Kate scowled. Simon’s voice suddenly echoed in her head. The morning she’d stormed out of his bedroom, he’d said, Nobody’s perfect, Kate. But we all need someone.
Do we?
After their pedicure, Kate finished her story in the locker room, with the news of Sharon’s aggressive stance on professional conduct, and a general idea of her tough day with her clients.
“That’s good. It can’t hurt the conduct claim if nothing happens for a while. It will probably blow over. It’ll become clearer with more time to think.” Trust Alex to see the upside of even the long delay.
“It looks like time away from Simon is exactly what I’m going to get, whether I need it or not. It’s another week until the wife returns, and who knows if I’ll be able to get the husband back to the table.” She bent to slip on flip-flops. Thinking uncomfortably of how long her obsession with Simon had gone on with no encouragement at all, she said with a wry smile, “Time isn’t always the best test, you know.”
Alexa buttoned her shirt and studied Kate intently for a few moments. “You know, I wouldn’t worry, honey. You may be feeling confused, but there’s a little fantasy in every love story. What’s important is, is it mutual? Is there mutual liking and respect? Enough to make it last? Honestly, I don’t know anyone that agonizes over relationships the way you do. I think you’re over-thinking the whole thing. That’s your problem– too much therapy. You’ve done the work. You’re not deluded, just phobic. But falling in love again doesn’t mean you’re going to have another nervous breakdown. That doesn’t even make sense.” She stood up. “You have to learn to trust yourself. I suppose, any real meaningful relationship is going to require the kind of intimacy that means putting yourself out there, getting vulnerable. You’ve got to believe that you’ll survive no matter what happens. Believe in yourself, that you’re worth it.” Opening her black leather handbag, she pulled out her wallet and dropped a ten-dollar bill on the credenza.
It sounded like Alexa wasn’t sure if Kate could trust herself either, understandably, since she’d dragged her through her every emotional trial of the past sixteen years.
“So you’re an expert on intimacy all of a sudden,” Kate said, smirking at her friend.
“Yeah, well…” Alexa opened her arms for a hug. “I know it’s different this time, honey. You seem really wound up. You’ve been through a lot. Maybe you need some more time. Take it slow.”
Kate wrapped her arms around Alexa and gave her a big bear hug and an air kiss.
“I’ve gotta run. Believe it or not, I’ve got some drawings to review before I can go to bed.”
“You work way too hard.” Kate watched her friend rush out into the wet night, wondering if Alexa was right. In any case, it made her feel much better to have her say so. Funny, she’d been half expecting Alex to tell her to forget about Simon. She was always the one who was hardest on men, especially the ones Kate had dated over the years. No one was ever good enough for her friend Kate. It hadn’t stopped Alex from dating the longest string of losers Kate had ever met, including Krystof. But then, Alex could always take care of herself. The question now is, can I?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kate spent most of the next day meeting with her other clients away from her loft, which was an exhausting affair because of the endless rain, and the challenge of driving, parking and getting around without getting soaked. Vancouver was a dreadfully dreary place in November, and it could be very discouraging. It was a relief to finally return home in the late afternoon. Her chat with Alexa had been oddly energizing, and despite the long tiring day, Kate had gathered her courage and decided to take the bull by the horns—that bull being Sharon, of course. She hung up her drenched overcoat, left her umbrella open to dry, and quickly made a cup of tea before she lost her nerve.
Picking up the phone, she called Sharon’s office and asked to speak to her directly. “Hello Sharon. How are you?” she greeted her matter-of-factly when she came on the line.
“How can I help you?” Sharon’s voice held its usual icy inflection. Always polite and anything but friendly.
“I don’t want to beat around the bush. I’d like to deal as honestly and directly with this concern of yours as possible, put it to bed so we can get on with our work.”
“Interesting choice of words,” replied Sharon cattily.
Good grief, would she not let up? “It’s not my way to play power games. I want to speak frankly with you about Simon.”
“Go on. I’m listening.” Sharon sounded intrigued.
“I’m not denying that we knew each other back in university. I’m not even trying to tell you we didn’t have a very close relationship. But we’re talking about sixteen years ago, when we were very young students, and relationships then could be quite superficial. It’s more of an embarrassment than anything, to find ourselves working together now. You can imagine how we felt that day he walked in the board room.”
“Mmm. Perhaps.”
“The point is, it was a mistake not to disclose the depth of our relationship to the group, I admit that, but in the moment we were taken by surprise. Afterwards, it seemed petty to bring it up, so we let it slide. That was an error in protocol, but not one that was motivated by a concern for our performance. There is no conflict of interest here, Sharon.” As she spoke the words, Kate believed them wholeheartedly. Under the surface, however, there still lingered the fear that while her judgment was not impaired, her concentration was.
“Your explanation for the distant past is all well and good, Kate, but you can’t deny that there is a new relationship growing, whether on the foundations of the old one or not is immaterial. You can’t deny that you’re interested in Simon… romantically, I mean, of course.”
“Simon is an interesting man, as you well know. I won’t deny that we’ve become reacquainted, but how is that different from any two people who work together? It has nothing to do with our prior relationship, in any case.” Not the way you think. “You’ve known Simon better than I do, and for longer. If I didn’t know better, I could easily assume that you were interested in romance with Simon. He’s a very eligible man, after all.”
It was a very veiled counter-threat. It was a dangerous move, Kate knew, but if she could just get Sharon down off her high horse long enough to agree to give her some breathing space, she might get through this case.
“Nice try.” Sharon didn’t sound particularly amused. Perhaps Kate had touched a nerve. Who could tell with this ice-maiden? “I’ll admit one thing. Simon is a friend, and he’s been through quite the ordeal with his marriage and separation. Anyone who cares about him would try to protect him from further pain. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt the need to intervene when some ambitious woman has pursued him.”
Really?! Simon would undoubtedly be interested to discover that Sharon had been functioning for some time as his unofficial chaperone. But why? “That’s not my business. I’m not pursuing Simon. In fact I’m trying very hard to avoid any entanglements.” And it isn’t always easy! “But I’ve always been devoted to my clients, and you know me to be highly ethical in my practice. We may not always agree on methodology, but I know my business, and I also know that I’m good at what I do. In fact I may be D'arcy and Eli’s only hope of reconciliation. Everyone else seems quite willing to let them self-destruct, though it’s plain to me they want to work it out.”
“I’ll concede that point. Though I’m still not convinced it’s in my client’s best interest,” Sharon said.
“I believe it is. They both have growing up to do. Eli is as capable of being as devoted, responsible a husband as any man. I’m convinced of it.” Kate took a breath. She knew she couldn’t trust Sharon, but she somehow felt much better for having had a frank discussion. “Anyway, I really am looking forward to meeting with D'arcy next week when she returns. I’m sure Eli will be ready to resume by then.”
“I understand… her mother is traveling back to Vancouver with her,” Sharon offered.
Interesting. “I see.” She paused. “Well, perhaps I can meet with the two of them. Maybe we’ll make some progress.”
Sharon’s response was to laugh, a cynical cackle that made Kate shudder. “Good luck with that.”
Perhaps she ought to get a little more information from Eli before venturing forward with that plan. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to get rid of Sharon and call Eli. She hated to broach the subject again, but she had to know what her situation at the Society would be. “So, will you drop the conflict claim?”
“Too late, I’m afraid. I faxed over the Breach of Society Standards complaint form and letter this morning. It’s done.”
It felt as if a great weight pressed down on Kate’s heart. Sharon’s voice didn’t carry a hint of regret. Damn it! “I see.” What was there left for her to say? It was unstoppable now. She would be forced to make a formal response, and deal with the consequences. So much for keeping the whole thing private. She forced her words though her tight throat when she replied. “Good-bye, then. I’ll see you next week.” This was the last thing she needed, and it put a sour note on her special award. She’d be too humiliated to accept it, never mind stand at the podium and crow about her methodology. She couldn’t think about it right now. She’d do her job, and deal with it as necessary, but still she felt hot tears of frustration sting her eyes as she hung up the phone.
Then she forced herself to dial Eli, despite her shaking hand, and as quickly hung up again. No. This was too important to put herself at the mercy of his evasive maneuvers. Too much depended on getting Eli and D'arcy back to the table. Too much was at stake. If this case fell apart, in the midst of a unprofessional conduct claim, she would look even more foolish.
And even more important than her reputation was her responsibility to her clients. What if she had missed something critical, as Simon suggested, misdirected them, abused their trust, because she was absorbed in her own problems? She’d never forgive herself.
She grabbed her coat and flew out the door. It was four o’clock Friday afternoon. How long did she have before Eli decided it was time to quit work for the day and join his friends for a drink? She fled down to his studio at the docks.
~*~
A skeptical porcelain moon stared down at Kate through a shadowed veil of secrecy and shame, tracing her slow progress through “the stroll” on Powell Street. She cruised through the Downtown East Side past the old Rogers’ sugar refinery on the harbour side of the railroad tracks, trying to locate the warehouse where she knew Eli’s studio was located, but her knowledge of the area was sketchy. She prayed he would still be there, if she could find him.
She slowed, searching in the dying light for the entry gate in the chain link fence that ran parallel to the road. Kate felt the pull of dark eyes upon her like daggers, and was compelled to return the haunted stares of the prostitutes lingering on every street corner, huddled under umbrellas, their gaunt shadowed faces and bare legs portents to their past and future. She shivered and her mission suddenly felt ominous and foolhardy. Mediators don’t make house calls. What do I think I’m doing?
But Kate knew she had to go on. Her reputation, her very career could rest on getting Eli and Darcy back to the table. It was a matter of personal integrity now.
It got harder to see as daylight ebbed, though the rain had let up a little. She slipped her car slowly into a narrow laneway between two identical long corrugated metal dockyard buildings, her sense of doom mounting, and was about to surrender when she noticed a sign that indicated the building address. A little further along she spotted a garage door with a big green 14E painted on it. That’s it!
Stepping out of the car into the deepening shadows of the dockyard, her anxiety increased, and she glanced over her shoulder more than once. Tentatively she knocked on the metal door adjacent to the large number. No sound but the softly lapping waves on the concrete dockside. She tried the knob and, finding it open, crept warily inside.
“Eli,” she called out tremulously. I must be mad, coming here alone at this hour. “Eli, are you here?”
The corridor was dimly lit by a single bare bulb hanging a few yards along. Pungent odors of oil paint and turpentine, tobacco, dust and decaying sea life assaulted her nostrils. She squinted at piles of debris, a haphazard stack of wood framing, rolls of canvas, cardboard boxes, bits of wire cable, empty paint cans and crumpled rags. A fire waiting to happen. “Eli?” She ought to leave. This was insane.
Picking her way through the junk, she reminded herself why she had come… how important this was, both for her clients and her career. She made her way to the end, where the space suddenly opened up into a cavernous warehouse with a dusty concrete floor. She stepped in, turning around to scan the space with wide, darting eyes. The last cool glow of daylight on this dull, drizzling day was fading fast. She could make out only vague shapes in the dusky light. Her heart sank. Even though he couldn’t possibly be far, he didn’t appear to be here.
Turning to leave, her breath caught in her throat as the large round factory lights that swung on long cords from the ceiling suddenly blinked and gradually, eerily awoke, first with a dull orange glow, then a soft yellow flicker and finally bright sulphurous greenish-white light. “Is someone here?” she said in a small voice. “Eli?”
There was no reply, and blinking in the brightness, she stepped quickly toward the doorway, her tense shoulders pulled up to her ears, her arms crossed. I have to get out of here.
A disembodied voice came from behind her. “If you’re planning to steal one of my paintings, you should have brought a panel van. I don’t have anything that will fit into that little coupe.”
“Aaaahhh!” she half gasped, half yelped, a hand flying to her throat. Her body went rigid.
Eli chuckled. “Over here.” She turned towards his voice, and found there was a small doorway in the wall concealed between the stacked paintings. He leaned lazily on the jamb, holding a beer and cigarette in one hand, a thread of smoke curling up around his ears.
She let out a deep sigh, shuddering. “Thank God.” She held a hand against the heart pounding against her ribcage. “How did you know it was me?”
He laughed again. “I have security cameras mounted outside and in. I watched you approach and unlocked the door for you.” He shifted his weight. “Can I offer you a drink?” He held his beer bottle aloft, grinning. His normally smooth, handsome face was almost masked by a heavy weeks’ worth of black facial hair. A length of rag held back his curling dark locks, grimy with dust, tendrils of which hung forward over his face. He wore a paint-smeared plaid work shirt and tattered and splattered jeans.
Security cameras? She gazed around. “Well, you are full of surprises,” Kate replied, smiling and shaking her head. No wonder he didn’t bother to lock the door.
“Come in,” he turned and disappeared through the doorway, past a tiny yellow kitchen, where she could see her car flickering in grainy black and white on an old laptop resting on the counter, along with stacks of unwashed dishes and greasy take-out boxes, paper cups, empty beer bottles and Coke cans. She followed Eli into another smallish room cluttered with more of the same, along with ashtrays and mugs teaming with cigarette butts and murky moldy liquid. A rumpled blue sleeping bag lay on the ugliest threadbare brown sofa Kate had ever seen. What sparse furniture there was seemed to have been salvaged from a back lane dumpster in East Van in the late sixties.
“This is quite the place,” she observed, looking around. “Have you been… living here?” It certainly looked like he hadn’t left in a while.
“Yeah. Well. Sort of.” He shrugged, chagrinned. “How ‘bout that drink?”
She waved a hand in protest. “Oh, no thanks. I shouldn’t even be here, never mind drink. Good God, if Sharon found out… ” She thought of asking for a Coke, but was uncertain whether he owned a clean glass.
He lifted his index finger, his face opening in thoughtful delight. “I have just the thing.” He jogged into his kitchen,
and she heard cupboard doors banging and a thud on the countertop. A moment later he returned with a Styrofoam cup that he proudly handed to her. “I remembered I had a bottle of twelve-year old single malt someone gave me long ago. It’s even older now.” At her expression he added, “Go on. I won’t tell if you don’t. Let’s assume you’re off duty, hey?” He pushed the cup into her hand.
She accepted the cup, peering over the rim at the half-inch of golden liquid. If it wasn’t perfectly clean, at least the scotch might sterilize it, she thought. “Thanks.” Upon closer inspection, both the cup and the scotch looked fine, though the juxtaposition seemed incongruous to say the least. She sat where he gestured, and he dropped himself onto the sofa beside her, grinning. “What are you smiling at?” she asked.
“Oh. It’s just nice to have company. Someone who speaks English and doesn’t smell like diesel or fish. I haven’t seen anyone for several days.”
She laughed. “Oh. Well. If I’d known you’d be so happy to see me, I would have come much sooner.” Kate braved a small sip of the scotch, and discovered that it was wonderfully smooth. Her nose tingled with the earthy aroma as the tawny liquid burned a path down her throat. It bolstered her courage. She settled back on the sofa, no longer concerned with the filth, and took a larger swig, smiling and feeling the warmth take hold in her belly. “So have you been living here?”
“Not exactly. I go home to shower and get food and beer.” She raised her eyebrows at him and his surroundings, prompting the further, “ … just not lately.”
She laughed again. “So what have you been working on?”
“Mmm. A new series I’ve been thinking about. Sketches. Cartoons. The last one grabbed hold of me, so I got out the oils and haven’t stopped.”
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