The Perils of Pauline (27 page)

I snatched up the certificate and, sure enough, Donald had gone out of his way to find guilt-free Canadian diamonds from a decent mine with happy miners who have pensions and a dental plan. Of course it is a fine thing to be dripping with diamonds mined by guys with good teeth.

In all the chaos, I didn’t get around to buying a Christmas present for Donald. The guilt floods in. I’m the rotten egg. I better grab something from one of the shops on the way. I scurry along the sidewalk looking in all the windows. A scarf? A jacket? Leather gloves? The stores are closing and I have only a few minutes left to choose something that doesn’t look like I grabbed it at the last minute. I run into a men’s shop.

The cashier is counting her receipts and shooting me irritated looks. I paw through a display of wallets. I select a nice one and head to the counter, elated that I’ve skinned under the wire with my gift.

I glance at the price tag—and stop short in the middle of the aisle. Mr. Frugal Man will think I’m out of my melon for wasting so much dough on a wildly overpriced wallet. I better not mention it.

The cashier is tapping her pencil on the counter. My head clears. Donald doesn’t want a wallet. He doesn’t expect anything. He’s not like that. He’s just glad I’m here. I should’ve known.

I put the wallet back and walk out of the store. I know what I’m giving Donald for Christmas: me, just me, wearing nothing but my glowing spa skin and a diamond pendant.

Deception Story: A scenario that outlines the friendly actions that will be portrayed to cause the deception target to adopt the desired perception.—Department of Defense Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms

“I have a surprise for you,” Donald says after he pays for our meal at the legendary Full Angus, Calgary’s most exclusive prime rib restaurant. “But we have to hurry and catch a cab.”

“Sure,” I murmur. I’m busy free falling through a serotonin rush from the richest chocolate mousse I’ve ever tasted, and I’m still shimmering from last night. Donald loved his Christmas present: he threw it down on the bed and ravished it all night long.

After breakfast we said goodbye to Todd, Tina, Rob and Scott, and drove back to Calgary. Lindsay was nowhere to be seen. Donald showed me around the branch offices, and then announced that he wanted to buy me a dressy outfit so he could whirl me around for a night on the town. Thank God the airline lost my luggage. I now possess a lusty little skirt and the perfect blouse and heels to go with.

Donald pulls back my brass-studded leather chair and helps me with my coat. He sure knows how to be suave and urbane for a night on the town. He even knew the chef. And, as it turns out, western chefs know their beef. My hips will know their beef, too, unless I stand down from all this holiday eating.

A few minutes later, the cabbie drops us on the sidewalk in front of the Calgary Tower. Donald swoops his arm up to point at the flame burning at the top. “It has a 360º observation deck with a glass floor. It’s the best way to view the city at night. So? Are you ready for your private tour?”

“Donald, this is incredible! How did you manage to arrange it?”

“Our chief accountant out here plays golf with the guy who owns this place. He said anytime I wanted to come up …”

After a quick ID check at the front desk, we are in the elevator ascending at high speed. I step forward to check my hair in the mirror and spy Donald watching me from behind. I stick out my tongue at him and he flashes me his Scotsman’s grin, reminding me why I fell in love with him back in the day. He’s always had the rogue charm of a highlander about him. Tonight he’s looking very much like William Wallace in his best wool kilt with the Prince Charlie jacket and three-button vest. He knows I love it when he pulls out all the Scottish stops. I feel his hands steal onto my hips and he pulls me closer to him so I can feel his Gaelic sap rising. I nudge my rump back and forth a few times to show my appreciation for the compliment. A blush mounts my cheeks, on both ends. Donald is getting me a bit … warm. The elevator guy studiously looks the other way as we sway together with the motion of the lift until the doors glide open at the top of the tower. The elevator guy steps back to let us pass and, tipping his cap, disappears as the doors slide closed, leaving us alone in the darkness on the observation deck.

Donald takes my hand and leads me around the deck so I can view the entire skyline. Stepping gingerly onto the glass catwalk, I’m mesmerized by the feeling of being suspended in mid-air.

It’s magical. The sky is clear and I can see mountains and prairies and the whole city of Calgary twinkling like a brilliant diamond at my feet. Even from high above the ground I can feel the surging pulse of the place. Everywhere you go here, there are energetic people filled with purpose. They’re busy making deals, going places and making their way in a new frontier. This city is so youthful and exciting; it makes me want to take over a conglomerate or file an injunction or at least go shopping at Aritzia.

Donald wraps his arms around me from behind. His kilt is bulging. He leans his head forward and breathes into my ear while running his hands up to my breasts and squeezing them greedily: “How would you like to join the Calgary Tower Club?”

Oh. That’s why he wore his kilt tonight.

“What? Here? No. No! You’re nuts. What’s with you men and the whole let’s get frisky in public places thing?”

I look down below my feet to the traffic far below us. “The whole city could be watching.”

“The city will be jealous. C’mon, you know you want to.” Donald has his hand under my skirt and is tugging my panties down. He has a point here. I’m wearing a skirt. And high heels. Isn’t that the whole notion behind skirts and high heels?

Silently, I step out of my panties and drop them on the catwalk.

My CT club card is issued in about a minute and a half. Sometimes fast is good. My butt cheeks nearly froze off while he had his fun. I smooth my skirt back down and rub my buttocks to get some circulation going again while Donald leans on the window sill, huffing—the air is thin up here. He could be getting too old to play mile-high games.

This public places thing could spark revitalization for Donald and me. If I were game for the club plan, he’d follow me to the ends of the earth. I’m thinking Burj Dubai. I’m thinking Space Needle. The Golden Gate Bridge. Oooh—The Kremlin! I’m thinking my red leather skirt teamed with a black leather jacket would be perfect for Lenin’s Mausoleum.

Donald leans in closer to kiss me on the lips and stare into my eyes with a limpid gaze of gratitude. “What are you thinking about?”

“Moscow. Now that’s a city. We should go there some time. Or San Francisco.”

“What about Calgary? How do you like Calgary?”

“I love the energy here. It’s crazy, all the building and development and activity going on everywhere, there’s so much potential.”

“Do you think you’d ever like to live here?”

“Live here? In Calgary?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” A fissure of suspicion opens and my stomach sinks as if the glass floor dropped out from under me. “Why do you ask?”

Donald squints his eyes and scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve been offered a directorship here.”

“What about the deal where they promised you a directorship at home, after you finished up with things here?”

“That was never a firm deal. We were tossing around the ideas. They’re offering me Calgary.”

“You didn’t tell me it wasn’t a firm deal.”

“Didn’t I?”

I can feel my face growing hot. Donald is a big fat liar. “No you didn’t. You said Calgary was a temporary position. And now you tell me all this time you’ve been thinking about staying in Canada permanently?”

“I’ve been thinking about it, yes, but if you don’t want to come out here, I’m prepared to come back. But I’d have to go back to my old job, at least until something opens up in the New England region.”

By the look on his face, I can tell Donald would rather dig his eyeballs out with a fork and eat them with ketchup than go back to his old job. I don’t like this game. It’s a standoff where one of us has to give up a sizable chunk of territory. My territory includes our children, our home, the bookstore, my Mom, my friends, and New England: everything I’m familiar with. His territory means he gets to pursue his career. It always boils down to this in the end: his career. It’s more important than me, the kids or anything else in Donald’s life.

“I don’t think you’re prepared to come home at all. I think you want to stay out here in the worst way.”

Donald turns his head away from me and stares out toward the Saddledome. No man can do that without a look of utter pathos and longing. I look down at the traffic crawling through the city center under my feet. I can hear horns honking way up here above the ground. Calgary is nothing but men in silly black hats racing around in sports cars, clawing and scratching at each other’s throats to get
the biggest deal. I don’t like being asked to make this choice. If I say no, he gets to pout forever. If I say yes, I get cowpats, tumbleweeds, and cold beer signs on every corner.

“So what about Lindsay? What are they doing with her?”

“I don’t know. Lindsay is still looking after things out here. She’s spending most of her time running the international development portfolio these days. They could still offer her the New England directorship.”

“I thought you said she wasn’t interested.”

“She hasn’t decided yet.”

For a long moment I stand there, thinking. My first thought is that it is terribly ironic that my marriage is resting in Lindsay’s hands. Then I realize it is in Donald’s hands, far more than Lindsay’s. He doesn’t have to wait for Lindsay to decide what she wants. If he wants to come home, he will. But he wants the promotion. He wants me to drop my whole life and move to Canada. But what about Serenity, Jack, and Olympia? And Mom? And Shae and Jude? And Bibienne and Bernie and Mackie and Furious Ferris and, what the hell, Wendy, Yard, Johnny Rotten, and Ghostly Garth?

What am I saying? My marriage is in my own hands. I want to open my palms and turn them upside down.

“No.” I take a deep breath. “You don’t have the right to hold this job offer over my head. You say you’re prepared to come home? You make it sound like you’re prepared to serve out your sentence. If that’s the case, forget it. You have to decide what you want. But you don’t get to come back and make me feel miserable because you don’t want to be there. If you come home, come home because you want to be with me, and the kids. If you decide to stay, you’re on your own. Because I will never, ever live here.”

Donald’s jaw tightens and his eyes point straight at me like pistols at high noon. Calgary is truly the new frontier for both of us.

Donald drops me at the airport first thing in the morning. We are barely speaking. The jetlag kicks in before I even step on the plane
so I’m grateful for the wheelchair. I wonder how long a bogus heart condition can lurk on a person’s profile? That detail coupled with the Porta-Potty incident means I’ll probably never be able to leave the country again.

I’m also wondering if my luggage will make it back east? I bet some baggage handler in Los Angeles is loading my stuff onto a transcontinental jumbo jet right this minute. One little white lie and the bad karma flings my luggage into the wild blue for eternity.

Mom is standing at the gate as I come swinging through. “Where are your bags? Didn’t you have two nice red ones?”

“They’re probably in Hong Kong.”

I follow her to the car, sling my carry-on into the back seat, and take over the wheel. “How did everything go?”

“Very well. Serenity and Shae were a big help. You look tired.”

“I am.”

“So what exactly is going on between you and Donald?”

They need to put my mother in charge of locating my luggage. This woman is the find-all, see-all, know-all sage of the whole freaking universe.

“What makes you think there’s something going on?”

“Nothing.”

“You snooped around didn’t you? You found something?”

“Now what would there be to find?” Her eyes narrow and she spins her head around to pin me. Fail. I’ve tipped her off. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Is there someone else, Pauline?”

Boy, is she cagey. Did she find a stray note tucked in a book or did I just give myself away? I never could outshuffle her in this dance as a teenager and I guess I never will.

“Donald and I had a major disconnect last night. He wants us to relocate to Calgary. I said no.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” She falls silent and looks out the window. “You can’t blame him. Canada was his first home, after all.”

“But Massachusetts is our home now. Aren’t
we
his family? Besides, I don’t think that’s the reason. He wants a promotion. He’d go anywhere to get one.”

She looks back at me. “Is that it? Or is there more to the story?”

“We haven’t been good for a long time. I think he was unfaithful to me. He’s never admitted it but the signs are all there.”

“And what about you? And that friend of yours at the university? How serious is that?”

I heave a sigh.

“Don’t give up on Donald. He’s a good man.”

The traffic light ahead turns red. I stop, and stare at the rear bumper of the car in front of us. Mom is Donald’s biggest fan. I’ve always suspected that she set me up to meet him when Serenity was only 5 years old. I had moved in with my parents for a few months, to get back on my feet after the divorce. One Friday afternoon after work, I strolled into the house to see Donald, wedged tightly between Mom, Dad and Serenity at the dining room table. His crisp white shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing a pair of nicely-shaped forearms. All of the tips of his fingers were capped with Serenity’s finger puppets. His face serious and intent, he pointed the orange giraffe at a brochure on the table. While my father leaned in the scan the brochure, Donald paused, and turned with a smile to nod the lion puppet at Serenity with the index finger on his other hand. “Roar,” he said, gently.

“Roar,” I said to announce my presence.

Donald looked up, startled. “I better get going,” he said, glancing at his watch.

“No, I want you to stay,” shrieked Serenity.

Mom set a tray on the table. “You can’t go yet, I just made you a sandwich. Bill, why don’t you pour Donald a beer?” She turned to face me. “Pauline, this is Donald Daley, our financial advisor.”

Serenity ran over to me, grabbed my hand in her small chubby one, and determinedly dragged me across the kitchen. “Mommy, you and Donald have to hold hands,” she said, trying to force my hand into his.

Without removing the puppets, Donald shook my hand with a firm grip. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” By the time he let go of my hand, I could feel my cheeks flushing.

A horn honks behind me, breaking my reverie. The traffic light has turned green.

Mom speaks up again: “Young people these days won’t shoulder through. They give up so easily. In my time, men and women had affairs too, you know. We knew better than to throw away our marriages for a fling.”

I glance over at her. She’s looking down at her lap.

“Your father was away on temporary duty a lot.”

“You had an affair?”

She ignores me and smiles. Then she laughs out loud. “I sure knew a lot of gals who did. There were always these jokes going around. That propping up the red Tide box in the basement window is a sign your man is away on deployment and the coast is clear.”

“I use liquid detergent.”

“Don’t be flip. I loved your father very much. But we had our ups and downs. He wasn’t exactly an angel on all those deployments you know.”

“So what happened to your girlfriends? The ones with the Tide boxes?”