The Homeless Millionaire

I'd planned to see the Noyces first thing in the morning to schedule our big talk later in the day. But they left the house as early as if it was a regular weekday, not a Saturday.

I did the bathroom thing and retreated to my room to ponder the mystery of the disappearing Noyces. Then I remembered that it was Veteran's Day. Veteran's Day was big in Canada because it marked the end of the first war Canada got involved in as an independent nation. At school I was told that this war—World War I—forged Canada's identity as a nation. Most likely this was thanks to the nameplates on the graves of the fallen soldiers: they stated the corpse within was Canadian. Previously, it would have been labelled as British.

I wondered what could have made the Noyces leave so early. Were they taking part in the parade? Whatever they were up to took a long time: they still hadn't come home by noon, at which time I got fed up with sitting around and waiting.

The weather wasn't too bad—there actually were brief moments of sunshine now and then—so I had a swig of my personal scotch and went for a walk in the park. It wasn't a good move, there were lots of people around and a few dogs too, and one of those was a stupid white poodle that kept yapping at me.

I went back home before I'd finished my park cigarette and got there just in time to see the Noyces return. I also got my first glimpse of David, Birgit's husband.

From a distance he looked a lot like his brother, John the plumber. He was in the act of shepherding two small girls inside the house and I was shocked to see that they weren't the nasty little witches of my imagination. They both had blond hair braided into plaits behind the ears and they actually looked sweet, the kind of kids that get shown in TV commercials. Appearances sure could be deceiving.

Birgit was unloading numerous cartons and bags full of groceries and stuff from the car and when I got near I asked if I could help. I surprised her, popping up like that—the phantom tenant offering assistance. But she was happy to have help: we both had to make a couple of trips to carry everything in.

David Noyce was coming down the stairs just as I was going up after scheduling the big talk for three o'clock with Birgit. I said hello and he said hello and Birgit informed him we'd be holding a little conference later in the afternoon.

He said 'oh' as if this was unpleasant news. Up close, he still looked a lot like his brother except that he was rather gaunt in comparison—thin and tall, just like Birgit. The pouches under his eyes were much smaller and he was wearing an aftershave that smelled sour when I passed him on the stairs.

I killed time until the big meeting by eating a couple of apples and smoking half a dozen cigarettes; I was too jumpy to sit down and draw or paint something. At exactly one minute to three I left my room, carrying the standard-sized Johnnie Walker. The two witches were in their room. They seemed to be talking to themselves. Maybe they were casting spells.

The Noyces were waiting for me in the living room on the ground floor. When I entered, they were standing by the front bay window, conferring in low voices and smoking, which surprised me: it made them human. They looked worried when they turned to face me when I entered, and it was funny to see how their mood improved when they saw me carrying their favourite booze. Dave was very swift to procure glasses, and asked me me twice if I wanted ice; I didn't.

"To all the veterans," I said, raising my glass. We all drank and lit cigarettes and engaged in polite banter during which I learned why they'd left the house so early in the morning. They had a grandpa in a nursing home who'd actually fought in the First World War, and won a chestful of medals along with a string of promotions ending with lieutenant-colonel.

He was at his most communicative early in the morning, and they'd been to see him and subsequently did some heavy-duty shopping at a supermarket that was open in spite of the holiday. Their daughters had taken that chance to blackmail them into buying a couple of toys.

I questioned the Noyces skillfully, and found out the toys in question were Ken dolls. Birgit had tried to persuade them to at least get Ken and Barbie, but the two witches would have none of that. They both wanted Kens, and after they got them they spent the ride home arguing which of the two identical dolls was better-looking. In short, the adult Noyces really were in need of some Johnnie Walker, and the fact I'd brought the guy along resulted in a very convivial and friendly atmosphere, just like I'd hoped.

When Dave got up to pour a fresh round of drinks for everyone, I said:

"I found a job a couple of days ago. As a kind of gofer at a real estate office not far from here. They're called Robinson and Klein."

"Really?!" Birgit and Dave exclaimed simultaneously, like a silly chorus in a show. Then Birgit said:

"But that's wonderful!"

"That's great," said Dave, shaking his head in appreciation while bringing us our drinks. He'd poured everyone what looked like a quadruple scotch. I waited until they'd tasted it, then said:

"Yeah, I'm glad I found it too. You see, I was supposed to get some money this week. Actually, a fair bit of money. But yesterday I found out I won't be getting it for quite a while. So this means I'll have to find something less expensive than your studio, and find it fast. I'm really sorry, I really like this place, but I don't have a choice. I can only give you a month's notice. I'll be moving on the sixth, next month."

It hit them hard. My good Samaritan acts with the groceries and the Johnnie Walker had elevated me to preferred lodger status. The impact was huge because prior to this, I'd been the Invisible Man. And giving them notice right after informing them that I'd found a job was a double whammy.

Whether I liked it or not, I'd picked up a lot of tactics from my Dad the diplomat. When he had both bad news and good news to announce, he always led with the good news. People who'd just heard some good news weren't affected as badly by the bad news. But hearing bad news first, they became grumpy and unresponsive to any good news that followed.

My father's professional diplomatic tactic worked very well on the Noyces. They were stunned.

"But you just said you found a job," Birgit said.

"At Robinson and Klein," said Dave. "I know them. They are a very reputable firm."

I was glad to hear that. It was good to know I would be working for a reputable firm. I said:

"Yes, I found a job. But I have to wait until the end of the month for a paycheque that amounts to something. And I've got less than hundred bucks to last me in the meantime. I was supposed to get a couple of hundred bucks this week, but that didn't happen. There's just no way I can afford to pay rent. I need to eat and drink."

There was no way they could disagree with that. They'd really been going at their drinks after I hit them with the news, and their glasses were empty. I said:

"Dave, could I have another drink? I don't want to appear like I'm a lush but I'm really upset over this. I'm really sorry, guys."

Dave got up with alacrity and prepared fresh drinks very swiftly while Birgit and I stared into the distance, sad and silent. When Birgit felt the full glass slide into her paw, she said:

"Maybe we can work something out."

"Yes," Dave agreed instantly. "Let's see if we can't work something out."

"I'd love to work something out," I told them. "I really like this place. That's why I took it even though I couldn't really afford it. When the sun is out, the light up there is just fantastic."

They looked at me blankly when I started to babble about the light, so I explained:

"I'm, uh, I guess I'm an artist. I mean I'm under contract with a gallery and so on. Good light is very important to me."

"An artist!"

"Really?"

Of course, it ended with my having to go upstairs to fetch my sketchpad. I told them my best pieces were with the gallery and left them to look through the pictures while I poured myself another scotch. The level in the bottle was alarmingly low.

They loved my stuff. The quarreling couple made them laugh out loud. The booze had something to do with that, and maybe also their personal experience with each other. Whatever. They said I was a genius, and Birgit actually said it twice. Dave poured the last of my bottle and brought out one of his, same size, same type, and expressed his sorrow at not having any green tobacco.

When Birgit heard that, she threw him a really sharp, hard look and gave me a worried glance and made a demonstration of offering Dave a cigarette. I excused myself from this charade and left and returned a while later with a couple of thin but lethal joints rolled with the Cambodian killer weed.

Everything progressed very smoothly from there. After the first joint, they gave me until the end of the year to catch up with the rent. After the second joint and about halfway through Dave's Johnnie Walker, my rent was reduced to fifty a week. There was another charade involved, Dave put on a big act when he heard I was paying sixty, and Birgit pretended to beg his forgiveness for misreading the note he'd left her when she was preparing the lease. It was supposedly scribbled in a hurry, and Dave's five looked like a six: the rent was supposed to be fifty a week all along.

There was also a story about the previous tenant's constant demands to turn up the thermostat and long, elaborate cooking sessions that used up lots of gas and lots of Birgit's patience. I could see that they were a well-matched and happy couple: they did a great job of validating each other's lies and I lit up the second joint mainly to shut them up.

It inspired Birgit to say she'd check on the kids and make some food and she went off. Dave and I held a short but fruitful conversation about Robinson & Klein. It turned out Dave had a city job, something to do with zoning real estate. I was amazed to learn Robinson & Klein were big players in Vancouver real estate.

"Robinson handles high-end residential real estate, Klein commercial," Dave told me. "The two often go together in this town. It's still a fucking colony."

Then he had the bright idea that since it wasn't raining or freezing at that very moment, we could have a barbecue. After he'd had a short fight with Birgit we went out back and lit the grill, and cooked tons of food: hamburgers for the girls, steaks for the adults, and sausage for both. I kind of drifted through that in a daze; maybe I inhaled too much smoke from the grill. We finished off the second Johnnie Walker with Dave while we were cooking and he patted my arm and told me not to worry, he had plenty of beer in the fridge.

I don't remember much from the meal. I do remember Birgit made a big bowl of killer potato salad. And I remember crawling up the stairs later in the evening. I was trying to be as quiet as possible and I heard the girls talking to their fucking dolls again. It freaked me out and I had to do some self-therapy when I got back to my room. It was easy. I still had my private scotch and a bunch of arguments that knocked my paranoid pal right out and into the next town.

I had brilliantly negotiated much more than I had hoped for: a reduction in rent along with permission to stay a month behind until the end of the year. I now also had a friendly landlord, and the perfect setup to keep my head low for the next few weeks. By Christmas, the Missing posters for November would be forgotten. Christmas made people focus on different things.

I spent the rest of the evening hoping those things would include my pictures, newly put on display at The Space. And I felt I had good grounds for hopes like that. Mister Chance was a lazy guy. He didn't shake the dice too hard. And because of that, he threw runs—runs of good luck, runs of misfortune.

I felt I was on a good roll with mister Chance, and my pal was in no position to argue.

It felt good, so of course it didn't last.