by Gail Bowen
I had come up with a thousand answers. Bishop Lambeth school had been a good place to grow up: structured, with female teachers who without exception were passionate about their subjects and about encouraging girls to excel at whatever field they chose. Many of the students were day girls, but my closest friends were all, like me, boarders, and as children do, we accepted our lives as the norm. When we graduated, we had been together thirteen years, having spent far more time with one another than with our families.
At the University of Toronto, I met my first and second loves and married my third. Ian and I wed, moved to Saskatchewan, had kids, accepted the price for Ian’s meteoric rise in provincial politics, and lived our lives, until the day Ian was killed and my old, safe world shattered.
Rebuilding our family’s life had been a slow and painful process, but it never occurred to me that we wouldn’t succeed. There had been other losses, other blows, but I had always felt in my bones that somehow everything would work out, and over years the source of that unshakable faith in the future had puzzled me. The watchful child in Ben’s film had not been born into a family that believed in silver linings. As it turned out, the child did, and even in the darkest times of my life, there have been moments when, in the shining phrase C.S. Lewis used as the title for his memoir, I had been “surprised by joy.”
That night, remembering the man who every morning after his swim had pulled himself up on the dock and stretched his arms heavenwards because it felt so good simply to be alive, I wondered if the capacity for joy had been his gift to me.
* * *
—
Zack was dressed and waiting for me when the dogs and I got back from our run the next morning. “You’re getting an early start,” I said.
“I’ve got a meeting about a new case.”
“What kind of case?”
“The kind that involves a rich man, a used condom, and a woman with a plan that blew up in her face. Lawyer-client confidentiality prevents me from revealing anything more.”
“Three cheers for lawyer-client privilege,” I said. “It’s too early in the day to hear about the adventures of a used condom.”
I’d showered, dressed, and was ladling porridge when Taylor joined me. I handed her the bowl.
“I love porridge when it’s cold outside.”
“Me too,” I said. I filled a second bowl. “What’s your plan for the day.”
“They’re shooting that scene where Ursula’s mother, Ruth, tells Ursula how much she hated growing up in Churchill, where everybody in town knew she was the daughter of ‘the crazy bear lady.’ ”
“That’s a powerful moment,” I said. “It was the first time I felt sympathy for Ruth.”
Taylor nodded. “The dynamic between Ruth and Ursula has to be right to make it work, and Vale’s been having trouble with it. She said the mother-daughter relationship is ‘an emotional gap’ for her, and until she came here for dinner she couldn’t get her head around Ruth’s feelings about her mother.”
I poured cream on my porridge. “I’m not making the connection.”
“When Vale saw how close we are, she imagined how it would be for both us if we became estranged and believed we’d never have a chance to make things right again.”
“I don’t even want to think about that,” I said.
“Neither do I,” Taylor said. “But somehow imagining how we’d feel gave Vale a path into understanding how Ursula would react to her mother’s experience. Anyway, she wants my opinion about whether the scene is working now.”
“Vale’s a perfectionist,” I said.
“She is,” Taylor agreed. “And she needs to prove to Ainsley that she can pull it off.”
“Why?” I said. “Vale’s brilliant.”
“Ainsley doesn’t think Vale Frazier is ‘a name’ that will draw audiences to the box office. She had someone better known in mind, but Gabe wanted Vale, and he won out.”
“Is Ainsley making the shooting difficult for Vale?”
Taylor’s headshake was vehement. “No. Vale says Ainsley’s the best director she’s ever worked with. Even I can see how good she is. She’s quiet, but there’s no doubt about who’s in charge. When an actor nails a scene, she gives them a smile and a little pat on the arm, but if they’re struggling, she’s gentle about suggesting options. If something goes wrong on the set, there’s no drama. Ainsley takes care of the problem and carries on. She listens to other people’s ideas, but she never loses sight of her vision of what the movie should be. Vale is totally blown away by her.”
“But Ainsley is not totally blown away by Vale?”
“Well, there is a problem,” Taylor said. “I’m just not sure what it is. Vale’s doing a great job, and everyone on the set knows it. Rosamond Burke has told Vale how much she values acting with her. The production manager and the crew are all veterans, but there’s a lot of mopping of eyes and clearing of throats after one of Vale’s scenes. The only one who holds back is Ainsley.”
“Is it possible she’s still smarting about Gabe overriding her on the casting?”
“She doesn’t seem to be that kind of person, but who knows? Nick Kovacs told me Gabe’s far more involved with the day-to-day business of production than an executive producer would normally be.”
“He certainly has a tight hold on the reins,” I said. “His wife is the director, her long-time collaborator wrote the script, and he insisted on his choice for the lead.”
Taylor’s smile was impish. “And I think you’re a control freak.” She checked her watch. “I’d better get going, but, Jo, there’s something else. Would it be okay if I invited Vale to have Christmas with us?”
“Of course. Taylor, does Vale ever talk about her parents?”
“Just the bare minimum. Her father lives in Los Angeles. He’s an actor on a soap opera, and he has a new wife, new kids, and a new life. Vale’s mother lives in New York. She’s an actor too. She and Vale share an apartment there, but they don’t seem to share much else.” Taylor’s face clouded. “Vale started taking the subway to auditions by herself when she was nine years old.”
“That is just so wrong,” I said.
“It is,” Taylor said. “But Vale survived, and she’s a success.”
The memory of Vale taking a cab back to her empty apartment the evening she and Taylor decorated our tree flashed through my mind. That would not have been the first night she’d turned the key in a lock knowing there was no one waiting for her on the other side of the door. Little wonder she was reaching out to Taylor.
* * *
—
Driving to Western Cycle on 8th Avenue in the Old Warehouse District for new ice skates has been part of my winter routine since my children were little. On a bad day, the only skates that fit were the ones the child hated. More than once, dashed expectations, tears, and tantrums have driven us to leave Western Cycle empty-handed, but that afternoon we were lucky. Within half an hour Madeleine and Lena found skates they loved and had them sharpened. Taylor had texted to say that she and Vale were heading over and she wondered if the girls were interested in meeting Taylor’s new friend. They were, and the three of us were sitting on a bench waiting when Taylor, Vale, and Gabe Vickers walked in. The two young women flanked Gabe, and he had draped a heavy arm around the shoulders of both Taylor and Vale. As the three approached us, Taylor shook off Gabe’s arm to give me, Madeleine, and Lena hugs. Vale held back, looking small as she lingered next to the older man. When he whispered something in her ear, she gave him a quick, stiff smile, and my nerves tightened.
Taylor made introductions, and the moment passed. Everyone admired the girls’ purchases, and our granddaughters went off with Taylor and Vale to help them with skate selection. Gabe, however, stayed behind. I was sitting at the end of the bench and there was plenty of space free, but Gabe sat down so close to me that our bodies touched.
When I inched away, Gabe noticed. “Joanne, you and I are just beginning a relationship that I hope will
continue well into the future, so let’s wipe the slate clean and start again.”
“All right,” I said. “Let’s start with you telling me what brings you here with the girls.”
“Two days ago, Ainsley and Roy approached me about executive-producing Flying Blue Horses. You and I have a signed contract, but I thought before we moved forward, we needed to clear the air.”
“So you tagged along with Vale and Taylor because you knew they were meeting me here.”
Gabe’s grey eyes, contrite and unblinking, met mine. “Meeting in person is always preferable to a call.”
“You’re right.” I said. “And we’re both here now, so go for it.”
“I never heard back from you after I sent the poinsettia. Given what everyone says about your welcoming nature, that omission suggested you had lingering concerns about me. I know you witnessed my nasty encounter with Shawn O’Day the night of the party honouring Zephyr Winslow, and you’ve likely heard things about my personal life.” The half smile Gabe gave me was chilling. “Now that you’re working in our industry, Joanne, you and Zack should know, it’s rare to find a closet in which there isn’t a skeleton that can be shaken loose.
“I can’t erase what you saw that night, and I’m sorry about losing my temper, but I had my reasons. I want you to know that I can make Flying Blue Horses a wild success. And I want you to know that to make this work, you don’t have to be my friend. You just have to trust my professional judgment.”
When I didn’t respond, Gabe proceeded. “The Happiest Girl is going to be a classic. It’s a great family film. All families have to deal with death. Roy told me your family found comfort in the play’s message that death is not the end. Other families will too. At the moment, Flying Blue Horses is nothing but notes and ideas, but Roy and Ainsley’s vision for the story of Sally and Desmond Love and you is extraordinary. Like The Happiest Girl, it carries a message about the power and the limitations of love that will have universal appeal. I can find the right people and arrange the right financing to bring that message to audiences that hunger to hear it. All I need is your approval.”
“You already have it,” I said. “Gabe, I respect professionalism. Roy tells me you’re the best there is, and that if Flying Blue Horses takes shape as we hope it will, you should be at the helm.”
In a gesture that I suspected he often used, Gabe raked his hand through his tousled hair and gave me a boyish smile. “You won’t regret a decision to work with me, Joanne. You have my word on that.”
When he offered his hand, reluctantly I took it. “Now Taylor tells me the second floor of this place houses the largest bicycle showroom in the province,” he said. “The others won’t be back for a while. Care to join me in checking them out?”
“You go ahead,” I said. “That bike showroom really is impressive, but I promised Madeleine and Lena they could go skating when we were through here, so I’m taking advantage of the lull in the action to recharge my batteries.”
Not long after Gabe returned from exploring the bikes on the second floor, Taylor, Vale, and the girls joined us. Vale held up the box containing her new skates and announced that plans were afoot. “Taylor and I are going skating with Maddy and Lena.” she said. “I texted Ainsley and I’m not needed on the set for another ninety minutes. She said if it was okay with you, Gabe, it was okay with her. So, is it okay?”
Gabe saw that I was perplexed. “This isn’t as paternalistic as it sounds, Joanne. It’s an insurance issue.”
“I understand,” I said. “Lena suffered a nasty break skating on our rink at the lake a couple of years ago.”
“She shattered her olecranon,” Madeleine said quietly.
Lena rolled her eyes at the memory. “My arm was in a cast for six weeks,” she said.
Gabe shuddered theatrically. “That’s exactly what the insurance company doesn’t need to know.” He turned back to Vale. “Just be careful,” he said, putting his hand on her arm.
Vale leaned into his side. “Your investment is safe,” she said.
* * *
—
The rink in Victoria Park in our city’s centre is a great place for a skate in winter. The park has plenty of trees, meandering walks, inviting benches, and a children’s playground. Its cenotaph and statue of Sir John A. Macdonald are graceful reminders of part of our city’s past, and Joe Fafard’s multilayered buffalo titled oskana ka-asasteki, which translates from the Cree into “bones that are piled together,” is a stark reminder of Regina’s beginnings as Pile O’ Bones.
Depending on the weather, the school schedule, and the time of day, the number of skaters on the rink varies. That day, only a handful had braved the cold, so the girls had the rink practically to themselves. Madeleine and Lena were both solid skaters. Lena’s injury had come when she tried the salchow after seeing it demonstrated on television.
Gabe had driven Vale and Taylor downtown and had stayed to watch the skating. He and I stood side by side waiting for the girls to emerge from the Warm Up Hut, where they were putting on their skates. Madeleine and Lena were the first to hit the ice, and as they circled the rink in their matching cranberry ski jackets, they were an exuberantly confident image of winter pleasures.
From the moment they hobbled out of the Warm Up Hut laughing, it was obvious Taylor and Vale were neither exuberant nor confident. Taylor was a decent skater, but at most she laced up her skates a half-dozen times during the season. Vale looked determined but dubious. I turned to Gabe. “This is Vale’s first time on skates, isn’t it?”
He sighed. “Looks like it,” he said. “I’d better get her off the ice.”
“She wanted to do this,” I said. “Let her have a few minutes to at least give it a try.”
Vale and Taylor were giggling as they clung to each other and circled the rink together. I could feel Gabe’s tension. “She’ll be all right,” I said. “Taylor won’t let her fall.”
“I should be the one out there,” he said, and his voice was surprisingly wistful. We watched as Taylor and Vale took another turn around the ice. Vale was improving, but after a quick confab, she and Taylor apparently decided to call it a day and headed back to the Warm Up Hut. Gabe and I joined them, and Madeleine and Lena skated over.
“Are we leaving already?” Madeleine said.
“No, we can stay a while,” I said. “Vale has to get back to work and Taylor’s going with her.”
“But you’ll miss the hot chocolate,” Lena said.
Vale smiled at her. “Where I work, there’s a thing called craft services. They have anything you want to eat or drink whenever you want it.”
Lena’s eyes were huge. “You are so lucky,” she said.
A fleeting shadow crossed Vale’s face. “Not always,” she said.
Taylor still had her arm around Vale’s shoulder. When Taylor drew her close, the sadness vanished from Vale’s face. “But I’m getting luckier,” she said, and with that the two young women disappeared into the hut.
CHAPTER
11
Facing a weekend that held two client holiday parties Friday night and the dinner for Rosamond Burke on Saturday evening, Zack and I had promised ourselves a lazy Saturday, but seemingly the word lazy was no longer in the Shreve family lexicon.
When Margot, Brock, and Roy had arrived at the first of the holiday parties on Friday, they made the rounds, then Margot, Brock, and Zack retired to a corner to discuss Falconer Shreve business while I introduced Roy to Regina’s crème de la crème. At the second holiday party, the pattern repeated itself until, in the swell and surge of guests, Roy and I became separated. When I finally found my friend, he had been cornered by Roddy Dewar, a Falconer Shreve client who was rich, litigious, and a walking compendium of conspiracy theories. I joined them just as Mr. Dewar was explaining how two astronauts had been placed in a secret CIA Mars program, with the then nineteen-year-old Barack Obama, and trained to teleport to Mars in order to survey alien life. As he spotted me, Roy’s eyes w
ere beseeching. Luckily, I was able to throw him a lifeline. Roddy Dewar’s food lust was legendary.
I leaned close to him and whispered, “The servers just brought in a tray of Fanny Bay oysters—they came here straight from the airport.”
“Fanny Bay oysters straight from the airport,” Roddy Dewar said, and his tone was reverential. Then, without so much as a by-your-leave, he was gone.
Roy shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know how you did that, but I am forever in your debt.”
“I’ll put it on your tab,” I said. “Right now, let’s see if we can score some Fanny Bay oysters before Roddy empties the tray.”
* * *
—
Zack was in a meditative mood on our way home. Finally, he turned to me. “How would you feel about driving out to the farm and seeing the grandsons tomorrow?”
“I’m always eager to spend time with Charlie and Colin,” I said. “Did something special come up?”
“Just business,” Zack said. “This new case is going to need a female second chair. Margot and I have agreed it should be Maisie.”
“And we’re going to the farm so you can ask her?” I said.
“No, Maisie already said yes. I called from the party. She suggested Margot, Brock, and I go out there tomorrow to strategize.”
“Brock’s not a lawyer.”
“No, but he manages the firm, and this case is going to be labour-intensive. We’re going to have to figure out who goes where, and I want to cut down on the time I spend away from you.”
My nerves pricked with anxiety. “You are feeling all right?”