Marcus had flipped out a mobile phone, standing on the upper gradient of the projectile to avoid stepping into the meandering river. His hand was still smoothing the man’s back and offering reassuring words, attention drawn to his contact list until he found the number that he wanted. The screen was small and his vision was blurry from the alcohol so he had to hold it close to make sure he was calling his chosen number instead of a client in Japan. Satisfied that it was correct, he stepped away from the slumped man and took a deep breath, waiting for the call to connect.
A few miles away, Beast felt the buzz in his trouser leg and fished out the phone. He looked at the number and brushed the stripper off his lap. He pulled out a wallet and dropped a few bills onto the seat and left the room. Signalling to his colleague at the bar, they left the club slipping down a side road until they faced a gated entrance. It opened a crack and a face looked out at them, before the gate was pulled open. He slipped into the passenger side of a beamer that was parked there and clicked on his seatbelt as they drove through the gateway and pulled off the lane onto a main street.
Beauty asked him to confirm the directions again and followed them to the letter. Ten minutes later they were parked outside Piergianni’s restaurant. Beast turned off the lights and waited, sticking on the radio for some background noise. He complained to his passenger about his arm span and asked the man to tuck his elbows in or recline his seat. The man did neither because their target suddenly emerged from the restaurant, inserting ear phones and pulling a hood up over her head. He waited until she had walked a block before starting the engine, slowly crawling along the pavement, allowing the few cars behind them to overtake.
Molly skipped the track and found the start of a new chapter on her audiobook. The voice of the narrator was bright and interesting but not enough to make the content compelling to listen to. It had been her professor’s suggestion to fill traffic and transit hours with audio to get a better handle on some of the material to use for her thesis. An easy way to kickstart the project which hadn’t been given enough attention since Lazarus’ assault two months earlier. She stopped at a pedestrian crossing and waited for the green man to appear, and took the opportunity to flick through some music instead and found an album by Coldplay, where the first few tracks would help complete her walk home. She found the sound in one ear fade in and out and pulling the bud out saw that the wire was fractured. She ripped the other bud out and rolled it around the iPod as she crossed the road. She stuffed it in her hoodie pocket and pulled out her phone and dialled the last number.
Lazarus was asleep in front of the TV, with his phone on the table. It buzzed for a few rings but was on silent, the rattle not loud enough to arouse him. Instead he burrowed deeper into the armchair rest.
Louise was ironing her shirts, pressing the steam button and releasing a fresh cloud of wet steam which she smoothed into the clothes. She turned around after she thought she heard a rattle, but it had stopped as soon as she looked. She propped the iron back on its base on the side of the ironing board and held up one of the dresses high in her hands, framing it against the wall. The light caught its green ruffles and she fiddled with the open front and the buttons there, imagining in her mind’s eye if it showed too much cleavage for a first date. Pulling the pile off the back of the chair that her housemate was curled up in, Louise brought the clothes into her room and began sorting through them, colour coordinating with various shoes in her wardrobe. She was so entranced in her own little world she didn’t hear the door open fifteen minutes later.
“Just me,” Molly said, walking into the living room.
She saw Lazarus asleep and the phone on the table and sat down on the couch. He was gently snoring and she lifted his mobile phone, a prehistoric Nokia 6230i and clicked the fob in the centre. It was unlocked and she saw her three missed calls. Molly looked over to Lazarus who hadn’t yet stirred and scrolled a few entries down the address book until she found a name. She pulled out her own phone and created a new contact and entered a number, and then returned his phone to the table.
“Honey, you’ll never sleep tonight,” she said and gently brushed a black lock of hair off his forehead.
He resisted like a toddler, scrunching up his face and his eyes cracked open one at a time.
“Hello there,” she said and smiled.
“Morning.”
“Not even close. Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
She struck the power button on the remote and helped him to his feet. He trailed behind, holding her hand as they moved down the hallway and into the bedroom. He tore off his hoodie and left it on the bed.
“Just popping to the bathroom,” Lazarus said and left the room.
Molly undressed quickly, folding up her work trousers and placing them on a hanger, before rolling her shirt up into a ball and throwing in the corner where her imaginary dirty basket sat, which she narrowly missed every time.
As she took his hoodie from the bed to put a hanger through its opening, she noticed the bulging pockets. Reaching inside, Molly found it stuffed with tissue. It looked like it had been used to blot blood. Hearing the toilet flush, Molly quickly put the tissue back inside, placed the hoodie on the hanger and hung it on the handle of the closet. She slid underneath the covers quickly, and hit the light switch.
She heard him enter, undress and then slide in beside her on the bed. She was still cold from the outside and he bristled from her skin, but there was no escape despite how much he wriggled. Her arms wrapped around him and as he put up a mock fight, what thread that had existed between him and the dream moments earlier, well and truly snapped.
“I saw your friend tonight.” She felt his body freeze. “Marcus. He was in the restaurant.”
“I hope he didn’t do anything?”
“No. Well... not really.”
“What does that mean?” Lazarus asked and turned around to face her.
There was just enough light coming through the closed blind to give shape to their faces but not enough to read each other’s expressions. That came through their voices and when Molly spoke her tone was light and matter-of-fact.
“He wrote me a lovely message on a receipt.”
“What?”
“Yeah. ‘Stay away from him or you’re in trouble.’”
“You’re joking?” Lazarus started to get up but was pulled back down by her. “What kind of a prick…”
“Listen, don’t worry about it.”
“No, I can’t just not worry about it, Molly.”
He started to implore but she hushed him with kisses until he finally submitted.
“I’m going to give my notice at the end of the month. As soon as I get my paycheque, so they won’t be able to withhold it. I wouldn’t put it past them.”
“Have you been drinking beer?” he asked and smacked his lips.
“Just a couple after work. One of the only perks of the job.”
“You didn’t drive…”
“Course not,” she said. “I leave the car here when I’m working. Christ, I won’t be saying that for much longer.”
“What will you do instead?”
“Well, we can both find something together. Maybe set ourselves up on dirty webcam chatrooms and charge for group shows.”
Lazarus could see her smile shine in the darkness and lifted her hand beneath the covers up to his mouth and kissed the fingertips. She traced the tips around his lips, felt the light stubble on his chin and settled her palm on his cheek. Molly took a deep breath and the smile that had alighted her face was now gone.
“You OK?”
“Am I OK?” she said. “You’re the one with the brain tumour. They said we should to go back in this week to see what the options are.”
Lazarus shook his head, slid up on his elbow and looked down at her.
“I know what my options are. Forget what the doctor said. They make their profits off disease. It’s a booming industry, Mol.”
“So what, you’re saying we ju
st do nothing? You’re acting as if you don’t even have a tumour.”
“How many times do we have to go through this?” Lazarus groaned. He fell back down to the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Molly rested her head on his chest and stroked the inside of his arm. His breath was long and slow, her head bobbing with every wave of air he swallowed.
“I saw the blood. In your hoodie. You had another nosebleed, didn’t you? You’re getting them more and more now. You think that it’s just a coincidence? You told me it was just-”
“Listen,” Lazarus interrupted. “I’m as fit now as I’ve ever been. I’m not going back there. I told you. I can’t die. I’ve lived dozens of lifetimes. The things I’ve seen and experienced… I’ve been through wars, famines, festivals, travelled the globe, the high seas and the driest deserts. I’ve seen and lived it all.”
Molly felt the tears bud in her eyes, but she continued to stroke his arm and quietly listened to his voice.
“As for this other doctor? You saw yourself, some raving lunatic that lost his license. As for him saying he knew me from years ago? You’d think I’d remember something like that. Bad news. Some of these people have another agenda. Molly?”
He saw her take a deep breath and she nodded her head on his chest. Reaching out a hand he stroked her face and could feel it slick with tears.
“Come on,” Lazarus said. “Let’s not talk about it. Let’s just enjoy this moment. OK?”
“OK,” she said and slid up alongside him. They hooked into spoons, but it was a long time before Molly managed to fall asleep.
FORTY-FOUR
Month end always brought a turn-up in business. Dates aligned strategically to coincide with the day after paycheques were received. Optimistic men blocking the time in their calendar months in advance in the hope they would have a date to share in the fine dining experience. Piergianni’s was a lottery ticket to win big in the game of lust and attraction.
The women were happy to be fawned over – dates allowing them to at least enjoy the food if not the company, not anticipating putting their hand in their purse for the privilege. It offered a tantalising glimpse into how the other half lived – an intoxicating charm and quality of service that went beyond their expectations, embossing their good mood which lubricated the conversation and their attraction to the other date. Dressed in their best, from the first greeting by the maître d to their exit to destination unknown, the fantasy at least while it lasted was mesmerising. For some of the women, it wasn’t their first time. It made the appeal no less novel, impressing every time.
When there was a lull during the night, Molly sometimes observed the dates, whispering to Scott at her side. They made predictions, critiquing the couple and studied the interplay throughout the night. They would watch as mild-mannered men pecked cheeks, slid chairs back for their lady, thoughtful with their responses, suddenly changed an hour later - a boldness as eyes dropped to the woman’s cleavage, making little attempt to hide their true intentions and replacing each of their sips with another drop of wine.
The women, in various shades of inebriation ranged from humouring the man, mock sarcasm helping them get through the night and providing self-entertainment, until they had navigated a way to get out of contributing to the bill; to downright whorish behaviour, forgetting the setting, eyes reflecting their desire, taking long suggestive licks of their desert spoon, giggles attracting glances from other tables.
It was such groups that drew Molly’s attention. Anything to take away from the blond man who was watching her, smiling at the far side of the room. He was sitting on his own and had again been sugar and sweetness with their interaction. All smiles and compliments, grinning and waving to grab her attention.
Scott seemed to read her mind and spoke first, watching several tables finish up their service and leave.
“Some gall I’ll give him that,” he said and she saw him watching Marcus, who was making little dents in the frosted surface of a lemon sorbet.
“Not worth worrying about,” Molly said and drew his glance.
“You’ve changed your tune,” he said. “Two weeks ago you were cursing your luck.”
“Well, life’s too short. Don’t reckon I’ll be seeing him again anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
Molly looked across and saw the maître d helping people with their light jackets, smiling and shaking hands. The smile dropped when he looked across and saw Molly slouched against the bar top and she made no attempt to move and continued staring at him. Another flock of people moved toward the door which occupied the man, face pulled up tight with a wide smile again, so artificial only she could see it.
“This is my last night. I’m quitting.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Can’t do this anymore. Asshole customers and him as a boss.”
Scott looked across the room and saw the maître d approach, little fists pumping like pistons, ignoring the customers on either side who would customarily receive a little cheerleading rhetoric.
“Zer are tables to be served,” he said.
Molly thought she could hear the squeak of his teeth set in his jaw. He had a slight build, stickman figure that had probably never seen manual labour. His was most likely a career spent sharpening a tongue in the rectums of affluent clients with a mask that had been worn so long that she doubted there was even a face below it anymore.
She stood. Slow deliberate movements unbuttoning her shirt sleeve. She reached up and pulled the band from her hair that held it in a ponytail, and feathered it out onto her shoulders. The Frenchman watched the movements, growing more incredulous by the second, looking from her to the barman beside who didn’t know where to stare.
“What ze hell are you doing?” he said, struggling to keep his voice low.
“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Molly said. She unclipped the name tag from her breast pocket and dropped it onto the bar counter. “Scott, it’s been a pleasure.”
He nodded and watched her walk around the maître d without taking the opportunity to give him a final weathering stare. She slipped through a side door and a minute later they watched her appear, wearing a coat and clutching a hand bag. She walked straight past her tables, ignoring their requests and left the restaurant.
There was a smile on her face as she walked home. Some terraced houses that she passed had posters on their windows. Pictures of Pope Francis, the Spirit Dove and even a ‘Santa Stop Here’ sticker with the word Santa scored out and replaced by ‘Pope’. Little religious ornaments sat on window sills looking out at the street – bobble headed Jesus giving peace signs, propped plaques with the smiling deceased, rosary beads hanging off curtain rails. Molly glanced at the objects, religious fandom that had gone into overdrive in the past week and took a deep breath which only increased the smiling arc on her face. She felt a burden lift from her shoulders. Her mind tried to rally against her good mood and suggested repercussions, competition for other jobs especially without a strong reference but she shook them off, just happy to be done with it.
She stopped at traffic lights and pressed the button, waiting for them to change. A large temporary screen was parked across the road, flashing and signalling oncoming traffic about diversions and road closures from March 1st – March 3rd. It warned of delays and she made a mental note to keep her car parked for the weekend. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone and decided to add a final flourish to her night, scanning through the contacts until she found him and hit dial. It dialled for a few seconds before connecting.
“Hello, Marcus here.”
“Hello. Enjoying your meal, shithead?”
“I’m sorry, who’s this?”
“Your waitress.”
“I… uh…”
She could almost see him scan the room looking for her face behind the bar, or standing over a table and taking orders on the tablet.
“Don’t bother looking. I quit my job tonight. You won’t
be seeing me anymore.”
“Oh. OK. I’m sorry to hear that.”
She could hear the noise in the background, chatter and laughter between diners.
“Like hell you are! Hope you enjoy your sorbet. Might be a bit runny in the middle though.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” he said. “I suggest you follow my advice.”
“Mind your own business.”
“He’s bad news.”
“Fuck off.”
Molly hung up and slotted the phone in her trouser pocket. The exhilaration that she thought she would feel never came. If anything, she felt slightly worse.
Marcus looked at the phone screen when the call had disconnected and saved the number in his contacts. He reached down for the silver spoon and was about to carve another piece of desert. Instead he let it clatter against the glass rim and signalled to the barman for the bill. He clicked into his recent calls and saw the one he wanted and rose from his seat as Scott approached with the card reader. As he passed his credit card to the man, there was a greeting on the other end of the phone.
“It’s me. Do it. Tonight.”
FORTY-FIVE
When she walked through the living room, the two heads looked up and Molly nodded. Louise struggled to her feet, rolling off the seat and approaching, gave her a big hug. Lazarus was smiling and reached out a hand from the settee and she took it, sitting down and kissing him on the lips. She leaned back and let out a big sigh, feeling the soft caresses on her leg. She kicked off her shoes and threw her feet up on the table. There was a fan of takeaway menus on its surface. Louise fell back into the seat again, testing springs that had long ago been retired from active service. She leaned across, filing the coloured fliers and menus together and passed them to Molly.
Raising Lazarus Page 19