A Handbook for Beautiful People

by Jennifer Spruit

  Gavin shakes his head and Marla feels overwhelmed, like adding one more thing would make her head crack open.

  PRACTISE FORGIVENESS. HARD BE A MOM.

  Marla says the first thing that comes to mind. “Yeah, just look at Dani.”

  WHAT YOU MEAN?

  “She has a kid, Gavin. She’s trying to save money to get a place so she can have him back. She didn’t tell you?” Gavin looks like he wants to write a paragraph, but she brushes past him into the bathroom. “Listen, I have to get ready. Liam’s driving me to work.” She squeezes foundation out of a tube.

  LIAM GOOD MAN, DAD.

  Marla draws eyeliner on, noticing the bags under her eyes. The baby. “Yeah, until our kid breaks his arm when Liam’s working. It’s not like he’ll have more time if I have the baby.”

  Gavin crosses his arms. IF? TOO LATE FOR ABORTION.

  “I’m just thinking, okay? You’re the one that wants me to do everything right and make lists and be responsible. I don’t even have a car, Gavin!”

  MOM DIDN’T WANT ME EITHER.

  Marla has never seen him talk like this. “That’s not true, she just couldn’t handle kids, even if we were perfect. You know her problems—don’t make this all about you.”

  NOT. CAN’T QUIT YOUR KID.

  Marla scoops her makeup off the counter into the drawer and slams it. “You would have been happier if you were adopted. Just saying.”

  THAT’S WHY YOU WON’T SEE MOM.

  “What?”

  YOU ARE JUST LIKE HER.

  It’s dead in the diner when Marla arrives. She waves with her good hand to Gladys, the day hostess, and heads to the back.

  She’s shrugging out of her coat when Bettina finds her, pointing to the cast. “Marla, what’s that about?”

  Marla pins her name badge over the stain on her ironed white shirt. She couldn’t find her other one this morning, the nice one. It takes three tries to get the pin closed, and the badge is crooked, but she’s not trashy, no matter what Gavin thinks. “I got in an accident, but don’t worry. Everything’s fine.”

  Bettina finger-combs her super straight blonde hair and makes tsk tsk sounds. “That’s not good. You won’t be able to serve during the rush and we can’t put you back on dish pit. Or cooking or bussing.”

  Her mom worked at a biker bar, not a diner. It’s totally different. Marla refills the ketchup bottles, which she can do no problem one-handed. “I’ll hostess then.”

  Bettina taps her impractically-clad foot. “Yeah, but I’ve got five hostesses right now and they all want more time.”

  Marla finishes with the ketchup and looks around for something else to do. She usually folds cutlery in napkins next, but that’s almost impossible with one hand.

  Bettina does it for her, slipping paper circles over each set. “Well, for now I’ll put you on morning coffee runs.” Bettina’s hair falls in her face and she blows it out of the way. Fine, wispy strands like spider’s silk.

  “That’s it? I mean, I was hoping to keep my hours up.”

  “When the cast is off we can talk about thirty hours a week.” Bettina twists her skinny hank of hair into a totally perfect bun. She carries a bin of silverware napkin packages from table to table as her phone starts singing. She digs it out of her back pocket to answer a text. “I’m off. Should I put you on the schedule or not?”

  Marla counts trashy indicators in this diner: the grabby hook game no one wins at, signs on the bathroom doors (Customers Only), and cigarette burns in the carpet. The place is a total hole.

  Marla takes one of the silverware packages Bettina just set and bangs it on the table. It clanks and Bettina looks up, surprised. Marla feels good, really good. “Don’t bother. I quit.”

  Once Marla’s left for work, Gavin walks to the bank, feeling the warm sun. It’s the sort of spring day that makes a certain type of person sharpen their lawn mower blades for next month. There are new birds in the trees these days, robins even, in the sunshine. Crocuses.

  Gavin doesn’t look at his account balance, knowing it’s lower than he’d like, hating that he’s using money to solve a problem. When he gets home, he hides the cash under Marla’s pillow and heads downstairs to talk to Dani. He’s feeling all kinds of clarity this morning for not having slept with her last night, and he figures he’ll be able to get everything straight if he just asks her.

  Dani sleeps in the centre of her saggy double bed without sheets, bundled up in a comforter, Zigzag at her feet. She has a tab of pills on the floor beside her and is wearing a man’s t-shirt, an old freebie from a case of beer. Gavin whistles until she notices his words on the notepad: MARLA SAYS YOU HAVE A CHILD.

  “Shut up, Gavin. I’m sleeping.”

  Angry Dani was not what he was expecting, but then, Gavin doesn’t know Dani very well. It occurs to him that she’s not gotten high yet, and he’s alarmed to realize how dependent she is.

  WHY DIDN’T TELL ME?

  “None of your business. Goodbye.” She rolls over.

  Gavin rolls her back. In his righteousness, he keeps his hands on her for a second too long, so Dani eyes him and reaches for his belt. He scoots back, feeling out of his element.

  “What, can’t get it up?”

  JUST WANT TALK.

  Dani laughs with her mouth wide open, suddenly awake. Gavin feels stupid, realizing he’s part of a game he doesn’t know the rules to.

  WHAT ELSE SECRET?

  “What … blow you … my resumé?” Her laughter makes her chest heave. Hard to understand her.

  BECAUSE OF DRUGS?

  “Yeah, genius.” Dani hefts a glass ashtray from her bed and hurls it at him. It bashes Gavin in the knee, making Zigzag piss on the carpet before he scrambles out the door. “You’re one to talk, smoking pot here instead of going to school.”

  Gavin drops his notepad, holding his knee on the floor.

  She’s so close her spit sprays his face. “Listen—I don’t need a soul mate and I don’t want your help. I think you’re a good lay, but don’t talk about my son.”

  Marla’s foster parents live outside Calgary in a sprawling bedroom community with three-car garages, tennis courts, and an irrigation reservoir made a hundred years ago by damming a slough. In early spring, Chestermere’s high school kids park their parents’ cars on the weak ice and are surprised when they fall through. Marla used to know those kids.

  Elise answers the door in a showy apron with zero cooking stains and takes Liam’s coat. “So pleased you could come. Marla’s never brought a boy home.”

  Liam raises an eyebrow at Marla as Dave bursts up to shake Liam’s hand.

  “Welcome, and congratulations.” Dave gives Marla a perfunctory hug, trying not to touch her belly with his body. He pats her back, and notices her arm. “What’s this?”

  “Nothing.”

  Elise serves bruschetta in the living room, where there are grad photos of Dave and Elise’s much older real children on the wall, but not one of Marla, because she didn’t graduate. Instead, there are pictures of Marla swinging in the backyard and doing the things kids do before they run away from home. Elise strokes Marla’s shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

  Marla swallows so she doesn’t have to talk with her mouth full. “I crashed my car because it had no brakes.”

  Liam wipes his mouth with a napkin. “It was unavoidable.”

  Elise’s colour is rising. “That’s terrible! We would have helped you find a new car. Where is the money we gave you?”

  “My rent went up.”

  “Is that the whole story?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Right, then.” Elise sweeps crumbs from the coffee table and Dave excuses himself to check the roast. Marla knows she’ll hear more later.

  At dinner, Marla watches without surprise as Liam puts on his restaurant pe
rsona, pulling out Elise’s chair for her and jumping up to turn off the oven timer. Marla catches Elise with a goony grin, wringing a pot holder in her hands. Marla’s proud to be with a real man and not a punk or a dick: she’s a desirable grown-up woman, not just some pity case with brain damage.

  Liam places her napkin in her lap because she forgot and simultaneously brushes his arm against her breast, smiling at her, complicit.

  “What kind of restaurant do you work at, Liam?” Dave asks, genuinely interested.

  “A Thai place – it’s called Kinaree.”

  “Oh, that’s quite fancy,” Elise says, star-struck. “I’ve eaten there myself.”

  “I’m also waiting to hear about a position at the University Music Department,” he says, passing the potatoes.

  “That must pay a lot.”

  Marla glares at Elise for caring only about money, but Liam doesn’t notice. They talk about hockey, the price of oil and how it’s affecting Dave’s company, and why it’s still supposed to snow even though it’s April. After dinner, Dave persuades Liam to play Crokinole (which Marla knows is a very good sign), while Marla and Elise do the dishes.

  “Liam is so together,” Elise says.

  Here it goes. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m just glad he’s not more, well, you know.”

  “You mean, like a pimp?” Marla dries dishes and stacks them neatly on the counter.

  “Marla, I’ve asked you never to talk about that. I find it very upsetting. You don’t want Liam to know about your past, do you? And the child? What kind of life would that be?”

  “I don’t live that kind of life. I’m getting married.” The baby moves, and Marla wants to tell Elise, but her lips are all pressed together like she wouldn’t listen anyway.

  ‘Well, we still need to work on making good choices. You couldn’t even buy yourself a safe car.”

  “It’s hard, okay? I make minimum wage at the restaurant.”

  “We got you that job at the clinic—you should be making enough money there. And what about that woman—doesn’t she pay anything to live with you?”

  Marla stabs the knives into the knife block, saying nothing.

  “Let’s make a plan to finish your high school equivalency. Even Gavin has graduated.” Elise leans in close. “I found a program that helps birth moms get funding for college. Remember? You were talking about massage school.” For a second, Marla imagines herself hanging out with Naomi and her crew, having money to buy a bus pass. She could go out on Thursdays for $7 jug night like everyone else and make Elise proud. It’s kind of tempting until Elise makes a very unsubtle gesture at Marla’s belly, at which point Marla remembers she was never very good at school.

  “I’m sorry I got pregnant. It happens.” Marla hangs her tea towel on the oven door with a nice fold in the middle and shoves dishes into cupboards.

  “You need a plan. Does he want the baby?”

  “I think so.”

  “Very few women make good single mothers.”

  Marla edges behind her to put a dish in the cupboard. “That’s not true. And I’ve got help. We’re moving in together.”

  “Listen: I booked you in to see someone about adoption. I think it’s a—”

  Marla slams a drawer closed and hears the tinkle of broken glass. “Shit.”

  Dave and Liam come running. Marla opens the drawer to find a casserole dish cracked into several pieces, which isn’t what she intended at all. Those were scary words, and now Marla has gone and broken them so everyone can see.

  Elise has her angry-disappointed face on. “I expect that to be replaced.”

  “Yeah. I’ll work on that.”

  Elise puts her hands on Marla’s shoulders. “Slow down and think things through. Your actions are costly.”

  Marla hates to admit it, but she knows it’s true.

  After some teeth gritting from Elise, calculated ignoring from Dave and too much nicey-nice from Liam, Marla puts her coat on and asks Liam to take her home. “That was less than ideal,” she tells him in the car. She puts her feet up and cranks the radio.

  He turns it off and Marla braces herself for a lecture, but he looks at her like he just found out horses aren’t growing any more tails for bow hair. “At least you have a family.”

  “Some family.”

  Liam pulls over so fast that another driver’s horn wails into the night as the car passes. His hands are shaking on the wheel. “Don’t ever say that. Those people love you.”

  Marla doesn’t want to tell Liam she envies him for having only a dead mother for family. “Okay, but she booked me an adoption.”

  “Because she loves you. I don’t think you get it, Marla. Maybe you can’t, I don’t know.”

  “Well, then enlighten me, Liam.”

  He leans on the headrest, not looking at her. “It’s simple gratitude. They took you in. Imagine you were me and had to stay with your real mom, looking after her.”

  “That would have been awesome. I wouldn’t have had a curfew.”

  He turns so suddenly Marla reaches for the door handle on instinct. “Marla, that’s immature. And harsh. My mom was a monster, cursing and raging and waking me in the middle of the night to practise.” He shudders. “It was a nightmare.”

  Marla slouches like a teenager and they drive in silence. He’s right. Everyone else is always right. She pictures Liam carrying his mom to bed when she passed out, cooking food for her before he went to school. He turned out all right. Amazing, even. To Liam, Marla’s a girl who had the sweet life—rich foster parents and summer camp—and threw it all away.

  “Dave told me about your condition.”

  That seems about right. “Yeah. I’m the damaged child of an alcoholic. Ta-da.”

  Liam reaches for her knee. “Me too,” he says softly.

  When they pull up to her house, she says, “Wait here.” He leaves the car running and she walks tall and deliberate because she has a crazy good idea.

  It seems smart until Marla hears water running, splashing even. Dani’s left the kitchen faucet on and water’s all over the floor. The landlord is going to fucking lose it. Marla sops most of it up, dumping the towel in the sink.

  Downstairs, water drips through the light fixture in the hallway, making a puddle the puppy paws at. Marla shuts the switch off in a hurry. That’s it.

  Dani’s in the bathroom. Marla can hear her grinding up pills and clanking a spoon. She pushes the door open. “Why do you do it in here? It’s not like I don’t know.”

  Dani draws the solution up into an oral syringe from a shot glass and drops her pants. She reaches behind herself and grins at Marla as she plugs it. “Want some?”

  Marla turns her head. She could very easily barf in this bathroom again. “That is so fucking gross.”

  Dani tugs her pants up. “Just bioavailability. Gotta keep it interesting.”

  “Yeah. Two things—one, you really ruined this light out here, because it’s full of water.”

  Dani leans out the door, staring at it. “Yep. That’s a fire hazard.”

  “Two, I’m moving in with Liam because he doesn’t spend his time wrecking the place and stuffing drugs up his ass.”

  Dani sweeps the counter, her syringe and the spoon she was using pinging against the lino. “Don’t think you’re going to get what you want there.” Spit flies out of Dani’s mouth.

  Marla backs up. “Yeah, I will. He’s not like you.”

  “That is low. What about notice? What about Gavin?”

  Marla hadn’t really thought about it. “Gavin’s coming too. He’s here to visit me.”

  “And me?”

  “The rent’s paid. You can stay until the end of the month.” Marla suddenly realizes this is what she wanted all along, just any reason to escape the constant spiraling clusterfuck that is
Dani. An affirmation that it doesn’t have to be this way.

  Dani follows Marla upstairs. She pulls the curtain and sees the car running outside. “It’s a drive-by pickup?” Dani laughs. Her face is red. “You haven’t thought this through at all. Does he even know?” She tries to push past Marla to open the front door.

  “Don’t you dare go out there.”

  Dani stops and grabs Marla by the hair, pulling her in like a fish. She whispers through her teeth. “You fucking owe me.” She kisses Marla, hard, pushing her tongue around.

  Marla pulls back, bracing her hands against Dani’s shoulders, but she’s not strong enough to get away. “I don’t belong to you.”

  “Oh, but you do.” Dani twists Marla’s nipples. “No one else would want you.”

  Marla runs out holding her breasts. Liam has locked the car doors, sitting there with his arms crossed. She pounds until he unrolls the window.

  “What the fuck did I see in there?” The word sounds thick coming from Liam, she thinks. Heavy. The windshield wipers swish back and forth, spraying slushy snow.

  “Dani’s a crazy drug addict bitch.”

  Liam’s breathing is fast, almost sexual. “You two have a thing going, don’t you?”

  Marla lets go of the door handle. “What? No. You think I want her?” The thought is bewildering.

  “You just kissed her.”

  Marla shakes her head and reaches inside the open window to manually unlock the door. “She’s high. I don’t fuck her. I love you.” She sits inside. “Take me home. I’m moving in.”

  Liam stares at her. “You two are done? You’re not serious.”

  “I’ll get my stuff tomorrow. Let’s go.”

  Gavin takes the bus to the University of Calgary and runs through its carfree centre, edging by wide groups of young adults all talking at once. There are some beautiful low postwar buildings, but they are dwarfed by later towers that lurk without any orientation to grid. He sees himself overshadowed by their mess and creates a mental route to Marla’s, running along 24th Avenue past concrete slab apartments and residences, then cutting through the playing fields to follow the near deserted 32nd Avenue in the dark.

  He doesn’t shower when he walks in, but lays in bed masturbating angrily. Dani has no right to hurt him. Gavin comes on his stomach and wipes himself off with the sheet. He’s going downstairs.