Behind Blue Eyes

Chapter 10

Matt surveyed the lobby of Toronto's Royal York hotel. He'd been there once before on business five years earlier, but his only remarkable memory of the place was its Japanese steakhouse and the foolishness of his then boss conducting a business meeting with clients around a teppanyaki hotplate. In retrospect, they would have been fortunate had the contracts gone up in flames, as they'd threatened to do, rather than the non-payment debacle that had ensued a year later.

Matt was standing in line to check in when he was tapped on his shoulder. His disappointment at learning Luke's arrival had been delayed until the following morning was tempered by the news he'd be spending the afternoon and evening with Debbie, even if it meant accompanying her on a shopping expedition.

Several hours later, Debbie seemed to have exhausted Bloor Street—the Rodeo Drive of the north. He was pretty tired himself: his feet hurt and his arms were weighed down with bags.

"You've been very patient," she remarked as they were leaving the umpteenth store where the security guard had made some arbitrary assessment as to whether they were bona fide customers or just mere window-shoppers before buzzing them in.

"No worries," he said smiling. He wondered about Stockholm syndrome: she'd certainly held him captive long enough. "Are we done?"

Debbie laughed. "I am, but you're not."

"Huh?"

She gave him an exaggerated once-over. "I'm so happy we can buy off the rack. Going bespoke would have been a time challenge."

"Huh?" he repeated.

"No offense but I need to get you kitted out in a suitable wardrobe for the week and thank God for Paul Smith," Debbie exclaimed, marching into the next store on her apparently infinite list.

For the next two hours, Matt endured the embarrassment if not quite the humiliation of what Toronto's beloved daytime host, Marilyn Dennis, would have devoted a whole makeover show to. He left the store with a new haircut—he had to agree it was pretty sharp—and an entire new wardrobe that would be delivered to the hotel. He was going to be a walking advertisement for Paul Smith. His discomfort at being treated by everyone as a living mannequin had been quickly tempered by his reflection in the mirror. He had to admit he looked pretty damn good.

"I dress Luke all the time," Debbie explained as if reading his thoughts as they traveled in the taxi back to the hotel. "The two of you are pretty much the same size." She smiled. "But you're way more fun. Have you ever thought about doing something a little more extreme with your hair? I think a buzz cut would really suit you."

Matt smiled but remained silent. Had Debbie known him when a buzzcut was his norm, he doubted she'd have wanted him as her escort.

Later that evening, and with all his hair intact, they headed out for dinner at Ye Olde Pasta House. The dubious recommendation of the hotel's concierge was in response to Debbie's insistence for casual. The irony wasn't lost on Matt, considering the recent significant expenditure on clothes for the two of them. Matt cringed as they stood in the entrance, waiting to be seated. The shouts and screams of kids running wild threatened to overwhelm him. The concierge obviously hadn't appreciated there were several degrees of casual: they'd merely wanted somewhere where jeans were acceptable rather than pants optional. A shiver went down his spine in response to a child's screech.

"Perhaps we should try somewhere else?" he said.

Debbie seemed less easily perturbed. She squeezed his arm. "It'll be fine." A waiter walked past carrying a tray of large glass steins of beer on his shoulder. "Besides, I'm really, really thirsty."