“How are your plans coming along? Is Mike getting jitters?” Dave chuckled.
“No.” Kelly laughed. “But he does have to get a new suit. His old one is actually too big, believe it or not. He’s lost a lot of weight in the past year, with that new fitness kick he’s on.”
“And you?” Dave cast his eyes up and down Kelly, grinning.
“Me? No way, haven’t changed a bit, sort of. I got measured up last week. Have a fitting the week before Christmas, but won’t pick up the dress till a couple of days before the wedding.”
“Barb made me try my suit on the other day. And it does still fit me!”
“That’s good. Now, Dave, I know you’ve been fretting about the Centre, and wanting to come into the office. Look, it’s far too soon for you to be taking on that kind of stress; you know what the doctor said. And Mike and I agree. I’m coping with the bills and mail, and Mike is coming to check the building operations. Jane has stepped up, and taken on any scheduling needs that crop up. Even Dana Munro called me and offered to come up from Kingston on her free weekends to help. So you can relax. We haven’t taken your job away; it’ll be there for you when you are healed. Okay, Boss?” Kelly grinned and nudged him in the side.
“Okay, if you say so, Deputy.”
- 29 -
The late November night air was damp and cold as Tony turned into the narrow alley. The pervading stench of stale garbage drifted to his nostrils as he stumbled over a burst bag, kicking it sullenly to the side.
He fell in a heap onto a broken chair, discarded from the restaurant long ago. The chair sagged backward, and Tony lurched with it, breaking his fall against the wall. “Fucking piece o’ junk,” he muttered.
“Sit on the fucking floor like anybody else,” came a response from the shadows.
Tony did not respond. He had no reserves left to think with. He sat where the chair had tilted him, legs splayed out to keep himself marginally stable. This was as far as he was going—for now.
The shadows moved, and a body fumbled to unscrew a bottle. It took a gulp, and handed the bottle to Tony. Tony grabbed it and swigged from it, wiping his mouth and the bottle with his sleeve, handing it back. The first body passed it on to another body in the shadows.
Suddenly, a door opened and a shaft of light flashed across the alley. A man tossed a cardboard box out onto a pile of garbage cans. As the light vanished, the shadows moved, and grasping hands sought the discarded bread and buns. Sounds of munching filled the stale air as the day-old food was consumed. Soon it was gone, and the quiet was broken only by the sounds of traffic in the street.
Time meant nothing now for Tony. He lived only for the moment. He ached perpetually; his head throbbed; his stomach was twisted and tortured; he was developing sores that would not heal; he craved for the next drink.
He had a small world now: the alley; two city blocks; a vacant lot for daytime and a toilet, when he remembered; a patch of grass; a couple of litter bins; and something resembling sleep—the state he occupied most of the time.
Others shared the alley, the source of food. Drew was the entrepreneur, the one who got the real stuff; he had no hang-ups about sharing—share it round till it was gone. Sleep it off, then go find some more—get a few coins on the street. Rejean was dark, surly, said little, did little, and stank. Albert was different; he seemed to look out for Tony.
The night grew quieter as the traffic dwindled. The door from the restaurant was locked and shuttered. The damp was turning into a slight drizzle.
“Fucking rain,” grumbled Tony as he slid ungainly off the broken chair onto the ground, pulling his meagre jacket up over his ears.
Albert was stumbling to his feet, grabbing the cardboard box from the bread delivery. “Put this on your bloody head,” he said, tossing the box at Tony and returning to the more sheltered corner of the alley.
The rain had stopped by dawn. Traffic began to move along the street. Gradually, wakefulness of sorts came to the alley. Slowly, one by one, the four ambled, stumbled really, out onto the street to daytime quarters—the vacant lot, for Tony. The garbage collectors would come to the alley some days, but Tony had no recollection of which days or how often. He just learned quickly not to be in the alley when they did come, which meant: be out every day.
He reached the vacant lot, and stumbled across to the back against a fence, shielded from the street by a few scrawny bushes. Albert sometimes shared the lot, but his spot was over on the other side, usually. Occasionally, they would sit together, rarely speaking.
Today, Albert had shuffled over and sat a few paces away. They sat in silence. The hours passed.
“Why you doing this?” Albert broke the silence at last.
The silence began again, but not so long.
“Why you here?”
“Do’know,” muttered Tony, his face vacantly staring.
“You’re wasting life.”
“Fuck it, so are you.”
“I’m old, worn out. You’re young.”
“So what?” Tony wanted no more of this.
A long silence.
“You lose job, eh?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You drink too much. Eh?”
“Mebbe.”
“You lose girl, no?”
Tony turned sharply. “Fuck it, man. Lay off, willya!”
Albert was quiet. Time passed them by, but they were not counting.
“We had some good times, that we did.” Albert spoke suddenly.
“Unh?” Tony grunted.
“Then the bad times came …”
“Wha?”
“The guns, the fuckin’ guns—we didn’t stand a chance.”
“What fucking guns?”
“In Cyprus—bloody peacekeepin’, ’cep’ there was no fuckin’ peace to keep.”
“You in the army?” Tony’s mind was stimulated above its base level.
“Wasn’t in the boy scouts.” Albert spat on the ground.
“You survived.”
“Lost me best buddy—right beside me, he was. Fuckin’ snipers—thought we was the enemy. Got a rifle bullet in me shoulder. Can’t do a fuckin’ thing ’cause o’ that.”
“Sucks.”
“You got life ahead, kid. Get outta here.”
Traffic ebbed and flowed with the rhythms of the day. As the light began to fade, Albert stood and shuffled off on his rounds, maybe to call at one of the shelters.
Tony watched him go. Little had gone through his mind all day, but the last few exchanges had remained, lingering on his enfeebled memory: ‘you’re wasting life’; ‘you lose job’; ‘you drink too much’; ‘you lose girl’; ‘you got life ahead’.
Images of Dana drifted through his mind, his cloudy mind. He tried to suppress them, but he had no strength to think on other lines. They would not go away. Dana would not go away.
He found his hand fumbling in a pocket. He found a quarter and a dime, and another quarter in his other pocket. It had been days now, he had no idea of how many, since he’d collected coins by just sitting on Rideau Street, enough to buy a drink. He fingered the coins.
Suddenly, a new thought, a light, entered his mind, through a crack. The crack widened, brighter light entered. It was positively brilliant.
He was being pulled, up, up, upward. He was standing, walking, walking, onto the sidewalk … Phone booth, fumbling for the quarters. Fuck, dropped one. Got it. Get the phone. Put the coins in. Dial. Six … two … one … fuck, what is it? … Three … four … seven … eight. Ringing.
Hi, this is Gina. I can’t take your call right now, but please leave …
Fuck. He waited for the tone. “’S Tony. Need help. Rideau … pleease.”
He was sitting at his usual spot the next day. Albert was somewhere else this time. Somehow, he felt different—lousy, but different. Everything ached still, his head throbbed, stomach squirmed, nothing new—yet his mind seemed clearer. Not that he had anything much to think about, his world had shrunk to so
little—but there was light. He knew he had made the break—he just hoped that Gina would respond.
He sat there, his eyes half-closed, in that semi-sleep state he had grown into these days, the sunlight so bright today that he just couldn’t leave his eyes fully open anyway …
He saw her coming, blonde, shining hair bouncing around her head, her face radiant, like an angel—an angel in blue jeans.
And there she was, Dana, standing in front of him, arms outstretched toward him. He was drawn up, upward, now standing too. And now another one, dark-haired, joined them.
“I’m glad we’ve found you, Tone,” Gina spoke first. “We’ve been so worried about you. It’s taken us ages to find you. I called Dana as soon as I got your message.”
“Yeah, it’s lucky I’m home this weekend. Tony, you said you need help. What did you mean?”
Tony was struggling now. He had not conversed sensibly with anyone for weeks now. He was losing the ability to formulate points in his muddy mind. “Er—I—need help. Um—to—er—get better.”
“You mean you want to be cured, dried out?” Dana’s head tilted as she asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“You really mean it?” Gina now.
“Uh-huh.”
“Come on then, let’s get started.” Dana grasped his arm. “First off, you’ve gotta get cleaned up—you’re filthy.”
Dana and Gina guided him across the vacant lot to a spot near the sidewalk.
“You two stay here while I go fetch the car,” Gina said, as she reached the sidewalk. She started off along the street.
Tony slumped down to the ground; he had no strength to stand for any length of time.
Dana squatted on her haunches beside Tony. They were close enough to the street for passers-by to sometimes turn and look at them both, obviously wondering why such a good-looking, well-dressed girl was hanging out with a bum like that.
Dana took no notice; she was only concerned whether Tony could really go through with what was ahead for him. It would not be easy. She prayed that he could.
- 30 -
Tears ran down Gina’s face as she finished putting away the leftover food that had been sitting out on the kitchen counter since supper-time. How could he? How could Tony do this to her, after all she had done for him?
She was exhausted, at the end of her tether. Only one more day to go now to Christmas, and then a break. The store would still be busy on Boxing Day and the days after, but nowhere near as bad as it had been these past few weeks.
And on top of all that, now she had to cope with this. She slammed the fridge door shut after putting away the last bowl. Sighing, she wandered into the living room and flung herself down on the sofa.
An hour ago, Tony had come home drunk. Yes. She sighed. Yes, I should have expected it. Every temptation was put in his way—invitations to this party and that. It wasn’t surprising, considering.
After Tony had been pulled off the street by Gina and Dana in November, he had responded well to their help and attention. Gina had agreed to let him live with her in her newly acquired apartment, on condition that he stay dry at all times, and that he get a job within a reasonable time.
With a bit of help from Gina, he had succeeded in getting a part-time job at the local ‘Quickie’ convenience store three weeks ago; not much, and not much pay, but it had given him a focus. And to give him his due, he had remained dry—until now.
Gina reached over for a tissue, wiping her eyes. She was devastated—she was angry. She was angry with herself, for not thinking ahead; for not realizing, with all the stress she had been under at work, all the temptations out there for Tony.
She was angry with his so-called friends, two of the other guys that did shifts at the Quickie. They knew the problems Tony was having—she’d explained it to them when he was first getting the job. Were they thick, or something? Or did they think it a joke—to let him get drunk?
She was angry … no, she couldn’t be angry with Tony, no—she couldn’t.
Tony is sick; he needs me. No one else can help him right now—no one else around here cares for him. Tears welled up in her eyes again. What a depressing Christmas prospect ahead. There would be no Ferruccio family celebration, nothing like the old days.
Her brother Angelo had left home as soon as he turned eighteen, earlier in the year. She didn’t know where he had gone. He couldn’t stand the stifling, cold, depressing atmosphere at home anymore, with their mother and father barely speaking to each other.
Her little sister, poor Roberta, was the only one left, and she would not be there for long; she would be eighteen soon, and had no desire to stay longer than she had to.
Her mother and father refused to see Tony, to let him visit, and because Gina was sheltering him, she was out of favour too.
Gina just couldn’t understand her parents, she really couldn’t. They had all been such a happy, loving family until … well, until Vince was killed, and then things started to fall apart, slowly, but she realized, looking back on those times, the signs were there long ago. But then Tony’s clash with the alcohol fiend, and everything that had followed, just seemed to be destroying the family.
In spite of all that, Gina had planned to call round at her parents’ house on Christmas Day, just to drop off a couple of small gifts for them and one for Roberta, but not to stay … but now she didn’t know what she could do. What would she do with Tony?
She saw in her mind the image of him, as she and Dana had brought him back to her apartment back in November—a dirty, drained, dreg of a man, with dull eyes and an expressionless face, who couldn’t look either of them in the eyes, but looked away instead.
She thought how she and Dana had got him cleaned up, had gone out and bought some basic clothes, underwear, jeans, shirt, socks, runners, to get him started. They had thrown all his old stinking rags into the garbage.
She thought back on how he had become so docile, so—well, so dull, no spark—no longer the old Tony. But he had kept his promise—she knew, because she kept him on a very tight rein, even with all the pressures on her at work. She checked, and double-checked, his every move.
And he was okay, no false moves—until tonight. And all because her guard was down; she had not made her point well enough with those guys at the Quickie—and that was all it took. A whole month’s progress … gone in a couple of hours.
And now he was sleeping it off. Gina sat up straight on the sofa. Right, she thought, first thing in the morning, I’ll tell him straight. A deal’s a deal—stay dry and you can stay here, else you’re out—that was the deal. You got drunk, so you should be out. But it’s Christmas. I won’t kick you out on Christmas Eve, though I probably should.
The plan was evolving in her mind. She was committing herself to care for and supervise him to prevent a repeat. She had to make her point stick in the morning. She had to go to work, no option, but he was to be here when she arrived home. He could only go to the Quickie to work, nowhere else.
If he was not at home, sober, when she arrived home, he was out, right out—Christmas Eve or not. She had to play it that way, she knew, as a deterrent, but she wasn’t sure she could go through with it, if it came to that.
Then, she would spend the whole of the Christmas holiday with him. There would be no more opportunity for temptation, no liquor of any kind. She would give up on any visiting with friends that she was planning to do, and going to their parents, all to help him survive the temptations of the holiday—and to give herself some breathing space to consider how she could deal with the longer term solution.
She stood up, resolved; that’s what she would do in the morning.
Thank goodness he’s home, Gina thought to herself as she hung up her coat that next evening. Christmas Eve at the store had verged on a nightmare. The crowds had been awful; she’d had to go without her lunch break, and all the time she had been worrying about whether Tony would keep his word. He had been very sullen, yet sheepish, that morning when she
had confronted him with her ultimatum, but he had volunteered a promise. That was her only hope.
“Hi, Tony, I’m home,” she called out, as brightly as she could muster.
“Huh,” came the reply.
She could see the back of his head as he sat in the easy chair, watching TV. Gina couldn’t stand his current taste in TV shows—abysmally low, but she was just grateful and relieved that he was there. She joined him and sat down on the sofa.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Meh.”
She was used to these ‘meaningful’ conversations by now.
“You eaten?”
“Nope.”
“I’m having pizza. You want some too? There’s a large all-dressed in the freezer.”
“Whadever.”
“You wanna put the stove on while I get changed, please? Four twenty-five, I think. Check the package.”
“Uh-huh.”
Gina went into her bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. As she pulled her dress over her head, the phone rang. Reaching out, she picked up the phone by her bed.
“Hello?”
“Hi Gina, it’s Dana. How are you?”
“Oh, hi, Dan. Where are you? Are you at home?”
“Yes, I got back from Kingston last night. Thought I’d call and see how—”
“Just a sec. Let me close the door.” Gina reached out with her foot and pushed the door closed. “There, Tony’s just in the kitchen, seeing to a pizza. Oh, Dan, he came home drunk last night …”
“No? Oh, that’s too bad. What happened?”
“He went out with a couple of the guys from the Quickie, you know, where he’s got the job at? An’ they let him get drunk.”
“So, what did he do? Did he come home?”
“Yeah, and I agonized all night about what to do with him. So this morning I gave him an ultimatum—I told him he had to be at home, sober, when I got back from work tonight, or else he was out.”
“And was he?”
“Yes, thank goodness. ’Cause Dana, I don’t know if I could have gone through with my threat if he hadn’t, or if he’d been drunk. I’ve told him he goes nowhere without me this holiday. That basically means we stay here. It’s the only way to be sure he doesn’t get tempted again.”
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