Lost Between Houses (12 page)

We ended up sitting on a hill overlooking the chalet where the dance was happening. It was a warm night and the grass was soft and there was kind of a magical feel to everything, the band
starting up, and after awhile Margot lay back in the grass and looked up at the stars and said, “What would you do if this were your last day on earth?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “what would you do?”

“I better not tell you. It’d freak you out.”

She put her hands behind her head.

For a second there, I could hardly get my breath.

“No, I’m fine, tell me.”

“I’d probably go to bed with somebody. You don’t want to die without ever having done it. But you’ve probably already done it.”

She looked over at me, my head going sort of pins and needles. I had a feeling she was waiting for me to kiss her but I didn’t want to get it wrong and have her screaming bloody murder up on that hill and calling for the police and everyone knowing I was a child molester.

I lay down beside her, staring up at the stars like I gave a shit, and casually I sort of rested my arm against hers. She didn’t move it. I touched her hand. I could feel her fingers move just a little. I sat up and pretended to stretch and looked over at her and then I leaned over and brushed her cheek with my fingers.

“What?’ she said.

“You have a little grass on your cheek.”

“Oh,” she said, looking right at me. “Did you get it?”

I leaned down and kissed her. She had a nice mouth, all wet and warm, and next thing you know we were rolling around on the grass, me rubbing my hips against hers until I found myself moving toward that dark planet again. And then everything went completely white and it was like some devil had left me. I’ll tell you though, for a young girl, she was certainly experienced. Afterwards, she asked me if she could have a look and
she unzipped my shorts and lowered my underwear and just kind of stared at my dink, sort of doodling and then smelling her finger. Jesus.

We went back down the hill and into the chalet. I talked to everyone. Really, I felt like a movie star. I can’t remember ever feeling so smart, like I could do nothing wrong.

When I got home I told Harper about it. He got sort of a pained look on his face, like I’d done a bad thing, but I had a feeling it was something else. Like when a guy is getting too much luck. It’s cool at first but after awhile you wish he’d fall down a mine shaft or something. Or at least keep his fucking mouth shut. Which is very hard to do. I mean one of the great things about girls is talking to other guys about them. And to be honest with you, I didn’t feel bad at all, I thought the whole thing was a gas, especially that bit with smelling her finger, except when I imagined Scarlet hearing about it, that moment when someone hears something terrible and their face goes kind of blank. So I decided to spare her. Just write it off as another bad thing I’d done that no one needed to know about.

Somewhere near the beginning of August, there was a phone call. The old lady took it, talked for a bit and then came out to the backyard where we were shooting arrows into this cardboard box.

“Boys,” she said, holding a cigarette down by her side, “we have to go back to the city tomorrow.”

“Fantastic,” I shouted, “who died?”

She gave me a dirty look.

“We have to get up with the birds and I don’t want to have a big fight. So get your stuff ready tonight, okay?”

When she went back inside, Harper whispered, “Must be the old man.”

Next morning, around noon, we headed down to the city.

It was a beautiful day, everything just gleaming the way it does when you’re happy. Harper sat up front with the old lady, talking about this and that. I sat in the back, reading magazines and looking out the window. It’s a boring drive, I’ve done it like a thousand times, I know all the boring rocks and little restaurants beside the road, the gun store, the bridge, the turnoff to Bracebridge, that long deadly stretch of rolling hills and then nothing to look at between Barrie and the city. It went pretty quickly but still, by the time we rolled down our street, the houses nice and close to each other now, it felt like a different day from the one we’d started back at the cottage.

I raced in the front door, my mother hollering after me to take something in first. I went up to the maid’s room and I called Scarlet. Like I thought I was going to have a fit if her line was busy or she was out. But she was there.

“I’m back,” I said.

“When are you coming over?”

“When should I?”

“Tonight,” she said. “And hurry. I’ve got something to show you.

That was all I needed. I blasted back down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and went out to the car.
“Nice try,” Harper said.

“Boys,” Mother said in her warning voice. Travelling made her a little jumpy. She just wanted to get in the house, have a noggin and put up her feet.

I loved being back in town. I loved the way my room smelled, that moment when you first open the door and go in. I got a whole lot of stuff out of my drawer, a kilt pin from an old girlfriend, a love letter from Daphne Gunn on blue tissue paper
(actually she never looked like a potato till she dropped me), a Searchers 45, a broken transistor radio, and laid it all out on the bed. But I got used to it pretty quickly and stuffed it back in my drawer without looking at half of it.

That night I went over to see Scarlet. It was one of those great nights in the city where you feel like something is calling you outside. I mean you can just about hear these voices, “Come out, come out.” I headed up Forest Hill Road. I didn’t get a half a block before I broke into a trot. I don’t think I’d ever been so happy before, all this stuff to look forward to, Scarlet, being back in the city, the way the air smelt, all the lights flickering in the windows, the cars going by. It was like more than my body could keep inside. I was talking out loud to myself, trying to explain to my imaginary audience just how amazing it was, like it wasn’t enough to just think it, I had to actually say it, find the exact right words. I cut down through a little park where I used to go tobogganing with Kenny Withers, and then turned left on Chaplin Crescent. You could smell the rose bushes. That’s some kind of flower. Like a drug or something. One sniff makes you feel like you’re not living up to scratch, you should be having a better time. But this one night down on Chaplin Crescent, for once I wasn’t waiting for my life to start. For once I had a life as good as the one you imagine when you smell roses.

I figured it must be her father who came to the door. He was a tall, gangly guy with a moustache, wearing a pair of white cream slacks and an expensive shirt. But here’s the weirdness. His hair was brushed down over his forehead in a Beatle haircut. Very strange on a guy like that. I tried not to look at it. I mean apart from the hair he was a pretty classy-looking guy, sort of like Errol Flynn.

“And who might you be?” he asked.

“Simon,” I said. “Simon Albright. I’m a friend of Scarlet’s.”

“Ah yes, Scarlet,” he said, crossing his arms like he was trying to remember the last time he saw her. I had the distinct impression he was fucking around with me.

“And what time were you going to see your friend Scarlet?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“What time is it now?”

“Nine o’clock?”

“It is quarter past nine. Have you no timepiece?”

He waited for a second and then burst out laughing.

“Come in, come in,” he said. “I’m just playing the fool.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Duke,” I said.

In the living room was a plump woman in a red dress and a bald guy I’d seen before somewhere.

“I’m Barry,” the mophead said. “ And this is my wife Sherry. And I’m sure you know Elwy.”

That’s where I’d seen him. The bald guy had some TV show where they showed old black and white films and interviewed people nobody gave a shit about any more. You know, like a cameraman on some 1940s movie. For some reason I pretended not to recognize him. Just so he wouldn’t think I was a groupie. But he seemed like a pleasant enough guy, old Elwy, beaming away at me. Some people just like new faces and I guess he was one of them.

“Sit down. Please. Emily will be right out,” the woman said in a British accent.

Emily?

For a second I thought I was in the fucking twilight zone. You know, guy goes to wrong house and picks up wrong girlfriend and nobody notices.

“Emily,” she called. “Emily.”

I heard Scarlet’s voice coming from the bathroom.

“Christ! What!”

“Your friend’s here.”

“Well tell him to wait.” Then the door shut again.

“Well-spoken girl,” I said, and looked around the room for smiles. Nothing.

“So where do you stand on all of this, Simon?” Barry said. He was leaning forward in his chair with a big green goblet in his hands, one of those glasses you use in a castle or something and I suddenly realized he was pissed.

“All of what?” I asked.

“On this business of breaking the law.”

“I don’t think he has the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” said Elwy, who gave me a wink. I think everybody was too pissed for him and he wanted me to know it.

“I mean where do you stand on this business of breaking the law?” Barry went on, as if I’d tried to ignore him the first time. “Some people say everybody breaks it. Other people believe it’s a sacred trust. I say the law’s the law and you bloody well should obey it. What about you?”

“Depends on the law,” I said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Like, I don’t feel it’s my inalienable right to go around dropping blasting caps in people’s mouths while they sleep.”

He frowned.

“It’s a joke, Barry,” the woman said.

“But you think it’s all right to break
some
laws,” he said. “Do I understand you correctly?”

“Yes. For sure.”

“Like what?”

“Well, let me see. When do I think it’s all right to break the law? When I jaywalk, for instance. When there’s nobody coming, I don’t lose a single night’s sleep after I jaywalk.”

“So you think
you
have the right to decide which laws are worthy of respect.”

“Well…”

“Don’t you think that’s rather pompous? Just imagine if everyone went around doing that. Making up the law as they go. Then where’d we be?”

“But I’m not everyone,” I said.

“Meaning that you’re smarter than anyone else. What grade are you in?”

“Grade Twelve.”

“And you think having a Grade Twelve education entitles you to break the law? That’s a bloody irresponsible attitude, I’d think.”

“But Barry,” his wife said, “you break the law all the time. You speed on the highway. That’s breaking the law.”

“Well that’s how I feel and I’m bloody well not going to apologize for it. Right, Simon? Simon understands.” And then he kind of pushed himself back into his chair as if we were begging him to say more, but no, no, that was enough, thank you very much. I had that slight fluttering in my chest and my hands were sweating like they do when I feel like I’m under attack. Somehow you always come out of those conversations feeling in the wrong.

“What movie are you going to tonight?” Elwy asked me.

“Mondo Dante,”
I said.

“Oh dear,” he said and gave me another wink.

“That’s one of our films, isn’t it?” the woman added.

“I’m afraid so,” Elwy answered and sort of winced, like
somebody was about to smack him with a newspaper. I looked over at Barry. He was sitting peering down into his glass.

Scarlet came into the living room, wearing dark eye makeup. Sometimes girls look so pretty they’re sort of scary. I could smell the vanilla across the room.

“Oh, there you are,” said her father.

“We should be going,” Scarlet said. She was wearing black shorts and a white T-shirt.

“Tell me this, Simon,” Barry said. “I suppose you think we should legalize prostitution. That’d be just fine with you, wouldn’t it?”

“Daddy!”

“Well, wouldn’t it?”

“I honestly don’t know, Mr Duke. I’ve never thought about it.”

“That’s not the only thing you haven’t given much thought to. Do you honestly think Grade Ten will prepare you for this life?”

“Well Mr Duke, I wasn’t planning to …”

“Rubbish! Come off it, mate. Grow up! Get out there and bang on some doors.”

“Which doors?” I asked.

“Just bring her back intact, that’s all I say,” he roared.

“Barry!” his wife said.

Elwy winced again.

“Where are you going, by the way?” Barry said.

“They’re going to a film, dear.”

“Which film?”

By now I was moving very quickly toward the door.

“Mondo Dante,”
I said.

“That’s ours, isn’t it?” Barry said.

“Jesus,” I whispered.

But he jumped into action. He went over to the coffee table and snatched up the phone, his hair still hanging over his forehead like a fucking moat boy.

“Hello?” he said, “this is Barry Duke at Universal Pictures. I need a couple of passes for tonight’s show.”

He grinned, and raised his finger quickly in the air to silence me. Then the smile fell off his face.

“Duke,” he said. “Barry Duke.”

“Oh-oh, somebody’s going to get in heck,” Scarlet said, sitting on the arm of a chair.

“Duke,” he repeated slowly, getting pissed off. “D-U-K-E.”

By which time I was about ready to leap out of the window. He put his hand over the mouthpiece.

“Clueless,” he said. “I’ve told them a hundred times.
Hire nationals!”

“She’s probably new,” Sherry whispered. “At least she speaks
some
English.”

“Done!” Barry said, slamming down the phone.

“Well
done,
dear.”

“Somebody was almost out of a job,” Scarlet said.

“Really, Mr Duke, I didn’t mean to pick a fight here. That was just a joke about the blasting caps.”

“So I keep hearing. But it’s no joking matter, if you ask me. Given the way things are going.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Barry,
what
things?” his wife said.