by Scot Gardner
Pepe had splashed his face with water. A drip hung like a crystal from his chin. His eyes were pinched. He sighed and put his hand on my arm. ‘Thank you, Madonna. You keep the place going while we sort it all out. Thank you.’
Jiff arrived with my pad and pen. ‘You want these back?’
‘What, you can remember all the orders now?’
Jiff smiled.
‘Nah,’ I said. ‘Keep them. You’re doing a great job. Jiff this is Pepe. Pepe, Jiff.’
They shook hands but Pepe looked at the bar.
‘That’s a funny name, Jiff? Where you from?’
Jiff smiled again. ‘It’s not really Jiff, it’s Jiff. Jay ee eff eff. Grew up in New Zealand. Everyone calls me Jiff.’
My face started glowing. I knew his name was Jeff. Honest.
‘Jiff helped me . . . helped everyone . . . he was just sitting down for a meal when . . .’
‘Thank you, Jiff. Very much appreciated,’ Pepe said. He shook Jiff’s hand again and this time he looked into the young man’s face. ‘You sit down and we make you something special. On the house. You want a drink? You like sambuca?’
Jiff’s head nodded with a silent laugh. ‘Yeah, I like sambuca.’
‘Go and sit down. I’ll bring it to you.’
Jiff dropped into the seat he’d left to help me. The smile was still lighting up his face. The guy could be a model, I thought.
Someone pinched me on the arse.
I jumped and spun, ready to gouge the bastard’s eye out with my pen.
It was Colin. Colin the poofter.
I slapped his arm. He grimaced and fell into the counter. We hugged. He kissed my cheek. His cologne smelled good enough to eat.
‘I could tell by the way you were dribbling that you’ve met Jiff,’ he said.
I looked up and Jiff gave Colin an index finger wave and one of those killer smiles. My shoulders dropped. Colin slapped me on the arse and walked to Jiff’s table. Jiff’s seat scraped on the tiles as he got up and hugged Colin and slapped his back.
‘I’d hate to say it, Maddie . . .’ Luce whispered in my ear. ‘Those guys are a couple.’
I shook my head. ‘Nah. Just good mates. Just really good friends.’
Luce patted my hand and told me to get to work.
Elliot and Trefor arrived back in quick succession. We had pizzas bagged and ready for them.
‘Where’s Paul?’ Elliot asked.
‘Paolo has gone home,’ Pepe said flatly. ‘You don’t worry about him. Go.’
‘But who’s going to do his area? Me and Tref can’t do it all by ourselves. Well, we could but it’d be hard . . .’
‘You don’t worry bout him. Go.’
Elliot shrugged and left with an armload of pizzas. Trefor followed behind, looking stunned like he always did, with his staring eyes that bulged like he was straining on the toilet.
‘He’s going to lose his licence,’ Luce whispered.
I opened my mouth.
‘Ninety-six in a sixty zone. He didn’t mean it.’
I remembered Paolo shouting that it had been an accident. I fake-coughed into my hand and said, ‘Bullshit.’
Lucia smiled. The phone rang and she took an order. She showed her dad and they mumbled conversation. Lucia was pleading. Pepe shooed her away.
I was dawdling at the sauce end of the counter, my ears squinting at their conversation. Gawd, I thought, you’re hopeless. I realised that I felt good for the first time in hours. Maybe even days. The cracks in the DiFresco family actually made me feel good. I wasn’t alone. The stuff with Evie and Dad and then with Red and the old hag had lost their front-seat position in my mind. With my hands busy and the drama unfolding around me, I felt good. It was family at its best and worst. Made me feel like Evie and I would find a way to stay close. Made me love my grungy old bald-headed dad. Everyone has their hassles. Sometimes being around someone else’s drama makes you forget about your own or look at it through a new set of specs.
Luce stood beside me, slapping ham on a pizza with a scary sort of enthusiasm. I could hear her short breaths but I couldn’t tell if she was angry or frightened or what.
Pepe appeared between us. He jangled some keys beside Luce’s ear.
‘Straight there. Straight back,’ he said.
Lucia squealed and jiggle-hugged her papa. He rolled his eyes at me over her shoulder, tight-lipped but smiling.
‘She’s a better driver than Paolo anyways.’
‘Thank you, Papa. Thank you.’
He waved her off with the back of his hand. She collected her pizzas and bumped into the door as she was leaving. Dropped the keys.
Pepe flashed a glance at her from his spot at the oven, his brow pulled over his eyes like a verandah. ‘Straight there. Straight back.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
Lucia made it back before Trefor and Elliot. Her eyes shone. She kept adjusting her top. I caught her checking herself out in the mirror behind the bar.
‘Does my hair look okay?’ she asked.
‘Hair? Since when do you fuss about your hair?’
‘Come on, Maddie. I’m a wog. Hair is everything.’
I laughed but there was something else in her eyes.
‘My god,’ I whispered. ‘You’ve met a boy.’
Her face filled with blood and she shook her hair off her face like a model. She shrugged.
‘My god! You did! It was your first delivery! You’re unbelievable.’
The phone rang. Luce dived for it and began taking an order. I looked over at Colin and Jiff. They were laughing. Big open-mouthed playground laughs that made a couple of the bleached and dyed girls look around. I put a half-Aussie-half-Marinara into the oven. I felt like an observer in life. Not really part of it. Like the whole world was a play and I was the only one in the audience.
‘What address?’ Luce asked, and her pen hovered over the page. She didn’t write. She faced the wall and mumbled into the mouthpiece.
‘But you ordered before . . .’ she said.
She smiled and tried to hide behind her hair. ‘Big appetite my foot.’
She laughed and looked at the clock. ‘About ten minutes.’
Pepe pushed past and Luce hunched closer to the mouthpiece. ‘Bye. Okay. Bye. No worries. Bye,’ she said, and shook her head as she hung up.
‘You absolute magnet,’ I said, and held her arm. ‘That was him, wasn’t it?’
‘Who?’
I crossed my arms and shook my head. ‘When’s the friggin wedding?’
She held her chest. ‘God, Maddie. What do I do now?’
‘Take a couple of big breaths, mate. You only met him twenty minutes ago. Slow down. Make a pizza. Cook a pizza. Deliver a pizza. Then take your tip in sexual favours.’
She slapped my arm.
‘Go for it, Luce,’ I whispered. ‘Isn’t that what you’ve been wanting to happen forever?’
‘Yeah, no worries . . . but . . . I’m freaking out here.’
‘Nobody said it was going to be a freak-free experience. Go for it.’
She hugged my head and kissed my cheekbone. She’s so innocent, I thought. I felt like a total fake. Like I would know anything about romance or love. All I know is sex. Ugly Dartanian sex.
Luce made a pizza. She cooked a pizza. She delivered her pizza. Things got really busy. Tref and Elliot came back twice each. Still no Luce. Pepe cursed and looked at the clock. Colin and Jiff came to pay. Pepe insisted that Jiff’s meal and drinks were on the house. Jiff insisted that he pay. Pepe refused his money and asked Jiff if he wanted a job.
Jiff smiled. ‘I’m going back to New Zealand at the end of the month. Thanks for the offer though, ay.’
‘No problem. Thanks for your help.’
Pepe reached past me to the till. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Take a card. If you change your mind, give us a call. Orright?’
Jiff pocketed the card and nodded.
Colin hugged me quickly and kissed my cheek. Jiff did the same.
The skin on my back prickled and my toes tingled.
‘Nice to meet you, Madonna. Might see you again before I head off, ay.’
I nodded and felt like stamping my feet and pounding my fists on the bench. It just wasn’t fair. Colin and Jiff left but they didn’t hold hands. Before the door had closed completely it burst open and Luce tripped inside. If her hair was an issue before she left, it certainly wasn’t now. Her cheeks and neck were red. She puffed but I didn’t think she’d been running.
Pepe crossed his arms.
‘I got . . . lost. I ended up way out near Essendon. God, I’m not cut out for this job.’
Pepe smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Lucia. You don’t have to do it perfect first time.’
Luce froze and looked at her papa, mouth open. I covered my smile with my hand. My hand smelled like onion. I thought that of all the things I handled making pizza, onion was the one smell that stuck. Even stronger than anchovies. I thought that Lucia’s hands probably didn’t smell like onion.
She slipped behind the counter and did busy things – wiping, cleaning, polishing. Pepe and I had made all the orders and Luce was as guilty as hell. If she really got lost in Essendon then I’m a goldfish. After the table of bleached and dyed left, I cornered her in the bar.
‘Got lost in Essendon . . .’ I coughed a bullshit into my hand.
‘Shhhh.’
‘Tell me the truth.’
She put her hand on mine. Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘He’s a god.’
‘A god?’
‘His eyes are . . . green. He plays soccer and works as an accountant.’
Not exactly my vision of god. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Ari.’
‘Ari?’
She nodded and held her throat. ‘Maddie, I don’t think I’m a good little Italian girl anymore.’
‘Wha?’
‘Oh, we didn’t do anything. Well . . . we didn’t . . . you know. But I wanted to. Unghhh!’
‘You only met him two hours ago!’
She shrugged. ‘Didn’t matter. Feels like I’ve known him forever.’
I took my apron off and washed my hands. Nearly scrubbed the skin off along with the stink of onion. All the wind had gone from my sails.
‘I’ve got to go home,’ I said, and held my hand over my tummy.
‘What is it? Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, fine. Just a bit . . .’ I poked my tongue out and puffed up my cheeks.
I told Pepe that I was leaving and he glanced around the restaurant, his eyes landing on the clock. ‘You okay?’
I nodded. ‘Big day. Six-thirty tomorrow?’
‘Better make it six o’clock. Orright?’
I nodded again and headed for the door.
‘Madonna?’ Pepe called, and I stopped. ‘You’re a good girl. The best. Thank you.’
I smiled but I could only think of the bath. The pissy little footbath under the shower.
seven
I didn’t surface until midday. The flat was empty. Clean and empty. There was a pile of my folded clothes on the kitchen bench and a note to say that Dad had gone out. Said he’d be back for dinner and that he’d bring food with him so not to bother making any. Love Dad. Dad had never left me a note before. Dad had never done the washing by himself. Dad doesn’t make arrangements for dinner before five in the evening. And the flat was tidy. That was the spookiest thing of all. Dad’s bed had been made and the carpet in the lounge looked like it had been vacuumed. I hadn’t heard a thing. When I stepped into the shower and realised that I’d left my towel in my room – as usual – I was horrified to see two fluffy blue towels folded on the towel rail. Like in a hotel. Well, not horrified. Surprised. Pleasantly surprised. I was ravenous and after my shower I couldn’t decide if it was breakfast or lunch that I needed so I had organic VitaBrits and a wholemeal cheese sandwich. My tongue was fine. I washed, dried and shelved my eating tools. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and watched the telly for three hours. Three hours and the emptiness of the flat crawled into my tummy. I flicked the telly off and phoned Colin.
‘Yeah?’ he answered. His voice was sleep dead.
‘This is your afternoon wake-up call,’ I sang.
‘Ta, Maddie. You’re a good mate,’ he groaned. ‘See ya.’
I thought he was really going to hang up. I held my breath. He groaned into the mouthpiece.
‘What is it, Madonna?’
‘Nothing. I just phoned up to see how you were and that. What did you get up to last night?’
‘Me and Jiff. Had a big night. I got hit in the head with a club.’
‘Whaaat?’
‘Yeah. A nightclub. Loaded with Bailey’s Irish Cream.’
‘Yuk. Did it hurt?
‘Not until you woke me up, bitch.’
I laughed and the silence that was left in its shadow was heavy.
‘What is it, Madds? Something’s not right.’
‘Yeah. I know. I can’t tell you now though or I’ll start bawling and . . .’
‘Tell me.’
‘Maybe later.’
‘C’mon, Madds. Where will we meet? Gables?’
I laughed. ‘Hippyville?’
‘Don’t give me that crap. You love it.’
I looked out the window with the phone still pressed to my ear. Beyond the balcony the sky shone blue and white like Dad’s favourite plate.
‘Orright,’ I said. ‘Half an hour.’
‘Half an hour? I only just woke up.’
‘Have you looked at the clock?’
The phone clunked. ‘Shit. I did have a big sleep in. See ya in half an hour.’
I hesitated before I locked the door of the flat. Keys: check. Purse: check. My shoulders dropped. I didn’t feel up to it. I hadn’t got my head around everything that had happened so how was I going to put it into words for my friend without bawling my eyes out? I almost turned inside again but I felt eyes on me. The feeling crept over the skin of my neck and I turned to see Red leaning against the wall beside the lift. I pulled the door closed and spoke over my shoulder.
‘Hello, Red. How’s your ankle this afternoon?’
No answer.
I slipped my keys into my pocket and headed for the lift. The boy just stared. I pressed the down arrow and stared back at him. His face held no expression, no feeling, but his eyes were full of something. Something weird. Unnerving. Spooky even, but not frightening.
The door to the elevator pinged and Red blinked. I stepped inside and said goodbye. To my surprise the boy stepped inside with me – no sign of a limp. He leaned against the back wall and stared. The lift stank of stale piss and beer. The special Sunday aroma when the cleaners have the day off.
‘Going up or down? Which floor?’
He stared. No answer.
I shrugged and pressed the G. I positioned myself beside Red and continued our one-sided conversation, only now I sounded more like Granny Fanny Nesselrode.
‘I think I’m deaf in one ear now, after carrying you into the lift and having you scream in my earhole.’
He looked on, unblinking. Unsmiling. Unmoved.
‘What’s that? Did you say something? Here, speak into my good ear,’ I said, and bent down. ‘What? You’ll have to speak up, little girl. I can’t hear a word you’re saying.’
Red shifted feet, his expression still frozen.
‘What’s that? My hair looks like fairy floss? Why you wicked little girl . . . I ought to tell your . . . I ought to tell the police! Fancy that. The cheek of children today.’
The door pinged again and I huffed in disgust and crossed my arms as I stepped onto the landing. Red’s eyes followed me and as I left the building I heard footfalls on the concrete behind me.
I spun around. ‘What?’
Red jumped and squealed, and quickly regained most of his composure. Giving him a fright made me smile and eventually chuckle to myself.
The boy’s lips grew tight. The ends began to curl towards his ears.
&n
bsp; He was smiling.
‘What?’ the granny me demanded.
The silence of a Sunday afternoon hung in the air. The smile hung on Red’s lips and he stared into my eyes.
‘Boy,’ he said, and bolted for the stairs. His stride was even.
‘Boy? What? You’re a boy? I don’t believe it. Come back here. Come back now. Prove it!’
The drumming of his feet echoed in the stairwell. I thought I heard laughter.
As I walked off to see my best friend in the world, I turned my face towards the sun and breathed. There was a smile coming from somewhere inside me. It hung behind my lips threatening to cramp my face with happiness. A cloud raced across the sun and its shadow made me shiver. One minute I’m up, next I’m down. Not so much of a roller-coaster, more like a pogo-stick ride. I pointed my nose at the footpath and walked. No point getting my hopes up, I thought. Nothing ever changes. Red had smiled, that’s all. One scungy little kid smiling at me didn’t mean my life had changed. Water falling into the deep hole of my being. It felt good but it didn’t fill the hole.
I decided to skip the tram and hoof it along Sydney Road. I thought about running – my body needed to move – but the thought was as close as I got. The Sunday afternoon traffic wasn’t running either. Cars purred by and, as I walked through the alfresco crowd in front of Igor’s Coffee Palace, a tram clacked and whirred past. I decided to cross the road after Igor’s. As I stepped off the footpath, I frightened a sparrow that had been feeding in the gutter. With a startled peep, it took flight. It flew low, heading for the opposite side of the road. It hit the bumper of a passing Subaru with a tiny thud and puff of feathers.
I sucked a breath.
The car spat the lifeless body at my feet. Poor thing. I picked it up and its head sagged. I cradled it in my palm. My fault. I should have . . . I should have chosen another place to cross. Its eyes were partly closed, beak agape.
I looked back at Igor’s. Nobody had noticed me or seen the death of the little bird. I felt my face fill with blood. I felt embarrassed, standing in the gutter cradling the dead thing. Embarrassed? Angry. Sorry. Feelings washed into one another like pools on a rising tide.
The bird twitched.
I almost dropped it.
It blinked.
It sprang to its feet and in a brrrt of wing beats propelled itself to an empty table in front of Igor’s. I stood with my mouth open as the bird shook then hop-peck-hop-pecked the crumbs at its feet. Only stunned, I thought. It only looked like it had a broken neck, I thought. I’d gone through all that horror for nothing.