The Garneau Block Read Free Page B

the haiku had led Madison Weiss. She would be thirty soon, an untravelled and unilingual spinster.
    Abby bemoaned the exploitation of the word “progressive,” and flapped the white sheet of printer paper. Madison walked around a chair and snatched it from her hand. Let’s Fix It.
    The gesture interrupted the argument. Tammy shrugged. “I don’t know much about politics. I just want to, you know, be a part of it all.”
    â€œPerfect,” said David.
    Abby sighed. She lifted her finger to make a point, then she dropped her hand, lowered her shoulders, and sighed again. “I need to do yoga tonight.”
    â€œWe can do that yoga DVD together, before bed.” David leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek. Garith shivered between them. “I’ll even wear tights.”
    Tammy and the Weisses said their goodbyes. Garith endured a brief cuddle and a “smoochie woochie.” Mid-cuddle, Tammy’s cellular phone began ringing again–to the tune of “Summer Lovin’” from the Grease soundtrack.
    At the door, Madison returned the sheet to Abby. “I checked on-line again. There aren’t any new listings for a Jeanne Perlitz anywhere in Canada or the States.”
    â€œJeanne will call when she wants to talk. I can’t imagine it’s easy to digest your husband’s death, especially given the unfortunate circumstances of Benjamin’s final hour.”
    â€œUnfortunate circumstances?” said David. “He went nuts and took her hostage.”
    Abby sighed. “We just aren’t trained to deal with that kind of trauma, at least in central neighbourhoods.” Abby grimaced and looked down at the Let’s Fix It sheet, then closed her eyes. “I really feel Jeanne and Katie are fine. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jeanne sneaked into the block last night and put these up herself.”
    David stole the sheet from his wife and folded it into his pocket. “Let’s not think too hard about pyramid schemes and time shares. When you girls go, leave your chequebooks at home. And don’t eat the coffee cake. Don’t even touch it.”
    â€œYou girls?”
    â€œI’m not going.”
    Abby licked her lips, nodded to her daughter, and opened the door for her husband and Garith. Through the glass door, Madison witnessed the early stages of her father’s re-education.

 
    5
    that warm thing
    J onas Pond stood near the gazebo in McIntyre Park, among the squeegee punks and lost, drunken teenagers, and considered the lineup across the avenue in front of Varscona Theatre. Who were these people, really? And what did they want from him?
    A giant pickup truck passed the park, obscuring his view of the lineup. The two young men inside, wearing sunglasses and baseball hats, bobbed their heads to the thumping bass of a gangster rap song. On the back window, a giant Ford decal. If Jonas weighed another fifty pounds, and if he weren’t worried about going to prison, he would flag down the giant truck, pull the young men from inside, slap them upside their heads, and ask for some good explanations. Why the giant truck? Why the gangster fantasy? Did you idiots pay extra to advertise for Ford? Jonas would punish them for their yob-hood, and then he would play good cop. So, fellas, have you ever considered experimenting with a man?
    â€œHey, Jonas!” Two young women in oversized Value Village clothes and colourful sneakers approached him.
    â€œHello.” He tilted his head and did that warm thing with his voice, that thing he did whenever a large organization hired him to host an awards ceremony or funding announcement. I am a friend of the people. He didn’t know these women, mid-twenties and puffy and shy, consumers of Monty Python and Sylvia Plath.But they knew him. “How are you lovely girls this evening?”
    â€œAwesome,” said one.
    â€œAwesome,” said the other, not quite as