The confidence drained out of Raymond, and he leaned against the wall. To his left, a poster advertised a movie about the day Wayne Gretzky announced he was leaving Edmonton to play for the Los Angeles Kings.

Madison came in the main door and nodded. "Professor."

"h.e.l.lo."

"I'm looking forward to your speech."

"You are?"

"Of course, Raymond. Everyone is. You're our last hope."

77.

the science of snubbing Madison was in the mood for neither samosas nor spanakopitas, watercress dip nor truffled goat cheese crudites. She had a hard time listening to her mother, Raymond Terletsky, the mayor, or anyone else who spoke to her over the food tables in the Garneau Theatre. Though she could not see him in the lobby, Madison knew Rajinder was in the building. The rumble in her stomach was stamped with his name, the smell of his cologne, the hair between his eyebrows.

When the other guests filed into the auditorium, Madison lingered in the lobby. Jonas hovered next to her. "Want me to save you a seat?"

She nodded.

"Where do you want to sit?"

She shook her head.

"Come on, Maddy. Close to the stage or far away? On the sides, the second level? You know how I am about choosing seats. You might as well ask me which finger I should have chopped off."

The smell of last night's b.u.t.tered popcorn was wreaking havoc on her empty stomach. All morning and the night before she had been anxious about seeing Rajinder again. She had practised resonant phrases, drawn from haikus, in case he approached. Instead of answering Jonas, she waved him away and proceeded to the washroom.

Over the gentle, echoing drip in the toilet, Madison could hear the professor's amplified voice as the press conference began. "We decimated the buffalo in the name of progress and civilization yet we long for the beast's return with every neutron in every cell in our bodies."

Madison felt the professor was overstating things a bit. How could he account for all the neutrons committed to the holiday shopping season, which had begun in earnest? Or the popularity of Latin American literature? She did appreciate the rising orchestral background; the string music was slow and delicate, with a hint of Eastern European failure about it.

The nausea pa.s.sed and Madison emerged from the bathroom to take the least offensive item on the food tablesan egg sandwich on rye. She crept into the auditorium and leaned on the carpeted baffle behind the floor seats.

Rajinder sat on stage next to a young man and woman. According to the signs in front of them, these were architects. All three of them were turned to Raymond, who shook his fist behind the podium as he spoke of the need in our hearts for stories about ourselves. Not stories about young sorcerers from the United Kingdom and divorced New Yorkers who only think about shoes.

"Handsome man, isn't he?"

Madison didn't know if the woman next to her was referring to Raymond, Rajinder, or the young architect. "Yes."

"I understand he's very wealthy. His parents owned half of Mumbai, I heard."

"Really?"

The woman nodded. The sticker on the front of her blazer said LYNN. "Single too, they say. But he's super quiet. I was here all morning with him and I didn't hear a peep."

Usually, food pushed the nausea away. But at the moment, nothing would help. Madison sniffed the egg sandwich, regretted sniffng the sandwich, and dropped it in the garbage can next to Lynn. The architects took the podium, the lights went down, and the curtain opened. On the screen, a digital image of an enhanced 10 Garneau, covered in a sh.e.l.l shaped like a buffalo head. Some guests laughed, others gasped, and still others howled and applauded. "Yes," one man said, "finally!"

Back in the lobby, two women in uniform poured champagne into small disposable gla.s.ses. Madison walked to a side door that led to a concrete fire escape. For some time she stood there, watching the children run and scream in the playground of Garneau School. She resigned herself to moving out of her parents' bas.e.m.e.nt and into affordable housing somewhere on the LRT line.

The blend of exhaust and wet mulch and pizza dough on the avenue was surprisingly pleasant. Madison took several long breaths and imagined herself back in the auditorium, laughing and applauding with all the normal people. Yes, he is handsome. Handsome indeed, Lynn, yes. Touch him and you fricken die.

Madison sat in the lobby during the explanations and the question-and-answer session. The mayor and his a.s.sistant left the auditorium laughing. Twenty minutes later, the rest of the crowd followed. Almost everyone continued straight out the front doors except Lynn's closest friends in politics and the media, some university officials, and the Garneau residents. They stood near the unveiled plastic model of the future block, complete with a buffalo head on the site of 10 Garneau. They pored over possible exhibits and interior designs. Some openly mocked it. Others openly mocked the mockers.

Two camera lights shone on the tanned face of a public affairs official from the university. The gentleman understood the magnitude of the tragedy that occurred this summer in the neighbourhood, and the historic integrity of Garneau, and he applauded this creative, community-based plan.

"But this land is ultimately under university control," said the official. "We must find a site for a new veterinary research centre. Now, of course, we're eager to work with anyone on cultural projects. For goodness' sake, we've been trying to build our own museum for years."

Raymond hovered close to the cameras. Then, provoked by something, the professor bolted across the lobby to Rajinder, where he whispered and gestured wildly. Rajinder looked past him and met Madison's eye. Slowly he lifted his hand. Unsure whether to continue torturing herself, Madison waved back.

Just for a moment.

Rajinder smiled and Madison didn't want to smile but she smiled anyway. Her cheeks went hot and she bit her lips to banish the smile until Abby stepped between them.

"Did you see that model? We could actually live next door to a buffalo head."

"Even if the university agrees, Jeanne won't sell. She'll hate it."

Abby snapped her fingers. "We could bring her a tray of carrot m.u.f.fins. Who could say no to that?"

"It's best to leave her alone."

"Your father's trying to snub the PCs." Abby turned toward David, who stood near some men with suits, his chin raised. "But these people won't be snubbed."

Madison turned away from the ineffective snubbing to stare at Rajinder, to try not to smile at him some more, but he was gone from his corner. She stepped into the middle of the lobby and spotted him, from behind, leaving the theatre with Raymond Terletsky.

78.

american or j.a.panese Abby Weiss sat behind the steering wheel of a hybrid SUV. "I liked the Toyota better."

"Listen sweetheart, you're just saying that because this one's an SUV. What I'm trying to get across is it's a good SUV." David summoned all of his energy and prepared himself for a long afternoon. "Now sit back in that tasty leather and give this one a chance. Put your hands on the wheel. Think about how this will blend with the giant buffalo head next door."

Abby pretended to drive. "We don't need all this s.p.a.ce, and the little cars are cheaper. Think of all the cows that had to die for these seats."

"They were going to die anyway, Abby. We barbecued them in August, remember?" David hopped out of the pa.s.senger door and walked around the vehicle. A salesman with fake hair had been hovering since they walked into the showroom. For ten minutes, David had done his best to avoid eye contact. But the salesman intercepted him by the opened hood before he could reach the driver's side window, and Abby.

"She's a beauty, ain't she?"

"What's your name?"

The salesman shot his hand out so fast David thought he was about to receive a blow to the solar plexus. "Greg McPhee."

David kept his voice quiet, so Abby wouldn't hear. "Listen, Greg McPhee, go grab a donut or something. We're buying a hybrid and I want one of yours." He turned around to see Abby leaning her head out the driver's-side window. "My wife wants a little foreign number."

"No, no, no." Greg McPhee shook his head. "That'd be a huge mistake, sir."

"I know, I know. But my wife's easily infuriated by a certain kind of consumerism. She won't like you at all. So how about this, Greg McPhee? If we want one of these, I'll find you."

"If you have any questions"

"I don't. Now beat it."

David pretended to inspect the engine for a minute, as though he knew what was going on in there.

"Nice," he said, "real nice," as he sidled up to the window and Abby. "You know, I was thinking. This vehicle proves you wrong about North America being a gas-addicted monstrosity hypnotized by multinationals. Unionized workers built this thing in Michigan."

"Kansas, actually!" Greg McPhee handed David a brochure with a big smile. He winked at Abby. "How you doing today?"

David slapped the side of the SUV. "What did I just tell you?"

"I'm beating, I'm beating." Greg McPhee hurried away to a cl.u.s.ter of pickups.

"Sweetheart, if we buy a j.a.panese car we'll just make elitists of ourselves, alienate our own people, drive them to Hemis."

"David, please, we don't have a people. We're Canadians."

"You know what I mean."

Abby opened the truck door. "This company, all these companies, have reprehensible environmental records. Every other vehicle in this showroom is a crime against humanity."

"But sweetheart, you have to admit..."

"I'll admit nothing." Abby pulled the brochure out of his hands and flipped through it. She pointed at the green-power logo on the front and shook her head. "Criminals. Criminals."

David leaned against a shiny pickup truck and pondered his next move. A few metres away, Greg McPhee smiled and shuffled like a nervous ballet dancer waiting for his big demiplie. David bared his teeth.

There were a few weapons in David's a.r.s.enal that he could always pull out to soften Abby. He could sing one of four songs from Joni Mitch.e.l.l's Blue, an alb.u.m that held magical sway over his wife. Its relevance in this situation, unfortunately, was wanting.

It came to him like a jolt of caffeine.

"Sweetheart," he said, and put his hand on Abby's waist. "If we start that business together, we'll need a vehicle. The little SUV will carry children and the toys and bags and giant strollers children of this generation always seem to have."

"So will the little cars."

"What about poor Maddy? When she borrows the hybrid and has to carry her little bambino into the house, are we going to make her bend down? Bend down and strain those precious muscles? She's already doing this all by herself. If we're going to make her bend down like that, we might as well push her against a wall later this afternoon and punch her in the lower back."

"You're veering into ridiculousness."

"Let's at least take it for a test drive."

Abby sighed and rolled her eyes. "This is stupid, David. It doesn't pa.s.s the need test. For me, it doesn't even pa.s.s the want test."

"Greg McPhee!"

The salesman came running over, his shoes squeaking on the shiny floor. "Yes, sir?"

"Can we take one of these for a test drive?"

"You bet, sir. Ma'am. If you'll just follow me into my office here."

David and Abby followed Greg McPhee, who walked with his toes pointed way out, to his office door. "You're gonna love 'er," he said, as Abby signed a couple of insurance forms. "She's a real beaut."

Aware of Abby's growing irritation, David put his index finger in front of his lips.

Greg McPhee winked and nodded.

On their way out to the car, David said into his ear, "If you say beaut one more time, all this is finished. We'll be driving right back to the Toyota dealership."

"No beauts. Gotcha."

In the lot, Greg gave Abby the keys and explained the particularities of the engine. As he did, the salesman referred to the hybrid SUV as a daisy, a sweetheart, a baby girl, and a little lady. Right after little lady, Abby dropped the keys on the concrete and walked to the Yukon.

79.

the G.o.d of all that is good Raymond squeezed his bottle of Dutch beer so hard he thought it might break. Fearing humiliation, he opened his eyes and closed them again as Rajinder switched back and forth between two local television news programs. At the end of an item on obesity, the Garneau Block story began.

"In the nineteenth century," said Raymond, next to the model in the lobby of the theatre, "the great European cities were defined by language, war, history, the industrial revolution. Edmonton is defined by singular forces today, however more subtle they may be. The boom cycle, immigration, triumph and murder and gambling and theatre, the ghosts of recent wilderness, a powerful river."

Jonas laughed. "What a pile of bulls.h.i.t, professor."

The shot switched to a slow pan of the Garneau Block. The reporter made a lot of the fact that Raymond didn't know what actual stuff would go inside the buffalo head. Rajinder pointed at the television. "There is Madison. Her shiny legs in that red j.a.panese skirt."

Raymond was pleased that Madison had smiled at Rajinder in the theatre. Suddenly, the patron had some enthusiasm for his project. However, Raymond was not pleased to see they had cut out the most resonant parts of his interview, when he expanded on the mythic power of buffalo and the mystery and beauty of the North Saskatchewan River. He had even quoted Gwendolyn MacEwan. After a short bout of disappointment, Raymond was stricken with the certainty that the b.o.o.bs in the editing suite had laughed at him.

The university public affairs official provided his counterargument. Jonas opened a new beer. "Liar. Dirty liar. Stinking whoring greasy...do you guys think they're really planning on building a veterinary medicine centre here?"

Rajinder, in his seat again, shrugged. "Raymond and I rushed to see my friend on the board of governors this afternoon, and he confirmed it. Yes."

"May Dean Kesterman burn, burn, burn." Raymond imagined the burning for an instant, with a stake and some kindling underneath, the flames licking up teasingly at first and then, as the Dean screams, inferno! He sat back and lifted his bottle of beer. "Don't be discouraged, fellows. We'll get that cultural designation. We can convince the people of Edmonton that art and mythic power are more important than beef."

Rajinder and Jonas looked at one another, and then at Raymond. "Fat chance," said Jonas.