The conversation suddenly ceased as though cut with the gesture. Silence. Everyone watched us.
“You don’t have any money!” the man barked, suddenly thrusting a finger at me.
So many eyes on me.
I froze, taking a moment to find my voice. Licking my lips, I fumbled for the token. “I don’t, no. But I have a token. I can trade that?” There seemed little point in pretending otherwise.
The man cocked his head at me, sniffing again as I held out the token, then recoiled. “I can’t take that! That’s not for me!”
I pulled my hand back, fingers tight around the small circle, the heat rising in my face. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any other money. My wallet was stolen.”
“I can’t take that!” the man growled at me again, crossing his arms. Around us, the party began to wind up as if in slow-motion before returning to its initial gaiety and volume.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder. “You’d better come with me,” a large, beefy man declared in a Caribbean accent.
“I didn’t do anything,” I squeaked. He bent down to put his face near mine, then snorted, his nose wet. I recoiled. He straightened, shook his head, and propelled me through the crowd. His heavy hand on my shoulder didn’t hurt, but pushed with a lot of strength behind it, making it easier to walk than be shoved.
The party-goers split and stepped away from me, clearing a path towards the far end of the room, under the thickest cluster of fairy lights.
Reclining in a chaise longue under a patio umbrella lay a woman in a pink satin dress from the 50s, the kind with a narrow skirt and bodice and flaps over the hips. She even had on a matching jacket and white gloves. The pink was a very garish choice on the face of it but it made her brown skin luminous and she seemed to glow in the soft light of multicoloured incandescence. She lifted big tortoiseshell sunglasses to peer at me under long false eyelashes. “You crashed my party.”
“Oh.” I stepped back, bumping into the overly large bouncer standing behind me with his arms crossed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know it was a party or you didn’t know it was mine?” She handed her drink to one of the many admirers gathered around.
“Both.” I pointed back towards the staircase. Only the staircase wasn’t where I thought it was. I blinked, then returned my attention to the hostess. “I saw the sandwich board on the sidewalk. I thought it was…” The way she stared at me was off-putting, making me feel small and awkward. Mousy. I licked my lips. “I thought maybe it was Honest Ed’s’ party? Like a public thing. Because…”
“Because?” she prompted.
“Because of the power outage? Like a community thing?” Honest Ed’s was known for its donations at Thanksgiving (free turkeys!) and it wasn’t impossible that it had opened its doors during a blackout, but my reasoning sounded hollow, even to me.
She accepted a hand from an admirer, who pulled her to her feet. In her heels she towered over me. “I’m not talking about here, honey. Not the building. I’m talking about here, my island.” She stood waiting, hands on her hips.
I racked my tired, thirsty brain. “…island?” I squeaked.
Each movement, slight or large, that she made was calculated, as though a model on a catwalk. And yet her eyes never left me. Finally she reached out with a gloved hand to gently take my chin in her thumb and first knuckle, adjusting my face this way and that, as if judging my own use in a photoshoot. “Do you realize how sunburned you are, honey?”
“Very,” I agreed, weakly.
“Hmm.” She let go and sashayed back to her chair to recline. She clapped her hands once and someone sidled up to her, a beautiful and lithe young man with bright green eyes, pointed, like a cat’s. “Go get her a drink.” She paused, thinking. Then: “And some aloe vera.”
He nodded before slinking off, disappearing among the partiers who resumed their conversations, laughter filling the space. The woman patted the camping chair next to her. I glanced up at my beefy guide for permission, and when he nodded, arms still crossed, I sank into the chair gratefully. A sigh must have escaped my lips.
“Long day, I expect. Still doesn’t explain why you’re here, of course.” She took a sip from her drink, ruby lips artfully pursed around a coiled straw. She alone had a proper glass, drinking something that bubbled and fizzed, beads of condensation sliding down under her gloved fingers.
My throat felt like I’d tried to swallow razor blades, and I tried not to show my thirst. “I walked here. From Spadina. Well, north of Spadina.” I explained how the taxi driver at Kennedy had agreed and taken my watch before suddenly dumping me by the side of the road, and the car full of students who had driven me as far as Avenue Road before I was forced to part ways.
She listened politely.
“I really didn’t mean to crash your party,” I finished. “I just… it’s been a weird, weird day and I haven’t been thinking too clearly.”
“Hmm.” She gestured behind me. The feline young man had returned, bearing a glass of fizzy drink like the woman’s—also in a proper glass, not a plastic cup—and a small squeeze bottle. “I said aloe vera,” she chided.
He shrugged and proffered the items to me again, the Honest Ed’s price sticker still on the off-off-brand container of lotion, and I took them. “No aloe. But it’s for sunburns, so it’s the same, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.” The woman stared at me over her shoulder. “Well? Go on, honey.”
I squeezed some greenish, translucent gel into my palm and gently dabbed my face with it. I really preferred to have the drink first, but the way she watched me seemed to speak against it. Wherever I dabbed on my face felt instantly cooler and I sighed again. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You’re my guest.” She tapped her fingers as if trying to remember something. “What were you trying to pay with, anyway?”
“A token?” I took a sip of the fizzy drink. It was a blend of flavours that rolled in sequence over my tongue, almost too fast to identify. Coconut. Raspberry? No, cherry. Lime. A savoury hint—basil? Refreshing, whatever it was, and I closed my eyes to enjoy the bliss of sitting down with a cold drink.
If it wasn’t for the close-pressed laughter and the smell of humanity, I could almost imagine myself at home on the patio. Poor Dylan. He was probably frantic with worry. I opened my eyes again. “Do you… do you have a phone I could borrow? My boyfriend—”
But the woman was already waving the question away. “No phones here. We’re not connected that way to the mainland, you see.”
“Uh… oh.” That made no sense at all and it reminded me of the pay phones outside of Bathurst station. “I guess.”
“It works whether you think it does or not.” The woman replaced her sunglasses as she leaned back, as if she was under full sun, and not dangling Christmas tree lights. “Just like that embargo you’re under.”
“Embargo?” I nearly choked on my drink, dribbling down my shirt. She watched me over the top of her sunglasses as I patted the stain dry. Less wet. “What embargo? What are you talking about?”
“I can’t say that for sure, only that you’ve got one. Must be how you got in here; normally you shouldn’t be able to cross the channel.” Her nose twitched. “Loopholes crop up no matter how careful you think you’re being.” She regarded me again out of the side of her long-lashed eyes. “Hungry?”
I didn’t have to answer: my stomach growled loud enough to speak for me.
She laughed, showing many too-perfect white teeth. “Of course you are, aren’t you. Here.” She pulled off one of her gloves, revealing long, well-manicured fingers in an exquisite red polish, which didn’t surprise me. She held out the glove, urging it. “You show this to any of the vendors and they’ll give you something to eat.”
I held the glove delicately. “But I don’t have any money…”
“No one does on my island, honey.” She once again replaced her glasses and leaned back, sipping her drink. “I trade in favou
rs, not cash. So all that happens is you’ll owe me another one, that’s all.”
My stomach did a flip-flop. “Thank you,” I whispered, but I felt sick. Owe her another one? I didn’t realize she was keeping tabs.
The large beefy gentlemen cleared his throat. I stood, and before I could even adjust my skirt the chair was whipped away by the green-eyed boy who folded it with a loud clack.
I still had my drink. That was at least a plus.
I wasn’t followed as I made my way through the party-goers, nor did they part for me. I chose a slow meander sideways and carefully through a maze of elbows and gesticulations. Inside, my stomach clenched, either from the food smells or the debt, I couldn’t tell you. Mother always warned me about accepting gifts from strangers, since you never knew who those strangers might be, but I’d been so hungry and so tired. And now look what had happened.
As I neared the food tables I debated my wide range of choices. But the hot dog vendor with the big must-be-fake moustache was eyeing me again as if I was about to snatch something precious from under his nose. The thought of being able to present him with a glove that he’d have to honour—as weird as that thought was—outweighed my indecision.
I strode over. Attempted to stride over: someone stepped in my way.
A white guy, a bit taller than me, the kind who is too blonde to be real, with a week’s worth of scruff and skiing sunglasses in the middle of summer in downtown Toronto. At night. He probably wore cargo pants. I tried to step around him but he blocked my way, all the while staring over my shoulder and sipping from his red plastic cup. He carried himself like he was still proud of winning beer pong that one time back in college when the hot girl was watching.
I took a deep breath and counted to ten. Well, five. “I’d like to get by—”
He shook his head. “No you don’t, Mallory.”
I froze; I hadn’t told anyone at the party my name. I squinted. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet, no,” he replied, taking a drink and nodding towards my own cup. His voice dropped, low, almost inaudible. “Keep drinking. Pretend you’re having a good time.”
I became aware of people regarding me out of the corners of their eyes. I took another sip of my strange cocktail. More of that hint of herbaceous. Rosemary? It was smothered in something tart, citrus. “Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, smiling broadly like I’d said something funny. “You don’t belong here.”
I swallowed, forcing the liquid down. “I’m aware of that,” I replied. “But needs must—”
He laughed, showing teeth, and then chugged his drink, crumpling the cup up with one hand, slipping the other around my waist. I tried to pull away and he leaned in, whispering. “Play along.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to get you home to Dylan,” he replied, whispering close to my ear. But there was a tickle missing: he had no breath. “I’m here to help, Mallory.”
Cracks grew in my calm facade. “I was just hungry. I could smell streetmeat. I didn’t mean to crash anything. I don’t even know where I am.”
“I know. But if you use Chantuelle’s glove to trade for food, you’ll owe her twice.”
“…Twice?”
“Once for the after-sun cream, once for food.”
“And the drink?”
He shook his head. We ended up in a corner away from everyone, as if we were old friends catching up. “That’s just being a good hostess.”
“Isn’t feeding people just being a good hostess?”
He gave a shrug. “Different parties have different rules.”
I swallowed again, the drink now flat and uncomfortable, catching on its way down. “I just want to go home.”
“I know. But she’s right, you have an embargo on you, I don’t know from where. But do what I tell you, and as tempting as it is, just leave the schnauzer and—”
“The what now?”
He gave my waist a little squeeze, which looked friendly from the outside, which I am sure it was meant to be, but it only reinforced how helpless and trapped I felt. “That hot dog guy. Used to be a schnauzer.”
I tried to pull away from him. “I don’t—”
“It doesn’t matter. Just listen. I promise this will help.”
* * *
I approached the chaise longue, still holding the glove. Beefy stood guard. He glanced down at the glove and the empty glass. “Not hungry?” he asked. A light-hearted question, but it rolled off his tongue like an insult.
“No, I decided I wasn’t,” I replied carefully.
“Decide again.”
“No, I’m really decided—” He took a step towards me and I thrust the empty glass out at him. “Thank you!”
Confused, he took it from me and stepped back.
Chantuelle peered over the frames of her sunglasses at me, and gave her glass to a waiting attendant. “Back already?”
“Thank you for the drink, it was very hospitable of you,” I said, by rote.
Her eyes narrowed. She replaced her glasses and sat straight, scanning the crowd. “Who have you been talking to?”
“Nobody here,” I replied, truthfully. I had no idea who he was, he hadn’t offered a name, and he had disappeared as soon as my back was turned. “I’ve just been thinking, is all, and I should really be going. But I wanted to say thank you first.”
She stared at me, then stood, tugging down and smoothing her tight jacket. “It’s very rude to just eat and leave.”
I held up the glove and gave it a waggle. “I didn’t eat. Thank you for the drink.” I turned on my heel, took a deep breath, and started through the crowd.
“Wait!”
I looked over my shoulder.
She sashayed over to me, hands on her hips, one glove still on, and then pointed with her bare hand. “That’s mine.”
“You gave it to me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I see what you’re trying to pull here. Tell your little friend, whoever they are, that it won’t work.”
“No friends here, I’m at the wrong party.” Already taller than me, she seemed to grow in height the longer we stared at each other. “I’m sorry for barging in. Thank you for the drink.”
“I offered you food and aloe—after-sun care,” she sniffed. One of the strings of lights flickered and died, a bulb shattering. “I say when you can leave.”
“I haven’t eaten, and I didn’t know that the lotion was a debt.” Off-script, but it seemed appropriate. “Who’s being rude offering contracts without making people aware of it?”
Her nostrils flared with indignation, and then suddenly she relaxed, her face smoothing. She gestured with her bare hand. “This is undignified for both of us. Come, I’ll get you another drink, you can have something to eat, and we can talk about that embargo that you’re under.”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about it.”
“I don’t, honey, but I know someone who might.” The honey was pure sarcasm but the rest wasn’t. Maybe it was the twitch of her shoulders, but she seemed like she wanted to bargain.
“Where would I find them?”
“Can’t get there from here, you’ll have to take transit,” she replied, gesturing back to her chaise longue. The folding lawn-chair had reappeared next to it under the patio umbrella, the crowd clearing a wide path. She gestured like a game show hostess. “Come. I’ll tell you all about it.”
“No, thank you. I really should be going.”
She twitched again. “Just a simple chat.”
“No, I mustn’t. Thank you again for the drink. A lovely… island you have here.” I turned towards where the staircase had been, but it was on a different wall now, and I had to pivot on my heel, pushing through the crowd. The old-timey movie and theatre posters that used to line the walls of the staircase, beckoning to weary shoppers, had changed too. They were all Chantuelle, in various costumes, wigs, and backgrounds.
“Wait! My glove. You have to give it back,
it can’t go with you,” she called, stamping her foot. “You get back here!”
I kept walking. All around me the party-goers’ faces lay in shadow, bestial shapes and angles. A long snout here. Buck teeth there. A flick of an ear. They began to part for me, just as he had said they would, as long as I could see the stairs.
“Give me my glove!” she demanded, her heels clattering on the linoleum. “You can’t just take it!”
“And you can’t make me owe you for something you offered,” I replied smoothly, slowing to a stop to turn around. “Shall we make a deal, even stevens?”
She showed too many teeth, too white and too perfect, then grumbled, and crossed her arms over her satin jacket. “Fine. Glove for directions. Then you leave my island and you don’t come back, you understand?”
“Understood.” Even if she hadn’t made that requirement, it wouldn’t have mattered; I had no intention of ever stepping inside Honest Ed’s again.
* * *
We shook hands on the deal. Her skin was so warm that mine felt cold, even to me, and goosebumps ran along my arms like excited children on the last day of school.
I gave her the glove, and she turned on her stiletto heel, her back to me, her arms crossed. Her feet tapped her impatience.
A thick hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off. “I know the way.”
“I know that,” the bodyguard replied, gruffly. “I’m just making sure you go.”
The crowd made a rift of space, a tunnel of stares. I kept my eyes straight ahead. The smell of food wafted around me, thick as regret, and my stomach growled and gurgled. I imagined Chantuelle smirked. Perhaps I could feel the smirk.
Finally I reached the staircase. My beefy guide did not follow, glowering over me as I descended to the lower floor. The air was very warm and heavy, the light bulbs dimming and flickering as I walked underneath. My head swam and it was hard to tell distance. The staircase seemed to go on and on, coiling and coiling. I might have walked a kilometre; it might have been two yards. A few paces. My feet were numb, a blessed relief, but then my hands and fingers grew numb too. I braced myself against a yellowed movie poster, casting Chantuelle in Cabaret.
Blackout Odyssey Page 7
