by Vicki Grant
“Well, okay.” Dolores pulled her feet up and sat cross-legged on the seat. There was a big hole in the knee of her pink-striped leggings. “You still going out with Nick Jamieson?”
It was like putting a match next to a plastic bag. My skin shrunk up tight. Who’d she think she was asking me stuff like that? I gave a little shake of my head and turned away.
I could see the front door from here. What if I just stood up right now and walked out?
What difference would it make? I’d never escape. I’d never be free of this.
Dolores quit vacuuming the bottom of the glass and said, “Well. About time! The guy’s a total dickhead. So what happened?”
I literally gasped. No one had ever said anything like that about Nick. Everyone loved him. He was student council president. He was MVP of the rugby and hockey teams. He was athletic and good-looking and polite and an excellent student too.
Carly loves Nick. I realized I was breathing too hard.
Dolores put two fingers to her lips and went, “Ooooh. That bad, eh?”
That did it. I didn’t just feel uncomfortable any more. Suddenly, I felt angry too. I was angry at being made to feel uncomfortable.
“Yes. That bad,” I said. “I caught Nick kissing Carly Gaetz.” Not precisely true but I hoped it would shock Dolores into her place. Make her feel uncomfortable now.
Dolores banged her hand on the table and her mouth fell open. “You’re kidding? Carly, like, Gaetz?”
She started hooting and laughing. I could feel the heat rising up my neck.
“What’s so funny?” I said.
“Nick Jamieson and Carly Gaetz?” She grinned at the ceiling. “We’re talking Ken and Barbie here, folks! They’re so perfect for each other it’s comical. I can’t believe they didn’t find each other sooner.”
She took off her glasses and started cleaning them with the napkin she’d licked to wipe the table. “Let them rub their plastic body parts together as much as they want! Who cares? I never understood why you hung out with douchebags like them.” She put her glasses back on and blinked a couple of times.
Something about Dolores started to creep me out. How did she know all this stuff? How—or more importantly, why—had she bothered to form these opinions about me and my “friends”? I had this horrible feeling that I’d got myself a stalker.
I sat up a little straighter and tried to sound nonchalant. “So, uh, how’d you know Nick and I were dating?”
“Excusez-moi?” Dolores coughed like the dying hero in some bad play. “You think I’ve been in solitary confinement or something? You’ve clearly let my ghostly pallor deceive you. I’m not totally out of it, you know. By Citadel High standards, you’re like Beyoncé and”—she spun her hand in the air and looked around the café for inspiration—”and … Bob the Builder or Adolf Hitler or something. Everybody knows who you are. And everybody knows that Nick and Carly are douchebags. Or if they don’t, they should.”
Dolores might not have been a stalker but she was definitely insane. Nick and Carly were the most popular kids at school. I had to get out of here.
“Yeah, well. Whatever. That’s all behind me now, I guess.” I started to slide out of the booth.
“Really? Don’t you guys all work at Jitters Coffeehouse? That must be, like, mucho awkward.”
I tapped my fingers on the table. I could almost hear myself snap. I was going to shut this girl up once and for all.
“I don’t work there any more,” I said. My voice, my eyes, my lips were flat. “There’s where I caught them kissing. Now I’ve got to find myself another job so I can make enough money to get out of this hell hole. I was going to start a housecleaning service but decided against it. That’s why I’m leaving right now to Google ‘summer employment Halifax’ … Anything else you’d like to know? My social insurance number perhaps? My Facebook password?” I didn’t even pretend to smile.
“Oooh. Shouldn’t be giving that type of information out to strangers!” Dolores swung her feet back onto the floor and leaned across the table. “I would, however, like to know why you decided against the cleaning service. I mean, what’s the matter with you? That’s a brilliant idea!”
Dolores couldn’t even compliment a person without being irritating. I told myself to just shut up and go. Instead, I untwisted my mouth enough to say, “Well, you know about my little issue with hair …”
“Phht. Big deal. You’d get used to that in no time. So what do they pay cleaning people these days? Ten, twelve bucks an hour?”
Again, should have shut up but didn’t. I couldn’t miss this opportunity to make Dolores look stupid. “No, more like twenty.”
“Twenty!” The dreadlocked waitress stopped with her tongs hovering over the biscotti jar and looked at us. Dolores gave her a fake wave, then whispered to me at the top of her lungs. “You nuts? For twenty bucks an hour, you can’t stand a few hairs?”
At that moment, I truly hated Dolores. I wanted to say something so cruel, so cutting that it would positively impale her. I pictured an old-fashioned jousting pole going right through Tinky Winky’s big purple belly.
“I mean, really.”
Dolores tilted her head at a jaunty angle. She looked like a pretentious pigeon.
That’s when I gave up. It wasn’t just that I was losing. I felt dirty even being involved in the conversation. I wasn’t the type of person to hate people, to say mean things to them, to fantasize about impaling them, pounding them, smashing their little green heads repeatedly with empty smoothie glasses.
I said, “Yeah, well. It’s not happening anyway so doesn’t matter. Gotta go. See ya.” I stood up to leave.
Dolores yelled, “Stop!” and the waitress looked over again.
I sat back down. I really couldn’t handle a scene right now.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking about my mother.”
I closed my eyes.
“My mother always says the universe will provide. ‘Cast your desires out upon the waters and they will come back fulfilled!’ Something like that. Whatever. Sounds corny but she’s right. It’s like me and the smoothie. I needed something to cheer me up. I had no money. I walk into Zinnia’s—and bingo! There’s my old friend sitting here with an untouched smoothie. That’s how it works. Same thing with the cleaning business. Know what I mean?”
No. I didn’t know what she meant. I was still stunned hearing Dolores refer to me as her “old friend.” I shook my head.
“Come on! It’s so obvious. You need a job. I need a job. You’ve got the idea. I’ve got the stronger gag reflex. It’s fate taking care of us!” Dolores threw her arms open. “Seriously. Let’s do it together!”
When will this nightmare end?
I chose my words carefully. “Yeah, well, look. It’s not a good idea to rush into something like this and I’ve really got to go. Why don’t we just sort of think it over and maybe talk about it some other time, or whatever, okay?”
“Sure. Great. Great!” Dolores made her hand into a little fist and shook it above her head. It made her look like a really hip senior citizen.
I nodded vaguely and headed for the door. Why hadn’t I done that ages ago? I stepped back out into the sunlight and sighed.
Dolores, I realized, was right about one thing. Fate does have a way of looking after you.
Fate, in fact, had just talked to me. It told me to go back to bed. At least I’d be safe there.
Chapter 6
My big mistake had been to show any signs of life. All I wanted to do after that thing with Dolores was hole up and let the world carry on without me, but once Mom realized I was capable of getting myself out of bed and to the doctor’s office, she assumed I was also capable of existing as a legitimate human being again. She was on my back constantly now, nagging me to perk up, pull myself together, make an effort, fake it. “Betsy!”
What was s
he screaming about now? I rolled over in bed and checked the clock. 7:43. The wake-up calls didn’t usually start until quarter after eight. That gave Mom fifteen minutes for her pep talks before she had to head off to work.
“Sweet-ie!” At least it was the carrot instead of the stick today. “Can you come downstairs? … Now? Please?” I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling. Why was it okay for Hank to sleep in but I always had to get up? Why would I even want to get up? It’s not like I had anything to actually live for these days.
“Bets?”
I could hear the click of her shoes starting up the stairs. Damn. I slammed my hand on the bed and said, “Coming.”
I really, really didn’t want my mother in my room. She’d start opening windows, putting things away, nattering on about how much better I’d feel if I just called a friend, took some pride in my appearance, ate better, exercised, “pursued an interest,” whatever.
Well, you know what? I tried the outside world and I didn’t like it. Moreover, it didn’t like me. Isolation suited me just fine.
I got up anyway. I pulled on the same T-shirt and shorts I wore every morning for these little mother-daughter chats. As I did up my fly, I started working on phony plans for the day. I’d tell Mom I was going to drop off some resumés at the West End Mall this morning. That should keep her happy for a while. I could go back to bed as soon as she left for work.
I schlepped down the stairs, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand. Mornings never used to give me headaches.
“Ah! You’re awake. Great! Look who’s here for you …”
Nick. Carly. Brianna. Nick … Terror — I’m not exaggerating—had me by the throat. My hand slid down my face.
Dolores was standing at the bottom of the stairs next to my mother. She was wearing a pink T-shirt and a pair of white bunny ears. She held a bulging plastic grocery bag with one hand and waved with the other hand as if she were a contestant on American Idol.
I hung on to the railing and tried to process what was happening. I was relieved, then confused, then ultimately horrified, all within seconds.
Mom had a mischievous look on her face that was frankly too cute for a woman her age to pull off. “Betsee. Why didn’t you tell me to get you up earlier? I didn’t know a thing about your cleaning job until Dolores mentioned it this very minute!”
Dolores’s face crinkled up like you’re kidding!
Mom raised a finger and said, “I’ll just throw a slice of bread in the toaster for you. Get your shoes on and I’ll drop the two of you off on the way to work.”
I waited until she’d disappeared into the kitchen, then I lunged down the stairs at Dolores.
“What’s this all about?” I didn’t say it so much as exhale it in her face.
Dolores lifted her eyebrows. “What’s what all about?” She looked around the foyer and whistled. “Didn’t realize how rich you were. Whoa. What do you think a house like this is worth, anyway?”
I wasn’t going to let her put me off. I gritted my teeth and said, “The cleaning job.” I knew I had morning breath but I didn’t care. “Who said anything about us working together?”
Dolores rubbed the wooden knob at the bottom of the railing like it was the belly of a Buddha statue. “I thought we’d agreed.”
“No. We did not. And even if we had, you should have called me before setting something up.”
That offended her—or at least she wanted to make me think it did. “I tried! You don’t go on Facebook. I didn’t have your cell phone number. There were no Wickwires listed on Oakland Road …”
“How did you even know I live on Oakland Road?”
“Easy. My cousin Hannah had this thing with Rob Jardine who played hockey with Carly’s brother and …”
I put my hand up to stop her. “Forget it. Fine.” I didn’t need any more of the creepy backstory.
I could hear Mom finishing up with the toast and knew it was hopeless. My mother/Dolores. Frying pan/fire. I was outmanoeuvred.
“Where’s this job?” I said.
“On Churchill Street. A lady named Tish Latimer. She sounds nice.” Dolores smiled as if it was all settled, then. I shoved my feet into my sneakers. There had to be a way out of this. I took a long time tying the laces and thought it through. Mom could drop us off on Churchill Street as per the plan and I’d just ditch Dolores there. Mom didn’t need to find out. I’d come up with an excuse later to explain why we weren’t cleaning houses any more.
“I made two pieces for you … Sure you don’t want any, Dolores? It’s no trouble.” Mom was smiling wildly. It was the way she used to smile whenever Nick walked in the room. She had no right to be that pleased about anything—then or now.
“Okay. Let’s go!” I said, all fake and eager. “Don’t want to be late.”
Don’t want to be, period.
“Wait. Gotta put this on first.” Dolores handed me a pink T-shirt, just like the one she was wearing.
“Isn’t that adorable?” Mom actually clapped her hands in delight. “Did you make it yourself?”
Dolores went for a humble shrug.
Mom read: “Lapins de … Poussière?”
“That’s ‘dust bunnies’ in French. Adds a little touch of faux class, I thought.”
Mom clamped her teeth over her bottom lip and shook her head at the charming cleverness of it all. “‘We’ll work our tails off for you!’ Won’t people get a kick out of that! … C’mon, Betsy. Put it on. Put it on!”
I just had to go to another place in my head. There was no other option. I had to smile in as real a way as possible so that Mom didn’t take me aside later for the attitude lecture again. I had to put on the T-shirt. I had to put on the ears. I had to —yes —Velcro on the big white fluffy tail that Dolores pulled out of her shopping bag. Then I just had to make it as far as Churchill Street.
It was like exam time or suicide sprints or eating something you hate when you’re having dinner at someone else’s place. You don’t think you’re going to be able to survive but you do and then it’s over and you forget about it.
Dolores sat in the front seat of the car and chatted away happily about “our” cleaning service. Mom responded like the gung-ho Public Relations executive she was.
“Betsy! You didn’t tell me it was your idea!”
“You built your own website for it, Dolores? I’m very impressed.”
“That many calls? Really? In just a week? No wonder. It’s very hard to find a cleaning lady these days.”
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Dolores. Very few young people show this kind of initiative. Keep it up and you’ll go far!”
Not far enough, I thought. What had I done to deserve this? In my heart I knew I was somehow to blame. I watched as the houses whipped past and thought about Nick and Carly in the kitchen at Jitters. It almost seemed like the good old days. At least that sort of made sense.
The car pulled over and we got out. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Wickwire,” Dolores said. “Oh, my pleasure! And please—call me Kristi.” I waited until the car disappeared around the corner before I turned to Dolores. “I’m not doing this.” “What are you talking about?” “I’m not cleaning houses with you.”
Dolores threw her arms back and stuck her neck out. Classic angry goose pose. “What? You can’t desert me like this. I’ve got appointments set up. People are expecting us.”
“Well, you should have called me before, then.” At that moment, I understood the simple joy teachers must feel refusing late assignments.
“I told you! I couldn’t! It’s just lucky I even remembered where you lived, otherwise …”
A door opened up the street. “Yoo-hoo! Hello? Are you the cleaners?”
A tall grey-haired woman dressed in skinny black jeans and a black T-shirt was waving from the front steps of a small red house. I could hear the tinkle of her bracelets from the sidewalk.
Dolores waved back. “Yup. That’s us.”
Us.
A second ago, I’d foolishly believed I had the upper hand. Dolores grabbed me by the arm and started walking toward the house.
“Sorry,” the lady said. “Forgot to mention our street numbers had fallen off. Hope you didn’t have any trouble finding us … Love the outfits, by the way. Come on in.”
There was really nothing else I could do. I went in.
We took off our sneakers and left them in the pile of shoes already littering the hallway. The lady led us into the living room and laughed apologetically. The place was bright and cheery but crazy messy. Books, newspapers, dishes, clothes, miscellaneous junk was everywhere. No worse than my own bedroom, of course, but I was still a little taken aback. Mom always tidied up before our cleaning woman came.
“Look,” the lady said, “I know it’s a disaster. Just do your best. Focus on the bathrooms—there’s one at the end of the hall, one at the top of the stairs. I’d love it if you could do the floors and give the kitchen a bit of a wipe too, but there’s only so much you can do in a couple of hours. Don’t even bother with the bedrooms. The kids are still asleep anyway. I doubt they’ll be up before you leave.”
She checked her watch. “Eek. My meeting’s in twenty minutes. Gotta run.” She pointed. “Cleaning supplies under sink. Broom and mop in closet. Money on counter.”
She kicked the shoes aside and headed out the door. “Bon courage, girls!”
I stood in the hall until she left. Dolores went to the cupboard and took out bottles of Windex, Javex, Tilex and Vim. “This should do it,” she said, as if we’d never even had our little conversation on the sidewalk.
“Oh, and I got you these too.” She dug in her plastic bag and pulled out a pair of pink rubber gloves with wispy fake fur around the wrists.
“I told you. I’m not doing this,” I said. “You set this up. It’s your problem.”
Dolores let her jaw kind of dangle for a couple of seconds. “You expect me to clean all this? By myself? Seriously?”
“Yup. Seriously. See ya.”
I headed for the door—and freedom—but Dolores beetled around and blocked my way.
She clasped her hands in front of her chest. “Please. You’re right. I shouldn’t have organized anything without talking to you first, but I did and that was stupid. I’m sorry. But you’ve got to understand—if I screw up with these people they won’t call me back and I really need the money. Just help me today, then I’ll figure something else out for the rest of my appointments. I promise. Seriously. I promise.”