A Handbook for Beautiful People Read online

  Marla leads Liam to her bedroom with its yellow paint and sunflower curtains. She pushes some laundry off the mattress and removes his jacket, loosens his tie, leaves his wallet on the windowsill. Marla holds his hands, pulling slightly on each joint and squeezing negative energy out of his fingers. “Is it bad?”

  “Worse than yesterday, but not the worst.” Liam’s hands are beautiful, with long fingers and delicate bones. He opens and closes a gentle fist with a slight tremor.

  “Could you still play?”

  “Maybe. Not like before.” She knows his parents moved him here from northern Saskatchewan when he was six to make more money to pay better music teachers. This was the big city, and he travelled it like a champion, consistently adjudicated one of the best young cellists in the country.

  Marla lays him down, her hand on his beating heart. “You have to try.” She undresses above him, draping her dress briefly over his face. He leans his head back in pleasure, and, as he does, she slips two bills out of his wallet before she clicks off the light. Like he’s someone else.

  They are interrupted by Dani’s shrieks from downstairs. “Oh! Making love! So good! So fucking good!” The wheels on Dani’s bedframe roll back and forth as the headboard hits the wall.

  “That’s enough.” Liam pushes Marla up and rips the covers from them both. He stomps on the floor until it’s quiet, but Marla knows what’s coming. As Liam sinks into bed, Dani does a high-pitched ariba with rolled r’s: The Mexican.

  Marla turns away, Liam’s money crumpled in her fist.

  Gavin leaves his work at the care home as dusk grows into dark. Old snow sits heavy against concrete dividers, and cars flash by. He walks tall and quick, going over his plan. If he sees them, he’s ready.

  Near the bus stop, Gavin takes the stairs to the pedestrian overpass two at a time, glancing behind every few steps. There he is.

  “Hey, retard!” Same flashy red hoody, black cap with straight brim: the guy that mugged him. No friends this time.

  Gavin takes the stairs sideways now. He reaches into his pocket, making sure they’re alone. He feels the hard plastic, the soft circle.

  “Say something….”

  Gavin squeezes the air horn repeatedly until Black Cap backs away, hands on his ears. It must be awful, but Gavin can’t hear it. He takes a moment to congratulate himself—victory at last! —smiling at how simple it was until he feels something raining down on him from the pedestrian overpass. Each warm drop marks him with defeat. Piss.

  Black Cap is laughing at him, shouting up to his friend. Gavin can make out only one word—retard. This is exactly how it wasn’t supposed to be. He could scramble under the stairs, go home stinking, and add another check to the list of times he stopped himself from hurting someone—but he rounds the corner, through the piss, wanting to feel his hands on someone real and warm and laughing at him. Gavin grabs Black Cap by the collar and cocks his fist, his movements precise, measured, and serious, because as soon as he can deal with this kid, Gavin will feel calm again. But that’s the thing: Black Cap’s a kid, maybe fourteen, fifteen at most, with his fuzzy upper lip and the expensive shoes his parents bought him. Gavin hesitates, trying to maintain an expression that might intimidate the kid, but letting go of his collar, remembering the rules. He forces his hands down by his sides, thinking about that list.

  Black Cap grins and shoves Gavin, his mouth moving. Gavin grabs at the railing to steady himself, but it’s slick with urine. He comes down hard, and when he gets up, the kid is already up the stairs under the security camera, taunting him. Gavin throws the air horn to the ground and stomps on it until the plastic breaks, his heartbeat banging in his useless ears.

  People give Gavin lots of room at the bus stop. He wipes his face with a tissue from his bag and sees blood, smells piss in his hair. Gavin forces his feelings down, holds back while the suited commuters exit, and boards last. He straightens his spine, telling himself it could have been worse. A little niggling thought flashes in his mind: the principal’s office, the social worker, and the slow certainty that he was never going home. Hitting a teacher, pushing other kids. That time. Gavin bites his lip, harder than he should, and the feelings stop.

  He sits down gently, wrapping his coat around himself. That’s when he first notices the handbook.

  same guys last night

  what’d they think of the air horn?

  worked for second

  bad?

  pissed on

  fuckers. we’ll get them.

  Marla rolls over and tries to go back to sleep, but Liam’s side of the bed is cold. She pads into the kitchen because it smells like coffee and something involving flour, but he’s gone.

  He left a note—going to practise before work—and fresh pancakes on the counter. Awesome! Marla didn’t even know she had the ingredients. She brings a plateful to Dani, who reclines in her chair with the duct-taped arms, watching a talk show in the morning dark.

  “Thanks for the cash last night.”

  It was easy for Marla to slip it under Dani’s door after she was sure Liam was asleep, but it’s harder to justify anything down here during the day, when the angle of the winter sun keeps everything grey: Dani’s tiny fridge and her neat records and her pills. “I’m not doing that again.”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  But Marla knows what the alternative is. “What about rehab?”

  Dani wraps two pancakes in plastic and puts them in the fridge. “No. Don’t worry about me. Where’s your man?”

  Marla shrugs. It’s best not to say.

  “He’s gone again? I told you, there’s a reason the wife didn’t want him.”

  Marla hears a scratching from the bathroom. “What’s that?” She sniffs.

  “Got a dog. You didn’t notice him last night?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah. He’s not very noisy.” Dani opens the bathroom door to reveal a yellow lab that jumps up on her and Marla alternately.

  “Where’d you get him?”

  “Followed me home yesterday.” Dani snaps her fingers in the air for the puppy to jump at. “It’s for Kamon.”

  Marla rubs his fur, lets him gnaw her fingers. She doesn’t consider the logistics of Dani giving her son a puppy. Kamon is almost five years old, but Dani hasn’t had custody for two or three years. Dani sees Kamon once a month, if her mom lets her.

  The puppy licks her bare feet, making it easy to forget. “He’s gonna love this.”

  Dani rolls a pancake and eats it like a slice of bologna. “Well, yeah. Are you going to drive me?”

  “When is it again?”

  “Christmas Day. Set a reminder so you’re not off bonking Liam.”

  “Got it. Christmas Day.”

  The puppy puts his paws on the table and knocks the pancakes down, then pees on the floor in excitement.

  “Shit.” Dani moves him to the bathroom. “Fucking animal.”

  Marla looks around, settling on an old flyer to sop up the wet. She is down on the floor when something about the yellow linoleum with dog urine slopped about makes her shudder. It’s definitely the smell.

  She runs for the bathroom, pushing open the door Dani’s trying to stuff the dog behind. He leaps up, pissing a bit more. Marla harfs into the sink.

  “Oh, shit, Marla. Too much party again?”

  Marla takes a deep breath, spits, wipes her mouth, and hangs over the counter. She runs the faucet, but a miserable puddle of stringy puke clogs the drain. “I only had one glass of wine.”

  Dani leans against the sliding shower door. “Too much cock, then.”

  Marla laughs so hard she almost heaves again. “That happened one time, Dani. One time.” Marla closes her eyes and catches her breath.

  Dani ignores the jumping dog and swats Marla on the rear. “You know, you are one sexy lady. You ke
ep working it. Work that right into the toilet for me.”

  Marla has to turn her head to scoop the chunks into the toilet. They plop down. The sound makes her wobbly.

  Dani notices and sits her on the edge of the tub. “Leave it.” She squints at Marla. “Take your shirt off.”

  Marla does. “Why, is there puke on it?”

  “No.” Dani looks at her carefully, then pinches Marla’s nipple.

  “Ow! Fuck!” Marla wraps her arms around her sensitive breasts.

  Dani shakes her head. “Call Liam.”

  “Why?”

  “You are one hundred percent knocked up.”

  2. BIGGER: RAVIOLI

  MARLA DOESN’T BELIEVE DANI—thinks it’s indigestion or bad Indian takeout from the other night—but she does the test anyway, in secret the next morning before work. The pee stick blinks at her from the floor with its two eyes. This is the same as all the high school math Marla failed to understand, like infinity is actually right here in this bathroom, her life suddenly wide open with incalculable geometry. She stares at this plastic gossip on the cracked linoleum, and then checks the box to confirm that two lines means what she thinks it does. Pregnant. Of course.

  Marla shakes a bit, but reminds herself not to be stupid: one has to go about these things properly. She pulls her pants up and buttons them. Dani’s right—she is bigger. Marla mimes an oversized womb unfolding out of her front, curving her fingers like she’s holding a skirt full of peaches. That’s a happy image.

  First things first: Marla grabs the Calgary Flames schedule magnet from the fridge for easier counting. If she’s sick and testing positive, then she’s what, six weeks into this? Maybe more with a size increase. She thought it was just the winter blahs. Marla counts thirty-four weeks from now and runs out of season. Next summer. June? July?

  This is what she knows: a baby means a family. It means making scrambled eggs for breakfast, holding the baby on her hip. It means birthday cakes for little friends at the Riley Park wading pool in summer. Car seats and storybooks and playschool. It means all the things she never had.

  Marla looks in the mirror and tells herself to snap out of it. A baby is forever. She bites her lip. But this would be her baby. Her very own.

  She pictures Liam holding a baby, cuddling her while she claps her pudgy hands, but cuts it before the fantasy baby can grab Liam’s wire-rim glasses and spit up all over his crisp shirt. She wants to call him, but all this extra preening has made Marla nearly late for work.

  Last: closing her eyes, she can believe in herself. A baby. She doesn’t deserve such richness.

  Today no one knows. She is righteous, a miracle, the property of humanity, because she has gone and done what her foster parents told her she would. She breathes fast, her heartbeat like a rabbit’s. At quarter to eight it’s still dark, but there are lights on down the block and cars idling on the street. Marla doesn’t mind this time of year, finding it reassuring that neither night nor weather gets in the way of the movement of the city.

  Her car starts on the second try. Today more than ever, Marla drives with old lady tension due to the terrifying brakes on her shit-heap car: they are right spongy, sopping wet, and full of holes. She inches along 16th Avenue, relieved for the traffic pileup that guarantees no sudden stops. There was no time to bleed the brake lines, and besides, she needs two people: one to push the brake, Liam’s job.

  She dials Liam. “Guess what?”

  Liam’s voice sounds fuzzy, like it’s coming through a plastic pipe. “Marla, what is it?” He seems concerned. Busy.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  “What happens before eight?” Marla can hear Liam’s espresso machine beeping.

  “Lots of things. I got a prize in my cereal, I used a new toothbrush, and I found out I’m pregnant.”

  “No, you didn’t. Well, maybe you did get a prize.”

  In truth, Marla has used pregnancy as a conversation starter in the past, but also outrageous things that are true, like being pulled onstage at a punk concert, and rescuing a baby rabbit from a scraggly dog. Liam’s so rhythmic in his schedule that Marla finds herself accentuating her whimsy and packaging it in stories about her lovability. She wants everyone to love her, but especially him. Marla thinks about it, reconfiguring. Most women probably do this over celebratory dessert. “I got a pair of 3D glasses. I can take them to the movies.”

  “You can’t try something like that on, Marla. A baby isn’t a joke.”

  “You’re right. Hey, let’s get together tonight. Supper?”

  “I’m working, but come by later.”

  “’Kay.” He hangs up, and she holds the warm phone in her hand at the stoplight. Liam, the father of her baby. She pictures him wearing a baby carrier and giggles.

  Gavin holds the spoon level and waits for Stephen to open his lips before he slides it in. Stephen’s tongue is pointy and patchy-white. It knocks the spoon around, causing a dribble to run down Stephen’s chin to the napkin Gavin pinned to Stephen’s shirt. Stephen shrugs, sorry, and Gavin shakes off his momentary disgust. It’s not Stephen’s fault. Gavin thinks of his own first teacher and how she sat with him, patiently signing the same words over and over, showing him pictures and moving his hands for him. Gavin dabs at Stephen’s face with a warm wet cloth and tries again.

  After lunch, Gavin wheels Stephen through an early eighties suburb to get a real coffee and people-watch, their guilty pleasure. Stephen types on his computer, and his software reads it aloud in a robot voice Gavin can’t hear. Gavin reads it on the screen. “Look at her.”

  Gavin sees her, a girl just out of high school with straight black hair and yoga pants. His age. Gavin turns off Stephen’s volume and writes on his notepad. PERV. CLD BE DAUGHTER.

  “For you, Casanova.”

  DON’T TALK HEARING GIRL.

  Stephen cocks his head more than usual, his body spasming. Compared to Stephen, Gavin knows he’s being precious, but he can’t help it. Since he finished high school, Gavin hasn’t kept up with his friends, all of whom are deaf. Most of them left for university, one to backpack Europe. He doesn’t know anyone else who signs.

  “Get a life,” Stephen types.

  Gavin’s heart beats faster. This is his safe, easy life with no surprises. It’s true he was accepted to U. of T. for January, when they will have a translator available, but he’s been telling himself this job is too important. There’s no need to take a risk. NOT GO ANYWHERE.

  “You’re amazing, don’t get me wrong, but there’s more to life than wiping my ass.”

  Gavin chokes on his coffee, he’s laughing so hard. Stephen too, flapping his good hand against his knee. People are staring.

  Gavin glances at his watch. NEED GO. ART THERAPY.

  “Think about it.”

  Gavin accidentally bumps Stephen’s wheel into a table as he tries to navigate the narrow space of the café, and feels several people watching. The yoga pants girl moves her chair to clear a path, calling to him, but Gavin doesn’t notice. He won’t feel better until he’s wheeled Stephen back through the entrance of the care home, where everyone is used to him and art therapy is at the same time every day.

  Marla uses her foot to open the clinic door, juggling her bag and the two coffees she had to ask the barista next door if she could pay for later.

  “Hey, Katelynn,” Marla says, leaving one on the ledge for the receptionist, who’s on the phone, her usual arrangement. Marla suddenly remembers she should probably pour her own coffee out. Is that a thing?

  Katelynn loosens her phone face for a second to sip coffee with exaggerated bliss. Then it’s back to business. “I understand that, but I can’t squeeze you in until tomorrow.”

  Three mornings a week, Marla is the file clerk here. She creates new patient files and sorts paperwork on pull-out trays between rows of shelves. The shelving un
its have twisting plastic handles, like ship’s wheels. Each bank lumbers over: port, starboard. There aren’t any windows, so Marla distracts herself in other ways, swaying and whispering the good last names. It’s impossible not to read about the people who come here.

  Julie Goodman suffers from frequent thirst, fainting, and yeast infection. She’s thirty-three years old and heavy. Marla checks the lab results to see if they tested her A1C levels. Poor gal: diabetes.

  Marla scans the year of birth on lab requisition forms, looking for grandparents. She pulls several files, reading the doctor’s notes until she finds what she’s looking for. EPA and DHA. Isn’t that fish oil?

  Someone’s coming. Marla slaps a stack of files on the one she was reading and pretends to be sorting by date.

  “Marla, hey. This is Alex.” Katelynn indicates a hipster university girl with a plush vest and ironed pants. “Alex has a nursing practicum here this semester.”

  Alex nods and shakes Marla’s hand before Marla knows it’s happening. “Pleased to meet you, Marla.”

  Marla stands taller and reconsiders the black stockings she wore for Liam’s benefit, wanting to say something about them to lighten the super-professional mood, but Katelynn catches her eye and interrupts. “Marla helps with filing. She’s a friend of Dr. Leal’s.”

  “My foster parents. They’re his friends.” Marla clears her throat. “Maybe we can all get lunch later,” she adds, but Alex and Katelynn are already continuing their tour.

  Marla eavesdrops as Katelynn lists Alex’s duties: filling out patient intake forms, weighing children for the doctor, dipping urine. As if it’s so complicated to fill out forms they need Alex and her vest.

  Marla’s phone vibrates but she can’t answer it here. She waits until the caller leaves a message, then goes to the bathroom to check it.

  Three short whistles, then a flutter from loud to soft. Two low rolls at the end. Gavin is like a bird, a loon in late summer.