La dictée

Overheard Miss Cousins on the telephone, and she wasn't at all happy. It seems the dramas of last year have returned like a boring souvenir that had been long forgotten. The afternoon was uneventful; some clients visited the practice and there was a long strategy session in the boardroom.

I drove her home, stopping to pick up supper at a food shoppe near the apartment. The car was still dusty from the trip to the lodge, and Adelaide was in an impatient mood. I cashed in some serious car-karma and found a parking spot rightoutsidethedamndoor and returned with supper in record time. I brown-nosed a bit and slipped a Toblerone bar into the shopping bag of take-out, hoping it would be interpreted as a kind token.

We drove home in silence, the radio tuned to a college radio station. I parked the car, handed the keys over, and prepared to hike back to my studio apartment several blocks away. I had a box of Kraft Dinner to look forward to, and my diet included cable tv. Later on, I had a date on the Internet (I know, I know) and a shower in mind.

Since supper orders were always dispacthed by The Secretary, the simple task of picking-up the victuals was considered perfunctory, and therefore within my range of capabilities. The orders were always wrapped and sealed, contents unknown.

On this night I was told that there was "far too much" for two, and that the main course was cold salmon (not my favourite) under a cucumber sauce, with sides of summer vegetables, salad, wild rice and an opening salvo (I looked after the toaster oven) of warmed-up cheese straws.

Miss Cousins--Adelaide--made Martinis while the cheese straws warmed, and I was careful to drink like a goodboy. Dessert was chocolate cake and ice cream for me, a final glass of wine and a cigarette for Miss Cousins. I slipped the Toblerone bar onto the counter, leaving it on a small china saucer I found in the cupboard.

I was dismissed at 9:30 and told I could take the car home. I confirmed--at attention--that I would be at the side door of the building at 9:15 the next morning.

I drove home carefully, easing into a berth in the underground of my building next to an ancient compact and under a suspicious pipe. I checked that the doors were locked twice. A final leer into the interior reassured me that there was nothing--at all--of any value in the cabin.

I tossed the keys on my kitchen counter with an easy nonchalance and called it a night.

The Editorial Collective of
The Adelaide Cousins Project