After You've Gone

by Lori Hahnel

  “You haven’t heard me say anything about anything recently. We never see each other. And when we do, one of us is either on the way out the door or already asleep. I thought hiring someone might help with that, too.”

  “All right. Don’t get excited about it. I think we can go ahead and hire someone.”

  Hang on tight to that beer, Elsa. “I’m not excited about anything. I just don’t appreciate your attitude sometimes.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”

  I looked him in the eye. Sure, you didn’t. “All right, then. So I was thinking maybe we’d look at hiring someone for fifteen or twenty hours a week to start with, see how it goes.”

  “Sure. Are you going to advertise?”

  “Not right away. I know a couple of people who might be interested. I’ll ask around.”

  Kirk Davis played crazy kamikaze high-speed guitar, a bit like Yngwie Malmsteen but rougher, not so frilly, in a band called Monkey’s Uncle that we’d recorded a single with a few years earlier. The record didn’t go anywhere, nor did the band, and they broke up. The old story, you know. But Kirk hung around the scene, I saw him at shows. Not that I went out to shows recreationally much by this time. Even though I no longer had a child at home to think about, I found the late nights just took too much out of me, and the people coming out seemed younger and younger all the time. But I would usually go and sell records if one of our acts was playing in town. I’d show up and check things out, set up at a table near the doors, hang around for a while. If things were going too late or if I was getting bored I’d pass on the sales to a trustworthy band member, or simply pack up and go home. The Saturday night after Mark and I went to the Dock for dinner I was packing up during the set break of a Knuckledragger show at the University when Kirk appeared.

  “Elsa! How are you?” He was a lean, loose-limbed guy with waves of dark blond hair framing his face. His faded black Howlin’ Wolf T-shirt had a couple of small holes in it. Holy shirt.

  “Hey, Kirk. I’m good. How are you?”

  “Good. Hey, you’re not going already, are you?”

  “Well, yes. I am.” I couldn’t help smiling. “These late night shows are too much for an old lady like me.”

  “Old lady nothing. Why is it that every time I see you somewhere, you’re just leaving?

  “Am I?”

  “You are. I’m starting to think it’s something personal.”

  “I just can’t handle late nights anymore.”

  “You like Howlin’ Wolf?” he asked with a grin. I realized my eyes had wandered again to the holes in his shirt.

  “Of course. Nice shirt.” I cleared my throat. “Listen, how’d you like to do me a favour?”

  “Anytime.”

  “Would you be interested in selling some of The Knuckledraggers’ CDs for me?”

  “You trust me, do you?”

  “Sure. And I’ve only got about ten left, so it’s not like I stand to lose that much money if I turn out to be wrong.”

  “No worries. For you, anything.”

  “That’s perfect. So they’re fifteen bucks each. If you could drop by the office with any money you get and any CDs you don’t sell, I’d be eternally grateful.”

  “Grateful enough to buy me lunch?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s a deal, then.”

  “Thanks, Kirk. I really appreciate it. We’ll see you soon.”

  As I drove back to Fremont, I wondered if I’d see any money, or the CDs. But I’d always liked Kirk. He was easy to talk to, funny. Quite nice looking. Nice looking enough that my judgment was a little clouded, I wondered? Maybe. Yes, maybe.

  So I was completely pleased when he showed up at the Curse office at noon that Monday. He walked in without a word, smiling, reached into the inside pocket of his brown corduroy coat and put a wad of money down in front of me.

  “Good morning,” I said. “Oh my God. Did you sell them all?”

  “Good afternoon. I sold them all. And there’s your $150.”

  “Wow. Thank you so much. You’re a salesman. I have to say, I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.”

  “No?”

  “In fact, I wasn’t sure that I’d see you again at all.”

  He pouted. “I’m hurt.”

  “Well, I apologize. I misjudged you.”

  “I accept your apology. So what about that lunch?”

  “Today?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Why not, indeed? We did not go to the Fremont Dock for lunch. Instead we went to Costas Opa and had Greek. I’d been there lots of times before, although never with Mark. When it came to food, Mark was not adventurous at all. The older we got, the less adventurous he seemed to become. Kirk and I ordered calamari, horatiki and a half carafe of retsina. Well, we started with a half carafe, that is. When I came back from the washroom at one point, the empty half carafe was gone and there was another in its place.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “We were just having such a cool time talking and all . . . ”

  I smiled and wondered whether he would have ordered another if he’d been the one buying lunch. “That’s all right. You’re right, it’d be a shame to break up the nice chat we’ve been having. And besides, the boss said I could I have the afternoon off.”

  “Did she?”

  “She did.”

  “Well, isn’t that interesting?”

  We seemed to be able to talk so easily. Of course, we had band stories to swap, we could talk music. I could have talked anything with him, it wouldn’t have mattered. He really was handsomer than I had noticed, in a scruffy way. I’ve always liked the scruffy ones. His leg kept brushing mine under the table, then he rested his knee up against my thigh. Wow. Long time since that kind of thing had happened, no kidding. After lunch we stumbled out of the restaurant. Well, maybe he didn’t, but I did. It didn’t take much for me anymore.

  “Holy shit, it’s bright out here,” he said, squinting as he checked his pockets. “And I left my sunglasses at home.”

  “You musicians ought to get out in the daylight a little more. The Vitamin D would do you wonders.”

  “Seriously, I need my sunglasses. Do you want to come up to my apartment with me while I get them?”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “That’s the best you can come up with?”

  “What?”

  “You can’t think of a better line than that?”

  “Okay, how about this: Hey, Elsa. You want to come up to my apartment and have some fun?”

  Fun. That sounded like . . . fun. I took a deep breath and let it out again. “Oh, boy. It’s tempting.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “Bunch of stuff. It’s kinda complicated. Can we go for a coffee instead?”

  He put his arm around me and gave me a little squeeze. “Sure.”

  So Tuesday I called him first thing after I got into the office. He didn’t answer, so I left a message for him to call me.

  I picked up the phone on the second ring. “Good morning, Curse Records.”

  “Hey, Elsa. It’s Kirk.” His voice sounded a little husky.

  “Oh, you weren’t sleeping, were you?”

  “Well, I was when you called. I let it ring through, ‘cause I’m not much of a conversationalist first thing.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I had kind of a late night after a long lunch yesterday. So, uh, did you change your mind?”

  “Change my mind? I — no. Well, this isn’t about that.”

  He laughed. His laugh was deep and rich and round and I could feel it through the phone, almost. “Isn’t about what?”

  “Listen, you. This is about business. How’d you like a job?”

  “A job? Doing what?”

  “I need someone to help me out in the office here.”

  “Really? That sounds interesting.”

  “Do you want to come in and talk about it?”

  “Sure. Over lun
ch?”

  Musicians. “Tell you what. You come in the office and we’ll get this sorted out and then maybe we’ll see.”

  “How about this? I’ll have a shower and see you in about an hour. We’ll talk and then I’ll take you out for lunch this time.”

  “You’re on.”

  Kirk’s apartment was nicer than I expected it to be, not the stereotypically messy bachelor pad I was picturing. And had been picturing all through lunch. The guitars were all on stands. The concert posters were mostly framed. Empties and pizza boxes did not litter the floor. I even saw a few plants — houseplants, that is.

  He was eager to work for Curse. And we figured we’d see how fifteen hours a week would go at first — three afternoons. After all, we wouldn’t want him to have to get up too early. After we got that worked out, we went for Italian food, had a little red wine — only a single half carafe this time.

  And then we ended up at his place. That’s not to say that I didn’t have misgivings, didn’t feel guilty. I did. And yet, I had developed a huge crush on Kirk. Sure, he was attractive, and funny, and sweet, all of that was great. But the thing was, we could talk, really talk. And he was actually interested in me. There was a part of me that was not going to let an opportunity like this go by. Absolutely not. Life is too short. Besides, my body was telling me it was way too late to change my mind now. Way too late.

  Twenty-Nine

  Elsa

  Seattle, Washington

  October 2006

  I LIKED THE RECORDING TECHNICIAN WE used for sessions at Ballard Studios. He was really good. Good ear, good instincts. His name was John Lair, an older guy. He made me think a little of George Martin, the Beatles’ longtime producer: tall, soft-spoken. Must have been quite handsome when he was younger. Then it turned out he was from Regina, too. He and I were listening one night to takes of a jazz group we were doing an EP for and he mentioned that the guitarist was using a National steel guitar.

  “I thought so,” I said. “Sounds just like my grandmother’s guitar.”

  He gave me a sidelong glance. “Your grandmother’s guitar?”

  “Yeah. She has a beautiful National steel guitar. Resonator type, late 20s model, I think. I learned how to play on it when I was just a small fry.”

  He had an odd look on his face, like I’d just said something really weird.

  I couldn’t help laughing. “What’s the matter? You look like kind of shocked. Is it so odd that my grandmother taught me to play?”

  “No. It’s not that at all. I just used to know someone — a woman in Regina who played a National guitar.”

  “Yeah?”

  He blinked. “Your grandmother’s name wasn’t Lita, was it?”

  “Yeah! Still is. Lita Koudelka. Lita Stone.”

  He stroked his jaw. “Played in a jazz group in the 30s, right?”

  “The Syncopation Five. Oh, my God. How do you know her? You’re not that old.”

  “I met her when I was working at Regina Public Library in the 60s. She was looking after the daughter of someone she was in a group with. A Gypsy group, I think.”

  “Oh, that’s crazy. Ochi Chornya.”

  “That’s right. She brought her guitar in for story hour a few times. She was good. Really good.”

  “And did you know she won that guitar in a poker game?”

  “I know. She told me all about it one day.”

  “No kidding. That’s so insane that you knew her.”

  “It is. So how’s she keeping these days?”

  “She’s all right. In pretty good health as far as I know. My grandfather passed away quite a long time ago, also in the 60s, and she never remarried.”

  “Is that right? Does she still play?”

  “She does. She’s been at it a lot the last few years.”

  “That’s excellent.”

  He was quiet for a long while after that. John was that way — either talk, talk, talk or very quiet.

  It’s so weird. What a small world it is.

  Later that night, at home, I couldn’t stop thinking about Grandma Lita and how I missed her. She and I could talk in a way that Mom and I never could. A personality thing, partly, I suppose — we’re a lot alike. I wished I could talk to her then, about all the stuff going on. Kirk and Mark mostly. And I knew that if I picked up the phone right then and started telling her, she would listen. She would let me cry on her shoulder. But I didn’t know that even Lita would get this thing between me and Kirk. She was an extremely cool person, especially for her generation. She was also good, in a way that I never have been. I mean, she was married to Grandpa Bill and after he died she married Grandpa Jake, and she was married to him for close to thirty years. She never remarried after that. Mom would just call me trashy if I told her about Kirk. I know that. Lita, I think I could go there with her, maybe. But I wasn’t sure. And I was kind of ashamed. Although I was pretty sure she’d be cool with it, I hated to think of her thinking less of me. I just couldn’t take that chance.

  Things got serious between me and Kirk pretty quickly and went on underground. I felt awful about Mark. But I couldn’t help but think this wouldn’t have happened if our relationship hadn’t deteriorated quite as much as it had. Kirk and I spent a lot of time together — of course, being co-workers was part of it, but we were together a lot of time outside work, too. Mark didn’t really seem to notice or care. He worked long hours, and at night seemed only to want to sit in front of the TV watching sports, which just added fuel to the fire as far as my feelings for Kirk went. Finally, one night after about six months I decided to tell him what was going on. He was watching football. I sat down on the arm of the couch beside him. He didn’t look at me, didn’t say anything.

  “Mark. We need to talk.”

  As soon as I said that, I realized I should have worded it differently. Those words are guaranteed to get people’s backs up. He sighed, looked at me. “What’s up?”

  “Can we talk with the TV off? This is kind of important.”

  He switched the TV off, waited for me to begin.

  I cleared my throat. “ I’m thinking about moving out.”

  “Moving out? Why?”

  “A lot of reasons. I know it seems sudden, but I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. For one thing, it seems like things just aren’t working between us. We don’t talk anymore, not really. You don’t seem interested in me. And sex. Well, you know that hasn’t been happening for a long time.”

  “There’s someone else.”

  “Well. Yes. There is.”

  “It’s Kirk, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew it. I knew it as soon as you hired him. The way you talk about him, how good he is at his job, the funny things he says.”

  “Well, he talks to me. At least he’s interested in what I have to say.”

  Mark was hunched on the edge of the couch now, took a long swill of his beer. Red crept into his face. I hadn’t seen him this animated in months. “So that’s what you’re up to all the time. You’re out with him.”

  “Yes, I am. I love him.”

  For just a second, I was afraid of him, and I never had been before. The muscles in his cheeks rippled, his nostrils flared, and I thought he might hit me. Then he seemed to calm down a little, sat back into the couch.

  “Mark, it’s not that I love him and don’t love you. You know I love you and I always will. But our love has changed. Our lives have changed. I feel like you don’t care about me anymore, like you’re not interested in me anymore.”

  “That’s not true, Elsa. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  “But then why do you ignore me so much of the time? Why do you fall asleep in front of the TV night after night instead of talking to me?”

  “I work all day, dammit. I’m tired. And then you want to sit here and talk. I just want to relax. I watch TV so I can relax.”

  “You never used to be like that. Back in the band days you loved to talk, loved to go out.
You had so much energy, so many ideas. When you had the idea for Curse, it was like nothing could ever stop you.”

  “Yeah. Well, that was like twenty years ago. Life changes. I’m not the same person I was twenty years ago. Are you?”

  “No. Of course not. But I still love music and I’m not prepared to spend the rest of my days watching TV. When Bill moved out, I hoped maybe we would recapture the old life a little bit. We have the freedom again. But you just don’t seem interested.”

  He went to the kitchen and got another beer. He cracked it open and took a long draw on it before he answered. “So I figure I deserve some rest after working all day. And because of that, you have an affair.”

  “Mark. Please listen — ”

  “No, Elsa. You listen. I think you’ve made up your mind. You’re moving in with him?”

  “Well, I wanted to talk it over with you before I decided for sure.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, you’re free to go. Anytime.”

  “That’s it? After all these years, that’s all you have to say?”

  “Maybe you should of thought of that before you started fucking Kirk. Maybe you should have mentioned it earlier. You are my wife, after all these years. ”

  Before I could say anything else, he continued. “I think you should go now. I don’t want you here anymore.”

  “Mark, I was really hoping we could have a reasonable discussion about this.”

  “Not tonight. Go stay with him. I’ll call you in a few days.”

  I went upstairs and called Kirk to tell him I was coming. I cried silently as I folded clothes and supplies into a backpack. I couldn’t really blame Mark. I probably would have done the same thing if it’d been me. But I couldn’t help the way I felt about Kirk, the way I felt about our marriage. And somehow I hadn’t thought this part of it would hurt so much.

  I went to the bathroom, blew my nose and cleaned up a little. Then I got my purse and my backpack and went back to the living room.

  “Mark. I’m going now. But I’ll talk to you soon, okay.”

  He wouldn’t even turn from the TV. “Goodbye.”

  I closed the front door behind me, got into my car, and started for Kirk’s. While I couldn’t actually say that at that moment I felt much better, it wasn’t long before I did. I had put something really hard behind me. It was done.