Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Looking Good - The Hairdresser & The House Next Door

Episode Date: September 18, 2026

“Coming into Dave and Morley’s house is a bit of a challenge. You have to really want to get in.”There’s how things look…. And how things actually are! Today on the pod, two stories about looking good.Ad-free listening is here! Listen to the pod ad-free and early, PLUS a whole bunch of other goodies – like virtual parties, Q&As, listener shout-outs & more. Subscribe here: apostrophe.supercast.com Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the apostrophe podcast network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton and this is backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. We've got two stories for you on the pod today. Two stories about looking good, or at least trying to, because there's how things look, and then there's how things actually are. And the distance between those two things can be surprisingly wide. These are stories about effort, about appearances, about the small performances we put on,

for neighbors, for strangers, and even for ourselves. And what happens when that bumps up against reality at the worst possible moment? We're going to start with this one. This is a classic from the early. early days of the radio show. We recorded this story in Surrey, British Columbia. This is Stuart McLean with The Hairdresser. For the past 20 years, Morley, faithful beyond fault, has gone to the same hairdresser whenever she needs her haircut. Morley goes to Lawrence. She found him when she and Dave moved into the neighborhood where they still live. A woman who has her priorities straight, Morley found

Lawrence before she found a doctor or a dentist. And over the past 20 odd years, Morley has followed Lawrence from one salon to the next. Right from the start, Lawrence made Morley feel special. Instead of delegating the job to an assistant, Lawrence washed Morley's hair himself. He kept a special bottle of shampoo for her. He used it instead of the salon's usual, rehydrating, mineralizing, oxygenating, detangling, protein boosting, volumizing, apricot shampoo with a johobah infusion. If there is one thing in the world that morally hates, it's a johobah infusion. Lawrence remembers stuff like that. In fact, Lawrence's memories the most appealing thing about Lawrence. Lawrence remembers things like how his clients take their coffee and things about their families.

How was Sam's birthday, he would ask when Morley showed up for her next appointment? Morley felt that she and Lawrence had a special rapport, a relationship built on the important things of life, like history, trust, and hobah. Over the past few years, however things have been changing, slowly, slightly, but significantly, nevertheless. Over the past few years, Lawrence has let things slide. One afternoon, as she settled into his chair, Lawrence brought Morley a cup of tea instead of coffee. Another time, he used the foul-smelling apricot shampoo, and he would have finished off with hairspray if Morley hadn't stopped him.

It had been years since Lawrence had asked Morley what she wanted done to her hair, or suggested a cut he thought would make her look good, not the end of the world, to be sure, more a disappointment than a disaster, and morally faithful beyond a fault, resigned herself to the changing and slightly diminished, Lawrence, to the way things were rather than the way things used to be. She hadn't given it a lot of thought, not until the Saturday morning she went to get her hair cut, and she came face to face with the salon's new stylist, a young woman. hairdresser from Quebec with a liquid accent and spiky black hair. His name was Mathieu. And he had been assigned to the chair right beside Lawrence, although when Morley walked in, he was

everywhere except the chair, jumping around the room, waving his scissors in the air, trying to persuade the woman he was working on to let him loose on her head. What's the worst that can happen, and he called over his shoulder as he blew past Morley with his hands full of magazines. If you don't like what I do, we'll change it. And then he dropped to his knees in front of his chair. Please, I'm begging, he said. You were born to be a blonde. That was the day that Lawrence told her that he had been thinking of opening a salon for dogs,

waving his hands around, staring at Morley in the mirror, not looking at her hair at all as he cut it. do you know how much you can charge for styling a shitsu, he asked earnestly. Morley was telling Betty Schellenberger all about this when Betty called on Sunday night. Dave and Morley had just finished dinner, and Dave was lying on the couch reading the December issue of Canadian living, absorbed by an article called Leaving the Bird Behind. Christmas without a turkey.

Morley was moving around the kitchen unloading the day. dishwasher wiping counters and talking to Betty on the portable phone. She was telling Betty all about Matthew and what a riot he was, which of course led her to Lawrence and how Lawrence seemed to be slipping. 21 years, Morley was saying. We've been together for almost 21 years. 21 years, thought Dave. We'd been married 23 years. Dave, out of sight, but not out of ear. But not out of ears. But Earshot overheard Morley talking on the phone in the kitchen, and Dave assumed that she was talking about him. How was Dave to know Morley was talking about her hairdresser? He irritates me, said Morley. He doesn't listen to me anymore. Dave out of sight, but not out of earshot,

propped himself up on the couch. Okay, Dave shouldn't have been listening in, but he was listening in, and he was thunderstruck by what Morley was saying on the phone. He used to know what I like, she said, but I've changed. I'm ready to experiment. I've seen things in magazines I'd like him to try on me. It used to take an hour. Now he speeds through it in 15 minutes. It feels like he's just going through the motions. He won't look me in the eye.

He just looks in the mirror. Morley. his sweet wife, his partner, a 23 years, his soulmate, the mother of his children, his rock. What had he done wrong? When had this started? What mirror? And now what was she saying? She was saying, oh, my God, there's another guy.

I'd love to try him out. Just, you know, once maybe. Dave leapt off the couch. And he stood in the middle of the living room. His heart pounded. Morley, meanwhile, who had said goodbye to Betty, was heading upstairs. Dave watched her go, and then he bounded up the stairs behind her. And when he got there, Morley was standing in the bathroom, gazing in the mirror,

and she was thinking, my hair always will look the same. I will always look the same. I'll never be a blonde. She was so preoccupied with the state of her hair that she didn't notice Dave standing behind her when she picked up her toothbrush. Dave was standing there looking over her shoulder at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth.

Oh, hi, she said when she noticed him. And then she turned and she said, do you think loyalty's an important quality? What, said Dave? Trying to ignore the ringing in his ears. If you're in a bad relationship, said Morley. Should you stay if you're just staying out of loyalty? and she dropped her toothbrush in the glass on the counter and she flounced off to bed.

She fell asleep immediately, snoring softly and twitching, and she dreamed that she was having her haircut. And in the dream, Lawrence was using dog clippers. And when he finished, he charged her twice as much and gave her a milk bone. She tried to object, but all she could do was bark. Dave tossed and turned all night. By morning, Dave had worked himself into a complete panic. He went to Kenny Wong's cafe for lunch. He sat at the counter.

I'm not really hungry, he said, finally settling on soup, barely touching it, finally fessing up. I think Morley's seeing someone else, he said. Don't be crazy, said Kenny. Morley wouldn't do that. Dave looked at Kenny forlornly. Eat your soup, said Kenny. Come back and talk to me if she starts behaving suspiciously. Suspiciously, said Dave. Like what? Well, you know, said Kenny, if she changes her hairstyle, that sort of thing.

As April folded into May, morally couldn't stop thinking about Mathieu. And the more she thought about him, the more she yearned for a different haircut. Every day without Matthew became a bad hair day. By the end of May, Morley could barely stand to brush her hair. She called the salon on a Wednesday afternoon. Wednesday was Lawrence's day off. She asked if they could fit her in for a style. Not a cut, she said.

I'm not ready for a cut. Matuze had a cancellation at four, said the girl on the phone. What's your name? Helen, said Morley. She wore a baseball cap and sunglasses to the salon, and she slinked past the receptionist and shampoo girl. She went there with her layered bob intending to let Matthew wash and style it and nothing more. But he stood behind her and he held up her hair from the back and he let it fall through his fingers like sand.

Over and over he picked up her hair and let it drop back to her shoulders piece by piece and he said, I have to cut this. She knew it was coming. it was inevitable. If she didn't want him to cut it, why had she come? Okay, she said, quietly. And when he had finished, she looked at herself in the mirror, and she couldn't believe the change.

She looked totally different, smarter, sophisticated. I love it, she said. She couldn't wait for Dave to come home. So she headed off to the store instead. Dave was sitting behind the counter flipping through a magazine when Morley walked through the door. I decided it was time for a change. She said, what do you think? Ten minutes later, Dave burst into Kenny Wong's cafe. Don't panic, said Kenny.

Your job said Kenny is to make a fuss. Your job is to win her back. And so Dave set off to woo his wife. He bought Morley a green Jane Jetson Pez dispenser. Morley always loved the Jetsons. And then he added a pack of refills at the counter. What the heck, he thought? She seemed to like the Pez. But Dave didn't think the presence had had enough of an effect.

What about flowers? asked Kenny Wong. So the next day Dave went to the forest. He couldn't believe his luck. They had Venus fly traps. Each day he brought home something different. Ever since Mathieu's cut my hair, he's been bringing me little treats, Morley told Betty. It's so cute.

A Venus fly trap, said Betty. Yes, said Morley, and a pair of wool socks and a bouquet of tootsie pops. Red ones. Morley loved the sudden attention almost as much as she loved her new hairdo. But she was plagued with guilt. She had to change the way.

She walked to work so she didn't go past the salon and accidentally bump into Lawrence. And one evening, when she saw Lawrence in the grocery store, she had to abandon her basket and bolt. I got to stop this, she told Betty. I can't keep seeing him. Not like this. But she went again on a Wednesday, a Wednesday afternoon in September.

I'll need three hours, said Matthew. I want to add some color. Morley, who had never even had, highlights was reluctant. I don't know, she said. Trust me, said Mathieu. You'll love it. So while Morley was sitting in the salon chair,

guilty, nervous, and excited, Dave was slumped behind the counter in his record store, staring at the piece of paper that he had found on the kitchen table that morning. There were three words written on it. They were written in Morley's handwriting. Matthew, 2 o'clock.

Dave was staring at the paper and reaching for the phone, about to call Betty Schellenberger. It had taken him all day to screw up the courage to make the call. If anyone knew what was going on, Betty Schellenberger would. Betty, said Dave, getting right to the point. Betty, said Dave, do you know about Mathieu? Of course, said Betty. It's not exactly a single thing.

secret. She hasn't told me, said Dave. Well, Dave, said Betty, it's not something you'd necessarily share with your husband, is it? I have a date with him, too. I haven't told Arnie. You're seeing him too, said Dave. Yes, said Betty. Gerd is coming with me. Two at once, said Dave. Of course not, said Betty, one after the other. He does my whole bridge club, Dave. Everybody loves Matthew. Oh my God, Croke Dave. Honestly, Dave, on a Saturday morning, people line up to see Mathieu. My last appointment was so good, said Betty, that I gave him a $30 tip. Why is this happening, said Dave.

Things get stale, Dave, said Betty. Mathieu has amazing technique. He's French, you know. Where do they meet, said Dave. His place, of course, said Betty. give me the address said Dave filled with a sudden resolve matthew had already began Morley's transformation as Dave flew down the street Dave was checking numbers as he ran he was running without thinking what he was going to do when he got to where he was going he was just consumed by the need to act and when he found the right number he burst through the salon door without registering where he was or

what was going on around him. He spotted Morley before he spotted anything else. His wife, Morley, a black nylon cape cinched tightly around her neck. Half her head covered in clumps of hair. The other half festooned with dozens of little

pieces of tinfoil. Something red dribbling down her face. His wife, Morley, had never looked worse. He had never loved her more. Morally, he blurted out. I love you. Don't go through with us.

It's not too late. Everything in the salon screeched to a halt. And as it did, Dave slowly took in his surroundings. The women sitting in the chairs, the stylists with their hair dryers poised in mid-air, the spiky-haired young man with his mouth gaping open, hovering over Morley with a paintbrush in his hand. All things considered, the salon staff were very nice to Dave.

They guided him to a quiet corner and a soft chair, and they bought him a coffee, and he sat and he waited, and after the coloring was finished, he and Morley walked home together. I told him I wanted something natural, said Morley as they walked along. It is natural, said Dave. pointing at the bright red leaves on the maple tree in the park. They sat on a park bench under that tree, and Dave, overcome with love and relief,

finally asked the question that he had been afraid to ask before he knew the answer. Are you still happy with me, he asked. Is everything okay? Morley looked at him with her licorish-red streaks and said, of course, it's okay. I would have told you if it wasn't. And so it was six weeks later that Morley called the salon and booked an appointment with Lawrence. Before she went, she phoned Lawrence himself. I feel a little embarrassed about this, she said, and she told him everything. About the day he had brought her tea instead of coffee,

about the time he had used the apricot shampoo and about Mathieu. Lawrence was a little chilly the first time she saw him, but she didn't let him get away with it. We have to try something different, she said, and it has to be your idea. I was thinking, said Lawrence, we could start with apricot shampoo. That's when she knew they were going to be okay.

And she isn't wrong. They will be okay, though it's going to take a little longer than she thinks. Lawrence will suggest things and they will try them, but not many of the things will work. Morley was never meant to be a blonde or have dreadlocks. But it won't be what they're doing that counts just that they are doing something new and they're doing it together.

As for Dave, Dave will keep bringing your stuff all winter long, root beer flavored jelly beans, sponge toffee. And on her birthday, instead of good. Going out to one of the neighborhood restaurants they favor this year, he'll cook for her just the way he did when they were dating, heating cheddar cheese hot dogs in the toaster oven, and roasting marshmallows over the gas flame of the stove. Thank you very much.

That was the story we call the hairdresser. We recorded that story in Surrey, British Columbia. We're going to take a short break now, But we'll be back in a couple of minutes with another story. So stick around. Welcome back. Time for our second story now. This is Stuart McLean with a story that we recorded on the other side of the country in Halifax, Nova Scotia.

This is the house next door. So they moved into the neighborhood two years ago in the autumn. into the Tomlinson place. No one knew anything about them before they arrived, not even the Tomlinson's. All Joe could say was that they seemed nice enough. A young couple, no kids. But probably, you know, they would have kids.

Time for some young blood on the street. A renewal. Joe and Millie had renewed themselves in one of those condos by the water. Our kids are gone, said Millie. 37th floor. Wait till you see it, said Joe. You can see forever, said Millie.

The new people had a dog. First Dave saw of them was the dog. And then the wife, jogging along behind it. She was wearing a stretchy running outfit, gray with yellow piping. It was the day after they moved in. Dave reported the sighting as soon as Morley got home. A black dog, he said, about the size of Arthur. She looked, and he was talking about the wife now, not the dog.

And he almost said pretty. He almost said, she looked pretty. But at the last moment, he thought better of that. Instead of pretty, he decided to say nice. She looked nice, but pretty was already halfway out his mouth. So it came out price. She looked price, said Morley. Pricey, said Dave, not missing a beat.

She was wearing one of those expensive jogging outfits. Now that was a professional move, thought Dave. That was smooth. except Morley was shaking her head. Amateur move, said Morley. Thankfully, the phone rang just then. I'll get it, said Dave, and he jumped up and ran from the table. The Turlington said everyone over for a barbecue to welcome the new couple.

They seemed charming enough. Maybe she was a bit enthusiastic, a little smiley, but not unpleasant. Her name was Joanne. Joe, she said, hand extended. She was in publishing, publicity. She told stories about authors they had all read, Malcolm Gladwell, Tom Clancy, and the British guy, the spy guy. John Le Carre, said Joe. She had toured with him twice.

She called him David. Le Carre is a pen name, she said. His real name is David Cornwell. he likes Indian food curries Dave liked her I like her said Dave when they got home

Morley was less effusive name dropper said Morley you don't go on and on about all the people you've worked with and you've worked with just as many interesting people as she has and she said and he he seems a little precious don't you

think? He was a corporate lawyer, real estate stuff. Jordan. Jordan and Joe. Jay and Jay. You watch, said Morley, they're going to start renovating any day. They started in the spring. And it wasn't one of those upgrade the kitchen cabinets and do the windows type renovations. By the second summer, the Tomlinson place looked completely different. Even from the outside. Nobody had been inside. But from the outside, it looked like the Tomlinson's had taken their place with them when they left. And Jordan and Joe had built a different one in its place, a modern one. One afternoon that fall, Morley was standing on the sidewalk with Mary Turlington, and they were watching two guys in canvas jackets drop some sort of dwarf

tree into the center of the newly gravel yard. You know what this must be costing, said Morley? Now she didn't say that bitterly. Her feelings were less complicated than that. She was just

put off. Something about these people irked her. Probably it was the extent of the Renault. As if her neighborhood wasn't good enough the it was. Mary Turlington, on the other hand, was straightforward, envious. You know how much this must be costing,

said Morley. I know, said Mary, enviously. They must have spent a fortune. Dave called it the first night, said Morley. Pricey. Then one afternoon, this is back before Christmas, this is last autumn. One afternoon last autumn, Morley was home alone, around five o'clock, fixing supper, and the doorbell rang, and there was Joanne standing on the stoop. Hello, said Morley. Come in, come in. Which she immediately regretted saying. She was immediately embarrassed, thinking to herself, why did I say that? Because coming into Dave and Morley's house is quite a question. quite frankly, a bit of a feat. You have to really want to get in.

Through the front door, anyway. There are shoes everywhere and shopping bags and backpacks and junk mail, and while you're stepping over and around the shoes and the backpacks, you have to avoid the coats protruding from the wall hooks and the banister and the hall table. Why, to get from the front door to the relative safety of the living room, you have to slide down the hall like a surgical scope. Morley didn't actually mean for her to come all the way in.

Certainly not all the way to the living room. That part happened inadvertently. There was no room to stand comfortably in the front hall. So once she was through the door, they both sort of shuffled along the hall, where things got worse and worse until before Morley knew what was happening, they had passed the living room and they were staring at the cat who was standing on the counter, drinking out of the sink. I wasn't intending on coming in, said Joanne.

I wasn't intending on it either, thought Morley. But there they were. And Joanne was telling Morley how she and Jordan were going away for three weeks to Italy, Tuscany, Chinquitari, Rome. The dog was going to the Casa de Canine. But there was a fish. Joanne was going to say she was wondering if she could hire their son, Sam, to look after the fish, but before she said anything more, Morley, anxious to get her out of there, jumped in.

I'd be delighted, said Morley. And that is how Morley came to be the first one in the neighborhood to go inside their house. It was, simply put, out of this world. It was unlike any house Morley had ever been in, ever. She'd seen pictures and magazines, but nothing like this. Nothing like this, because, well, first off, because it was effectively empty, not literally empty. There was stuff there, but empty is the sense that it gave you.

It was face-to-face, no way. to nose, eyeball to eyeball, the calm to Morley's storm, the up to her down, the counter, the contra, and oh my God, look at that. It was the big empty table in the foyer, marble, with one solitary flower. Oh, don't worry about the orchid, said Joe. It's going to the conservatory. It's stunning, said Morley. The orchid was white. The floors were gray, polished concrete, heated, polished concrete. There was one couch in the living room, one, a big white couch. The ceilings were high, the walls were empty except for the wall beside the gas fireplace.

On that wall, there was a huge portrait of their dog playing poker. The fish was upstairs. in the den. There was a package of frozen blood worms in the stainless steel stand-up freezer, imported from Iceland. The worms, that is. The freezer came from Denmark. As she walked home, Morley was imagining how she was going to describe the place to Dave, chewing over the words she might use. Modern, contemporary, minimalist. It was certainly that. She actually said it out loud as she walked onto her porch, minimalist. It applied just the right degree of sophistication.

And Morley was feeling pretty sophisticated herself for having just been there. Then she reached out to let herself into her house and her front doorknob came off in her hand. A few days later, at work, Morley was trying to describe the place to her colleagues there. there. Three of them sitting in the office, eating sandwiches, Morley sitting on her desk. The bathroom, said Morley, I'm not sure I can do the bathroom. Take your time, said Darren. Three nights she had been going, and she'd only just found the bathroom. It's not like I'm snooping, she said. Why not, said Darren? For God's sake, snoop. And so she told them about the bathroom.

Well, it's big, she said. Imagine a bedroom, a good-sized bedroom. Now empty it out and dim the lights. She was clearly loving the bathroom. I'm not sure she said that there were flowers, but imagine flowers. The walls are gray. There are seven showerheads. One on top, and then two rows aimed at your body.

And it's in the corner with no stall. It's a wet room. And in the middle of it all, while she had put her sandwich down now, she had her eyes closed because she could see it perfectly in her mind's eye. The tub in the middle of the room, not tucked apologetically into the corner. Maybe the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. scene. An infinity tub, said Morley. Big enough for two. A perfect rectangle. With a rim around the edge so you can

fill it completely to the top and the water pours over the rim and into a gutter. She went over every night after supper. First, few nights she fed the fish and then left in and then out. The third night, The night she saw the tub, that was also the night that she first sat on the couch, just for a moment, just to see what it felt like. There was a design magazine on the glass coffee table. She sat down and then she picked up the magazine and leafed through it, but not for long. The next night, she brought a book. Just one chapter, she said. Sitting on the sofa, after all, wasn't snooping.

By the end of the week, she had decided she could spend an hour, but no more. It wasn't snooping, it was house-sitting. Anyway, whatever it was, it was probably a good idea if it looked as if people were living in the house. She sat on the couch under a cashmere throw that she found in the dead. Next Monday, as she was heading over, a smile on her face, and was that a skip in her step? There was Dave. What are you doing over there, he said? Seems to be taking you longer every night.

Exactly how many fish are there? She stared at her husband across the kitchen. He was standing between a basket of dirty laundry and a half-finding. unloaded dishwasher. Okay, she said. You can come, but we're not snooping and we're not staying.

I've been sitting here, said Morley, pointing at the couch. Dave picked up a remote control and pointed at the fireplace. The fireplace flared on. Dave, said Morley. He grinned and shrugged his

shoulders. Come on. Well, said Morley, okay, but just five minutes. The thing was, without the clutter of all her things, Morley felt completely relaxed. It's so tranquil, she said. She glanced at their couch when they got home. There was a week's worth of newspapers piled up at one end. no wonder she felt the weight of the world settling on her.

So Dave started going over there with her. Without talking about it, they established a routine. They would finish supper, do the dishes, and then head over. And Saturday, Dave flipped on the fireplace and produced a bottle of wine from his coat. Morley was already curled up on the couch. just one glass, said Morley. On Sunday, Dave produced cheese and a baguette. As he flipped on the fireplace,

Morley said, last time. Really, she said, half an hour later? Last time. It was past 11 when she said, we should go. But she didn't sound convinced. On Monday, Sam said, what are you guys doing over there anyway? Seems to be taking you longer every night.

Morley said, just checking on the fish. Sam said, it takes two of you to look after a fish. Morley said, okay, you can come, but no snooping. And just ten minutes, we're not staying. While she fed the fish, Sam, found an elliptical trainer in the basement. When he came upstairs, he said, there's a sauna. Can we use the sauna?

Morley reacted with horror. No, she said, no. We're not using anything here. We're just taking care of the fish. She had considered how nice it would be if they could treat it like their own. She'd considered how nice it could be if they could move in. So that every time she flushed a toilet, she wouldn't have to jiggle a toilet handle until she heard something in the tank go clunk. So she would have a stove where all the burners worked on all the settings, not just the back left one.

So she would have a house where every door frame, every wall, every floor wasn't nicked, cut, scratched, and scuffed. truthfully in her heart of hearts. Morley wanted her house to look like a house that her family didn't live in. Jordan and Joe were due back that Saturday, that Saturday evening. On Friday after dinner, Morley said she was going over by herself. Dave said, what's in the backpack? Morley said cleaning stuff. I want to make sure we leave it perfect.

She unpacked as soon as she got there. A dozen candles. A hairdryer, a terrycloth robe, two towels, and a bottle of bath salts. She hadn't said what she was going to clean. She fed the fish. Then she carried the stuff upstairs and stared at the tub. It was a foolish.

idea. She knew better. She wasn't actually going to do it. She actually said that out loud. I'm not going to do it, she said. As she said it, she was arranging the candles at the foot of the tub. It's hard to describe a moment of complete perfection. But that moment, that night lying in that steaming tub by the flickering light of her candles might be as close as Morley has ever come. She sank into the benevolence of the water and felt herself float away in a world of warm oils, mysterious fragrances, and silk curtains billowing in the wind. She thought it would be good. it was better than anything she had ever imagined.

She was standing there, wrapped in her white robe, blow drying her hair, lost in the wonder of it when they came home. Her hair dryer was so loud that Morley didn't hear the door open. It was Joanne who came upstairs and found her. Joanne, who came upstairs and into the bedroom and stood there by the bed, staring at the sight of Morley, her back to the door wrapped in her white robe, holding the hairdryer up in the flickering candlelight, the glass of wine on the counter beside her, and worst of all, singing, staying alive,

and doing all the moves. It took Joanne a moment to comprehend what she was looking at. When she did, when she absorbed it and deciphered it and understood it, she turned around and ran downstairs. Morley still didn't have a clue she had been spotted. Didn't have a clue she wasn't all along. But as soon as she turned off the hairdriar, she knew. Because as soon as she turned off the hairdrier, she heard their voices, clear as day. Jordan's first. I am so bagged, said Jordan.

Let's order out. Good God. They were home. I want to go out, said Joe. It's our last night. I want to take you out. Then there was silence.

Morley heard someone's feet on the stairs. And she took an involuntary step. backwards and then another. Someone was coming up the stairs. She clutched her robe around her throat. And then the someone coming up the stairs said, I'm showering first. It was Jordan. Morley was cowering in the corner. And that's how he would have found her, cowering in the corner of his bathroom, clutching her robe closed. But he didn't. Jordan, said Joanne.

I'm starving. No shower. Let's go. And just like that, the footsteps stopped. And Morley heard the sound of him going down the stairs and the sound of them going out. As soon as she was sure they were gone, she began to pack up.

She blew out the candles. and wiped down the tub and put everything back in her pack. It was only when she finished that she saw the purse on their bed. When she saw the purse on the bed, she knew what had happened. Someone had been up there, and it had to have been Joanne. Joanne had seen her. Joanne had covered for her. That's why they'd gone out to dinner.

so Morley could escape. She slunk back across the street. What took so long, said Dave, must be really clean over there. The flowers came two days later. They came with a handwritten note. Thanks for looking after the place. The fish is fine, plump enough to eat.

The place looks great. We appreciate it. It looks like we're going again in the spring. Jordan has clients in Rome. Let me know if we could impose again. There's a sauna in the basement. I was thinking you might enjoy it. Morley will tell this story one day, but not for a while. still too close to the bone for that. So far the only person she's told is Dave, but years to come she will tell others. But only after Joanne and Jordan leave the neighborhood. When she does, she'll say it was outrageous that she got into that bath.

I don't know what I was thinking, she'll say. But I do know this. I came to like her. She was a good neighbor, kind, but never more so than that night. That was the kindest thing she ever did for me. I think about it often. That was Stuart McLean,

and that was The House Next Door. All right, that's it for today, but we'll be back here next week with another David Morley story. Dave said, oh, I was just thinking about my old dog. Sam said, how did he die? Dave said, I wasn't there. I was away. Scout, a mutt.

Black and white coat, strong legs, built for running. Probably had some border collie in them. The loyalty and the focus. But not the brains. Definitely not the brains. Scout was one dumb dog. He was one dumb dog, said Dave. This was back when, back when Dave was a boy and living in big narrows.

Back when people built their own homes. You'd start with a basement and live in the basement until you could afford to go higher. Scout, born in some basement, always stayed close to the ground. Scout hated water. which drove Dave's dad, Charlie, a duck hunter, to distraction. Dogs should know how to swim, he'd say every year as duck season approached. One spring he decided to do something about that. They drove to town and Charlie threw scout off the government pier.

He sank like a stone. He didn't even try. He went straight down. Until he reached a point of stasis about three. three feet below the surface, and he hovered there looking up at them, sorrowfully. Oh, no, said Charlie, down on his knees, peering into the water, calling the dog. Scouts' mouth appeared to be opening and closing. Looked like he was barking underwater. Oh, no, said Charlie again.

Dave and his sister Annie were both there standing right beside their dad, pointing and crying, and there. There was nothing for Charlie to do, but stand up, yank off his jacket, and jump in. This was Mother's Day weekend. Broad Door Lake in May, not even the teenagers were thinking of swimming. When Charlie hit the water, he gasped. He almost sank himself. When he told the story later, that's the part he'd start with. It was close, I'll tell you.

And that's just when he hit the water. He knew it was going to be cold or bad. below the surface. But he couldn't let the dog ground, not with the kids standing there, bawling their eyes out, not with witnesses. So Charlie sucked in a lung full of air,

ducked under, grabbed scout by the tail, and swum him over to the beach. That's next week on the podcast. I hope you'll join us. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. The recording engineer is Greg DeClude, who has seen things in

magazines that he'd like to try one day. Beam music is by Danny Michelle, and the show is produced by Louise Curtis, Greg DeCloot, and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now.