Shattered Glass Read online

  But all he said was, “Awful? I’m awful?” Then he dropped the rag and walked away.

  Fine. Who cared? Not me. I filled up the sugar canisters, the salt and pepper shakers, the vinegar and ketchup bottles. It took me right up until opening. Ethan stayed clear of me the rest of the night. Like I said, fine. The next night I would meet my father and Ethan would see…Ian Tyson would know as soon as he took one look at me. Big Bob and Mr. Goldman and the band would cheer as my father took me in his arms. The crowd would go wild. Movie in my head my foot! What did Ethan know?

  I only hoped that I could learn to love my new stepmother.

  “Someday Soon”

  (IAN AND SYLVIA)

  GRADY WAS ACTUALLY coming to the club! She wanted to see Ian Tyson. It seemed that she had forgiven me for taking off her shoes and/or seeing her overly refreshed that one time. I’d been babbling about him all afternoon. She called me down after lunch to assess her wardrobe selection. “So what do you think, kid? You’re not much, but you’re all I’ve got.” She twirled around in a red-satin, full-skirted dress with a plunging neckline. Ruby earrings that practically came down to her shoulders. They almost, but not quite, distracted you from her significant chest area. People just did not look like that in the Purple Onion. Actually, people did not look like that anywhere.

  “You look like a blond Elizabeth Taylor!” At the orphanage, we were allowed to watch television only one night a week unless there was an Elizabeth Taylor or Audrey Hepburn movie on. Then we got extra time. Miss Webster was partial to them.

  “Exactly what I was going for!” She gave her hair an extra shot of spray. “I have a reputation to maintain.” More energetic spritzing. “When the Lady Grady goes out, people expect Hollywood, and that’s what I give ’em.” She eyed me as she lit a cigarette. “Red lips, Toni. Tonight you gotta have red lips. Here!” She proffered a golden tube. “Fire and Ice will be perfect with your coloring.”

  Red lips? Red lips were for movie stars and fast women and ladies like Grady. I could never—what if Mrs. Hazelton saw? Of course, that last thought made me consider it in a new light. “Sure, if you’re sure.”

  “Am I sure! I know what’s best for you, don’t I? Didn’t I get you the job?”

  I nodded.

  “Red lips it is,” Grady said. It was a shockingly laborious process. A lip brush, Kleenex, powder and multiple “blottings” were involved. “Gorgeous! Your lips are a little large, but I think that’s coming into fashion soon.”

  It had better be immediate. All I could see was my lips. It was like the rest of me had left the room. I honestly couldn’t say what I thought of myself, whether I was better or worse, but I was definitely noticeable. It kind of shook me up. We admired ourselves tremendously in the mirror. Grady sighed a lot, which made me worry a bit about how many refreshments she had already partaken of.

  “Gotta go!” I needed to take myself and my big red lips to the club.

  “Okay, doll, I’ll see ya later. Just don’t drink or eat anything. You don’t know how to do it without messing up your mouth.”

  “Yes, ma’am, thank you.”

  As I closed the front door, I heard: “And don’t ma’am me, damn it.”

  I fretted the whole way to work that Mr. Tyson’s ability to recognize me as his long-lost daughter would be somehow hampered by the liberal application of Fire and Ice.

  “Whoa, what happened to you?” Ethan stopped in his tracks.

  “Huh?”

  “You look like you got punched in the mouth.”

  Hated him did not begin to cover it.

  “Hey, Toni, thanks for coming in early,” Big Bob said. “It’s going to be a big night. Whoo-ee baby!” He was grinning from ear to ear, and his gold tooth gleamed under the stage lights. I could smell cologne wafting off him. It looked like he had broken out a brand-new T-shirt in honor of the occasion. All this for Ian Tyson? “Girl, you look fine!”

  Ethan rolled his eyes before loping off.

  “Thank you, uh…” I always got stuck at this part. Calling my employer by his Christian name seemed disrespectful in the extreme, and besides, what, technically, was his first name? Big or Bob? Ethan called him “Big Guy,” but they were practically family. “Thank you,” I repeated.

  The place filled up fast. By eight thirty, a full half hour before Mr. Tyson’s set, every table except for the little one closest to the stage was occupied. Apparently, I had just missed the warmup with the Ramblers by minutes, and Mr. Tyson was sequestered with Ethan’s father backstage. I was hopping so fast that I didn’t have time to be disappointed. Just before 9:00 PM, a ripple of whispers rode through the Onion, directed at the entrance. Was Mr. Tyson going to come in from the front rather than from backstage?

  No.

  It was Grady.

  She paused at the doorway, in all her glorious, high-heeled, plunging-necklined, satin best. My employer shot over before she could take another step. Big Bob was a pretty happy kind of guy, all in all, but now he was pulsing like a strobe light. The cologne, the new T-shirt. Grady? Big Bob and Grady? I was hustling to deliver the last round of cappuccinos before the set, but Grady stopped and made sure she caught my eye before she waved her fingers at me. The whole room turned, and it looked like no one had ever seen me in the place before. Only then did she swan in on the tattooed arm of Big Bob, who looked like he was going to bust a kidney. Who was this woman? Clearly, there was more to my landlady than met the eye, and that was saying something.

  Big Bob beckoned me over and whispered, “Two double espressos, fast.” I raced over to the coffee bar, steamrolled over Ethan, who was working the machine, and raced back with their drinks just as Brooks Goldman started his intro.

  “Only right here! Only right now! Let’s hear it for the mighty Ian Tyson!”

  The applause and whistling was deafening. Women clasped their hands to their chests. Men thumped the tables. He didn’t have to do anything but walk up to the mic and he had everyone with a pulse in the palm of his hands. My heart lurched. That was my father. My father. I may have whispered that a few times. He was so incredibly…Grady grabbed my arm. “Quit licking your lips. You won’t have anything left by the end of the set!”

  My father was an imposingly handsome man. I somehow made my way back to the coffee bar, tried not to gawk and did not succeed. I could feel Ethan’s death stare on my back the whole time. As soon as the applause and thumping died down, Tyson launched into “Someday Soon.” What a voice! There was a bittersweet, lonely catch in it that went straight to my bone marrow. What was I doing? Talent like that should not be shackled by a love child. Though I did love the sound of those two words, love child. But a lot was riding on this, more than the obvious. Thing is, if someone as gloriously stupendous as Mr. Ian Tyson could fall in love with my monster mom, maybe she wasn’t such a monster after all.

  The joint was jumpin’ the whole night. In between sets, Ethan and I and even Big Bob had to spring into action. Ethan managed to spit out that he didn’t buy for a minute that I thought Ian Tyson was my father. “Nobody moons over their dad like you’ve been mooning over him all night! You’re just like all the other girls.”

  I spat right back that he should get his head out of the gutter. I wasn’t 100 percent sure what that meant, but I’d heard it used by some of our female patrons, and it seemed to suit the occasion.

  Mr. Tyson closed the second set with Brooks Goldman singing harmony to “Four Strong Winds,” which is, bar none, the most perfect song ever written. That catch, deep in the basement of his throat, made the song lonelier, lovelier. It was hard not to cry. I couldn’t have been prouder of my father. The club went wild. Everyone got on their feet and tried to converge around Mr. Tyson, but he made his way straight over to Grady’s table and kissed her hand.

  Really, who the heck was this woman?

  I fought my way into the crowd surrounding the table. I wasn’t going to declare myself in front of all these people—I’d been raised better—bu
t I could at least meet him and see if I could get in a word alone later. My heart was hammering so loud it drowned out the noise of the crowd. Grady had just said something to make both Mr. Tyson and Big Bob laugh, and then she saw me.

  “Ian, honey, I’d like to introduce you to Toni. Toni lives with me.”

  Mr. Tyson actually stood up, reached for my hand and kissed it. Somehow, I stayed standing. I’d already stopped breathing at the “Ian, honey” part.

  “I noticed you the minute I hit the stage, darling.” He winked at me. “Sit down, sweet thing, I’d love to buy you”—small, brilliant, killer half smile—“a cuppa coffee.”

  “Well, my!” Grady smoothed out the satin folds of her dress. “Look at the time!” Grady wasn’t wearing a watch—never did, never would. “Sorry, boys. Toni and I need our beauty sleep.” This was met with outrage and groans from the assembled throng, and confusion on my part. I still had cleanup. “You don’t mind if Toni walks me home, do you, Bobby?”

  Bobby?

  Big Bob flashed his gold tooth. “’Course not. Anything for my Lady Grady. She came in early. Ethan and I will close up.” Big Bob stood up and helped her out of her chair.

  Wait! What? The tables were a mess, and I had to stay and tell Mr. Tyson about us, about him and me and, well, I guess my mother had to figure in there somewhere. God knew when he’d be back, what with his wedding and all. Maybe I should have told Grady all about it, but then I remembered Ethan’s ridiculous reaction. No, it was my secret, or I was his secret—but I couldn’t be his secret if he didn’t know I was his secret, could I? I was making myself dizzy.

  Grady took my arm and led us straight out of the place, knowing that every eye was trained on her.

  What would that feel like?

  As soon as we hit Hazelton, I started to whine. “Thing is, I should have stayed, Grady. I really needed to talk to Mr. Tyson about something important.” She snorted and held my arm tighter. “No, really,” I said. “I was hoping to see him after I cleaned up.”

  “Yeah, he was hoping plenty too.” We had to stop so she could light a cigarette.

  Oh my god! Had Mr. Tyson deduced that I was his child just by looking at me? He did say he had noticed me right away. Things like that happened all the time in the Bible and in the movies, and now Grady had ruined everything. When was I ever going to see him again? “It was, like, really, critically important, Grady.”

  She blew smoke in my face. “I knew you’d be trouble the moment I saw you, Orphan Annie. You plopped yourself down in the middle of the city straight from a two-bit town, and an orphanage at that. You might as well have come in from another century. Honey, you don’t even know the things you don’t know.”

  “You sound just like Joe and the matron!” I may have been pouting. I don’t pout well, no matter how hard I try.

  “Ha! Well, that’s rich. A matron. That’s one for the ages. Step on it—I need a refreshment.” She put her arm through mine again. “Look, honey, the man’s a tomcat. Sylvia is buying herself a world of hurt.”

  Of course, I didn’t have a clue what she was going on about, or what my future stepmother had to do with anything. I replayed every detail from the introduction on. My head reeled through the conversation, the pauses, the looks, every little gesture. It wasn’t until we got to 75 Hazelton that I almost tripped on it. Wait a gosh-darned minute! Back there, at the club, had my father actually winked at me?

  “I Get Around”

  (THE BEACH BOYS)

  THE NIGHTMARES WERE back. The new me, the real me, would no longer have nightmares. That was the deal. I made this pledge every night for almost a month before going to bed. And it worked, until it didn’t. By July the nightmares found my new address and slid in with the heat. The fire, the shattered glass piercing me, the blood, the screaming. And worst of all…my mother hurting me. I must have been screaming, because the pounding on my door woke me up. It was the professor.

  “Miss Royce, are you okay? Miss Royce! Toni, please answer.”

  I was disoriented as I felt my way to the door. The professor looked moderately disoriented himself. He swayed as he gripped his glass. He apologized for his condition as soon as I opened the door.

  “No, sir, please. I should be the one to apologize. It’s the dreams. I haven’t had one since I came to Toronto. I thought I left them back at the orphanage. My friends, they knew…” And at the mere mention of them my lip started to quiver, whether from missing them or the shame of the dreams I couldn’t be sure. “I am very, very sorry to have disturbed you, sir.”

  “Oh dear, Miss Royce. Well, I am certainly in no position to give anyone life advice. However”—he leaned against the doorjamb to steady himself—“may I gently suggest that you find the source of your demons before your demons overtake you. Perhaps you need to find some answers.”

  “Yes, sir.” I was snuffling. “I will, sir.” Was that it? I had to get to the bottom of it all? What was the bottom? I couldn’t count on the professor continuing to be as understanding about my midnight screams as Betty and the others had been. “I promise, and I apologize again for disturbing your evening.”

  “Not at all, Miss Royce.” He took a sip from his glass. “Sweet dreams.”

  Not likely. I was afraid to go back to bed. I turned Joe’s little transistor on real low and listened to CHUM 1050 right up until I thought I heard Grady stirring downstairs. I also started and stopped a hundred letters to Betty. When the Beach Boys came on at 9:05 AM with “I Get Around,” I got up to visit Grady.

  I knocked on the parlor door.

  Oh my…

  “What’s the matter? Never seen anyone hung over before?” She tightened the sash on her silk robe. “What am I saying?” She snorted. “I keep forgetting you’re greener than grass.” Grady’s hands shook as she lit a cigarette. Her lipstick was smeared. Her hair was stuck flat against the left side of her head but seemed to be trying to make a break for it from the right.

  “You’re ill! You shouldn’t be up.” I took her by the arm and led her to her favorite armchair. “I’m going to make you some tea and toast and set you right!”

  “Geez, kid, are they all like you in that little twinkle town of yours? I’m just hungover. Eddy and I got into the sauce pretty good last night. Thing is, I pass out but I can’t sleep. You know?”

  Of course, I didn’t. “Eddy?”

  “Professor Zeigler. Even though he can outdrink me, I’m a bad influence on him. I’m a bad influence on everyone.” She sighed and stubbed out her cigarette. “But I won’t say no to tea, toast and aspirins. They’re in the cupboard above the sink.” She burrowed into the chair and put her feet up on the ottoman.

  I started fixing things in the kitchen. What was wrong with this woman? Grady was clearly a major glamorous somebody, but she kept refreshing herself into a stupor. Mrs. Hazelton would have set her straight in a flash.

  I, on the other hand, was flummoxed. She was the adult, after all. Adults were another species, all-knowing and all-powerful. I may have rebelled against that at the orphanage, but it was safe to do so there. The rules were clear.

  When I returned with the tray, Grady was smearing white goop on her face and wiping it off with tissues. “Never use soap and water, kid. Ruins the complexion. I’ll get you some of this.” She lifted the jar—Pond’s Cold Cream. “I got a source. It’s practically free.”

  “Thank you. Uh, I was hoping we could talk a bit.”

  “Sure, kid. Take a load off.” She moved her feet over so I could sit on the ottoman. She dry-swallowed four aspirins before picking up her teacup. “Shoot.”

  “Well, do you remember the other night at the Purple Onion?” Grady smiled. She actually looked more girlish without all of her fancy makeup on. “Mr. Tyson…”

  “Listen up, Toni, you don’t even know what a hangover is. How do you think you could possibly have handled Ian Tyson?”

  “Handled?”

  “I’m assuming you’re a virgin?”

 
“What?” I just about fell off the ottoman. “Of course I am!”

  “Ever been kissed?”

  Okay, I’d been dreaming about getting kissed since forever—longer, even. I examined the floor.

  “Thought so, and here you have one of the country’s biggest playboys gunning for your shorts. Honey, you wouldn’t have stood a chance, you and your little romantic dreams.”

  “Romantic dreams? Gunning for me, like he wanted to…? No! Eeeww! He wouldn’t! He couldn’t! Mr. Tyson is my father!”

  “What the…?” The toast dropped onto the plate, and Grady reached for a cigarette. “Why in God’s name would you think that?”

  I stood up. “Well, there’s the music thing. I got music in my bones, except I don’t have any real aptitude for it, but you know my radio’s on all the time, and there is an undeniably strong resemblance, except maybe he’s actually prettier than I am, and the age is right, and I have this playbill, and Big Bob said that if Mr. Tyson were in Toronto in the late forties, well, he’d have gone to Gerrard Village, and I think the age works, and did you see his eyes? They’re just like my eyes, and not only that but the hair too, and did I mention the Willa’s playbill, and—”

  “Take a breath! You’re turning purple.”

  I gulped some air.

  “Ian wasn’t playing the Toronto clubs back then.” She shook her head. “Honey, he was out west. He didn’t come out here once in the forties. I’m sorry, kid. He may be the daddy to a lot of little girls for all I know, but he’s not your daddy.”

  But it was all so perfect.

  I sat down with a thump. I had been so certain. It all fit…but, of course, it didn’t. I had done that thing, the orphan thing, talked myself right into a fantasy. Was the need that big? Even in the cold-water shower shock, I saw it for was it was. And here I’d been mocking the others. I’d even read up on Sylvia in the magazines. I was pretty sure we would have gotten along.

  Was the new me, the real me, an idiot?

  “And what got into your head about Gerrard Village and your daddy anyways?”