“What a night, hey?” I said. I unlocked the door and pushed it open. I used my sleeve to wipe off my scummy makeup and tamed my bar-hair with a liberal dose of water. She watched me with a curiously unmoved expression, like I was someone she didn’t know.
Six guys and three girls were passed out in the next room. I couldn’t remember any of them. None of their faces was familiar. Beer cans were piled on the tables, and the lingering cloud of cigarette haze spoke of a long, drawn-out party. Tab picked her way through their bodies like they had the plague. I followed her down the hallway and outside into a sullen rain squall. I patted down my jacket, then my jeans and was surprised that I still had my wallet.
“Hey,” I said. The sky was black with shifting clouds, then underlit with orange from Vancouver’s light pollution. Fresh rain had cleaned the skids of its normal bouquet of eau de piss. I was dizzy so I sat on a cracked seat at a bus stop and pulled out my cigarettes. I ran a hand through my hair. My reflection in the bus shelter’s glass blew smoke at me. I thought I could probably be a poster child for something, but I wasn’t sure what. Yes, I could be in a movie, maybe some cheesy TV special: Poster Child Without a Cause. I laughed, and people passing by steered a wide course around me. Tab watched me.
“Diner up ahead,” she said, walking away.
We went into a scuzzy diner with a sign saying Open, You Come In. The booth we sat at had a picture hanging over it of a mama duck and three ducklings in yellow sou’westers crossing a puddle. Inexplicably, this cheered me up. I expected Tab to light into me. Give me the standard how-could-you-be-so-stupid and look-how-you’re-ruining-your-life talks that she always gave me. Instead, she watched while I ordered a coffee. The waitress ignored her. I sat back and drew circles on the table with my spilled Cream-o. The coffee was flat and stale, but it was hot. The diner was overheated and I started to sweat after being out in the cold.
“What’s up?” I said, to break the silence.
She glanced at me, then back at the table. No smart-alecky comment. “Did I say something last night?” I said. “I’m sorry. Whatever it was, I’m sorry.”
She pulled her jacket in closer. “Who’s sitting here with you?”
“What?” I said fuzzily, wishing I was in bed.
“How many people are at this table, Lisa?”
“I’m sorry already.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Jesus, you’re in a mood.”
“It’s me and you. Just me. You. Your asshole friends buggered off last night and left you with a bunch of strangers.”
She was gearing up for a rant, and I prepped myself to tune out, turning to watch the rain hit the windows and stream down. The streets were empty. A traffic light blinked frantically as it swayed in the wind.
In the diner, there was just us and two guys at the counter, who were absorbed in eating a nauseatingly large breakfast. The waitress sat near the till, flipping through a Cosmo. She had her hair tied back in a no-nonsense bun and would check her watch every other minute as if she could speed time along by glaring at it. Tab’s fingernails clicked against the table. “Let’s call a cab,” I said, taking out money for the coffees and plunking it on the table. “I don’t feel like walking back to the motel.”
“I’m walking,” she said.
“What’s your problem?”
“Lisa, some people have lives. Some people are moving on. Some people aren’t wallowing in misery like they’re the only ones on earth who’ve ever had someone die on them.”
“Screw you,” I said, stubbing out another cigarette.
“You almost got killed last night, you know that?”
I shrugged, too mad to speak.
“I’m not going to be able to help you any more, Lisa. I just can’t.” She stood up. “Don’t depend on me to bail you out next time you get in trouble.”
After she left, the waitress came over again, nervous until she saw the money on the table. She refilled my coffee while I watched Tab pull her jacket over her head. I sighed, then put a tip on the table and followed my cousin.
The section of abandoned warehouses, boarded-up stores and closed industrial shops was my favourite walking route. No one went there except people who were more interested in shooting up or shooting off. I could meander in peace, in a silence punctuated only by the occasional wail of sirens. I pulled the hood of my jacket far over my face and paid attention to where my feet were going.
When I caught up with her, I shook out a cigarette and sucked in three hasty puffs. She scowled at me. “Help yourself,” I said, tossing the pack to her. It went right through her body. Startled, I watched as it hit the ground and bounced.
“You moron,” she said.
“But you can’t be dead. I just saw you last week …” I touched my temple where a hangover headache was intensifying. “I must be dreaming.”
“Wake up and smell the piss, dearie. I just got bumped off by a couple of boozehound rednecks and I’m pretty fucking angry at you right now.”
“At me?”
“Don’t look at me like that. You and your fucking problems. Get your act together and go home.”
She disappeared. It was as if she had never been there. I waited, wondering if I was hallucinating. Maybe I had alcohol poisoning. Then I shook my head, smoked another cigarette and went home.
I had a hotel room, just a dinky hole above a bar, but I had four prepaid days of relative safety to ponder the peeling walls and the cracked ceiling, and to listen to the throb of the cheap stereo system and incoherent arguments of the drunks and the shoptalk of the strippers entering and leaving their rooms. After three days, I had a Pepsi from the vending machine and realized I’d spent three days alone for the first time in months. My hands were shaky. The Pepsi went down in gulps. I bought a Five Alive for the vitamin C. The hallway light spazzed. I felt my way along the wall for the stairwell, then walked down, and out onto the street.
I would have money tomorrow. My party pals knew my payment schedule and would casually begin to feel me out, see how much I was willing to blow. Each time, I said to myself, Hey, let’s go somewhere nice this time. Disneyland. Las Vegas. Cancun. Let’s try being broke in some other country. But each time, I succumbed to the spurious pleasure of being Queen Bee. Friendship on my terms, with me pulling the strings, in control as long as I gave honey.
I went to a cheap hairdresser the next day and got a slightly crooked chin-length bob. Mom would be appalled. She hated shoddy work. I bought a small mirror, makeup, and went for a manicure. When I made my way back to the hotel, the desk clerk did a satisfying double take and said I looked good enough to be a call girl. This, I decided magnanimously, I would take as a compliment.
I commandeered the bathroom at the end of the hallway. I bathed for an hour, causing one of the other tenants to urinate on the door as a protest.
“Soak in that, ya bitch!” he yelled, hammering the door one last time.
I dropped underwater, scrubbing my scalp. I had asked the clerk to upgrade me to the luxury suite. He gave me a room three doors down from my previous residence. It was exactly the same, except it had an electric burner and a kettle. As I lay on the squeaky bed sipping tea, I could hear two of my friends frantically knocking on my old door, telling me to stop fucking around. Other friends came and went. The same tenant who had pissed on the bathroom door became disgruntled at the stream of people disturbing his sleep and took to hurling empty beer bottles at anyone who knocked too long.
“Fucking take a Valium, man,” I heard one of my party pals yell.
“Fucking learn some manners, you inconsiderate prick! I gotta work tomorrow!”
“I hope you’re fired,” party pal muttered.
“I heard that!” the man yelled.
They traded insults, with other tenants joining in, telling everybody to shut up. My party pal finally left and the man slammed his door.
The next day, my stomach was up to broth. I snuck out of my room, made a dash for the nearest
corner store, bought a stash of bouillon cubes, smokes and a box of tea, then headed back, hoping not to bump into anyone. I knew that if they talked to me I’d give in and go party because the room was small and empty and bare and cold.
No matter which way I looked at it, I’d either pickled my brain or my brain was finally clear. There was no way to avoid it any more: I decided to check out the next morning and go see Aunt Trudy. If what I’d seen was just my overactive imagination, fine. But if Tab really was dead, Aunt Trudy would need someone to be there for her.
I put my stuff in a plastic shopping bag and took the bus across town to her house. From the blasting music and the lineup of cars parked on her street, I knew the moment I walked up her steps that Aunt Trudy was in full party mode. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I rang the doorbell and waited. After a couple of minutes, I opened the door and went inside.
“Yowtz!” I said. When there was still no answer, I stepped inside. The hallway was bare of its usual clutter. I had expected to see people everywhere, but the living room was full of boxes, all the pictures were off the walls and the furniture was pushed into one corner. No one was in the kitchen, or in the downstairs bedrooms. I shut off the stereo. “Yowtz! It’s me, Lisa!”
“Lisa?” her voice said. It sounded like it was coming from upstairs. I started to go up, but she met me on the steps, throwing her arms open and giving me a fierce, crushing hug. “Hi, baby,” she said. “I haven’t seen you for ages, just ages! We were all worried about you.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Ow, ow, you’re hurting me.”
“Whoops! Here, come on, I’ll make you some coffee. How the hell are you?”
I followed her as she wobbled into the kitchen. She swayed so much, I told her I’d make the coffee but she waved me off, saying I was a guest. I sat down at the table and watched her root through the boxes piled on the counter to find the coffeepot.
“Looks like you’re moving,” I said.
“Yeah, Josh got me into Native housing. Good old Josh. He always looks out for me. It’s a two-bedroom. Big. New. Where’d I put those filters?”
“It’s okay, I’m not—”
“No, no. I’ll find them. Tab’s room is really big. Ungrateful twit. You know what she said to me?”
“You talked to her?”
“She phoned two days ago. Yap, yap, yap. You know how she is.”
“Oh,” I said, and the relief flooded through me. Well, there you go, I thought. It was just a dream. I felt dizzy so I put my head on the kitchen table.
“You don’t look so good,” Aunt Trudy said. “You want a fixer-upper instead?”
I laughed and pushed myself upright as Aunt Trudy pulled a bottle of whisky out of her fridge. “No. No, I’m just—” Relieved? Insane? “Hungover.”
“Ah,” she said. “Here. Have one on me.”
“I’m kind of cutting back.”
“Yeah? Me, too,” she said, pouring herself a glass. She held it up. “Wanesica.”
The pot beeped. The kitchen was filled with the smell of coffee and stale cigarettes. She found a cup for me and dug around for the sugar. When she sat down at the table she said, “Guess who’s going into treatment.”
“You?” I said.
She grinned. “That’s what everyone says. After I move my stuff into my new place, I’m off to Alberni!”
“Bullshit.”
“Gonna have one last blowout! You up for it?”
I shook my head. She sipped her whisky.
“So Tab’s okay?” I said.
“Tab’s Tab. That one can take care of herself. You know what she said when I told her? She said it’s about time, don’t screw it up.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, that’s Tab.”
“You going home?”
I shrugged.
“You better. You’re giving your parents kittens.”
“Are they really mad?”
She reached over and patted my shoulder. “My floor is your floor. You can stay at my place as long as you want. I’ll be gone for eight weeks, but Josh’ll be there until fishing season starts so you’ll have some company.”
“Do you mind?” I said, pulling out my smokes.
She waved her consent and asked me for one, then wrinkled her nose when I handed her a menthol. “You smoke this crap? Why don’t you get some real smokes?”
“It’s easier on your throat.”
“Yech,” she said, but smoked it anyway.
“Yowtz!” We both turned as someone knocked on the door.
“Josh!” Aunt Trudy yelled. “We’re in the kitchen!”
“You ready to roll, Tru—” He stopped at the door and grinned when he saw me. He was bigger than he was the last time I’d seen him. He’d cut his hair so short, he almost looked bald. “Look what the cat dragged in!”
“Thanks,” I said, then yelped as he lifted me off the chair and twirled me around.
“Little Lisamarie,” he said, setting me down. “All grown up.” He tousled my hair. “How’s my favourite troublemaker?”
“Fine,” I said, annoyed.
“The cab’s waiting,” he said to Trudy. She grabbed her purse and asked me again if I was coming. She wouldn’t take no for an answer and I didn’t really want to stay in her place by myself.
We caught the cab to a booze can in Surrey. I knew the house and cringed when I thought of meeting up with my party pals. The Dobermans on chains at the entrance snarled and hurled themselves at us as we walked down the stairs leading to the basement. The walls were covered in soft, grey soundproofing material and the floor was covered in classic green shag. Josh excused himself. I tucked myself into a corner beside the pool table, sipping a four-buck glass of orange juice. When you were sober, the place was grungy and seedy. The normal buzz of excitement I felt when I came here was muted. But, I thought, the party hadn’t even started yet. The booze can would get hopping when the bars closed.
“Frank?” Josh yelled. I looked up to see Frank pausing at the den door that led to the hallway. He was almost as tall as Josh now, nearly six feet, but he was all bones and angles. They stared at each other then Frank looked down and away.
“Hey, where the hell have you been?” Josh said.
Frank brushed past him as if they didn’t know each other. Josh watched him go, a puzzled, hurt expression on his face. He came and sat on the arm of the sofa. “Did you see that?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You know what he’s mad about? I wouldn’t cosign a car lease for him. But I ask you, is that any reason to treat me like that?”
I shrugged. “Family.”
“Family,” he said. “Where’s Trudy?”
“Getting a refill,” I said.
He shook his head. “She’s never going to last eight weeks. I told her, old boozehounds like us can’t change. You’d never catch me going back there,” he said. “You want a refill?”
“No, thanks. Aunt Trudy’s getting me one.”
“You ever need anything, just ask,” he said. “I mean it, I really do.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mick was always there for me. Anytime I needed help, I never even had to ask. He was the most generous guy I ever knew. He had the biggest heart. He was like a brother.”
I swished the orange juice in my cup. “Do you have any extra copies of those pictures of Mick?”
“Done,” he said. “I’ve got a box of pictures at Trudy’s. When we go back, help yourself.”
“Thanks. It would mean a lot.”
“No problem. He talked about you all the time. Monster this and Monster that.”
“Did he ever mention Cookie?”
“Cookie? His wife? What about her?”
“Do you know what happened to her?
His face lost all expression. “Someone tied her up and put her in her car. Then they set it on fire. It was way the hell in the middle of nowhere. The police said it was a suicide and the FBI—”
“What’s all the
glum faces about?” Aunt Trudy asked as she sat down beside me.
“She asked about Cookie,” he said.
“Oh, God,” Aunt Trudy said, grimacing. “This is my last night of freedom and you two wanna bring me down.” She shook her head. “That’s enough of this. Who wants to dance!” She grabbed Josh’s wrist and towed him to the centre of the room. Josh did a two-step back and forth while Aunt Trudy bounced around him.
I didn’t want to venture out of the den, but I needed to pee. The lineup for the bathroom was long. I sighed and leaned against the wall. This had been a mistake. I wished I’d stayed at home.
“Lisa?” Frank peered at me. He was wearing cologne, something woodsy. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s my line,” I said, forcing my mouth into a smile, then letting it fall away, knowing it probably looked dumb. “How you doing?”
“Good. Good.”
“How long you down?”
“Until tomorrow. I’m driving Adelaine back to Kitamaat.”
“Oh. Good.”
“It was good seeing you.”
“You too.” He was turning away, retreating into the crowd. I wanted to call him back, but I didn’t know what to say to him. What could I say? Sorry for dumping on you when I had a problem with Cheese? Then I heard, over the pounding bass, a high, familiar whistling. I turned my head slowly but it was just a kettle going off somewhere.
“Hey!” Karaoke said, pushing herself beside Frank. She said something to him and he shook his head. She thumped his chest, and took off.
Someone had puked in the sink and mostly missed. I held my breath, but couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Josh was surrounded by a cluster of women. The only ones I knew were Aunt Trudy and Karaoke, who was trying to get money from him.
“Alberni? Really? There’s a treatment centre where the residential school used to be?” one of the women said to Aunt Trudy.
Another woman laughed, then said, “Hey, how many priests does it take to change a lightbulb?”
“How many?”
“Three. One to screw it, one to beat it for being screwed and one to tell the lawyers that no screwing took place.”
“That’s not funny,” Josh said.
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