Roost (14 page)

Inside my room the red message light is flashing
. Who is it and why didn’t they just call my cell? Carl stands in front of the
TV
with the remote. I have to call the front desk to figure out how to listen to the message. It’s from my dad asking if I know where Mom kept the sewing kit. I can’t imagine what he would be sewing or why he would need it. I call him back from the bathroom.

When he picks up, I immediately say, “Dad. Go to bed.”

“Claudia?”

I quickly hang up. Carl’s checking the movies on the
TV
. “Comedy? Drama?”

“What’s playing?”

“
The Vow, The Help, We Bought a Zoo
.”

“
We Bought a Zoo
.”

He purchases the movie and sits in the chair by the desk. His argyle socks are in shades of blue. The room falls silent as the movie begins and I start to lose my second wind. I forget about competing with
The Hunger Games
. I miss my kids now and feel guilty for not calling them to say good night. But if Glen can be composed and attractive, then so can I. And I already have him in my room. I am thinking like a serial killer.

“This is boring,” Carl says.

I agree. “Maybe we should just call it a night?”

“Yes,” he says, standing up from his chair.

No!
I think.

I swing my legs off the bed to walk him to the door. The bird dress is heavier than before. I’m beginning to unravel.

“Thanks for dinner,” I say. “It was really nice to get out of the hotel.”

“No worries,” he replies, slipping on his McDonald’s shoes.

“And sorry for blowing
The Hunger Games
.”

He forces a smile and goes for the door. Then, out of nowhere, Mallory returns, or perhaps it’s Teen Mom, and I spank him on the behind. He jumps slightly and spins back towards me. My eyes widen and blood starts flowing through my body. I am in control.

Carl grabs my hips and pulls me towards him. His grip is strong. The way one might hold a jigsaw or a jackhammer. I cup the back of his head where his hair slightly curls and pull him towards my face. We kiss and neither of us closes our eyes. It is raw. Perfect for an airport hotel surrounded by construction and gas stops with big flags and unlimited pancakes. I push him against the wall between two bolted pictures of horses. He attempts to pull off my dress but I’ve tied the chiffon belt so tight it gets caught going over my face. I finish pulling it off and toss it down. It falls heavy, all that extra material designed to support a pair of humans in cahoots for their last trimester. I go for his pants. His bulging erection pokes through his pleats like a theatre performer peeking through the curtains. He takes off his shirt. Our top halves press together bare. Lips and cheekbones and chests. Coming together and pulling away. Grazing one moment, smothering the next until our bodies get hot and he slips off his underwear and I go down on him.

He pulls me up and finishes on my hip then rests his head against the wall and exhales. Operational excellence. I think it’s over but he rights himself, pushing off the wall with his
upper back, his penis now semi-hard and pointing to the bed like a sloppy directional arrow. He picks me up, half tosses, half places me on the bed. He grunts something about parkour and takes off my underwear. I want it and don’t want it. It’s too personal but it’s also been too long. Carl dives in like he’s hunting for Easter eggs. I come quickly. Like I’m pregnant. He sits up and back on his ankles. His penis, now drooping down like an icicle, drips.

A room service cart passes outside the door. Stainless steel dinnerware clinks, shoes shuffle on the short carpet. Carl dresses and kisses me again. A finish kiss. The loot bag. He makes a quiet exit and when he disappears from the room I feel intense and bold and exhausted. Like I just cut a seven-layer rainbow cake with a guillotine. Like I just bought a fucking zoo.

The next day I wear my own black cigarette pants
, heels, and turtleneck sweater and go back to eating for one. Toast and grapefruit for breakfast. Green tea. Carl’s not in the restaurant. I don’t see him until I arrive in the conference room and see him setting up his laptop at the front of the room. He smiles as I take a seat near the back. He speaks to the man from yesterday in the navy suit who today is wearing tan. Carl is today’s presenter. I feel like the kid on Degrassi who hooked up with the teacher.

Carl opens with an analogy about
The Hunger Games
while I begin focusing my mental energy on what to do with Mallory’s suitcase. I contemplate abandoning it in the hotel somewhere but suspect I won’t be able to follow through. I wish there was someone to bounce ideas off of. I text Cathy but I forgot to charge my phone overnight and it dies before she can reply. I consider my other options: Dan, Glen, Dad. Dan will judge. Glen will lecture. Dad will look for my mother. I wait anxiously for the first break.

After a hideous group activity and the arrival of a baked goods trolley, Carl calls a break.

I go to my room to call Allison-Jean. When I sit on the bed to pick up the room phone, I notice a pair of glasses on the floor beside the bed, like they were knocked off during a fight. They must be Carl’s.

“Is something wrong?” she asks. “Good job Liam! Keep
your fingers relaxed.” Piano playing clunks in the background. “Did you need Dan? Because he’s out right now.”

“No, actually I needed to talk to you. I need your help.”

She pauses. “Sure … what’s up?”

“I need you to call all of the hospitals with maternity wards close to the airport in Toronto looking for a Mallory Pepper.”

“There are hundreds of hospitals in Toronto.”

“Just call the ones close to the airport.”

“And what if I find her?”

“Just hang up.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“Then tell her you’re a florist and you’re sending her flowers.”

“But then she’ll be expecting flowers.”

“Then send her some and I’ll pay you back.”

“Well, who is she? Am I to say the flowers are from you or from me?”

“Why would you send her flowers? You don’t even know her.”

“You just said to send her flowers.”

This is turning out to be more difficult than I thought.

She asks, “How do you know her then?”

“I don’t really. But I wore her pants yesterday.”

“You don’t know her? You wore her pants? Why am I sending flowers to a stranger?”

“Sometimes people kiss strangers. And it’s perfectly okay.”

“You’re losing me, Claudia.”

“Jet lag. I’ll explain it all later. Can you just see if you can find her and if you do, call me here at the hotel. Room 437, and leave a message. I’ll be back at the meeting. Please?”

“Okay.” She sighs. I can hear her pencil as she takes down my instructions. “What’s the hotel?”

“The Sheraton Cavalier. And don’t tell Dan.”

“And don’t tell Dan,” she repeats.

“Don’t write that part down.”

“I didn’t.”

“Okay. Thanks Allison-Jean. I owe you. Maybe I can lobby my brother into getting you something. What do you need?”

“I’d like a double oven.”

“Fine. I’ll work on the double oven.”

“I’m holding you to it, Claudia.”

“Then find me Mallory Pepper,” I say.

“Consider it done.”

I finish playing Nancy Drew, plug my phone in to charge, and rush back to the conference room. Operational Excellence resumes and I change my focus to what I will do if Mallory is located. If her birth was vaginal then she’ll be on the verge of getting discharged. If there were complications, a c-section perhaps, then she should be still in the hospital. I cross my fingers that there were complications. I’m going to hell. Then it occurs to me that if she was flying, she must have gone into labour early and she and her baby would likely be in the
NICU
. That is the less favourable scenario of the two because sometimes they will discharge the mother and not the infant and I can’t exactly call the hospital and ask for Baby Pepper.

A man in a tan suit is presenter of the moment. Carl takes a seat up front. He periodically opens his briefcase and digs around inside. I assume he is looking for his glasses, which obviously fell off his face while we wall-slammed. He goes for the briefcase again. Checks the same side pocket he’s searched twice already. I reach into my purse and pull out his glasses. Polish the lenses with my shirt and put them on. I instantly go cross-eyed. I take them off and blink ten times before my pupils recover. Masochism.

After the session finishes for the morning, we are given a little over an hour for lunch. Carl makes his way to the back of the room and walks into a chair sending it toppling to the ground.

“Sorry,” Carl mutters to the woman it crashes down beside. He turns the chair upright. When he reaches my table he is sweating.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I can’t see,” he says, “did you happen to find my glasses?”

“These ones?”

“Ahh … thank God,” he says with relief, “these are my prescription glasses.”

“You think? How do you see out of those?”

He puts them on. “You mean how do I see
without
them.”

Silence follows. There is too little to discuss.

“I hope last night wasn’t too awkward,” he says discreetly.

“It wasn’t,” I reply.

“Maybe we can have dinner again. Tonight?”

“Tonight? I don’t know. I have an early flight tomorrow.”

“Oh.” He looks at me intently. “Can I bring you dinner?”

“Like room service?”

“Yeah. Like room service.”

I nod. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

“Around six?”

“Six works.”

“Okay then.” Carl smiles confidently.

I race upstairs. There’s no message from Allison-Jean, but my phone is almost charged. I want to call the kids. It’s almost 12:30 p.m., middle of the afternoon at home and it feels like weeks since I’ve talked to them, but the hotel phone rings and startles me.

I answer on the first ring. It’s Allison-Jean.

“Did you find her?”

“Yes, but she has no idea who you are.”

“What do you mean? You weren’t supposed to talk about me! I told you to hang up or say you were a florist or something.”

“I did say I was a florist.”

“You spoke to her directly?”

“Yes, and she wanted to know who was sending her flowers.”

“Couldn’t she have waited until they arrived and read the little card?”

“She’s allergic to flowers. She wanted to know what
idiot
was sending her flowers.”

“Who’s allergic to flowers? It’s not like I was going to send her ragweed.”

“Well she’s allergic to flowers.”

“Why didn’t you tell her they were a surprise?”

“Like from a secret admirer you mean?”

“Sure.”

“Because secret admirers don’t send flowers when you have a baby.”

“But they could. So who did you say they were from?”

“I said they were from you but she said she didn’t know a Claudia.”

“Uhhh,” I groan. “Allison-Jean, why did you do that?”

“Look, you’re the one who made me phone her in the first place. What was I supposed to say? Anyway, the good news is she has no idea who you are. I even tried to remind her that you borrowed her pants.”

“No, you didn’t say that!”

“Yeah, I did. That’s what you told me. Remember?”

“So how did it end?”

“I gave her your cellphone number.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. Listen, I’m not sure about the wall oven. We talked about expanding the nook and if we do that we’re going to replace the windows and Dan wants to get these remote control blinds and I was thinking some nice built-in seating under the windows would be nice so I need you to lobby him for that instead.”

“Fine.”

“Have a safe flight home. Oh, and Dan said he’d pick you up at the airport. And the exterminator is going to your dad’s tomorrow for the bedbugs.”

“Good.”

I notice the ringer is turned off my cellphone and find I’ve missed a call with a 416 area code. It has to be her. No one else calls me from Toronto except Capital One. I keep the phone plugged in and call Glen.

“Can’t talk,” he says right away. “I’m getting ready for a showing.”

“What kind of showing?”

“I was offered an opportunity to show a few of my paintings at a gallery tonight.”

“But what about the kids? You said you could watch them.”

“This is a huge opportunity.”

“Yeah, I get that, but who’s going to watch them?”

“Relax. Cathy is coming over at six. I’ll take them to McDonald’s first.”

“Well I want to talk to them so call me before you leave.”

I hang up irritated. Cathy is mine. It’s time to call Mallory Pepper. I dial the number unsure of what to say.

She answers on the third ring. “Hello?”

I slide down the wall until I’m close to the outlet my phone is plugged into. “Mallory?”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s Claudia.”

“Does this have something to do with flowers?”

“No.” I wrap the cord of my iPhone charger around my finger.

“Are you with the adoption agency then? Because I already spoke with Brenda and I’m keeping him.”

“Him?”

“Arthur.”

“You had a boy?”

“Who are you?” she says in an agitated voice.

I pull out the birthing journal from my purse and messily write Arthur’s name on a blank page.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I … I … I accidentally ended up with your suitcase. When you went into labour. On the plane.”

“Ahh …” she sighs. “Is that why you were trying to send me flowers?”

“Never mind the flowers. I just want to see that you get your luggage back.”

She makes a noise that implies she couldn’t care less about her luggage. “You can keep it,” she says, confirming my suspicion. “The airline thinks they lost it. They have to compensate.”

This is not the reaction I was expecting. “But I don’t want to keep your suitcase.”

“I can’t breastfeed,” she blurts. “I keep trying and he just won’t take it and I’m so frigging tired I peed the bed last night and I washed my face with shampoo and they won’t let me leave. Why won’t he breastfeed?”

“Hold it like a cheeseburger,” I encourage.

“The baby?”

“Your breast. Hold your breast the way you’d hold a Big Mac and shove it in his mouth.”

“But I have no milk.”

“It will come. It just takes a few days. Just keep trying. It will happen.”

“But how should I hold him? I never paid attention to that part in class. I was going to give him up. Now I don’t know how to feed him or burp him or swaddle him, or …”

“Hold him however is comfortable. And take off his sleeper. Is he wearing a sleeper?”

“Yes.”

“Well take it off so he’s just in a diaper.”

“Just a second,” she says. “I’m going to put you on speaker phone.”

I hear the baby crying that familiar newborn wail like he’s starving, which in this case he probably is.

“Okay, so I took off his sleeper.”

“All right, now hold him right up to your breast so you’re skin to skin and he’s level with your nipple. You don’t want him to have to strain to reach it.

“Like this?” she asks.

“Yes, like that,” I respond, hopeful. “Now hold your breast like a cheeseburger and rub your nipple gently across his mouth. When he opens, shove it inside.”

I hear her breath. Arthur whimpers. The afternoon session of Operational Excellence is scheduled to resume in five minutes. The baby is silent.

“Is he sucking?” I ask.

“I think so.”

“He’s on your breast?”

“Yeah, he’s on.”

“Okay, if he’s on properly it shouldn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Now look below the jawline underneath the ear. Watch it. If he’s swallowing you’ll be able to tell.”

“He fell off.”

“Okay, don’t panic; just go back to the cheeseburger.”

“Go back to the cheeseburger,” Mallory repeats. Then she hollers with jubilation, “He’s doing it! He’s swallowing!”

Mallory begins to sob. I join her, but quietly. A silent partner.

“No one else has been able to show me how to do it and I was about to give up and now I’m feeding my son,” she blubbers. “I’m so tired.” She continues to cry. “And I’m constipated and I haven’t washed my hair in three days and they keep serving me broth and two percent milk for breakfast and lunch and all I want is an Egg McMuffin and some roast beef or something and they won’t let me go home because he’s lost too much weight and I look fatter now than before I gave birth.”

“Mallory, just feed your baby. When he’s finished put his sleeper back on, wrap him back up in his blanket, and put him in his bed. He should sleep well after a good feeding and then go to sleep. Take all the medication you can and then sleep for as long you can. Understand?”

“Okay,” she says, blowing her nose.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did Arthur arrive early?”

“Thirty-seven weeks. I fibbed a bit at check-in. I just wanted to make it home. I didn’t want to give birth alone.”

I nod, understanding. “About your suitcase then. What should I do with it?”

“Keep it,” she insists. “There is really nothing of value in
there. I mean, maternity clothes — what am I going to do with those now?”

“But what about your hair dryer and makeup and stuff?”

“Like I said, I already put in a claim. They’re going to give me money for all of that.”

“Okay.” I stare at Mallory’s open suitcase. The mass of maternity wear. The hair dryer I will keep since I buried mine in the yard. “Now that he’s latching your milk will come in and when your milk comes in he will start gaining weight and you’ll be able to go home.”

She takes a deep breath and exhales into the phone. “Are you pregnant?”

The question catches me off guard. “No,” I reply. “Not at all. Why would you think that?”

“Your sister said you wore my pants.”

“I …”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interjects. “You taught me how to feed my son. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”