This Cake is for the Party (9 page)

We ate dinner around the dining room table behind the couch, close enough to the living room to watch the fire in the wood stove. It was already well past dark and still no Evelyn and Stephen.

I'm a little concerned, I said.

You know Evelyn, said Nina.

Have you two spent much time with this Stephen guy? I asked.

Brooks had used his knife to make a grid on the top of his lasagna, and he was cutting out square pieces, eating them one at a time. The shape of his lasagna on the plate was not unlike an oversized Tetris piece.

Brooks has, said Nina.

Brooks looked up, eyebrows raised. I've played squash with him, he said.

Wait—you work together, right? I asked. I couldn't remember how Evelyn had met Stephen. I thought that she'd worked with him, but then it came back to me— Brooks had set them up together.

We work on the same floor, Brooks said. We don't actually work on the same team.

Stephen's in legal services, whispered Nina.

Is he actually a lawyer? I asked.

Whatever, said Nina. He's loaded.

Is she happy with him?

Nina shrugged and pierced a grey wedge with the tines of her fork. I really like the mushrooms in here, she said. Is this shiitake?

Sometimes a portobello mushroom can taste just like a juicy steak, Brooks said.

Brooks proposed to Nina last November, on a weekend trip to Montreal. When they were settled in the hotel, a four-storey stone building in the old part of town, Nina asked him, Do you think we'll get married soon? Brooks brushed her off, so as not to ruin the surprise. Nah, he said, why rush it? Meanwhile, he had the ring in his pocket. Nina was so upset by his nonchalance, she locked herself in the bathroom, weeping. Brooks finally proposed to her on the other side of the bathroom door. She opened the door and saw him on one knee. He said, I didn't want to do it this way, but you're just so miserable.

Hey Brooks, I said. Do you know any other rich single men at your office?

Ha! Brooks laughed and nodded, like I'd made a great joke.

I'm serious, I said. Is there anyone?

There was a pause. Nina wrinkled her nose and tilted her head towards me. Lilian, she said, I don't think any of the guys in Brooks's office are really your type.

Why not? I asked.

Oh, you know, Nina said. You need someone who's more . . . She opened her hand in front of her as though making an offering. Conscious, she finished.

You found someone great, and he works in that office, I said to her.

Yes, but we're different, said Nina.

Who, you and Brooks?

You and me, she said.

I tried a bite of my lasagna. It wasn't too bad.

I'm exhausted, Nina said. She rested her fork on her plate, tines down. I might have to go to bed right after dinner. Lilian, do you have earplugs?

Not here, I said. Do you want to hear a little bit about Go-Manchura first?

Oh, I think it's too late tonight, she said. Maybe in the morning, we can have a little sit-down about it then? Do you mind?

The lasagna was very good, said Brooks. He'd finished his grid of a meal and folded his napkin in a tidy rectangle beside the plate.

I would love to tell you more about the health benefits, I said.

Nina nodded. If you crunch up toilet paper and lick it a little, she said, the paper will mould to the inside of your ear canal.

There are a few ways to sell the products: through friends, through strangers, and through turning strangers into friends. The Go-Manchura DVD promised that the easiest way to the path of health, wealth, happiness and success was by helping your friends first.

A slight tang pinched the air as I cleaned up after dinner: the vinegar from the salad, the leftover Chardonnay in the bottom of my guests' glasses. I hesitated before I drank their extra puddles of wine. I know it was a little unsanitary, but it wasn't like they were there to see it. They were upstairs having sex in the master bedroom. It was very loud: Nina called out like an exotic night bird from the Amazon.

I was dozing on the couch, the stumpy black bits in the wood stove still glowing cadmium, when I heard a long scratch at the door. I thought it was Evelyn. I didn't even think about why she'd be scratching instead of knocking. I froze when I opened the door, which was probably not the best reaction. There stood a black dog. It could have attacked me easily—I didn't even move, I just looked at it. It was a medium-sized dog that must have had some greyhound in it, because its face was long and pointy. The dog trotted in and immediately made for the braided rug that lay at the base of the wood stove. She turned in the three proverbial circles and exhaled a breath as she lay down. She had a very bushy tail, like a fox, and in less than a minute she'd inserted her nose deep into her fur, closed her eyes, and fallen asleep.

I began to feel anxious. But it was two-thirty in the morning; I couldn't call the caretaker of the cottages at that hour. I reasoned that she probably belonged to a timeshare guest at one of the other cottages, obviously friendly, not dangerous. I fixed myself a Go-Manchura tangerine drink with several drops of the Aspen tincture, meant for vague and persistent fears, and settled myself back under the blanket on the couch. But I was far too uneasy to sleep in the presence of the dog. So I dropped a little shot of vodka in my drink to help me relax, and crept upstairs quietly, hoping she wouldn't follow me. She didn't. I slept in the bed I'd made up for Evelyn and Stephen. First thing in the morning, I would call someone.

It's just a nominal fee, I told Brooks. Then you get everything Go-Manchura makes at wholesale prices.

I was slicing the bread for toast, making a mess of the oats or kamut flakes or whatever it was that fell off the top of it, scattering onto the floor. Brooks was leaning against the counter, reading the fine print on the back of a Go-Manchura drink packet. He wore a bright orange sweater that looked lovely against the yellow birch leaves outside.

Is it a drug? he asked.

No, I told him. It's a mushroom. It's like a mushroom, but it's more complicated. It works like an herb. Like herbal medicine.

A flash of black ribbon came boiling through the door and into the kitchen, streaking around my legs, becoming canine as it slowed. Nina, layered in fleece and Gore-Tex, closed the door behind her. She unwound a long white scarf from her neck, looped it over a wooden peg next to the door, and turned to me, her pink cheeks shiny.

I can't believe I forgot my camera, she said. The frost is melting and all of the sparkles are turning to beads of water.

Toast? asked Brooks, holding up a slice in the air.

Nina dug off her rubber boots one heel at a time. Coffee! she said.

The dog was lying in front of the wood stove again, nibbling at her paws, pulling out weeds and burrs. I had called the caretaker's number, but she had an old message on her voice mail: it informed me that she would be away until one o'clock the previous Thursday. I had nothing to feed the dog, but then, she didn't seem hungry.

I have some Go-Manchura coffee I'd love for you to try, I said to Nina. I found the box inside the cupboard and slid three packets out. The kettle had been whistling just after Nina took the dog outside. It was still hot. It wouldn't take long to re-boil.

It's instant? said Nina.

Look, I said. It tastes so good, and it has much less caffeine than regular coffee.

Wait—it's decaf? said Brooks.

It's medicinal, I said.

The caretaker stood in the middle of our cabin, her hands stuffed tight in her jean pockets, and she shook her head. Wow, she said, that is a really cute dog.

Nina and Brooks had gone upstairs for a “nap” after breakfast, and I went down to the caretaker's cabin at the bottom of the hill to ask her about the dog. She had wanted to come back with me to see the dog herself. On the walk back up the hill, I caught myself doing that thing with my thumbs again—clenching them inside my fists and squeezing. But when I opened the door, the love circus had quieted. They may even have been sleeping.

I watched the dog lying by the fire. But where did she come from? I said. It's like she thinks she lives here.

The dog was watching us, eyes open, her nose pointed into the tail. The fur sprayed into her face and around her neck like a feather boa. She really did look elegant.

I haven't heard anything about a missing dog, said the caretaker. I could ask around town this afternoon.

Could you do that, please? I asked.

Evelyn's not coming, Nina called from upstairs. The caretaker jumped.

I didn't know you had company, she said.

They arrived last night, I said.

She just texted me, Nina called. She got some contract and can't leave the city.

I heard the water go on in the bathroom. Brooks cleared his throat in the glass shower stall and the echo sounded like an operatic barnyard animal.

Oh well! I shouted up the stairs. Thanks for telling me! The dog raised her head at the noise and gave me a look.

Sorry, I said to her.

The caretaker turned to leave. I'll let you enjoy the rest of your weekend, she said.

Wait, I said. What should I do about the dog?

She shrugged. She looks fine, she said. I don't think you have to do anything.

Okay, yes, you can buy a similar ingredient at a health food store, I said to Brooks. He was lacing up his hiking boots by the door. Nina was standing beside him with her rubber boots already pulled up over the legs of her jeans. But, I continued, the thing about Go-Manchura is that it's certified organic, the ingredients are standardized, and the quality is guaranteed.

The dog had come into the kitchen to see what was going on. She sat down at Nina's feet and watched me with what I thought was a cool eye. Her tail brushed up into Brooks's bootlaces, and he pushed it away so he could see what he was doing.

Do they have a website? asked Brooks. He fitted a ribbed black hat onto his head and zipped up his tube jacket. The dog stood up, expecting to go for another walk.

I looked at the drink crystals, said Nina, and sugar is the first ingredient.

It's organic cane sugar, I said. It's unrefined and one hundred percent natural.

Nina folded her white scarf in half. She wrapped it around the back of her neck, slipped the two ends through the loop, and pulled it snug. The lasagna was good, she said.

Go-Manchura products are so restorative, I told them. You may feel a renewed amount of energy. Did you wake up feeling refreshed? I turned to Brooks. You can find them at
Go-Manchura.com
, I told him. But my client code number is
738
.

Nina looked at me and sighed. What is this? she asked.

What do you mean? I said.

I think maybe I should just tell you straight up, Lilian. We're not interested.

I focused on the balls of fabric that had pilled on her scarf. The scarf was actually an oatmeal colour, not white at all. Her chin jabbed into the scarf like a chisel. Brooks stared down at the dog. The dog looked at something behind the door that none of us could see.

We think that this whole thing is kind of creepy, Nina said.

What Nina means is that this is probably not for us, said Brooks.

I wouldn't be telling you about these products unless I believed in them, I said. It's such a powerful ingredient. It's been proven to cure migraines.

Stop saying the word
products
, said Nina.

Do you know what the ingredient is? asked Brooks.

It's a pyramid scheme, said Nina.

It's like an ancient mushroom. But with a more complex biological structure.

A pyramid scheme that uses mushrooms for world domination! said Brooks.

Technically, it's not a mushroom, I corrected him.

After they left for their walk—all three of them, including the dog—I sat down at the kitchen table with my Go-Manchura portfolio, sales graph and marketing plan. The corporate philosophy is printed on the front cover of the portfolio:

Spiritual and financial wealth lead to a life of happiness
and wholeness. At Go-Manchura, we strive to help
you attain this. Success is possible when we attain our
life objectives. We help you cultivate good leadership
skills and improve your interpersonal communication
skills, and through this you will find success. Our
company creates a loving community that expands
beyond the individual.

Nina had left her pirate boots on the mat inside the door. One was standing exactly upright and the other was folded over, like a dog's ear. At that moment, I would have traded everything I had for those boots.

The dog and I had a photo shoot out in the leaves later that afternoon, while Brooks and Nina packed their things. I wanted to make a poster with pictures, to help find her owners. It was like she knew what it was, to pose for the camera. She sat on her butt, her tail flashing out behind her, and gave me her profile. I took a few shots of her walking towards me, her nose foreshortened in the lens, bulbous and gentle. I threw sticks for her and snapped shots when she was running back with the branch in her mouth, tongue flapping pink underneath it. I named her Friday, for the day she came to the door. I know it was a Saturday morning, technically, but Friday suited her personality. As soon as I named her, I knew that she'd probably leave.

At one point she looked back at the cottage, dropped her stick like a cold stone, and trotted to the door. She must have somehow heard the sound of Brooks and Nina coming downstairs with their luggage. She sat on her haunches, staring at the door, waiting for them to come outside. They packed their duffle bags back in the trunk of the Volvo, and Nina opened the back door to tuck her rubber boots behind the passenger seat. Friday, ready for exactly this moment, jumped in the car. She gave her usual smug and content expression: the sense of entitlement one is more accustomed to seeing in the face of a cat. I tried to get her out, calling her by her new name, as if she would recognize it. Brooks opened the door on the other side and gave her butt a push, but she step-danced all over the back seat, making it difficult for him to get a good angle. In the end, it was Nina who coaxed her out. She bent forward at the hip and patted her thighs, saying, Come. Come on, girl. Out.