Touching Strangers Page 4

  She began the dressing ritual for stepping out of her e nclosure.

  Mask. Gloves. Large rubber rain boots. Hairnet. Or did shewant the baseball cap instead? It didn’t matter. She’d be outsidefor a maximum of twenty seconds. She put the carton of blueberries in a plastic bag, and put that bag in another plastic bag.Tied the handles into a tight knot. Looked out the window at thedumpster and decided how close she’d have to get in order to tossthe bag inside. She found a pair of large headphones and putthem on her ears, attached to nothing, so she’d have an excusefor ignoring anyone who tried to chat with her.

  The clock on the wall read 5:37PM. A good portion of thebuilding’s tenants would be coming home from work. She hadto act fast. The door to her and Aaron’s unit was like an entrywayinto another dimension, one of filth and disease and toxins anddeath. A dimension of humans not like Samantha.

  The latch chain was cold. Samantha shivered as she unlockedthe door. The smell of the hallway invaded her nostrils likecooked vomit. She took a breath and scurried out the door likea thief; spun around quickly and locked it, trembling with fearand nausea. The bag of berries smacked against her thigh as sheraced down the stairwell with tunnel vision and numb feet.When she reached the bottom she could feel her heartbeatthumping in her eye sockets.

  To her left, the door to outside shone like a chasm in theafternoon half-light.

  Samantha floated down the hall with her eyes on the floor,guided by her instincts and the pattern on the grimy rug. Shelooked up when she felt she was close. In front of her was thedoor, and about thirty feet away, in the corner of the parking lot,was the big green dumpster with a sawed-off hockey stick holding the lid open like a gaping mouth. FEED ME, it rumbled.

  She pushed the door open with her shoulder. The air outside tasted like dust. When she saw the coast was clear sheskipped to the dumpster like a child and tossed the bag inside. Itlanded in the very bottom—glong! The sound echoed in thecubed metal enclosure.

  Already Samantha felt lighter. She’d encountered no one.She’d touched not a thing. She’d go back to her apartment, havea bath, read a book, and make something elaborate for dinner,something she’d never made before, something to impress Aaron.

  She turned around and saw the man in black stepping out ofhis apartment. He looked at her and smiled. He was moving inher direction.

  *

  Fifteen minutes. That’s how long Nicole had been waiting—like an idiot—outside Faucet Fountain, watching creepo aftercreepo walk into Lips. Were they holding a massive sale on blowup dolls or Fleshlights or something? She didn’t want to know.

  “I think you have the wrong store,” one of the creepos said,looking her up and down. He had a faint moustache and somekind of greasy rash on his neck.

  Nicole offered him her finest fuck-off smile. “Just waiting for a friend.”

  “Well, if you get bored of waiting outside, feel free to wait in here.”

  She ignored him and turned her back to look through FaucetFountain’s window for any sign of Aaron. She knew he was inthere. The sign on the door was flipped to Closed and he wasn’tanswering the phone, but those things meant nothing. This wasexactly the kind of scam Aaron would pull so he could wallowin his hypochondriac solitude. She’d been working at the storewith him for the past three years, and he seemed to get worse astime wore on. Personally, she blamed that china doll girlfriend ofhis. They seemed to feed off each other’s fears, which festered intheir self-imposed isolation, and drove each other to hysteria,something they mistook for love. She knew it was typical for young couples to alienate themselves from family and friends, butAaron and Samantha had taken their reclusiveness to anunhealthy extreme. Nicole saw it as her duty, as a caring coworker and functioning member of society, to bring Aaron backto the world of bruises and sneezes and untreated scrapes. To theworld of the sane.

  The evening was getting cold and the creepos were gettingslimier by the minute. She knocked on the window. “Aaron? Iknow you’re in there.”

  Someone whistled behind her. She turned her head and sawa hairy-armed Neanderthal standing at the entrance to Lips withhis eyes locked on her ass.

  “Ugh!” she said, loud enough for the pervert to hear. Shestared at him with a disgusted look on her face until he waddledsheepishly inside.

  Suddenly she regretted stopping by work on her way tomeeting her friends downtown. She was all done up in her tightest pair of low-rise jeans, the ones with the slits in the legs, andthe cleavage-heavy purple top that Aaron had once said looked“fetching” on her. She’d put her hair in a half up, half downponytail, coated her lips with strawberry gloss, wore the cheapbut sweet-smelling perfume she’d bought at a discount fromShoppers, painted her toenails and fingernails mauve. She’d evenstuffed her feet into the purple fuck-me heels that matched hertop and made her butt stick out when she walked, but were toosmall for her and gave her nasty blisters. If Aaron didn’t show hisface soon she’d get in a cab and just go. She could buy drinkswith her credit card tonight and pick up her cheque tomorrow.

  She leaned against the glass and looked at the time on hercellphone: a quarter to six. Kingston Road was unusually quietfor this time of day—the carnival of perverts next-door notwithstanding. All of the restaurants were empty or closed, and therewere barely any cars on the road. A large flock of seagulls hadcome up from the beach and were picking through the bags andtubs of trash along the curb. Nicole laughed to herself at the ideathat all the yuppie boomers who lived in the area had been transformed magically into birds, forced to compete for hunks of d iscarded meat and other refuse, flapping their feet in puddles of garbage juice and screaming in each other’s faces.

  Two gulls in particular were in a battle on top of a recyclingbin, the larger one curling its neck upwards like a raptor, thesmaller one with its wings spread wide and feathers puffed out.She pulled her digital camera out of her bag and took a picturebefore she heard the sound of hands squeaking against glass.

  She turned and saw Aaron standing at the door with a surgical mask on top of his head like a party hat, the string loopedunder his chin. He had some kind of moist towelette in his handand was wiping the door with it.

  “There you are!” Nicole slipped her camera in her purse andapproached the door, but Aaron quickly backed away.

  “Haw-haw, very funny. Open up.”

  “I haven’t finished cleaning yet.” His voice was like anandroid’s behind the glass.

  “Come on. You were about to open the door until you saw me.”

  “No I wasn’t.”

  Nicole sighed heavily. “I came to get my cheque. Didn’t Mr.Vaughn tell you? Don’t be an asshole. Let me in.”

  “Relax. I’ll get it and slip it through the crack here.”

  “Aaron!”

  He was already gone, on his way to the back room. Nicolesighed again and took her cigarettes out of her bag. Lit one andinhaled deeply, keeping an eye on the door to Lips. The nextcreepo who tried to talk to her could very well end up with aburned cornea, courtesy her Belmont Mild.

  A few drags later, Aaron returned, fanning his face with theenvelope that contained her cheque.

  “You’ll have to let me in anyway,” Nicole said, blowingsmoke. “I want to check the schedule.”

  “Already did the honours,” Aaron said. “You’re in tomorrow at four.” He attempted to slide the cheque through the n arrow crack between the doors, rumpling the envelope like an accordion. “Oops, hang on.” He tried again, and there was a ripping sound.

  “Jesus Christ, Aaron, just open the fucking door!”

  “Well, you can’t smoke in here, so . . . There we go!” He’dmanaged to shove the envelope about halfway through the crack.Nicole yanked it through the rest of the way.

  “You’re a fucking freak, you know that?” she shouted,pointing at him with the hand that held her cigarette. “You’relucky I don’t call Mr. V right now and tell him you�
��ve closedearly. Again!”

  “You should stop smoking,” he said, wiping the door againcasually. “I mean, it’s basically slow suicide.”

  She took a long pull on her cigarette, leaned her face closeto the door and said, “You know what? Fuck. Yoouuu,” blowing a long stream of smoke at him through the crack.

  He backed away, fanning his nose.

  Nicole turned around and strode down the street withoutlooking back. There was a taxi in the distance, the only movingcar on the road. She rolled her ankle and almost fell over as shestepped off the curb and waved her hand in the air.

  *

  All he could see were her eyes: two shining beads between asurgical mask and a ball cap. Everything else was covered. Anoversized black hoodie hung on her like a dead animal; thin pinkpyjama bottoms tucked snugly into her rain boots. She was evenwearing gloves. He wondered if it was some kind of costume.

  “Hello,” he said as he approached, on his way to get a pipewrench from his truck.

  The girl didn’t say anything, so he stopped and stood there amoment, feeling the awkwardness swell. Just as his foot scrapedthe pavement to walk away she made a sound.

  “Um.” There was a pause. “Hi,” she said finally.

  “I’m Luca.” He stepped forward, held out his hand. She stepped back.

  He looked at his hands: they were filthy, covered in calluses.“Ha, I’m sorry. I always forget.” He rubbed his palms on hisjeans. “Are you a tenant here?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s a great building,” he said. “You know, for the price.”

  She didn’t respond. They looked at one another for tenwhole seconds. Her eyes were the weirdest shade of green he’dever seen—sort of like lime zest, with little flecks of orange dusted through. Reptile eyes.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  She tried to speak but it came out as a gurgle. She cleared herthroat. “Sam. Samantha.”

  “Are you sick or something?”

  She shrugged.

  This was going nowhere. He said, “Well it was nice meetingyou, Samantha,” and headed for his truck.

  “I saw you touch that bird,” she said.

  He stopped and turned around.

  “The one that fell on the car. You picked it up by the claw.”

  It was weird to hear her speak and not see the movements ofher mouth, like she was communicating with him telepathically.

  “You shouldn’t ever touch a dead animal,” she went on.

  “There are literally hundreds of viruses and infections you couldcatch. Not to mention rabies. Don’t ever do it.”

  “Well I didn’t want to,” he said. “The claw was stuck. Iwashed my hands afterwards.”

  “It doesn’t look like it.”

  He looked at his hands again and blushed. “I rinsed them.”

  She exhaled loudly inside her mask. “I’m trying to be nice right now.”

  He had no idea what she meant by that. “I guess you’reafraid of germs or something?”

  “It’s a rational fear,” she said.

  “I don’t know how you can live like that.”

  “I don’t know how you can live. I don’t know how you’re alive.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s an odd thing to say tosomeone you just met.”

  She looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry. I never talk to p eople.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “No. I mean yes. Well . . . no.”

  “Should I take that as a ‘no’?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you have a roommate.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she a germophobe too?”

  “He. And yes. Although we prefer to think of ourselves ashygienically enlightened.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, “but Ipromise I’ll never touch you.”

  She hesitated. “Thank you.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you mind if I get my wrench now?”

  “No. Do you mind if I go inside?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Okay.”

  He moved first and gave her plenty of space to get by. Shewhisked past him and disappeared into the building, leaving thescent of cucumber in her wake. He inhaled deeply, pulling hersmell to the absolute bottom of his lungs. It was a smell he’d liketo smell again. He grabbed the wrench out of his truck and wentinside to fix the leak under his bathroom sink.

  *

  The taxi stopped in front of the seven-storey building thatstood against the smoky grey sky like two giant pieces of Legolocked in an L-shape. Claire looked out the window at the familiar sign on the lawn:

  THE WARDIAN TRUST ARMS

  -BACHELOR

  -ONE BEDROOM

  -TWO BEDROOM

  NO VACANCY

  She spritzed some perfume on her neck and paid the driver,popped her last piece of blueberry bubblegum in her mouth, thenslipped out of the backseat. The air was crisp and cool.Goosebumps formed on her freshly-shaved legs.

  As the taxi rattled down the road, she tugged on her miniskirt and clip-clopped down the broken walkway, double-checking the contents of her handbag: condoms, cellphone, cash,dildo, taser, toothbrush, Tic-Tacs, pills. Everything was in order.She was actually looking forward to this appointment with Doug.Unlike her previous client, who wanted her to pretend she washis sister and whip him with a pink jump rope, Doug Chisholm’stastes were fairly mainstream. A little foot-worship here, a littlebutt-spanking there. Nothing too far out of her kink zone.

  When she reached the front door, she noticed a mangyorange cat lapping water from a flowerless stone planter. “Hikitty,” she said, moving towards it. The cat looked up at her,wild-eyed. There were red smears around its mouth, like it hadchewed open a ketchup packet. It licked its chops.

  “Oh,” Claire said, and went inside. It was probably best notto touch a strange animal before an appointment anyway. Sheadjusted her blouse and pressed the code on the speaker forDoug’s apartment. It beeped a few times but nobody answered.She ate a Tic-tac and tried again: nothing. Did she have thewrong day? No, not possible. She pressed his code again, but stillno answer.

  There was someone in the foyer—a woman in a ratty housecoat with curlers in her hair. Claire smiled and waved.

  The woman approached the door, scowling. “You see a catout there?” she said through the door.

  “Actually I did. An orange one, just outside.”

  The woman opened the door and swooped past Claire,smelling strongly of burnt toast. She said, “Nuggles! What’ve yougot on yer face?” in a scolding voice from outside.

  Claire took the opportunity to slip inside through the slowlyclosing door. She got into the elevator, pressed the button for theseventh floor, and held down the button to close the doors beforethe roller-haired woman came back inside.

  Thirty seconds later she was walking down the hall toDoug’s apartment, room 705. She stood outside the door andspritzed herself with one more blast of perfume before knocking.

  “Doug,” she said playfully. “Dougie.”

  No answer. She placed her ear against the door and listened.There was the faint sound of a mattress creaking. Someone wasinside. She banged on the door with her fist.

  “Doug? You in there? It’s me, Claire.”

  More mattress sounds. A light thump, like a knee hittingwood. Some grumbling. She waited. Then she heard footstepsand the tinkling of a latch chain. The door opened.

  “Oh my God, Doug.”

  He looked like a corpse. Worse. His skin was pale yellowand his eyes were so red they looked like they might drip bloodat any moment. There was a cluster of pimples around his neck.He raised his hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and shenoticed his fingernails w
ere brown.

  “Claire,” he croaked. “I meant to call you.”

  She flinched. His breath was atrocious. “Oh Doug, are youokay? You look really sick.”

  “I feel, I . . .” He burped and staggered.

  Claire moved forward to catch him. A loud gurgling noiseechoed in his throat, and she felt something splash against her.She looked down at the beige soupy sludge splattered acrossher cleavage.

  “Oh my Guh . . . Eww!”

  She screamed and slapped him across the face.

  He fell back against the wall, then lowered himself onto hisknees and started crawling toward the bathroom.

  Claire stood with her hands frozen in front of her breasts,wanting to wipe off the puke but not daring to touch it. Shelooked at Doug’s bald spot as he dragged himself along the floor.“I’m sorry, I . . .” She looked back down at her barf-covered top. “Fuck!”

  Doug barely made it to the toilet before a stream of vomitshot out of his mouth like water from a hose. He moaned.Everything smelled like urine and boiled meat.

  Claire turned and ran for the elevator, leaving a trail ofDoug’s puke in the hall like drips of oatmeal. She pressed thedown button and took her cellphone out of her bag, diallingfrantically.

  “Yeah, I need a cab at . . . Where the fuck am I? Um . . . It’sthe Waldorf Arms or something. Yeah, that’s it, in the east end.I’ll be outside. Fucking hurry!”

  STAGE 2A: CASE HISTORIES

  The amber glow of the parking lot light shone through thecrack in the drapes and made a line on Aaron’s face. He’dbeen trying to sleep for the last hour but couldn’t. Samanthawas curled up beside him in the fetal position, her big toe grazing his leg hair. He wondered if she was pretending to sleeptoo.

  He’d come home from work and found her in the bath tubwith folds of wet hair matted to her face. She was reading awater-warped copy of The Plague by Camus, her fingertips likewhite raisins.