by Lee Taylor
I consider texting her, but what should I say? She might be a really nice person, and for all I know, Zach's been playing her too. I navigate to two text messages from Cliff. The first one reads, "Let's elope. I'll buy two tickets anywhere you want."
The second one says, "Woohoo, look what I picked up at the side of the road today. Is this my Vera Morelli?"
As expected, he attached the picture of me with my messy hair wearing the SpongeBob shirt.
I text back. "Ask Mr. Ping if you're even allowed to marry me."
There. That ought to stew his juices. Too bad I won't be around for the fallout when he finds out he's my bunso, or younger brother.
Another text message rolls in. "Vera, please talk to me. At least tell me why you have to leave, Zach."
I can hear his voice breaking, thinking I'm bothered by his leg. More than anything, I wish I could comfort him, because obviously, Maryanne wasn't able to convey my message effectively.
I text. "I can't. You're wonderful, but something came up."
"Whatever it is, we can work through it together."
"Please don't ask any more questions."
"You said you'd give me a chance and now you're shutting the door. Is this how you want to say goodbye?"
I close my eyes and sink onto the bed, suddenly too weak. I can hear the cracking of my heart, splintering like the mast of a floundering sailboat. He's been nothing but good to me. My head throbs and my finger hovers over the call button. But there's nothing I can say to make this easier. A clean cut hurts less. That's what Mama always says.
I'm about to turn off Zach's phone when a message pops up from Cliff. "Tonight, me and you, heart to heart."
Urgh. Doesn't he ever give up?
"Sorry, I'm with Ben and Dex." I text back.
I power off Zach's phone. Tomorrow, I'll ask Ben or Dex to drop it in the mail for him. Tears stream down my face. I don't want to say goodbye like this. I can't bear him thinking I didn't love him.
I turn on my phone and text his phone.
"Mahal kita, farewell." I love you, goodbye.
He'll get it when I'm safely above the clouds. I hope it's enough for him to understand that I didn't mean to hurt him.
There's a rap-tap-tap at my door. I hurriedly wipe away my tears, put on a pair of oversized sunglasses and a wide-brimmed straw hat, and open the door.
The twins stand there grinning. Dex sports binoculars and Ben has a huge camera, or is it the other way around? All they need are aloha shirts to complete their tourist impersonations.
I march with them to a jeep parked at the front of the mansion and try to be amused by their antics. I need them to keep Cliff at bay and my mind off Zach.
Along the way, they joke and rap with the radio on, trying to make me smile. The drive is mostly flat until we get near the Dandenong Range. I can't get over how blue the sky is, so much like Zach's eyes. If things were different I'd be seeing this beauty with him, walking hand in hand.
We drive further into the park. The trees get taller and denser, and flocks of colorful birds circle overhead. Ben points to my hat. "Good idea wearing that. Wanna feed them?"
"Uh . . . sure, but aren't they wild?"
"You have bird seed, they'll come right up to you," Dex says.
After parking, we enter the feeding area and buy birdseed. A cloud of birds swoop directly at us.
"Hold out your hand," Ben says and puts seeds in both my hands.
Colorful parrots and cockatoos land on my forearms and amazingly take turns. They roll their intelligent eyes at me, their crests raising and lowering. "What are all of these called? I know the cockatoos, but what about the red and blue ones?"
Dex points to the red one with blue stripes feeding on my left arm. "That's a crimson rosella."
"Ah . . . I want to take it home."
"And the green one with the orange breast is the king parrot. The pink one with grey wings sitting on Dex is a galah, and oh, look, there's a kookaburra sitting on the fence post," Ben explains while snapping pictures.
"Are they the ones who woke me this morning?"
Ben hoots and makes wild monkey sounds while Dex makes motor sounds. I crack up when the kookaburras raise their beaks to the sky and laugh hilariously. Meanwhile, the sulfur crested cockatoos flock at my feet, milling around the dropped seeds.
"Should I feed the kookaburras?" I ask.
"Nope, not unless you have meat," Dex replies. "They're carnivorous."
A large white bird lands on the top of my head. I jump and scream, which only causes his wings to flap harder. "I think he's stuck!"
My hat lifts and drops a few feet. The birds are going crazy and jumping on my arms, hair and shoulders. What the? Dex is throwing seeds into my hair and Ben is filming me. Those brats! The kookaburras laugh, and all I can do is roll with it. I brush some seeds onto Ben and he runs toward the car.
A particularly persistent cockatoo refuses to leave my arm, no matter how hard I shake him. He clings to me like Velcro, his saucer shaped eyes rolling around as if he can't understand that I have no more seeds. Finally, Dex waves my hat at him and he takes flight.
"That's Zach." They laugh, but my stomach turns sour.
I climb into the jeep and slam the door. Tears threaten, and I hate myself for not being able to keep my eyes dry.
The boys scramble into the jeep, and we drive off. They turn the radio to a comedy channel, one specializing in adolescent flatulence jokes. My gaze swims over the rolling countryside, my mind a million miles away.
Zach, I'll never ever get over you.
The traffic is dense once we're close to the city. It's getting late and my eyes feel heavy. I wonder what Zach is doing, how he's feeling.
Despite my resolve, I turn on his cell phone. My message of love flashes on the screen. I flip to his photo album and stare at him in happier times: pictures of Zach and his sailboat, competing in triathlons, riding his bicycle, windsurfing, rock climbing and horseback riding. There's Zach with his motorcycle and the collection of women. Beautiful women. And there's me--the last one taken on the dark porch. We're smiling and our eyes are sparkling with new found love. I want to delete it, but I have no right to.
"Ate, why are you crying?" Ben calls from the passenger seat.
"I wish you two would stop making fun of Zach. Have you ever thought how you'd feel if you lost a leg?"
Dex swings to the left lane and looks back at me. "I have a friend who lost his leg at the Boston Marathon. Sorry."
"Yeah, sorry," Ben says. "You're really into him?"
"Cliff says--" Dex begins.
I hold out my hand. "I don't want to hear it. Cliff is a bully and a loser."
"Does he really think you'll marry him?" Dex asks. "Darn, missed that parking space."
"I'll never marry," I say resolutely. "You two will have to pass on the family genes."
"You don't mean that, do you?" Ben says. "Would you marry Zach?"
Goodness. These two are like babies.
I punch the seatback. "How the hell do you think I can marry him if my father killed his mother?"
"Maybe Tatay didn't kill her," Dex says.
"Yep, we have listening devices." Ben flashes me a cheesy grin. "Tatay got us spy toys for Christmas and forgot about them."
"Wait, wait!" I sit up straighter. "What did you guys find out?"
"Tatay's covering for someone."
"Who?" My heart springs into action. "And why?"
Ben shrugs. "It's all hush-hush, but we heard him say he couldn't hurt your mother more than he already has."
"My mother? What does she have to do with this?"
"We don't know, but we think he's protecting her," Dex says.
"That's ridiculous, she can't possibly be the murderer." I slump back into the seat. "She was home. Me and Papa were at the winery. I got blood on my dress, but I don't remember anything else."
"You were there?" Both sets of eyes turn on me.
"Watch out!" I point to t
he windshield. A truck horn blares and Dex slams on the brakes. He makes a sharp left into an underground parking garage.
Ben keeps looking back at me as if I had grown three heads while Dex swings into the first available spot. Avoiding their questioning looks, I jump from the jeep and jog up the stairs to street level. I power walk several blocks, aimlessly, weaving and dodging between pedestrians. Ben and Dex yell from behind. I narrowly miss getting hit by an electric streetcar before stopping.
A gargantuan yellow brick building with multiple archways and a green dome stands in front of me. The old world details and architecture are magnificent enough to take my breath away. I stare transfixed at the row of analog clocks at the entrance above a wide staircase.
"Flinders Street Station, world famous for meeting under the clocks," Ben says and snaps a picture of me. "You want to talk about what you saw?"
"No." I keep walking, wishing I was in the mood to enjoy the landmarks. We meander down the street to City Square, flanked by the Melbourne Town Hall and St. Paul's Cathedral. A black water wall, the one Cliff talked about, stands in the square. Of course I can't resist putting my hand up to it.
Ben stands next to me and splashes me. "So, if you got blood on your dress, did you see the murder?"
"I didn't see anything." I shut my eyes and let the cool water run over my hands, as if washing away the blood.
"You must have seen something," Dex says. "Wouldn't it be cool if you solved the mystery?"
"Uh . . . guys, let's not talk about it, okay? Papa looked me in the eye and said he killed her. The right thing for him to do is to turn himself in."
"You're joking," Dex says. "They'll frame him."
"Yeah, you're family. You wouldn't rat him out, would you?" Ben flashes me a sidelong glance.
"Of course I wouldn't. I'm hungry, where are we eating?"
***
We get back in the jeep, and Dex drives block after city block before parking next to a dumpster. He leads us to a row of brick buildings decorated with graffiti. I'm immediately uncomfortable, thinking about earthquakes. We don't build with brick in California, and all I can picture is rubble. We descend a set of dark, smelly steps into a hole in the basement, a real dive. A grungy version of the Hungry Caterpillar children's book character with a cigarette sticking out his mouth is painted on the sign over the entrance.
Dex opens the door to a dank underground club. There's a bar to the right, pool tables, and a platform for a band. A DJ's station is near the back. Trance-like music pulses from the large overhead speakers.
Ben points to a sign on the wall. "We can get those kangaroo burgers Cliff talks about."
"I'm not sure I want one." I follow Dex toward the bar.
Speak of the devil. Cliff is sitting on a barstool.
"Can we go somewhere else?" I pivot toward the entrance, tugging Dex's shirt.
"Too late, he saw us," Dex says.
"So? It's my last night here, and I don't want to deal with your father's foreman."
An arm clamps my shoulder, and Cliff's slimy smile slides across his face. "Mi amor."
I'm not even going to be polite. I twist out of his grasp and position myself between my two bodyguard brothers. "Aren't you going to tell him to leave your Ate alone?" I nudge Dex's foot with my toe.
"But it's only Cliff," Dex says. "He's harmless."
"All talk and no action," Ben agrees.
My face warms, and I hope they don't see it reddening. They hadn't seen him in the shower. He was much more than talk, although thankfully he's been respectful ever since. We take seats at the bar, and Cliff wisely sits on the other side of Dex.
Cans of spray paint are left on a ledge leading to the stairway. A customer is tagging graffiti on walls filled with vivid sceneries of beaches, colorful birds, and trees that flow seamlessly, one to the next.
The boys order kangaroo burgers, potato wedges, and pitchers of beer. I ask for a tomato and broccoli salad with green goddess dressing, but Cliff tells the waitress to bring me a strip of kangaroo on a skewer.
"You have to try it. It's healthier than beef," he says as he takes a picture of me with his phone.
I feel like a fugitive already. If the authorities place Vera Custodio here, close to the Ping brothers, wouldn't they suspect my father to be related to them?
The food arrives, and Cliff lifts his phone again, but I block it. "Enough pictures." I turn to Ben. "Make sure you don't post any photos of me. They might trace me back to you guys."
He darts a secret agent furtive look around and whispers, "Got it. The memory card will self-destruct in fifty seconds."
I'm chewing on the rangy kangaroo when Zach walks down the stairs from street level. He's wearing a tight white cotton shirt with the two top buttons loose, and his jeans completely cover his artificial leg. He fist bumps the bouncers and swaggers toward the pool table, walking naturally in a pair of fluorescent sneakers with only a slight roll on the left.
I duck behind Dex, but needlessly. Zach never glances my way as he greets his mates and grabs a pool stick. They start another game, and Zach leans over to take the break shot, pointing his tight, sexy bum my direction.
"Stop drooling," Ben elbows me.
"How did he know I'd be here?" I chase the dry meat with a draft of beer. The aftertaste is strong and malty.
"Maybe he tracked his mobile," Dex says. "I thought you turned it off."
"Oh!" I fish the cell phone from my purse. "I turned it on in the car. Can we leave now?"
"Leave?" Ben exclaims. "Not until after the dance contest."
Cliff's twirling a potato wedge in ketchup and smirking as if highly amused. He quirks his eyebrow at me. "Aren't you going to talk to him?"
"No, why don't you?" For all you know, you might be his brother, idiot.
"Not interested that way."
Just then, the DJ swings into his booth and does his spiel. Cliff takes my hand. "I get the first dance."
"No, Zach's here. Really, I don't want him to see me."
"I don't understand." He puts on an innocent look. "Don't you want to let him know you've moved on?"
"I need to use the ladies' room." I hop off the barstool and wind my way to the back of the bar. One by one, I delete the text messages sent or received by me on Zach's phone, including the last one that says "I love you" in Tagalog.
The bathroom is hot and stuffy with a stench of stale beer, urine and vomit. Not the place to spend the evening. I make my way out past a group of college girls, some in bikini tops, who eye me suspiciously. Most likely, my lack of facial piercings and tattoos marks me as a tourist.
The electro music is blasting, and people are jumping up and down with their hands in the air.
When I make my way to the bar stools we were occupying, all three men are missing. Everywhere I turn, there are raised armpits and sweaty bodies. The DJ announces the contestants and cranks up the pulsing electronic music. I thread through the crowd by following a cocktail waitress to the front of the stage.
Sure enough, Ben and Dex are lined up, but I don't see Cliff anywhere. I'm surprised he hasn't pounced on me yet. Thankfully, my lack of height gives me plenty of cover. I'm wearing running shoes and sensible clothing, but a few men still surround me, bumping and jumping. I soon realize no one is dancing with anyone else. They're all in clumps, sort of to themselves, shaking their arms or shouting at the stage.
Ben is really jamming. His arms are rotating like gears, his head bobbing at impossible angles. I have no clue what hand signals he's doing, but he resembles a flag man on a carrier at warp speed. The crowd's weaving and bouncing to the jackhammer beat. Beer splashes over my blouse and drips onto my shoes.
"Sorry, miss. You from around here?" A large man with a nose ring blocks my view of the stage.
"I'm with them!" I shout and point at the stage where my brothers are.
He leers and stares at my wet shirt, hovering over me like a hummingbird on nectar. Where's Cliff when you need him?
/> I sortie to the ladies' room again, but this time there's a line. The pool tables have been pushed to the side and people are thronging around the bar. Dex is on stage, flipping through his routine. A waitress slides through the crowd.
"How much longer is the contest?" I yell to be heard over the music.
"All night! Woo! Go up there, we need some girl power." She winks and disappears into the kitchen.
All night. The air is getting rank, and people's deodorants aren't working overtime. A headache squeezes my eyes as the music sends nails through my brain. I have to step out for fresh air, but a group of men eye me near the exit.
A cheer roars from the crowd. "Zach, Zach, Zach!"
Open-mouthed, I crane my neck toward the stage. It's Zach, and he's spinning faster than a top. His feet glide like they're on sliders. An elbow slaps the side of my head, and someone's hair flings in my face. Screams and howls pierce through the group of bikini-clad girls. I can't believe it. They're throwing thongs and panties at him.
Zach's head and shoulders rotate evasively like he did in laser tag, and he's spinning roundhouse kicks and sweeping the floor with his left leg, then doing a moonwalk Egyptian style. His long arms windmill two directions, and when he launches into a tight cartwheel followed by hip rolls, the girls shriek louder and the guys throw beer on each other.
Zach's feet turn in and out and in and out as his arms and head appear disjointed. He lifts his left leg and unzips the lower part of his detachable pant leg, all while bobbing to the beat. The noise level is deafening when he exposes his carbon fiber rod and tosses the partial pant leg into the crowd.
"Zach, Zach, Zach!" All around me, people are chanting and screaming. I'm soaked, more from beer than sweat. Disoriented and dizzy, I slip on the wet floor. The crowd moves over me as if I weren't there. I crawl between a forest of legs. Someone kicks the side of my head, and another knee lands on my back. I'm swimming and grabbing at pant legs and belt loops. But the people are so oblivious, they shake me loose while hopping like bunnies on steroids.
A rough grip pulls me to my feet, and my face bounces against a sweat-drenched chest splashed in beer and a sporty cologne. The man steadies me as I wipe the hair from my face without looking up. "Uhm . . . thanks."