Glass Beads

by Dawn Dumont

Nellie looked sideways at the interaction in front of her — was Taz really attractive to this young girl with every kind of option in the world? Nellie supposed his heavy-lidded eyes and big lips could appear sensual . . . if you were desperate enough.

  “Those better both be for you. I don’t drink that shit.” Nellie said loudly.

  “Oh right, you drink red wine ’cause you’re so fancy. One of those faggy drinks.”

  Nellie shook her head but the waitress smiled and went away. Obviously she only had one master.

  “I never run into anyone I know at the airport. Not anyone from back in the day anyway. Why’s that?” Taz downed the rest of his drink.

  “Because we only know poor people. And when you do well, you can’t have poor friends. Not because you don’t want to but because they don’t call you up anymore. They run off to the States to become better people or they take off for butt-fuck Alberta and forget your number.” Nellie fingered the appetizer menu. “Have you heard from Julie lately?”

  Taz shook his head.

  “Everett quit drinking,” she added.

  “Are you fucking with me? Drugs too?”

  “I guess.”

  “I guess that explains some things. About two weeks ago, he calls me up and asks me where I am. I was in Vancouver. And what do you know he shows up a day later — ”

  “I thought he was in Arizona — ”

  “Apparently not. So he came to see me and said he had a message for me from the spirit world.” Taz laughed.

  “Are you fucking kidding?”

  Taz shrugged. “Apparently some nosy spirit said I should return my dad to his resting place.”

  “You mean like dig him up and move his bones? Are you going to do it? Is that even legal?”

  Taz sighed heavily. “Nellie, my dad is still alive. Why the fuck does everyone think that he’s dead?”

  Probably because it’s hard to believe you ever had parents, Nellie thought. “That’s true, I’d have probably heard over the moccasin telegraph if your dad died.”

  “Moccasin messaging these days.” Taz wagged his cell phone, “Anyway I told the genius that and he said he was just the messenger. I told him he was fucked and to go have a beer.”

  “How did he look?”

  “Oh dreamy, his muscles were so muscular.” Taz laughed, “How the fuck should I know? He looked big and stupid as usual.”

  The waitress placed the drinks, smiled and went away.

  “She’s too beautiful to be working here.”

  Taz shrugged. “How long you staying where you are?”

  “Forever I guess.”

  “’Til they bleed you dry.”

  “It’s permanent Taz. I don’t have to wonder where my paycheck is coming next year.”

  Nellie took a long sip of her wine. Wine tasted the same before noon.

  Taz’s face was dull and sweaty, some of his hair was plastered to his forehead. “How long have you been drinking?” she asked.

  “A couple hours. Started on the plane. It seemed to be going well so I decided to continue.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to Vancouver — some conference, fisheries, treaties, reserve creation — one of those fucking things.”

  “You sound really committed. Ideal employee.”

  “They don’t give a shit. As long as I show up for meetings with a brown face. And that I got. In spades.”

  “I worry about your soul.”

  Taz grabbed Nellie’s hand and squeezed it. “I appreciate your concern.” He laughed and grabbed his glass; Nellie noted a few blingy rings. They looked garish on his otherwise nice hands.

  Taz raised his glass. “To money!”

  A Caucasian couple looked in their direction; their expressions were horrified. Like Taz had yelled, “To bombs!” in the airport bar. But then again, to some white people, Indians having money was just as criminal.

  “I’m not toasting to that.”

  Taz laughed, short and sharp. “I thought you liked to play along.”

  “Since when?” Nellie’s wine was thin but not too sweet. It was perfect airport wine. “Have you heard from Julie?”

  “You already asked me that. She calls me up once in a while and asks for money.”

  “Did you cheat on her?”

  Taz flicked his dark eyes at her and Nellie felt a frisson of unease for asking what she thought was a fair question.

  “Did she say that?”

  “She never said anything. One day she was here and the next she was gone.”

  Nellie sipped her wine. Then took a bigger gulpy sized slurp as she stared at the people walking by. They looked busy and distracted, their thoughts on where they were going and how long it would take, on whether or not their luggage would make it.

  Taz said, “Yeah, Indians got a way of disappearing.

  “Like those guys they found outside the city. The ones the police dropped off.”

  “That happened to me.” Taz was looking into his amber glass.

  “Seriously? When? Did you report it?” Nellie would have gone straight to the press and told her story to a million microphones. She would have talked until all those cops were locked up and the key was thrown into the Saskatchewan River.

  Taz slapped her questions away like annoying mosquitoes.

  “I have to buy a suit,” he announced.

  “Why?”

  “I lost my luggage.”

  Nellie didn’t bother to ask how. She’d spent enough time around Everett to know that the odd and incredible happened with alarming regularity when you spent days at a time drunk. “There’s the Bay. I guess. I don’t buy men’s suits. Can you wait until you get to Vancouver?”

  Taz couldn’t. He jumped to his feet, swayed for a second before catching his balance. He dropped a pile of cash on the table without counting it.

  Nellie counted the bills hurriedly before following him. Taz didn’t leave much of a tip so she made sure to drop a five as they left. Who’s your master now, bitch, Nellie thought.

  Taz grabbed her suitcase from her. “This is a pretty jazzy suitcase.”

  “I do love it.”

  “It’s like it’s a part of you.” He twirled with it as he walked and Nellie had to smile.

  They took a cab directly to the Bay. The store was empty of customers and the employees were cleaning the glass of their counters. Nellie felt like everyone knew that she was skipping out on work. Taz strutted with his customary short-guy-with something-to-prove walk.

  They walked past the displays of shoes and Nellie looked at a few longingly.

  “Why do women love shoes so much?”

  “So many kinds, each shoe is for a different event and they just make you feel different I guess. Like you’re ready to go anywhere.”

  “Women are vain.”

  “Right Liberace, like those rings aren’t a sign of vanity.”

  “These were a gift from my father, they signify my lineage as hereditary chief of my territory.”

  “Really?” Nellie looked closer.

  “As if. Fuck, they’re just rings. I’m a fancy man.”

  Nellie’s laugh was so loud it reverberated off the walls. She caught her reflection in a mirror, her mouth wide open, her eyes slightly insane. Bring it down Nellie or you’re gonna end up being escorted out by some pimply faced security guard.

  “What kind of suit do you need?”

  “Grey. I like grey.”

  “Not black? You are the grim reaper, bringing death wherever you tread . . . are treading . . . treaded.” Jesus, Nellie, it was only one glass of wine. And it was a mild wine. Nellie giggled.

  “What are you cackling about?”

  “Words, like the word ‘mild’. You can take a word like mild and it minimizes everything, like a mild storm or mild insanity.”

  “Mild aggravated rape.”

  “Of course you had to go there.” Nellie stopped in front of the men’s area. The mannequins were the size of fifteen-year
-old boys. The designers’ ideal size, Nellie mused. She preferred her men tall, broad shouldered with a slight stoop, and a belly that was flat but soft because he didn’t spend his life in a gym. Arms that were strong from carrying things that mattered. Hands that were callused and cracked because he worked with them all year long.

  “Are you in love with that fucking thing?”

  “He keeps his mouth shut which is a quality more men should have.”

  “And you’re single? So hard to believe.” Taz pulled a suit off the hanger and inspected it.

  “What are you — a forty-two-short?”

  He looked at her in surprise, “Do I look that fat?”

  He wasn’t skinny. But he did have a slightly athletic look to him. Some women might even like that powerful bullish look. Nellie didn’t.

  “You aren’t fat.”

  “Neither are you.”

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  “Yeah, but I wanted to say that. You’ve slimmed down.Like you got a waist and everything.”

  Nellie pretended to look at the ties. “Do you like patterns or solids?”

  “I don’t care. I guess I should try this one.” He held up a slate grey suit.

  “Looks good.”

  “Do I just take it?”

  “You try it on bonehead.” Nellie pushed him in the direction of the dressing room. “Call me when you’re done.”

  “I don’t show you. You’re not my mom.”

  “Go.”

  He walked towards the dressing room, his head down and if Nellie didn’t know better, she’d swear he almost looked uncertain, like a little boy. Nellie dismissed the thought; she was not going to feel sorry for Taz.

  Nellie saw a dark head of long hair walking through the clothes and her head turned as it always did. It was only a tall woman. It had been two years since she’d seen him.She heard that he was in BC, then she heard that he was up north, she heard he went down south, that he was thinking of joining the army, then she heard that he didn’t believe in the army and was trying to set up a warrior society, she heard that he was in Poundmaker’s Lodge trying to heal himself, then she heard that he was seen at 49’er, making out with a Powwow princess.

  Why couldn’t she run into him at an airport sitting quietly in a Chili’s? Because Everett would probably never fly. Even if he had the money, he would prefer to spend it on gas so that he could invite along a buddy or two and the trip would take at least a week longer than it needed to because that is how things were supposed to happen, you were supposed to enjoy your life.

  I enjoy my life, Nellie insisted, in a different way. Like I enjoy having nice stuff so I don’t always invite the party over or invite relatives to stay who don’t know how to leave. And I like my quiet so I don’t go to parties all the time. I’m responsible so I can’t devote myself to fun.

  Except on Monday mornings when she was wandering around a mall at 11:00 AM with a glass of wine under her belt.

  Nellie stood at the door of the changing room. “Taz? You done? What’s it look like? Taz? You need a second opinion on a big purchase, trust me on that. God I wish I’d had a second opinion when I bought those two hundred dollar shoes with the gold straps that cut into my ankles and gave me a scar.” That was the longest amount of time she had ever spoken to Taz without being interrupted.

  Nellie opened the door to his change room. He was asleep on the floor, his pants off, the suit jacket on. He wore jockey boxer shorts. Nellie was grateful for that. The next ten minutes were not going to be fun. Taz was a big man and Nellie was not that strong. Before she began the job, she paused to pull her digital camera out of her carry-on bag.

  He slept all day. Nellie worked at her kitchen table and wandered by the couch once in a while to check on his breathing. While he slept he turned to stone, his face hardening and taking on a grey cast.Julie liked waking up to that face? She was a strange one.

  She leaned close to check his breathing. A reflex from when she was younger.

  Mongoose-fast, Taz grabbed the back of her head and pulled her close.

  It had been awhile so Nellie allowed herself to be kissed. Plus maybe she’d even wondered over the years, had looked at those lips across the table more than a hundred times. She tasted cigarettes, whiskey, a roast beef sandwich, and — she wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Taz had eaten regurgitated cat food. She broke off the kiss.

  “No,” she said leaning back on her butt.

  “No?” Taz’s eyes were half-closed.

  “If you sweet-talked me, told me that I was the only woman you’ve ever wanted, that I am the woman that you dream of and that I come to you in your dreams enveloped in smoke like a girl in a music video, then . . . maybe.”

  Taz pretended to snore; Nellie laughed and went back to her desk.

  When he woke up a few hours later, he ordered some Chinese food. He ate it with appalling speed. He wanted to go pick up some beer but Nellie distracted him with iced tea. They watched TV together or at least Nellie tried to watch but Taz kept talking to her about Native politics. Even though he worked for the feds now, he was still involved behind the scenes. Nellie hadn’t paid attention. She saw the chiefs sniping at the government and at each other in the media — she found it embarrassing.

  Taz had a different perspective, of course, having been raised at the teats of politics (his words). He was bitter about the direction that the Assembly of Saskatchewan Chiefs had taken. Nellie half-listened, thinking that keeping him sober had been a mistake.

  “The real problem is that they’ve lost a connection to the grassroots . . . ”

  “Whatever that is.”

  “It’s you, me, all the people back on the rez.”

  “As if they care what we think.”

  “What do you want?” Taz stared at her.

  “Wine that doesn’t stain my teeth?”

  “Be fucking real.” Nellie gave him a dirty look. He smiled, knowing he was annoying her.

  “I guess . . . I see that our people are still getting arrested, locked up, committing violence or getting dumped by the side of the road — I see the young kids on the streets wandering — where are their parents? Why aren’t they at home? — like how I was at home at their age, doing my homework, watching TV with my family . . . that’s where kids should be. ’Cause pretty soon they’re not kids anymore, they’re adults and then we’ve lost them.”

  “Exactly.” Taz pounded his fist on her coffee table and their iced tea jumped. Nellie reached for her glass.

  “Okay, relax, Mandela.”

  “But that’s what I’m talking about — we have to focus on the youth — on education and programs like sports and rec and make sure that our next generation isn’t wasted. That’s what those fuckers should be focussing on.”

  “Yeah. That would be good. But so what?”

  “So everything.”

  Nellie looked at him. He was staring off into space or maybe at his reflection in the front window — he was that vain. She looked at his profile. With fifteen pounds off of him, stuffed into a good suit, better haircut — there was something there.

  He kept talking and she started listening. By the time Arsenio was introducing his first guest, Nellie was ready to quit her job.

  The Election

  October 2004

  TAZ BEGAN MOST OF his sentences, “When I’m grand chief . . . ” no matter who the listener was, no matter how much Nellie tried to shush him.

  “Nominations haven’t even opened yet,” she would hiss, “why give the competition a running start?”

  But Taz never listened to the caution in her voice. Unlike Nellie, he didn’t need to visualize or think positively, he knew that it would be and continued to stride into meetings and conferences with his cocky little walk and, God help her, Nellie began to believe it too.

  So much so, that she invested in a few new suits even though her savings were moving faster south than a white pensioner. She had tried to keep her job with
the government but after Taz went off about government deception destroying the intention of the treaties to a reporter . . . her boss politely hinted that a resignation might be in order.

  The new suits weren’t the investment she thought they would be. They caused her to get sideways looks from other Native women and murmurs of “ch, who’s she trying to be?” But Nellie was too cheap to buy different clothes. Besides the suits hid her growing midsection — she was getting chunky from road food and too much wine late at night.

  She barely had time to miss her job, they kept such a fast pace. There were conferences, powwows, funerals, two weddings, a graduation and the Chiefs Assembly. Wherever First Nations were congregating, they were there.

  Taz was a surprise to Nellie. For a horrible person with a terrible personality, he knew how to work a crowd. Women liked his smile; men liked his confidence. At large events, he would grab the mic and humbly thank the MC for inviting him to speak and the MC would nod and clap even though Taz hadn’t even been invited to the event. He would give impromptu speeches that inspired, informed and most importantly, made people laugh. They weren’t spontaneous. There were three standard ones that Nellie had written: education, justice and economic development with the right sprinkling of references to treaty rights.

  Nellie looked after the details. She researched the issues and presented them to Taz. She looked at the legislation for the organization. There was a lot of it.

  “It says here that anyone running has to have a clean criminal record for at least ten years.”

  “So what? I’ve got a clean record.”

  “It’s crazy. The provincial election act doesn’t require that, neither does the federal. ”

  “Like I always said, when you’re an Indian, you gotta be ten times as good to get to the same place.”

  Once the nominations were made and accepted “oh so humbly”, Nellie started researching their competition. It was a soft-spoken old man and a woman with a law degree. The old man had a history of bad financial management that was following him around like a skunk smell and the woman had blond streaks in her hair — nobody was taking either of them seriously.

  “The only person who could beat me, is myself,” Taz told Nellie in the car one day.