by Johi Jenkins
“I didn’t know you could play,” Margarette says.
“I can’t.”
She smiles and looks to the side scrunching her nose. “Clearly you can.”
“Do that again.”
“Do what?”
“You’re so cute when you try not to insult me.”
“I’m just saying you are playing a piano.”
“No, I mean… I don’t know much.” He moves his hands over the keys and plays freely. “I wanted to take classes, but my dad won’t pay for them.”
“I thought he was rich? I mean, your family is wealthy. And you do own a piano,” she adds, throwing her palms out showcasing the instrument.
“Well, Father says it’s a waste of time. You know.”
She smiles thinking how proper is his use of Father, but Tommy still thinks she’s making fun of him.
“That’s not true at all,” she says. “It’s beautiful.”
“You think so? Well, he says if you can’t support yourself, then it’s not worthwhile.”
Her smile fades. “I guess he’s right.”
The piano fades and his fingers sit on the pressed keys. “I don’t know. I’m not super good at anything he does. He keeps….” His head snaps up and his fingers lift off the keys. “He’s here.”
She follows his gaze and sees a car coming up the driveway. “Your father?” She almost sounds scared.
“That’s his car.”
Her pulse flutters and she looks down. Tommy stands up and softly grabs her neck, then brushes her hair back from her eyes without being invasive. “I know how awkward this is for you.”
“No. You don’t.”
“You’re trembling.”
“I’m terrified,” she admits, and then wishes she had used a different word like “nervous” or “excited”.
He leans in to kiss her, but she ducks slightly back.
“The lipstick will smear,” she says.
“Good thinking.”
He kisses her forehead instead. “You’ll be fine.”
She sidesteps away from him as the car drives closer to the window. “Don’t get any ideas. As far as you and I go, I think you’d be better off with Sharon.”
He turns away from her slowly and faces the window. “Impossible.”
She can see his reflection in the glass, and he looks almost sad. She regrets saying it, but she blurts out things like that all the time around him. Partly, she knows, is because she’s afraid that he doesn’t really want her, and she doesn’t want to get her hopes up. But his expression warms her heart towards him; he looks vulnerable. She wants to say she’s sorry, but she can’t come up with the words.
Instead, she watches through the thick front window as the family slowly climbs out of the car. The glass is vintage; so old that it sags with age and bends the light warping the outside world like a funhouse mirror. Margarette sees May’s twisted visage in the glass fixing her lipstick.
Great. May is here too. Margarette muses, frustrated. And why does she need to fix her lipstick for anyway? It’s her freaking house.
Tommy turns back to her and speaks softly. “Can I tell you the truth?”
“I think lies are much safer sometimes.”
“I don’t want this to come up later.” He takes a deep breath. “She’s been calling me.”
“Sharon?”
He nods.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says.
“I just wanted to be honest with you.”
Her voice cracks a little. “So she wants you back?”
“I don’t know. It started in the weirdest way. After you graduated, she started calling me late at night. She said the weirdest thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Some lame excuse; that some old men were calling her number and asking for her to do stuff… gross stuff. Not sure why she would say that. I think she made it all up… just to….”
A big grin ripples over Margarette’s face as the door opens. She fights as best as she can to keep it hidden, but hearing that from Tommy was priceless. A minute ago she wanted to cry or run out of the house screaming, but now all she wants to do is laugh out loud. May walks in and recoils from her grin. Margarette feels tears come to her eyes as she tries to hold it back.
Mr. and Mrs. Gallager walk in, well-dressed in business clothes attire. Mr. Gallager zeroes in on the grinning Margarette. “Who’s this young lady?” Tommy’s father asks.
Tommy clears his throat. “Father, this is Margarette. Margarette, this is my father, Walden Gallager.”
His proper address pushes her over the edge, and she starts laughing nearly hysterically.
Tommy’s mother raises an eyebrow. “What’s so funny, my dear?”
“I’m sorry,” Margarette says, still laughing.
May scoffs. “Well, what is it?”
Margarette seriously tries to keep it together. “Sorry…. Tommy just told me a joke.”
Mrs. Gallager says, “Well, I know Tommy’s sense of humor. It’s probably inappropriate.”
Tommy nods with blatant confusion.
Mr. Gallager comes forward and extends his hand to Margarette. “A pleasure, dear.”
Margarette shakes his hand, smiling. “Same here, Mr. Gallager.”
“Please, call me Walt.”
Margarette thinks this is where she should say something like, Thank you, Walt, but there’s something about him that doesn’t feel right. She only smiles in acknowledgment.
“Father, it was Margarette’s graduation this morning and I’m taking her out to dinner tonight. We just stopped by to make introductions.”
“Where are you going to dinner?” Mr. Gallager asks.
“Panucci’s.”
“Oh, come on, son. That place is not good enough for a graduation dinner.”
Tommy’s confidence falters. “I thought it was alright.”
“No…” the father says with a superior smile, waving his hand dismissively. “Especially not for a girl dressed like that. Take her to Commander’s instead.” He winks.
What was that? Wink? What did he mean? Commander’s is the most expensive restaurant in town. The place where the rich go to only because it’s known to be expensive, but the food’s okay. Tommy might be the son of a rich family, but he can’t make that much money to justify a ridiculously expensive dinner. And besides, Margarette would feel completely out of place there. It’s a thought that she seems to share with Mrs. Gallager, who puckers her lips as if she has smelled something foul. Margarette can almost hear her thoughts. Commander’s? Surely not with her.
“I don’t mind Panucci’s,” she tells Tommy. Then she looks up at his father. “Thank you for your suggestion. Maybe we’ll go there next time.”
Mr. Gallager raises an eyebrow as if wondering whether that was a rejection or not. “Next time, then. In fact, we can all go together. I’m paying.”
Again Margarette notices Mrs. Gallager doesn’t seem to agree with her husband. This time the older woman just raises an eyebrow.
“Thanks, Father,” Tommy says, looking down.
Margarette has to make an effort to keep her face straight. This man has some control issues, and his wife clearly does not approve. “Well, I don’t mean to keep you from your own dinner. Maybe we should be heading out. Right, Tommy?”
“Yes. We should. Oh—my wallet. Be right back.”
He turns around and heads to the next room where she hears him take the stairs to the second floor.
Mr. and Mrs. Gallager move closer inside and hang a purse and a briefcase they were carrying, while May approaches Margarette. “Good to see you again. Haven’t heard your name around here for weeks.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” Margarette replies casually. Bitch, she adds silently. “So your husband is working again?”
Mrs. Gallager looks at Margarette. “Oh, I didn’t know you knew Maybel’s husband.”
Margarette grins. She had never heard May’s full name. She assumes Tommy
’s full name must be Tomas or Thomas, but who knows what archaic term derived Tommy.
“I know of him,” Margarette says. “He’s just not around much, so I’ve never actually met him.” Take that.
May’s upper lip twitches. She replies, “He’ll be here later.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry I will miss him,” Margarette says with fake sadness.
May frowns while Mrs. Gallager asks, “Margarette, how is your mother?”
Margarette doesn’t know how to answer. She wonders if Mrs. Gallager means whether Margarette’s mother has obtained employment. Margarette goes with an ambiguous response. “She’s fine. Thank you for asking.”
“I think it would be nice to see her in public again,” Mrs. Gallager muses. “I wonder how we could make that happen.”
“Mother has taken to gardening,” Margarette says with a sweet smile. If the word garden was replaced with drink, then it would be entirely true. “She gardens a lot during the day. Not sure what she has planned over the summer, but I can find out.” None of which was true. Margarette’s mom was drinking a lot and disappearing more and more, but not taking care of anything specific other than the never ending quest to drown her sorrows in grain alcohol.
Mrs. Gallager smiles politely. “So, what are your plans now that your junior education has come to an end? What colleges have you applied to?”
“I was thinking I would work and save up some money,” Margarette replies coolly.
Mrs. Gallager’s expression turns sour, but Mr. Gallager chimes in. “Sometimes the cost of college isn’t worth all the hype. Like Maybel here, for example.”
“Father, please. Not again,” May says, but her protest comes out weakly, as if afraid to defy him.
“I’m just saying that college isn’t for everyone. I paid for your expensive college education, and for what? What are you doing now that you couldn’t do without your degree?”
“It’s not just what I learned. It’s having the degree, going through the motions, meeting people. You even recognized that networking was a big part of the college experience.”
Her father laughs. “Yes, I tried to set you up with several men of means, but you ran off each one of them with your sparkling personality.”
“Father!”
Wooow, Margarette thinks. The mother and father unveil their teeth and it becomes clear that Tommy is the great hope for the family. Margarette fights to stay silent in the awkward family dispute.
“So darling Margarette,” the father says, “if you want to work and save money, by all means, do. At least you’ll be doing something productive with your time. You should open an account at our branch. Tommy can you help you with that.”
“Help her with what, Father?” Tommy returns holding his wallet in the air like a trophy. He approaches Margarette with apologetic eyes. “Sorry, I couldn’t find the wallet. It was in the hamper in the jeans I wore this morning.”
“Setting up an account for Margarette at the bank,” his father answers his question.
“Of course.” He leans into Margarette guiltily. “I’m working as a glorified teller at the bank.” Then louder he adds, “I can help anyone with that, Father.”
“Tommy’s horrible with math,” May says. “I don’t see how he keeps up.”
“Do you like working there, Tommy?” Margarette asks him.
Mr. Gallager doesn’t let Tommy answer the question. “Work is not something one has to like. And Tommy is great with people. He’ll go far.”
Margarette notices May lowers her head, frowning angrily, but does not say a word. Yet.
“I agree,” Mrs. Gallager adds. “Tommy has been doing great at the bank this year. You’ll go far, dear. Just maintain your focus….” Her voice becomes hard. “And always remember who you are, and the path that is meant for you.”
“Thank you, Mother. Father.” Tommy smiles, clearly not hearing the double meaning in Mrs. Gallager’s words. “Margarette? Ready to go?”
“Yes,” she replies. More than ready. All she wants to do is leave. But Margarette was not one to ever get her way. It was bound to happen, so then it happens.
“Well, what about her?” May asks, lifting her head and looking at Margarette venomously.
“Me?” Margarette asks.
“How is Tommy going to go back to school with her around?”
“Back to school?” Tommy asks, scoffing. “I’d have to go to school to go back to school.”
“What, like you’re ever going to take over the bank without knowing anything about finance?” May asks.
“Quiet, Maybel,” Mr. Gallager warns.
“Maybel does have a point, dear,” Mrs. Gallager says. “Distractions… could be quite harmful at this time in his life.”
“What distractions?” Tommy asks.
“Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking? She’s trash.” May says.
Margarette’s eyes open a little wider, but other than that she doesn’t give any impression of how much the words cut through her. “May, you don’t know anything about me.”
“I’ve heard plenty.”
“Heard secondhand doesn’t mean it’s true.” She snaps without thinking it through.
“You’re saying you didn’t get caught having sex with the entire football team?”
“What!” Tommy cries, appalled.
“The football team? Wow, last I heard it was just Tommy,” Margarette says. Oh, shit. She said it.
The parents just stare, open-mouthed, and Tommy’s nose reddens. But May continues, clearly angry at someone and taking it out on Margarette. “What about some party where you got trashed and railed in a back room by a few football players?”
Margarette looks at the older girl defiantly. She is on the verge of losing it, and has to work hard to refrain from slapping May. “I was with Tommy,” she says coldly.
Tommy also stares at his sister. “The school’s full of liars. None of that’s true, May,” he says angrily.
Mrs. Gallager calls out, “I think I’ve had enough of this.”
“None of it’s true? So Sharon’s not sleeping with Mikey?” May goes on.
Tommy’s face contorts in obvious pain and dislike. “You’re such a bitch,” he calls angrily.
Mrs. Gallager raises her voice. “Be quiet this instant!”
“Oh, fine, he can sleep with a whore and it’s fine. I have to hear about his escapades,” May says.
“I’m not a whore,” Margarette says through gritted teeth.
“Oh yeah? How many people have you had sex with? In the last month alone?”
Margarette looks around and everyone looks dismayed at what they are hearing, but not one person tells May how rude and vulgar she is being. Tommy’s head just shakes apologetically, in disbelief.
Frick it.
“In my life I’ve only had sex with Tommy. So that means this baby I’m carrying is his.”
Chapter 12. Overture
Boom.
Something goes off within Margarette, and she feels she’s having a weird out of body experience, numb and drifting before four pairs of baffled eyes. Their mouths are moving but she can’t hear what they say over the crashing noises in her head. She sees them turn on each other and point their index fingers, shake their heads, stagger on their feet, all in slow motion. Sluggishly, their angry words reach Margarette’s ears and her hushed brain converts them into sentences.
The mother is convinced it’s a story and is determined to procure legal action to keep Margarette from spreading such defamation. May suggests that the slut is pregnant but it’s someone else’s child. The father has been trying to control the angry women but failing miserably. Tommy alone is eerily silent. Margarette’s eyes lock with his for a second; unable to classify his dazed stare as angry or wounded, she closes her eyes to shut them all away.
Margarette can’t cry, but her eyes swim in unshed tears behind her eyelids. She feels someone near her, but the volume in the room makes it difficult to discern who.
Opening her eyes again she sees Mr. Gallager’s hand come down on her shoulder, and its owner demands that she go with him. The room has fallen silent and Margarette fights not to look at their faces, especially Tommy’s, so she complies.
***
Mr. Gallager’s office is on the second story and is filled with old law books and financial tomes. In the center of the room is a giant oak desk. The room smells of old cigars, as one might expect.
He directs Margarette to sit in a giant chair across from his desk, and then he takes his seat.
A long silence passes.
“My son has had a myriad of failures in his life,” Mr. Gallager finally begins. “I’m not sure if you’re the newest. I thought you and I should have a nice quiet talk away from the drama outside. Maybe we can get this straight.”
She is quiet, but nods with a twitch.
“Is your claim true?” he asks.
“I took a home pregnancy test, but I haven’t seen a doctor.”
“So this could be a mistake.”
“It certainly is.” She looks away but doesn’t lower her eyes.
“If it is indeed a child, how certain are you that it’s Tommy’s?”
Her eyes return to the man in front of her. “Completely.”
His expression turns cold, and with a deep breath he continues. “His last girlfriend was beautiful. It doesn’t surprise me that you are. Unfortunately, most women who have the luxury of beauty tend to lack other things like common sense. How do you think this will end? Are you just as vapid as the other girl?”
“Her name is Sharon and I’m nothing like her,” Margarette says. “Everybody used to say they were the perfect couple.” She elongates the they to imply that she and Tommy are not.
“So you know your competition,” Mr. Gallager says, reclining back a little. “And you’re not terribly attached to my son.”