(10) Bright Lights, Big City
It could have been the classic, the mythical, first fancy date in the big city. Two virtual strangers in a chauffeur driven limousine, gazing starry eyed as they chatted inconsequentially. Imrat, as he liked to call himself, betrayed not a whit of youth or inexperience as he spoke of the major cities in the Middle East and their various pleasures and drawbacks. Lara, allowing for layers of grafted-on sophistication, felt she could see an anxious boy breathing shallow breaths and talking too fast.
Andrew, enjoying his driver role, had settled into the Jag’s sweet spot, 110k, and just grooved on a rainy day, as Jimi would have you do, rain or no rain. Mozart flute concertos, Jean Pierre Rampal no less, added the aural wallpaper to the evening’s cultural exchange. He too could hear the boy behind the man, the sophisticated child lost in the options of the West. He knew how to be the rich and privileged Muslim in Karachi and Dubai. It was almost like home turf. Home appeared to be Kabul in small doses, with the kind of family/tribal connections which enabled the free transportation of goods, at least before and after the Taliban. He glanced, just past the Humber, in the rear view to see Lara’s head jutting and nodding in a most unfamiliar fashion. Quite the actress.
They headed up Jarvis towards Bloor and over to Danforth, Andrew trying to summon up every bit of historical chat about Afganistan. He read a bunch during the appalling Russian misadventure, some guy called Peregrine,…and Doris Lessing and Newby’s Short Walk In The Hindu Kush, and assorted bits ’n bobs from magazines and newspapers since then. Not that he’d need it. Neither of the supposed lovebirds in back had so much as acknowledged his existence. Lara had laid out what she thought was a plan when he picked her up. It was a complete fabrication of course, utter deception from beginning to end, but it was all in a good cause wasn’t it? Classic ends justify the means argument, Andrew observed. Dryly he supposed. Used by every cynic and shyster since someone thought to record history. Well he had to say something. Here he was, completely effacing himself for the sake of the plan. And what a half-assed plan it was. Jordan, as usual, wanted to trust in the process. Just let it flow and all that. Andrew’d seen one too many burnt out hippies on late night buses to find that convincing. Grey bearded wrecks, lost and looking for home. Walk-ons from that Stones song “Moonlight Mile”. One of them had suggested that he not be so uptight, this after emptying his pocket and offering forty-seven cents. Andrew’d smiled and told him to keep it. Next time, okay? He’d never seen him again, on St. Clair or anywhere else.
Lara asked him to pull over some ways after Broadview. He found a spot behind a line of parked cars and they stepped out. She leaned in the passenger side window and asked him, with just the right blend of formality and friendliness, to come for them in two hours. He nodded and wished her a very pleasant meal. Imrat stood back, his hands clasped like a minister letting the choir finish before stepping up to sermonize. His dark wool coat was of a fine blend and cut. Maybe not a bespoke tailor, but likely not off the rack either. They had picked him up outside the library, and that fact alone spoke volumes. But as he drove off, pondering the fate of his own hunger, he wondered exactly which volumes.
He drove back west, thinking of the Annex. There was an all-you-can-eat sushi place on Bloor that might be fun, and he could park safely just down the block in Central Tech lot. By the fence right at the sidewalk. Well lit and quiet, but not too quiet. He did so about ten minutes later, backing the Jag carefully up to the fence. The neighbourhood was quiet as he walked towards its commercial hub, and he used the minutes to reminisce about his many pleasant summer walks through it in summers gone by. During his time in Toronto he’d become a lover of neighbourhoods. Each possessed a unique and usually indescribable character that could only be embraced by walking slowly. Many a day off in the spring and summer months had been spent in such charmed rambles. It was a tad too chilly for a ramble now, unfortunately.
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