Speechless (32 page)

“She seemed very nice, though,” I offer magnanimously, confident that poor Melanie will find much solace in her excellent journalism career.

“Who needs nice? I like a woman with an edge.”

“Really? Well, in that case, Melanie’s a bag of bones and way too blond.”

“Not
that
much edge,” he laughs.

I find myself wanting to jump over the table and into his lap, but the chicken hasn’t even arrived. Besides, the chairs look fragile and between us, we’re twelve-and-a-half feet and well over three hundred pounds of burgeoning relationship.

When dinner arrives, Tim tells me about his students and I am full of new fondness for them. I tell him about the progress Lola and I are making with the book. After a moment’s hesitation, I confess that I lied to him at Emma’s wedding by implying I was writing a book many months before I actually was. It’s another mistake I learned from, I say. The guilt actually drove me to agree to work on a book I never wanted to write—and now I’m enjoying it.

“I’m glad you’re over your need to impress me,” Tim jokes, unfazed. Then he adds, “You’re fine just the way you are.”

Both of us are taken aback when the waiter tells us it’s last call. Tim holds my hand as he drives me home and walks me to my door. When I invite him in, however, he asks for a rain check.

“One of the kids from my orchestra is crashing at my place this week. Both of his parents are drunks and the mother just took off. So—”

“—you want to set a good example.” I interrupt. “I understand.” But the doubt must be showing in my face.

“Do not, I repeat, do not read anything into this. I want to stay, Libby, but the kid needs to know he can count on one adult in his life.”

“It’s okay, really, I understand.” And I do, but the fifteen-year-old inside is wondering if this is just an excuse. Sensing she’s resurfaced, Tim leans over and kisses me, a lingering, lusty kiss that blows my doubts into the street with the rustling leaves.

“The kid moves in with his aunt on Saturday.”

“What are you doing Saturday night?”

“Bringing my dog over to your place. If we’re welcome, that is.”

“I’ll lock up my best bras.”

“You won’t be needing them.”

He kisses me again and heads back to his Jeep. “By the way,” he says, stopping halfway down the walk, “What did you say to the girls from my orchestra? Suddenly, they’re big Roberta Bondar fans.”

I’m thrilled at this, but try to look cool. “Oh, you know—girl talk. They think you’re the world’s greatest teacher, but you didn’t hear it from me.” He’s smiling as he opens the car door and I call out, “Listen, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, but you’re asking the whole neighborhood right now.”

“I was just wondering if you have any Scots ancestry.”

“There might have been an Angus on my mother’s side, why?”

“How do you feel about kilts?”

“Can we talk about this on Saturday?”

“Sure, I’m serving haggis.” He shakes his head and gets into the car.

Far too wired to sleep, I break the news about Stella to Cornelius and sit down to comfort him, remote control in hand. I flip through every channel, but nothing holds my interest. It’s too late to call Roxanne and I’m too full of wine and chicken to go for a run. But a walk, I could manage. It’s well after midnight when I set out. Mom would be horrified, but my neighborhood is still busy. The cafés are full of students. I stride briskly along Bloor Street to Bay, turn south to Queen’s Park and walk back through the university grounds.

My route takes me right past the Sutton Place Hotel where
Richard stayed for months at the taxpayers’ expense. I expect he’s left for London already, tail between his legs. It sure looks like his six-foot-six form in the hotel’s entrance as I pass, however. Crossing the street to get a closer look, I confirm it’s Richard. He’s wearing a denim shirt, open nearly to the waist, and sweatpants. He turns toward a petite woman and blocks her from my view. Even in my state of bliss, I can put two and two together: he is seeing someone to the door after a shagging.

Curious, I stop to watch. Could it be the Minister? Whoever she is, she’s bold because she reaches around and squeezes Richard’s ass proprietarily. He leans over and kisses her, and from the incline of his head, I can tell he’s aiming for the cheek. This speaks volumes; the lady is obviously the keener of the two. Finally Richard struts back into the lobby and the woman starts down the short driveway toward me, silhouetted against the hotel lights. She’s about the right size for the Minister, but the hair is definitely longer. And redder. I grab a hydro pole for support: it’s Margo, looking more disheveled than ever, with her shirt buttoned wrong and her suit jacket trailing.

At first I can’t quite take it in. Margo and Richard? How could she sleep with him after all that’s happened? How could he sleep with her, when he apparently liked me? And how could the thought of it be bothering me so much when my crush burned out a month ago? Tim is twice the man Richard is, I have no doubt of that, but my inner 15-year-old is rising again. It seems that the further I get from high school, the more I regress. I don’t want Richard, but I don’t want anyone else to have him either—especially not
her.

Margo is barely three yards away when she sees me. Even in my shock, I realize it’s one of those rare golden moments in life. It looks as though she may faint as she weaves unsteadily toward me. By the time she’s standing in front of me, however, the old, calculating look is back on her face: she’s wondering if she can talk me out of believing what I’m seeing.

“What are you doing here?” she asks casually.

“Just getting some air. You?”

“We all went out to celebrate. You were invited…”

“Not to Richard’s room, I wasn’t. Private party?”

“
Libby!
What are you saying?” But she hasn’t denied it. In fact, the truth is written all over her flushed face.

“I’m saying the ‘optics’ here aren’t good.” I’m remembering her reproach when I was dating Joe.

“I can explain—”

“No need. The razor burn tells the whole story.” I reach out and pluck one of Richard’s hairs from her shirt. “My question is, what does Richard have to celebrate? He was fired only three days ago for scamming the Ministry. Or have you forgotten that already? At least this explains how he was able to get away with as much as he did.”

“I had no idea about his relationship with Loud Mouth,” she protests.

I believe her, but can’t bear to end the game just yet. Furrowing my brow in mock confusion, I ask, “So you’re punishing his bad behavior by sleeping with him?”

“Look,” she says, “I only learned what he was up to this weekend and by then it was too late.” She claps her hand over her mouth, realizing she’s revealed more than she intended.

“Ah, so you’ve been at it for a while now.”

“It’s only been a few weeks. Not that it’s any of your business,” she adds, defensively.

“You’re sleeping with the enemy, so it is my business. How could you still see him tonight after what’s he’s done?”

She stares down Bay Street in silence, then mutters, “I don’t know.”

“Margo, you’re not in love with him!” I exclaim, light suddenly dawning.

“Of course not,” she says irritably, “how could I be?” But her expression tells a different story. “Libby, you can’t mention this to the Minister.”

“She wasn’t with you?” I ask, just to see her expression.

“Don’t be ridiculous! She went home hours ago!”

“Just checking. She had a thing for Richard herself, you know. Remember the maraschino cherries? My guess is, she’d want to hear all about it.” I’m tempted to prolong the game indefinitely, since revenge is sweeter than I anticipated, but I do the decent thing and hail her a cab. I even help her into it with a little more force than necessary and slam the door.

“Look, Libby—” she says, rolling down the window.

“You should wear a turtleneck tomorrow, Margo,” I interrupt rudely, pointing to the hickey on her neck. “Where’s Buffy when you need her, eh!”

Waving as the taxi pulls out, I set off for home, my euphoria now replaced by faint nausea at the thought of Richard sucking on Margo’s neck like a great horny vacuum cleaner. He had sex with her, but wouldn’t kiss her on the lips afterward. Hell, he didn’t even hail her a cab, the pig. And how poor is her self-esteem if she’ll invest thirty-six hours into repairing the damage he caused and still run to his bed?

I can excuse a lot of foolish moves in the name of lust, but betrayal isn’t one of them.

M
argo is sitting in my guest chair, swinging her short legs. “You’re late,” she announces, calmly pulling apart an enormous cinnamon bun.

I expected shame, perhaps even some groveling from her this morning, not unruffled complacency. Indeed, if it weren’t for the Minister’s happy-face kerchief tied around Margo’s neck to hide the hickey, I’d wonder if I dreamed last night’s encounter. Obviously, bouncing back from disgrace isn’t tough when you’re built so low to the ground.

“Gosh, you’d better fire me if you’re such a stickler for rules,” I snort, sitting down at my desk. “Mind you, the Minister might complain when she sees Lily packing her boxes. She’s grown fond of me lately. But as always, Margo, I defer to your expert knowledge of office protocol. Tell me, what’s the proper procedure for letting the Minister know you boffed the man who nearly ruined her career?”

Popping a piece of cinnamon bun into her mouth, she smiles at me. “You won’t tell her.”

“Won’t I? You don’t know me.”

“I know you. Righteous Libby wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“Margo, when you’re my height, stooping is nothing new. Besides, I’ve learned a thing or two about lowering myself from you. You’re quite a role model.”

She’s right, though. I’d love nothing more than to see her exposed and punished, but I don’t want to be the one who turns her in. My mother, the nicest woman in the world, has made it impossible for me to savor revenge like a normal person. Instead I remind myself that what goes around, comes around, even here in the Pink Palace.

Margo has decided not to take any chances. “Okay, I’m
asking
you not to tell her.”

“What’s the magic word?”

Her eyes narrow, but she chokes out a
“Please.”

No need to capitulate too soon. It’s not as if Mom’s bugged the office. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

Putting down her bun, she slaps my desk with a sticky hand. “No, I want your assurance now.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make any demands.” How nice to have the power for once.

She sneers. “Look, you
owe
me. You’ve had the chance of a lifetime in this job.”

This is like fire to gunpowder. Hold on to your spatula, Marjory, because I’m fed up with “nice.”

“Let me make this perfectly clear. I owe you nothing, Margo. You didn’t hire me and you’ve treated me like crap since the day I arrived. You’ve sabotaged my work and undermined my confidence. Frankly, I’d be
thrilled
if the Minister turfed you out on your sorry ass.”

There’s no sign of complacency on her face now. In fact, she’s become so pale that the cinnamon slick on her mouth stands out in a muddy ring. Coming around the desk, she puts a claw on my shoulder and when she speaks, her tone is pleading.

“Libby, you need to understand that I love my job. Things
haven’t gone very well for me lately and I’ve just regained the Minster’s respect.” With her free hand, she fiddles nervously with the happy-face kerchief. “I don’t want to lose it again.”

Plucking her fingers from my shoulder one by one, I stand to have the pleasure of towering over her. “Margo,
you
need to understand that the sooner you shove off, the sooner I’ll get a chance to love
my
job. Why not head to London? Surely Richard will need your help on his political campaign. A good hair-and-makeup person is hard to find.”

“Oh,
I
get it. This isn’t about loyalty to the Minister at all. It’s about your bitterness that Richard chose me over you.”

“You’re welcome to him, Margo, if you think he’s such a great catch. I wish you luck.”

“Sounds like sour grapes to me. I saw the way you flirted with him, in your short skirts and high heels. You know what your problem is, Libby? You’re just not feminine enough. You have bushy eyebrows and an aggressive personality.”

For a second, my vision blurs. I lean on the desk to steady myself and take a deep breath. Finally I say, “If you’re so confident of your girlish charms, Margo, I suggest you ask Richard about the watch.”

“What watch?” She’s eyeing me suspiciously.

“Go call him.”

“I guess I can hardly blame you for being jealous of me.”

I take a menacing step toward her. I’ll knock her down and tell the cops I was just reaching for the cinnamon bun. She’ll have a mannish size-twelve tread mark on her face to remember me by.

“Ladies,
what
is going on?” The Minister’s voice startles us both. She’s standing in the doorway in her red Armani suit, the one she always wears when she wants to look invincible. “I could hear you arguing about Richard down the hall. Is there something more I need to know?”

For a moment, neither of us says anything. Margo glares up at me and I glare down just as fiercely, trying to force a confession. Mrs. Cleary clacks her fingernails impatiently against my door frame until Margo clears her throat.

“Yes, there is something else you should know, Minister. I, uh, sort of fell for Richard—”

“—for Richard’s
shtick
, she means,” I interrupt, stepping away from the midget. “Margo feels guilty for missing the signs of trouble.”

Why couldn’t I just let her hang herself? She deserves it. But the truth is, I don’t believe Margo would intentionally harm Mrs. Cleary. She may be petty and mean, but her whole identity is tied up in being EA to the Minister. She’d fall apart if Mrs. Cleary ever cut her loose. And the Minister, in her own way, is also dependent on Margo. With Richard out of the picture, there’s no reason they shouldn’t continue to bask in their dysfunctional relationship.

The Minister looks doubtfully from Margo to me. “I expect we all feel a little foolish for being taken in by that con man, but let’s try to move on, shall we? Now I really must go, girls, I can’t be late for my meeting.” She departs at an unusually brisk trot for a woman who normally prides herself on making the world wait for her.

“I
knew
you couldn’t tell her.” Margo’s smug expression creeps back as she scrapes the icing from the cinnamon bun box with a forefinger.

“Sure you did. And you’re welcome, by the way.”

She shrugs. “The Minister would have forgiven me eventually. As you say, a good hair-and-makeup person is hard to find.”

Shaking my head, I reach for my purse. There’s nothing left to say here, and I have earned a mochaccino.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She moves, raining crumbs onto the carpet.

“For coffee.”

“Not before you clean up the boardroom, you don’t. There’s Chinese food left over from Sunday and the janitors are on strike. Remember the rats, Libby.”

In other words, we’re back to business as usual, which is comforting in a strange sort of way. Just for fun, I abruptly stop walking so that she plows into me. “Fix your hickey rag, Margo. Your trophy is showing.”

When I return with my mochaccino, I prop my feet on the desk and listen to my voice mails.

BEEP—“Hi, Lib, it’s Emma. Congratulations! Bob played squash with Tim today and heard the good news. I am so thrilled for you! I can’t wait to hear all the details—”
“Tell her not to screw it up this time!”
Bob yells in the background. “Bob! Ssshhh. That’s no way to talk—” Click.

BEEP—“Hey, it’s Lola. Heard the news about Tim from Emma. What did I tell you—normal is the way to go. Not that this is a competition, but Paul likes me more than Tim likes you: he’s called me every night this week. Doubt you can top that! Besides, I’m sure Tim has no talent with flowers and Paul sent me the most beautiful bouquet today. It’s almost enough to make me change my mind about weddings. Call me.”

BEEP—“Libby, it’s Elliot. I’ve been haunted all day by this image of you and Tim in a little restaurant… Okay, I actually heard about your date from Emma. I take full credit for your current happiness because of my sacrifice with the edelweiss. Günter keeps creating these opportunities for me to propose! What’s going on at work, by the way? I see you in the eye of a hurricane, chaos swirling around you. Make sure you stay there, where it’s calm. Look at me, giving out free advice. Günter’s making me soft.”

BEEP—“Hi, Lib, Emma again. Sorry about my earlier message. Bob is thrilled for you too—he was just kidding.”
“I’m a funny man!”
“You’re a
sad
man. Anyway, Lib, I men
tioned your date to Elliot when I ran into him. Hope you don’t mind.”

BEEP—“Hey, Lib, Rox here. Lola just sent me an e-mail about Tim. I can’t believe I had to hear the news from her. Of course, she was mainly writing to tell me how much nicer Paul is than Tim, but you’d never last with a florist anyway after all the trouble you’ve had with bouquets. Anyway, fill me in—it’s the least you can do when you complain to me all the time. My movie wraps in two weeks and then I’m going to tour Ireland with Miguel. Let’s toast to new beginnings when I get home.”

BEEP—“McIssac! Richard Neale here. I’m at the airport and hoped to speak to you before boarding. We have unfinished business. I’d like to explain a few things, so give me a ring in the U.K., would you? My number is—”

I press the buttons to skip to the end of the message and delete. The man is welcome to finish his business with Ratgirl if he likes, but I never want to hear from him again.

Laurie races into my office. “Come on, Libby, the Minister has a big announcement.”

Outside the boardroom, Margo intercepts me and clutches my arm. Her eyes are bloodshot. “Libby, I’ve been such a fool,” she blurts. “Richard’s left for England without saying goodbye. I had to hear it from the hotel concierge.”

I reluctantly pat her shoulder, but the Minister’s arrival prevents me from actually having to say anything. Leading us inside, Mrs. Cleary claps her hands for attention.

“There’s been a Cabinet shuffle, everyone, and I’m pleased to say that the Premier has given me responsibility for the Ministry of Education.” She beams at all of us. Education is the largest Ministry after Health and has a huge budget. In other words, she’s been promoted far beyond her abilities. She may suspect this herself, because she continues, “The opportunity comes as something of a surprise.
Our recent success with Contact Culture must have sealed the deal.”

Success! Narrowly averted disaster is more like it.

“Over the next couple of days, I’ll be making decisions about staffing and inviting some of you to share this new adventure with me. I wish I could take everyone, but the new Minister of Culture will need experienced staff.”

Laurie grabs my arm as we leave. “Can you believe it?” she whispers. “Cleary was barely a match for arts advocates and now she’s going up against the teachers’ unions. They’ll eat her alive!”

I have an odd, un-Lily-like surge of loyalty for the Minister, but I suppress it. I spent three years in Education and Laurie is probably right.

The Minister is arranging fabric swatches and paint chips on her desk when I rap on the heavy oak door. “Come in, Libby. I’m trying to get some ideas for decorating my new office. What do you think of burned-caramel?”

“As a color, or a dessert?”

She chuckles and continues. “Should I choose cloud-white, porch-white or antique-white?”

“White comes in shades?”

Sighing, she sets down the samples. “I called you here to thank you for your support. Everyone came through in the crisis, but without you, I doubt we’d be celebrating today.”

“That’s nice of you to say, Minister. I’m happy it all worked out.”

“It’s just a shame Julian and I have lost a friend in Richard.”

“Yes, that is a shame.” I suspect she’ll find it in her heart to forgive Richard, eventually—especially if he becomes a British MP.

“He succumbed to the glamour of politics, you see. Perhaps it was inevitable, being around me.” She sighs as if the weight of the nation rests on her petite shoulders. “Power is
seductive, Libby, and corruption is all around us. Few can maintain their principles as I have.”

“You’re an inspiration to us all, Mrs. Cleary.”

She nods graciously and smiles: I’m just confirming what she already knows. Picking up a file folder from a corner of her desk, she says, “Do you know what this is? Your new contract.”

“Oh? But mine doesn’t expire for a couple of months yet. I assumed you’d leave that to the new Minister.”

“Of course not, Libby, you’re coming with me to education.”

My heart sinks. Although I’m pleased at this proof she likes my work, the last place I want to go right now is back to my old Ministry.

“Minister, I really appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

“Decline?” Her smile vanishes. “But your home position is in Education. And Margo’s even found a way to swing a ten-percent pay increase.”

I’m amused to see that Margo believes righteous Libby would accept a ten-percent payoff for her silence. Although I could use some extra cash to pay down my postcrush Visa bill, I’m not tempted. “It’s not about money, Minister. I left Education because the issues had grown stale for me. Culture is still relatively new and exciting.”

More important, it’s one media crisis after another at Education. With the book taking shape, I can’t afford to get beaten down during my day job. I haven’t forgotten what Elliot said about staying in the eye of the storm.

“But I’ve put so much work into training you, Libby, and you’ve finally captured my style. You must come.”

I might have wavered there if she hadn’t taken full credit for my hard work. “Your confidence means a lot to me, Minister, it really does, but I want to stay here. You see, I’ve started a creative project on the side and I just can’t take on
other challenges right now. However, I do have some talented colleagues at Education who’d jump at the chance to write your speeches. I could share what I’ve learned with them.”

She rearranges the paint chips rather violently for a few moments. Finally, without looking up, she says, “On your way out, tell Margo to set up interviews with those writers.”

I turn back at the door. “Thank you again, Mrs. Cleary.”

“You’re welcome…
Lily.
”