Free The Book of Stanley by Todd Babiak Page B

recognized for hertalent, experience, vision, and commitment. A month after her thirty-eighth birthday, she had become vice-president, marketing and development, for Canada’s newest and hottest entertainment and lifestyle brand, Leap.
    Leap Television, Leap Satellite, Leap Mobile, Leap Fashion, Leaptv.com . There were even plans for a youth-oriented discount airline if one of the current players in the North American market showed signs of an impending bankruptcy. Her cellphone–a Leap product–linked to a new-generation intercom on the Hummer’s dash. The ring was her current theme song, “The Woman In Me” by Shania Twain. Tanya was not a fan of her music, or that of any other country-crossover artist, but Shania Twain had fashioned herself into an international brand, with extensions into a number of cultural sub-industries. “The Woman In Me,” every time Tanya heard it, was a reminder that limitations were for the feeble. Crunchies who disparaged Tanya’s Hummer were also inclined to dismiss Shania Twain and her chanteuse doppelgänger in Las Vegas, Céline Dion. But the crunchies, drunk on inferior wine, were jealous and pathetic. Were they beautiful Canadian multimillionaires living in warm climates? Were any of them on the Forbes list of Top 20 Richest Female Entertainers?
    â€œThe Woman In Me” began to play, and Tanya whispered an affirmation to herself as she pressed talk on her cell-phone. She was stopped at a set of lights in the transition zone from East to West Hastings Street downtown, a buffer between one of the richest and one of the poorest neighbourhoods in the country. Rain joined the strong wind that jolted the Hummer. On the sidewalks, the hipsters and the homeless, the sane and the prophetic, battled their umbrellas.
    â€œGervais.”
    â€œTanya, my sweet.”
    It was her boss, the thirty-six-year-old genius Darryl Lantz. The man who’d shown her it was folly to pretend she didn’t find inspiration in Shania Twain and luxury SUV s inspired by military transports.
    â€œDarryl, my liege.”
    â€œI’m in the Vancouver office here with a couple of the lawyers. Where are you?”
    â€œEast Hastings, in the rain.”
    â€œThe welfare cheques came out today. I hope you brought nunchucks.”
    â€œHi, lawyers,” Tanya said.
    They greeted her, through the intercom, formally. It was her thing, to disarm men in expensive suits with a tone of easy confidence. She allowed phrases like “Hi, lawyers” to carry certain messages, like poison on the tips of arrows. Yes, I am a woman. Yes, I dye my hair blond. Yes, I’ve had a teensy bit of pre-emptive work done on the eyes and around the mouth. But if you toy with me I will devote all of my vigour to your undoing.
    â€œTanya, we’re working on the British co-pro and we’re stuck on a couple of the details here. You have a minute?”
    She had to drop off a package of raw digital video footage several blocks away, at the Pacific National Exhibition, and traffic was tight. Her lane was clogged with a garbage truck and a bus turning left, so she flipped on the signal light and began creeping into the right lane. The car behind her, a little Jetta, did not approve. Haink , the Jetta said. So Tanya flattened her hand on the Hummer horn, a real horn. A go fuck yourself horn. “Always for you, Darryl.” The rain came down even harder, in waves, so Tanya adjusted the wipers as she half listened to Darryl Lantz and prepared for the lightto change. Her plan was to accelerate through the intersection, return to the left lane for the open road, and come back into the right lane in time to miss the pothole repair crew up ahead. The air smelled like tar, one of Tanya’s least favourite smells.
    The light turned green and the pickup truck in front of her paused momentarily. Again, Tanya honked. She despised slothful, inattentive drivers. Finally, the pickup