A Handbook for Beautiful People

by Jennifer Spruit

  “I’d be a great mom.”

  Dani tucks Marla’s hair behind her ear. “Of course you would. You’re a very caring person.”

  That’s true. Marla is caring; she knows it. Look at how she takes care of Gavin. But if Marla’s being honest, she knows that she is also impulsive and forgetful and easily bored. People have been telling her that for years. “Tell me, Dani, honestly. Do you think I could do it? I mean, with some help.”

  “The kind of help you need takes some explaining. Does Liam know how to support you? Do you know how to support him?”

  A little flare of understanding flickers in Marla. “He thinks you’re staying with me so I can help you, Dani.”

  “You do, babe.”

  There’s a knock, and the nurse is back, barging into the stream of thoughts about all the ways Marla has been there for people and made their lives better. She sits up and grabs at the side of the bed, holding the panic to savour and understand it: she wants her baby. “No. I can’t do this.”

  Dani frowns. “Run that by me again?”

  Marla feels jolted with electricity. Everything is humming, building, locking into place. “I don’t know. I’m sorry—I just got it.” She puts on her clothes, talking through her shirt. “I need to go home.”

  In the car, she calls Liam.

  this is a sit-down thing, but you guys are away, so: I’m pregnant

  Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.

  no, it’s good. want you to know

  How far along are you? Who is the father? What can we do? We’re home in 2 days.

  it’s going to be fine

  Phone us anytime. We need to talk about this.

  On New Years’ Eve, Elise asks Marla if she’s bringing Liam to the annual New Years’ party at her gallery. Her foster parents have nagged her about meeting him forever, but Marla’s giving them time to cool down first. Instead, she brings Gavin, who’s on his best behaviour of late—building shelves for Marla’s poetry notebooks and making vegan-boy suppers for everyone.

  The cozy purple gallery has pashminas hung over the windows for the big opening and hand-painted signs with heavy weight fonts. The artist is a photographer who takes pictures of people’s closets and storerooms—the stuff no one wants you to see. Marla likes the idea of it, but fails the guy for staging everything—filling closets with skinned deer hanging from hooks, or ladies’ shoes stacked on jam jars.

  KNOW WHO LOVE THIS?

  “Liam?”

  YEAH. TEXT.

  She should, even though she’s packing around this baby he doesn’t seem to want yet. He told her she was confusing and immature, going one way and then the other and keeping secrets. Which is true, but really. A baby’s a big decision. Dani offered to explain the help Marla needs, but Marla doesn’t want him to think she’s an idiot. And Gavin said he’d stay longer to support her. Anyway, it’s New Years’ Eve. Marla sends Liam the address and a picture of a coat rack closet. He responds immediately. Love to.

  Marla and Gavin cruise the exhibit. People look at the photos for too long, and Marla finds herself people-watching instead. It’s mostly older men craning their necks to get a better view and their pinched wives clanking around in boxy jewellery.

  As Marla and Gavin giggle together, Elise flutters over in a vest with a fringe. She puts a hand to her throat, her eyes wide. “Is this who I think it is?”

  Marla leans back so a waiter with a tray of wine glasses can get by. “Mom, Gavin. Gavin, Elise.”

  Elise plucks glasses of red wine—one for her and one for Gavin. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Will you have a drink?”

  Gavin nods and sets the glass on the floor between his feet. He takes out his notepad.

  Elise turns to Marla, glancing around. “What is he doing?”

  “Talking to you.”

  Elise leans to see Gavin’s message: THANK YOU. PLEASED TO MEET YOU. Her mouth makes little tics only Marla knows to look for, then peels back into a power smile.

  “What a charming young man!” She takes a sip of wine and speaks, looking about the room. “How long are you staying?”

  Gavin gives a little wave to catch her eye and hands her a card. She reads only part of it before a fat man in thick corduroy taps her on the shoulder.

  “Todd, how wonderful to see you!”

  Marla shifts her weight, uncomfortable for Gavin’s sake, but he doesn’t seem bothered. He holds his wine glass steady, not drinking from it.

  “An enchanting evening, Elise,” Todd says, looking Marla up and down. “And who is this?”

  “I’m Marla,” she says, holding her hand out. He kisses it like she’s from Europe.

  “This is my daughter,” Elise says, beaming. “And her brother, Gavin.”

  “Oh.” Todd gives Marla and Gavin a “this must be one of those situations” look.

  Daughter. Marla’s embarrassed when Elise calls her that, like one more person slapping this label on her is going to make everything better. This woman who calls herself Marla’s mother is part of Marla’s life because she wanted to be—like a whim, Marla thinks. Not like blood. Elise’s place and her people are so far from what Marla imagines for herself that her chest feels tight. Marla’s family is Gavin, the sturdy man-boy who at least looks like her and can sense how she feels and what she needs without having to be told.

  Todd’s been saying something or other, and now kisses Elise’s cheeks before squeezing through the crowd. Elise turns to Gavin, holding his card like it really matters to her. “My apologies, Gavin. Where were we?”

  “You were asking how long he’s staying,” Marla says.

  Gavin shrugs. HAVE A JOB IN O.N.

  Elise nods with her mouth open like she couldn’t be more amazed. She glances at Marla, nods some more. “Well, good for you!”

  Gavin gestures to the crowd, then writes, IS YOUR HUSBAND HERE ALSO?

  “No, not tonight.” Elise gives Marla a tight smile, one she’s seen before. It means Dave’s disappointed in her for getting knocked up. Predictable.

  I LOOK FORWARD TO MEETING HIM TOO.

  Elise reaches around to hug Gavin while he’s writing, and he jumps a little. She speaks to Marla, wrapped around Gavin so he can’t see her mouth. “I want to see you soon, so we can talk about this baby.” Then she’s off again, working the room.

  Gavin waves to Elise as she floats to another group. NICE MOM.

  “She plays her part.”

  DON’T SAY THAT.

  “She wants me to volunteer at a daycare so I can see how awful kids are.”

  Gavin raises his eyebrows. He leaves his wine on a table and points to a poster advertising for nude models. THIS FIRST. MAKE MONEY.

  Marla laughs so loud that upscale old people stop and stare. She doesn’t care. She puts her arms around Gavin so they are nose to nose. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They meet Liam outside, parking the car. He checks the time. “It’s not over yet, is it?”

  Marla had forgotten all about him.

  Liam is a man in his element in the gallery, Gavin thinks. He shakes hands and seems to know people. Marla relaxes on his arm, and people treat Gavin like he’s important by association. Even Elise is impressed, although she is careful not to mention Marla’s baby. Gavin respects her for that, giving Marla time to work things out on her own. They eat cheese and Liam leads a toast—to the promise of the future.

  As the party winds down, Gavin and Liam collapse tables and carry containers of leftover food to Elise’s SUV. Marla stands in the doorway folding tablecloths. The whole time, Elise lingers beside Marla, tucking and re-tucking her blonde hair behind her ears, but neither of them says anything. Gavin hates that. He didn’t even get foster parents. He remembers his first days at the deaf school, wanting someone just for him but knowing no one, clutching Marla’s book to his chest. Eve
ryone flapping their fingers in front of them like he should know what they meant.

  After they’ve said goodbye and Elise has thanked them several times, Marla says, “… downtown?”

  Gavin shrugs. Liam stops at what Gavin assumes to be his house to pick up a large instrument in a black case, then drives like he knows where they’re going. The streets pass on a predictable and relentless grid laid over rivers and escarpments—the influence of the Canadian Pacific Railway—but downtown bears little homage to the company that changed Calgary from a fort to a city over a century ago. Now glass-panelled oil and gas office towers create downdrafts on the streets instead, the old CPR station buried and replaced by the spaceship-looking Calgary Tower. Gavin is delighted by how the past disappears here, challenged by new opportunity. He’d like to reinvent himself too.

  They park and enter the deserted lobby of an office tower, taking the unmoving escalator to the second floor with its little cafés and jewellery stores. Everything is closed. Marla leads them through a set of double doors into a covered walkway above the street, something Gavin had admired as necessary for a winter city until now. This is why the streets lack human scale and instead sport private plazas and cheap little businesses. Everyone with money and mobility is rushing around up here, breathing recycled air, and stopping for sandwiches encased in plastic triangular prisms. They follow Marla through so many buildings that Gavin loses count.

  When they do get outside, the neighbourhood is decidedly more alive. The bar is called Soap. There’s a line, but Marla takes them to the front and gets them in, no cover. Inside, a little jazz group plays something to people who lean close together at round tables and shout, their mouths wide. The room is pulsing with bass, sweaty. Gavin remembers Dani, the way her arm pressed against his, and his heart beats faster.

  He watches Marla talk to the bartender and write on a paper taped to the bar. She comes back with pop for herself, a boozy coffee for Liam, and mineral water for Gavin. The jazz group finishes, and someone else gets up. It’s a comedian, Gavin thinks, although he can’t follow what the guy’s saying because he squishes his face in different ways to talk. Doing voices, maybe.

  More people take the stage, singers and poets, and Gavin feels the evening is wasted on him. Why would Marla bring him here? Then it’s Liam’s turn. He sits on a stool with a cello, his bow slow and steady, his head up, eyes closed, using vibrato on the strings. Gavin watches the people around him, impressed by their wonder.

  Next is Marla.

  “I call this High River Christmas,” she says, speaking right to Gavin, and rips into a lilting rhythm, her words fast, then slow. She raises her eyebrows and speaks with her hands, putting on a show—spoken word. Gavin follows her actions: Marla smooths her hair, looks forlornly at her clothes, puts on pretend lipstick. Holds a nostril and snorts something, her eyes going wide.

  The crowd snaps their fingers, nodding, leaning forward. It seems to Gavin like Marla doesn’t even stop to breathe, that the whole thing is one long exhalation. She holds her arms against her chest, struggling to hold onto something, letting it go. Getting down on her knees and blowing a kiss, tears in her eyes. Gavin can see sweat on her brow, but, when she looks up, she’s smiling. The crowd roars applause that Gavin can feel.

  Scrabble with Marla:

  M

  G

  10

  18

  mauve

  29

  38

  voodoo

  43

  54

  yep – double word score

  66

  61

  blank letter

  74

  101

  jeez – double word score

  99

  110

  jo

  113

  120

  barrio

  155

  132

  dope

  179

  138

  four a’s and a b!

  203

  149

  grab

  212

  156

  ink

  230

  174

  direct

  239

  184

  wedge

  247

  191

  immun_

  249

  196

  no more vowels, stuck with a b

  256

  193

  Marla has all the y’s and s’s

  258

  One frigid day in January, Marla learns Gavin’s extended leave has been approved, which is rad, except it means he thinks she’s unable to manage her own life. He cooks, cleans, shops, and reminds her to go to work, just like Elise did. She’s ready to pour herself a bag of chips to wallow with when she gets a call from her landlord telling her he’s raising the rent by a hundred bucks. She needs a distraction from all this reality, so she drives off to sneak into Liam’s house.

  She closes the door like a spy, turning the handle slowly so it doesn’t click. She creeps down the hall, choosing which floorboards to step on from experience. From his bedroom, Marla can hear Liam counting patiently in the next room for a student: “ONE, two, three, four, ONE, two, three, four.”

  Liam has this beautiful brass bed with a plush foam top that is irresistible. Marla slides under the covers. She likes the smell on his pillow, his sleep smell. It’s kinda turning her on, except she can hear the kid talking, and now Liam too, in his teacher voice. Sort of even hotter, maybe.

  Marla makes the bed up nice and waits on the down quilt, arranging herself sensually on the pillows, but she gets bored. She examines the items on his bedside table, opens the drawer. Then Marla removes the lid from this old tin she’s curious about.

  Inside are letters, of course, neatly folded love notes with ribbons and drawings and tiny trinkets: bubble-gum, photos, chopsticks, a wallet calendar. Marla is hungry, insatiable. The letters are addressed to Liam’s ex-wife.

  “Leila,

  I have this dream: when I see you coming around the corner to meet me, I run to you, arms and fingers and legs all straining. I can never have enough of your embrace: you are a symphony. Meet me tonight: I have something for you.”

  Silence. “Marla,” Liam spits, “what are you doing here?”

  “I brought you cinnamon buns.” Marla replaces the letters into the tin with bird’s egg carefulness and closes the lid. “Why do you keep these?”

  Liam pushes her back after this two-second-old-grandma-non-hug and ekes past her to smooth the rumples she made in his bed. “Don’t be in my private stuff.”

  “Sorry.” She doesn’t mean it to come out harsh, but she can’t help it. She was just trying to do something nice. And it’s not a secret he has an ex who cheated on him right after they got married. Marla watches him tucking the corners of the bed sheets in like a hospital bed and feels sorry for him. He wants everything to be just so. “I think all kinds of things about you might be hidden in little tins
throughout the house. I like your stuff, the way it feels and looks. It reminds me of you.”

  “It belongs to me.”

  She follows him into the kitchen, where she reaches beside him to open the cupboard for plates. Marla shimmies her girl-boy hips into Liam’s side, hoping some part of her jiggles satisfactorily.

  Liam smooths his beard. He looks at the Styrofoam boxes on the table, the crumpled napkins.

  “Come on.” Marla trails her thumb down his spine. Nothing, not even a lean-in from Liam. She uses her rummaging mouse hand to tickle him, even though she knows him to be impervious to it.

  Liam jumps, his hand waving in the air. He knocks Marla’s head hard into the corner of the open cupboard door. She drops the plates and they smash on the floor.

  “Ow!” Marla feels in her hair with her fingertips. Blood. She can feel it running over her scalp. She cups her hand over the cut and reaches for the dishtowel hanging on the stove.

  “Wait.” Liam steps around the broken plates to get her a paper towel. Marla wipes her bloody fingers on it, trying not to worry about the size of the dent she just made in his floor.

  “It’s bad.”

  “I’m sorry. Jesus.”

  Marla holds the paper towel to her head, but it soaks through. “Do you think I need stitches?”

  He peers over the top of her head, puts his fingers in her hair. His touch is so gentle. “I don’t think so. You don’t feel woozy, do you?”

  She strokes his hip, thinking getting hurt made him less mad and more concerned. “Maybe a little. But that’s mostly the nausea.”

  Liam carries Marla over the shards on the floor to his boxy couch. “Sit here for a bit.” It’s quieter in his living room full of fabric and drapery. Softer. His cello guards the room from its stand, his music filed neatly on a shelf behind it. She can hear him sweeping up the mess, and then he brings her an ice pack wrapped in an old burgundy towel.