I’m working on the second half of a fantasy miniseries called Dark Kingdom: The Dragon King, also known as Sword of Xanten, also known as Ring of the Nibelungs, possibly also known as lots of other things. Adrienne’s finished her work and watched American Idol, and she’s now packing up her stuff and getting ready to go home. Trese has finished proofing the first half of Ring of the Dark Xanten King, and she’s taking the tapes over to VTR before leaving for the night.
Trese passes by my door on her way out, and I pop out to say goodbye. Adrienne nods towards the table with the Valentine’s Day candy on it. Trese, who’s on Weight Watchers, looks at me and says, “Are you going to get rid of that for me?”
It’s 11:00 at night, not a good time to be eating sugar. I gesture at the table and waggle my fingers in a mysterious manner. The chocolate remains there.
“No, you don’t have the magic touch,” says Adrienne.
“Thank God for that,” says Trese. “He’d just use it for something evil. If you had the magic touch, you’d just use it for something evil, wouldn’t you, Cameron?”
I look at her.
(Monday, January 2. The bus just pulled in from Cornwall. I’m carrying two bags. I should go down the escalator in the bus terminal and through the Atrium on Bay to catch the subway at Dundas station, but I can’t do that, not now, not when there’s something I have to see first. I walk underground and come up out of the Atrium on Edward Street and walk down to the end of the block at Yonge and turn left and walk north and there it is. Flowers. Teddy bears. Cards. Letters. Pictures. A crowd on the sidewalk, people just looking. There are cameras there, newspeople reporting on a city’s grief. I don’t stop. I walk past. If I stop in front of the cameras they might ask me something. I’ve got nothing to add. I’m carrying two bags over my shoulders and my hand is in my jacket pocket, my knuckles white. This should not have happened. My heart pounding. I should have been here. My nails digging into my palm.)
I’m not looking at Trese. I’m looking just to the left of her. Not making eye contact.
I don’t have the magic touch.
“No,” I tell her, and I turn and walk back into my office.
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