leather motorcycle jacket and black leather pants, claiming she didn’t know how to dress like a hick. Waitressing at one of the town’s two bars seemed to be the obvious solution, except that they were country-and-western and she said country-and-western music made her puke. John thought he’d finally found the solution when the hydro worker who rented the apartment behind the Esso station moved out.
“It’s yours,” he told Cory. “Rent-free until you get a job.”
“Oh, great,” Cory said, tears welling in her eyes. “A hole in the middle of nowhere where I can get raped by every grease-ball in the county. Thanks a lot.” And she ran into her bedroom and slammed the door.
Her insomnia had disappeared. She went to bed at nine or ten in the evening and slept until noon. Usually she was still in bed when Marion returned home from the pet store. She had long showers and watched TV and drove Marion’s car to the mall, where she pestered John for cigarette money. While Marion made supper, she smoked at the kitchen table and cut to shreds whoever she’d seen that day, either at the mall or on TV . It was like old times, except that once in a while she went after John or his sisters or Grace, and even though Marionunderstood that this was just Cory trying to get her goat, she was nevertheless hurt and couldn’t help rising to their defence, which was like throwing tin cans at a sharpshooter.
With Grace and John’s sisters, her ruthlessness could take Marion’s breath away. With John, however, she showed some restraint. She allowed for the other side of the coin. Okay, she conceded, John was generous and handsome … a generous bullshitter, a handsome shrimp. One day she said, “I’ll bet he’s got one of those tuna-can cocks.”
“He does not!” Marion said. “It’s perfectly normal.”
“How would you know? Have you ever seen another cock?”
“I’ve seen them on animals.”
Cory burst out laughing. “Oh, right, you work in a pet store. Well, shit, I’m not saying that in a line-up of well-hung gerbils he couldn’t hold his own.”
Marion was furious. “I’m talking about horses,” she said wildly.
Silence. A forsythia branch tapped on the kitchen window.
“You’re kidding,” Cory said conversationally.
Not long after that the snow melted under the bushes, and the warm air blowing over the fields began to carry with it the smell of manure and mud. Cory started getting up earlier to sunbathe on the front lawn in her pink-sequined G-string and a tank top. “Owooo, Mama!” John howled at her on his way to or from the car. Suddenly he was always running off somewhere, never home long enough to worry about whether Cory was looking for a job. So Marion stopped worrying, too. In fact, with John away so much, she had to admit that she was grateful for Cory’s company.
Cory joined her now on her shopping trips for red and black things. She was an enormous help. “John will hate that,” she’d say confidently, and Marion would pause and realize that Cory was right. After shopping they’d drive to the Bluebird Café for lunch. “On John,” as Cory would point out, ordering dessert andan Irish coffee. She was gaining weight, but Marion thought she could do with it. Her hair was growing back to its lovely peach colour. Her eyes had their old shiftiness. She seemed to be over Rick, and one afternoon Marion ventured to tell her as much.
“Over
him!” Cory said. “I hated that asshole from day one. You know, just because you live with some guy doesn’t mean you have to like him.”
“It does as far as I’m concerned,” Marion said.
“That’s
you,”
Cory said. She downed her glass of wine. She lit a cigarette and looked out the window. “Stupid people get everything they deserve,” she said fiercely. Marion assumed she was referring to Rick. “I have no pity for stupid people,” she said. “I can’t afford to.”
Two days later, during one of the rare suppers that John
“It’s yours,” he told Cory. “Rent-free until you get a job.”
“Oh, great,” Cory said, tears welling in her eyes. “A hole in the middle of nowhere where I can get raped by every grease-ball in the county. Thanks a lot.” And she ran into her bedroom and slammed the door.
Her insomnia had disappeared. She went to bed at nine or ten in the evening and slept until noon. Usually she was still in bed when Marion returned home from the pet store. She had long showers and watched TV and drove Marion’s car to the mall, where she pestered John for cigarette money. While Marion made supper, she smoked at the kitchen table and cut to shreds whoever she’d seen that day, either at the mall or on TV . It was like old times, except that once in a while she went after John or his sisters or Grace, and even though Marionunderstood that this was just Cory trying to get her goat, she was nevertheless hurt and couldn’t help rising to their defence, which was like throwing tin cans at a sharpshooter.
With Grace and John’s sisters, her ruthlessness could take Marion’s breath away. With John, however, she showed some restraint. She allowed for the other side of the coin. Okay, she conceded, John was generous and handsome … a generous bullshitter, a handsome shrimp. One day she said, “I’ll bet he’s got one of those tuna-can cocks.”
“He does not!” Marion said. “It’s perfectly normal.”
“How would you know? Have you ever seen another cock?”
“I’ve seen them on animals.”
Cory burst out laughing. “Oh, right, you work in a pet store. Well, shit, I’m not saying that in a line-up of well-hung gerbils he couldn’t hold his own.”
Marion was furious. “I’m talking about horses,” she said wildly.
Silence. A forsythia branch tapped on the kitchen window.
“You’re kidding,” Cory said conversationally.
Not long after that the snow melted under the bushes, and the warm air blowing over the fields began to carry with it the smell of manure and mud. Cory started getting up earlier to sunbathe on the front lawn in her pink-sequined G-string and a tank top. “Owooo, Mama!” John howled at her on his way to or from the car. Suddenly he was always running off somewhere, never home long enough to worry about whether Cory was looking for a job. So Marion stopped worrying, too. In fact, with John away so much, she had to admit that she was grateful for Cory’s company.
Cory joined her now on her shopping trips for red and black things. She was an enormous help. “John will hate that,” she’d say confidently, and Marion would pause and realize that Cory was right. After shopping they’d drive to the Bluebird Café for lunch. “On John,” as Cory would point out, ordering dessert andan Irish coffee. She was gaining weight, but Marion thought she could do with it. Her hair was growing back to its lovely peach colour. Her eyes had their old shiftiness. She seemed to be over Rick, and one afternoon Marion ventured to tell her as much.
“Over
him!” Cory said. “I hated that asshole from day one. You know, just because you live with some guy doesn’t mean you have to like him.”
“It does as far as I’m concerned,” Marion said.
“That’s
you,”
Cory said. She downed her glass of wine. She lit a cigarette and looked out the window. “Stupid people get everything they deserve,” she said fiercely. Marion assumed she was referring to Rick. “I have no pity for stupid people,” she said. “I can’t afford to.”
Two days later, during one of the rare suppers that John
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