I had better distractions though, more solid ones. My gay neighbor, for example, was performing a very fine sideshow in his fishbowl of a living room. Tuesday night he decided to go through his usual body-building routine. Whatever it was that weighed on his mind, it had him worked into such a state that I wanted to run over there and say, “C’mon now. Out with it. Stop bottling it all up. Let me give you the number of my therapist.” Because he really seemed troubled and I guess the workout was a good way of keeping his mind off the problem. At times his expression seemed almost tortured it was so serious. While he hefted and pulled and pushed and sweated, I watched and tried to ignore the little thrum of longing in my solar plexus.
The next night, Wednesday, his partner was there for dinner. My neighbor had placed fat white candles around the room, and after dinner he and his friend took their drinks over to the brown leather couch, where they began to have an intense conversation.
I wondered if lip-reading courses were given anywhere in town.
And then the guest stopped talking and my neighbor grabbed the other man and gave him a long tight hug. He had such a tender expression on his face that watching them brought tears to my eyes.
The next night, strange things were going on. My neighbor had guests but they weren’t human. I counted five black cats in his living room, skittering around, climbing up the curtains, scratching the furniture. My neighbor didn’t seem too concerned about the damage. He picked each cat up in turn, stroked gently, rubbed their ears until they were calm, rolled them onto their backs and stroked their bellies, then held their paws and played with them. In that moment, I wanted to be a black cat, too.
Friday
At ten-thirty, Lisa, Cleo and I knocked on Jake’s office door.
“Come in.”
We all entered, our faces plastered with the most businesslike expressions we could muster. Ian Trutch was lounging in Jake’s extra chair. He raised his hand. “Hello ladies.”
We gave a chorus of hellos.
“I was just telling Jake that I was going to have to corner Dinah to go over the figures.” Ian’s smile made it clear that he wasn’t just talking about numbers. Cleo nudged me hard and Lisa giggled.
I let out a long breath and said, “We just wanted to let you know that we’re on our way out for the afternoon. Have a few office errands to run.”
Lisa and Cleo piped up a little too quickly, “Field work.”
“And I have to see Halliwell, the printer,” I said.
Jake wasn’t used to us justifying our actions. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”
Our eyes were fixed on Ian. He looked at Jake as if to say, “Do they normally do this?”
We all nodded a little nervously then hurried out of the building.
“I think he bought it,” whispered Cleo.
I said, “Well if he didn’t, I’m sure we’ll be hearing about it.”
“And what’s more, Dinah, he likes you. Milk it for all it’s worth.”
I laughed. “You mean I might still have a job while the rest of you are standing in the bread line if I let the CEO crunch my numbers?”
“Something like that.”
We rushed out to Lisa’s battered old rust-and-rhubarb colored VW van. She drove fast to my place. We tumbled out and raced up the stairs.
In my bedroom, Cleo said, “I hope I’m dressed okay. What does one wear to a tree-hugging anyway?” It didn’t matter what she wore. A burlap sack would look good on her.
“Cleoooo,” sang Lisa, “we do not call it a tree-hugging. And it’s not a fashion event either. McClean and Snow Incorporated are about to knock down a stand of boreal forest that is millennia old, destroying the habitat of numerous species of wildlife with the runoff polluting I don’t know how many streams and fixing it so the salmon won’t be returning…”
Cleo examined the polish on her nails. “Lisa, we know you believe that plants have feelings…”
“And that if their feelings are hurt they should get therapy…” I added.
“You guys….” Lisa laughed.
“And animal rights?” said Cleo.
“If you swat a fly around Lisa, she’s likely to try CPR on it….” I countered.
Lisa clarified herself. “Before giving it a dignified funeral.”
We all grinned, then Cleo looked at me. “Uh, Dinah? Do you actually know what you’re looking for?”
“Sure.” I peered out from behind the high-rise of cardboard boxes that had inhabited the corner of my bedroom for ages. “My protest-against-the-big-money-grubbing-corporation wardrobe.”
Lisa smiled. “We all go through it. You’ll outgrow it.”
“Outgrow what?”
“Dressing up for protests. You’ll be wearing your worst rags at the next one. These kind can get messy.”
“Lisa, when I left Vancouver Island, I promised myself I would try not to look like a shrubbie from the Island. If I can just figure out which box the damned clothes are in,” I murmured.
Cleo said, “It’s important to consider your wardrobe at all times. There could be some interesting men there. When they come to arrest us, there could be men in uniform. I love men in uniform.”
Lisa said, “You love men…period.”
“Ha. You’re right.” Cleo took in the varnished pine floorboards, oyster-white paint that was no longer fresh, and mountain of cardboard boxes. “You moved into this place…when, Dinah? Three years ago?”
“Two and a half.” I tried not to sound defensive.
“When are you planning on unpacking them?” Lisa asked.
“Just these boxes I haven’t unpacked. I had them sent over later but there isn’t enough closet space. So they’re staying there. This is my storage depot.”
Cleo stopped flicking her Ray-Bans back and forth and parked them on her head. “Come on now, Lisa. Poor Dinah. Give her time. Moving is traumatic. It’s number two after divorce.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about divorce,” Lisa muttered. “Never having been married myself in the first place.”
I had once caught a glimpse of the pile of Bride magazines stashed in Lisa’s desk drawer at work. They definitely marred her free and easy earth-mother image.
“To hear Fran tell it, we’re not missing a thing,” said Cleo. “She’s always saying there’s nothing like marriage to cure you of wanting to be married.”
This was one conversation I
