Monday morning

Allegra waited all weekend for the call from Bertrand: the call that inevitably comes after the mistress makes contact with the wife.

She braced herself for his outrage, his accusations that she was breaking unwritten laws, etcetera etcetera. When you're the mistress (assuming you aren't also married and with something on the line), the "laws" such as they are, don't really apply to you.

Fortunately for Bertrand, she was more interested in claiming the dog than she was in claiming him or that phone call would have been even more awkward. That said, she'd be happy enough if it landed her both.

That was more or less what she was expecting to happen. Like suddenly throwing the lights on in a cockroach-infested kitchen, calling the wife usually sent everyone scuttling for cover. And in the scuttle, there was opportunity.

But somehow, the scuttle Allegra had been anticipating hadn't happened. By Monday morning, she still hadn't heard from Bertrand. As signs go, she found she was unable to interpret this one.

She waited for him in his office, planning to tackle whatever he had to say and the question of Henry, head-on.

***

When Berry arrived at work, he tucked his expensive sunglasses into his jacket pocket and headed up to his office on the fifth floor. He was reviewing a mental list of to-dos in his head that started with contacting the Clan Council about this idea of sponsorship that he'd already sold the client.

Opening his office door to find a narrow-eyed Allegra sitting on the desk wasn't ideal. He had a lot to do this morning and was due back at the hospital by this evening. On top of all that, either he or Berenice would have to pick the girls up from their after school program before 6 pm -- a job they'd both gotten used to having Jim's help with. Things being what they were -- what they looked like they were going to be -- they would have to go back to doing things the way they'd done them before Jim had come to stay.

The first thing Allegra clocked when Berry entered the office was that he had not brought Henry. The dog's bed was in its usual spot beside the desk, but the dog himself was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Henry?" she asked, never having been one to put off the point.

Berry looked around, having momentarily forgotten about the dog. Where was he, anyway? Berenice hadn't actually said.

"Allegra, I have a lot on my plate right now. I need to--" he indicated his desk and his desire to get behind it.

Her narrowed eyes got even narrower.

"I'm sorry... am I in your way, Bertrand? I'll ask again. Where is Henry?"

Berry sighed. "I don't know, Allegra, but I know he's safe. I've been in the hospital with my father. Waffles – er, Henry – is being looked after by a friend of Berenice's for the moment."

Allegra considered this. It was clear what Berenice was up to, but she knew enough to approach the matter softly.

"Is your father alright?" she asked gently.

Berry shook his head. "Unfortunately, not. He's very ill. Cancer. It's not good."

Allegra approached him and put her arms around his stiff shoulders in an awkwardly personal embrace.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Bertrand. Should you really be here in that case?"

He shrugged and again attempted to get behind his desk.

"The Atrabax account had a bit of a hiccup this weekend. I need to smooth it over. You weren't... nobody mentioned anything to you yet?"

"No. Is there something I should know?"

Berry shrugged. "Nope. It's all fine now. A little accounting snafu. All sorted."

Allegra nodded briskly.

"Okay then. Listen, why don't you tell me where this friend is that's looking after Henry. I'll have a car run over there and pick him up. I think he should come home with me until all this business with your Dad—"

"--Business with my Dad?"

She really could be hard sometimes, he thought. His mouth set in a firm line, he spoke plainly.

"Allegra, if there's nothing else, I have something to handle right now. If I find out where the dog is, I'll let you know."

She nodded again and decided to leave him in peace for now.

***

The line rang distantly as if the connection was running through a tin can. Berry made nervous circles on his notepad as he waited for someone to answer.

"Six Nations Confederacy Council. Darlene speaking."

"Yes, hi, Darlene. Hello. My name is Bertrand Ross, and I'm hoping you can connect me to your public relations or event marketing department, please."

"Our... sorry, what?"

"You don't have a... oh, no, okay. I'll explain. I represent a prominent healthcare producer who is interested in making a substantial donation to your community," he began.

"Healthcare? Do you mean doctors? Because, yes, we sure could use some medical support on reserve. How many can you spare?"

"Ah, no. Not doctors. We're offering, as I said, a donation. A substantial donation, which, of course, would be up to the Council as to how they might spend it. Certainly, doctors sound like a good use of—"

"You want to give us money?" Darlene clarified, her voice incredulous.

"That's correct. Of course, in exchange, we'd like..."

"Hold, please!"

The line beeped while Darlene, presumably, danced happily around her desk and fetched her boss.

After several minutes, during which Berry's feet sweated profusely, the line was picked up abruptly.

"Who is this?" demanded the voice on the other end.

Berry launched into his 'healthcare producer' intro again.

"What's a 'healthcare producer' exactly? What do you make?"

"Well, I don't make anything per se. I work for the Agency of the, er, pharmaceutical company called..."

"Keep your money," the voice rudely cut him off. "We don't want blood money. Big pharma, big polluters. No deal."

"Wait, wait a second," Berry interjected. "At least let me tell you what the offer is. This is to do with the remains recently discovered in Cabbagetown. The female warrior?"

The voice paused. "The huskëʼëkehtö?"

"Yes, right," Berry confirmed. "The company I represent has a vested interest in celebrating the life of female warriors and..."

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why does a drug company want to celebrate warriors? What's it got to do with you? You make estrogen supplements or something?"

"Back pain relief. It's hard to explain. But, we understand that the Council is planning to re-inter the remains at something called a--" Berry checked his notes. "Seed ceremony? In Brantford next week, is that right?"

"Yes," the voice replied warily.

"Perfect. We would like to offer one hundred thousand dollars in sponsorship of the day."

The voice laughed.

"What are you talking about, buddy? We don't have sponsors for..."

"But you could! Why not? We would only require a few signs to be put up around the area. I mean, it would be great if you'd also include us on any event marketing materials, but..."

"We don't do event marketing materials. It's a community ceremony."

"Okay, no trouble. Just a couple of signs around the place. That would be it. One hundred thousand dollars. For the community." Berry held his breath.

The voice stopped laughing.

"You're serious?"

"Of course," replied Berry.

"Okay, buddy. Let me see what Tracy says. Give me your number, and she'll call you back, okay?"

Berry recited his cell number and said goodbye. When the line had disconnected, he whispered to himself in a sort of quiet prayer, please.

***

Twenty minutes later, his cell phone rang.

"Mr. Ross? This is Tracy, from the Clan Council. I believe I met your wife?"

Dammit, he thought. He wasn't expecting them to put that together.

"Right, yes, hello, Tracy. You understand, my call today was on a related but separate matter to do with the opportunity for a substantial donation to the..."

"Mr. Ross, the answer is no. I've conferred with other members of the Council, and we are unanimous in our decision not to engage with your client on this. Sponsorship of a ceremonial gathering is completely inappropriate and counter to—"

"Please, Tracy."

"Our answer is no. Goodbye, Mr. Ross. I assume we'll see you and your family at the ceremony, but this will be in an unofficial capacity."

Berry said nothing. In any event, Tracy had hung up on him.

He had a week to change her mind.

***

Later that morning, Berry's phone rang again. It was the client.

"Berry," enthused Charles. "Just following up on this idea of yours. I have to say, this has really turned things around over here. Thierry is loving this idea. Very solid, he thinks. Strategic. Smart. Good for our image."

"Glad to hear that, Charles. I've just been speaking with the Council..."

"Great, things are progressing. They must be excited to get their hands on all that money. Win-win!"

"Yes, well, let's say we're in negotiation. Things aren't quite as straightforward as—"

"Should we increase the donation? Or," Charles was nearly spluttering with excitement, "How about something really big. What if we paid to bring in someone famous? A draw. What if we could get whatsername -- who's that Native singer? big in the seventies -- to come and do a free concert?"

"Oh, I don't know if—"

"No, you're right. She's probably not doing that sort of thing anymore. Something else then. I saw a group of Fire Dancers at Cirque du Soleil last year. They were really something. What if we paid to have the entire Cirque troupe come and perform at the event? I mean, this is a big deal. It would be great if we could get the Atrabax logo on some ticket stubs, give tickets away on the local morning shows. And I'm thinking, could we have one of those big screens brought in like they have in the SkyDome?"

"You mean Scotiabank Arena?"

"Sure, whatever it's called these days. You know what I mean. A jumbotron!"

This was spiralling way out of control. The clients' collective aspiration to own Mother's Day had expanded grotesquely -- now, they were trying to own an indigenous community ceremony that was probably set to take place in a quiet corner of a reserve. There was no way jumbotrons and fire dancing circus acts could possibly belong there.

"Charles, I appreciate the enthusiasm. Let's put a pin in those excellent ideas for now. Just until we have a starting agreement at least. Then, we'll see what else we can squeeze in there." Berry tried.

"Berry," Charles interrupted somberly, "It's in your best interest to make sure this happens at the grandest scale possible. Thierry is excited to get involved personally. He's on the horn with your Global head office right now to make sure you have the support you need to get this off the ground. All you need to do is go tell your creative people to get started on some banners. Okay?"

"Okay," murmured Berry.