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  “Mark Edward Lawton,” I said.

  Billy’s eyes narrowed. “Jesus, that little putz! What’s your connection with Mark Lawton?”

  “He’s my son.”

  Billy sighed. “No offense, but he’s a shit. Aggressive. Arrogant. Ruthless. He and I are in a bidding war over some warehouses. I was in a meeting with him all morning. I’ve got him beat, but he won’t back down.”

  “He takes after his father,” I said.

  Billy took the lid off his pen. “Who’s his father?”

  I shrugged. “He’s a real killer. Aggressive. Arrogant. Ruthless. You know what they say, Billy. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, no matter what I did, I couldn’t keep Mark from turning out like his father.”

  “Am I supposed to know this guy?”

  “Every morning when you shave, you see him in your mirror.” Billy froze. “You’re not saying I’m your kid’s father. That’s impossible. I’ve been married three times. Never knocked up any of my wives. I’ve been tested. I don’t shoot blanks, but I’m not exactly a potentate.”

  Despite everything, I laughed. “Oh god, Billy, do you even know what a potentate is?”

  “Sure,” Billy said. “A guy who’s potent. Which apparently I am not.” He leaned across the desk. His face softened. “Or am I? Do you have proof?”

  “No,” I said. “My husband was listed as Mark’s father on the birth certificate. But Mark was born six months after the night Vova died, and Mark wasn’t premature.”

  “Those premature babies are little, right?”

  “Right,” I said. “Mark weighed almost ten pounds. He was a full-term baby. I was three months pregnant the night I left the house on Charles Street West.”

  I could see the hope in Billy’s eyes. “Jesus, I can’t believe this. I always thought that when I cashed in my chips, it would be the end of Merchant Enterprises, but if I have a son … that would change everything.”

  “It could,” I agreed.

  “I’ll get one of those paternity tests,” Billy said.

  “Be my guest. Or you could just look into Mark’s eyes or listen closely to his voice. He’s your boy, Billy.”

  Billy shook his head in wonder. “I have a son.”

  “Are you going to hand out cigars?” I said.

  He grinned. “Why not? Better late than never, eh? At last, the King of Charles Street West has an heir.” He came around the desk and took my hand. For a moment, I glimpsed the Billy I loved. “So when are we going to tell my boy the truth? I’m trying not to be a prick here, but Mark should know who his real father is.”

  I felt a stab of panic. “I’ll be taking a chance,” I said. “I’ve heard Mark talk about you, and what he says isn’t flattering. If he discovers you’re his father, I could lose him.”

  “That’s not going to happen. Mark may be a putz, but he’s smart. You and I are a great package deal. I’ve got money, and you’ve got class. He won’t walk away from that.”

  “Guaranteed?”

  Billy reached out and stroked my cheek. “Babe, there are no guarantees in life. It’s like I always say, You take a chance the day you’re born. Why stop now?”

  I removed his hand from my cheek. “Actually, the first person to say that line was Barbara Stanwyck in Golden Boy. Maybe you should start acknowledging her.”

  Billy raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that? It’s my signature line.” He held out his arm. “Time to move, our son is waiting.” He took a camera from a shelf near the door.

  “Planning to take a family portrait?” I said.

  Billy slung the camera around his neck. “This morning when I had that meeting with Mark, I noticed this abandoned shoe factory near his office. It’s a rat-trap, but a great location. If we’re going to be in the neighborhood, I might as well snap some pictures. People would pay big money to be that close to the lake.” His eyes were sparkling with the old lust for the future. “Do you know what a pied-à-terre is?”

  “It’s a small second home rich people have in cities they love.”

  Billy nodded admiringly. “You always were sharp. Anyway, everybody loves Toronto. Mark and I could turn that shoe factory into a bunch of little condos—except instead of calling them condos, we’ll call them pieds-à-terre. If we give our little shoeboxes a French name, people will be creaming their jeans to get in on the ground floor.” Billy smoothed my hair. “We’re going to make a killing. Now come on, babe. Time for you to introduce me to my son.”

  Then Billy and I, the betrayer and the betrayed, linked arms and together we rode the elevator that took us to the shining doors that opened to the city. When we stepped outside, Billy handed the doorman his camera and a twentydollar bill. “Take our picture, would you?” he said. “And be sure to get a nice shot of the building.”

  As we stepped into position, I put my lips next to Billy’s ear and whispered, “The last person to take a picture of the two of us together was Vova.”

  Billy turned and craned his neck so he could see the top of his office tower. “Wouldn’t that old man be amazed if he could see what I’ve done?”

  As he had so often, Billy took my breath away. For a moment, I felt light-headed. I took his arm and inhaled deeply, and the moment passed. Even on the tenth day of a garbage strike, there’s something restorative about the smell of Toronto in summer. It’s as seductive as the scent of a lover you can never really bring yourself to leave.

  WALKING THE DOG

  BY PETER ROBINSON

  The Beach

  The dog days came to the Beaches in August and the boardwalk was crowded. Even the dog owners began to complain about the heat. Laura Francis felt as if she had been locked in the bathroom after a hot shower as she walked Big Ears down to the fenced-off compound on Kew Beach, where he could run free. She said hello to the few people she had seen there before while Big Ears sniffed the shrubbery and moved on to play with a Labrador retriever.

  “They seem to like each other,” said a voice beside her.

  Laura turned and saw a man she thought she recognized, but not from the Beaches. She couldn’t say where. He was handsome in a chiseled, matinee-idol sort of way, and the tight jeans and white T-shirt did justice to his well-toned muscles and tapered waist. Where did she know him from?

  “You must excuse Big Ears,” she said. “He’s such a womanizer.”

  “It’s nothing Rain can’t handle.”

  “Rain? That’s an unusual name for a dog.”

  He shrugged. “Is it? It was raining the day I picked her up from the Humane Society. Raining cats and dogs. Anyway, you’re one to talk, naming dogs after English children’s book characters.”

  Laura felt herself flush. “My mother used to read them to me when I was little. I grew up in England.”

  “I can tell by the accent. I’m Ray, by the way. Ray Lanagan.”

  “Laura Francis. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Laura? After the movie?”

  “After my grandmother.”

  “Pity. You do look a bit like Gene Tierney, you know.”

  Laura tried to remember whether Gene Tierney was the one with an overbite or the large breasts and tight sweaters. As she had both, herself, she supposed it didn’t really matter. She blushed again. “Thank you.”

  They stood in an awkward, edgy silence while the dogs played on around them. Then, all of a sudden, Laura remembered where she had seen Ray before. Jesus, of course, it was him, the one from the TV commercial, the one for some sort of male aftershave or deodorant where he was stripped to the waist, wearing tight jeans like today. She’d seen him in a magazine too. She had even fantasized about him, imagined it was him there in bed with her instead of Lloyd grunting away on top of her as if he were running a marathon.

  “What is it?” Ray asked.

  She brushed a strand of hair from her hot cheek. “Nothing. I just remembered where I’ve seen you before. You’re an actor, aren�
�t you?”

  “For my sins.”

  “Are you here to make a movie?” It wasn’t as stupid a question as it might have sounded. The studios were just down the road and Toronto had almost as big a reputation for being Hollywood North as Vancouver. Laura ought to know; Lloyd was always telling her about it since he ran a post-production company.

  “No,” Ray said. “I’m resting, as we say in the business.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ve got a couple of things lined up,” he went on. “Commercials, a small part in a new CBC legal drama. That sort of thing. And whatever comes my way by chance.”

  “It sounds exciting.”

  “Not really. It’s a living. To be honest, it’s mostly a matter of hanging around while the techies get the sound and light right. But what about you? What do you do?”

  “Me?” she pointed her thumb at her chest. “Nothing. I mean, I’m just a housewife.” It was true, she supposed: “Housewife” was about the only way she could describe herself. But she wasn’t even that. Alexa did all the housework, and Paul handled the garden. Laura had even hired a company to come in and clear the snow. So what did she do with her time, apart from shop and walk Big Ears? Sometimes she made dinner, but more often than not she made reservations. There were so many good restaurants on her stretch of Queen Street East—anything you wanted, Japanese, Greek, Indian, Chinese, Italian—that it seemed a shame to waste them.

  The hazy bright sun beat down mercilessly and the water looked like a ruffled blue bedsheet beyond the wire fence. Laura was feeling embarrassed now that she had openly declared her uselessness.

  “Would you like to go for a drink?” Ray asked. “I’m not coming on to you or anything, but it is a real scorcher.”

  Laura felt her heart give a little flutter and, if she were honest with herself, a pleasurable warmth spread through her lower belly.

  “Okay. Yes, I mean, sure,” she said. “Look, it’s a bit of a hassle going to a café or a pub with the dogs, right? Why don’t you come up to the house? It’s not far. Silver Birch. There’s cold beer in the fridge and I left the air-conditioning on.”

  Ray looked at her. He certainly had beautiful eyes, she thought, and they seemed especially steely blue in this kind of light. Blue eyes and black hair, a devastating combination. “Sure,” he said. “If it’s okay. Lead on.”

  They put Big Ears and Rain on leashes and walked up to Queen Street, which was crowded with tourists and locals pulling kids in bright-colored carts, all OshKosh B’Gosh and Birkenstocks. People browsed in shop windows, sat outdoors at Starbucks in shorts drinking their Frappucinos and reading the Globe and Mail, and there was a line outside the ice-cream shop. The traffic was moving at a crawl, but you could smell the coconut sunblock over the gas fumes.

  Laura’s large detached house stood at the top of a long flight of steps sheltered by overhanging shrubbery, and once they were off the street, nobody could see them. Not that it mattered, Laura told herself. It was all innocent enough.

  It was a relief to get inside, and even the dogs seemed to collapse in a panting heap and enjoy the cool air.

  “Nice place,” said Ray, looking around the modern kitchen, with its central island and pots and pans hanging from hooks overhead.

  Laura opened the fridge. “Beer? Coke? Juice?”

  “I’ll have a beer, if that’s okay,” said Ray.

  “Beck’s all right?”

  “Perfect.”

  She opened Ray a Beck’s and poured herself a glass of orange juice, the kind with extra pulp. Her heart was beating fast. Perhaps it was the heat, the walk home? She watched Ray drink his beer from the bottle, his Adam’s apple bobbing. When she took a sip of juice, a little dribbled out of her mouth and down her chin. Before she could make a move to get a napkin and wipe it off, Ray had moved forward just as far as it took, bent toward her, put his tongue on the curve under her lower lip, and licked it off.

  She felt his heat and shivered. “Ray, I’m not sure … I mean, I don’t think we should … I …”

  The first kiss nearly drew blood. The second one did. Laura fell back against the fridge and felt the Mickey Mouse magnet that held the weekly to-do list digging into her shoulder. She experienced a moment of panic as Ray ripped open her Holt Renfrew blouse. What did she think she was doing, inviting a strange man into her home like this? He could be a serial killer or something. But fear quickly turned to pleasure when his mouth found her nipple. She moaned and pulled him against her and spread her legs apart. His hand moved up under her long, loose skirt, caressing the bare flesh of her thighs and rubbing between her legs.

  Laura had never been so wet in her life, had never wanted it so much, and she didn’t want to wait. Somehow, she maneuvered them toward the dining room table and tugged at his belt and zipper as they stumbled backwards. She felt the edge of the table bump against the backs of her thighs and eased herself up on it, sweeping a couple of Waterford crystal glasses to the floor as she did so. The dogs barked. Ray was good and hard and he pulled her panties aside as she guided him smoothly inside her.

  “Fuck me, Ray,” she breathed. “Fuck me.”

  And he fucked her. He fucked her until she hammered with her fists on the table and a Royal Doulton cup and saucer joined the broken crystal on the floor. The dogs howled. Laura howled. When she sensed that Ray was about to come, she pulled him closer and said, “Bite me.”

  And he bit her.

  “I really think we should have that dog put down,” said Lloyd after dinner that evening. “For God’s sake, biting you like that. It could have given you rabies or something.”

  “Don’t be silly. Big Ears isn’t in the least bit rabid. It was an accident, that’s all. I was just a bit too rough with him.”

  “It’s the thin end of the wedge. Next time it’ll be the postman, or some kid in the street. Think what’ll happen then.”

  “We are not having Big Ears put down, and that’s final. I’ll be more careful in future.”

  “You just make sure you are.” Lloyd paused, then asked, “Have you thought any more about that other matter I mentioned?”

  Oh God, Laura thought, not again. Lloyd hated their house, hated the Beaches, hated Toronto. He wanted to sell up and move to Vancouver, live in Kitsilano or out on Point Grey. No matter that it rained there 364 days out of every year and all you could get to eat was sushi and alfalfa sprouts. Laura didn’t want to live in Lotus Land. She was happy where she was. Even happier since that afternoon.

  As Lloyd droned on and on, she drifted into pleasant reminiscences of Ray’s body on hers, the hard, sharp edges of his white teeth as they closed on the soft part of her neck. They had done it again, up in the bed this time, her and Lloyd’s bed. It was slower, less urgent, more gentle, but if anything, it was even better. She could still remember the warm ripples and floods of pleasure, like breaking waves running up through her loins and her belly, and she could feel a pleasant soreness between her legs even now, as she sat listening to Lloyd outline the advantages of moving the post-production company to Vancouver. Plenty of work there, he said. Hollywood connections. But if they moved, she would never see Ray again. It seemed more imperative than ever now to put a stop to it. She had to do something.

  “I really don’t want to talk about it, darling,” she said.

  “You never do.”

  “You know what I think of Vancouver.”

  “It doesn’t rain that much.”

  “It’s not just that. It’s … Oh, can’t we leave it be?”

  Lloyd put his hand up. “All right,” he said. “All right. Subject closed for tonight.” He got up and walked over to the drinks cabinet. “I feel like a cognac.”

  Laura had that sinking feeling. She knew what was coming.

  “Where is it?” Lloyd asked.

  “Where is what, darling?”

  “My snifter, my favorite brandy snifter. The one my father bought me.”

  “Oh, that,” said Laura, remembering the sha
ttered glass she had swept up from the hardwood floor. “I meant to tell you. I’m sorry, but there was an accident. The dishwasher.”

  Lloyd turned to look at her in disbelief. “You put my favorite crystal snifter in the dishwasher?”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I was in a hurry.”

  Lloyd frowned. “A hurry? You? What do you ever have to be in a hurry about? Walking the bloody dog?”

  Laura tried to laugh it off. “If only you knew half the things I had to do around the place, darling.”

  Lloyd continued to look at her. His eyes narrowed. “You’ve had quite a day, haven’t you?” he said.

  Laura sighed. “I suppose so. It’s just been one of those days.”

  “This’ll have to do then,” he said, pouring a generous helping of Remy into a different crystal snifter.

  It was just as good as the one she had broken, Laura thought. In fact, it was probably more expensive. But it wasn’t his. It wasn’t the one his miserable old bastard of a father, God rot his soul, had bought him.

  Lloyd sat down and sipped his cognac thoughtfully. The next time he spoke, Laura could see the way he was looking at her over the top of his glass. That look. “How about an early night?” he said.

  Laura’s stomach lurched. She put her hand to her forehead. “Oh, not tonight, darling. I’m sorry, but I have a terrible headache.”

  She didn’t see Ray for nearly a week and she was going crazy with fear that he’d left town, maybe gone to Hollywood to be a star, that he’d just used her and discarded her the way men did. After all, they had only been together the once, and he hadn’t told her he loved her or anything. All they had done was fuck. They didn’t really know one another at all. They hadn’t even exchanged phone numbers. She just had this absurd feeling that they were meant for each other, that it was destiny. A foolish fantasy, no doubt, but one that hurt like a knife jabbing into her heart every day she didn’t see him.