“I don’t want you to think I’m fashion-impaired,” said Mike. “Not when you’re used to those high-flying Caplanskys.”
“Well, Deandre will be happy to sell you one of his classic gray t-shirts for a hundred and fifty. US dollars, that is.”
“Do you know how many plain gray t-shirts I can buy for a hundred and fifty Canadian dollars? I could fill the room, for crying out loud.” Even with the relative weakness of the Canadian dollar, there were plenty of places to buy cheap tees. Granted, they were all on line, but they would reopen as soon as the crisis had passed.
“So, Mike, before you change the linens, tell me. What are you planning to do with all those t-shirts? Maybe the women at Chez Manon would like them.”
“You’re not gonna let that go, are you, Freddie?”
“No, I am not,” she replied, channeling her grandmother’s haughtiness. Rose Zanger rarely lapsed into that mode, but she could freeze anyone out at fifteen paces. Freddie had seen this in action when the pharmacy technician had suggested organizing her medication in a dosette box, to avoid confusion. “I may not be in training for the Ironman Triathlon,” she had said, “but my cognitive function is perfectly intact.”
“So, what are we going to do now?” It was seven-thirty, and under ordinary circumstances, Mike would be finishing his coffee and getting ready to go to work. Now, everything had changed. The New Normal was alive and well. It made very little sense, but what made even less sense was his houseguest’s prowess at obtaining a coveted spot on the delivery list.
“I thought I’d take a nap,” said Freddie. “It would be great to be able to stretch out and get another few hours’ sleep.”
“Okay. I’ll clear off the coffee table. The couch is yours.”
“Oh no, it isn’t. Not after I won the delivery contest.” Freddie couldn’t suppress her delight. “You have to change the sheets, and then I’ll take a minute to decide which pillows I’ll be using and then you can have the couch to yourself. Maybe you can change back into the unicorn outfit later. While we unpack the order.”
“Maybe hell will freeze over,” muttered Mike as he grabbed a set of sheets from the linen closet. “How did you get in anyway? I must have refreshed a hundred times in four minutes. It was like trying to buy concert tickets and realizing that the scalpers had grabbed all the good ones before the fans ever got a chance.”
“I wouldn’t have used the term ‘scalper’, but I guess it applies,” said Freddie, trying hard not to be smug. “I just called the store and spoke to the guy who’s in charge of coordinating deliveries. Turns out he watches the show.” Freddie smiled, showing her dimples.
“In other words, you cheated.”
“No. I networked and used my positioning as an influencer. It’s what I do.”
Freddie grabbed the cushiest pillow, went into the bedroom, and flopped on the bed. “What’s the thread count on these? Is it even in the triple digits?”
Mike closed the door to the bedroom – his bedroom – as assertively as he could without slamming, because he would hate to disturb the neighbours.
Chapter 7
The order arrived a few minutes before 11:00. In that time, Mike had done a load of laundry, videoconferenced with his class and attended a staff meeting on Zoom. He’d gotten up early and it was showing. He’d yawned his way through the morning, and at one point, actually lay down on the couch to catch a few ZZZZs.
Freddie was right. The couch was great for sitting, not so much for sleeping. As he rearranged the items in the fridge to accommodate the food, he wondered whether he still had that air mattress. A cursory look through the pile of stored stuff came up empty. It was probably in Val Morin at Melanie’s parents’ cottage, and he’d never get it back.
“What’s with the multitasking?” Freddie was arranging boxes of berries on the lower shelf. She was still in her yoga gear, and her buns looked like they’d been sculpted to perfection. This was gonna be the longest two weeks of Mike’s life, and when it was over, he was gonna party like it was 1999.
“I was trying to find the air mattress,” said Mike.
“Ah. I was right about the couch, and I was right about using influence. Things come in threes,” she practically sang, then she moved the cardboard boxes off the kitchen island and busied herself with salad-making.
“No bizarre burgers today?”
“Disappointed, Mike? We bought falafel and we can make bowls, if you like. It won’t take long.”
Cheery, triumphant Freddie was even more annoying than shallow, superficial Freddie, if such a thing was even possible. “Save the falafel,” he said gruffly. “We don’t know when we can get another delivery. This food has to last.”
“Not really,” chirped Freddie. “I have Steve’s cell number. He’s the dude in charge. He’ll bring me whatever I need.”
“Whatever you need? What you need is a good, swift – “
“You’re such a sore loser,” smirked Freddie as she drizzled salad dressing artistically on the plates. “That looks good, doesn’t it? It’s never a sure thing that you’ll get a perfect avocado, but Steve came through for me.”
“If Steve is so freakin’ helpful, why don’t you move in with him?”
“Because I’m stuck with you. Bon appetit. Cheers,” she added, as she raised her fork, holding a slice of perfectly-ripe avocado.
“Cheers.”
Mike cleaned up, since Freddie had done the cooking. It was only fair, and it gave him a chance to have some solo time. Freddie was giving herself a manicure. She’d said she was buying “just a few essentials,”, which apparently meant the entire contents of a salon. Nothing that would be considered as appropriate pandemic entertainment. No board games, no jigsaw puzzles or even crafting supplies. How would she occupy her time? At least Mike had his work to fall back on, not to mention the stack of books he’d just picked up.
The afternoon passed in silence, at least for Mike. He had his headphones on as he created individual lesson plans for his students. Freddie was watching something on her phone and kept twiddling with her earbuds. Mike couldn’t read lips, but he recognized sighing when he saw it.
“What’s wrong,” he finally asked. He didn’t have a second onesie for Freddie, but if he did, it would have to be a Drama Llama. It would hug her curves in all the right places and –
Mike threw his headphones on the coffee table.
“What’s wrong?” He hoped he came off as sarcastic, because that was easier than admitting that he was starting to like Freddie. Or at least, not dislike her too much.
“Nothing,” said Freddie, before sighing again, this time with even more drama.
“You may as well tell me, because I’m the only real-life person around for the next ten days,” said Mike.
“Okay. I just read that the Caplanskys have suspended filming. Not that it would have mattered to me, because I was cast out of the inner circle, but to have to read about it online instead of receiving a personal message? It hurts.”
Oh, shit. Freddie’s lip was trembling and her big brown eyes were welling up with tears.
“Want a tissue?” Mike shoved the box in her direction, trying hard not to look at Freddie. From the time he was a kid, he could never handle tears. Not his own, and especially not other peoples’. Even when his dog Buster had died at a ripe old age, he had forced himself to remain dry-eyed. It was difficult, but life was difficult. The lives of every kid he taught were ten times more difficult than the lives of average kids. He had learned to put on a brave face, for their survival and his own.
Freddie sniffed, blew her nose loudly, then trashed the tissue and washed her hands for the required twenty seconds. Then, her tears started again, and she repeated the cycle.
“I used to be somebody,” she said through the third wave of tears. “Now I’m just me. I don’t even know who that is any more. I don’t have a real career, I don’t have my own place. I don’t have anything.”
“Not quite true,” said M
ike. “You have family who love you, you were able to get groceries delivered, and look at your skills in online shopping.”
Freddie’s mood brightened. “You’re right,” she said. “I can do anything, once I figure out what that thing is. In the meantime, I will depend on the kindness of strangers, or strange people. Whichever makes you feel less comfortable.” She smiled at Mike. “Don’t you have some online detention to supervise? Let them off the hook, okay? Being hospitalized is enough punishment.” And with that, Freddie went back to checking her phone, hoping against hope that the Caplansky family would take pity on her and if they didn’t treat her like a member of the family, at least call off the angry hordes. Although many of them had moved on to another target, this time aiming at the actress who’d made a semi-negative comment about a beloved pop singer.
It wasn’t until the next morning that Mike learned exactly what Freddie did for a living. She’d walked by Mike’s laptop on her way to the kitchen to make post-yoga green tea when one of the students yelled, “Hey! Isn’t that Freddie Zee?”
“You know her?” Mike pretended to be surprised. “I may have her as a houseguest. If you cooperate with me, she may consent to do a brief interview.”
“Interview?” Freddie’s voice was an almost unrecognizable squeak. “I never said I’d do an interview.”
“They have questions, you have answers,” said Mike.
“Do they actually have questions that I can answer? I’m not a teacher, you know.”
“I have a question,” said one of the students on the screen, raising her hand like she was in school. Freddie had no choice but to look at the screen. She pretended not to be shocked by the intravenous line running out of the girl’s pale, thin arm. She leaned in and read the name. “Shayla G. Okay, Shayla. Hit me with your best shot.”
Mike edged over to give Freddie a bit of space on the couch.
“Omigod, I can’t believe it’s you. But you look so different without any makeup. Why do you look so pale?”
“I was doing yoga,” answered Freddie. “I like to keep my face clean when I’m working out. It’s good for my pores.”
“What would you recommend for me?”
“Nothing without your doctor’s approval,” Freddie said, figuring it was best to err on the side of caution. “Maybe a nice guided meditation. I don’t know if you remember when we went to the retreat in Sedona? I got a customized meditation from the teacher. It really helps me chill out. I can send the link to Mike and he can pass it on to you. If you’re interested, that is.”
“That would be amazing,” said Shayla. “I’ve never met a celebrity before. You’re really nice.”
“Why are you surprised that I’m nice? Maybe it’s because I’m not much of a celebrity,” said Freddie. “And we’re not heroes. It’s the doctors and nurses who are the real heroes.” She was parroting the thousands of commercials she’d heard praising the frontline workers, but she didn’t care. To a person in hospital, it was probably relevant whether there was a pandemic on or not.
“We have another question,” said Mike, clearing his throat. This one is from Charlotte.
Charlotte gave a wave from her hospital bed. Freddie smiled, then realized that Charlotte was in the midst of chemo treatments. Her head was bald, her eyes sunken and she had a barf bucket next to her on the bed.
“Hey, Charlotte. Wuzzup?” Freddie didn’t know what to say. She was uncomfortable with Charlotte’s illness, and she was also uncomfortable with being at a loss for words.
“Hi Freddie. First of all, I don’t believe all the mean things they’re saying about you.”
“Some of them may be true,” shrugged Freddie. “But you had a question.”
“Yeah. I look like hell. Everyone says so. Do you have any suggestions for how I can look better?”
“I don’t suppose you can have them change the lighting, can you?”
Seriously? Was that Freddie’s contribution to how to make a gravely ill fifteen-year-old feel better?
“Okay. On to Plan B,” she said briskly. “I want you to all let Mike know if you want a basic makeup kit and a mirror that doesn’t suck. Don’t be shy. I’m gonna have it shipped to you, and if you can be patient for another 48 hours, I’ll give you a full tutorial on how to get camera-ready. In the meantime, if you could get my makeup please?”
Mike got up and returned a minute later with a shipping box full of products.
“I don’t know about you guys, so it’s all about me,” said Freddie, rummaging through the contents of the box for the items she needed. “My biggest problem is dark circles under my eyes. I look like I didn’t remove my makeup from the night before, which is patently not true. So, you need this cream, this highlighter, and some powder to fix it in place. Here’s what you’re gonna do.”
In one minute, Freddie had demoed how to conceal undereye circles on one side of her face. She turned the laptop so both halves of her face were visible.
“See the difference? I’ll review everything with you once you have your supplies. Think of it as an art project. If your teacher approves, that is.”
Mike nodded.
Feeling more confident, Freddie continued. “If any of you are interested in learning how to contour your face, we can do that, too. I’d deliver the stuff to you in person, but I’m being quarantined, so we’ll let the delivery guys handle it. Okay? Love ya! Here’s your real teacher.” Freddie blew a kiss to whoever was watching, then retreated to the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind her.
“That was cool, wasn’t it?” Mike was trying to gauge the reaction of the students.
“Very,” said Charlotte. “Maybe my appearance won’t scare people. It’s a good thing nobody can come and visit me.”
“I’m sure everyone wants to see you no matter what you look like,” said Mike quietly. Trying to lift the mood, he added, “But it might be fun to play with all that warpaint. I may have a go at it myself. Can you believe I’ve never exfoliated in my life?”
“That’s no surprise,” said Charlotte. “How did you two hook up, anyway?”
“I wouldn’t call it hooking up. Why would you think that?”
“You were sitting pretty close to each other,” snickered Gavin. He raised a casted arm and crossed his fingers to indicate the degree of closeness.
“And you were smiling the whole time,” giggled Shayla.
“Maybe because the burden of being entertaining was removed from my shoulders,” said Mike. “You’re a tough crowd.”
And they’d never know how tough, he thought as he ended the meeting. The turnover in the class was constant. New students were admitted all the time, in conjunction with their being admitted to the Children’s. There were departures as well. Some students went to a rehab centre for intense physiotherapy, some went back to their regular classrooms and some…
Mike didn’t even want to think about it. It took days to get over the loss of a student, and there was a psychologist on staff who’d help lead the process group. In person, it was easier. There was a backup team of mental health professionals who worked with each unit, from Orthopedics to Psychiatry to Oncology. They could be counted on to support the kids through whatever they were facing. But they were still finding their way during the pandemic. It sounded simple, but it sure wasn’t easy. The one good thing was that most of the kids were sheltered from the storms outside the walls of the hospital. Being in a bubble wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Chapter 8
To paraphrase Jane Austen, it was a truth universally acknowledged that a single man possessed of a condo and a Toyota sedan must be in search of a girlfriend. Mike was no exception, and even though this wasn’t the optimal time to start swiping left or right, he was still getting hits on all three dating apps. This confused him, to be honest.
He made it a point of following the Rules for Dating: After a few messages were exchanged on the dating site, if there was any presumption of chemistry, you were supposed to exchange phon
e numbers. Then, after a few texts, you would graduate to phone calls, and etiquette demanded that a few texts should also be sent during the day: A Good Morning one, a How Was Your Day check-in, and a Good Night text or two. Or three. Emojis were a good add-on. Notably, the eggplant emoji was absent from these texts. Not until after a series of face-to-face meetings (coffee, then drinks, then dinner) determined whether there was any real interest.
Obviously, every decent, right-minded person adhered to these rules. Rules were rules for a reason, after all.
Freddie probably wasn’t familiar with the rules, thought Mike. All she had to do was wag a perfectly manicured finger and men would come running.
He wasn’t wrong. Freddie had never had a problem attracting men. Her smile, her walk, her voice – all guaranteed to gain attention. The problem was that the attention came from the wrong people. Freddie had a checkered dating history. Sometimes, she felt she was dating the same guy, blessed with abs of steel and cursed with wandering eyes. There had to be a better way.
Except that there wasn’t. The men in Los Angeles seemed to share the same wiring. It was as if a factory had cranked them out in bulk. No matter how shiny an object you appeared, they would always want to get together with the most recent shiny object. You had to keep renewing yourself on a weekly basis, or so it seemed. New hair, a new body, outrageous clothing, even new relationships. There was nothing of permanence except for a tendency towards ennui. That never changed.
“How did they even do it?” Freddie was looking off into space as she mused.
“How did who do what?”
“How did our grandparents stay married all those years?”
Mike shrugged. “Divorce wasn’t a thing,” he said tentatively. “Or maybe it was a thing that nobody ever talked about. I don’t know. They seemed happy, I suppose. Why are you asking this? I mean, why now?”
“Just contemplating the mysteries of life,” said Freddie, hoping this line of conversation would run out of steam. “Maybe I’ll ask Bubbie some time. But is that what people even want these days? Maybe long relationships are a thing of the past.”
My Funny Quarantine Page 5
