Chapter 19

I got up the next morning with a much clearer head. I'd had the foresight to take a lorazepam before going to bed, so I'd had a full night's sleep. As soon as I'd done my three esses, I called Air Canada. I'd bought an open-ended ticket, so all I needed was a reservation on a flight back to Ottawa. I called an airport limo, threw my stuff in the suitcase, checked out of the hotel and headed for Pearson International Airport.

I'd figured out that the best way to postpone the inevitable bouts of depression was to stay busy. I'd be returning to Toronto on Friday. In the meantime, I'd work. I'd return to the show, and I'd take care of my own affairs as much as possible. I arrived in Ottawa at 9:30 AM. After dropping off my luggage at home, I saddled up the Orange Monster and headed for CBC.

When I got there, I went straight to Joe Dudich's office. It would be an understatement to say that he was surprised to see me. His opening remark was, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I've come to work, Joe. Do you know of a better place for me to be?"

"No, I guess not. OK. We already have a guest host for today's show. Tomorrow, you're back on the air."

"That's great, Joe. I can't wait to get back into harness. I'll do Friday's show. Then, I have to go to Toronto. I may well be back on Monday, but there's a chance that I might not."

"Is it estate stuff?"

"No. It's something else. Let me explain."

Joe motioned me to a chair and closed the office door. Over the next half hour, I told him the whole story of Shauna's leaving me and about my scheme to get her back. Every once in a while, he grunted. When I'd finished, Joe took a breath through his teeth and said, "Pat, this just might work. Christ, it just might work. I hope to hell it does. I have a very selfish motive. I need you back whole and happy. In the meantime, I'll cut you some slack. I'll get Barbara to stand by for next week. Good luck."

I went to my office and went through the material for tomorrow's show. After the Friday show, I'd head back to Toronto. I planned to be in downtown Hogtown by 6:30 or so at the latest. Earlier would be better.

Among the usual run of emails and show suggestions, I found one that I really like. Albert Smythe had suggested that Barbara and I cohost the show and do a feature on Moe. He had researched it and assembled all the appropriate clips. It was a terrific idea, very well conceived and meticulously researched. I could find no fault with it, and I knew Moe's career as well as anyone. I called Joe Dudich. Then I called Bert Smythe and asked him to meet me at Joe's office. I printed out Albert's material and headed for Joe's cave.

Joe said, "What's this all about? You sounded excited, for Christ's sake."

"Joe, I am excited. Look at this. This show has award written all over it. And it's all Albert's doing. How the hell he put this together so quickly, I have no idea. It looks like weeks worth of work."

"It was." I turned. There was Bert standing in the doorway. "I had this idea a while ago, so I started researching it in my spare time. When I heard that Mr. Casselman had a relapse, I started on it in earnest."

"Well, Al," said Joe, "you've done a hell of a job. How would you like to direct this?"

Albert stood there with his mouth open. He was so surprised that he'd forgotten to object to being called "Al."

"Yes or no," Joe said, "if you want it, take it and run with it. It's your baby, anyway."

"Mr. Dudich, do you realize what this could mean to my career?"

"Of course I do. You could make your name with this. Of course if you fuck up you'll be on my permanent shit list." Joe smiled to take the bite out of the last statement. "And my name is 'Joe.' Mr. Dudich is my dad."

"God! Thanks, Joe. Pat, I'll have the final copy in your hands ASAP. Can you and Barbara and I meet in the conference room in an hour?" He looked at his watch. "Make that an hour and a half."

"Bert, you've got it."

The kid turned and almost ran back to his office. I smiled and said to Joe. "My friend, just when I think that this corporation is headed for the shitter, along comes a kid like that one. Kind of makes it worth going to work in the morning, doesn't it?"

Joe grunted. "Yeah. Now get your lazy ass back to work." He smiled and gave me a playful punch on the shoulder. I got my lazy ass back to work.

Barbara continued with what had been planned for the Thursday show. I made a cameo appearance to promote the Moe Casselman show of the following day. Joe was able to get the so-called "Communications" (i. e. "publicity") department to run on-air promos the next day. They agreed if we'd tape them in our studio. It was a labour of love.

I returned home Thursday evening tired but happy. I felt that we were going to accomplish something that was worthy of Moe's memory. I parked the Orange Monster in the garage and came into the house. I was thinking that I'd have to find the time to get the car thing straightened out. The sooner I got rid of that ugly orange thing, the better I'd like it. I closed the door to the garage. When I turned and looked around the kitchen, it seemed oddly different.

There was a very subtle difference. I couldn't put my finger on it, but things were not as I'd left them when I went to Toronto. Perhaps I'd been too distracted to notice this morning. Then, all I'd wanted to do was to dump my luggage and head for the office. Now that I was home, I was able to take more notice of my surroundings. When you live alone, you become very used to consistency in your surroundings. I'd lived alone for a long time before either Tori or Shauna entered the picture. I thought perhaps I was imagining things. After all, why should anything have changed? I went into the study, mixed myself a drink and sat down.

Suddenly, I heard the front door open and close. I was instantly and totally alert. Someone was in the entrance hall. I heard footsteps. Carefully and quietly, I went through the hall door. I kept to the wall and peeked around. I was greeted by a loud whoop.

"Patty-poo! You're home! Oh good."

I stared at her. I was speechless. I couldn't believe the gall of this woman. When I got my breath back, I advanced on her.

"Tori, would you mind telling me just what the fuck you think you're doing? And how the hell did you get in here?"

"Patty-poo, I have a key. Have you forgotten? And I'm just here to get some of my stuff that you didn't ship to me."

In fact, I had forgotten that she still had a key. Even worse, I'd forgotten to change the locks. I mentally kicked myself. "Get your fucking stuff and get the hell out," I said. I thought about the subtle differences that I'd noticed. "Have you been staying here while I was gone?"

"Just one night. I wanted to make sure the place was well taken care of."

"Well that will definitely be the last night you spend here. Get your shit and get out. Now."

"Patty, what's the matter? Why are you so mean?"

"Aside from the fact that you deliberately tried to break up my relationship with Shauna, and the fact that I've just come from Moe's funeral to find you in a party mood and living in my fucking house without my permission, I have no goddam idea why I'd be upset. Do you?"

"Oh Christ! Moe died?"

"Yes. You must have known. It was front page news all over the country."

"Well shit, I guess that just shows how out of touch I am. So he didn't make it to the same age as George Burns. I always thought they looked alike, you know."

"Tori, do not say another fucking word. Get your shit and get out of here. Now."

"Jesus, you don't have to get so fucking beastly about everything. And as far as you and Shauna are concerned, that was a silly idea from the beginning. You'll thank me in time. You and Ms. Goody Two Shoes wasn't really a good idea. Wouldn't have worked."

"Tori, I'll tell you something that is going to work. If you don't get your ass out of here pronto, I will take some heavy blunt object, perhaps a cast iron pan, and attempt to join it to your head. This is not a joke. I'm deadly serious."

"OK, then let's put in the domestic violence call right now."

"It's not domestic violence. You don't live here, and I've already hit the intruder alarm -- you know, the one that rings directly in the police station?" I held up the control so that she could see that the switch was depressed. "I'll just be defending myself. The light was dim in the hallway, and someone broke into the front door unexpectedly. Oh my, I can see signs of forced entry!"

"There are no fucking signs of forced entry."

"If you make me hit you, there will be, I promise you."

"You're a son of a bitch!"

"And you should know, because you're the original bitch. Get your shit together and get out of here. Now."

"You're threatening me."

"Goddam right, I am."

Tori triumphantly held up a mini-cassette recorder. "It's all on tape! All your threats and everything," she declared, satisfied with herself.

I looked at the recorder. What I saw made me smile "No, it's not on tape," I said.

"What do you mean?"

"You forgot to push the record button. You've just been playing a blank tape. Try to play it back."

Tori looked at me suspiciously. Then she rewound her tape and played it. There was silence. "You asshole," she bellowed.

"Perhaps I am," I allowed, "but now it's time for you to go. Will you go willingly, or should I assist you?"

"I'll go, but you sure as hell haven't heard the last of me."

"I sure as hell hope that I have. Get your shit and get out."

Tori left with her junk. I even called her a cab. When I was sure she was gone, I went into the study and poured myself a Scotch. The bottle jingled against the glass. My hand was shaking. I was still furious. I took a drink and sat down for a few minutes to get control of myself. Then, I got the yellow pages and looked up locksmiths. I chose one that offered 24-hour service and called them. This time, I wouldn't forget to have the locks changed.

After the locksmith left, I called Toronto. I was lucky. I got through to Carole at the Eternity on the first try. "Pat," she said, "don't worry. Everything is in place. I spoke to Robin this morning. She and Shauna will be here tomorrow night, and apparently Shauna doesn't suspect a thing. Hell, from what Robin says, it's as though the kid is in shock. She says that Shauna's acting like a sleepwalker."

"Carole, I know the feeling. I've been there myself for a while now. Thanks for everything. I'll see you tomorrow."

I hung up the phone and went upstairs. I puttered around packing my suitcase. I called the Blueline taxi company to make sure that I'd have a cab to the airport the next day. I was thinking about going to bed when I realized that I hadn't eaten. When I thought about it, I did feel some hunger pangs.

I pawed around the kitchen until I found a suitable leftover to warm up. I ate, not noticing anything about the food. I have no idea what I ate. As far as I was concerned, it was fuel. Something to fill the void so that I could sleep.

And sleep I did, after another Scotch or two and a lorazepam. I knew that I'd been doing the combination of booze and sleeping pills too often lately, but I didn't give a shit. I had to get some sleep tonight. I wanted to be reasonably alert the next day. I had an important show to do, and the following night just might be the most important one of my life.

In the morning, I felt physically refreshed. Mentally, it was another matter. I was nervous and depressed at the same time. I was naturally a bit worried about how the show would go that day. It had to be perfect. I was frightened about what would happen that night. And the depression needed no explanation. It was just as it had been after my mother died. I was gradually coming to the realization that Moe was gone. He no longer existed, at least in this world, and there wasn't a goddam thing that I could do about it. When my mother died, I'd had Moe to comfort me. Now, I had no one. For the first time in my life, I was experiencing true loneliness. I had no one to turn to.

It was time to go to work. I'd be able to wallow in self-pity later.

When I got to the office, there was already a flurry of activity. People were running around from place to place with films and tapes in their hands. Bert was not in his office. On a hunch, I went to the editing suite. There he was, with a couple of technicians. He was giving rapid-fire instructions to them while staring at the screen. He was concentrating so hard that he didn't see me come in. I left quietly.

An hour before we were to tape the show, Bert called Barbara Fielding and me into the studio. We carefully rehearsed -- not the entire script, just all the cues leading into the video and audio clips from Moe's career. Nearly everything went well. There were, as usual, a couple of miscues. Those we rehearsed several more times. By show time, we were ready.

The floor director gave us the countdown. When he reached five, the countdown was silent -- just fingers. The red light on the camera gleamed, and we were off.

"I'm Pat Connolly. Welcome to the broadcast. With me is my friend Barbara Fielding. Barbara, thank you so much for taking care of the show while I've been indisposed."

"Pat, you're very welcome. It's such a pleasure to work with such a great crew. You used the word 'indisposed.' Our viewers will know that you've been away. The reason for that absence is the topic of our show today. Maurice Casselman died this week in Toronto. Today's show is a tribute to Maurice Casselman. You were very close to him, weren't you, Pat?"

"Barbara, that's perhaps an understatement. I knew Moe Casselman for most of my life. It's difficult for me to remember a time when I didn't know Moe."