Chapter 7

All that morning, I was in a daze. I couldn't stop thinking about Moe and my mother. My mother's death taught me several important things. Death is neither noble nor ennobling. Like birth, it is a time when one is at the mercy of others. Unlike birth, it usually comes at a time when we know enough to realize how helpless and disgusting we are. I do not wonder at the fact that many sick or injured animals crawl away to die in private. Death is a solitary experience. We are all alone in death.

My mother was a brilliant, self-reliant woman, but at the very end of her life she had no independence. She didn't even have control of her bowels. Her last words were gibberish. I asked the doctor why this was so. His answer was that the brain is the organ that needs the most oxygen. When the heart and lungs are no longer capable of supplying it, the brain is the first organ to die. In its death-throws, it may try to communicate, but that communication is garbled.

I asked him if my mother had been conscious at the end. His answer was, "Perhaps, but not in the way that you and I understand consciousness."

In other words, he didn't know. I found no consolation in this.

I was also aware that Moe's criticisms of me were, in fact, thoughts I'd been suppressing for some time. I'd had doubts about myself, about Tori and about our relationship, to say nothing of my own conduct. To tell the truth, Tori had begun to terrify me.

In the beginning, we seemed to fit together like a hand in a glove. When we were parted, it felt unnatural. And we were parted after the Banff experience. I returned to my job in Ottawa, and Tori took up her position in Kitchener-Waterloo. But that was to change through the intervention of fate in the person of a distraught conductor.

One afternoon, I was as usual relaxing in the bar at the Chateau Laurier Hotel. An old friend whom I had not seen for some time came in: Marion Benjamin, the conductor of the National Arts Centre Orchestra. I stood up, yelled out "Benjy!" and waved him over. I was perhaps the only person who called him by that nickname. However, I had earned that right. Marion and I had shared many experiences and indeed many women over the years, sometimes simultaneously.

"Benjy, what's the problem? You look as though you just found out that your pet sheep had AIDS."

"Pat, it's no joking matter. I've got a big problem, and unless you happen to have an oboe player in your back pocket, you can't help."

"Benjy, tell me more."

"My second oboe, who also plays English horn, is on maternity leave. Chances are she won't be back. Now, her replacement has a broken wrist. I've put out calls for freelancers from Toronto and Montreal, and that will get us through the next couple of weeks. But that probably means having a different player for every concert. English horn is a pretty sensitive instrument, not that you'd know or care. It may not be heard all that much, but every note it plays is important. I need someone I can count on. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a qualified player at this time of year?"

"Benjy, I just happen to know a great player. She's a Curtis grad," I could see his eyes light up, "and she's brilliant. Unfortunately, she's got a gig. She just started with the K-W Symphony."

"Do you have any idea what her contract is like? Is there a probationary period? Could she get out of it?"

"Whoa! Slow down. I don't know any of that stuff. But I can get her on the phone, if you'd like."

"I'd like. Of course, she'll have to play an audition."

"Aren't you getting ahead of yourself? Let's talk to the young lady first."

I hit the speed-dial button on my cell phone for Tori's number. I hoped that she was home. She was.

"Tori, how are you, sweetheart?"

"Pat! God, I was just thinking about you. Christ I wish I was with you in Ottawa instead of in this shithole."

"Well, there just might be something that can be done about that. I'm sitting in Zoe's with Marion Benjamin. Yes, that Marion Benjamin. And I think he'd like to talk to you. Here he is."

The upshot of that conversation was that the National Arts Centre Orchestra soon had a new second oboe and English horn player. It turned out that she did have a probationary period. Either party could terminate the contract with two weeks notice. Tori simply packed up and came to live with me in Ottawa. The manager of the K-W Symphony probably got fired.

For her premiere concert with the NACO, she played the English horn solo in Sibelius' Swan of Tuonela. She was brilliant. As Groucho Marx once said, "There wasn't a dry seat in the house."

Tori had a job, and I had a girlfriend. A crazy, funny and scary girlfriend. But when the lawyers from Frank investigated my home life, they found us happily ensconced in the Glebe.

But how the hell did Moe find out about that Inuit girl in Winnipeg? And did he know the whole story? I certainly hoped not.

I'd guess that episode took place five or six months into my relationship with Tori. It all began innocently enough.

There was a federal-provincial conference held in Winnipeg. Of course, that meant that I had to be there. I had to be there. I have no idea why people would chose to go to Winnipeg in the winter. The high temperature is often minus 20 celsius. Even Winnipeggers, no, especially Winnipeggers, limit the amount of time they spend out of doors. The result can be a sort of claustrophobia. However, there are ways around that.

The hotel that I preferred to stay in was called the Lombard. Now, it's called something else, but it's still basically the same. In addition to being the best hotel in town, it was also well-situated. You simply took the elevator down to the concourse level, and you could walk all over the downtown area without going outdoors. Hell, you could shop in shorts and a T-shirt when it was minus 30 outside.

On the day in question, I'd invited some of the other news guys covering the conference to come to my room following the afternoon session. I planned to serve drinks and some nuts or something. When I'm on the road, I always supply my own booze. The prices of the hotel mini bars are fucking outrageous. I'd just been to the liquor store in the concourse to restock my bar. I stopped at the little convenience store under the hotel. since I recalled seeing a good supply of nuts and chips there.

I was the only customer in the store. I started looking around at what was available. The sales clerk came over. She said, "Can I help you find something, Sir?"

I looked at her. She was a young aboriginal woman. Like many aboriginals, she had a stocky build and wasn't very tall. But she had quite a pretty face and was very pleasant. I told her I was looking for snacks, mainly nuts. She proceeded to show me every nut in the place. I thought it rather odd that she was taking so much time with me. We both knew that I'd probably buy just twenty or thirty bucks worth of nuts. I made my selection and was paying for them when I found out.

"Excuse me, sir. You're Pat Connolly, aren't you?"

"Yes, I must confess that I am."

"Oh God. I'm your biggest fan. I watch your show nearly every day. That series that you did on First Nations rights and land claims was wonderful."

Well, I hadn't done much of the actual work on that series. Most of the work had been done by our research team, but I accepted the praise. And I took a better look at this young lady. She was quite cute. She had short dark hair and a little stud in her nose. I thought that since she had shown me her nuts perhaps I should arrange to show her mine.

"You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Laura. Laura Pemik."

"Your name sounds Inuit."

"It is. I'm from Rankin Inlet. I'm here going to the University of Manitoba. I'd like to go into journalism, but I'm doing a basic arts degree first."

"That's a very good idea. I never took journalism in university. Nor did most of the people I work with. I've always thought that you should get a good education first and then worry about the journalism part. Maybe I'm just old fashioned, but that's my opinion."

"Wow, I'd say that your opinion counts for a lot. You're one of the best journalists in the country."

"Well, thank you Laura. I really appreciate your saying that. And you've been very helpful. Tell you what, I'm here covering the federal-provincial conference. We're getting tomorrow night off. I'm staying at the Lombard. How would you like to have dinner with me at the hotel? My treat, of course."

"Oh. Let me catch my breath. Are you serious?"

"Of course I am. We can talk about journalism. I can tell you where I think it's going, and you tell me where you'd like to go."

"Well, sure, that would be terrific. Really, I can't believe it. But if you're serious, I get off work at 6:00 tomorrow. Then I'd like to go home to freshen up and change. How about 7:30? Is that too late?"

"Not at all. I'll see you tomorrow evening at 7:30 in the dining room. It's almost exactly above this store."

"How dressy is it?"

"It's not terribly dressy. People wear everything from suits to jeans. I'm usually one of the suits because of my job. But, since I'm taking the night off, I'll just wear a shirt and slacks. Wear something nice that makes you look even prettier."

Laura blushed. "OK. I'll see you tomorrow night at 7:30."

When I got back to my room, I called the restaurant for a reservation. Then I set up the bar and the nuts. I was in a great mood. I tried to remember if I'd had an Eskimo piece before. I didn't think that I had. The next night should hold great promise.

I was a terrific host for the news guys that evening. I was in a great mood, thanks to Laura, and again thanks to Laura, I had lots of nuts and chips. Of course, there was a lot of liquor. We all rolled down to the restaurant in a glowing state of inebriation. However, I backed off the booze after supper. The last thing I wanted was a hangover.

The next day, the sessions went by fairly painlessly. As usual, the main items of discussion were health care and public transportation. Who paid for what and how the money was to be distributed. As usual, nothing was decided, but we got plenty of stuff we could use on the show. On balance, it was a good day.