One Good Hustle

TWENTY-NINE




SOMEONE IS BANGING on the door. Oh Christ, where am I?

It’s the camper door. I’m in the camper. I’ve been dreaming. One of those horrible falling dreams.

“Sammie!” Ruby calls and then she opens the door. “You alive in here?”

I squint at her as if she’s a stranger. Can’t clear the falling sensation out of my guts. It’s hot in the trailer. Airless and still.

“You’ve got a call waiting for you in the house,” she says.

A call? What time is it? Quarter past eleven? Holy Jesus. I’ve been asleep for nearly twelve hours. Jill’s already up and out of here.

My legs swing down and my feet touch the floor. Ruby closes the door.

I pull pyjama bottoms on as the dream flings around in my head: my mother and Drew were a couple. Except that my mother turned into Jill. Jill kept Foxy-Browning all over Drew and tossing her big hair and telling him all the sex-things she’d teach him. She was twice his size—next to Jill, Drew was just a flimsy bit of string. They went to bed together, just across the camper on Jill’s side. Suddenly Drew changed his mind. He got up and left her over there before they could actually do it. He came to my side where I was pretending to be asleep, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. He brushed the hair out of my face and said that I was going to set myself on fire if I wasn’t careful. I tried to wake up enough to tell him that I wouldn’t do it with him, but I was so tired I couldn’t speak. Eventually Drew gave up on me. The whole camper shook as he walked out. It swung sideways and Jill started to scream. As Drew stepped off the bottom step of the camper, we tipped over sideways. Parked on a cliff, the whole camper dropped right off the edge, end over end, falling and falling.



Inside the house, I can’t shake the off-kilter sense of falling. And being pissed off with Jill.

The receiver is balanced on top of the wall phone. I don’t want to talk to anyone.

What if it’s Drew at the end of the line? I scratch my head hard and pick up the receiver.

“Hello?” I sound like a toad from the ditch in Langley.

“Hi,” Sam says. “You know who this is?”

“No.” Hope it hurts him to hear that. I hope it stings his ears and burns his guts.

He laughs. “It’s your old man!” he announces. “What’s doin’? Sleepin’ late, eh. Guess you’re still on summer holiday.”

“I thought you were supposed to call last night.” I just want him to say it, just say he didn’t call and he never intended to and that he’s a liar. Or else say he did call and he got a busy signal.

“Sorry about that. By the time I got done last night, it was too late to be callin’ over there. Big game. West Vancouver. Lotta money. You got plans today? Can I take you for lunch?”

Holy shit. This is it. Sam wants to meet. We’re going to talk. He’s telling me about last night’s game so I’ll understand: he had to make some money while the getting was good, had to set himself up, set us up. He couldn’t stop to call.

“Okay. Are you downtown?”

He says he is.

“You want to meet at English Bay?” I know just the place. There’s a restaurant by the water. I’ve walked past it before and looked at the people dining on the patio, first-class people with sharp clothes and long, clean fingers. I imagined Sam and me there one day, looking out at the water and making plans for the future. “The Bay Café? It’s down at the end of Denman Street. Near Davie.”

“Can you get yourself down here?”

I look at my watch. “How about two? Is that too late?”

Lou should be back way before then. I could borrow his truck.

“Sounds good. I’ll be the fella in the pink carnation.”

“Ha!” I say. “Ha ha ha!” Just like those little goats in Langley goofing around, that’s Sam and me.

My dad laughs too. “Okey-doke,” he says. “I’ll see you at two.” His voice sounds silly and happy. As if he can’t wait.

We can’t wait!