.

  “Of course you do. They were your parents, and you’ll never get the chance to fix things now. That’s what’s making you sad. You can hate them for what they did and still wish they were here. I was often very angry at my parents. They wouldn’t let me have a pet, or have friends over, and they didn’t pay much attention to me. I always felt like I was in the way. But I still love them. They’re still with me.”

  Should I tell her about my parental spirits? Nah. Better not.

  “It’s going to hurt for a long time, Tinker. But I know you’re going to be okay, because you have a mind like a steel trap.”

  She wipes her eyes and stands up. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re clever. I recognize it. I’m clever too…in some areas. In other areas I’m hopeless, but I think you have the strength to rise above your lot in life and make something of yourself.”

  “I do?”

  “And I need a personal assistant, because I’m going to start a new venture. I don’t have it completely formed at the moment, but for the first time in my life, I know what I want. And it involves you.”

  Despite herself, her face brightens. “You mean on television?”

  “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  When we arrive at the house, Austin is sitting on the top step. “Hey there, you must be Tinker.” He stands up and holds out his hand. “Great to meet you.”

  I know Tinker is quietly losing her mind, but she hides it well. At least she shakes his hand, unlike mine at the bus stop.

  “And how’s our Dudley?” Dudley starts squirming. He loves Austin slightly more than the rest of us.

  “I came with pizza.”

  “Perfect. We’re starving.”

  We sit around the kitchen table and hear about Austin’s day. Then I tell Austin about Trey and Jerry’s visit and how I’m going to completely renovate the inside and outside of this house.

  He shakes his head and looks at Tinker. “She’s small but she’s mighty.”

  Tinker takes a gulp of her pop and then says out of the blue, “How come you don’t have a key?”

  “Because he doesn’t live here.”

  “He’s your boyfriend. You must trust him.”

  “Of course I trust him. I’m just…private.”

  “I don’t think she does trust me, Tinker. She pretends t
o be a free spirit, but she’s actually old-fashioned. She still worries about what her grandfather thinks and she’s almost thirty.”

  “Not so fast! I’m twenty-six!”

  “Still an adult, wouldn’t you say?”

  Tinker agrees. “You need to grow up. You are very immature.”

  “Thanks a bunch.”

  Austin and I drive Tinker home and on the way back I tell him about my progress with her.

  “Impressive. She seems like a tough nut to crack.”

  “She’s not that tough, God love her. Imagine what she’s been through. It makes me want to cry.”

  When we get home, all three critters meet us at the door. We’ve only been gone fifteen minutes.

  “How about some dessert?” Austin says. “Any of that cheesecake left?”

  “No, but I’ll make it up to you.”

  He turns around.

  “Tinker’s right. I need to grow up and give you a key to this place. But there’s something I want to give you first.”

  I dash up the stairs and he dashes up behind me. Dudley, Rosie and Peanut are excited, until we dash their hopes and shut the bedroom door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It takes me a while to summon up the courage to tell Gramps and Aunt Ollie that I’ve invited Austin to live with me. It’s November, and Austin is getting impatient.

  “I’m the one who sneaks out the back door in the morning. Not exactly a pleasant way to start the day.”

  So I go to the store and buy a lot of ice cream and brownies and dole them out to the three amigos, who are perched around their messy kitchen table. They look a little bored and unhappy, which doesn’t make my mission any easier. I’m about to open my mouth when Agatha speaks up.

  “When are you going to tell that Bluebell to stop dressing like a freak? She looks ridiculous.”

  “She’s expressing herself.”

  “She looks like the bride of Beetlejuice,” Aunt Ollie says with her mouth full.

  “You’ve actually heard of Beetlejuice? You surprise me sometimes, Aunt Ollie.”

  “Agatha and I watch cable television now that we have nothing else to do.”

  “You could volunteer at a soup kitchen, or offer to work with Meals on Wheels, or read to invalids, or help collect for any of a thousand charities around this city.”

  “And what would I get out of it?”

  “The satisfaction of knowing you helped someone.”

  “I never had anyone help me.”

  “Okay, forget it. Watch television.”

  “We will.”

  Aunt Ollie has Winston Churchill’s glower down pat.

  “How about you, Gramps? Any projects in the works?”

  He puffs on his pipe. “No.”

  I wait for him to say something else, because he always does, but today he doesn’t. Maybe this is a good day after all. I clear my throat.

  “I’ve asked Austin to come and live with me, and before you say anything, I want to point out what a good idea this is. Gramps, Austin loves to work outside and he can help us with the garden next summer. If you need any heavy lifting, Aunt Ollie, you can count on Austin. We’d always have a vet on site if anything happened to the cats or Dudley. His mother is a great cook and always sends over delicious baking. He can shovel the driveway, paint on tall ladders, carry groceries, protect us if a burglar broke in…it just makes good sense, to me, at least, so I hope you’ll support me.”

  Complete silence.

  “Well?”

  Agatha scrapes her bowl. “Do you even love this guy? Sounds like you expect him to be a slave.”

  “Of course. I’m just saying—”

  “Then why not marry him?” Aunt Ollie asks.

  “I’m not ready yet. There are things I have to do first.”

  Gramps gets up and sits on his rocker. Bobby immediately pounces and drapes himself over Gramps’s shoulders. “Like get a job?”

  “Eventually. This is the first time I’ve ever taken any time off, and it’s helped me to see things clearly. For a start, I want to spruce up our property.”

  “It’s almost winter. How much sprucing can you do?”

  Agatha points her finger at me. “I say we tell Austin to head for the hills before she works him to death.”

  Not for the first time, I wonder if I’ll ever have a normal conversation with these people. It’s draining to deal with them.

  “So? Do I have your blessing?”

  “I don’t care,” says Gramps.

  “I don’t care either,” says Aunt Ollie.

  “It’s none of my business, and I couldn’t care less,” says Agatha.

  I’m a little let down.

  Living with a man is completely different from just sleeping with him. I find Austin’s stuff everywhere. He doesn’t hang towels correctly, and he never drinks all the milk in his cereal bowl. There are toast crumbs in the butter, lids left off jam jars, and he leaves all the kitchen cupboard doors open. My ghostly mother closes them on occasion.

  He puts stuff away and I can’t find anything; he opens the window too wide at night; he likes to dance around the house with music blaring; he even puts all the crap from his pockets on my beautiful dresser.

  The more he settles in, the more trapped I feel. His big feet stomp up the stairs, he talks too loud on his cell, and he feeds Dudley at the table. I finally blow up when he leaves the inner plastic liner behind the shower curtain out of the tub. There’s water on the bathroom floor everywhere. He apologizes, but then uses my best towel to clean it up. Not only that, he used my favourite soap and now it’s got man hairs stuck all over it.

  “You are driving me crazy!”

  He comes up behind me with a damp towel around his waist and rubs his cheek on mine. “Soft, isn’t it? I bought a five-blade razor just for you.”

  “Why? So I can slit my throat?” I push his hands away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything! This doesn’t feel like my house anymore. It’s like an alien landed and is now systematically destroying my environment.”

  Fortunately, Austin is used to my hissy fits. “Can I point out some benefits?”

  “If you must.”

  “You’d ace any Cosmopolitan sex quiz about keeping your man satisfied, thanks to all the practice you’ve had lately.”

  “Here we go.”

  “I rub your stinky feet.”

  “They are not stinky.”

  “Says you.” He advances towards me while I back out of the bathroom. “I make sure you have a good breakfast in the morning. You have to give me that.”

  “Fine. What else?”

  “I volunteered to paint for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “I saved you from that weirdo in the grocery store parking lot.”

  “He was weird.”

  I’m backed into the bedroom and he continues to move forward. “And don’t forget the scary movie I wouldn’t let you watch.”

  “You watched it.”

  “I also tickle you when you come home from next door with steam coming out of your ears.”

  “True.”

  “And I do kiss you all night, don’t forget.”

  I fall back on the bed. “Okay, you can stay.”

  He covers me with his body and puts his soft cheek against mine. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

  I make an appointment to see Dexter, because I need his opinion about an idea I have.

  “I’m no psychiatrist, but I do have first-hand experience. My proposal is to gather a group of teenaged children who’ve lost parents and bring them together with animals, as a form of therapy. Austin has already made inquiries at local SPCAs and animal shelters and they are always looking for volunteers to help out with exercise and grooming and j
ust keeping the animals company while they try to find homes. I’ve seen what a difference it’s made with Tinker.”

  “She’s come a long way.”

  “Once I get this program up and running, the real fun starts. I want to make a documentary about it, to add to the voices out there trying to make people see what a beneficial experience it is for someone’s who suffering to feel the love of an animal, and how we can help them at the same time. We are all living beings, beings that can help each other heal.”

  “Sounds ambitious.”

  “But best of all, Tinker will be the face of this project, the one who can reassure new participants. They’ll open up to her more easily than an adult. She can talk to them, and slowly they will talk to each other as time goes on. I’m going to make it such a great program that when Amanda presents it to Mr. Gardner as a freelance project, the CBC will have no choice but to air it. It’s costing them nothing. This is my money I’m dusting off.”

  Dexter grins at me. “You know what I think of when I look at you? Spit and vinegar.”

  “And best of all, I’m honouring my parents. They always wanted me to make a difference, and I believe I am making a difference in Tinker’s life. I want to help all the other Tinkers out there who think they’re alone. So will you help me?”

  “I would be delighted.”

  Fortunately, Mary feels the same way. She said she would make enquiries from other social agencies to suggest clients who might be interested in such a program.

  But the best moment is when I tell Tinker my plan. We are walking Dudley, the snow falling gently around us. It’s not accumulating, it’s still too warm for that, but it gives me that first thrill of the changing season. For the first time in a long time I’m looking forward to Christmas.

  Her eyes sparkle. “Me? You want me to be on camera?”

  “You’re perfect. You’ve walked the walk, you’re their age, and you live in their world. You understand what it’s like to navigate the stress that young people feel today. You couldn’t be more perfect.”

  She touches her hair. “I’m not pretty enough.”

  “That’s ridiculous, but I do know some pretty fabulous makeup people and hairdressers who will do anything you want. I don’t have a problem with your look now, but you might decide to soften it up a bit. Television can be very unforgiving. We will really need to see your eyes. You can’t communicate when you’re wearing a mask.”