Part 8 (2/2)

and then I recognized the song.

and the seasons they go round and round and the painted ponies go up and down we're captive on the carousel of time we can't return we can only look behind from where we came and go round and round and round in the circle game ...

”I don't wanna play this-” My words got stuffed-up at the back of my mouth and tears dripped my cheeks.

Josh told me, ”It's OK,” and hooked his baby finger under the cuff of my sleeve.

Eilleen Six.

SEPTEMBER 1974.

IT'S SO HARD to strike that delicate balance between a dumpy slum and Better Homes and Gardens: Better Slums and Dumps. But presentation is nine-tenths of the law.

A social worker's on her way to look the joint over and you have just wiped off the kitchen counter for the third time. She's a new one. Coming to see how you and Grace are maintaining since Charlie's file was closed, to check your receipts, make note of any rent increase and, of course, sniff around for man-things. Then, if all is kosher, she'll sign you up for another year. Go check the living room again. How come everything looks like h.e.l.l? Maybe because every time you pick something up, a G.o.dd.a.m.n man drops something in its place. Not a man, your man. Everything's covered in a layer of dust-can't he think to dust the mantle or the end tables? Damp cloth, need a damp cloth, she'll be here in fif-ten minutes! s.h.i.+t. Oh, just give it a lick and a promise, she's not going to be inspecting your lamp for lint anyway-and go check your face, see that your lipstick's not smeared on your teeth.

Your teeth are fine, it's the mirror that needs work: toothpaste goop everywhere-can't those idiots keep it in their faces and do they have to load so much paste on to begin with? Goofy Grace wanders around the house trying to talk through a mouthful of foam, makes her look like a rabid dog, and George stands there in front of the mirror, teeth bared like the rabid dog's screwed-up cousin; rhythmic scrubbing up and down and up and down, in circles in circles in circles. Christ-look at this stuff, it's minty fresh cement-J Cloth, where's a friggin J Cloth? Five minutes till five minutes before she's due to arrive. They are always early. There. Good enough. Oh s.h.i.+t, take off the earrings, they look too nice. Mind you, this blouse looks crummy enough, they ain't gonna mistake you for royalty exactly.

Just take a last look for man-stuff. You cleared most all of it out into the trunk of George's car this morning along with instructions for him to pick Grace up after school and take her for a drive through Stanley Park or something. Had to keep this thing streamlined. Last thing you'd need is Grace forgetting the point of the whole exercise and trying to impress the social worker with a hilarious George-anecdote or, in lieu of that, an apartment tour that leads straight to a George-shoe hanging out of the closet, or a George-s.h.i.+rt. Whole thing is starting to feel like one big goof on your part anyway, having him move in here. Drives you out of your mind, him sitting around, underfoot, in your hair. Got no time to yourself any more. There used to be so much s.p.a.ce in the day, all those hours to hog every room in the place, suck up all the air for yourself, watch whatever you wanted on the b.o.o.b tube, read, talk on the phone. Now you have not one but two other s.p.a.ce-suckers to contend with. Hardly had Charlie out the door when you moved George in-what are you thinking sometimes? You should get your head read is what. Least he pays half the rent, though, and that's why his self can't be here when the Welfare comes a-nosin'.

Buzzer. That's her. You say h.e.l.lo, buzz her up, run to the mirror, put the earrings back on, need something to brighten up your face, look like a nice mother in a neat home with no men in it. Surely to G.o.d she'll know a three-dollar pair of earrings when she sees them.

Thunking at the door.

Palm your hair back on the sides-oh s.h.i.+t, what did you do, you look stupid now, your palm was wet, now it looks-knock and clunk at the door-c.r.a.p, where's a-just calm down, here, have a Librium. Swallow. Jesus. Go-go-go, to the door.

Open it wi-ide ... h.e.l.lo ... smi-i-le wide: a poor man's Doris Day.

Hi, she says. Eilleen Hoffman? Nice to meet you, Patricia Hearst.

Her palm goes out to yours. You start to laugh. Sorry; really? Is that really your name? I mean I, you must have told me over the phone but I just didn't- Oh, I probably just said Pat. She steps into your hall and smiles, curly red-headed, sheepishly looking nothing like the gun-toting heiress currently obsessing the planet. I feel as if I've been going to great lengths to conceal my full name, I've even started using Trish instead of Patty-the woman has been the bane of my existence the last few months.

You walk her to the living room. I'll bet! Poor you. Can't turn on the TV without her face smeared all over the place. It's really something, isn't it? Now they've got her on hidden camera with a machine gun. Would you like some tea or coffee or something? Juice, milk? Fresca?

Tea would be lovely.

You mosey nonchalantly to the kitchen, leaving Patricia Hearst in the living room, saying, I think they've got her brainwashed. G.o.d knows what they've done with her, as you contemplate just how to nab your own Patty Hearst, make her carry a gun for you, renounce her bourgeois ways of living among the bureaucratic elite and join your one-woman show, The Symbionese Keep-my-welfare-cheque-and-boyfriend Army. My little girl is fascinated with the whole thing. I think she finds it all a little romantic, a rich pretty girl being kidnapped and all that.

Yeah, I s'pose half the country finds it a little romantic or they wouldn't be leading every news hour with it. Is your daughter around this afternoon?

No, she called home asking if she could go over to one of her friends' after school. Probably won't see her again till dinnertime.

Oh yeah, kids! So how have the two of you been making out since coming to Vancouver?

Oh, really well. You walk to the entrance between the kitchen and living room, lean casually in the doorway It's really more home to me than Toronto ever was; it's such a relief to escape those horrific winters. And now the summer, I can't imagine being back in that unsleepable heat wave-have you ever spent any time there?

Uh, Montreal, which is pretty close, probably worse, so I know the feeling.

You nod. Oh yes, I lived in Montreal years ago, it's kind of an old stomping ground for me.

She unzips a worn brown briefcase. You just have one other daughter besides, mm, Grace, have I got that right?

Yes, Charlie.

And, let's see, she lived with you briefly while she was pregnant, and now she's on a.s.sistance and living on her own.

Yes. She has her baby now, Sam. They're, she's with, uh, him in a bas.e.m.e.nt apartment not too far from here. You keep your mouth shut about Ian, don't know if they know about him or not. She was by last week for a little while, I think maybe we're all getting along a little better these days.

And are you currently in an AA program?

Yes, yeah, I'm part of a group down near Broadway and Cambie and I'm spending quite a bit of time at the Twelfth Step Club.

Oh, that sounds good, so you've got a bit of a social life together now. That always makes it easier.

The kettle whistles and you excuse yourself back behind the kitchen wall to dump hot water into a pot of two tea bags. Milk, s.h.i.+t, did you remember milk? Good girl-although not affording milk may score big points, but you ask her anyway. Milk and sugar? She says yes. Here, throw some cookies on a plate. Ah the lovely hostess, you're charming as h.e.l.l. Wish there was a tray, no actually, make two trips, it will ill.u.s.trate just exactly the daily struggle that is your life. And still you smile in the face of it all: Glow little glow-worm, glimmer, glimmer.

So are you still single, Eilleen?

Are you still single? Now, although noneofyourf.u.c.kingbusiness seems to be the correct response, pause here, Yup, you tell her, a good man is hard to find. Laugh here.

Your ex-husband hasn't been in touch with you at all? Ah, Jake Carrington? I guess he would be the girls' father?

Jake Carrington. Always sounds so elite and swish when other people say it. Sounds like he should've been lover to Katharine Hepburn, like he uses a platinum shoehorn. Yes. I mean yes he's Charlie's father but no I haven't heard from him. Not in years. He could be in prison again for all I know. In prison? she says, that's not in her records. Yeah, he was in Kingston Penitentiary a few years ago for armed robbery. It's not as exciting as it sounds, he was a drunk and a reprobate-thought he could rob a bank with a penknife when he was sloshed out of his skull. His father was a lawyer and then a politician in New Brunswick but he pa.s.sed away shortly after Jake and I divorced, though, so Jake had to pretty much lie in his own bed after that. She looks vaguely intrigued, shakes her head ever so slightly. She asks about Grace's father. You continue, Danny's no help, he doesn't even send her an allowance. Don't look bitter, keep your smile and tinge it with a concerned frown, you trooper you.

You know, the government is cracking down on these deadbeat dads who don't pay child support. If you can supply us with the information, we could attempt to force him to look after Grace.

Ahh. Well. I-you and your big mouth. That's right, sick the Welfare on him. He'd fix you all right, have your legs broken and grab Grace so fast your head would spin and what b.l.o.o.d.y good would it do you in the long run; they'd take whatever he gave you off your cheque and you'd be no better off than you were to begin with. I couldn't even give you a phone number. Now and then he phones from G.o.d knows where, says h.e.l.lo to Grace and disappears again. I can pick 'em, eh! And you shrug and shake your head mostly because it's true. Even though you could track him down any time you wanted, but who'd want to. He can rot for all you care.

Then old Patty orders her papers, proceeds with the formality of asking a steady stream of questions she already knows the answers to, ticks them off on her sheet, mumbling your replies to herself: Are you living common-law with anyone currently? Is the father of your child sending support? How many children do you have? How much rent do you pay? Do you have receipts? For hydro? For phone? Are you still seeing that sugar daddy who was giving you fifty bucks for a quickie now and then? She never asked that last one, you'd have busted a gut if she did, though. But it's not one of the standards. You could truthfully say no anyway, not with George around. Poor old Stewart had to back off and find someone else to lunch with, look after his needs.

Let's see, is there anything we haven't covered? I see we have you down for extra allowance for a special diet. You're hypoglycemic, is that right?

Yes, I went for a five-hour glucose test earlier this year, so yes, being on a proper diet is a big help.

That's good. Umm, and everything's OK with Grace, she has no disabilities or anything, does she?

No. Well, she's got a bit of a sweet tooth, which makes me wonder if she's a little hypoglycemic herself, but I try to keep her diet similar to my own-Oh, I wanted to ask you about lessons. She's on a real lesson kick lately. She was taking ballet and now she wants to start with swimming-could we get any allowance for that? I mean, is there any recreational thing allowed?

Not really. Um. Well, we'll see, I'll see what I can do, let me just write this down, swimming ...

And baton.

And baton ... Well, that's good that she's getting into community things. It's often difficult for children when they move around. Uh, Eilleen, I'm just supposed to take a quick glance around the apartment to make sure everything's the, uh, like we have in your file, one bedroom and all that ... I'll just uh ... Patty Hearst gets up off the couch, averts her eyes and smiles. She walks through the apartment, down the hall, pokes her head in the bedroom, fine, one bedroom, moves on to the bathroom, glances quick. You look over her shoulder, the medicine cabinet is open: a brush, a comb, Noxzema, bottle of Librium, cough syrup, can of men's shaving cream, Pepto-Bismol. Both your eyes glue to the can. s.h.i.+t. How could you miss shaving cream? Her eyes flick to the bathtub but her mouth opens and shaving cream foams out. Someone had to say it, just to name names, just to give the thing a good whack. Like a c.o.c.kroach. Yeah, it was on sale and I thought I'd try it out on my legs instead of plain soap. I do seem to get a closer shave with it.

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