Chapter 13 of The Trickster

Prelude

The cafe is filled with familiar faces. Some patrons, sitting alone, are either working away at their computers or buried in the pages of the morning edition. For others, it is a time for discourse, friends gathered together, sipping espressos, animated in conversation.

Crossing the threshold, the cafe, irradiate with morning light, welcomes me. A few of the regulars look up and acknowledge me with smiles. Against a backdrop aroma of fresh coffee and the succulent eggs, bacon and fried onions I feel the first pangs of hunger. Tara the waitress, greets me with an obligatory wink and Stone, sitting at the end of the counter, huddled over the Globe and Mail, waves and makes space for me to join him.

Hey Amigo, what’s up? He folds up his newspaper.

I pat him on the back and seize the review section. Are any of your dead in here today?

Thronged with pale ghosts, the obituary writer laughs: As a matter of fact...

Across the counter Tara interjects… Ca va. Val?

Oui... toi?

She nods her head; smiles: Bagette, espresso?

Avec fromage si vous plais.

When Tara walks away, she smiles seductively at Stone, her Asiatic eyes dancing with joy. My friend blushes and shifts his weight, sitting more upright in his chair.

What’s up with that? I whisper.

I don’t know. But the big grin on his face suggests otherwise.

She’s been real sweet on you lately.

When Tara returns with my fix of espresso, Stone follows her with his eyes. Now it’s Tara’s turn to squirm. She places her hand on his, Arrete. You’re making me blush. She laughs and begins to walk away, but Stone still has a hold on one of her fingers.

She warns him playfully before spreading her sails and floating away.

She likes you.

You think? Stone rolls his eyes.

Hey don’t be getting all cocky with me now.

He comes back down to earth. Sorry. I’m just a little surprised.

Me too! It’s a chance turn to turn the screws. It must be true that love is blind because I have no clue what she sees in you.

Hey… Stone elbows me softly and laughs.

Play your cards right and you’ll be doing the horizontal dance before sunrise tomorrow.

The writer shakes his head. What's the rush? He sips his coffee and leaning closer to me whispers. Right now everything is fun and games and she's happy to see me here. He ponders before adding: I like this place… I’m not going to allow my dick to ruin a good thing.

I shrug, unable to understand the forces that are holding him back. From the love 'em and leave 'em Casanova he was back in his twenties and early thirties, Stone, now in his forties has turned into a celibate monk. Or at least that’s what he wants me to believe. Who knows, maybe you can have your cake and eat it too: the café and the girl?

He shakes his head. We’ll see how it plays out.

Stone has been working on his novel for as long as I’ve known him. You’d think he was Goethe crafting Faust. More and more a recluse, his enthusiasm for companionship has dramatically cooled. All of his focus is geared towards his novel. Ergo, the long oblivion of his carnal hopes: no longer the neighbourhood Romeo, he’s become solitary and Salingeresque. Either that or he’s become a damn good liar.

Dude, you have to admit that you’re tempted.

Stone waves off my Mephistophelean dig, then ponders for a moment before picking up the challenge. Ten or fifteen years ago I wouldn't have worried about consequences. He smiles. But today I’m a different man.

I gesture towards Tara with my chin. Sensuality orbits around her and she moves with regal grace. It amazes me that Stone can resist. Or maybe the two of them are just having me on. The tender way they regard one another, I bet they’ve already slept together. I can't believe that you'd even consider keeping a woman like that waiting. I shake my head. If you don't put your foot on the gas, you'll find her sitting in another man's car.

He laughs. Stop living vicariously through me.

I just don’t understand how you can be so complacent?

Stone shoots me a look. You call it complacency, I call it respectful caution.

You’re lying. I can tell just by looking at the two of you that something is going on.

You’re way off the mark, but he winks mischievously at me.

It’s been years since he and Melissa broke up and as far as I know he hasn’t been terribly interested in anyone since. I fear he’s turning into a romantic who dreams bigger than what reality can provide.

Stone shrugs. I know I’m hopeless, but… He doesn’t complete his thought. It’s clear that until the fates decree either the brilliance or folly of his ways he’ll remain a loner... or a secret ladies’ man.

I’m starting to shake the morning argument I had with Molly from my thoughts. Our drama had me all wound up with adrenaline and bile. But now as calm settles in the effect of the poison is beginning to wane. Still…

Mornings are often the highlight of my day. This cafe... I find its warmth and familiarity comforting. I'm stung by the thought of losing it. What am I going to do in Hudson? Play a lot of golf I suppose. I could play every morning. Imagine the strokes I'd shave off my score: like Bobby Jones living on the grounds of my own private Augusta.

I shake my head knowing that I'm hard-wired for city-living and no amount of golf is going to undermine that default setting. This neighbourhood... all the people I know… it’s an enormous part of who I am. I feel dread. My routine... what am I going to do without my routine?

Some gift! I feel like prey, ignobly trapped in the predator’s lair.

It sounds more like a prison than a home to me. Complete with in-laws moonlighting as prison guards. Hudson isn’t what my nature craves. I'll go stir-crazy out there. I can just picture the endless family dinners and the heap of Tremblay woes. Monotonous scenes born straight out of hell: just me, Molly, the steer and the rest of the cult all huddled around the dining-room table. E-gads!

Molly's parents are thieves, picking my pocket, stealing my future. They think that their money, tempting like a serpent’s whisper will win me over. Cringe! Just the thought of that busy-body Judith in such close proximity makes me shudder. Skilled in her smooth self-denial and unrepentant love for the sound of her own voice, her blather is never ending. Even worse, she’ll be peering through our windows watching my every move. What a nightmare! I already feel stymied and I’m not even there yet. God damn it, they’ve cornered me.

There’s no escape. Checkmate!

Earth to O'Brien I snap out of my introspection as Stone waves his hand in front of my eyes. Tara is hovering on the other side of the counter, baguette et fromage in hand.

Pardon me. I smile and make space on the counter. I’m not quite awake yet.

As I polish off my breakfast, I flip through the Globe and Mail. Both the Habs and the Leafs were victorious the night before. Tiger Woods has a three stroke lead after the first round of a tournament in California. Nothing catches my eye until I reach the back page of the arts section. There’s a photograph of a group of fireman standing around their truck. The accompanying article; written by Stone himself.

It was an unfortunate twist of fate that found a firefighter in the wrong place at the wrong time. A captain at fire-station 14, Marcel Marleau wasn't scheduled for duty last month when a blaze broke out at an apartment building in the city's north end. But when a co-worker requested a change of shift, Captain Marleau readily obliged. Such was the bitter irony that preceded the death of the 28-year veteran of the Montreal fire department.

My dream: the cemetery, the firemen’s lot, Shirley and dad all come flashing back. I’m unnerved. But I continue reading Stone’s article and when I reach the end, I summon Tara over.

Did you read this? I show her the article. Mr. Modesty here, I gesture with my thumb at Stone, wrote it.

She stretches out her elegant hand, takes the paper and smiles. Why didn't you tell me?

Stone shrugs. It's no big deal.

She folds up the paper and tucks it under her arm. I’ll read this later.

Well, it’s pretty obvious that she's smitten with you.

Stone’s is glowing from her attention. The sly grin on his face reveals a deep contentment. Calm as a gentle stream, his happiness is refreshing. But when I press again that he and Tara should intensify their intimacy, Stone immediately shifts the focus onto me. So how's Molly?

I sigh: She wants me to quit my job and move to a house her parents are buying us in Hudson.

Lucky you!

I give him the dumb-dumb look. It’s just two doors down from her parents.

Stone laughs at me. Ah, you poor schmuck.

And her sister lives right across the street.

This fills Stone with even more uproarious laughter. The steer’s wife… The one who told Molly that she should leave to you.

The one and only!

Well you won't have to worry about a shortage of baby-sitters.

I feel like I’m wandering with the wind through empty air. My freedom is being snatched away. Great!

The remoteness will do you some good. You'll have more time to invest in your art.

You’re starting to sound like Molly. I shake my head. Have you seen my bank account? She wants me to quit my job and paint full time. It’s ridiculous… especially with a baby on the way.

Hasn’t it always been your dream to paint full-time?

Stone has me there. I huff in agreement. But at the back of my mind I’m thinking about Skip and the ancient promise I made.

Besides, don't you have a big show coming up in New York? You're going to make a fortune. He pauses. You should be grateful. They're buying you a house. You’re a lucky bastard! Enjoy the fruits of their wealth and quit being such a douche.

Nibbling at my baguette, I bat away his arguments with my hand. How about the taxes and higher heating bills we'll be paying. Anyway, you don't understand Molly. Ever since she's found out about Michelle... I think moving us out to Hudson is just her way of keeping me under wraps.

Well you did cheat, Stone blurts out in a voice that carries with volume.

Keep your voice down, I whisper. Stone is the only other person other than Molly and her sister who know about the indiscretion and I want it to stay that way. And it wasn’t really cheating.

Okay Bill Clinton, sorry, he continues in a softer voice. Look at it from her point of view. Her maternal instincts are kicking into high gear. Her desire to nest has never been so strong.

Shrugging my shoulders, I exhale. I hate to admit it, but for once in your life you may be right.

Stone dismisses my backhanded compliment with a shake of his head. You're in the big leagues now, my friend. If living next door to her family is what she needs, I suggest that you quit your job right now.

If it was only that simple; she didn't even discuss her parent’s plans with me. It's either I do as I’m told or I can fuck off.

Too great a bliss to weep away, my only choice is to surrender.

Tara returns to the counter and clears away the cups and plates that have accumulated in front of us. On display, outside the cafe window a parking attendant double parks in front of a car with an expired meter. Instinctively, Stone jumps from his chair; loony in hand and hurries out the door. He drops the coin into the meter before the functionary has a chance to write up the ticket. The attendant shrugs her shoulders and returns to her car.

When Stone returns to his seat at the counter, Tara has a perplexed look on her face. Is that your car?

Stone shakes his head.

Tara giggles: Just a good Samaritan eh?

Stone smiles: Nah, I just hate authority.