by Glenn Dier
His spellbound audience erupted into laughter. Sebastian couldn’t help himself. He joined in. Even an enemy can be funny sometimes.
“The commander says, ‘Boys, maybe we’ll stop for a few minutes and make sure that Brasseaux’s butt doesn’t burst into flames.’ Here we are, just half an hour from downtown Baghdad, Saddam has hightailed it, there’s nothing standing between us and history, and these treadheads want to kick back and drink Coke.”
“What did you do?” implored Evan.
“I whipped out my credit card and said, ‘Commander, you keep going and this credit card will buy this crew whatever it wants.’ ”
Sebastian decided to punch Ethan’s flow again. “Where was your crew?”
“Following us in a Land Rover,” snapped Ethan, his facial muscles taut. His story had flipped over into a ditch, wheels spinning. It took a moment to put four wheels back on the road and restart the engine.
“The commander was a cagey guy. He says, ‘We’re not checking into the Palestine Hotel. How about you pay for a night on the town when we all get home and you got yourself a deal.’ ‘Sold,’ I shouted. ‘Boys,’ says the commander, ‘let’s get Tremblay to Firdos Square.’ It cost me two thousand bucks, but I got to the square in time to see Saddam’s statue being hauled down.”
Sebastian continued his inquisition. “Other TV cameras were in the square. What’s the value of a money shot if everybody has it?”
Ethan stood up. “Value?” he roared. “Value? I’ll make this simple, Sebastian. It’s iconic. It’s an image that will outlive you and me. And I made sure CBC got it. Conquering armies tear down the symbols of the vanquished. You’d better remember that, if you ever get to a war zone.”
“You know what they say: the first casualty of war is truth.”
As Sebastian walked away he heard Ethan state, “He’s got a mean streak and an ego that’s bigger than mine.”
•
Perfect conditions for a picnic lunch—blue sky and twenty-five degrees. Wind and humidity had taken the day off. Sebastian waved at Roxanne as he blazed up the trail around Long Pond. She sat on a park bench, tucked underneath a mountain ash on the edge of a grove. They wrapped arms around each other and kissed; a modest kiss, the sort people use when they don’t want a public display of affection to be the talk of the town.
“How was your morning?” asked Roxanne.
“Fine, until Ethan started crowing about his time in Iraq. ‘I won the war, I found Saddam Hussein.’ The man is insufferable. Nobody is as good as he is. He takes the fun out of dysfunctional.”
Roxanne stopped unzipping the cooler bag. “Sebastian, we need to talk.”
“What about?”
“You.”
“Don’t you mean us?”
“No, I mean you. I’m really concerned.”
“You shouldn’t be.” Sebastian reached for the cooler bag, but stopped in mid-stretch. “Did you hear that?” He turned his ear to the shadows in the woods.
“I heard a bird singing.”
“No, not a bird, a camera shutter. Shush.” Sebastian listened intensely while trying to appear unalarmed. He heard a bird trill, then the rapid-fire of a digital SLR camera, the sort newspaper photographers use to capture split-second movement.
“Someone is taking our picture,” said Sebastian.
“I heard the clicks too.”
Sebastian pondered the chances that the shutter noise belonged to his stalker. Not likely. Surely his stalker couldn’t be that much of an oaf. But what if he was.
Carpe diem. The snitch wouldn’t dare blurt out the truth to their faces. He was too much of a coward for that. Fight back.
“Let’s casually walk toward the woods over there,” said Sebastian.
“Don’t get into a confrontation.”
Sebastian and Roxanne held hands as they promenaded. A kayaker practiced rolls on the pond, righting her overturned boat seemingly with just a sweep of her paddle while hanging upside down. Sebastian intentionally paused to admire the demonstration before following the trail into the woods.
“You can come out now,” said Sebastian to a thicket.
Bushes swayed and a branch cracked. A man wearing a Tilley hat parted the greenery. Binoculars hung around his neck, along with a camera and lens so big that Hollywood’s paparazzi would lust after it.
“What were you doing in there?” asked Sebastian.
“Is there a problem?”
“The problem is my fiancée and I don’t appreciate being spied on.”
“Spied on!” said the man, his voice rising to reject the accusation. “I was bird watching.”
“That’s easy to say.”
“Would a spy go around with a copy of Birds of Canada?” He pulled a book out of his knapsack and showed Sebastian the cover. Two puffins with rainbow bills and orange feet stood on the words Field Guide.
“A clever one might.” Sebastian decided to call his bluff. “What exactly were you trying to see?”
“The red-eyed vireo,” the birder shot back. “It’s a songbird and I was enjoying a good look and listen before you interrupted me.”
“I heard a camera shutter.”
“That’s what we do. We take pictures.” He pressed a button on his camera and a bird with ruby-red eyes and white eyebrows appeared on the screen. “Its feathers don’t ruffle as easily as yours.”
“We’re terribly sorry for disturbing you,” said Roxanne, towing Sebastian away. She didn’t uncouple until they reached the park bench.
“One day we’re going to laugh at this,” said Sebastian.
“Probably, but I’m not laughing now. In a way, I’m glad it happened. I know what’s going on. I didn’t want to believe it, but this episode proves it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I didn’t want to say this, Sebastian, but sometimes bluntness is required.” Roxanne laid her hand on his. “You’re not well.”
“What!”
“I’ve been doing a little research and I think you’re suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
Sebastian laughed. “Who told you that? Dr. Google?”
“Hear me out. Reputable websites say the death of a friend can trigger PTSD. Garrison died in front of you. Worse, you tried to save him and couldn’t.”
“PTSD is a bit of a stretch isn’t it?”
“You’re showing symptoms. You hear a camera and perceive danger. For no good reason. You can’t mention Ethan Tremblay without launching into a tirade. The negativity is breathtaking. And the angry outbursts—swearing on the air, yelling at a flagger—that’s not you. The pain in your chest, that’s another sign. And most telling, you’re having problems being…intimate. Ever since Garrison died, you’ve hardly touched me.”
“Now just a second. This is…,” Sebastian repressed the word ridiculous. Play the PTSD card, idiot. It will absolve a multitude of sins. “…a revelation. I had no idea. What are the other symptoms?”
“Feelings of mistrust.”
“I don’t trust anyone at work anymore.”
“Flashbacks.”
“I keep seeing poor Garrison slumping in his chair, over and over.”
“Suicidal thoughts,” she said with palpable anxiety. She bit a fingernail. Sebastian had never seen her do that before. He gently ran his hand down her face. She kissed the palm.
“Not at all. I swear. No thoughts about hurting myself. Definitely a case of two out of three ain’t bad.”
“You need help,” she said. “Promise me you’ll phone EAP this afternoon.”
“I promise.” He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Would you like me to massage your temples?”
Roxanne nodded and turned back on. Sebastian lowered her head into his lap. He brushed hair away from her closed eyes.
•
Janice collapsed on Sebastian’s chest. She floated up and down with his breathing. They lay content. Janice even fell asleep for a few moments. She
broke the harmony with a snort and spilled onto the empty side of the bed.
“That was the best ‘therapy session’ I’ve ever had,” said Sebastian.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s a joke. I’m supposed to be somewhere else this evening confronting my fears.”
Janice poured two glasses of Chianti Classico. “Stalker fears?”
“You could say that.”
“Do you have any idea who it is?”
“I have suspects aplenty, but no concrete proof. I called the company that owns the billboard and pretended I was interested in doing a story. The guy laughed and hung up. I haven’t seen the message since.”
Sebastian sipped the wine. “I can’t decide which is better—the sex or the ‘medication.’ ”
Janice swatted his thigh with a backhanded slap.
“I’d really like the stalker to be Ethan Tremblay, but the timing’s all wrong. It would make tomorrow even more pleasurable.”
Janice turned on her side. Her eyes gleamed. “What’s going to happen?”
“I’ve got him by his shot-off balls. It seems our Mr. Spend-time-with-my-family had a zipper problem in the Gaza Strip.”
“No-o-o.” Janice walked her fingers over Sebastian’s chest. “Tell me more.”
“I don’t want to spoil the fun, but the tawdry details will squirt out.”
“Where?”
“Who hates the CBC more than anyone? Who wakes up every morning thinking, How can I put the Communist Broadcasting Corporation on the rack today?”
Janice bounced upright. “Not Lily Chin. You told her?”
“Sometimes you have to sleep with the enemy.”
“You’re evil. I like that in a man.” She raised her glass in tribute. “How did you find out?”
“The tattletales on the fourth floor of the Broadcast Centre. It’s the worst kept secret in Toronto. Things got so tense that the Jewish Defence League was on the verge of making a public stink. They agreed not to if Tremblay left Jerusalem. CBC told him pack your bags or pack…your…bags.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“This time tomorrow, Ethan Tremblay is going to be in a shit-storm.”
•
Sebastian hit the refresh button on LILY LASHES OUT. Lily Chin was a Toronto Sun columnist. Her bio spoke of her take-no-prisoners attitude, her dogged drive to expose government stupidity, her relentless pursuit of the truth.
She’s brassy, thought Sebastian, a girl after my own heart.
Lily Chin was the columnist most-hated and most-feared on the top floor of the CBC Broadcast Centre. The Mother Corp’s embarrassments always leaked out in her column—from a drunken reporter’s toe-sucking on an Air Canada flight, to an entrepreneurial cameraman who used CBC gear to film porn flicks. To Lily Chin, the CBC was left wing, anti-Israel, anti-business, and a waste of tax dollars. The sooner the government privatized it, the better.
After a couple of Scotches, Dozy Dan once called her The Snake. Where are the fangs? Sebastian asked himself.
Chin’s webpage updated. Sebastian gasped in delight. This was even better than he had hoped for. The headline on the video commentary was savage: Reporter’s Libido Stains CBC News.
Sebastian clicked play. Lily motioned with her hand for the viewers to come closer.
Pssst. I have a secret. It’s about CBC foreign correspondent Ethan Tremblay.
The monitor beside Lily used the same publicity photo as the fridge magnets.
Until last month, Ethan Tremblay lived and worked in Jerusalem, in the heart of the Holy Land. But the wisdom of King Solomon eluded him. So did the common sense of the Ten Commandments. Ethan Tremblay didn’t know how to behave properly.
Tremblay made the mistake that’s been getting men in trouble since biblical times—he let the little head do the thinking for the big head.
You won’t find that phrase in the Bible, but the seventh commandment is pretty clear on the subject: Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery.
The commandment appeared on the monitor.
There’s good advice for staying out of trouble.
But Ethan Tremblay ignored it and had an affair with this woman.
The commandment dissolved into a photo of a woman holding an IV bag over a patient lying on a stretcher. She wore a white lab coat and a turquoise hijab. Her onyx eyes beguiled Sebastian. He felt jealous; Ethan had bedded a beautiful woman.
Dr. Haifa Saba treats the sick and wounded in the Gaza Strip. What commitment, what decency, except—Dr. Saba works for Hamas.
Hamas has declared a jihad against Israel—a holy war against the Jewish state. Since she works for Hamas, Dr. Saba supports the destruction of Israel. Since Ethan Tremblay knows Dr. Saba in the biblical sense, he must support the destruction ofIsraeltoo. What’s next—holocaust denials?
Pictures of the reporter and the doctor blended together.
That’s the kind of company Ethan Tremblay kept and your tax dollars helped him do it.
He spent your money to travel to Gaza. His reports were a ruse, a cover for a rendezvous with his girlfriend.
But it gets worse. The ninth commandment says Thou Shalt Not Bear False Witness Against Thy Neighbour.
Lily’s spoken commandment was reinforced by a written version.
Ethan Tremblay put his doctor friend in his own CBC reports and let her denounce Israel.
Slow motion footage pilfered from The National complemented Lily’s rant: Ethan in a flak jacket, Dr. Saba bandaging a child’s arm. Perfect shots, thought Sebastian.
He let her say terrible things. He let her lie on the air.
All because he was sleeping with her.
The CBC’s equivalent of the Ten Commandments gave Tremblay all the professional and moral guidance he needed.
It’s called Journalistic Standards and Practices. You can read it online.
A blazing-red CBC logo filled the monitor.
I’ll skip to the good stuff. It tells employees:
Don’t put yourself in a conflict of interest.
Don’t bring the CBC into disrepute.
Don’t use CBC equipment for personal interests.
The phrases zoomed out from the webpage. Nice effect, thought Sebastian.
Ethan Tremblay broke several CBC commandments.
Sounds like firing offences to me. But I don’t run the CBC.
The monitor showed a smiling Ethan on the Here & Now set.
Instead of sacking Ethan Tremblay, they made him a deal.
Leave town quietly and we’ll give you a cushy job back in Canada.
The CBC did all of this to stop you from knowing about his tryst with a Palestinian doctor.
Lily tut-tutted several times.
Naughty, naughty. That’s their secret. Tell everybody.
I’m Lily Chin.
“I do enjoy a good spanking,” said Sebastian.
He pasted Lily Chin’s web address into an email, typed Holy F*#k in the subject line and mailed it to Evan.
•
Ethan had a weakness for shortbread biscuits. He particularly enjoyed Walkers from Scotland as his midmorning snack. He always kept a tin with a Scottish piper on the lid sitting on his desk. War stories—he’d share those, ad nauseam, but shortbread, a reporter could lose a hand reaching for a finger.
Sebastian watched him savour the buttery flavour. Ethan pushed a crumb caught on his upper lip into his mouth. Even a particle was ambrosia.
“Ethan, could I see you for a minute,” called Evan from his office door.
The bonny lad is in a wee bit of trouble.
Sebastian lined up his chair with his Paris snow globe. He could see straight into Evan’s office. The window which ran the entire length of the door gave him a perfect view. Privacy was elusive in the newsroom.
Evan motioned for Ethan to take a seat. The boss showed none of his usual good nature. Only sternness flowed from his side of the desk. The more he spoke, the lower Ethan sank into his chair. Ev
an swung the computer monitor around. Ethan pinched his lower lip, a habit Sebastian had noticed whenever Ethan concentrated. He leaned forward as the Lily Lashes Out video played.
“Hi, Sebastian. I was wondering if I could ask a favour.”
Sebastian’s head jerked. One of the faceless, nameless interns stood by his cubicle. She shifted position just enough to thwart his espionage. Sebastian squelched his desire to scream.
“What do you want…?”
“Nikki,” she said, filling in the blank.
“What do you want, Nikki?”
“My professor would like two reviews of my work.”
Sebastian pushed the ball of his right foot into the carpet and wheeled his chair a few inches to the left. The angle was all wrong. He had a lovely view of Evan’s bookcase.
“Nikki, could we do this—”
The intern cut him off. “She suggested like someone on The Desk do one review. I was thinking about asking Zoe, but like I don’t want to insult Evan, he runs the shop after all, and then she suggested like getting a reporter to do the other review, I thought like, maybe you would do it….”
Sebastian tuned her out and stood up. He could see Evan’s worried face, but Ethan’s expressions were blocked by Nikki’s head.
“What do you think?”
“About what?” asked Sebastian.
“Zoe or Evan?”
“For?”
“My work assessment.”
“Go for Zoe. She’s free right now. Grab her.”
Nikki turned to confirm Zoe’s idleness, allowing cloak-and-dagger snooping again. Ethan tapped his jaw with a fist.
“Perfect,” said Nikki, returning to the blockade position.
I’m blind to the flogging.
Nikki dropped her eyes. “I have one other teensy favour to ask. I’ve always admired your reporting, like even before I started work here…”
“Nikki, what do you want?” demanded Sebastian.
She stepped back. “I, ah, I was hoping you would do the second assessment.”
“Yes, yes. Go to your desk right now and send me the link.”
“Oh thank you so much…”
“That fucking bitch,” roared Ethan.
Fawning Nikki turned into horrified Nikki. She looked at the office in terror, then back at Sebastian.