Short for Chameleon

by Vicki Grant

  “So she called you a creep. You ask me, that’s a step up. Remember Ariana Lidgate? You, like, stalked her for six months straight and she still had to ask your name when she signed your yearbook. At least Raylene noticed you. Now we just have to work on your presentation.”

  What did it say about my life that I needed presentation tips from a guy wearing a paper hat and a whisker net?

  “But I wasn’t being a creep. That’s the thing.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know. She laughed. She smiled. She actually hit me!”

  “She hit you. And you don’t think she thought you were a creep.”

  “No. Not hit me like leave me alone. Hit me like you’re funny. You’re cute. Girls do that all the time.”

  “You’re telling me. I am positively covered in bruises.”

  “I really thought she liked me.”

  “Here. Eat your heart out.” He pushed an almost empty bowl of guacamole across the counter and a handful of broken pita chips. “The way I see it is, there are girls and then there’s warrior-princess-from-an-HBO-fantasy-series. I think you’re aiming too high. Better just stick with girls for a while. Maybe Lynette What’s-Her-Face has a niece or something.”

  I nodded and tried to avoid the guacamole scabs crusting up the edge of the bowl. He was probably right.

  CHAPTER 13

  You can say a lot of things about Dalton, but at least he’s got style. The limo was there to pick us up by eight the next morning. There were fresh pastries and orange juice spread out on a table between us and new games uploaded onto the computer.

  We were both cranky. Dad because he was cutting down on coffee. Me because—well, nothing like getting called a creep to make you want to alienate the only person alive who truly loves you.

  It takes about an hour to get to the prison. We stuffed our faces for a while, then started kind of half-heartedly playing Rage of Gnorr.

  Dad cornered a bunch of my mercenaries in an underwater cave and said, “By the way, we have Sharon tonight.”

  I groaned. Sharon was The Absolute Worst.

  “I’m busy,” I said and aimed wildly at his guy. I missed.

  “I know you are. You’re going to Sharon’s event with me.”

  “Dad. Have a heart! Can’t you find someone else?” I was so mad I could barely figure out whose men were whose anymore.

  “No. You’re her son. She’s had you for years. It would look weird to change. How would she explain someone new to her friends?”

  “What friends?” I said. By this time, I only had three footmen left and either Dad or that sharky thing was going to get them pretty soon.

  “The mere fact you have to ask is reason enough to go. Plus she likes you.”

  I gagged. “It’s so creepy.”

  “What? Someone liking you? Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re not that bad. I mean, usually.”

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe you actually think you’re funny.”

  He put on his best Arnold Schwarzenegger sneer and obliterated the last of my men. “And you thought denying me caffeine vould stop me!” He was using the accent now too.

  “That doesn’t count.” I winged my controller at him.

  “Does too.”

  “Does not. You can’t hit me with the news that I have to see Sharon tonight, then use my despair as a chance to kill my entire army. That’s cheating. I want a do-over.”

  “Psychological warfare is totally legit. This isn’t child’s play, you know.”

  “Fine. Then I’m not going with Sharon.”

  “Fine, then we’ll have the do-over. I suppose you want me to use my left hand this time too.”

  I did.

  “No, I just want you to play fair. What depressing hellhole is she taking us to this time anyway?”

  Dad took another croissant and piled jam on it. Bad sign. His inner fat boy always turned to sugar when he got nervous.

  “Where?” I squinted at him. He pretended not to notice.

  “Some little fundraising do.”

  More jam.

  “What kind of fundraiser?”

  “At the trampoline park. It’ll be fun!”

  “No. You are not seriously using one of Bloater’s lines on me, are you? ‘It’ll be fun!’ That’s exactly the type of thing he’d say right before some big very-not-fun disaster hit. This is not amusing, Dad. I mean it.”

  “Okay. Fine. Adolescent suicide prevention.”

  I banged my head against the window and fake-cried. “Do you have any idea how painful this is going to be? You know what? I’ll tell you the best way to prevent at least one teen suicide: don’t make me go.”

  Dad went quiet. Like, dead quiet.

  “Don’t you ever—I mean, ever—let me hear you say that again, Cam. Understand?”

  “Chill. I was only joking.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  He ate another Danish.

  After a while, he threw me back my controller. “Time for your do-over. And don’t expect me to take it easy on you just because you’re being a wimp.”

  But he did. It’s the only possible way to explain how I won the next three games.

  CHAPTER 14

  Over the years, I’ve gotten to know the guards, so even though frisking still isn’t great, they do at least let me know when to brace myself. McInerney always whistles at the fancy suit Dad’s wearing and makes a big deal about checking the label. (Another good thing about Dalton: he gives us a clothing allowance.) Depending on the time of year, Whitton always asks how my hockey, soccer, or basketball season’s going. He’s apparently under the delusion I’m some kind of athletic prodigy, my total lack of muscle mass notwithstanding. I just shrug and smile and try to look humble. We have to take off our fancy watches and pinky rings, then we’re led into the visitor’s room.

  Dalton was in his usual fine form that day. Hearty smile. Backslap for Dad. Fake one-two punch for me. He used to be a lawyer with a big house on the water and a bigger one down south until the cops figured out he’d been stealing from his clients to pay for them. The houses were the first to go. The wife, kids, and grandkids went pretty soon after. If it weren’t for us, no one would visit him.

  It doesn’t seem to get him down. “I paid through the nose for their love and affection, and look where it got me. At least with you guys, it’s an up-and-up business deal.”

  And here’s the deal:

  a) We—i.e., his adoring son and grandson—make him look like he’s still The Man in front of his jailhouse peeps.

  b) He pays us.

  No script, no names, no places to remember. All we have to do is act rich, which in my case just means showing up in the clothes he picked out for me. Piece of cake. Eight more years of his sentence, several visits a month—I’m thinking it’ll see me through university.

  As long as there’s no guard listening, we can talk about anything we want. That day, Dad needed legal advice. There was some guy refusing to pay because the great-uncle he’d rented couldn’t remember anyone’s names. (Seemed unfair to us. Frank’s pushing ninety! He’s a bit hazy on anything that’s happened since 1945. Dad thought it gave a nice note of realism.)

  There’s nothing Dalton loves more than showing how much he knows. He started quoting laws and statutes and what I can only presume was the Monopoly rule book, and normally I would have zoned out, but it got me thinking. About Albertina. If anyone could find an easy way around all the regulations we were breaking, it would be Dalton.

  I waited until Dad went to get some pop from the machine, then I asked. (Dad always makes sure to give me a little quality alone time with “Papa D.”)

  Dalton looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

  “Why would you need malaria vaccinations or a food handler’s licence?” He had a good guffaw over that one. “That Albertina broad is scamming you, son! You guys are just acting. That’s all you’re doing. You don’t need any certification for that. If you did, The Rock would
still be manning a parking booth in Waikiki.”

  Dad came back with two root beers and a Diet Coke. He patted me on the back and smiled. He was pleased I’d made Dalton laugh.

  CHAPTER 15

  It had been a crappy couple of days. First the Raylene thing. Next finding out about the gig with Sharon. And now Albertina.

  I mean, Albertina? Actually scamming me?

  Something snapped. Yes, outing Dr. Blaine was the most fun I’d had in ages, by which I mean my life, but it didn’t matter. I was done. Finished. I was only going to the doctor’s office because I wanted to give her a piece of my mind. Maybe make a bit of a scene myself. See how she liked it.

  I got to the waiting room about five to two. “You’re early,” Raylene said. “She’s still with the doctor.”

  My mouth opened and then just kind of hung there, helplessly, like Suraj on a chin-up bar or something. What was Raylene doing here?

  She patted the chair next to her and said, “Sit.”

  I sat. She bumped me with her shoulder. “Sorry about last night.”

  “What, like, happened?”

  “It was time to go.” Cutesy grimace. “So I left. Sorry.”

  Oh, right. Good answer. I didn’t know whether to be mad she’d taken off then or glad she was here now. I settled for angry but confused. We flipped through separate copies of Urinary Tracts Today! or whatever the stupid magazine was called and waited for Albertina.

  The doctor wheeled her out the door. Raylene popped up. “Granny!”

  “So these are the grandchildren I’ve heard so much about.” The doctor shook our hands. “Clive Ewan.” He was a beefy guy with a shaved head and a full beard. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had a Hells Angels patch sewn on to the back of his white lab coat, but he seemed nice enough.

  “Listen,” he sort of whispered while Albertina was fiddling with something in her purse. “I understand you’ll be seeing your older sister later. Do you think we could all get together for a little chat about your grandmother’s care? I’d be happier if we could get her into some type of—”

  Albertina slammed her purse shut. “Who cares if you’re happy? I’m fine. They’re busy. See ya.” She started pushing herself towards the door.

  He looked at us. “If you ever need to talk, just—”

  “I said I’m leaving. Now move it, kids!”

  Dr. Ewan sighed and scratched his ear. I bit my lip, as in Sorry, then we left.

  Albertina was waiting by the elevator, steaming. “The older you get, the more they treat you like a baby. Trust me. That’s the last time I’m letting that guy look under my johnny shirt.”

  She fumed all the way down to the lobby and I chickened out. I couldn’t tell her off now. She was scary enough when she was in a good mood.

  Or maybe Albertina had nothing to do with me keeping my mouth shut about the scam. Raylene smelled as goddess-like as ever, even if she had been a dick. I knew I’d probably regret it—I wasn’t stupid—but I wanted to hang around. I just had to figure out a way to do it without looking pathetic.

  The elevator door opened. Albertina told me the car was parked in the same spot as yesterday. Said she’d meet us there in a couple of minutes—she had something she needed to do. She headed one way. We headed the other.

  This time it was Raylene trying to make conversation with me. “I wonder what the doctor wanted to talk to us about.”

  I shrugged. Once bitten and all that.

  “Weird she told him about us, eh? Albertina only just met me.”

  I leaned against the car and crossed my ankles. “She told him about somebody. Doubt it had anything to do with us or our . . . older sister.” I could be a dick too. I still had enough pride left for that. I turned and watched a bicyclist almost get creamed running a red light.

  “Are you mad?” she said.

  “Why would I be mad?” Let her fill in the blanks.

  An old lady was having trouble getting down the wheelchair ramp. I went to help her. I was a dick perhaps, but at least I was a gentleman dick.

  “Need a hand?”

  The lady went, “Would everybody please stop treating me like I’m some jeezly double amputee!” and that’s when I realized it was Albertina. No wig, no false eyelashes, skinny grey lips. She’d even traded her high heels for fuzzy slippers. She was totally unrecognizable.

  She rolled down the ramp to the car. Raylene had her hands on either side of her face and was going, “Whoa. Awesome disguise!” as if Albertina’s “disguise” was something she’d put on, as opposed to something she’d taken off and stuffed in her purse.

  “With teeth or without?” she asked, and gave us a gummy smile.

  “Without,” Raylene said. “Definitely without.”

  We got in the car. I pretended to sulk while Albertina told us what we had to do. It was a little hard to understand her toothless, but basically she seemed to be saying we were the lead on this one. Her job was just to sit there looking senile while we pretended to be checking out an adult daycare for her. One of us had to distract the owner. The other had to snoop around the place.

  “Get lots of pictures.” I hadn’t realized until that moment that one of the reasons people have teeth is to keep spit from spraying all over the place when they talk. “I want to know all the dirt on this gal. Where she lives. Her family. Her hobbies. Her pets. A little DNA would be nice too, but only if you can manage to get a cheek swab without arousing suspicion. When you’re done, I should be able to build a life-sized replica of her from your notes.”

  We pulled up outside a church hall in the west end. The street was empty, which was a good thing. People generally frown on demented seniors careening at top speed through residential neighbourhoods. I took out Albertina’s wheelchair and she got herself in.

  The sign said “Time of Our Lives Adult Daycare” and also mentioned it didn’t open until three o’clock, but that was okay—Albertina had phoned ahead to arrange a tour for her “grandmother.” She laid on the buzzer. The door opened a couple seconds later.

  I’d expected someone older. The girl looked like she was in her late twenties. She was wearing old-style cat’s-eye glasses and clothes that seemed less adult than daycare. Puffy flowered skirt, a man’s jean jacket, and a scarf tied around her head in a big floppy bow. Undiluted hipster.

  “Mrs. Legge? Come in! Come in!” She held the door and we squeezed past her. “I’m just getting ready for this afternoon’s session, so excuse the mess.”

  It didn’t look that bad to me. There were chairs and tables set up in little pods. I could see art supplies at one, balls of wool at another, and board games too.

  “I’m Janie Aikens. I’m the owner.” She put her hand on Albertina’s shoulder and smiled. “So how do you like to spend your time, Mrs. Legge? Singing? Playing cards? Baking? There’s always something fun happening here.” Albertina looked back blankly, wobbling her head and licking her lips with a sticky white tongue.

  Janie turned to us but didn’t move her hand. “It can be a bit much for first-time guests, taking it all in. Shall we go for a little stroll around the activity stations?”

  Albertina pinched me hard, which was either just mean or my signal. “Mind if I use the washroom?” I squeaked. Janie must have thought I needed to go really bad.

  “Not at all. It’s just down the hall, one door past my office.”

  I had no idea what Albertina wanted, and I was suddenly so nervous at having an actual undercover job that I really did need to pee now. I slipped into the office. It was small and messy and jammed full of stuff. Drawings on the wall and thank-you cards and Post-it notes about people’s allergies and medications. Tons of photos too, mostly of the old folks in Halloween costumes or Santa hats or banging on their little rhythm instruments. I got pictures of it all.

  I pushed the papers around on her desk and got shots of everything there too.

  I opened some drawers, but that was too much. No way I could photograph every person’s fi
le. I found one labelled “Business Documents.” It seemed to have Janie’s address and age and probably some other highly confidential information too, so I focused on that. I just hoped fifteen-and-a-half-year-olds couldn’t be sentenced to hard labour. I’d ask Dalton about that next time.

  I got up to go and noticed some photos tacked to the back of the door. There was Janie with an old chocolate Lab, Janie with some other girls at a beach, Janie with a dark-haired, bearded guy in matching hipster glasses. Lots of him. I figured that’s who she must have swiped the jean jacket from. There were also a few old black-and-white photos that must have come from her family album. I got pictures of everything, then booted it back to the church hall.

  Janie was telling Raylene and Albertina about membership fees. “. . . but if that’s too steep, talk to us. We won’t turn anyone away. We’ll do our best to work something out that’s fair.”

  Albertina was really pulling out all the stops now. She was hanging on to Janie’s hand like a little kid on her first day of school. She’d even managed to produce an impressive amount of tears.

  “Sure you won’t stay with us today, Mrs. Legge? See if you like it here?”

  “I’m sure she’d love to,” Raylene said, “but we’ve got to get her to the hairdresser.”

  We both realized her mistake at the same time.

  “The dentist,” I said, which wasn’t much better, given that he clearly wouldn’t have a lot to work with.

  “For me, that is. She likes to come to the dentist with me,” I said. “I’m getting a root canal.”

  Janie smiled like isn’t that nice, but we raced Albertina out of there so fast she must have known something was up.

  CHAPTER 16

  Albertina moved the car around the corner where we wouldn’t be seen. “So. Spill. Get anything good in Janie’s office?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing that seemed very incriminating to me.”

  “Pfft! You’re not suspicious enough. Give me your phone.” Her hand was still damp from putting her teeth back in, and now mine was too. I thought of the necrotizing virus that kicked off Armageddon in Suraj’s fifth book and hoped my fingers wouldn’t dissolve before I could find a wet wipe.