White Lady

by Bell, Jessica

  Maybe we are an item. Would he behave so comfortably if we weren’t?

  “How?” I say.

  “Get his contacts for us?”

  “You want her to snoop through his shit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What if she gets caught?”

  Mick leans his back against his set of drawers. “If she needs the fuckin’ dough to save ’er own life, then she’ll do it. If she wants to get outta here so bad, she’d take whatever op she could get.”

  “Why would her life be in danger? She’s living like a queen—she said so herself. We’d have to offer her something better than that, babe.”

  This time I didn’t say babe by accident.

  “Dad is a fuckin’ cunt. He doesn’t give a fuck about Kimi. Trust me. If she’s in the way of his business, he’ll just kill ’er. Slaughter ’er like a fuckin’ lame horse.”

  I glare at him. I don’t know how to respond to that. Really?

  “I’m fuckin’ serious,” he says.

  “I don’t think she’ll go for it.” I massage my temples.

  Mick half sighs and tsks. “Fuck. I’ll just say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “She’s toying with ya.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if she’s actually workin’ with me dad? What if he’s havin’ her steal the weapons for ’im?”

  “Why would he do that? I don’t understand how—”

  “Mia. Fuckin’ think.” Mick whacks the side of his head as if it’s somehow going to jump-start mine to function like a gangster’s. “He hates my mother’s fuckin’ guts. He wants revenge because she’s the one who worked with the cops to try ’n’ nab ’im in the fuckin’ first place. Maybe he’s trying to fuck up this whole deal I have goin’ with him. It makes sense. Then he gets everything he wants. He doesn’t give a fuck that I’m his son, or that me mum is his wife. All he gives a fuck about is money. And blood.” He points his finger at me and makes a popping sound like it’s a gun.

  “Oh.”

  “Yep.”

  I squint out the window trying to think of a solution. As if I’m even qualified to come up with one. All I can think of is to go to the cops. But if Ibrahim really is as crazy as Mick makes out, I can’t see how the cops are going to be able to do anything anyway. Clearly he’s escaped them plenty of times before.

  “We gotta hide these somewhere else.” Mick juts his chin towards the knives on his bed.

  “Where?”

  “I have a mate that could help.”

  “A mate.”

  “Yeah, a mate.”

  I don’t wanna feel like this, but I think this is freaking me out a bit. I move my hair out of my eyes, and my hands start to shake. I grit my teeth, stand up, and cross my arms, so Mick doesn’t see.

  “I don’t get how telling someone else about this is gonna help us, babe. You won’t even tell your mother. I mean, she’s the one in danger here, right? She deserves to know.” Okay, maybe I yelled a little too loud. But I had to. The air was building up inside my chest.

  Mick cranes his neck, his jaw hanging slightly open. “Will ya keep your fuckin’ voice¬—”

  Mick’s bedroom door swings open and ricochets off the dresser.

  “What are you two yelling about in here?” Sonia leans against the door frame and puts her hands in her pockets.

  We stare at her.

  Speechless.

  I can’t be the one to say anything. It’s not my right.

  “I thought ya said ya locked the fuckin’ door,” Mick says through gritted teeth.

  “I thought I did.” Honestly. I really thought I did.

  “She obviously didn’t,” Sonia says.

  “Shut the fuck up, Mum, it’s got nothin’ to do with ya.”

  “Hey!” I don’t know what makes me stick up for Sonia, but Mick is way too mean to her. I really don’t get it. I mean, sure, I get it, but I think he goes overboard sometimes. Sonia interrupts, flicks her hand as if it’s nothing, and remains calm.

  “Don’t worry about it, Mia. I’m used to it. He gets it from his father.” Though she’s speaking to me, Sonia says this while staring directly at Mick.

  Mick clenches his fists and punches the air with a roar.

  “But he loves you.” I whisper. I can’t help it. He does. She should at least know that.

  Mick shakes his head as if to tell me to stop talking.

  “What’s up? Spit it out,” Sonia says.

  “He doesn’t want me to tell you.” I’m getting in deeper here. And I’m probably screwing up our relationship as well. I mean, we just got started and I’m already trying to play the martyr. Am I insane? I hope he doesn’t hate me after this. I hope we can still be a thing. Because I really like him. I mean, really like us being a thing.

  “Don’t. Please,” Mick says, shaking his head and holding a sideways fist over his mouth.

  “He doesn’t want you to tell me what?” Sonia says dryly.

  Silence.

  Sonia’s trousers ruffle as she switches the weight from one foot to the other.

  Mick grabs my hand. We sit on the edge of his bed. He squeezes the back of my neck and winks at me. He’s letting me know it’s okay. He’s not getting angry. The relief flushing through me is like shedding thirty kilos and slipping into a bikini for the first time in forever.

  “Why should I be worried?” Sonia says and steps inside the room properly.

  She stares at the knives. Her expression doesn’t even change. It’s like she’s looking at a set of silver spoons.

  Is she for real? This is my teacher. My dad’s girlfriend. And she doesn’t even bat an eyelid over illegal weapons splayed all over her son’s bed?

  I frown at Mick in question. Mick stares at his feet. His right leg jerks up and down. Fast.

  “You’re working for him, aren’t you?” Sonia grips the iron foot of the bed. Her knuckles go white. But her face doesn’t reflect the same feelings as her hands. It’s … freaky.

  She picks up a push dagger and runs her forefinger over it, as if tracing the letter T. She smiles. Looks up. Lets the push dagger slip from her fingers. It clunks against one of the other knives. “Tell me.”

  I notice tears in Mick’s eyes. He stops moving his leg and stares at her. He clutches my hand and pulls it into his lap. His squeeze is gentle but firm. Like he’s telling me that everything is going to be okay.

  “He wants revenge, doesn’t he?” Sonia whispers.

  Silence.

  This is intense.

  All I can do is sit and listen.

  Mick’s touch is the only thing holding my emotions in check. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if this was happening to me and Dad.

  “I want you to stop, Mick,” Sonia says. “Whatever it is you’re doing. It’s got to stop. Whatever happens, happens. I just want you to be safe. You hear? I don’t want you doing this anymore.”

  “Whaddaya mean, anymore?” Mick releases my hand, stands up, sticks his chest out in defense.

  “I’m not stupid,” Sonia says, hardly reacting to Mick’s behaviour.

  Mick sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek. It looks like he’s biting down on it.

  Sonia shifts her gaze towards me and smiles, tight-lipped. “Mia, I’m really sorry about this, but I think you should go home.”

  I nod and stand.

  “No. Stay,” Mick whispers, and touches me lightly on the elbow.

  “You can’t get Mia wrapped up in this mess, Mick. Use your brain. Don’t be an idiot.”

  “Mum, ya don’t get what’s goin’ on.”

  “I know a lot more than you think I do.”

  Sonia glares at Mick like she has the power to stare him into submission.

  This is off-the-charts insane. I want to say something. I can’t pretend to not be involved—it just wouldn’t be right, and I can’t keep secrets very long anyway. They just come out.

  “Mrs. Shâd,” I say. “I can’t s
tay out of it now. It’s impossible.”

  Sonia takes a deep breath and glares at Mick, as if this whole fiasco is his fault. “Why can’t she stay out of it?”

  Mick stares at me for a moment. Then nods. “Why can’t you stay out of it, babe?” It’s my cue.

  There’s no turning back now. Mick and Sonia make eye contact. For a short moment, it feels like Mick is finally letting go of the stress. There’s relief in his eyes. A sad yet much needed relief.

  “Well,” I say, “there’s this girl at school. Her name is Kimiko.”

  Chapter 42

  Nash: Plastic invader.

  The last thing I need right now is Celeste. Storming into my life again. What is she doing here so bloody early? Is she planning on telling Mia? If she does, things are going to get complicated. Mia turned to drugs. To escape the shit. It’s stupid teenage shit, but I remember exactly how big all the shit seemed at that age. The past few days, though, despite her shaking hands and odd twitch of the eye, she doesn’t seem as uptight. I reckon that’s a sign she’s come to her senses. And that would’ve taken courage. Courage I’m certain she had to dig to the very core of her soul to find. If Celeste goes behind my back, there’s no telling how Mia will react, how she will deal with the stress next time. Maybe she’d turn to more serious drugs. I can’t let that happen.

  I park my car. Find the perfect spot right out in front of Roxy’s. As I step onto the footpath I see Celeste in the window, tapping away at her iPhone with her bright-pink nails, intermittently sipping a latté. I bet it’s a skinny decaf.

  I stare.

  The soles of my feet burn into the concrete. I can’t move.

  How did she turn into this … this … object? She used to be so down-to-earth, opposed to materialistic reward, environmentally conscious, still sexy in a baggy pair of tracky daks, a T-shirt, and no makeup.

  Now look at her.

  A prissy plastic princess.

  Celeste pauses as if she heard something, looks up from her phone, and smiles at me through the window.

  Fake.

  And way too white.

  For some reason I’m surprised she notices me standing here at all. She stares like she can see through me.

  The table she is at is small, and she bangs her hip against the edge of it as she stands up. She winces but seems to quickly overcome the pain and perform some awkward version of jazz hands—a gesture for me to hurry up and get inside so she can give me a hug. I don’t smile back, but she maintains her happy-go-lucky role regardless as I head to the entrance.

  Celeste oohs and ahhs, squeezing my biceps, pouting with what seems like pride over the fact that I’m still in great shape.

  She hugs me. My arms hang limp at my sides. Someone would have to threaten to kill me to reciprocate Celeste’s manipulative embrace.

  “Oh, how much I’ve missed you!” Celeste pushes me away in jest, far enough to get a good look at my face, tsking in a way that I s’pose to mean “boy, does time fly.”

  “What do you want?” I scrape the chair on the floor as I pull it out, sit down with a clank, and slap my wallet and keys on the table. “Get on with it. I have a busy day.”

  Celeste’s smile fades just enough for me to notice she’s trying not to react. She raises her hand to grab a waiter’s attention without sitting down. A waiter waltzes over, cups his hands together in front of his clean black apron, and raises his brow at me.

  “I’m not staying, mate,” I say.

  The waiter nods, smiles at Celeste’s nervous laugh, and walks away. Roxy’s is one of those rich bitch places where not ordering anything is frowned upon. He’ll be back in a minute asking me to order a drink or “kindly leave.”

  Celeste sits down slowly, as if the chair might break. “Nash, darling. I’m so sorry for just turning up like this.” She lays her hands flat on the table and slides them towards my clenched fists. I withdraw. So does Celeste with a dramatic sigh.

  She looks out the window, breathing as if she’s trying to stop tears. “I miss you. I miss Mia.”

  “Yeah, well, should’ve thought of that before you ran off.”

  “I’ve left him.”

  I scoff. “Brilliant. Good on you. Find someone richer?”

  Celeste closes her eyes, and a single tear falls down her cheek—at just the right moment, like she planted it there.

  “Save the act, Celeste. Look at you. You’re not you. You’re not the you I knew, anyway.”

  “I can be. I can be anything you want.” Celeste opens her eyes and locks on my gaze.

  “What?”

  “I want another chance. I’ll do anything. I want my family back. Please. I’m—I’m lonely.” Celeste’s tears turn into theatrical gasping sobs, loud enough to turn heads and raise the eyebrows of every customer within earshot.

  I slide my wallet and keys closer to my body. I want to get out of here, but instead I watch her cry. There’s something about her right now. I can’t take my eyes off her. Like underneath all the forged beauty lies a soul unaffected, as if her plastic mask has somehow shielded it from bad weather.

  She’s still there. Under there. Somewhere. But no longer reachable.

  I could try being nice and see what happens. She could be keen to change. And if she is, I reckon I can at least figure out a way to involve her in our lives again. In a way that’ll avoid a custody battle. Because if I really am not Mia’s father, we all know who’ll be the victor on that one: Mia. She would probably piss off to another state. I wouldn’t blame her. But even if we do work something out, that still won’t change the fact that I’m in love with Sonia. And there’s nothing Celeste can ever do to split us up.

  I touch Celeste’s hand. “Please, don’t cry.”

  Celeste wipes her eyes with her chiffon scarf.

  “I’m seeing someone. It’s over between you and me. It’s been over since you remarried. I thought you had moved on.”

  Celeste nods over and over.

  “Oh, Nash, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  I draw my hand away. “What?”

  “People leave their lovers all the time. She’ll understand that you still love your wife.”

  I scoff. “Ex-wife. And I don’t still love you.”

  Celeste smiles, sighs, and gulps down the last of her latté. She leans forwards and pats both my hands with hers. “I’m so glad we had this talk. I’ll be in touch, okay?” Celeste stands and clutches her handbag to her chest.

  I stand up too. My chair scrapes and echoes through the café. “What the fuck? What do you mean? Where are you going?” My questions fire at her like bullets.

  “To visit Mia, of course.”

  “No, no, no. You can’t. And she’s at school anyway. Studying for an exam.” She’s not, but I don’t know what else to say.

  Celeste smirks like she knows I’m grasping at straws. “I’ll take her out for dinner, then.”

  I step backwards slightly, accidentally knocking my chair over. It hits the floor with a clang, and everybody in the café falls silent. But I don’t give a shit. I can’t let Celeste get to Mia and tell her I’m not her dad. This is nuts.

  Why is she doing this to me?

  “Celeste!” I grab her arm. “Stop. Leave Mia alone. She’s not ready.”

  Celeste yanks her arm away from me, frowns, and glares. She’s lost it. What did Karter do to her?

  “Sir!” calls a waiter, and sprints to our side. “We will not tolerate this behaviour on our premises. Please leave.”

  “Me? Leave?” I yell. “I’m not the problem here. It’s her.” I poke Celeste between her breasts and she stumbles backwards melodramatically.

  “I don’t know about that, sir.” The waiter puts his hands on his hips and gestures towards the exit with his eyebrows.

  “It’s okay.” Celeste composes herself, flutters her eyelids, and pushes her tits out. “We were just having a slight disagreement. We’re both leaving now, anyway.” She smiles and hooks her arm around my elbow. “Do
n’t forget your wallet, darling.”

  I take a deep breath, pick up my wallet and keys, and escort Celeste out of the café. With Celeste still on my arm, we walk silently to my car. My mouth goes dry and my throat is scratchy. I don’t know how to get out of this mess.

  We reach my car and I remove Celeste’s arm from mine, unlock the driver’s seat door, and stand behind it. The only way I’m going to get her to do what I want is if I act vulnerable. It’s obvious that this is some sort of power trip. She has always shown traits of being a control freak, especially with keeping Mia fit, but it seems that now it’s well and truly reared its ugly head. She’s obsessive.

  “Please don’t go to see Mia. She doesn’t know you’re here,” I say slowly, as if Celeste’s recent past seems to have sucked all the intelligence from her brain.

  “Why not?” Celeste says. Calm. She tilts her head to the side. I watch thoughts of her next manipulative remark flicker behind her eyes.

  “Because I don’t want you to say anything yet. For her. She’s having a tough time—at school. It won’t be good for her right now.”

  “Why? Because she might bury her sorrows in junk food?”

  I frown and crane my neck inward. “Come again?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “She told you?”

  “She didn’t have to. I’m her mother. Mothers just know.” Celeste taps her nose.

  “You hardly speak to her.”

  “I know. Trust me.”

  “You lost that privilege a long time ago.”

  “Believe what you want to believe, Nash. And relax.” She sucks her cheeks in and traces her right eyebrow with the nail of her forefinger. “Fine. I won’t say anything to her. The last thing I need is a daughter who is even more overweight than she already is. I’ll wait until we’re all together again.”

  I scratch my beard, tap the top of the car door, and gaze down the street. “I s’pose I’m going to have to take your word for it.”

  “Fabulous. When would you like to do dinner?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “What is there to get?”

  “I don’t want you back.”

  Celeste’s fake possessed-looking grin surfaces again. She slowly scrapes a sharp pointy nail down my cheek and says, “Yes. You do.” She squeezes my cheeks together with one hand and pulls me closer like she’s about to kiss me.