by Kim Cayer
Daphne looked over the assortment of food we’d gathered; enough to feed an entire homeless shelter. “Looks like you’re stuck with the food from the grocery. That should please you – it’s all fruit and vegetables.”
“I don’t even think I’m that hungry,” I said, just as my stomach let forth a mighty gurgle and growl. “Well, maybe a little. I’ll find something.” Remembering the debris that came with the windfall of food, I tried to make a sensible choice. I didn’t want to eat the skin on anything that came in contact with actual garbage. I finally settled on a brown-spotted banana. Even as I peeled it, I noticed white spots of who-knows-what clinging to the skin.
I may as well have been slurping baby food; the banana was that soft. It did assuage the hunger in my belly though. Something else would have made me feel better but though the Shanghai noodles smelled delicious, the melted spatula adhering to it was an appetite inhibitor.
Daphne re-bagged the food she didn’t eat and placed it into her overstocked shopping cart. She patted the mattress. “All in all, a successful night,” she pronounced. I took that as a sign this cursed evening was over until she continued, “Though we have miles and miles to go.”
I jerked, as if she’d actually hit me. “Oh, no! Not me!” I replied. “I don’t have miles and miles left in me…”
“It’s just a saying,” she stopped me. “Let’s take a walk down this street, see if we can find some interesting junk.”
This was a little better. At least we weren’t inserting our bodies into giant garbage bins. Now we were just out sightseeing, looking at what people had put out for trash. Daphne, sated from her meal, desultorily lifted lids and poked around a bit through the contents.
From one can she extracted a ratty old stuffed animal. “Your name will be Boo Boo!” she exclaimed. She gave it a hug and then squeezed it into her cart. In one recycling box she pulled out a Hello Canada magazine, with a picture of Ben Mulroney on the cover. She gave that a hug as well. “Just you wait, Ben,” she whispered. “Your time will come.”
At the end of the street, we came upon a beautiful house, more splendid than the rest. A lone garbage can rested at the end of the circular drive, under the last streetlight on the block. In the can, on top of a small bag of trash, rested an old vintage suitcase. I would have loved to take that case, if only my car had space for it. Maybe I could make room?
I rushed forward, finally excited by a find. I wasn’t prepared to be rudely pushed aside by Daphne. “I go first!” she said quite frostily. “How dare you!”
“Whoa, chill out, Daphne,” I retorted. “I just want to see the suitcase.”
She blocked me from the garbage can. “Then I will extend my apologies. If you like the suitcase, then it’s yours.” As if she owned it in the first place! “I’ll take whatever is inside…if it’s of any value to me, that is.”
She stepped aside and I pulled the case out of the trash can. Immediately I could see the latches were broken. Daphne opened up the case and again my nasal senses were assaulted. This time is was an ancient musty smell. I stepped away from the case.
“You certainly don’t have a nose for this, do you?” Daphne asked. “To me, this is another special aroma…from a long-ago era…” She pulled out a few dated Valentines. “Look at these – cherished mementoes of love….” Next came a well-worn pair of ballet flats, followed by some dated piano songbooks. “Artistic people…,” Daphne mused. For a moment she studied a bundle of photographs, then looked up at me. “I have a passion for culture, you know, and I think I recognize some of these people. My memory fails me at the moment, but I think they were stage stars.”
In the next instant, my newfound friend went from quirky to downright freaky. She reached into the bottom of the suitcase and pulled out the last item. It appeared to be a stage script, with the cover darkened by many scribbled signatures. In one breath, she’s gushing, “Ohh, directed by Alan Lund…,” and in the next, her eyes are bugging out as she sees something written on the cover.
I reached for the script, intrigued by her reaction. “What is it, Daphne? Let me see!”
I was denied. Daphne strong-armed me out of the way and then shoved the script into her shirt. She sprang to her shopping cart and started walking away in a hurry, as if she’d stolen something.
I ran behind her. “Come on, Daphne, you’ve got to show me what you found!”
“Go away!” she shouted. “Take the suitcase. This is mine!”
“Whatever it is, you can have it,” I said. “I don’t want it. I just want to know what you found.”
“You want to take it from me!” she screeched.
“No, I don’t!” I said, as a porch light came on at a nearby house. “Quiet, you’re making a scene.”
“Then go away!”
“Fine!” I said. “I’m going!” However, the only way back was the same direction Daphne was headed. I followed along about ten paces behind her. She kept glancing back at me.
“I don’t trust you!” she decided. “Cross the street!”
“What’s your problem?” I had to ask. “Why are you acting this way?”
She patted her chest. “This could be my ticket,” she said. “The golden ticket. MY golden ticket, and you’re not getting any of it. Now cross the street!”
“You can stop telling me what to do anytime,” I suggested. I’d decided I really had enough of her. Who needed friends like this? I so badly wanted my real girlfriends back in my life. I’d even OFFER to babysit Therese’s rotten kids.
“CROSS THE STREET!” Daphne suddenly started shrieking. “CROSS THE STREET! CROSS THE STREET!”
Jesus Christ, she suddenly scared me so much, I didn’t just cross the street. I began to run away from Daphne. I ran back through the alley, my peripheral vision catching sight of one garbage bag I’d tossed over the dumpster by mistake. A raccoon was already into the mess. I ran until I reached the Coffee Time shop, where my car was parked.
First, real food was in order. I walked in, ordered a large roastbeef sandwich, and used their washroom facilities. Cleansing my hands of the night’s escapades used up a ton of soap. How I yearned for a bath, but the coffee-shop’s sink was the next best thing.
It felt so good to be ‘home’. Even though I didn’t live in a house, I didn’t live on the streets like Daphne. I shuddered when I thought of the surreal evening I had just spent. For one moment, I thought it would be such a good tale to share with the girls. Ahhh, but it wouldn’t happen. And I knew this would be the first and last time I would engage in social contact until I got my life sorted out.
Speaking of Daphne, whom should I see in my rearview mirror? The cacophony of her cart was what drew my attention. I couldn’t make out her face; the mattress obscured it. I watched her approach.
Don’t ask me why, but I guess what I did next was catty. She deserved it though, for turning feral on me. Just as she passed by my car, I honked my horn. Daphne jumped, and then looked in my window. I gave her a wave as I pulled out of my parking spot.
Daphne had admired whoever the lady was who lived in this car. Well, that lady was me, and I felt such pride as I drove by her stupefied look. Even my Suzuki purred like I’ve rarely known her to do, acting as if she were a Rolls Royce.
Eat your heart out, Daphne, ‘cuz this is the high life.
Chapter Nine
Living in fear of being busted by the cops was taking its toll. Every time I tried to sleep, and felt a car’s headlights wash over my vehicle, I prepared to be rousted. And I wasn’t just worried about a vagrancy charge; I also fretted when I was driving. Though I was a careful and obeyed all the rules and regulations of the road, I was sure I’d be pulled over for obstructed vision. There was so much stuff in my car, most of my windows were basically useless.
One evening, I drove through a Tim Horton’s in Oshawa, having just finished doing a French maid to a boy who was turning 18 at midnight. When I performed for him, I felt like a pervert. Legally he was still a child. I
was twice his age and it just felt gross. I hoped I was the only one who felt that way. The acne-ridden pudgy kid seemed naturally thrilled when I sat on his lap and turned a beet-red when I laid a kiss near the top of his unblemished ear. His parents, who had sent the gift, looked on with pride.
“Large French Vanilla,” I said to the drive-thru’s speakers. I had no idea why I’d ordered that. Maybe I was still in my French-maid mode. I was getting a little coffee-d out anyhow.
“Wow, you have a lot of stuff,” the girl at the take-out window observed. “Are you moving?”
“Nah, it’s just my work stuff,” I replied. I took my cappuccino and left. I was about to hit the highway back to Toronto when I stifled a big yawn.
There was a Holiday Inn just to the left of me. This time I let loose with a giant roar of a yawn as I turned into the hotel’s lot. I had nowhere to be until tomorrow afternoon, and nobody to miss me. Who cared where I stayed? I found my usual out-of-the way spot, where no prying eyes would stare down at me as I slept, and bedded down for the night.
A sharp series of hard raps at my driver’s side window caused me to jump a mile high. As I instinctively reached for the keys to start the car and run, I glanced at the window. Standing there was an officer of the law.
I rolled down the window a few inches. “Yes?” I meekly asked.
“You’re sleeping in your car,” he duly noted. “You’re parked at a hotel. Why aren’t you sleeping in the hotel?”
“Oh, I’m not staying there!” I gave a half-hearted laugh.
“Then why are you parked overnight in their lot?” he continued his line of questioning.
And okay, I’ll confess right now and hope the statute of limitations has passed, but I lied to the cop. Dramatically lied. I looked at my watch and played dumb and told fibs like they were raining from the sky.
“Oh my God! Is it really three o’clock?” I batted my eyes. “I’m supposed to meet a friend…I’m helping her move…she…she was waiting on keys…we were meeting up here…I must have fallen asleep…I wonder where she is?”
I hoped he wouldn’t ask me her name. I was plumb out of falsehoods. If they took me to court on this, I wouldn’t be able to stick to my story. Already I was forgetting half of it.
The cop looked over at his cruiser, where I could see another officer through its open door. He was obviously running my plates through the system. That grated on me; as I said, perfect driving record, no criminal activity, I was a certifiable saint.
The policeman in the cruiser answered a call on the radio, then called to the cop standing by my car. “She’s okay,” he said. “Let’s roll, domestic disturbance.”
“Alright, listen,” the cop by my car slammed his palm on the rooftop, “you might want to get moving. Or get a room. Just don’t be sleeping here.” He joined his mate in the squad car and, with sirens quiet but lights flashing, they shot out of the lot.
I left as well. I didn’t care for my stay at the Holiday Inn.
The very next night, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself as I drove away from my last show. It was a top-hat-and-tails telegram to a very appreciative crowd at a 50th-anniversary party. The husband was a real ladies’ man, which only helped make the show more entertaining as I rolled with his one-liners.
“I wouldn’t mind a shag with you one night,” he quipped as he drew me into a tight one-armed squeeze.
“Gee, I don’t know, you handsome devil,” I returned. “Let me ask your wife of fifty years how she feels about that.”
I asked the wife if I may give her husband a kiss on the cheek and she agreed. I gave him a little peck and then pointed behind the wife, saying, “Oh, that lady wants to take a picture.” There was no lady but as always, the missus turned her head to look. That’s when I grabbed the hubby and started planting a load of kisses on his cheek. His face was tattooed with red lipstick. That got such a good laugh, I had the seniors at this party pissing their pants.
The two shows before that went just as smoothly; that is, once I found the nurse’s costume. I was sure I’d packed it, but I recalled see-sawing on whether I should. I rarely got calls for it…but it wasn’t a bulky costume… After parking in a Home Depot lot, I unloaded my trunk. Tucked right beside my spare tire was a black garbage bag. I didn’t recall seeing it since…forever, it seemed. Obviously it had managed to wedge itself under the mat and into the bowels of my car trunk.
Inside the bag, the top level revealed some magazines I’d probably intended on reading. My Good Housekeeping, my Chatelaine, my Taste of Home…all filled with recipes I’d planned on clipping out. Under that level was a bag of jewellery, hair pins and a fancy dress. That had been added last-minute and I have no idea what I was thinking when I’d tossed it in. Did I plan on socializing while I lived in my car? To the point where I’d need an elegant blue velvet dress with matching shawl? My current wardrobe stayed the course between fishnet stockings, halter dress, white gloves…to sweats and a t-shirt. When I wasn’t performing, my everyday wear still managed to resemble my Bag Lady costume.
To my relief, the next item to appear was the Once Upon A Time bag in which I kept the nurse’s costume, complete with giant thermometer, stethoscope, clipboard, official-looking name tag… The show would go on! I saw one more bag under that, The Shoe Company, and dug into it. Whoa, my nun outfit! It was another small costume; the crosses, little bible, simple robe and straw belt packed easily. Just the nun’s headpiece needed some future work.
The nurse’s gig led to a gorilla-gram. I didn’t have to drive far until I found the address, but drove completely around the block once. There were no cars anywhere except in their own driveways. My house had a single car in its drive. I became the sole vehicle parked on the street as I tentatively made my way to the front door.
Gorilla mask on, I went into performance mode the moment the door opened. There was a moment of laughter and whoops of surprise, but then I had to stop my act for a couple minutes while the mom dealt with a freaking-out baby. Since she was also taking a video, she asked me to hang on for one quick second. She disappeared and I gave a sly look at the three-year-old and five-year-old kids watching me. Sometimes I forget I’m wearing a mask; I don’t know what kind of look it appeared the gorilla was sending.
“So you’re 30, huh?” I asked the birthday man conversationally. He nodded as the three-year-old hid behind his leg. “Three kids, huh?” I continued. Just the gorilla and the dad, shooting the breeze. “Must be a lot of work,” I went on.
“What was that?” he asked. I forgot I had to ENUNCIATE, speak loudly and clearly, when I was wearing that oxygen-sucking mask. And why was I wasting breath anyhow? With that mask on, I had JUST ten minutes before my brain screamed for oxygen.
The wife scurried back. I went back into my gorilla posture, let out one grunt, and she said, “Wait, wait, I have to turn this thing back on.” She fumbled with the video camera and then said, “Action!”
I went into my act but cut it about four minutes short. I could see, through the gorilla’s forehead actually, that the kids cringed whenever I got a little too vocal. Taking a step in either direction caused the three-year-old to cower. I was wondering how I would go into the ‘Happy Birthday’ dance with the little guy attached to his dad’s leg. Suddenly the lad began to whimper.
“The monkey man is scaring me,” he said, clear in his speech.
“It’s not a real monkey,” his mother blew the scam. “It’s just a person wearing a costume.”
“No, it’s not!” the boy began to sound like he was going to start crying. “He scared Tanner and now I’m scared.”
The mother turned to me. “Why don’t you take off your head?” she suggested.
Inside the costume, I grunted. If I was a child, that suggestion alone would have given me the chills. The dad said to me, “You don’t have to, it’s not necessary,” and to the little boy, “Noah! Suck it up! Be a man!”
The three-year-old tried to be tough for a moment, but big sn
orts were emitting from his nose. The mom again asked, “Please? Take off your head? I don’t want Noah going on all night about this after you leave.”
So I knelt down on the carpet and removed my head. Noah instantly calmed down. “You’re a monkey girl!” was his first comment. I held out my mask to him and even let him hold it. He was stroking the fur as I tried to fix my own hair. I hadn’t expected to be seen in public. I was glad I still had pretty-girl make-up on from the nurse’s gig.
Before I even saw it happen, I heard a juvenile grunt and turned to look at Noah. He had my gorilla mask on his head. It looked pretty funny and we all laughed, but mine was a little forced. Within seconds of me putting on that gorilla mask, I’d begin to sweat. I didn’t want to envision the grossness that kid felt when the inside of the mask touched his own face. No need for the parents to know, I figured, as I took the mask back.
Having spent enough time there to warrant a decent telegram show, I went to my third gig of the night. I was pleased with having three in Toronto. Some days I’d have three shows but I’d total 500 kilometres on my car. Today I racked up about thirty k’s.
As mentioned, a third show that went swell. Never mind all shows being in close proximity, I didn’t have to do much with my make-up, other than keep the pretty-girl face going. No beauty marks to apply, no red nose, no gap in my teeth. Before I got into my driver’s seat, I took off the tails and the top hat, the cummerbund and the tie, and tossed them into the costume bag. I’d change out of the rest later when I got to my spot of the night. Not knowing where that was to be yet, I got into the car and drove away from the scene of the show.
Driving along the Queensway, my phone began to ring and I could see it was Shannon calling. I swung down a side street as I connected. “Hang on, Shannon, I’m driving,” I said swiftly. “I’m pulling over, just give me a second.”