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.Anders watched her as they talked, listening to her low, husky voice, trying to catch whatever flickered out from behind the hesitations and constraints.They glanced at the big, weighty abstracts on the walls, accompanied by tags with even weightier prices.But the restaurant's decorative tin ceiling interested Anders more."This place used to be a greasy spoon, same name, way back when, did you know that?" he said, taking a good look at the ceiling – original, apparently – and the dark cherry-wood booths."They did a nice job on the reno; fixed it up without changing much.I heard that some old guy stumbled in after the change, took a good look and stumbled right back out again."They studied the menus, light years from what the old guy would have eaten, and ordered.Calamari and then lamb shank for him, arugula and daikon salad and chicken penne for her.When that was settled, Anders continued."There used to be a lot of real stores along this part of Queen.Hardware, used furniture.Then, gradually, some good funky alternative places, all sorts of unique businesses coming and going.That's the stage I first knew it at."She nodded."Even since I've moved to Toronto, some of those places have moved out.What is there out there now, the Gap?""Yeah, the gentrification's finally complete.Active Surplus must be about the last holdout.Not even the funky places left.They've moved west.More and more lofts, lawyers' offices, big clubs, big chains.Concrete and steel.""And of course anyone poor has had to move out.""Oh, yeah, long since.And nowhere to go."The appetizers arrived, and she looked down into her arugula."Would the old guy even recognize this as food, do you suppose?" she asked.He smiled."Probably not.I'll take you to a greasy spoon next time; I know some good ones.Redeem our sins for eating this way while the masses starve."They talked on about the housing lost, the housing not built, the rising rents pushing more and more out into the streets.She put down her fork and propped her chin on her hands as if her head was sinking under the weight of it all, and looked at him from under her lashes."What?" he asked."You're so calm about this.Pragmatic.I can't – I can hardly think of it –40As She’s Told – Anneke Jacobbeing homeless.The vulnerability.The exposure.""Yes.It's criminal that people have to live like that." His face was grim."I mean it literally, it's criminal, or it ought to be.I'm not as calm as I look.As for pragmatism, there are practical solutions.It's just the lack of funding.When it comes to subsidized housing, the federal government and the province and the city just argue over who pays.Money's actually reserved for housing that never gets spent.""There some program, social workers connecting with street people, getting them housed, right?""Streets to Homes.Better than nothing, maybe.A lot of the housing they're putting people into is seriously substandard.And pushing that program gets the government off the hook for any decent national housing strategy.""Wait – didn't the mayor announce.?""Yes, there are supposed to be a couple of projects soon.Maybe there'll be something I can do.In the meantime I volunteer with Habitat for Humanity, help to build a few houses a year, and try to be satisfied with that."The entrees arrived.They ate and talked about underfunded programs, and human spaces, and the Regent Park redevelopment.Anders knew the immediate politics, and Maia put it into a historical context, picked up from her reading, surprising him with the extent of it."I like the history of North American cities.Despite all the greed and exploitation.That kind of pioneering naiveté."He looked at her carefully."And it's easier for you to talk about the past than the scary stuff happening right in your face."She winced, then laughed a little sadly."Yup.You got it."On less painful topics Anders watched her follow him, match his thoughts in her quiet way, formulate and make subtle connections.He shared out the last of the wine and sat back, looking at her."I've just realized – you really are an information-management girl."She laughed."What do you mean?""You cross-reference things.You catalogue.""That sounds awful!" She looked down into her glass."But you're probably right.""Is that what made you go into it?"41As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob"Because my mind works that way?" She thought a moment."Don't think so.That's more a product of school than a cause.""Why, then?"She gave an embarrassed smile."Well – I've always hung out in libraries.Reading.Nerd that I am.Nice and quiet, safe.This huge one in Oakland – I used to sit near the reference desk and listen.It was amazing what that woman could find out; all sorts of information – basic, obscure, downright esoteric.And she'd just give it out, no strings attached.Anyone could come in or call and ask all sorts of stuff, and she'd look it up for them.""And you liked that.""Yes.I want to do that myself, one way or another.Get people the information they need." She unfolded her napkin, folded it up another way."At home everything seemed to be about money, about what something was worth, what it cost.How to make more.How to make people pay.My father has a software consulting business.He doesn't do anything for free; he says he can't afford to.But I don't want to live like that.""What does your family think of your going –" his eyes darted to left and right, and he leaned forward to whisper, "– non-profit?"She mimed shock, grinned, shrugged."It's a job.They tried to make me a junior entrepreneur like my sister, but they had to give up on that pretty early.I'm too introverted.I think they've got visions of me going into corporate information technology or some damned thing, but if so they're going to be disappointed.""Ah, yes, the expectations.My mother wasn't too happy about my business.Wasting all that college education.Picking up master electrician instead of an MA.Though she's come around now and my dad never minded, as long as I got the education in the first place; he insisted on that.""That was a given in my house, too.""Well, not entirely in mine.My grandmother was pissed that I wasted time in university, given that it had nothing to do with construction.She said I'd been reading blueprints and building things since the age of three and that there was no point pretending I was going to be anything else.She still harps on it whenever she wants to annoy my mother.""You were reading blueprints at three?""So to speak.I used them in my games.My dad gave me old draft 42As She’s Told – Anneke Jacobversions; I kept piles of them.”“You could have taken architecture or urban planning or something.""Probably.Though I don't think I would have been satisfied if I wasn't building with my own hands.I like getting in there.Anyway, back then I didn't think I was going to be in any way like my father.Who does at eighteen? I thought I was going to be quite unlike any of my relations.Shake their dust off my boots.Have an impact on the world.Thus the political science.After a while I figured out that I was actually quite a lot like my father and there was no shame in it.And then everything fell into place.”“Despite your mother's disapproval.""Nah, she's okay with it now.As long as I'm happy; you know mothers.She's a teacher; education is high on her list." He set his cutlery on his empty plate and wiped his mouth."What about your mother, what does she do?""Everything, all the time, it seems to me.Always going at something full tilt
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