Chapter Twelve

12

Anglican

Cowgirls

MAUDE

Maude was having trouble feeling voluptuous. Turtled in her old lamb jacket in the back of the cab, she wasn’t even comfortable. “Is it possible to have some heat back here?”

“What is the matter with you, lady?” The driver’s voice cracked high and querulous over the rumbling dispatcher. “Do you not like how I drive this car?”

“Well, no, that wasn’t what I said. But, as a matter of fact, why are we going this way? South on Mount Pleasant and then Jarvis down to…”

“You do not like this taxi car, lady? Maybe you would like to get out and have another one?” What should have been brown limpid pools glared over the back of the seat.

“I didn’t say… Watch the road!” Maude swayed as the cab lurched toward the curb and a line of parked cars.

“Get out! This car is stopped. You will get out!” He twisted in his seat, groping for the handle to the rear door.

“Oh, now for pete’s sake, look here, I didn’t…” Her remonstrating hand was slapped from the back of the seat.

“Police! You will not talk to me, lady. I have rights in this country. You think because you are born here you can make me what to do. But yes, I have a licence. You cannot!” He grabbed up the radio microphone, “Police!”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake! And I wonder why I never go out.” With a grip on fur and purse, Maude hauled herself from the cab in a fury, yelled, “Racist jerk!” and slammed the door. When the window began to roll down, she jabbed an imperious arm at the traffic, “Go run a light!” and kicked at the fender as the car squealed away.

Onto the sidewalk, into the people, Maude broke into a sweat – shame for screaming in the street like that – then recognized the corner of Bathurst and Bloor. How the hell did we get over here? Probably the only place in the city he knows how to find. Oh, well, lots of loose cabs.

She tugged the lamb to her neck, faced the traffic and raised an arm. And to think that all I asked was for a little heat.

BENA & KATYA

Bena rotated like a faulty ballerina in a frocked old gown of painted chiffon cut in cobwebbed layers drooled with brilliants and plunged to the waist in back. Her brass hair was pulled up in a wild topknot and fenced with a fillet of gold wire and enamel. Katya, in box pleats and a sweater set, sat hunched on the toilet seat, praying to a pair of grey suede pumps and sticking pink bunion pads to the soles of her feet. A doughnut of pantyhose sat on the bathmat.

“What did you bring to wear to…” Katya looked up and slammed the lids of her eyes shut tight.

Bena looked down at the grey suede shoes, the yellow box of moleskin, and smiled, “You are good to wear shoes, Katya, but the sweaters… Perhaps you have a nice blouse and…”

“Bena, Bena, Bena, perhaps they will be nice and just shoot us at the door. She said ‘informal’. I told you that.” Katya dared another look, “I knew you’d do this. She knew you’d do this. She doesn’t even know you and she knew you’d do this. Why do you do this?”

Bena focused down her nose at the roll of pantyhose, “What is informal, Katya? To be informal among strangers, that is not in good taste, Katya.”

Katya thought of trunkfuls of moths, a chorusline of flappers, rubber kewpie dolls and the Duchess of Windsor, the old one, all madness and bones, and nodded her head, “This is good taste. Fortunate strangers.”

“You are sarcastic, Katya.” Bena raised an admonitory finger and two thick ornaments of German silver slid the length of her forearm and chimed. “But it is not your fault that I am right. It is so. Your blood does not yet understand duty.”

Katya leaned over her own thighs with a grunt to snatch the roll of pantyhose from the mat and spoke through her teeth, “Go phone for a tumbrel, Bena.”

PAUL

It was early, the diningroom behind etched glass and ferns looked busy, but only a handful of non-eaters smoked and drank at the long black bar. Paul waved two fingers at the blond crewcut who looked up from slicing limes, who recognized him, winced and went to make a double manhattan. Paul waited for his drink, then he hooked his right heel to the rung of a barstool, curled a cheek on the black rubber seat and hung his left leg to the floor, “Y’know, I doubt there’s a man alive can plant both cheeks on a barstool and not look like an out-of-work drag queen. Men just don’t look… manly, with both feet off the ground. Know what I mean?”

The bartender, who was proud of his ability to hold the lotus on any length of stool, pressed his palms to the bar and leaned for a look down Paul’s blue leather leg to his blue leather boot and said, “They say the Queen Mother stands just like that when she gets into the gin. Safer for old hips, I guess. Care for another cocktail?”

“Uum. You know, you really are a gorgeous piece of flesh. Makes it such a tragedy that blonds go off so badly at thirty-two. Still, you’ll have a trade. I will just have another one of these if you can be a quick little bun. And then I must skate. Off to a clamour of brass and women with horns, mustn’t miss any overtures.”

“The opera?” asked the bartender who was thinking of a dyke bar in a warehouse but preferred the appearance of culture.

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

BEA & TILLIE & KATHERINE
& MARTIN & DAVID

“You ride up front with Beatrice,” Tillie gave Martin a hard look and a pat on the arm, “and get a grip on yourself, we’ve enough trouble here without you adding to it. David and I’ll ride shotgun on Katherine and see she doesn’t make a break for it.”

David held the car door as Tillie handed her granddaughter into the backseat with a bit of a shove and followed her in, then he shut the door gently, rounded the trunk and climbed in behind Beatrice, “Know how to get there, Bea?”

“David, I don’t even know where we’re going!” She batted her hands on the steering wheel in frustration, “This is all a mistake, I’m sure of it. Mother, we can’t carry on this way, we…”

“I’d say right at that corner,” Tillie’s finger shot over the back of the seat, “straight across Dundas, right onto Bay, down and around and we’re there. Wouldn’t you think, David?”

“Yup, just as easy as that, Bea, and I know a spot we can leave the car, a little private lot in behind that new what-d’y call-it hotel, it’s always empty after five.”

“Oh no, now, I’m not leaving this car to get towed! Or worse. Oh no, we’d better just…”

“Look, dear,” Tillie’s voice became placating, though no less firm, “you and I, we’ll just stop in for twenty minutes or so, pop in for a look and then we’ll get on our way and the youngsters can find their own way home when it’s all over and done with. They might use a good walk. David’ll see to Katherine, won’t you, David? And Martin. They can always take a taxi if they… Well, if it comes to that. Now you just drive the car and stop fussing.”

“Oh, I can’t…”

“Yes you can. And if you don’t, I’ll tell Martin here about the time you were in the choir and stood up for your little solo and your skirt…”

“Alright!” with a lurch the old Ford left the curb.

In even the thickest fog of self-absorption, Martin could hear his name and grabbing the dash to keep his face off the windshield he glanced at Bea, “You sing?”

“She never sang again.”

“Mother! I’m driving the darned car, we’re going to the darned reception and I’m… Darned! if I’m going to listen to you make any more fun of me. So dry up, please!”

“Yes, dear.” Tillie grinned to herself and squeezed Katherine’s hand.

“Gran?” Katherine tried shaking her head again, but it felt like plaster and nothing moved.

“Relax, dear, nothing important. Your mother’s doing fine, Martin’s got his eye out for street signs, haven’t you, Martin, and David’s right here to see you through. Right, David?”

“Sure. It’s gonna be a cakewalk, Kath, all you need to do is smile big and say thankyou, thankyou, thankyou. Nothing to be nervous about, people are gonna be there to have a good time, look at the bank, look at your painting, have a couple of drinks and be nice, that’s all. Clear sailing.”

“Sailing. Rope. Oh, God!”

“Never mind. Listen,” and David leaned to whisper in her ear, “you keep it together and I will find you a nice big vodka in a wineglass when we get there. Okay?”

Katherine managed to find his hand in his lap and give it a grateful squeeze, not noticing the fingers were crossed.

ELIZABETH

Elizabeth hated circulating at parties, she thought a good chair on something of a platform more suitable than this wandering about having to introduce oneself and quite possibly wasting time on people who weren’t anybody.

George’s conversations invariably deteriorated into some sort of man-chat that made golf, politics and money all sound the same game, so she couldn’t bear sticking to his elbow past the hellos. What she needed was a companion who shared her interests, someone who understood her desire to be useful in a sensible way, a young man, perhaps, who, like herself, cared about helping people to improve themselves, directing their attention to the arts, encouraging manners, developing a sense of place, perhaps offering advice to the unfortunate, “With all this marvellous grey,” Elizabeth swept an arm at the marble and glass as she spoke to a woman in a yellow silk two-piece, “I chose discretion,” she touched a hand to the bodice of her fine stone grey challis, “thinking it the better part of elegance, in this case. Yellow’s a lovely colour. Daffodils. Spring. D’you find silk comfortable at this time of year? I’ve had to give up skirts, bunch at the waist so badly, don’t they? You must excuse me, I see friends. You have a lovely time.”

MAUDE & GEORGE

“George, you old basket, look who’s come to the shindy!” Maude rapped her brother-in-law’s elbow just enough to disturb the glass in his fist and spread her hands in mocking surprise.

George had finally figured out what Brigadier Monteith was on about, in a long rambling description of a gorgeous young filly he’d been tipped to at Greenwood – it was teat in the plural that gave it away – when he felt the danger to his scotch and turned. “My God, Maudie! What the devil are you doing here?” He beamed and opened his arms in a gesture of embrace which was the limit of his allowance of intimacy in a public place, but he meant it.

“Lizzie whimpered and whined and I said no and then… Well, things started happening around my place and I suppose I had a change of heart. Or maybe I just found it in the fridge with the kettle. So, I pulled on my party suit,” Maude glanced down at her own bosom, “it’s a bit rusty, eh? Rounded up the lamb,” she shrugged her grey persian shoulders, “and flagged a cab.” Up went an arm with fingers extended, she looked at her fingers, “Two cabs, George.”

“I’ll get you a double. Come along to the bar, Monteith’s being filthy-minded about horses, or hookers, or something, we’ll leave him to the boys.” He nodded his excuses over one shoulder and began to steer Maude toward the caterer’s bar which stood in the gap between the soaring marble interior wall and the side street-wall of glass.

“Does Elizabeth know you’ve come? She’ll be tickled.”

“To gagging, when she spots these Oxfords. Nope, I haven’t seen her yet. I expect she looks nice and then some.”

George’s progress of smiles and nods swept an obsequious path through the crowd of guests and only a gasp here, a raised brow there, acknowledged the incongruity of his elegantly-suited arm laid on the shoulder of what must surely be a strayed cleaning lady. Maude smiled merrily at everyone and hoped the smell of mothballs in her jacket hadn’t completely dissipated. “You’ve a bit of a crush here, George. You giving away stock options with the drinks?”

“Apparently it’s a social fluke, one of those gaps in the calendar when everyone and his dog has a couple of free hours between the soup and the salad. So Darla says, my secretary, she’s off counting heads somewhere, figures they all booked tables for nine o’clock and got bored drinking alone. I made her promise to say nothing of the kind to Elizabeth. It’s her do.” He gave Maude a surreptitious squeeze, “I’m awfully glad you’ve come, she will be too. Here we are.” Unasked, the barman placed a freshly-filled glass on a napkin, raised an eyebrow, and at a nod from George, repeated himself.

Maude relaxed in a long, grateful swallow, grinned at her brother-in-law, waggled her glass and said, “Happy banking, George.” She glanced about, but gave it up, unable to see much more than shoulders from her height, “Speaking of everybody and his dog, I do hope Lizzie doesn’t mind, but I took the liberty of inviting someone myself.”

KATYA & BENA

The luxury of riding lasted five minutes before Katya felt the weight of the taxi’s ceiling pressing out her pleasure. She insisted over Bena’s squeal on leaving the cab a long block from the Imperial Trust, paying and tipping without thought for Bena’s share, thinking only of the need for air, room to move and breathe, the possibility of breaking cover and running for her life.

“Why must we walk, Katya, you with your feet?” Bena stomped onto the sidewalk with a shimmy that was intended to free the fringe of her black Spanish shawl from the rhinestones in the small of her back.

Katya plucked the fringe loose, keeping a hand on her friend’s shoulder that she shouldn’t see the glass gems tumbling into the gutter. “Because it was too close in that backseat.”

“Too close? But that is why we are driven, to become close to this place where I will meet Mister George Preston.”

“Stand still. Who’s… Oh, yes. No, Bena, close, small, airless, not a nice place to be. There, you’re unstuck, now walk. I can’t get my breath in places like that.”

“Acch, yes, I have forgotten, the little sickness, my Katya, perhaps this is because you dress in this little way, these little sets of sweaters, so tight with nothing to float,” Bena managed a skip into her halting gait that spun chiffon and lace in a billow to her waist, “and you wear no jewels to grace the lily.”

“God, woman! Gild the lily.”

“Gild, guilt, whatever, Katya, you were happy in your rubber boots today, even if I was not. You are a crazy lady, as I have said before. You will go in the streets wearing one of those bags of a dresses you make with two stitches, you will carry bags of plastic and dirty string and wrap those terrible Rudolphs on your shoulders and then put huge, ugly pigman’s boots on your feet and have a nice day, but in this… this…” her hands flailing the air, Bena’s mouth pursed in disgust, “Putz! this Missus Schoolteacher clothes, you are not happy on your way to a party.” She clapped her hands with a clang of bracelets, “I will not say it that you should have listened to me, Katya.”

“Bena!” Exasperation brought dizziness and she had to hold a sign post through a pair of deep breaths. “It’s you always natters on about a nice skirt, a nice jacket, a nice…”

“Oh yes, but what you have is not that nice.”

“You gypsy bitch!”

Bena’s eyes sparkled with affection, “Ah, so you will call names again. I think you are feeling better, my Katya. Come,” she clasped Katya’s hand and set off in her hackney glide, “we will go and transport these party people.”

“Transcend.”

“Whatever.”

BEA & TILLIE & MARTIN
& KATHERINE & DAVID

By the time Bea had finished checking the door locks, Martin’s anticipation had cantered into urgency, he wheeled and clattered his slender black wingtips on the pavement, urging, hurrying, patting and tugging, “I can feel it, I can feel it, we’re on a roll, this is the little soirée of the season, I just know it! It’s one of the magic moments, it is, it’s party-page time – ‘Seen enjoying, left to right, blah, blah Martin Knight blah blah smashing success!’ – Come come come come come, Bea it’s safe, leave it, none of these wonderful people are into car kitsch, they’re not about to be caught dead in a rolling saddleshoe.”

Bea’s blood dropped and a chill ribbon of sweat lined the velvet drum at her brow.

“David, will you manage drinks for these girls, like a good boy? Here we go!” Martin shoved on a bronze lion and waved Tillie, Bea, Katherine and David into the grey stone cavern of the Imperial Trust. He nodded acquaintance with a commissionaire in serge and silver braid, and with a circle of his hand indicating his friends, mouthed ‘mine’, relieving them of further identification.
“Now relax, David, bar’s over there and for God’s sake be sensible,” Martin tipped an ear in Katherine’s direction, “let’s keep to the fish course, there’s a nice chablis; I saw the caterers lug it in. She’s going to be on call, so let’s keep her vertical, no slurring and no yodelling. Okay? Once more, dear friends, into the breach, while I go and congratulate dear Elizabeth on our triumph.”