“Awww, nothin’ to be ashamed of, hon,” Lorraine says, patting Jennifer’s thigh.
“No. I wasn’t. I was just a club dancer.” Jennifer frowns. “It was a side gig. For cash. It wasn’t trashy like that.”
“Yeah, I get it. Don’t be insulted.” Lorraine thrums her fingers on the steering wheel for a beat. She looks over at Jennifer and gives her a nod. “But were you involved?”
Jennifer pauses. She closes her eyes, trying to feel what’s happening, what role she’s playing. She wants to know who Lorraine is. What she knows. “Involved in what?”
“In Leo’s business.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jennifer opens her eyes again and turns to look at Lorraine, who meets and holds her gaze.
“You know I always hated that guy Leo.” Lorraine makes a face and straightens her ball cap. “Played nice but there was something about him —”
“He’s an asshole,” Jennifer interrupts.
“Is?” Lorraine shakes her head. The truck seems to slow down. “Didn’t you hear, girl?”
“What?” Jennifer shivers and time seems to slow like the truck.
“Leo’s dead.” Lorraine reaches for her pack of smokes. She grabs two, lights them with her silver Zippo, and hands one to Jennifer. “News said it was a heart attack. But between you and me, there’s people sayin’ it was more complicated than that.”
Jennifer wonders if this is a warning. They both smoke in silence. The cigarettes create space and time for thinking. An old Siouxsie song comes on. Lorraine turns up the volume. Jennifer feels for her cards and studies Lorraine’s face, watches her movements, as though the way Lorraine tilts her head or clears her throat will tell her whether or not she can be trusted.
“These straight, flat prairie highways make me starkers.” Lorraine fidgets in her seat. “Talk to me, kid.”
“About what?” Jennifer shrugs, reluctant to tell Lorraine anything.
“Oh, I don’t know. What TV shows do you watch?”
“Don’t usually have time for TV.”
“What movies do you like, then?”
“Same thing.”
“Sheesh, kid. No time for movies or TV?” Lorraine shakes her head. “You’re missing all the fun. It’s pop culture. The stories of our times.”
“Well, when do you watch TV when you’re on the road all the time?” Jennifer sits up and hugs the knee of her good leg. Her foot is up on the seat cushion, shoe still on, but Lorraine doesn’t seem to notice or mind.
“I download shows and watch them when I’ve got time off. No commercials. Takes half the time.”
Jennifer pictures Lorraine with a shiny metallic laptop. “How often do you get time off?”
“Oh, after every long haul. Or every couple of short ones.” Lorraine smiles to herself and shakes her head. “You’re good.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, now we’re talking about me. A minute ago we were talking about you, and I still don’t know anything about you.”
Jennifer stretches her arms and wiggles the kinks out of her neck and upper shoulders. “So ask me another question. An easy one.”
“Favourite colour.”
“Red.” Jennifer answers quickly. It’s trivia, and not likely to get her into any trouble.
“Favourite weather.”
“Rain.”
“Favourite type of music.”
“Symphonic or electronic.”
“Don’t like singing?”
“No. Words get in the way.”
“Interesting.” Lorraine looks in her rear-view mirror, shoulder checks then changes lanes. Jennifer turns and gazes out the passenger side window, as though the inquisition is done, but Lorraine continues.
“Favourite holiday.”
“Halloween.”
“Favourite person living or dead.”
“Martha Graham.”
“That weird crafty lady?” Lorraine makes a face. “Didn’t she go to prison for fraud?”
“Not Martha Stewart.” Jennifer snort-laughs. “Martha Graham the famous modern dancer.” She moves her hands, and lengthens both legs in front of her, daydreaming choreography, Graham-esque movements. Lorraine drums her fingers on the steering wheel in time with Feist’s “1234.”
“Dead though, right?”
Jennifer’s arms flutter. She’s on an imaginary stage somewhere. Lorraine waves her hand to get Jennifer’s attention, and repeats the question — twice.
Jennifer sits still, finally, but brushes her hair back from her face, as though it was work to crawl back into the moment, and the confining truck cab. “Yup. Martha’s dead,” she says.
“Favourite person living, then.”
Lorraine is relentless. Jennifer looks out the passenger window again and sees two eyes flash white and red in the darkened ditch. “I think I just saw a deer.”
“As long as we didn’t hit it,” Lorraine says, turning to look at her passenger. “Are you changing the subject?”
“No, I saw these glowing eyes. It was creepy.” Jennifer folds her good leg over her bad one, resting her head on her raised knee. “What was the question?”
“Favourite person living.”
“That I know? Or anyone?”
“It’s more interesting if it’s someone you know, isn’t it?” Lorraine taps the iPod screen to forward past an old Depeche Mode song and one by New Order. She settles on Boards of Canada.
Jennifer thinks about everyone. She was competitive with other dancers. She considers saying a choreographer or a dance teacher, but can’t decide which one. Not her mom, who wanted her to study business administration. Not her old roommates or ex co-workers and not Leo.
“Nik.” She says it in a whisper, and glares at Lorraine, as though accusing her of making her talk.
“Friend or lover?” Lorraine is grinning.
Jennifer hesitates like the deer in the ditch, transfixed by the highway lights. “Both,” she says.
“Awww. So you’re attached then. I knew it!” Lorraine snaps her fingers in mock dismay.
“Not exactly. Not right now. I mean, I haven’t seen him in a few weeks.” Jennifer shifts her body weight. The pain in her leg is intensifying again. Like needles.
“So that’s why you’re going to Vancouver.” Lorraine prods. “To see your Nik. What does your Nik do?”
“He’s an artist.”
Lorraine smiles. “I dated a tattoo artist once. A real sweetheart.” She checks her mirrors then looks at me with mock concern. “Hope he’s not starvin’.”
“Not yet.” Jennifer closes her eyes and thinks about how thin Nik looked when she saw him last in Ottawa. How angry, too. “Pretty close though.”
“You look mighty thin yourself.” Lorraine pokes her gently in the arm. “Got to put some meat on your bones or you’ll blow away in the Vancouver wind.”
Jennifer doesn’t respond. She doesn’t have any more answers for Lorraine.
“I’ll stop grillin’ you now, hon.” Lorraine taps her on the knee. “Do me a favour and reach behind you into the cooler and get us some colas. I should listen to the radio and get caught up on the latest. Honestly. Truck drivers. Worse than teenagers with all the gossip.”
Jennifer grabs two cold cans. Lorraine cracks hers open, gulps at least a quarter of it down then rests it between her thighs. Jennifer can’t remember the last time she drank pop. She takes a cautious sip and holds it in her mouth, letting the carbonated sweetness bubble against her tongue. Then she rests the cold can against her hot forehead for a moment.
“Did you say you have a first aid kit somewhere?”
“Yeah, pull out the drawer underneath your seat there, hon,” Lorraine says. “What’s the matter?”
“Just a bit of a headache.”
Jennifer leans forward and feels around in the drawer. She pulls out a white plastic case.
“Got some Tylenol 3s in there, I think, if it’s real bad,” Lorraine says. “Leftovers fr
om an old back problem I had.”
“It’s not that bad.” Jennifer glances at Lorraine, whose eyes are on the road. She flexes her injured leg, flinches, and quivers. Then she palms a couple of the Tylenol, sneaking the bottle into her dance bag. She leans her head on the cool glass of the passenger window. Lorraine reaches behind her and then something soft lands in Jenifer’s lap. A travel pillow. Jennifer mumbles a weak thanks and shoves it under her shoulder. When she closes her eyes she sees choreography again. Bodies moving and whirling onstage all around her while she stands still.
Jennifer sleeps and Lorraine drives. They stop at a roadside restaurant, but Jennifer stays in the truck while Lorraine gets out to eat and socialize with her friends. Back on the highway they drive in silence for a while, and Jennifer sleeps some more. She opens her eyes to daylight and unbelievable mountains, trees, lakes, and rivers that all look like magical fakes. Painted landscapes. Set backdrops. A pair of mountain goats run through the blasted rock rubble on the side of the road and dash up toward the trees. More fakes. Jennifer thinks they must be mechanized for tourists. Large dogs in costume. None of this seems real to her. She makes herself talk.
“What’s your favourite movie, Lorraine?”
“She speaks!” Lorraine smiles, giddy at the notion of conversation. “Probably Blade Runner. Or maybe Shaun of the Dead. Nothin’ like a good zombie flick to put you in a drivin’ mood.”
“What happens in Blade Runner?”
“You’ve never seen it? Good lord, kid, you really have been living under a rock.” Lorraine shakes her head. “This guy Deckard is a contract killer and he’s supposed to hunt these androids called replicants, except he falls in love with one. Stars a very hot young Harrison Ford. And a sultry Sean Young as Rachel the love interest.”
“So do the replicants look like people?”
“Exactly like people.” Lorraine nods. “Deckard has to do this test to see if the replicants have normal emotions and feelings like empathy.”
“I feel like a replicant,” Jennifer blurts.
“Today or every day?” Lorraine glances at her then executes a sharp turn into a tunnel. “If it makes you feel any better, in the movie Rachel asks Deckard if he’s ever taken the test himself. So he might be one, too.”
Lorraine lights another cigarette. “I’m a replicant.” She grins and exhales a swath of smoke. “Truck-driving would be an obvious career choice for an android, don’t you think?”
“Well, at least you’re not a zombie.” Jennifer smiles. “My brain’s a little bit important to me.”
“Just a little bit?”
“Well, yeah. I might need it now that I’ve gone and wrecked my body.”
Jennifer looks down at her injured leg. The truck hurtles through another tunnel. Lorraine holds both hands firm on the steering wheel, exhales smoke out the corner of her mouth. Jennifer counts the seconds until they emerge through the other side. Ten. A long one.
“Are you involved, Lorraine?”
“In what?” Lorraine leans her elbow against the window, rests her chin on her hand. She knows what Jennifer’s talking about.
“In Leo’s business.”
Lorraine doesn’t say anything. She stares straight ahead. Jennifer grabs her dance bag and rests her hand on the door handle. “I’ll jump out right now.”
“Jesus.” Lorraine looks at her. She presses a button, and there’s a click from both sides of the truck. Auto lock. “Don’t fucking scare me like that.” She lights another cigarette and stares ahead again. “I used to move product,” she says finally. “Not proud of it. Not doing it anymore.”
“Good to know,” Jennifer says with uncertainty, still not sure whether she can trust Lorraine. She looks at the doors, aware she’s locked in.
Jennifer closes her eyes and in the orange glow behind her eyelids she imagines dancing with Nik. She’s wearing a simple black dress, bare feet, her hair swept up big and tall on top of her head. He’s in black pants, black T-shirt, his hair falling messily over his forehead. His feet are bare, too, so when he turns, the audience sees swooping orange-red designs painted along the backs of his ankles like fire tattoos. The stage lighting is dim, the music an eerie, haunting ballad. They walk slowly, then flail arms and legs. Nik picks Jennifer up and spins her around. They run across the stage then cling together, twirling. Then his hands separate from hers. Jennifer dances solo at the corner of the stage, close to the edge while Nik steps away, still dancing, too, but in the background, in the shadow spaces behind her. They are each dancing their own choreography. An obvious ending for the piece has them coming back together, Jennifer running into his arms in a spectacular lift. But instead Nik leaves the stage, exiting into the wings stage right. She doesn’t notice she’s alone onstage until he’s gone. She walks to stage front, stops, and bows her head.
Jennifer fingers the velveteen of her tarot card pouch fretfully. The truck follows the highway, which follows the winding Fraser River to the ocean. She’s not sure where Nik is, or if there’s any point to this long trek. She’s still amazed Nik followed her, too. She hadn’t guessed he would do that. Until now she hadn’t recognized or understood why. But Nik’s motives were true. She’d had to look closely — for a long time — to see. And she’d had to stand still first.
His ship painting is still in her dance bag, wrapped in a pair of worn-out fuzzy tights. Looking at it is painful. But every time she does, she sees something new, different. She sees him. Until she saw Nik’s new painting, she never thought of his following her as anything other than pure adoration. He was a passive, hovering shadow. A constant, benevolent supporter. It didn’t occur to her he was still making art. Or suffering. He must have set out to find her at the beginning, but the whole thing had evolved into something else. Jennifer feels like the ghost now. Her slim allotment of time as a professional dancer is starting to feel like a fantastical dream.
She closes her eyes and listens to Lorraine’s music, the thrum of fingers on the steering wheel. They stop in Golden, a splotch of a town darkened by heavy, threatening rain clouds, then drive on, both staring silently at the hill-crested roads ahead, out of manipulation games and talk. They stop again in Hope, a depressed clutter of buildings along the lonely highway. Jennifer gets out of the truck to breathe fresh, cool mountain air while Lorraine buys a sandwich and hot coffee.
Jennifer paces back and forth, kicking gravel rocks with her feet. She tries to think about where Nik is, and whether she’s right about him heading west. He could be anywhere. She looks around for a sign — something dramatic, like the sun suddenly burning through slate-grey clouds. But there’s nothing but air, land, and her own fear. She wonders what it was like for Nik to search after her and understands how difficult — and lonely — it must have been. Something about that fact makes her feel closer to him.
Back in the truck and on the highway Lorraine wings an elbow in Jennifer’s direction. “Is that the tiniest glimmer of a smile I see? Happy we’re almost there?”
Jennifer’s good foot stamps an impatient rhythm on the floor mat. “I guess. How much longer is it to Vancouver?”
“Only a couple of hours to go.” Lorraine stretches her neck from side to side and makes circles with her shoulders.
“I’m headed downtown,” Jennifer says. “Main Street.”
“Uh-huh.” Lorraine lifts the brim of her ball cap and runs her hand through her hair, her expression unreadable.
“You won’t tell anyone that I’m back in the city, will you? To see Nik? I can trust you, right?”
“Don’t worry, hon. After this shift I’ll be headin’ back to my apartment and tucking myself straight into my own bed.”
“Where’s your apartment at?”
Lorraine grins at her. “Why? Wanna come over?”
Jennifer smiles at the fake invitation, aware she hasn’t answered the question. “Thanks, but I’ve got some stuff I have to do.”
Lorraine winks. “I like a girl on a mission.”
It’s already starting to get dark by the time signs for Vancouver’s City Centre start to appear. Jennifer keeps glancing at the LCD clock on the dashboard.
“I’m heading to this great big grocery terminal off the highway.” Lorraine taps buttons on her GPS. “But I’m a little ahead of schedule. Is there any place I can drop you?”
“If you can get me to a SkyTrain station I’ll take it from there.” Jennifer checks the time again.
“Sure.” Lorraine lights two more cigarettes. “Let’s have one more smoke.”
“Thanks.” Jennifer takes the cigarette and inhales. “For the smokes and the ride and everything.”
“Nice to have company on this stretch of road.” Lorraine gives her a light punch in the shoulder. “And you’re good company. Anytime you need a ride —”
“I probably won’t any time soon.”
“Well, you never know what’s beyond that next bend in the road, right?” Lorraine reaches into her shirt pocket and hands her something. A business card. Jennifer turns it over in her hand while she exhales a cloud of smoke at the windshield.
“My email and my cell number are on there. Give me a shout sometime.”
Jennifer makes a show of taking her wallet out of her bag and tucking the card in beside her bank cards.
Lorraine stops the truck in the parking lot of a SkyTrain station in Burnaby. Jennifer grabs her bag and climbs out of the truck onto the sidewalk. She and Lorraine stare at each other for a moment. Then Lorraine waves and drives off. Jennifer watches the truck turn the corner before she takes Lorraine’s card out of her wallet and tosses it into a garbage can. She jams change into a fare box, gets a ticket, and hustles up the stairs as fast as she can. The whole time she’s on the SkyTrain she stares at the transit map, planning her route. She gets off the train, climbs aboard a bus, then transfers to another bus.
On the Granville Street Bridge she thinks she sees the faint imprint of her name along the concrete blocks separating the pedestrians from traffic. She remembers how Nik used to leave secret reverse graffiti messages for her — shined into filthy building stucco or written with his finger in the dust across a broken-down van waiting to be towed away. She’d see NIK + J or GOOD LUCK J if she was going for an audition. And sometimes she’d see the words U R BEUTIFLU, recognize Nik’s spelling and know they were for her. Jennifer wonders why there weren’t any more messages in Montreal or Ottawa or Toronto. Why he stopped writing them. If he felt rejected, like she’d chosen dance over him, instead of feeling the freedom she thought she’d given him to pursue his own career. It was impossible to know what he’d thought, she realized. They didn’t talk. Not enough. Their connection was something she’d taken for granted, and didn’t fully understand.
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