In Search of the Perfect Singing Flamingo

by Tacon, Claire;

  “No, I’m in summer semester.”

  “Cool.”

  Jeremy’s confused because in Mississauga clubs, women wear grown-up versions of the dresses little girls wear to birthday parties. To him, Jordan Baker’s outfit reads as office casual.

  Trapper’s wedged himself over to the other one, Becca, maybe. Jeremy overhears him taking her drink order.

  “Can you get me one too?” Jeremy hands him a twenty.

  Around the dance floor, several grinding couples are already messy and putting too much saliva into their kissing. I wish Luz was here and we could laugh at the tacky, fake gold leaf on every surface. Earlier today, I looked up Chicago bus and train schedules again. At work, Henry offered to give me a ride, said it would help with his duty allowance, but I’m on schedule all weekend and Frankie’s Funhouse is a total prick about time off. When I was still in school I barely got out of working afternoons. Brandon, the shift supervisor, is so lazy, he doesn’t check the availability sheets, just lets the computer slot people in.

  Jeremy’s taken advantage of Trapper’s absence to weasel up to Becca. They’re talking about kettlebells.

  “It’s just so good for the core,” Becca says. Her hair drips down past her collarbones.

  Poor Jordan Baker’s alone by the side rail, contemplating her gin and tonic.

  “May I?” Jeremy sandwiches Becca’s waist with his hands, ostensibly appraising her abs. I can’t believe it but she giggles. “You should think about becoming an instructor. Free gym membership.”

  “I was considering it. Part-time job for school, good for travel.” As she moves, the flaps under her armpit shift, revealing a sailor-striped bra. “Do you know Trapper from Trinity?”

  The question sounds like a death knell. Jeremy smoothes over the fact that he will need night school to get his marks high enough for general arts. “No, I’m taking some time off to run my own business. This your first year?”

  “Are you going to card me?” Becca tugs the end of her belt. “I’ve only got one semester left, unless I switch from sociology to econ.” Trapper returns with three tumblers. Jordan Baker sways toward us, hoping one is for her.

  “You owe me a ten-spot.” Trapper hands Jeremy a glass of amber liquid. “It’s twelve-year-old Macallan. That’s what you were drinking, right?”

  Jeremy’s still holding his empty Corona, the lime curled up like a dead shrimp.

  Becca peels off two twenties. “It’s on me.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Trapper curves his half-grin into something less smug. “It’s all good.”

  “Cheers,” Becca says. “To those like us.”

  As Jeremy’s drinking, I replay the aftershave scene from Home Alone. He manages to disguise his cough with his fist. Becca asks what business he runs.

  “Health and lifestyle. Supplements, vitamins.”

  I figure only my parents can take that line seriously. Trapper’s face walks a tightrope between disdain and disbelief. “Is that Mary Kay or a different pyramid scheme?”

  “One hundred percent legit. One hundred percent legit. Give me your address and I’ll hook you up with samples. We’ve got an awesome line for women – keeps you toned, but doesn’t bulk you up.”

  Becca hands over a business card, letter-pressed, with an S going off the corner.

  “Accessories designer?”

  “On the side.”

  Trapper checks the time, blinding me with the faceplate reflection. “So, how much are you clearing a week with powder shakes?”

  “Our top sellers make over two hundred grand a year.”

  “That’s not what I asked. How much money am I throwing away by working for the man?”

  “It’s good,” Jeremy says. “It’s good.”

  “Give me a ballpark.”

  “If you’re interested, I can get you going on the team.”

  Becca starts to laugh and Trapper follows her lead. If it’s all been a set-up, now’s when Jeremy’s going to discover he’s the punchline. I wonder how deep the history between those two goes. Whether it’s unrequited love in jeans or diapers. “Honestly,” Becca says, “I don’t see Trapper as much of a door-to-door salesman.” She leans near him when she says it, and plays with the hair above his ear. “You also hate the gym. I gave him my free pass to kettlebells and I never heard the end of it.”

  “I run. What the hell is wrong with running?” Trapper’s voice has lost its bite.

  “Nothing.” She rights herself, stands at the midpoint between Trapper and Jeremy.

  Jeremy interjects himself by making the three of them clink glasses again. This time he gets the swallow down. “Seriously though, these top sellers. They go on these awesome bonus trips.”

  “And how do the serfs at the bottom of the pyramid fare?” Trapper could be swatting a fly.

  Two is my curfew. My parents aren’t heavy about it, but I’d better be in by three, especially since we’re just supposed to be at a movie. I’m tempted to mention it, just to mortify Jeremy, but he’s spun enough of his own rope. I casually ask when he thinks we’ll get going.

  Trapper jumps at the chance. “Right, you guys are heading back to Mississauga tonight.”

  “Probably,” Jeremy says. “Sometimes we just crash with a friend in the city. I have a key to his place.” Jeremy jangles his key chain, the Lexus key conspicuously at the top. He flips it back in his pocket like he’s holstering a gun. “Time for a refill.” He knocks his head at me. Fine, I’ll pretend I’m his entourage.

  As I’m trailing him to the bar he tells me to text my mom and say I’m staying with him.

  “Can’t. I’m working in the morning.”

  “You wear a clown suit. No one’s going to see if you’re sleeping on the job.”

  “You know you aren’t getting anywhere with her, right?”

  “We’re just talking. She’s into it.”

  We’re not that far from last call, so Jeremy orders himself two Vodka Red Bulls, a round of shots for the group and another double Scotch for Becca.

  “Why don’t you break out a wad of cash and try to rub it on her thighs?”

  He masturbates the air above his crotch.

  By the time we get back, Lian, Trapper and Becca have formed a tight triangle and Jeremy has to put his arm around Lian to force his way in. “You guys want a shot?”

  “What is it?” Lian asks.

  “Jäger.”

  “I hate that stuff.”

  Trapper and Becca also decline. Trapper surveys the haul. “Looks like you brought back half the bar.”

  Jeremy fails to manoeuvre closer to Becca. “Got you another Macallan.”

  “You’re sweet.” Her thin fingers circle the glass, retract. She’s got the perfect hand for a horror short about a claw machine made from human limbs. Jeremy’s got the stink of arcade too, like someone who’s not sure if he should keep feeding loonies into the Stack ’Em or if he should look for an iPad somewhere else.

  He retreats to the lounge chairs.

  “No takers?” Another friend has arrived, really skinny and dapper. He’s got a bow tie too, but not a clip-on, looks like silk.

  “Goody,” Jordan Baker says and grabs a shot of Jäger. Bow Tie hands me one too. Jeremy motions for me to just drink it. He’s still playing four years older, doesn’t want me to blow his cover. I’m tired and cheesed off and if I’m drinking, even one shot, I’m not driving his mom’s car. Jeremy can pony up for a cab or we can wait it out at the twenty-four-hour Golden Griddle.

  When I reach for a second, Jeremy tells me to take it easy. “This guy never drinks,” he says, very big brother. “We should head back to Mississauga pretty soon.”

  “I already texted my parents and said I was staying at your place.”

  Jeremy is ready to die but Jordan Baker perks up. “What are you in high school or something?”

  “Just graduated.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  Jeremy snaps at me t
o quiet that down but Bow Tie waves him off.

  “No one cares,” he says. “What kind of fake ID did you get?”

  I hand over Jeremy’s cousin’s licence. Jordan Baker studies it and then me. “You look nothing like this guy.”

  Bow Tie concurs.

  “Are you two even related?” she points back and forth between Jeremy and me.

  It’s a race to see who denies it first.

  “Are you eighteen too?”

  “Nah, nah. Our moms are friends. I’m older.”

  Jordan Baker barely acknowledges him. “So did you do the whole prom thing?”

  “No, Darren was too busy panting after his ex-girlfriend.” Now that he’s mocking me, Jeremy regains his swagger. “She went to film school and ditched him at Christmas. He hasn’t gotten laid since.”

  Bow Tie ignores him. “So what did you do prom night?”

  “I worked. Watched Carrie when I got home.”

  “This is tragic.”

  “It gets worse.” Jeremy nudges me. “Tell them where you work.”

  “You’re going to make fun of my job now?”

  He drums his fingers on the table, his smile wide enough to swallow a whole bagel.

  “I do the walk-around at Frankie’s Funhouse.”

  “You dress up in the suit?” Bow Tie grabs Jeremy’s last spare drink and hands it to me.

  I reply with Frankie’s signature laugh – aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa, like an engine cranking, punctuated by a falsetto woah!

  “My brother had his fourth birthday party there,” Jordan Baker says. “He rammed his head into Frankie’s nuts.”

  “That happens to D-man all the time.” Jeremy keeps glancing over to see Becca’s progress with her Scotch, the fluctuations in her proximity to Trapper.

  My face is flushed from the drinks and I don’t bother to respond. I try to calculate the probability of Jeremy being able to drive us home soon – the units of alcohol consumed, the hours wasted. Jordan Baker and Bow Tie leave, having lost interest in la vida Funhouse.

  “You owe me twenty-five.” Jeremy points to the empty glasses.

  “I didn’t even want to come out tonight.”

  “Consider it gas money. It’s the end of the month.”

  “You live at home.”

  He scowls at me. I don’t know if he’s trying to save face or if he thinks he still has a chance.

  “What bills do you have?”

  “What bills do you have?”

  “Tuition.”

  “You’re going to be a lot of fun in college.”

  Before he’s finished his sulk, Becca reappears. She hovers her arm over Jeremy’s deltoids and taps his glass. “Can I have a sip?” As soon as the drink is in her hand, she straightens up. She doesn’t give it back.

  Lian and Trapper sit on the backs of the vacant loungers. Jeremy tries to start a conversation about downtown condo investments. No one joins him. We all want to leave.

  The club exits to a side alley off Richmond. It’s the first time this July that the heat’s broken and the chill starches me up against the swimminess in my head. My stomach’s starting to turn.

  “Well,” I say. “Nice to meet you guys.”

  Trapper shakes my hand, Lian pats my back. Only Jeremy seems unsure. He pitches his question mostly to Becca. “You heading home?”

  “We might check out an after-hours club.”

  I clap my hand against Jeremy’s jacket. “Too bad we’ve got to get back to Mississauga.”

  Trapper’s already turning away.

  “Is it close?” Jeremy asks.

  “Dude, we have to go.”

  “Darren, you’re acting like a kid with a bedtime.”

  I’m done sidestepping. “Becca, before we go to another club, can I ask you a favour?”

  Becca swings her face to me, a blur of yellow and grey.

  “Can you break down the probability of your genitals touching Jeremy’s at some point tonight? Fifty-fifty, one in a million?”

  Trapper blusters out what sounds like a defence of her honour. Lian laughs and laughs.

  Jeremy right-hooks my cheek.

  He grabs my shirt and shoves me into the brick wall of the alley. He does it again. That’s when I start to fight back. I try to knee him, but he deflects. Trapper, Lian and Becca have turned the corner, enveloped into the clubland crowd.

  “Why the fuck do you have to be such a little bitch?” Another hit to my gut. As I crumple, my tailbone hits the wall. Jeremy heaves me upright, raises his fist again in threat.

  “He’s been laughing at you all night.” When I speak, bits of saliva and red speckle his face.

  All around us there are people stumbling home, hailing cabs. In movies, someone always steps in when people are starting to shove each other. The fighters strain against the peacekeepers until one of them gets walked off. We get distance and dirty looks.

  “You’re a fucking pussy, Darren.” Jeremy swipes my ankle out from underneath me. I feel my jaw click toward itself. I stay face down on the pavement, the asphalt warmer than the air. There’s a trail of kitchen grease six inches away and a burger wrapper under my wrist.

  A hand grabs the scruff of my shirt, snapping my tie open. A woman’s voice is shouting, “Get the fuck off him. I’m calling the police.”

  Jeremy’s hands are up in the air. “It’s cool.”

  “No, it’s not fucking cool.” The voice pulls me up and farther away from him, farther into the street. I lose track of him behind a guy in a Jays shirt who’s big enough to be part Wookiee.

  The voice keeps me moving. There’s a couple getting into a cab but she pushes me in front of them and they back off. She asks the driver where the nearest hospital is.

  “St. Mike’s.”

  “I’ve got to get back to Mississauga.”

  She’s taken off a tank top and is holding it up to my face. “You need to decide if you want to press charges. I’ll give you my name and info as a witness.”

  “Our moms are like sisters.”

  The glass of the cab is so flat and cold on my skin. I hear the driver insist to the voice that he’s not an ambulance and he’s going to charge me if I bleed on his upholstery. The voice says something to soothe him, but my face gets pulled off the window.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  “I told him I wanted to go home.”

  “You were getting pounded.”

  All I can do is look down at my hands and nod slowly. My one eye is swollen up and the booze is blurring the other. I hand my wallet over. I don’t even think I have my health card because Jeremy said it would be bad to have two IDs if I got carded.

  The girl, I can see now that she’s older. It looks like she’s got feathers instead of hair, but maybe it’s just that short, dyed in parts. She’s really small. I didn’t expect that. “Bryan Awana? Is that even your real name?”

  “Darren Leung.”

  “We should call your parents.”

  I shake my head.

  “I don’t have eight hours to wait with you in emergency.”

  I shake my head again, regret it.

  “Does this hurt?” She prods my temple. “Open your mouth and close it. Good, you don’t need stitches. Just don’t pass out, don’t make me worry about a concussion.” She calls up to the driver. “Danforth and Woodbine.”

  STARR

  AT FOUR, I KNOCK ON DELLA’S DOOR AND REMIND HER that it’s time for dinner prep. Dinner prep starts after Dr. Phil is over on the OMNI channel. Our job is to get the ingredients out and set the table before Cynthia gets here. Della won’t come out. She’s been in her room all afternoon.

  The steps are laid out in pictures on the inside of the pantry door. The first picture is wiping the table. I know it’s the first step but it’s still nice to be able to remind myself. Della usually puts out the napkins and the cutlery because she’s better at folding than I am. I decide to do it for her because Della is a good roommate and you can show people you care by doing
little things for them. The rolls come out a bit lopsided. Which is okay, because we do the best we can.

  I also set out the plates, the water glasses and empty the dishwasher so it will be ready when we’re done.

  Cynthia will be here any minute. Cynthia is good at always being on time. I like her because she has interesting things to talk about and never cooks horrible things like spinach. If it’s baked on a pizza, spinach is actually okay, but when it is fried, it slides down my throat too quickly.

  Della needs to come out of her room before Cynthia arrives. I knock again. “Della, how are you?”

  She doesn’t answer. Her radio is on and she is listening to Katy Perry. It’s the song about kissing a girl. I like the tune of the song but I don’t like the words and I would never sing along because people would think I am a lesbian. There’s nothing wrong with being a lesbian, but I am not a lesbian and when my ex-boyfriend told everyone I was a lesbian, no one spoke to me for a week and I didn’t go back to that group home ever again. I would like to have a lesbian friend though because I like Ellen a lot and she would be a good best friend.

  Right now, Della is not being a good friend. Ignoring people is not polite. I wait outside her door for her to let me in but I don’t open it because privacy is also important and privacy is something we used to fight about. It’s hard for me to be on the other side of a closed door.

  When Cynthia gets here, she is going to be impressed with all the work I’ve done. On the pantry door, there is also a meal plan. Today we are making pasta and salad. So I look at the ingredients and I get them out of the cupboards and the fridge. I have the carrot, cucumber and red pepper ready for the salad. The container of lettuce is on the counter and I am ready for the pasta when Cynthia calls up. We have a security camera on the TV and I turn on channel three to see who is waiting. It is Cynthia. No surprise today. She is number four on the list of people that we are allowed to buzz in. The other condos have horrible doorbells that make a growled up sound but Dad fixed ours to play three notes from a piano. He is a really good dad. Della’s father is much more serious and I don’t think he likes the new system. But it is our house.

  Della is a friend and a roommate, but she is not my best friend. My sister, Melanie, is. In my room there’s a picture of us in a frame that says “Sisters by chance, friends by choice.” Levi is my other best friend. He helped me when I started at the bakery and did all the drawings to help me remember sandwiches. He is very handsome and patient. When I asked him to be my boyfriend, he didn’t get mad like my mom did when she found out. He just said, “Already taken.” He likes men and I’ve seen pictures of his husband on Levi’s phone. Levi said that if he did like women, he’d like a sweet girlfriend, just like me.