Face/Mask (11 page)

He laughed at the thought, although his eyes still held a touch of his earlier fear. He waved back at Janus, wiped some dampness from his cheeks and stepped through the door.

Janus let out a deep breath once Leblanc was gone. His thoughts went to his relationship with Sahar, and he wondered if he was being spied on there. He’d never used Department P-screens to communicate with her, nor spoken to her directly over his com. This Prescott had no reason to tap into his home P-screen, and no reason to suspect he was doing anything outside the straight and narrow. And it had been two years since he’d ended his dog-fighting days, so even if they did bring that up again, what was the worst they would do?

Janus headed home, leaving Leblanc to stew over the impending discovery of his gambling habits. He was sure he had little to worry about, and he looked forward to spending a calm weekend with the family.

But he soon found that telling himself there was nothing to worry about was not the same thing as not worrying. Despite his internal arguments and rationalizations he knew he’d put himself at risk from the first day he’d gone to Sahar’s apartment. He had simply turned a wilfully blind eye to the dangers. But now the potential consequences were staring him in the face: if this ever came out he might face serious professional sanctions; Terry could find out about his affair; and, of course, he might end up losing Sahar herself.

He wasn’t about to admit that this latter possibility worried him more than the others, but it was competing for top spot. By Sunday, as he sat in his home office staring at his P-screen without seeing the news reports, he was still trying to convince himself that he had nothing to worry about. He was well-respected, didn’t have a reputation for any kind of untoward behaviour, and he’d done nothing to draw attention to himself. Besides, his department was surprisingly efficient at a time when there was little in the world which worked the way it was supposed to. He told himself that his private affairs were exactly that, private, and they in no way interfered with his work.

So he really had to stop brooding over this, especially if he was supposed to join his family at the table and talk about how everybody’s week had gone.

This last thought had barely crossed his mind when Rollie’s voice brought him out of his reverie.

“How can comforting someone be a crime, Dad?’

Janus jerked around and found his son standing behind him, his curious eyes roving over the P-screen. Janus quickly scanned the headlines until he found the one that had gotten his son’s attention: “U.S. Pressures Canadian Provinces to Criminalize Comfort.” He flicked the screen off and smiled to himself. How to explain to an eight-year old that comfort was now the official euphemism for the world’s oldest profession? Or that Canada’s open-minded attitude drove its puritan American masters crazy?

“Probably just a typo,” he answered, well-aware that this was a weak explanation. “What’re you doing up here, anyway?”

“Mom sent me. Lunch is ready and we’re all starved.”

“Righto, little man.” Janus stood and sniffed dramatically at the aroma that was wafting down to his office. “Smells delish.”

“I know. Isn’t Uncle Joe a great cook, Dad?” Rollie asked as he led his father back to the dining room.

“Yeah, great,” Janus answered with little enthusiasm, even though he had to admit the truth of what Rollie was saying.

“Isn’t it great that Uncle Joe lives with us, Dad? My friend Marc’s grand-dad lives with his family. Uncle Joe’s like my grand-dad, right?”

Janus let his son prattle on as they walked up the stairs, trying to steel himself against the over-enthusiasm that Joe would surely exude. He took a deep breath and put on his biggest smile as he headed into the dining-room where the family had gathered.

Terry and the boys were already seated. Rollie surprised his father by running to the foot of the table, where he claimed the seat nearest to Uncle Joe. There would be no plastic table in front of the vid-bot on this day. As for Joe, he stood beaming proudly, carving knife and fork in hand.

“This is called
Abbachio al Forno
. Everybody, please to eat,” he announced with more than a hint of pride, cutting into the meat and ladling generous portions onto each one’s plate.

Janus quickly forgot about Leblanc’s worries as he ate heartily, the food as delicious as he knew it would be. While the boys stuffed themselves they giggled and gave each other mysteriously knowing looks. Janus sensed that Terry and Joe were sharing a secret with his sons. He stopped chewing and let his eyes wander around the table, feeling a nervous excitement among them.

His gaze fell upon Francis, who was more prone to embarrassment and discomfiture than his brothers. Janus kept looking at him until Francis looked up at his father, and then blushed before quickly pulling his eyes away.

“Something wrong, Francis?”

He’d barely asked the question when everyone at the table stopped moving, although nobody looked in his direction. Something was clearly up and Janus was just irritated enough to insist he be told what it was.

“I asked you if something was wrong, Francis,” he repeated, realizing that his tone was unnecessarily harsh. “What’s going on?”

Francis looked toward Terry with frightened eyes. “Mommm,” he pleaded.

“It’s all right, Francis,” Terry consoled him, before turning her attention to her husband. “I’m sorry, dear. I was trying to save it until after we ate, but it seems that some people here can’t keep secrets very well.”

Francis blushed even further and turned his face away, while Richard snorted derisively and punched him on the shoulder.

“So what’s the secret?” Janus asked. His tone let everybody know he was unlikely to be happy with it, whatever it was.

Instead of answering him Terry turned to her uncle. “Go ahead, Uncle Joe. It’s your surprise, you tell it.”

Janus turned toward Joe, wondering what possible surprise the older man could have for him. Joe wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up ceremoniously, clearly misreading Janus’s glare for anticipation.

“Allen, you do know what is this Thursday, yes?”

Other than a routine day at work followed by some happy hours spent with Sahar Janus had little expectation of anything particular happening that Thursday, so he shrugged.

“Allen, it is two year anniversary of me coming to live with you and Teresa. And the boys, of course.”

“Oh,” Janus said, not sure what his response was expected to be. “Two years already.”

“Yes, two years that you have all made me a very happy man. Last year Rollie was sick with the
enfisema
so I did not want to celebrate. But now,
grazie a Dio
, everyone is healthy and happy. I am happy, Allen. And so I have small gift for you.”

“Joe, you didn’t have to…”

“No, of course I have to. How could I not do so? But I have not very much money to spend, Allen.”

Janus stiffened at this last sentence, wondering if Joe was reminding him of why exactly that was. He said nothing, waiting to see where Joe was going with this.

“I want to give something special for you and Teresa. So I speak to my friend, Tony.”

“The guy you get your lamb from,” Janus said.

“Yes, that is him. He goes every year to a very nice hotel, in, in…I forget, in place in mountains.”

“
Ste-Agathe
,” Terry chimed in, mentioning a name that Janus remembered from his youth as a popular lake-front resort.

“Yes, that is it. Very nice, this place. He rents a suite there many times; very expensive, he says. And I say to Tony, my friend, that you and Teresa never go to a place nice like that. You work very hard, Allen. You must go someplace where sometime you see blue in the sky.”

“Where the administration can’t poison you…yet,” Richard chimed in with a laugh that he quickly suppressed when nobody laughed along with him.

Janus realized what Joe had done and was honestly touched that the man had gone to this trouble for him and Terry.

“So, Tony tell me, Allen, that the hotel is not very expensive this time of year. Families go up on the weekends, because everybody works. I cannot pay for a nice weekend, Allen. But I can pay for three days during week. That means two nights, yes? But you go there Wednesday and come home on Friday. This is my gift for you and Terry.”

Janus kept his face as still as possible, not sure what would come out of his mouth should he open it. Joe, nearly broke, was spending money on him out of the goodness of his heart. Again. And it felt not unlike a dagger being thrust into Janus’s back. The offer was incredibly kind, but Janus couldn’t accept it, and he searched frantically for a reason to refuse that wouldn’t make him seem like an ungrateful jerk.

“Uncle Joe...this is too generous. It’s…it’s too much. We can’t possibly let you spend all that money on us.”

“It is my money, Allen,” Joe replied in a determined tone. “I may spend it how I wish.”

“But, the kids,” Janus said, looking over to Terry for support, but finding none there. “What about the kids?”

“I think the boys will not die at my hands for two nights, Allen.”

“They’ll be fine, darling,” Terry chimed in, her expression a combination of excitement and trepidation. “Isn’t this sweet of Joe? You work so hard we never get out of the city. I only wish we could take the whole family.”

“I am so sorry, Teresa-”

“No, no, Uncle Joe,” she reached out to reassure him. “You’re not responsible for that. This is a beautiful gift, but I think my hard-working husband should consider treating all of us to some fresh air now and then.”

Terry smiled mischievously at Janus, and gave his hand a happy squeeze, but he looked like everyone around him was speaking a foreign language. He wasn’t thinking about getting the whole family out of the city, but of this week’s trip, aware that he had a powerful reason to not leave town: he’d miss out on his time with Sahar.

At the beginning of each week he counted the days and then the hours until he fell into her arms and her bed each Thursday night. He couldn’t let them deprive him of his time with her, although that was an argument he could never use.

“You seem to forget that I have a job to go to. I can’t just take off in the middle of the week.”

“Allen, you’ve hardly taken any time off in three years,” Terry argued. “I spoke to Norm Leblanc and he told me there’d be no problem if you missed a couple of days.”

“You spoke to Normand about this?”

“Yes, two weeks ago, when Uncle Joe first asked what I thought of the idea. And Norm even said he could cover for you at your Thursday night committee meeting.”

“Norm said that?”

“Yes. I wasn’t sure if he even knew what I was talking about at first, but then he said he would take care of it.”

Thank God Leblanc’s a quick thinker,
Janus thought.

The man had most certainly been taken by surprise when Terry brought up the fictitious committee, but he’d managed to go along with the charade. He was so used to lying to cover up his own illicit activities that he had no problem doing it for others.

Everyone around the table was laughing, their happy gazes travelling between Joe, looking proud yet embarrassed at his own generosity, and Janus, whose face wore an exaggerated smile that hid his racing thoughts. He could see that Terry’s laughter was not as loud as her sons, and her eyes showed a hint of concern.

Of course she’s worried. She knows me best.
Or at least she thinks she does
.

He decided that even if he agreed to the trip at that moment he’d have to think of something in the next few days to get out of it. It didn’t occur to him that two nights in the mountains with his wife might actually be something he’d enjoy. All he thought of was the woman he’d be leaving behind. And the man who was causing him this heartache.

He looked at Joe’s smiling face and felt tears of anger well up in his eyes. Not even trying to hide them, he wiped at his face with his sleeves. Terry, perhaps intentionally misreading his reaction, leaned over and hugged her husband.

“Can you believe how thoughtful Joe is? This little trip is going to do us so much good, Allen. You’ll see.”

August 8, 2039:

Monday morning Janus sat alone in his office, his door locked against one of Leblanc’s unannounced intrusions to complain about whichever problem he was facing these days. Janus had made it clear to his secretary that he wasn’t to be disturbed by anybody lower than a Deputy Minister.

So nobody knocked on his door, and the only e-messages he got were that morning’s traffic updates, which he paid little attention to. Reports from across the city flickered silently across his P-screen, but his eyes saw none of them. He sat alone thinking about a woman that he had no right to think about, although he could hardly think about anything else.

He couldn’t honestly say that he was in love with Sahar, but he knew he was smitten. Maybe even obsessed. If all he’d wanted was a physical release, or a distraction from his monotonous life, he’d found that and so much more. She’d quickly become someone he needed to make love to and to talk with. With her he could pretend that he was someone he wasn’t.