Chapter 7

I'd started the day with in a very happy mood -- self satisfied, even. That was gone. The combination of meeting Paddi-Ann and hearing Morley's comments had brought me back to earth rapidly. So there it was: the age thing. And there was also classism in Morley's comments. Stacie wasn't of "our" class.

I thought that I was too young to be a silly old fool. I shouldn't be going through change-of-life already. Was I wrong? Could this thing work? I'd thought that both Stacie and I went into our relationship with our eyes open. Perhaps not. But in my heart I knew that no matter what happened I couldn't and wouldn't give her up. I'd never experienced the kind of wholehearted, selfless love that was natural to Stacie. Whatever happened, I thought that we could stick it out. Someday, we'd be sitting by the fire surrounded by our grandchildren, and we'd laugh about the people who thought that our relationship couldn't last.

As for Frank Morley, I resolved to ignore his remarks. In the Canadian system, law students have to "article" to complete their training. Articling students, like interns in medicine, have completed their academic training. Articling gives them training in the real world. In some firms, they may provide cheap labour. Lawyers sometimes compare them to medical interns in teaching hospitals. Mack and I had resolved to make the experience in our firm as rewarding as possible to the students. However, their future could be in our hands. A negative report from a senior partner in the firm could hurt their chances, for a couple of years at least. Morley was already embarrassed enough. Oh I'd take an extra look at his work just to make sure. But I wasn't about to let a silly comment jeopardize his future.

I laughed to myself as I thought about how the coffee room story would be embellished as it made its way around the office. In due time, I was sure that Larissa would give me the version she heard. She'd probably be the last to hear, since everyone knew that she and I were close friends.

Latoya called me that same afternoon. "Jack," she said, "were you serious about my coming to work for you?"

"Yes, of course. I'm not in the habit of saying such things frivolously. When can you start?"

"That's just it," she said, "I can start any time. I spoke to my supervisor. She says that, since it's the slow season in traffic court, she thinks that they'd waive the usual notice clause. She's a really nice person, and she seemed genuinely excited for me. She said that working at a real, honest-to-God top law firm would be great in my resumé no matter what."

"Great. When would you like to start?"

She said quietly, "Would next week be too soon?"

I laughed. "Not at all," I said, "that will give Stacie a chance to show you around personally."

That evening, I recounted my conversation with Latoya to Stacie. "That's just like Toy," she said, "She's a real go-getter. I love that girl."

"Tell me more about her."

"Well, when my mum and I went to live in the Park, Toy was one of the first people I met. She was three years older than I was. She was already in junior high, and I was a snotty-nosed brat. But she took me under her wing. I've been there ever since."

"OK. Tell me more."

"Toy wasn't much liked by a lot of people. You see, she was known as a 'brain' in school. She got great marks always. She worked very hard to get them, just like I have, but other people didn't see that. They just thought that she was the teacher's pet. I think that made her try harder to fit in. She was always pretty, but she soon found ways, sometimes the wrong ways, I think, to emphasize her best points. I could understand why she did it, but I didn't worry as much about how I looked. And I didn't want to. That's one of the main reasons that I went to St. Joseph College. There weren't any boys there, and all the girls all wore the same uniform. But Toy was in the public system. I think that she had the peer pressure thing a lot harder than I did. Then there was Ben."

"Who was Ben?"

"Ben was this kid that she met when she was in grade twelve. He was a white kid, really handsome and from a well-off family. He dated Toy for a while, and she was in love with him. Since we were best friends, she shared all of this with me. I remember how torn Toy was about whether she should have sex with Ben. In the end, she gave in. She was totally devoted to him. She'd do anything for him that she could, and I don't mean just the physical thing. But some of the physical stuff was very hard for her. I remember how she cried when she told me about how much it hurt when he put it in her bum. But she let him do it. She loved him, and she thought he loved her, too. Right up until..."

"Until what?"

"Ben went out with a bunch of his guy friends from school. They were kidding him about his black girlfriend from 'the projects.' Ben made some remark about 'once black, never go back.' And then he said that they hadn't lived until they'd had some black sex. Only he didn't say 'black.' He used the 'N' word. And he didn't say 'sex.' He used the 'C' word. It wasn't long before the story was all over her school Toy was crushed. I don't think she's dated since then."

I couldn't think of anything to say for a moment. How would a sensitive teenage girl react to hearing that her beloved boyfriend had called her a "nigger cunt?" At last, I said lamely, "God, what a terrible thing for her. The poor kid."

"Yeah. She was a mess for a while. In some emotional ways, she still is."

"That explains how she reacted on Friday night."

"Yeah. Of course, Toy was really happy for me. But I know that she was thinking how much she'd wanted to be in my place. A few years ago, she thought she'd be the first of us to have a ring on her finger. I really want things to go well for her. I owe her so much. When I met her, I was a frightened, confused eleven-year-old girl. She gave me confidence in myself. She's even given me a place to stay sometimes when things got too bad at home. Even my interest in law comes from Toy. She's always wanted to be a lawyer. Now, thanks to you, maybe she will be."

Stacie and I continued to be marvelously compatible. Our home life was serene, helped no end by the always efficient and charming Charlotte. Our lovemaking became even better, hard as that was to be believed. Stacie was a generous and passionate lover. She was the aggressor as often as I was. It was not unusual for me to park the car in the garage, say hello to Charlotte, and then be led upstairs by the hand. Once in our room, I could look forward to marvelous sex. It functioned as a great appetizer.

Not that one needed to work up an appetite for Charlotte's cooking. Years ago, someone had given me a subscription to Gourmet magazine. Then, I got a free trial subscription to Food and Wine. For some reason, I'd maintained both subscriptions. I had bound volumes of both magazines in a bookshelf in my kitchen. I hardly ever opened them, except to look for barbecue recipes. Charlotte, however, was mining the collection to good effect. Our table was the equal of any restaurant in town. I had serious worries about my waistline.

One evening, after Charlotte had surprised us with a particularly wonderful meal of venison, the three of us were enjoying coffee and brandy in the study when Stacie introduced a new topic into the conversation. "Jack, if we're going to be married before school is in session, we really have to start planning the wedding," she said.

I groaned. I think that all men instinctively dislike weddings. I certainly wasn't averse to being married to Stacie. If someone could just have waved a magic wand to make it happen, I'd have been more than happy. No, it was what one had to go through to achieve the married state.

Charlotte stood up. "I guess I should leave you two alone to make your plans," she said.

Stacie looked distressed. "No, Aunt Charlotte. You're an important part of this wedding. You promised to give me away, remember? Besides, I need your advice. It's obvious that this one," she punched my arm, "is not going to be much help."

I smiled at her. "I'm afraid you're right, sweet cakes. I'd be most grateful if you and Charlotte and Latoya and whoever else plan the whole goddam thing. I'll do whatever is required. I'll wear the monkey suit and dance to any tune you play."

Over the next few days, there was a flurry of activity from Stacie and Charlotte. They'd extracted from me all the names and addresses of my family members and close friends. They'd started a spreadsheet on the computer. They had family members and friends from both sides. They were working on a seating chart for the church and the reception. Charlotte had checked out the prices and facilities of the various banquet halls. Stacie was in sole charge of the arrangements for the wedding service. That's where the problem arose.

I came home from a round of golf one Friday afternoon to find Stacie in tears. I took her in my arms and asked, "What's wrong, baby girl?"

"Oh Jack, ever since I can remember I always wanted to be married in the Catholic Church. But we can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because the Cardinal has a ruling that no one in the Archdiocese of Toronto can be married in a church unless they've been a member of that parish for a year. I've never really joined a parish. I've gone to church a lot, but not always to the same one. So we can't be married in the church. This is just terrible."

I held my sobbing girl in my arms, trying to comfort her. In the back of my mind, an idea was forming. Suddenly, I had it.

"Darling, I believe that I know a priest who will marry us."

Stacie stopped sobbing and looked up at me, daring to hope. "Who?"

"He's a friend of a friend. He's a Jesuit -- a brilliant guy. In fact, he's a former college president. His name is Father Jack Costello. Jack and I have had dinner and drinks together several times. I think that he finds me good company, partly because I'm not Catholic. Anyway, here's the point. Jack is associated with Our Lady of Lourdes, the Jesuit church on Sherbourne Street. As he once explained to me, the Jesuits are in the archdiocese, but they're not of the archdiocese. They have their own boss, who's called a 'Provincial.' As long as they don't make too big a thing of it, they don't necessarily have to abide by all the rules the Cardinal lays down. I'd be willing to bet that Jack will marry us at Lourdes."

"Oh my gosh. Can you call him? Can we talk to him?"

I called Jack Costello. He was noncommittal, but he didn't say no. He would interview us the next day, Sunday, in the afternoon. He'd come to our house.

Over the next week, we continued to talk to Father Costello. Stacie's mood vacillated between exhilaration and despair. One evening when we were on the way home after one our counseling sessions, she collapsed in tears. She sobbed, "Oh Jack, Fr. Costello will never marry us. He keeps finding so many reasons why he shouldn't."

I patted her hand. "Precious, please don't worry. Jack just has to do his priest thing. He's making sure that we're serious. That's all. Believe me."

It turned out that I was right. Finally, Jack agreed to officiate. We set a date, August 17th, and saw Jack Costello regularly for marriage instruction.

Shortly after we began our marriage classes, I got a call from my niece Heather in Calgary. She wanted to come to Toronto for a visit. Naturally, she wanted to stay with me. I told her that couldn't foresee any problems and that I'd call her to confirm. Of course, I wanted Stacie to agree to the visit.

At first, Stacie was leery. The idea frightened her, she said. I tried to tell her that Heather was just a fairly typical teenager. She was fifteen, four years younger than Stacie, and not a terrifying person in any way. Besides, I reasoned, if Stacie was to be part of the family it was about time that she met at least one of them. In the end, she agreed. I phoned Heather, and the visit was arranged.

Heather was the only daughter of my sister Sally and her husband Jean-Pierre Lemire. Sally was a thoracic surgeon, and Jean-Pierre was in real estate. Between them, they probably made significantly more money than I did. Heather wanted for nothing. She was spoiled, but I wouldn't call her a brat. She was a sweet kid, and, even though we were separated by most of a continent, I'd always felt close to her. I was looking forward to her visit. Stacie, on the other hand, was not.

Heather arrived that Friday. Stacie reluctantly accompanied me to the airport to meet her. We waited at the appropriate gate. Stacie was doing her best to impress her fingerprints into the flesh of my left hand. There was a steady stream of passengers coming out of the gate. Then, there was Heather.

Actually, I heard her before I saw her. "Uncle Jack," she squealed and launched herself in my direction. I was caught between the two girls. Heather was doing her best to squeeze me to death, and Stacie was unwilling to release my hand. In retrospect, I realize that the scene must have appeared quite comical.

At last Heather released me and turned to Stacie. "And you must be Stacie," she said. "Gosh, you're beautiful! What are you doing with this silly old fart?" She poked me in the ribs. "I'm sure we're going to be great friends. It will be great having somebody besides this stuffy old relic to talk to."

"He's not stuffy at all," Stacie began. Then she realized that Heather was joking. She laughed along with Heather. The two girls embraced. It looked as though they already on their way to being friends.

I led the way to the car. Heather and Stacie followed chattering away. I couldn't help but be amused by the physical difference in the two. Both girls were beautiful but in very different ways. Stacie was petite and curvy, while Heather was tall and slim. Stacie was a golden blonde, and Heather was a brunette. Heather had an almost olive complexion while Stacie was fair. In an odd way, their differences seemed to compliment each other.

At the end of the procession was a Skycap, wheeling a cart filled with Heather's luggage. I was glad that the Mercedes had a large trunk.

The two girls chatted nonstop all the way home. At last we arrived. Heather was to stay in the en suite room on the second floor. We took turns hauling her bags upstairs For the first time, I wished that my house had an elevator. At last the bags were all deposited in Heather's room. Heather commandeered Stacie, and I went downstairs. I was badly in need of a drink.

I took my drink up to my office. I thought that I'd take the time to read up on a couple of cases before supper. I was making pretty good progress when Charlotte's voice came over the intercom. "Jack, supper's nearly ready. Will you please collect the girls and bring them down?"

"Sure thing," I said. I headed down the hall. As I neared Heather's room, I could hear the girls chattering away.

"You know, Stacie," Heather's voice said, "you're so fucking beautiful. It's just not fair. I'd kill to have tits like yours. I mean, I'm not flat chested, but I'm barely a B cup. You've gotta be at least a D, right?"

"Yes, about that," Stacie replied. "But I don't see how you can envy me. First of all, these," she was obviously indicating her breasts, "make it hard to get clothes that fit. They're way too big for the rest of me. But the worst thing is the way that some guys stare at them. I'm tired of having people talk to my chest. I feel like saying, 'Hey, I'm up here. My boobs can't talk.'"