Secret North

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  He kissed me again. “You know something? You’re an incredibly beautiful woman, Bente Denison.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, heading for the door. “Start attaching photos to your résumé. The job offers will pour in.”

  “Yeah, from creeps like Joel McGivern.”

  “Ugh,” he groaned, checking his watch again. “Don’t remind me.”

  I twisted to get a better look at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m meeting him at the property. He’s probably handling the sale.”

  “And you thought I’d want to go?” I asked incredulously. “The man is vile and you’re doing business with him?”

  He grinned, so brilliantly that I almost forgave him. “Come now, sweetheart,” he crowed. “I never said I was going to make it easy for him. I thought you’d enjoy watching him squirm.”

  The vision of Joel McGivern, squirming or not, would stay in my mind for far too long to make it worth it.

  “No, thanks anyway. I’m just going to hang out here and feel sorry for myself.”

  He made a grab for the door handle before turning back to me. “You’re still beautiful, even when you’re being melodramatic.”

  “Thank you. Now get out and leave me be.”

  39. OLD BROADS

  Ryan

  The outside of the property on West 52nd looked exactly as I hoped it would, only bigger. It was shabby and run down, exactly the way I like my new ventures to look.

  Getting there fifteen minutes before I was due to meet Joel was a smart move. I’d only been loitering outside for a minute when an old man appeared at the top of the steps. “Are you here to view the place?” he asked brusquely.

  He wasn’t anywhere near as friendly as the loud shirt he was wearing. He looked like he’d just arrived home from one of the cruise ships that Bente’s parents frequented.

  “Yes.” I climbed the concrete steps. “I’m Ryan Décarie.”

  He moved his fat cigar from his hand to his mouth and shook my hand. “Tiger Malone.”

  I liked him instantly, despite his gruff demeanour, weird name and bone-crushing handshake. I liked him even more when he offered to show me around before the agent arrived.

  He escorted me through a dingy front foyer and into the massive main room located at the back. The inside of the building was a dump, but the potential was huge. I spent a few minutes wandering around, trying to figure out what it would’ve been like in its prime. The wooden parquetry floor was dull and scuffed and the walls were shabby and peeling, but there were so many endearing features that made me think the place would’ve been a palace in its day. Most intriguing was the elevated stage at the rear of the room. The heavy red velvet backdrop looked original and the overhead lighting looked to be intact.

  “What’s behind the stage?” I asked.

  Tiger chewed his cigar. “Dressing room area.”

  “So this place was a theatre?”

  A dinner theatre, maybe. There were no rows of fixed seating, but plenty of room for tables and chairs.

  Tiger grinned. “It was a bit of everything back in the day.”

  Tiger Malone was as much a mystery as his building. The ambiguous answer was deliberate. I knew this was a reluctant sale, and I called him on it.

  “Not keen on selling, are you, Mr Malone?”

  His throaty laugh reverberated throughout the empty space. “The question is whether I’m prepared to sell it to you.”

  I grinned. “I never said I wanted to buy it.”

  “You want to buy it, kid,” he told me. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re looking at it with pure desire, like some broad that just turned you down.”

  We chuckled, but the moment disappeared when Joel McGivern burst through the door.

  “You said ten,” he said, rushing over to me. “You’re early.”

  “Make haste while the sun shines, Joel,” I quipped.

  He started rifling through the papers in his girly briefcase. “I’ve got to get it on the market first,” he complained.

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen, McGivern,” commented Tiger, blowing a plume of smoke in his direction.

  Joel coughed and waved his hand, trying to clear the air. “Do you need more time?”

  “No.” He puffed for a bit. “I’ve changed my mind. It’s not for sale.”

  I imagine that the face Joel pulled was very similar to how he would’ve looked after Bente kneed him in the groin, only more pained.

  “I need this sale,” he said desperately. “You need it too. You’re so far behind on your property taxes that you’re going to lose it anyway.”

  “May be,” Tiger agreed, “but it won’t happen today.”

  Joel’s face turned a strange shade of purple. I expected him to hit the deck at any second, but he recovered. He wagged his finger at Tiger, warned him he’d come to regret it, and stormed off.

  Now that the offer of sale had been withdrawn, I had no reason to stay either. I offered Tiger my hand, which he met with a firm shake. “It was nice meeting you, Mr Malone.”

  “You too, kid.”

  I ambled across the huge empty room, taking one last look at the broad who turned me down. Each step I took sent dust particles floating into the air, and the sun bleeding through the high windows made them twinkle like glitter. I wished Bridget was here to see it.

  I passed through the foyer and made my way to the door.

  Even the front doors were magnificent – solid and intricately carved. Just as I reached for the big brass handle, Tiger called me back. “Do you have a girl at home?” he asked irrelevantly.

  I turned back. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  I laughed at his audacious question. “She’s gorgeous.”

  “Can she dance?”

  “Like Ginger Rogers,” I declared.

  “That good, huh?” He tilted his head, puffing more smoke into the air. “I’ll tell you what – you bring your girl back here on Saturday night.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you to see this place at its best.”

  I took another look around. Clearly the place hadn’t been at its best for at least four decades, but I was intrigued. “We’ll be here, Mr Malone.”

  “You can call me Tiger,” he permitted.

  “Okay, you can call me Ryan.”

  “I could,” he replied. “But I’m going to call you kid.”

  40. OUTSIDE THE BOX

  Bente

  I’d never been very good at self-pity so my plan of wallowing on the couch and being depressed didn’t work. As soon as Ryan left, I showered, dressed and abandoned the bad attitude.

  Thankfully Noelle didn’t call me into work so the morning was mine, and I spent it working on an article that no one would ever read.

  Ryan arrived home just after two with a little person in tow.

  I knew Bridget was up to something the second I laid eyes on her. She was nowhere near as deft at the poker face as her mother. The sly French commentary between her and her uncle also sold her out. I closed my laptop and set it down on the coffee table. “What are you two up to?”

  Bridget answered, but it was no confession. “We’re not doing nothing.”

  “Anything,” corrected Ryan.

  Bridget took a flying leap over the arm of the couch and thumped down beside me. I didn’t dare chastise her for her stuntman move. The mere fact that she wanted to sit beside me was a major win. Ryan looked cagy, and was clearly concealing something behind his back.

  “And what do you have?” I asked. I doubt my smile was anywhere near as bright as his.

  “A surprise for you,” explained Bridget. “You can still be happy-dayed if it’s not your birthday.”

  “Ta daa!” sang Ryan. The big reveal was pecan pie.

  “Oh, my favourite! Thank you.”

  “You might not like it,” Bridget warned. “It’s got nuts in it.”

&nbs
p; Ryan set the pie down. “I thought it might cheer you up.”

  “Thank you,” I repeated. “But I’m fine. No point dwelling, right?”

  “Absolutely none,” he agreed. “And because you recognise that, you get pie.”

  I didn’t really feel as if I’d done anything to earn pie. Lying around the house wasn’t really a calorie-worthy activity. “How about we go to the park instead?”

  I knew Bridget would jump at the chance – I just wasn’t expecting her to be so literal about it. She began bouncing on the couch. “Yes!” she squealed. “We can search.”

  Ryan wasn’t so keen. “Can’t we find something else to do, just for a change?” Bridget wasn’t taking no for an answer. Perhaps knowing he was in for a long afternoon if he kept her holed up at home, Ryan backed down quickly.

  Half an hour later, we were wandering through the entrance of the park. Bridget walked a few feet ahead of us, gripping an old compass as if she truly needed direction.

  “Does she know what she’s doing?” I whispered.

  Ryan gave my hand a squeeze. “Bridget knows exactly what she’s doing,” he said quietly. “It’s the rest of the world that’s confused.”

  “What’s she looking for?”

  The explanation he gave was vague, but that wasn’t his fault. He didn’t have much hard information to go on.

  She just wasn’t normal. To say that Bridget Décarie thought outside the box would be an understatement. The dedication she had when it came to finding her imaginary place was far beyond her years. All kids go through stages, but they’re usually short-lived. Fabergé’s vegetarian phase lasted three days. Malibu went through a stage of only wearing blue. It lasted an hour and a half.

  I shook my head in wonder at the little girl a few feet ahead of us. “How will she know when she finds it?”

  “It’s supposedly very special,” Ryan explained. “There are flowers on the roof, and according to Bridget I’ll be able to see everything from there.”

  The investigative journalist in me kicked in. “If the view is good, it must be somewhere high.”

  He laughed. “Please don’t tell her that,” he exclaimed. “We’ll go from hanging out in the park to scaling the Empire State Building.”

  I didn’t doubt for a second that he’d take her there if she asked. The relationship between Ryan and Bridget was probably the most honest and pure he’d ever had. I’d long suspected that behind the tough exterior was a softer, sweeter man. I was just beginning to see glimpses of it, but the littlest Décarie only ever saw that side of him.

  “Don’t you get fed up, Ryan?” I was curious. “Coming to the park every day?”

  “No, not really,” he replied. “It’s good for me.”

  “It is,” I agreed, hooking my arm through his in a bid to get closer to him. “It takes the edge off your douche-like demeanour.”

  “Wonderful.” He punched out a hard laugh. “My very first girlfriend thinks I’m a douche.”

  “But you’re my douche, Ryan.”

  He kissed my hand. “Yes, I am.”

  41. ONE HIT WONDERS

  Ryan

  We walked for quite a while, but as usual didn’t cover much ground. The plan was to head back to the playground to kill the last hour before I took Bridget home.

  We’d just turned back when a woman walking pushing a stroller stopped us. “Hello Ryan, how are you?”

  I repeatedly blinked, trying to put a name to the face. Sneaking a quick look at the toddler sitting in the stroller didn’t help. I didn’t recognise him either.

  “Fine,” I replied, “how are you?”

  I could tell by the look on her face that she knew I was clueless.

  “I’m fine,” she replied simply.

  I nodded, unsure where to take the conversation next. Thankfully, Bridget provided the perfect distraction by striking up a conversation with her kid. “Hi boy,” she said cheerily. “Do you want to see my finder?” Predictably, the little guy made a grab for the compass as soon as she held it out. Even more predictably, Bridget had no intention of letting him anywhere near it. “You can’t touch it,” she instructed, stepping out of his reach. “Just look nicely at it.”

  I put my hand on Bridget’s shoulder and pulled her back toward me. The smile on mystery lady’s face didn’t waver but nothing about it seemed genuine. “So, you have a family too?” she asked.

  I could see how she’d jumped to the conclusion, but still felt awkward correcting her. “Ah, no. This is my girlfriend Bente and my niece, Bridget.”

  “Hi lady,” Bridget beamed.

  I silently begged her to ask the woman her name, but for once Bridget kept quiet. I remained clueless.

  “Well,” said the mystery woman, giving the stroller a push. “We should let you go.”

  “It was nice seeing you again,” I lied, half waving as she walked away.

  “Bye boy,” called Bridget.

  We’d only walked a few yards further when Bente murmured from the corner of her mouth. “You have no idea who she is, do you?”

  I shook my head. “No clue.”

  “Her name’s Vanessa.” I stared blankly at her. “She’s one of your one hit wonders. You met her at Nellie’s one night and took her home.”

  Despite the terrible tale, Bente didn’t seem too disgusted with me, even when I asked her for more details.

  “Seriously, Ryan. You don’t remember her?”

  “No.” I was mystified. “I have no idea who she is.”

  Bente frowned, showing the first hint of annoyance. “You gave her the usual ‘I’ll call you tomorrow line’.”

  “So?”

  “So, you never called her.”

  “I never called any of them,” I muttered, fighting the urge to cringe.

  “Yes, but you picked her up at Nellie’s so she knew where you worked,” she explained. “She showed up every night for a week looking for you.”

  “That had to be at least five years ago,” I grumbled. “How come you remember her?”

  “She was memorable, Ryan – almost stalker material. We used to call her Vanessa the distresser.”

  I glanced back at the woman pushing the stroller down the Mall, and quickly concluded that I was truly a despicable man.

  I called out to Bridget and ordered her not to walk any further ahead before turning my attention to Bente. “Will you wait here a minute?”

  She nodded. I lurched forward, kissed her lips and ran to catch up with the stroller.

  As soon as she was within earshot, I called out. The look on Vanessa’s face as she turned around was one of shock, but she let me catch up.

  “Can I have a moment?” I asked.

  “What for?”

  It nearly killed me, but I forced myself to look her in the eye. “Vanessa, I treated you horribly,” I told her. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m not that guy any more.”

  After considering my bumbled apology, she finally smiled. It wasn’t blinding, but it looked a damned sight more genuine than the one she’d given when she stopped me. “I really appreciate that.” She sounded a little melancholy. “No hard feelings.”

  I nodded, perfectly willing to leave it at that. “Thank you.”

  “Bye Ryan,” she said, already edging away from me. I mumbled a goodbye in return.

  I watched Vanessa wheeling her kid down the path for a long time. I wasn’t feeling redeemed, but I did feel hopeful. I truly wasn’t that guy any more. In time I hoped I’d forget all about him. It was unrealistic to think that every woman I’d scorned would too, but at least I’d managed to make amends with one.

  Needing a minute to think, I took my time getting back to the girls. Bridget was clearly tired of waiting. Knowing the leap she was about to take off the park bench probably wasn’t going to end well, I grabbed her and hoisted her onto my shoulders. “Get me higher to the sky, Ry,” she demanded, with a death grip on my neck. We continued our slow walk. Bente hooked her arm though mine and I hel
d Bridget’s feet.

  “How did it go?” she asked curiously.

  “Okay.” I couldn’t look at her. “Not my finest hour.”

  Bente tightened her hold on me. “I think it was.”

  “I don’t know how you put up with me.”

  “I didn’t put up with you back then,” she replied. “You were an asshole.”

  I stopped walking and turned to her. It was a move that made Bridget nervous. She nearly choked me in a bid to hang on tighter. Bente reached up and loosened her grip. “He’s got you, Bridge,” she assured the child. “And I’ve got him.”

  ***

  Women are dangerous creatures – at least mine was.

  The products littering the bathroom counter had the makings of a catastrophic chemical attack. Bente’s process of getting ready for a night on the town was complex and unnecessary. She was completely and utterly beautiful. Why she needed to spend an hour trying to improve on that bewildered me.

  I stood in the doorway trying to hurry her along. “We’re going to be late.”

  “Where are we going anyway?” she asked, swiping a big brush across her cheek.

  “I told you, to a club.”

  She paused the primping to ponder my explanation. I could almost see her mind ticking over. “A night club?”

  I wasn’t exactly sure what Tiger Malone’s establishment was so I avoided the question and begged her to hurry up.

  She finally downed tools and turned to face me. “Okay. I’m done.”

  For a quick moment, I reconsidered our plans. She was wearing the red dress that she’d worn on our first date. I loved that dress. It did strange things to my thought processes.

  “Is something wrong? Do I look alright?” She sounded worried. Perhaps my wide-eyed look of reverence was a strange one.

  “You’ll do.”

  Her concerned expression intensified. “I’ll change,” she said, pushing past me.

  I made a grab and pulled her in close. “I’m kidding,” I replied. “You’re beautiful.” I leaned in and kissed her. My effort was good, but nothing compared to hers. The red dress came with its own kissing technique.