Penniless, Rex and Gretta flew to Toronto.

In Toronto lived their daughter and her family and if it was decided that the wise thing to do was to tell Serena and her husband the money was all gone, Rex and Gretta wanted to be available. They wanted to be nearby no matter what happened.

Spring bloomed in the Canadian city. It felt exhilarating and yet disgraceful to be broke while the sidewalk cafes laid out tablecloths and candlesticks. The couple ordered room service and sat out on the balcony of their hotel suite, watching sailboats drift past in the harbour.

They did not call the family. Until they decided what to do next, they didn’t want anyone to know where they were.

“What if we bump into someone?” wondered Gretta. She put this prospect to her husband as she plucked a speck of lint from her camel slacks, purchased from a boutique in Paris. French shopping excursions were now a thing of the past.

“We should be careful where we go,” concluded Rex. He had conducted business in Toronto, what little he had conducted. They had a great many friends and business contacts. “We should keep a low profile,” he said. It troubled him that he was in the same city as his daughter and had yet to call on her. He wondered if he would ever call her.

They sat on the hotel balcony and studied the harbour. With their eyes, they guided Cessna aircraft into the island airport.

They talked about committing suicide.

“I don’t want to feel any pain,” Gretta confessed. The solution made her fearful. “I want to slip away, like an old cat that knows her time is up.”

Rex murmured his agreement. If there was one thing he was grateful for in life, it was marrying Gretta. When they made a wise decision, they made it together.

 

 

They had purchased their plane tickets with air mile points. They paid for the hotel suite on their credit card. Rex kept only one credit card, preferring to pay cash for everything else under the sun.

The two descended into the lobby when the sun was going down and took dinner in the hotel’s dining room. They ordered the salmon poached with a tidy vinaigrette salad to begin. The wine list was short and suspect.

“I guess this is what happens when you keep a low profile,” muttered Rex. Gretta chose a California merlot. Dinner tucked away, Rex passed up on a cigar and sipped coffee with his wife.

She said, “We would need to refill the prescription for my sleeping pills.”

The salmon had been served slightly dry and using his tongue Rex extracted a sliver of the pink meat from a corner of his mouth. “Yes,” he agreed. He brought his serviette to his lips. “Yes, we would.”

 

 

The suite’s firm mattress kept him awake. Sitting up in the bed, Rex turned on the television and flicked through the muted channels. His wife slept lightly beside him, periodically sighing in her sleep.

At home, in their Spanish villa, they had satellite television. The nights he could not sleep, Rex would flip through the American feed, watching David Letterman, the weather channel, the late night movie station that ran Humphrey Bogart in black and white. Even while their money trickled away, he had felt no anxiety. He was born into a family with pots of money and had married a wife that had money. There was always money and when the bank accounts sunk, he prayed and more money came. He sold a refinery or a house. His father died and left him a sum of money.

He remembered the look on Gretta’s face when he’d told her they were flat broke. She was a great woman. Such dignity. Such reserve. “Uh oh,” she’d said.

He put his hand on the warm back of his wife. Uh oh.

She was a wonderful woman.

Climbing gently off the bed so not to wake her, Rex knelt on the carpet floor and rested his elbows on the edge of the king sized bed. He prayed under the spell of the silent television. “Please God, deliver us with an answer. You have not failed us in the past.”

To help himself sleep, he went into the bathroom and swallowed one of Gretta’s pills.

 

 

April showers soaked the patio as they collected the morning papers. Gretta complained of feeling like a prisoner. “We should go out and get a decent breakfast.” She wanted to walk along Bloor Street and look in the windows. “Not to buy anything,” she conceded. “Just to look.” Having left home without packing an umbrella, they agreed it was necessary that they purchase one.

Strolling arm in arm through the hotel lobby, they flagged a taxi and rode up from the waterfront into the heart of the city. In Holt Renfrew, they sipped café au lait and read The Times and Globe and Mail. Gretta uncovered a simple, black umbrella in the ladies department and charged it to Rex’s account.

“I keep thinking I’m going to turn around and run into someone we know,” confided Rex. They ambled along the rain soaked sidewalks. The effects of the previous evening’s sleeping pill made him feel groggy, his coffee and croissant wet in his stomach.

“Do you think, my love, that we came shopping in hopes that we might bump into someone we know?” His wife halted in front of a store window filled with lively children’s outfits. She and her daughter had bought gifts for the grandchildren only months ago in this very place. “Look at those darling dresses.”

Slipping an arm around her waist, Rex considered Gretta’s theory. He pulled his wife close to him, under the umbrella, out of the rain. He inhaled her perfume and said, “Not much gets past you, does it?” They strolled further up the block. The rain diminished and a fresh breeze filled the umbrella’s sails.

“Maybe we’re doing the wrong thing,” said Gretta. “So we’re out of money. Everybody knows money isn’t everything. We can survive on our love.” She kissed him and giggled. It reminded Rex of the girl he’d married. “Our love and the love of our children,” she completed.

They passed a tailor shop. “What do you think of those socks?” asked Rex. Closely, he examined the dressed window through the glass.

“What would you wear them with?”

“Any one of my dark suits. I think they’re fantastic.”

She surveyed the socks herself but said nothing more. She waited patiently while her husband deliberated the display window. “Come along, my sweet pear.” She led him towards thick books and classical music.

They did not encounter anyone they knew.

 

 

He told her he’d taken one of her sleeping pills. “There are only nine more in the bottle.” Settled out on the hotel balcony once again, he examined a map of the city.

“Then, we’ll get some more,” said Gretta to appease him. She rose to call the hotel pharmacy and renew the prescription. There was a delay.

“The prescription is not renewable,” she said, returning to the balcony and picking up her book. “I have to see a doctor to get a new prescription.” A gentle breeze blew her red curls over her sunglasses.

“You look so beautiful,” Rex told her. He blew her a kiss and folded the map without trouble. “We’ll go see Dr. Weinrich.”

“You don’t think he’ll tell Serena and Geoffrey we’re in town, do you?”

Rex went to find his leather address book. “My dear,” he said, “he’s a doctor, not the town crier.”

 

 

Back in Spain, a maid and a cook still lived in the family house. Rex didn’t have the heart to let them go when the money ran out, so he and Gretta had departed under the ruse of a vacation. He’d left the house, the car in the driveway, all for them to deal with. If he and Gretta decided to go back, he would sell the car to pay the staff. It was the least he could do.

Still unable to sleep, Rex took up his position on the rug and prayed for several minutes. Then he succumbed to another sleeping pill. He did not like how Gretta’s pills made him feel in the morning. He watched some TV with no sound.

His grandfather had made his fortune in oil and his father had continued the fortune in oil. Rex did not like oil. The smell of it made him feel anxious. The sight of raw crude pouring from a barrel made him think of soil cancer. Despite his reluctance, he eventually took over the family business. The oil wells began to dry up and Rex made investments to find new patches. The new oil dried up and Rex closed down operations. His heart wasn’t in it. He made some mistakes.

He saw the remaining family bank statement as a large oil well itself, one he could continue to plunder until it too dried up. It would not go dry in his lifetime or his daughter’s.

So he’d imagined.

He let his eyes close, the ebb of the sleeping pill tugging for his attention. His prayers would be answered. If they just wait, the right answer will come.

 

 

They waited in Dr. Weinrich’s office for only a short time before the vintage physician came out personally into the waiting room to greet them. “Gretta, Rex! Do come in.” He shook Rex’s hand warmly, kissed Gretta on the cheek. He led them into his private examining room decorated with credentials and a roll top desk by the window. “I had no idea you were in the city.”

“We’ve come on a whim,” said Rex. He sat beside his wife in one of the two chairs facing the doctor. “We wanted to get away for a bit.”

“And how is everything at home?” Dr. Weinrich crossed his arms and sat back. He felt very close to this couple whose daughter and son in law he treated. He treated their grandchildren too. He’d been to Serena and Geoffrey’s home several times for dinner. He’d risen from his bed at four in the morning to meet them at the hospital with a feverish child. “I dream of Spain on dreadful winter nights,” confessed the doctor.

Gretta smiled. The doctor had also visited the villa in Spain with his girlfriend. Rex and Gretta had taken it upon themselves to introduce the doctor and his companion to the climate. She said, “It has been so long since you visited us. Very little has changed.”
“That, my dear, is the appeal.”

They exchanged small talk and pleasantries, unhurried by the doctor’s full schedule. Dr. Weinrich mentioned the family. “Why, I saw Geoffrey only last week,” he said. “He didn’t tell me you were coming.”

Said Rex, “You know how busy he keeps. I hope he is well?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” said Dr. Weinrich. “But you know that as well as I do. You’ve seen him.” He leaned forward with a face full of concern. “I hope I can say the same about the two of you? Fit as fiddles?”

Gretta glanced a Rex. “Only a bit of jet lag which seems to get worse as I get older. I have a prescription for Seconal to help me sleep only the bottle is running dry.”

“I’ve been pinching a few,” said Rex. He chuckled. “They don’t agree with me the next morning, I have to admit.”

The doctor reached for his prescription pad, a stack of which fortified the corner of his desk. “Some people have a rough bout with Seconal. Let me give you something that will be easier on you in the morning.”

“They will work as well?” inquired Gretta. “I had a previous prescription that did nothing for me. I hate taking the dreadful things, but if I am going to take one, I want to know it will knock me out.”

The doctor reassured her. “I suspect these may work even better.” With a gold fountain pen he began scribbling out the order.

“Dr. Weinrich....?”

“Come now, how long have we known each other? I answer to James, even in this office.”

Rex smiled. “Of course. James, could you do us a small favour? Gretta and I are off on a long trip. It’s a vacation we’ve been putting off for some time. We were wondering if you might...”

The doctor read Rex’s mind. “I’ll double the prescription.” He scratched in the changes. “I have to admit, I’m a little jealous, all that traveling.”

Gretta took up the slack. “We have always wanted to return to Greece and stay for an extended period. Rex has business in Singapore and then we thought we’d stop in Japan while we’re in the Orient. Believe it or not, we’ve never traveled to Japan.”

The doctor had traveled to Japan. His partner was Japanese. He gave them a full account of his visit, recommending places for them to stay. “It’s a terribly long flight,” he noted. “You’ll need these.” The doctor passed over the prescription. Within five minutes, he insisted, the drugstore on the ground floor would fill it. “Is there nothing else I can do for you?” he asked. “Everything else is fine?”

“We’re very fortunate,” said Gretta. She stood and took the kindly physician’s hand. “We have our health.”

 

 

The drugstore did indeed fill the prescription promptly. Outside, the sun shone and turned the day into a sneak preview of summer. The couple decided to walk back to their hotel.

“Darling!” exclaimed Gretta. “Let’s go inside.”

Around a corner and two lights over they found themselves on the marble steps of the church Geoffrey and Serena had been married in, twelve years previously. They stood and admired the majestic bell tower.

“I think our minds are playing tricks on us,” said Rex. He checked his watch, calculating what might be going on inside the church at mid morning.

“Did we come here for a reason?”

“We did head in this direction,” he remarked. Squinting into the sunlight, he unfastened the top button of his jacket. “This is off the beaten path.”

Gretta began to climb the steps to the church. “Off what beaten path, my pet? You make it sound as if we have plans for the day.” She held open the church’s heavy door for her husband. The double prescription made her purse look swollen.

Upon signing their names in the guest book, they strolled up the long, empty aisle and sat in the empty pews. The interior of the church was soft and cool. They spoke little, only looking up and down, seeing the chapel with old and new eyes.

“They’ve changed that stain glass,” noted Gretta.

Rex nodded. He took her hand. “Do you remember how full this place was?” he whispered. “I’d never realized we had so many friends.”

“It was a lovely day,” Gretta agreed. “A lovely, lovely day.”
A door clicked to their left and a minister emerged from one of the back rooms. Placing something small and unrecognizable at the alter, he turned to see the well dressed couple seated in the pews. He nodded in greeting.

Rex nodded good day.

“I don’t recognize him,” whispered Gretta. The minister left them to be alone in their contemplation. Rex pulled down the padded stool and knelt to pray. He put his head in his hands.

“I’d like it if you would pray with me,” he told his wife.

“I don’t care to.”

So Rex prayed for both of them.

 

 

It was Gretta who could not sleep. She took to the balcony, hoping the warm night air would make her drowsy. She could not bring herself to swallow one of Dr. Weinrich’s new pills.

When she and Rex had first met, life had been loose and free. Gretta came from a wealthy family and her wealthy father would prowl at the door, inspecting her suitors. He approved instantly of Rex.

“Oil,” he repeated to Gretta the morning after her first date with her future husband. “That family has oil - in their hair, on their clothes and in their veins. You stick with him. He’ll take care of you.”

As well as her own father had.

Gretta didn’t care about oil or money She didn’t care about care. With Rex she was carefree. She’d found the first night with him to be so exhilarating that the morning after had been a blur of fantasies and insufferable chores. She anticipated Rex’s invitations.

He would drive up in his flashy convertible and lift her into the front seat like a bouquet of roses. Off they would drive, laughing and swerving, into the core of the city, two beautiful youngsters drunk with love. Rex took piercing corners, parking the Fiat in the plaza and carving out a table at El Torero or Juventud. They danced and laughed, they drank and ate. Rex had an endless supply of pesos and the more he spent, the more freedom they found- Rex free from the business pontificating of his father, Gretta free from her zealously religious mother and match making father. They lay on the grass in the park and talked until one, two, three. Gretta snuggled close to Rex, listening to his heart beat while he stroked her hair.

“I want to do this always with you,” he murmured. “You make me feel like I’m soaring.”

She held him tight. She would not let go. She asked, “Whatever will we do for money?”

They shook with fits of laughter.

Loose.

Gretta did not feel loose now. Tight was her grip on the balcony railing. Her face felt tight. She recalled the nickname her sisters had given their father. Tightwad.

She went back into the bedroom and lay beside Rex. His sleep was too quiet, too dry. Alarmed that he had gone on without her, she put her ear to his chest.

“Rex!” she hissed. He stirred, his eyes orange with barbiturates. “I’m afraid,” she admitted. “I don’t think I can do this.”

As shattered as he was, Rex managed to prop himself up on one arm. He stroked her hair. “Either way,” he said. “Either way, I don’t think we can do this.”

She considered his logic and then let him fall back to sleep.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she repeated to herself.

 

 

He awoke with his arm over his wife’s side of the bed, his wife not under it. He felt rested and alert. The new pills had done the trick. Rex sat up in bed and scanned the balcony for his wife.

But she was in the other room. He heard the telephone receiver click and then Gretta appeared in the entranceway of the bedroom. She was dressed and looking as wonderfully fresh as ever.

“You’re leaving me?” he inquired.

“Never.” She came and sat beside him on the bed. “It’s past nine. You’ve slept the day away. I was going to fetch us some breakfast.”

He admired his wife of thirty-one years, her fine figure, her dancing green eyes. He’d found himself a treasure. “Get into this bed with me,” he growled and pulled her close. “Who did you call on the telephone?”

“I tried to call Serena and Geoffrey. I wanted to talk to my grandchildren.”

Rex was quiet. “They would have known we were in town.”

“I wasn’t going to mention it.” They both knew Geoffrey had a fancy phone that relayed a great deal of information about his callers.

“Did you reach them?”

“No,” she said. “They have all gone to work and school. Another day of many more.”

He took the hand of his wife once again. He looked out at the blue sky, the blue sky that held the feet of God. He was happy to be alive. God bless Dr. Weinrich’s new pills. “Come here, you.” He turned on his wife and tickled her. He nibbled on her earlobes. He began to undress her. He teased her.

“Stop mussing me!” She screamed with delight. She tickled him back in all his vulnerable places. They laughed. They made love.

Loose.

 

 

They took dinner at Messis, their favourite restaurant. It no longer mattered to Rex or Gretta if they met people they knew. Moses, their maitre ‘d, cleared a path and a table for them the moment they stepped through the front doors.

“Such a lovely family,” Moses exclaimed, unfolding cloth napkins into their laps. He was referring to their daughter and Geoffrey who had dined with the children only nights before. “Thursday,” pondered Moses. He unraveled a bottle of the house red, a vintage Gretta and Rex cherished. “Was it Thursday or Wednesday?”

“Thursday,” Rex lied. “On Thursday evening we all met for ice cream.”

They dined on lamb in silence, enjoying the riddle of conversations around them.

“They appear very busy here,” observed Rex. His wife nodded, surveying the bustling room. Heavy platters of hot food emerged from the kitchen. Fresh herbs and vibrant artwork, the clatter of clean silver and an oily rich aroma - Gretta drank it all in.

An excited murmur rippled through the restaurant as the mayor of the city bustled into the foyer accompanied by his family. Immediately, the mayor spied Rex and Gretta and made his way over to them, his eyes alight “My, my, look who it is.”

Rex stood and greeted the mayor. The dignitary kissed Gretta’s hand. “I haven’t seen you two since election night. Your son in law and daughter, them I see. But not you.”

“Business,” said Rex. “Always business.”

“Of course. Come and sit with us.”

But Rex and Gretta gracefully declined. Finished their meal, they wanted to catch a movie at the Eglinton.

“You know, “ said the mayor putting a broad arm around Rex and speaking softly in his ear. “You know I am up for reelection. We must have lunch very soon so I can tell you about my campaign. Your support would take me a long way.”

Rex nodded. He suggested to the mayor that they dine together with Geoffrey in a few days. They could talk things over. Rex was sure he could help the mayor out. “I’m trying to get my son in law interested in politics but he just doesn’t seem to have the time.”

“But, does he have the money?” quipped the mayor. He laughed heartily. He beamed at the couple seated beside Rex and Gretta. “Here, here.” The mayor poked about in the breast pocket of his dinner jacket and brought out a cigar which he slipped to Rex. “That will make your dinner something to remember. Straight from the Caribbean.”

Rex thanked the mayor and said good night. He returned to his seat across from Gretta and sipped his cognac. Fiddling with the unlit cigar, he decided to savour it later.

“The mayor is in good spirits,” noted Gretta.

“He should be. He leads in all the polls.”

Moses delivered the dinner cheque with a kiss for Gretta and a warm embrace for Rex. “Good friends and good food,” he said. “Two things that will always go together.”

“Good night,” said Gretta. “We shall return soon.”

Rex paid for the meal on his credit card, leaving a generous tip.

 

 

Last to emerge from the movie theatre, they stood outside the dark ticket booth and reviewed the movie’s poster. The evening’s entertainment was a restoration of Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window, a film they had first seen as newlyweds in a London cinema. They were amazed at the quality of the restoration.

“How can they do that?” inquired Gretta. She read over the film’s credits, retracing the old names with her finger. James Stewart. Grace Kelly. Raymond Burr. The Princess’ wardrobe designed by Edith Head. “How do they make something so old look so fresh and alive again?” she wanted to know.

Rex had a vague idea and as they sauntered away from the theatre, he described a process he had witnessed on television of meticulous cleaning using computers. “If only they could do that to us, dear,” he joked. “Imagine how long we could last?”

They surrendered to the unseasonably warm night and waved off a taxi, even though the walk to their hotel was lengthy. In the park, Gretta sat on a bench and much to Rex’s amusement, removed her nylons. It reminded him once more of the days when they had first been married. Undoubtedly, they would have stolen away to a secluded nook in the park and removed more than just Gretta’s nylons. “Have you no shame?” he teased her. He was glad his wife was not a prude. Lighting his Cuban gift from the mayor, he puffed contentedly, still mulling over the movie.

Together, they sat quietly, lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Rex rose and took his wife’s arm. They continued the long journey to their awaiting hotel, passing the street which housed their sleeping daughter and family.

 

 

Neither could sleep nor wanted to sleep, so they retired to the balcony once more. Rex finished off his cigar while he rubbed his wife’s weary feet. He looked up at the night sky and the partial moon. “We’ve almost reached our limit on the credit card,” he said.

Gretta did a quick tally in her head. “We’ve been here for six days.”

“Six enjoyable days,” he noted. His wife leaned in close and nuzzled his face to express her affection and agreement.

They watched the night, the city towers, the twinkle of bobbing boats in the harbour. An hour, two, passed and then Rex rose and took himself inside, leaving Gretta to have some time alone.

He took up his position beside the bed and prayed for a long period of time. He asked for forgiveness. He asked for mercy. He asked for peace and understanding.

He brought the two vials of Dr. Weinrich’s pills out onto the balcony, setting them down gently on the thin metal table. Gretta’s hands were clutched tight “Don’t be afraid,” he said to her. He took up one, one cold hand.

“I’m not. I’m not afraid anymore,” she said. “It’s as you said. Either way.”

 

 

They went inside and poured themselves tall drinks at the bar. Sitting on the bed, Rex counted the pills out in twos on the mattress - two for you, two for me. Two for you and two more for me.

Soon, twin mounds of white capsules lay in front of them. Rex handed his wife her cocktail. “Let us toast the things we are grateful for,” he said. Placing two of his pills between his fingers, he sought his wife’s gaze. Their eyes met halfway. “To us,” he whispered. “To love and changes.” He clinked her glass lightly and then swallowed his dose with one gulp.

Gretta took her medicine. “To our family.” But she could say no more. She put her prescription on the tip of her tongue and drank.

They toasted each other until they fell asleep.