UpHill

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Becks mumbles something witty in Lary’s ear while Mario, her new pilot boyfriend from Aerolíneas Argentinas, squeezes through the crowded condo towards them, balancing three glasses of white wine. As usual, Becks looks spectacular in a shimmering gold skin-tight skirt and five-inch heels.

How does she do it? Lary wonders. Despite Becks’ fifty-two years, excess forty pounds and total lack of exercise, she always manages to focus the adoring world on her.

Mario arrives, handing them their drinks, his eyes lingering for a moment on Lary. “That color green, it becomes your beautiful red hair.”

“Oh, haha.” Lary has never known how to handle compliments.

Eventually she wanders off, leaving the other two to their love chat. The party is happening in a chic twentieth floor Harbourfront penthouse belonging to a friend of a friend of a friend who is still in the television business. Every wall is painted white, every piece of furniture black. It is a mixed crowd tonight, half Under Forties, half over. Half sane, half insane.

The glass balcony door is open with three or four smokers milling around. Lary meanders out. It is one of those suddenly not-too-cold nights that only happen in Toronto when you least expect it. Or maybe it’s just that it feels warmer because the temperature has risen above freeze-your ass-off cold.

Lary lights a Marlboro cigarette, sucking the smoke deep into her lungs. Ah, the Marlboro man. She’s been in love with him since high school – tall in the saddle, slim in the hips. Howdy, ma’am, may I lasso your dress off?

“Well, hel-lo gorg-eous,” a high-pitched voice sings from her right. “Over here.”

Lary turns to see a pompous little man she knows so well. “Henriette, long time, no TV.”

Henry titters back. “You look fab, sweets.”

“Flab? Thanks.” Lary smiles at her former assistant from another lifetime. Hooray, Henriette is here. He’s loaded with connections for me to connect to.

“Oh, you. Silly as ever. So what station are you ruling with an iron bra these days? I’m still cranking it out at Outdoors. Emphasize on the out, haha. Give us a light?”

He leans towards her to light his menthol from Lary’s cigarette. “You here or in the States?”

“Actually, I’m between … contracts.” Lary bats her eyelashes like Liza Minnelli.

“Don’t tell me, mov-ies. Hollywood, hang onto your panties!” Henry purses his lips as he inhales, looking around the balcony to make sure he isn’t missing anyone more important.

Lary blows a smoke ring. Just go for it. Swallow your pride and go for it. “Well, to be honest, Henriette, I was hoping you might know someone with, you know, an opening for a producer like … like myself.”

Henry stops in mid-exhale. Smoke curls from his open mouth.

She barrels on. “We worked so well together on Cooking for Couples. I just thought you could,” she takes a deep breath, “Put in a good word for me somewhere.” She stares meaningfully into his eyes.

Out of nowhere someone behind her steps on the hem of her floor-length skirt. And she topples over like a mannequin in a high wind.

Pride goeth before a fall.