Baby Khaki's Wings Page 14

  In the hall mirror, Ruby checks her hair, which has been blow-dried straight and coloured with L’Oréal D4 (Ash Blonde), turning it from its natural dark brown to a shade of caramel. She then reapplies her lipstick—burnt cocoa—and places a tissue between her lips to remove the excess. When she bends down and rubs a thumb over the tip of her black pumps, she notices a run in her pantyhose. “Oh, shoot, look at this,” she says to herself, and snaps the nylon against her skin.

  Outside, Ruby steps over the chalked outline of a body and retrieves a package of Secret pantyhose from the trunk of the car, pulling the right shade from a box filled with other personal items such as sticks of deodorant and mouthwash. She then slams the trunk shut and heads back to the house. In the bathroom, she quickly removes her old nylons and changes into the new ones. As she reaches in to adjust the waistband of her underwear, she notices her C-section scar, which has always looked to Ruby like a fading smile. During childbirth, Ruby had dilated to ten centimetres, but Alim still would not drop, stubbornly staying well above the birth canal. Ruby had wanted to have a natural birth, but after twenty-four hours’ labour, she had no choice but to agree to a Caesarean section. “Like mother, like son,” Firoz would say, shaking his head, whenever he recounted the story at dinner parties. Now, as Ruby rushes back downstairs to wait for potential buyers, she remembers the pain of climbing stairs after Alim’s birth. “Why don’t you just ask me if you need something from upstairs,” Firoz had coaxed. But Ruby refused, saying the only way to heal was to push through the pain.

  “Here, let me help you,” Ruby says to a woman as she struggles to manoeuvre her stroller through the front door. The woman smiles and thanks her.

  Ruby bends down to inspect the child, a little girl with a mass of blonde curls, her doll dangling outside the stroller. “Oh, she’s adorable! They’re so great at this age, aren’t they?” Ruby says as she tucks the doll, whose face has been scribbled on with a black marker, back into the child’s hands. “Here you go, sweetie.”

  Ruby knows that it is important to take the time to speak to each visitor individually, even if many are not serious—for many aren’t. They might be neighbours taking advantage of the opportunity to see the house or people passing their afternoon—much as she used to. Ruby also enjoys talking to each person, getting to know them, if only briefly.

  Ruby gives the woman an overview of the house. “You go ahead, take a boo. I’ll take care of the stroller.”

  “Are you sure?” the woman asks as she leans down and scoops her child out of the stroller.

  “Of course. Years of experience,” Ruby says, and winks. The woman smiles approvingly.

  As Ruby expertly collapses the stroller and leans it against the wall, her mind travels back to when Alim was a baby. It was now her trying to manoeuvre a stroller, this time through snow and ice. She was on maternity leave from AGT, Alberta Government Telephones, where she worked as a customer service representative. She had taken the job after graduation, as a temporary measure, until the economy picked up again and she could pursue a career in Information Technology. On many afternoons, Ruby would bundle Alim into his bulky snowsuit and then lug him through the city by bus to attend an Open House. They only had one car and Firoz needed it to deliver orders at the store, which was still a fledgling enterprise at the time. Personal delivery was, they both agreed, a good way to differentiate Firoz’s shop from the many other copy shops that seemed to be popping up throughout the city.

  Ruby wasn’t interested in buying a house then. She and Firoz already owned a townhouse in Whitehorn, and it would take years before they would be able to buy a bigger house, and one in a nicer area—like the one they live in now, a four-level split in Lake Bonaventure. Instead, she attended Open Houses, partly as a way to get out of the house, which at times seemed to close in on her, and partly as a way of passing her days, which often seemed endless with Firoz at the store all day, and not returning until late. Who knew he wasn’t always at work?

  There had been something thrilling for Ruby about being in other people’s homes. She felt as if she was cheating in some way, as if she’d entered a movie theatre without paying—not that she’d ever do that. As she toured each house, she watched real estate agents interacting with potential buyers, listened in on their conversations, and in each instance, Ruby knew that she could do a better job. She felt that many of them had no idea what it took to be a good salesperson. They focused on razzle-dazzling clients, smooth-talking their way over problems. No doubt presentation was important! Ruby knew that. But she also knew that there was another skill that was even more important—listening.

  At AGT, Ruby spent her days listening to customers, many of whom were calling in to lodge a complaint. Ruby was a natural at it and was able to efficiently handle a large call volume. People felt at ease with her, as if they could tell her anything, even their darkest secrets. In fact, her boss regularly used Ruby as a benchmark. He would play her conversations with customers, taped for quality assurance, to the department during training seminars, pointing out her skills—skills that Ruby had never thought were particularly special, until she realized, years later during these Open Houses, what she could use them for. When Ruby announced to Firoz that she wanted to pursue a career in real estate, he encouraged her, but at the same he warned her: “Don’t expect too much—it’s not like working for the government, you know. It’s tough being in business for yourself. Look at how much I’m struggling with the store.”

  The woman with the baby returns after touring the house. “Beautiful place,” she says, adjusting her child on her hip.

  Ruby engages her, drawing her out expertly, but the woman is only looking. Ruby smiles and then provides her with an overview of her sales record. “With a growing family, you never know when you’ll need a new house. Please, call me if I can help in any way.” Ruby hands her a business card and then helps with the stroller as the woman leaves.

  It’s close to the end of the afternoon and Ruby hasn’t had many visitors, but her spirits buoy when she sees a couple and their teenage daughter approaching the front door. “Please come in.” As Ruby holds the screen door open, she catches a glimpse of a white poodle across the street, hobbling up a set of porch steps, its back leg in a bandage.

  Ruby learns that Francie and Thom Silverberg are here for the week from Toronto with their daughter, Lucy. Francie works for a hotel chain, and the company, like so many others, has recently relocated its headquarters to Calgary. Thom is a computer analyst and is confident that he will find a job once they move here. After all, Calgary’s economy is booming.

  “We can’t wait to get here. Slow down our lives. We’ve had it up to here with big-city life,” Francie says, her hand slicing the air under her chin. “It’s a rat race in Toronto.”

  “Quite the opposite here,” Ruby says with a broad smile. “This city is perfect! Low crime. Low pollution. Low taxes. No wonder it’s been ranked as one of the most livable cities in the world.”

  Francie smiles knowingly and then goes on to list the many reasons they don’t like Toronto. The pollution (Try breathing on a humid day—impossible.), the traffic (Oh God, the traffic.), the violence (Might as well live in the States.), the poor city planning (Who puts a highway in front of the lake? Not that it matters, can’t swim in it. It’s a sewer.).

  “Exactly!” Thom says, putting his arm around Lucy. “This is the place to raise a family.”

  Ruby turns and smiles at Lucy, who is dressed in tight jeans with cuts like gashes running up and down the legs, and a bright yellow T-shirt with asymmetrical sleeves and a partially frayed hem. “Very cool T-shirt. Are you a fan of the Rolling Stones?”

  Lucy shrugs and looks away.

  “It’s reconstructed vintage,” Thom explains, pulling his daughter closer to him. “Actually used to be mine.”

  “Really? My husband’s a big fan of the Rolling Stones too.”

  “Ah, them were the days, weren’t they?”

  “T
hey sure were,” Ruby says, smiling, as she remembers Firoz trying to sing “Ruby Tuesday” to her during what he had called their first anniversary. “Anniversary? What are you talking about?” Ruby asked. They weren’t dating. “I can’t believe you don’t remember, mera pyar!” Firoz retorted, clutching his heart with false exaggeration. “We met exactly one year ago today, Ruby Tuesday.” Ruby laughed but still made him stop. “Aye, you’re so strict,” Firoz said, shaking his head and smiling. “Exactly the kind of girl I need!” From then on he refrained from singing the song, but he would still hum it to her and continued calling her by this nickname.

  Ruby directs the Silverbergs to the guest registry, and as she waits for them to tour the house, she finds herself thinking about Firoz. They met at university, where he too was in the faculty of business, but he was studying marketing. He had asked her out on numerous occasions, but she refused each time. She enjoyed his company and he was no doubt charming and quite intelligent, but she did not find him attractive. Besides, she was taken and told him so. She didn’t want to lead him on. “I have a boyfriend,” she told him flatly. “Practically engaged actually.” “Well, there’s nothing wrong in being friends is there?” he asked. “Or is your boyfriend the controlling type?”

  Ruby was quite lonely. She didn’t have many friends yet. She’d found it difficult blending in with other Ismailis—many of whom had been here for almost a decade now and acted as if they owned every inch of Canada. Also, Shelina was in high school and leading, it seemed, a separate life. Soon, Ruby and Firoz started to spend more and more time together. They studied together regularly—often in Reserve, the basement of the Main Library, where many other Ismaili students could also be found. But more often than not they took up an entire table to themselves. Firoz lived on campus—his family was in Edmonton—and so they often ate dinner at the cafeteria in his building, or else took their trays upstairs and ate in the TV lounge while watching shows like Jeopardy, in which Ruby would inadvertently beat him each time. “You’re way too smart for me,” Firoz would tease. “How in the world can I compete with you?”

  Through it all, Ruby and Malik spoke regularly—and for that matter Firoz also dated other women, even if he would on occasion try to hold Ruby’s hand, or even kiss her. In fact, he’d always aim for her lips, instead of her cheek, when he congratulated her on Kushali or Eid. Malik had taken up a part-time job to pay for their phone calls. He and Ruby also wrote to each other obsessively, his letters arriving at a post office box. Soon, the good news Ruby was expecting finally arrived. Malik’s family had received their Green Cards!

  But strangely, shortly after Malik arrived, Ruby realized that she was in love with Firoz. It was as if Malik’s presence acted like photo-solution poured on a negative, crystallizing her feelings and bringing them to the surface. Ruby found herself thinking about Firoz constantly and she could not imagine her life without him. She apologized to Malik, but said she had to follow her heart. “I’ll never forgive you!” Malik said before storming out of Denny’s restaurant.

  When Ruby confessed her love to Firoz, he just smiled and pulled her in to him. “I knew you’d come around. It was only a matter of time. Love, it’s like a runaway train, don’t you think? There’s just no stopping it.”

  Firoz broke up with his then girlfriend and Ruby and he were married a year later in 1983 during the Imam’s Silver Jubilee. Firoz wore a tuxedo rented from Malabar, and Ruby, a white satin gown. They lined up behind hundreds of other couples, eager for their few moments with the Imam. The ceremonies took place at the Max Bell Arena, which had been turned overnight into a beautiful celebration hall by thousands of volunteers. Both of them had been so nervous, their hands shaking in front of them—not because it was their wedding day—they were confident in each other—but because neither one of them had ever been in such close proximity to the Imam before. After the ceremonies, Firoz’s mother blessed them, placing their heads together and wishing them a long, prosperous life together. If it rained on your wedding day it was a good omen. It was April and outside it was snowing. “A Canadian version of good luck, hanh?” she joked and then dabbed her eyes with the end of her sari.

  Malik is an optometrist specializing in laser eye surgery, and now lives in Toronto. He is married to a friend of theirs from Ilford jamatkhana, Faiza, and they have three children, two boys and a girl. On the rare nights that Firoz reaches for Ruby, she lets her mind travel back to England and she imagines that it is Malik, not her husband, who is moving over her.

  The Silverbergs return from the tour. They like the house—the set-up is perfect for them. Thom loves the built-in barbeque and fire pit, Francie loves the view, and Lucy, the finished basement, which will be hers.

  “But we’re concerned about the electrical towers. Honestly, I’m not sure I would have thought about it until I saw the video.”

  Francie’s comment jars Ruby at first, but she recovers quickly, her mind clearing a path to a possible solution. “Me too,” Ruby says confidently. “That’s exactly the problem, you see. There’s been a lot of media attention on the towers, and that’s scared people even when all the facts show that there’s no need to be. It’s the only reason this house hasn’t sold. It’s a real find. There’s no way a house like this should be listed at such a low price. But it’s amazing what people will focus on when they’re scared. And the ironic thing is that media will bore with this issue soon enough and move on to a new way of scaring us.”

  “So true. It’s ridiculous really. Do they expect us to believe them anymore?” Francie says, crossing her arms. She then cites other examples of the media blowing things out of proportion. Mad cow disease. Global warming. Asian flu.

  “This house is really like a fixer-upper. Do you know what I mean?” Ruby asks, aware that a significant percentage of Toronto’s real estate market is made up of older homes or ones that are rundown. “You have to be able to see past the fact that it needs some work—but of course not everyone can. And the ones who do—well, they’re usually sitting on a gold mine.”

  Francie nods enthusiastically. “Of course! Toronto is filled with people like that.”

  “Buy low. Renovate. Sell high,” Thom says, shaking his head. “Another good reason to get out of there. Everything’s too damn expensive.”

  Francie then tells Ruby about the many people who bought houses in areas called Trinity-Bellwoods and Parkdale. “No one wanted to buy there a couple of years ago. Everyone was scared off by the mental hospital in the area.”

  “And now their houses are worth an insane amount—no pun intended,” Thom adds, laughing. “You had to get in early, that’s the thing.”

  “Well, you can get in early here,” Ruby says, making direct eye contact with Thom and then Francie. “All this house needs is someone who can look past the electrical tower to the opportunity.”

  Francie raises her eyebrows. “Do you think there’s any room to negotiate?”

  “I can tell you that the buyers are motivated to sell, that’s for sure,” Ruby says, excited by the inroads she’s making. Just then, her cell phone rings and when she flips it open, she sees from the caller ID that it’s Lynda and Lance. “Speak of the devil,” Ruby says with a wink. “Should I tell them we have an interested party?”

  Francie and Thom look at each other. “Sure, why not? But we still want to see a few more houses.”

  “Of course. Only natural.” The Nickels are thrilled with Ruby’s news—it’s the first bite they’ve had since they listed the property. When she hangs up, Ruby waves her cell phone in the air. “Even this thing emits radiation!”

  Francie and Thom laugh. “Remember when hair dryers were supposed to cause cancer?” Francie asks.

  Ruby makes arrangements to call them later this evening. She also offers them free passes to various tourist spots like the Calgary Tower and Calaway Park. “It’ll make the trip more enjoyable,” she says, cocking her head toward Lucy, who is sitting in the family room flipping through O magazine.


  Thom and Francie smile, and Ruby feels hopeful that she will sell the house before the end of the weekend.

  —

  RUBY PACKS UP and then quickly walks through the house to make sure everything is in order. In the kitchen, she ejects the video, touching it to her forehead like a talisman before sliding it into her satchel. She turns off the coffee maker and rinses the carafe, then places it in the sink. From the window above the sink, she looks into the backyard and sees the base of the electrical tower. Ruby cranes her neck, but she still can’t see the top of the tower. It’s as if the top has been lopped off. A headless giant. Ruby feels the need to see the entire tower, to see what she has just conquered, brought down to the ground.

  Ruby slides open the patio door and steps out onto the deck. She hears a cat yowling behind the fence that separates the yard from the neighbours’, and from the corner of her eye, she spots fragments of the animal between the slats. As Ruby approaches the electrical tower, the ground beneath her feels soft, the grass wet from an earlier rain shower. The heels of her shoes dig into the lawn, creating a line of tiny pockmarks from the deck to the tower.

  At the tower, Ruby hangs her head back and is suddenly amazed by its size, the sheer immensity of it. She circles the tower, waving her hand back and forth, as if to see if she can feel the electromagnetic force field. How ridiculous! she says to herself, laughing at the absurdity of her actions. Ruby then leans her body against the tower, pushing at it as she would a stalled car, expecting it to move somehow. But of course it doesn’t. It stands there, fixed. Ruby’s leg shoots out, ready to kick the tower, but then she catches herself and quickly sets her foot back on the ground. She turns away and focuses her gaze on the city below. The view really is spectacular. The valley, the snaking roads, the mountains. The city is a well-organized grid, the four quadrants neatly portioned into neighbourhoods like pieces of a birthday cake.