Thirteen Crucifixions, 55

“Are you sure?”

            “Yes, I’m sure.  Now please give me my things.”

            “Come in and take them,” Peter said to Margery.  “No, not you.”  He tried to block Dwight with his hand.

            “It’s okay, Dwight.  I’ll only be a minute.”

            “So, this is it?” Peter said.

            “Look, I told you from the very start that this was going to be only temporary.”

            “And you’re moving back with HIM?”

            “Why not?”

            “I thought that it was over between you.”

            “It never—what-EVER!”

            “You don’t have to be sarcastic.”

            “Sorry.”

            “This is pretty sudden.”

            “It’s not like I was paying rent.”

            “So this is really it, Margery?  Tell me.”

            “This is it.”

            “How could you?” He was weeping.

            “We’re divorced—remember?”

            “But you were wanting to reconcile.”

            “Where did you get that idea?  Now, please, I have to get my things.  Dwight is waiting.”

            “Who the hell is he, anyway?”

            “Oh, some guy.”

            “You just picked him up off the street.”

            “I picked him up at work.  I have a whole closet full of gorgeous men who take turns with me and stop your damn crying already!”

            “Margery, I love you.  You can’t do this to me.”

            “Peter, just go away, so I can get my things together.  Please.  Just step out of the room or whatever.”

            She had to work fast.  She’d brought with her three black plastic garbage bags into which she stuffed clothes, toiletries, books.  But she must, on this trip, get everything. She wasn’t returning.   She thought that was it.  Running as fast as she could with three full garbage bags she said, “’Bye Peter”, then ran out into the hall where Dwight was waiting.

            “Three bags full!”

            He took two of them.

            “God, what a mess! He was actually crying.”  They got in the car.  “I’ve never, never, ever, not in the two years we were married, seen Peter cry.  It was freaky.  Home, Jeeves.”

            “How are you feeling?”

            “A bit fragile, actually.  And hungry.”

            “Would you like to go out for something?”

            “Where?  The Pitstop?”

            “You could even go live there instead of with me.”

            “I already do.”

            “You want to go straight there or should we take your things home first.”

            “I’m sure everything’s safe in the trunk.

            They were the only patrons present.  Marlene, remembering them both, greeted them warmly and offered them menus.  She even remembered this time Margery’s name.  They sat by the window underneath the chandelier.

            “So what’re you having?” Marlene said.

            “Greek salad for me”, Margery said.

            “And Dwight?”

            “Mushroom burger with fries.”

            Margery did not want to go in to work tomorrow.  She was tired, she was emotional, she wasn’t fit for taking care of anyone and she most certainly was not fit to have to go on matching wits with her boss, Theresa Somerville.  It had all been quite a set-up.  When Margery started working there at Oak Hill Lodge four years ago, the conditions were deplorable.  Much of the staff had been poorly, if at all, trained.  Patients were often left unattended, strapped to their beds, often soiling themselves and being left to sit in it for the next day or two.  They were verbally, sometimes physically abused, and Margery blew the whistle.  A full investigation had been launched.  Several times she had been featured in the papers and on the six and eleven o’clock news as a local heroine having risked her livelihood in order to come to the rescue of all those helpless old people.  Derek Merkeley had written a couple of favourable pieces about her.  Charges were laid against the administration board of Oak Hill Lodge.  It was Theresa Somerville’s family connections alone—which also Derek wrote about—that kept her out of prison.  Her brother was a supreme court judge.  She stayed on the board,  yielded to every one of the guidelines of the health department and Long Term Care.  And of course she would have to keep Margery, her bete noir.  She did everything in her power to make it necessary for her to quit, but Margery clung stubbornly to her position.  She had not yet begun to crack and she had not yet begun to fight.  She had not mentioned to Carol that they had the same journalist in common. 

            “Look, there’s Carol”, Margery said while Dwight stirred cream in his coffee.  “Carol, come sit with us, please.”  She looked elegant, sexy in her Ray-Ban Shades and her honey-coloured hair clinging semi-loose around her shoulders.  She wore tight blue jeans, a snug fitting black pullover and black boots.

            “You look like a movie star”, Margery said as Carol sat next to her.

            “I’m meeting someone.”

            “A man?”

            “How’d you guess?”  She took off her Ray Bans and let them rest on the table.  She was wearing light make-up.

            “We’re not keeping you, I hope”, Dwight said.        

            “No.  Not at all.  Actually, I was wondering if you could do me a favour?”

            “Yes.  Speak.” Margery said.

            “This journalist who’s been pestering me and writing those slanderous articles about me?  He wants to meet me here.  And I don’t feel entirely comfortable about it.”

            “He wants to arrange a deal with you?” Dwight said.

            “He didn’t say exactly what.  But he wants me to buy his silence.”

            “He wants you to put out for him?” Dwight said.  “Stay with us, I think I know how to handle this one.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “You’re not through with us yet, surely”, Margery said.

            Carol ordered a caesar salad from Marlene, who said good-naturedly, “The gang’s all here.”

            Glen came in, followed by Randall, who pointedly avoided their table.  Glen sat with them briefly.

            “I can’t believe you’re working here”, Carol said.

            “Neither can I.”

            Margery could see that Carol was putting on a brave face.  She found somewhat jarring her forced bonhomie.

            Marlene summoned Glen to the back of the café.

            “I’m a free woman now”, Margery said.

            “What—you got your things?  How’d it go?”

            “Can we talk about something pleasant?”

            “He was that bad?”

            “He didn’t hit me.”

            “Well, you have that to be thankful for.”

            “Among other things”, Dwight said.

            “How’s your caesar?” Margery asked.

            “Mm… Marvelous.  I do like the food here.”

            “I can’t believe how quiet it is.”

            “They make a lot of their money off the after bar crowd”, Dwight said.

            Marlene came to the table.  “Carol, there’s a phone call for you.”

            “Excuse me, please.” She went to the bar and picked up the phone.  “Hello”.

            “Hello, Carol, this is Derek.  Shall we meet at Gi-Gi’s down the street instead?”

            “Why not here?”

            “It’s not really my scene.”

            “Well, Gi-Gi’s isn’t mine either.”

            “You couldn’t compromise?”

            “Did you see me in the Pitstop just now?”

            “Darling, I want us to have some moments alone.”

            “First you have to meet my friends.”

            “I don’t think your friends would like me.”

            “Well, I don’t like you.”

            “Yes, you do.  You adore me.  Carol, come to Gi-Gi’s.”

            “I’ve already eaten.

            “I haven’t submitted that article yet.”

            “Go right ahead.  We have a good lawyer at the Peace Coalition.”

            “Carol.”

            “Derek.”

            “You’re mocking me.”

            “You make it very enjoyable, darling.  Come meet my friends.”

            “You called me ‘darling’”.

            “Don’t get used to it.”

            “So, when can you be here?”

            “I’m not coming.”

            “Shall I run that article?”

            “We can sue your ass off.  But, Derek, I have to go, I don’t want to keep my friends waiting.”

            “We have a date.  Remember?”

            “It isn’t my fault you’re breaking it.”  She hung up the phone and returned to the table.  Her teeth were tightly clenched when she sat down again.

            “Bad news?” asked Margery.

            “I just broke my date.”

            “Wanna hang out with us?”

            “Nothing else to do.”

            “We’re nothing special”, Dwight said.

            “Don’t worry”, Carol said, “Neither is Derek.”

            “You said that beautifully”, Dwight said.

            “Thanks.”

            “Have you thought of writing?”

            “I sometimes keep a journal.  I wrote a lot of bad poetry in college.”

            “We ALL wrote a lot of bad poetry in college.  But Carol, tell me, please.  Have you thought of writing?”

            “Seriously?”

            “Yes.”

            “At times, I guess.  I don’t know if I’d be good enough.”

            “Most of us fall into that category.”

            “And usually I’m too busy.  Well, not this week.  I have the entire week off.”

            “Then write.”

            “What should I write about?”

            “Anything.  Whatever is on your mind, whatever is close to your heart.  But write from the heart, Carol.”

            “Sure.  I might try it.”

            With Carol the bonhomie seemed to have faded.  She appeared reticent, quiet, locked inside herself.  She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a large battered yellow envelope that she set on the table next to her Ray-Bans.  Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Derek came in.  To Carol he said, “May I?”

            She looked at him, then beseechingly at Dwight and Margery.  He sat next to her anyway.  He looked hard at Margery, who smiled back wanly.

            “Margery Germaine?”

            “Derek Merkeley?”

            “I believe I have written about you.”

            “I believe you have.  Please meet my dear friend, Dwight Llewellyn.”

            “Not the playwright.”  Derek ingratiatingly shook his hand.

            “I am indeed.”

            “Your work positively sings.  You are the next Tennessee Williams.”

            “Why thank you.  I have a new work in progress.  And if you promise to start treating our friend, here, Carol, with a little respect and dignity, then I’ll promise to leave you out of it.”

            “Doesn’t mean I won’t review it.”

            “Doesn’t mean you’ll ever get a chance to.”

            The two men glared at each other like two fighting roosters in a cock ring.

            Derek said, “I’m sure we can settle this like gentlemen.”

            “Pistols or sabres?” Dwight said.

            “’She Was Wearing Black Lace’”, Derek said.

            “Did you enjoy it?”

            “Immensely.  It’s still running, isn’t it?”

            “It goes to Toronto next month.”

            “And Margery”, Derek said, “You are looking uncommonly well.”

            “I AM uncommonly well.”

            “Have you bailed from that awful nursing home?”

            “Still sticking it out.   Theresa’s doing her utmost to get rid of me but I’m not going to budge.”

            “That could make good copy.  Can I talk to my editor?”

            “By all means.  Provided Carol is off the hook.”

            “Carol?” Derek was gazing adoringly at Margery.  “Carol?”

            Carol forced the remotest of smiles.

            “Well, you can’t always have the lime-light now can you darling?”

            “I feel very rejected.”

            “Is that your new play?” Derek said gesturing at the envelope.”

            “I don’t know what that is.”  Glen approached them with a coffee-pot.

            “Glen”, Carol said, “Do sit with us when you get a chance.”

            “Marlene wants me to look busy.  I get off at nine.”

            “Are we staying until nine?” Carol said.

            “It wouldn’t be hard in this joint”, Margery said.

            “What’s in the envelope?” Dwight asked.

            Carol was touching it reverently.  Margery could see that this wasn’t going to be easy for her.  “This is a collection of letters I received from Richard shortly after he left Vancouver.  I’ve been carrying them with me the last few days.  In part---to feel him near me, since…since his death.  But also—also I was hoping that I could find someone who’d help me—what is the word for it—who’d help me decode them.”

            “Are they written in Sanskrit?” Derek said.  So far Randall had come nowhere near their table.  He was serving a male couple who’d just sat down in the back.

            “No they are not written in Sanskrit.”

            “I tried learning it for a while”, Dwight said, “Beautiful but very difficult.”

            “They say that the root language to the Indo-European family was likely very similar to Sanskrit”, Derek said.  Margery could see that Dwight and he were already liking each other.  This worried her.

            “Would you like to share some of Richard’s letters with us now Carol?” Margery said.

            “I’m not sure if it would be appropriate.  Well—all right, one letter. His first actually.  Nowhere does he say where he is writing from, but I assume it’s somewhere on the West Coast of Vancouver Island.”

            “This morning, a raven fell out of the sky and landed dead at my feet.  Truly this must be a sign.  I have taken one of the long flight feathers from its left wing.  I have since covered the bird with twelve stones, one for each month, for each tribe of Israel, for each Apostle, for each step of recovery.  Before I covered the bird, I placed on top of it a piece of paper with my name and date of birth written on it.

            “I have just gone to Tofino for provisions.  I think I’m going to be staying here for a while.  Someone told me that I shouldn’t be camping where I am because it’s an Indian burial ground, and it has been cursed.  Now they tell me.  After my first night there last night, I think almost anything can happen.  Martin’s totally freaked out now.  He’s left for Victoria, says he needs time to recover.  While we were sleeping, he woke up groaning quite loudly.  I asked him what’s up and he said that he had been trying to stop this entity pulsating with weird energy from jumping on me.  Then it turned on him.  So we lay awake and talked for a while.  Then I went back to sleep.  Well, suddenly, there it is, that thing.  It had a human shape or form, but there was a definite space alien aspect to it.  It looked almost like a yin-yang, with this huge rush of silvery white energy pulsing next to the black.  It took hold of me.  I woke screaming. When I described it to Martin he said that was exactly what it looked like.  I’m probably an idiot for wanting to stay on.  But I’m staying on.”

                       

            “Is that it?” Derek said.

            “There’s more, but I think I can read it later.”

            “What do you make of it?” Margery said.

            “Richard has always puzzled me”, Carol said.  “But we were lovers, so why wouldn’t I find him puzzling?  A very open, forthright man.  Transparent almost to the point of being shallow, for which reason he would have made a good Australian.”

            “C’mon”, Derek said, “You haven’t seen any of the films of Peter Weir?”

            “Touche, but there was always a side to him that was closed, sealed off from others.  I don’t think even he knew what it was.  He was a man with secrets, but not knowing what they were.  It was like he was living simultaneously on two levels.  Both were authentic, but disjointed.  Schizoid.”

            “There was no indication he was on a quest?”

            “He was always looking for justice, he was thoroughly dedicated to the poor, to assisting others in their struggle for dignity.”

            “But there was no sense of impending crisis before he left?”

            “He was depressed.  I had no idea what he must have been dealing with.  He never said anything about it.  I soon tired of asking him if everything was okay, and he’d only answer yes.”

            “He didn’t say where he was going?” Margery said.

            “Nothing.  We weren’t seeing a lot of each other.  He was working twelve to sixteen hour days at the clinic and I was a full time student.  We only seemed to meet in bed, and even then at least one of us would be sleeping.”

            “How utterly romantic”, Derek said.  “Was he your first?”

            “What do you mean by that?”

            “Was he the first man that you ever had.”

            “And why would you like to know?”

            “Just curious.”

            “I don’t think it’s any of your damn business.”

            “All right, all right, then.  I’ll leave.”  Derek got up and passed Dwight his card.  “Give me a call sometime.”

            “And Carol, where will I have the privilege of seeing you again?”

            “I already told you—before the Judgement Seat of God.”

            “I believe you borrowed that line from the granddaughter of William Booth, who founded the Salvation Army?  It had been in Paris, I believe, that an audacious gentleman had approached her, but where else but in Paris?  And she actually converted him.  Almost on the spot.”

            As Derek left Carol muttered, staring down at the table, “Don’t go away mad, just go away.”  To Margery she said curtly, “Why are you looking at me in that tone of voice.”

            “You’re really attracted to him, aren’t you?”

            “Does it show?”

            “You played him well.  I was admiring your handiwork.”

            “Men think they’re gods—that they can get away with anything, but there’s one thing that isn’t theirs for the taking—”

            “That’s why we behave that way”, Dwight said smiling.  “Compensation.”

            “Oh, sorry”, Carol said, giggling.

            “You see, Dwight,” Margery said, “It’s just awfully easy sometimes to forget that you’re a man.”

            “Thank you.  Now dig deeper.”

            “I mean it as a compliment, love.  You embody only the most noble virtues of manhood—I don’t think you have a swinish bone in your body.”

            “Except one?”

            Carol suddenly shrieked with peals of shocked laughter, and Margery joined in.

            “You’re gross.  You’re evil”, Margery said.

            “Oink oink oink! Hey Margery, I’ll just leave my dirty socks lying around the livingroom for you to pick up from now on.”

            “New design concept?”

            “So what do you make of Derek?” Carol said, after they’d caught their breath again.

            “Speaking of swine”, Margery said.

            “What—what’s wrong with him?”

            “The question is, what’s right with him?”

            “He is so incredibly sexy and he makes my skin crawl at the same time”, Carol said.

            “He’s used to getting his own way”, Margery said.  ”With women, anyway.  But, Carol, if you want my honest opinion, stay away from him.  I think he could be dangerous.”

            “Or you could ask him to buy you a vibrator and give him a picture of himself naked”, Dwight said.

            “Eww!  Are you trying to gross me out?”

            “Can’t resist an easy target.”

            Margery could tell this last remark of Dwight’s was, for Carol, a bit over the top.  The lightness of their collective mood was gone.  Everything had gone flat.  Margery felt slightly grotty, as though she’d just spent the day cleaning fish.

            “Sorry”, Dwight said.

            “Don’t worry about it.  I’m just a small town church kid, I guess.”

            “Underneath it all?”

            “Yeah, I guess.”

            Margery said, “I’m feeling kind of restless.”

            “So am I”, Carol said.

            “Let’s go for a walk.  Hey, Dwight, come walking with us?”

            “Where?”

            “I don’t care.  It’s nice out. Let’s just walk till we’re bored or tired.”

            “Your things are still in the car.”

            “We can take them home first.”

            “But then I might not feel like leaving.”

            “Carol and I can walk, can’t we, Carol?  Girls’ night.”

            “We can go to the trails in Stanley Park and gang-rape young homosexual men.”

            “That would be a feat worthy of literature”, Dwight said.

            Carol looked on, between and past Dwight and Margery, her face desperately construed with the will for having a good time.  She suddenly, to Margery, within her tight black sweater, appeared like a little girl playing hard at looking all grown up, at incarnating and bringing to life before her youth and beauty could be snatched from her forever all the Barbies that her strict fundamentalist father never permitted her to own or play with.  They paid their bill, said good bye to Glen, Marlene, but not to Randall, who seemed busy in the back, and left the Pitstop Eatery together.