The Greatest Hits of Wanda Jaynes

by Bridget Canning

  “Get that away!” Her voice scrapes. “Don’t hurt me.”

  “This?” He holds it up and looks at her. His shape blurs and swims in the sharp florescent light. “It’s a pricing gun.”

  She turns and scatters towards the automatic doors. Outside, she leans against the brick exterior. Deep breaths. She bends her knees and slides into a sitting position. Where is her phone? Please, Ivan, be up. It rings three times and answers.

  “Hello there.” Not Ivan, but completely familiar.

  “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Leo. Ivan forgot his phone here last night.”

  Of course he did. Not the first time. She groans slightly.

  “You okay?”

  “No. I just…had a panic attack or something. I think.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Sobeys on Merrymeeting.”

  “Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  “I need a ride.” Her legs feel light and hollow, like plastic straws.

  “I’m leaving now.”

  In what seems like ten seconds later, Leo’s red Tercel pulls into the parking lot. Thank fuck he’s alone. Couldn’t deal with questions from Trish right now, all wide concerned eyes and bitten bottom lip. Leo parks the car by the curb and sprints out. She starts rising, but he scoops her up effortlessly and carries her, baby-style, to the car. He lays her softly in the passenger seat. The car smells like pine air freshener and the dashboard is glazed with dust. Leo closes his door and turns to her. “Hospital?”

  “No, I’m okay now.”

  He stares at her blankly. “Really, I’m okay,” she says. “It was just a few seconds.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I walked in and couldn’t breathe.”

  “Fucking grocery stores.” Leo shakes his head. “It’s too soon for you.”

  “I thought it would be okay. I was in a Shoppers Drug Mart this week, it was fine.”

  “All these grocery chains design their stores the same way. This one looks like the other one. Guaranteed to bring it all back.”

  “Great. I can never take advantage of double Air Miles points again.”

  “It’s to be expected. And I doubt you’re the only one.”

  She gestures to the far side of the parking lot, facing Newtown Road and the blue house. “Can we just park over there for a few minutes? I think they ticket you if you stay in front of the entrance like this.”

  They park at the edge of the lot. She can see the front door of the blue house. The light flickers in the window, like someone shifted the curtain to look out. She pulls her hood over her ears.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Leo says. “I think I have some water here.”

  “I’m okay.” She notices the CBTG’s stamp on the back of his hand. “Have fun last night?”

  “It was okay. Some band from Corner Brook,” Leo says. “I only had a couple of beer. Ivan got on the rum and cokes though. Trish too. I had to take care of both of them.”

  She steadies herself from flinching. Both of them. Out on a tear with Trish. Good ol’ Trish, so much fun. Never says no to things. Maybe they can start their own YouTube channel.

  “Yeah,” she says, “he was out cold when I left.”

  “Did you walk here?” Leo asks.

  “I needed some fresh air.” The door to the blue house opens and the Pomeranian pops out followed by Karl with the leash. Here we go. “Leo, I need you to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “See that guy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think he’s the one who’s been emailing me.”

  “The poodle guy?” Leo squints at him. “How do you know?”

  “It’s a Pomeranian. Can we follow him, please? I just need to see something.”

  Leo blinks at her and starts to say something, but stops. He watches Karl make his way down the street. “We’d have to go pretty slow.”

  “We can just hang back.” Karl and the dog cross Newtown Road and continue down Merrymeeting.

  “Okay. Wanda Jaynes and the Secret Agents.” Leo starts the car. They wait until Karl is almost out of sight to leave the parking lot. By the time they get to the bottom of Merrymeeting, he is heading towards Military Road.

  “He said he lived by the park.”

  “Are you stalking him? This is fucked up.”

  “I met him a few days ago.” She tells him about Karl’s Catcher in the Rye picture. They follow Karl for five minutes or so, pulling over twice when he crosses the street and when he stops to talk to a man with a golden retriever. Finally, he ducks down Knight Street. When the car reaches the entrance to the street, they catch a glimpse of Karl closing the door of a house at the end.

  “So,” Leo says, “you meet this guy, he adds you on Facebook and his picture might connect to the email address?”

  “And he works at the university, where the emails originated. I know it sounds stupid. I’m just trying to know for sure.”

  “Almost everyone has read that book. I had to do it in grade twelve. It’s in the curriculum.”

  “I know. But it’s all I have right now.”

  “K.” Leo’s mouth broods. “Be careful. Just be clear-headed about this, please.”

  “I am careful. I’m trying to be. I don’t even drive right now.”

  “I think you should talk to somebody. The shooting alone is enough to have to deal with, let alone the media scrutiny. It’s like I said to Iv…I think you should take it easy.”

  So they did discuss the offers last night. What did Ivan have to say? Enough to make him want to get loaded and forget about it for a few hours. “Thanks for understanding,” she says.

  “It’s nothing.” Leo smiles with warmth and, in spite of herself, a sprout of goose bumps manifests on her arms.

  “Why don’t we take you home?” he says. “If Ivan wakes up without his phone, he might go into withdrawal.”

  The house smells like pizza. Neko Case plays on the stereo.

  “Hey, baby.” Ivan sprawls on the couch, damp hair, pajama pants, pizza slice on a plate balanced on his chest. In a Google search of “comfortable,” he’d be a stock photo. Meanwhile, Wanda’s hangovers can render her immobile in bed, all day.

  “Good walk?”

  “It was alright.” The smell of pizza triggers her empty stomach. She hasn’t had anything besides orange juice all day. Which probably contributed to the dizziness in the store.

  “Was that Leo’s car outside?”

  “Yes. Here’s your phone.” She walks to the kitchen. The Eddie’s Pizza box is on the counter. She tugs off a slice and finds a plate.

  “Who’s Karl Prendergast?” he calls. She freezes as she lays the plate in the microwave.

  “Huh?”

  “You left your Facebook open on his profile. He looks like one of the Addams Family.”

  What to say. Who is Karl? Is he a stalker? How insane is she for following him around all morning? “I met him a couple of days ago and he added me on Facebook. He seems a bit spooky.” She presses the start button and watches the plate rotate inside the microwave. Forty-five seconds. She brings the hot plate to the living room and sits beside him.

  She’s about halfway through when he takes a deep breath and begins. “So, I was talking to Trish last night about things, you know, these offers and stuff.”

  Of course you were. She fixates on her slice of pizza. Bite marks like half-moons.

  “She has this idea for an art project,” he says. “Photographs of real heroes. She’s already recruited some local activists to pose. You would be great in it.”

  Wanda takes a bite. Chewing is soothing to her stomach.

  “She has some good ideas,” he says. “And it’s not like you’d be working with some ambitiou
s journalist who might take any angle.”

  “Sure,” she nods and swallows. “I’d just be helping advance Trish’s career. Who isn’t ambitious at all.”

  “Well, yes, it would be helping her. She’s your friend.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And I think it would be good for you, too.”

  “How is modelling good for me?”

  “Art can be very therapeutic.”

  “If you’re making it. It’s her photo project, not mine.”

  “But, by contributing, you’re part of the process. I play with other musicians all the time. You get into other people’s ideas, you see how they think. It’s been really inspiring for me—”

  “Can I just eat my goddamn pizza?” She lets the crust drop to the plate in a weak plop. “Jesus Christ, with the sermon.”

  He stands and hikes up his pajama pants. “Just putting it out there.” He strides to the bedroom and shuts the door behind him.

  She spends the rest of the day watching reruns in the living room while Ivan naps in the bedroom or putters around, sending a hundred thousand text messages. Neither of them cook supper; they graze on leftovers and snack food. Mrs. Medeiros calls her that evening. Her voice is hot and hushed in Wanda’s ear. “Helen and I talked this afternoon about that man. From what she says, I think he is very strange.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Two years ago, he was at a staff Christmas party. It was the library employees and he was invited because he helped set up some computer program for them. There was a young girl there as well, a student, she worked in the archives part-time. Very pretty girl.” Mrs. Medeiros pauses to breathe. Ivan is at the computer upstairs. Wanda moves into the kitchen to make sure she’s out of earshot.

  “Anyway, this young girl drank a lot of wine and got silly. She danced with everyone and kissed this Karl man under the mistletoe. He walked her home after the party. Something might have happened. Helen doesn’t know. But the girl wasn’t interested in him, you see. The next week when everyone was back at work, he asked her out. She said no. But he didn’t stop asking. For three months, he emailed her all the time. Messages, stories, pictures he took. He wrote her poems. She said no again and again and then stopped responding. He kept going, on and on with the messages. Who does that? Who writes over and over when someone has already said no? When they don’t say anything back?” Mrs. Medeiros clucks her tongue. “Very strange. And now, you get emails and you don’t respond and they keep coming.”

  “I agree, that is odd.” The stairs creak. Wanda looks up. Ivan walks to the front door in his jeans and a fresh shirt. He puts on his jacket.

  “Thank you for letting me know,” she says. “It’s nice to know you care.”

  “It’s my pleasure to help you,” Mrs. Medeiros says. “Anything for family.”

  “I feel the same.” She watches the back of Ivan’s jean jacket vanish out the door.

  13

  To: JaynesWanda@nlil.ca From: Holdenshat@mail.com Subject: thoughts

  Hope u are having a good Sunday. The grey sky can make me sad and cold inside. But when i think about u under the sky, it glows with a hopeful light.

  And things like this make me angry!

  http://josephworkman.com.289e0.htm

  I know what hate can do! Do not get down by the haters and hypocrites! U are a light in a grey sky!

  WANDA takes a deep breath before she clicks the link. Another video clip from Joseph Nigel Workman’s show. He struts across the stage before his frothing audience. 50,896 views so far.

  Workman makes a sweeping Vanna White-style gesture towards the screen behind him. Four pictures line up. “Here they are, fellow Workers. The famous atheists. They write slander, they scoff and mock those with faith. They brag about their best-selling books and their number of Twitter followers.” Booing ensues.

  Ivan’s voice floats in from behind her: “What are you watching?”

  “Mystery emailer sent me a Workman video.” She swivels back to see his head in the doorway. “I think whoever is writing me is some kind of religious Internet troll.” Ivan cranes his neck to see.

  Workman strides with hands on hips. The lapels of his suit buckle out like wings. “Don’t be upset, everyone. Think of other things our society considers cool.” Images flash on the screen: lines of cocaine, a bowl of multicoloured pills, broken glass bottles, vomiting teenagers, syringes, Ellen DeGeneres, Caitlyn Jenner. “Shame! Shame!” from the audience.

  “We know better, don’t we people?” says Workman. The screen flashes and the face of Richard Dawkins appears. “God delusion? Your confusion, Dawkins.” A red line slashes through the picture of his face like a no-smoking sign. The audience whoops.

  The next photo pops up: comedian Ricky Gervais. “Praying is hilarious? Your fame is nefarious.” A red slash and more cheering. Next, Christopher Hitchens. “Hitchens said ‘Jesus Christ is Santa Claus for the adult.’ And Hitchens was the misleading minister of the atheist cult.” Pounding applause, wails of delight.

  “And then, we have our jaded hero.” The screen flashes and Wanda is confronted with a freeze frame of her own face, taken from the Genevieve Davey interview. They chose a moment when she wears a rather sheepish look: eyes peering up, mouth in a crooked smile.

  “Oh, fucking hell,” she says.

  “Wanda Jaynes.” Deep guttural booing. “Not a word from her since her Canadian interview. Why is that, do you wonder?” Chaotic cries of random words: “Liar! Blasphemy! Coward!”

  “Now, now, now,” says Workman. “I want to believe in Wanda Jaynes. I want to believe this silence is contemplation. I want to believe this silence is about coming to recognition. I want to believe that this woman, whom God chose to stop evil, to stop murder, will come to her senses.” The audience explodes in cheers, stamping of feet. “Re-cog-nize, Wanda Jaynes, recognize the truth.”

  “Ho-lee fuck,” Ivan says. “There are some batshit people in this world.”

  “I think they’re all in that room with him.”

  “The audience? Half of them are there for the circus. He’s the Jerry Springer of religious fanatics.”

  Wanda swallows and rubs her arm. A patch of dry skin above her elbow decided to flare up this morning and beg for contact. All day, she’s been fighting not to scratch it and now it’s become a cluster of fierce red bumps. Perhaps this is what Joseph Nigel Workman does. He inflicts minor skin infections on those who don’t respond to his tirades. His vigilant followers pray around the clock for a scourge of psoriasis to descend on the unfaithful.

  Ivan examines her elbow. “That looks itchy. I can run out and get you some chamomile lotion if you want.”

  “It’s okay. I just need to leave it alone.”

  “Well, keep an eye on it.” He strokes her shoulder. “Make sure Mom doesn’t see this Workman madness when she comes over. I can’t handle her fretting right now.” His hand drops from her neck and he ambles off to the kitchen.

  Sunday dinner with his mom: she almost forgot. At least she and Ivan made up last night and the tension in the house has dissipated. Yesterday, he left without speaking, but returned in brighter spirits. He hugged her, kissed her face. “Come on. We’ve been spending too much time in this house.” She changed her clothes. They decided on The Ship for nachos. Ivan sent a text message for Leo and Trish to meet them.

  Trish and Leo were there when they arrived and had claimed the table in the corner by the payphone. Trish scrambled to her feet to hug Wanda. Leo had already bought them pints of Guinness, the rims of foam on the top nicely settled. Leo gave her a wink. No sign he had mentioned their morning tracking session to anyone. They all chatted about who did what at the show last night.

  After the nachos were devoured, Ivan and Leo popped outside to smoke a joint. Trish leaned in close to her. “Did Ivan tell you about my idea for the photo shoot?”
r />   Wanda nodded. “Yes, he mentioned it earlier.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s an interesting idea.” One which almost put her off her pizza. “I’m sorry, I haven’t thought it through yet.”

  “Oh, God, no pressure. Take your time to think about it, mos def.” Trish gave Wanda’s hand a quick pat. “And if you don’t want to do it, I totally understand.”

  “Okay.”

  “And if you do say yes, it’s going be so classy. You will look beautiful. No posing, just you in your natural glory. I’m really excited to do the shoot. A portion of the money made from the sales will go to this charity I found. They raise funds for victims of gun violence and their families.”

  “Really? Huh.” Wanda surveyed the room to avoid Trish’s beseeching gaze. Two elderly ladies sat at the bar. They sipped white wine from orb-like glasses. One made a low comment in the other’s ear and, in response, she threw her head back and belly-laughed, her shock of white hair flashing in the warm light. A thick sliver of guilt rent its way into Wanda’s chest. Lots of academics and artsy types hang out at The Ship. Dr. Collier might have been a patron. She might have lay her purple wool coat on the window ledge and ordered a drink. She might have joked with the bartender.

  “Well…if money can go to some of the victim’s families, I’d be interested,” Wanda said. “I think it might help.”

  Trish clasped her hands over Wanda’s. “Oh, I’m so happy! It’s going to be great!” She looked up behind her at Leo and Ivan, returning from outside. “Wanda said yes!”

  “Did you propose?” Leo said.

  “That’s great!” Ivan said. “Having Wanda in the show will totally bring in donations.”

  “Oh, mos def!” Trish said.

  “I hope so,” Wanda said.

  The remainder of the night continued with a celebratory air. They even went dancing afterwards. When they got home after three, she hoped her and Ivan would have sex, fully seal the deal. But he wanted to order another pizza, the Hawaiian this time. And afterwards, they were too full and logy to do anything but sleep.