by Kim Cayer
There was a huge box store with a big parking lot, a Costco. At this hour, it was closed so I simply parked my car at a strange angle, disregarding the painted lines. I resumed my conversation. “OK, I’m back,” I said, “and somethings’s got to be up. You never call me on a Saturday night. What is it?”
“I don’t think it’s anything important,” she assuaged me right off the start. “It’s just…I did something…it’s probably illegal…and it’s really eating at me.”
“Illegal!” I gasped. “That’s important!”
“PROBABLY illegal, is what I said,” Shannon cleared it up.
“What is it? You shoplifted?”
“No, that’s definitely illegal,” Shannon said. The only thing that could get on my nerves what when she talked to me like she was the adult and I was the kid. “This is like…you could say I tampered with mail that wasn’t mine.”
“Whose?” I asked loudly. I was thinking it was the guy three houses down. In the last year before I’d left, he had FedEx and UPS at his door daily. We were naturally curious. “The guy with the boat in his driveway?”
“Dad’s,” she stated.
Oh, big deal. “Relax, Shannon, you’re not going to jail,” I laughed. “I don’t think it counts when it’s family-related.”
“That’s not all of it,” Shannon intoned. “It’s kind of a strange piece of mail…”
“Don’t tell me!” I cut her off. “It’s porno!”
“No…”
“It’s drugs!” I took another guess.
“No, it—”
“IT’S A CREDIT CARD!” I shrieked. “Please don’t tell me he managed…”
“Mom!” Shannon stopped my oncoming rant. “Let me explain! You know how you told me to take care of your mail, right? So I see a letter, I figure it’s one of those regular statements you get, from KidsCanLearn. It’s always addressed to both you guys, but I know it goes into your tax file.”
“OK, so get to the part about Dad’s mail,” I urged. KidsCanLearn was the RESP account where I monthly contributed a hundred bucks. All in the name of Shannon’s education.
“I am,” she replied. “So I take the letter, but then I notice it’s only addressed to Dad.”
“That’s weird,” I stated, as my heart began to pound faster. “So you opened it.”
“Yeah, I confess. I opened it, and there’s this letter with a form attached to it. It says that if he wants to pull out funds ahead of my scheduled start at university, he had to fill out the form and send it back.” She hesitated a moment. “Do you know what that could be about?”
Oh, did I ever! That bastard lowlife scumbucket, denied access to his wife’s thousands, was now going after money earmarked for his kid’s university. Money I’d saved up over SEVENTEEN years! Ben was actually stealing from his own child!
“Listen,” I began to speak, before realizing I sounded too harsh. I wanted to spill the facts – Your Dad is so low in ethics, you’d better sleep with your purse, Shannon. Lock up the gold earrings your Grandma gave you as well as that 1967 coin collection you won with that Canada Day speech. But I just didn’t want to bend Shannon’s ear with any more bad talk directed at her father. Lord knows she had enough to do with me gone – clean the house, do the laundry, buy the groceries, take care of our property, mind the big baby. Oh, and I think she also had a life of her own to lead.
I tried again, barely containing my anger. “Listen, sweetie, there’s probably been some kind of mistake. I’m going to call KidsCan Learn first thing Monday and sort it out. But in the meantime, do not give your Dad that letter, understand?”
“Ok, got it, I just thought you should know,” Shannon said miserably. I think she realized the truth.
We said our goodbyes right after that. I couldn’t wait to get off the phone; I wanted to have a little wig-out. I used every curse invented, even making up new ones. Near the end, the words I was spouting didn’t even make sense.
“That asshole wipe cocksucker, that fuckin’ piece of tit licker, that dog…crap…fried rice-face…force-fed…con man!” came at the close of my twenty-minute meltdown. My voice was hoarse from yelling. I hate to admit to crying as well, but you may as well add I did that too.
I laid back in my seat and wearily tried to see if there was any other way Ben could rob me blind. Ever since he’d managed to sabotage my finances a while back, with the line of credit and joint bank-account withdrawals, as well as maxing out the Visa, I became quite diligent about where my money went. I put stop-payments on anything with Ben’s name attached. I made sure that his foolish expenditures wouldn’t come back to haunt me. He was on his own, he had to be a big boy and make his own way. You’d think he would look for a job already.
But no, he went looking for some possible way to eke more money out of me. I’d completely forgotten about Shannon’s university fund. Maybe I didn’t even think of it as MY money, or OUR money; it belonged to Shannon. Ben must have tried everything before he came up with this brilliant plan. Those statements went immediately into my tax files, so he had to do some pretty intense searching. If only he’d search as hard through the help-wanted ads.
As I looked in my rearview mirror, I saw a long face staring back at me, eye make-up completely smeared down my cheeks. Any chipper feelings I’d had from the good day’s work had been completely washed away in one fell swoop. Thanks, Ben.
A set of lights appeared in the mirror. In the parking lot’s bright overhead lights, I could see it was a cop car. The desire to start up my vehicle and innocently drive away was strong, but I knew that would only make me appear guilty. I sat there and waited for them. Please, please, just drive by, look me over, drive on. I was still partly dressed in my top-hat-and-tails clothes; I felt confident that lent me some class.
The car made a wide circle around me, somewhat menacing. The driver pulled his car right up beside mine, so close neither one of us could open our door if we wanted to. He parked in such a way that we could talk to one another face to face.
“Can I ask what you’re doing here in the middle of the night?” the officer said.
“Of course you can ask, you’re the police,” I replied, somewhat crisply. That’s not what I meant to say at all. Where did this attitude come from?
He just gave me a steady look. “You’re alone in a parking lot. It’s late at night.”
The tears just burst through. The officer’s partner, who’d been sitting silently by, filling out a report book, merely turned his head to look at me. I wanted to lie again, but not like before, where I couldn’t keep track of my story. “I…I had a fight with my husband… Sorry, I just packed a bunch of stuff cuz…I’m leaving him…I didn’t know where to go…I just parked here for now. I’m trying to figure it out…”
“Maybe you need a shelter,” the officer in the passenger seat said, not even bothering to look up from his reports.
“Maybe I need a hitman,” I retorted. Again, where did that come from? I never even spanked Shannon. I’m a total pacifist.
The cop who sat less than a foot away gave me a stern look. “You don’t want to be talking like that, especially to a police officer.”
Once again my lip started quivering. “Oh, I don’t even know what I’m saying! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, do you have the address of a shelter?” I pretended to absorb their directions and thanked them for their help.
They took off, having done their civic duty. Instead of a shelter, I drove across the street to a used car lot. Squeezing Suzi between a BMW and a Lexus, I assured her she wasn’t for sale and we both called it a (crummy) night.
Frimette from Top Choice Entertainment called. I was quick to answer. Frimette didn’t call often but when she did, the jobs were top notch. She’d done many things to win my appreciation. For example, I’d tell her it would cost $175 for me to travel to Bowmanville. She’d say, “OK, I’m putting you down for $250.”
“Hey, Madeline!” she greeted me. “You still doing a top hat and tails?”
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�You bet. I’m looking at it right now,” I said. The costume lay on top of the pile in the back seat.
She went into the job offer. To her, it was just another call that had come her agency’s way and she was simply filling the position. To me, it was the job of a lifetime! As this particular point in my life, this gig would help to alleviate a couple of my current problems. Mainly, it would add money to my bank account and it would get rid of my B.O.
The bird baths were a lark at first, but my body was crying out for a full immersion in water. I wanted to feel bath water flow over my armpits and my genitals. I yearned to be fully clean. I could barely stand the smell of myself anymore.
“Here’s what I have to offer,” Frimette began. “I hope you can do it. For starters, it’s in Windsor.”
“I don’t mind,” I cheerfully replied. “I’ve gone to Windsor before.” Long drive, little over three hours one way, but I’d spent that much time looking for a good place to bed down for the night.
“And it’s a full day of singing telegrams,” she went on. “They want you to arrive Monday, to make sure you are there for Tuesday’s shows. On Tuesday, you go to Windsor Airport arrivals area. Throughout the day, there’s a total of seven planes landing with groups of people attending a conference. You’re to sing them a welcoming song. They don’t want any more than five minutes.”
“So arrive Monday and…” I prodded.
“It’s all worked out,” Frimette said. “You arrive Monday and check in at the hotel attached to the Windsor Casino…hey, maybe you can do a little gambling!” I laughed, although it was a phoney hardee-har. AS IF. I was reduced to picking up coins I found at drive-thru windows. “Check in is at four p.m.,” Frimette continued. “You’ll have to get up early Tuesday, first plane lands at 8:15, last plane is scheduled to land at 7. You go back to the hotel for the second night; it’s too far to drive home afterwards. Check out is at 11.”
“I love it!” was all I could say.
“You sure? You’re going to be away from home for three days, you know,” she warned. Little did she know.
Further jubilation ensued when I got the email with the details. Never mind the hotel, I was being paid $2,000! The cherry on top was that I was also given $100 a day for meals…$300 on food alone! Considering how I was using coupons to get two-for-one meals, this was a bonanza worthy of a T-bone steak, twice a day.
I did a show on Sunday afternoon, in Waterloo, a clown show. Seemed the client was trying to win back his girlfriend. The song I had to write was sickeningly sweet, but I had no comedic notes to work with. It was all about her deep blue eyes, her funny ways, her patience with him.
I went in all happy and bubbly and left with the same painted-on smile, but feeling miserable for my client. I had barely pressed the doorbell of the fancy house when it swung open with force. A young woman, maybe 23 or 24, glared at me. Despite her anger, I was transfixed by her eyes. They were a startling shade of sky blue, the beauty further enhanced by the kohl and the lush lashes surrounding them.
But polite and patient? Not so much. She opened with, “Did Carlos send you?”
I wasn’t going to say; that came at the end of the song. “Charmaine!” I said. “The great and gorgeous Char…!”
“Cut it,” she ordered. “If you’re sent from Carlos, you can leave right now.”
“Can I just sing you a song first?” I asked.
“Is it from Carlos?” she demanded an answer. I didn’t say anything so she began to close the front door.
I stuck my big clown shoe into the doorframe before it closed completely. “Look, it’ll only take a couple minutes!” I said. “The guy went to a lot of trouble to send this. Can’t you just hear his message? I won’t even sing you the song.” The message was saccharine as well, and he’d asked if I’d get down on bended knee to beg forgiveness as I read it. No problem! Never a problem; that’s why I got the bulk of the work. I went the distance.
“Look, I’m not interested,” she said, as I withdrew my foot to get down on my knee. “But you can pass on this message to him…bugger off!” And the door was slammed in my face.
I didn’t mind. I did my job as best I could. I made the trek to Waterloo, I wrote the song, I delivered it. Having thought that, I left the song in the mailbox next to the door. Job well done! The client needn’t know the outcome and I knew I would get paid. If Charmaine wanted to further speak to Carlos, she could tell him herself how it played out.
Where to next? Since I was already a third of the way to Windsor for my upcoming gig, I continued in that direction. I arrived about 24 hours before I could check into my hotel. Not knowing the city, I followed some signs that led me to the Windsor Casino and parked in its lot.
A big sigh escaped me. How long since I’d been living in my car? When had I last done anything remotely sociable or fun or exciting? I mean, I met people all the time. Geez, with my job, I met a thousand new people a year. But when did I last just do something to relieve boredom or take a break? And here I sat in my car, buried amongst Taco Bell wrappers and Harvey’s containers and coffee cups from Starbucks to Timothy’s, not a hundred yards from the Windsor Casino. I watched the people pour into the entrance, all looking expectant and eager.
Casinos were nothing new to me, and held little appeal. When Ben and I were newly married, we’d go out on dates to the casino now and then, and blow a couple hundred bucks. I’d play the slot machines, Ben would go to the gaming tables. I’d only see him once or twice in the next few hours, when he would borrow another fifty off me. Casinos lost their appeal soon after.
This afternoon, I felt the lure of the bright lights, the clanging bells and shouts of jubilant winners. I wanted to be near my fellow man. I wanted to drink free coffee. The idea of sitting in a car smelling of fried food, inhaling the equally foul odour of my unwashed skin, didn’t thrill me. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror and saw my greasy-haired, pallid expression. No matter how hard I scrubbed with the make-up wipes, that white clown make-up was almost impossible to remove.
“Hey, Maddy May,” I said to myself, “we’re going out on the town!” I threw on mascara and red lipstick and fiddled with my lank hair. Finally I pulled it into a severe bun, hoping the oily look appeared intended. I pulled my wallet out of my purse and extracted a five-dollar bill.
I lasted a couple hours at the slot machines, but only because I hit upon a way to make the time stretch. Finding the penny machines, I sat between an old wheezing gentleman playing $2.40 every press of the button and another man, stooped and rail-thin, betting 80 cents. I slid my five into the machine and started to wager a penny per spin.
Even though the skinny man, dressed in clothes that enhanced his frame, was winning a tidy sum, he kept stopping his slot play to sniff the air. After a few minutes, he leaned back in his chair and inhaled loudly through his nose, his gaze directed at the gentleman to the left of me. I was right next to that big bettor, and he smelled like Old Spice cologne. I liked sitting next to him.
Finally Jack Spratt shoved back his seat and miffed, “I can’t take it anymore! Be nice to come to the casino and not have to smell crotch rot!” He stood up and the man hooked up to the oxygen tank stared at him in disbelief. Jack gave the old gent an evil glare as he stalked off. I immediately took his vacated seat.
For the rest of the time, as best I could, I kept my distance from my fellow gamblers. I accepted two free cups of coffee from an attendant who was offering them. I played a variety of machines, avoiding any that weren’t penny slots. But you know, one cent doesn’t get you far. Had I played more, I could see where I may have won a bigger payout a few times. But the deal was – I was just out to have fun, not try to make enough to buy off Ben.
Down to my last 17 cents, I finally hit a jackpot! But because I didn’t bet large, the maximum it could pay out was 50 cents. I took the win and cashed out. I didn’t mind leaving with a bit of cash. Ever since I’d walked in, the thought of losing my $5 had been eating at me. I grabbed
one more free cup of coffee and made my way back to the car.
Later that night, I took a walk and ate supper in a restaurant that looked starved for business. Since I wasn’t yet using my per-diem food money, I order the cheapest thing I could find on the menu; a fried-egg sandwich and water. When I got back to my car, I could see it was safe and sound. Perhaps it would be okay to park here for the whole night?
I woke up early the next morning. Through the night, I heard the cars on either side of me start up and leave, only to be replaced a minute later by other cars. This happened more than once. Nobody hassled me. Grabbing my sealed plastic bag of toothpaste, soap, deodorant and the like, I re-entered the casino.
Security seemed to give me an odd look as I walked through. Feeling uneasy, I made a quick job of cleaning up and changing my hairstyle. I exited with a bounce in my step, hoping to be mistaken for a different person.
With hours to kill before check-in, I GPSed the Windsor Airport and made a trial run. I was always the professional in the past, but these days I had the time to be a perfectionist when it came to my job. Having the route down pat, I decided to check out a shopping mall. I’d not been out shopping in ages; maybe I’d find some cool stores.
Once inside the megamall, I walked around, burning with a desire to just spend some mad money. There was a chaise lounge, something I’ve always wanted and at a price I would jump at, if only I had the room. A shop full of discount party dresses, but a shopper with nowhere to go. I tried on clothes anyhow, just to see myself in full-length mirrors. Yup, as I suspected, I was putting on weight.
As always, a kitchen gadgets store drew me in. I checked out the new Rachel Ray cookware collection. Tested out a toaster oven. Marvelled at the wok demonstration. My hands were softly caressing an electric milk frothing tool when my eyes teared up unexplainably.
“Can I help you, miss?” asked a sales clerk.
I lifted up the frother, holding the cord in the other hand. “Does this come with a cord you can plug into your lighter?”