The Other Madonna (7 page)

Bianca's eyes widened. ‘Are you serious?'

I wasn't until she asked. I shrugged. Shrugged and nodded. A woman pushed through a saloon door from the back of the shop. A youngish woman with blonde hair trussed into a ponytail and permanent bangles of ink from her wrist to where they disappeared under the sleeve of her T-shirt. ‘Fat Pizza' her T-shirt declared. There was nothing fat or pizza about her. She smiled and asked if she could help.

I asked her how much.

‘Sixty-five.'

‘Let me pay,' Bianca whispered.

I looked sideways at her. ‘No way. You paid for my tongue.' I turned to the tattoo woman. ‘How long would it take?'

The woman poked her pierced bottom lip out. ‘Five minutes.'

Five minutes? And it's there for life?

‘Have you thought about where you'd like it?' she asked.

‘Yeah. On my ankle.'

‘No worries. Could do that for you now if you like.'

I smiled and she led me through to the back of the shop. Bianca followed.

Swab. Transfer. Buzzing little machine. Funny-looking Bandaid over the top. Four minutes.

It didn't hurt. Just like my tongue. Well, not as much as getting my eyebrows waxed and I'd bled more after shaving. Bianca paid. I put up a fight but she just paid.

Freedom.

I was buzzing when we got back to Brettas Street. We had a coffee and Bianca excused herself and went to bed.

‘You want me to drop you home?' Evie asked.

I screwed up my face. ‘Don't feel like going home. I feel like going off!'

Evie grinned. ‘Right. Let's go then. I'll order a taxi.'

The passenger door opened with a huff of warm air. I slid into the seat and looked over at Evie. Her full lips were painted red. She'd dressed in black – a silky suit that plunged at the neckline to reveal a great cleavage of smooth white skin.

She raised an eyebrow at me and made a noiseless whistle before telling the driver where we were going.

We didn't speak. We listened to ethnic FM and watched the traffic. We arrived at a neon-lit place in Carlton called Sirens. Evie paid the driver.

‘Wait, Maddie,' Evie called just as I was about to step past the big guy in the white shirt outside the door. ‘You need some war paint.' She dug in her handbag for her lipstick and puckered at me. I puckered back and she painted my lips. She winked and held my hand as we stepped inside.

It was a dingy joint with a sea-faring theme that looked a bit tired, but the place was rocking. Shoulder to shoulder around the smoky bar. There were bodies on the dance
floor and the house bass reverberated in my lungs.

‘What do you want to drink?' Evie shouted.

What does a kid drink when she's with her big sister? ‘Water?'

Evie snorted and caught the eye of a young woman in a black T-shirt behind the bar. ‘Two vodka and lemons,' she shouted.

‘Do you want me to pay? I can pay,' I yelled in Evie's ear.

She looked in my eyes, shook her head, and smiled. She paid for the drinks and led me through the crowd to a kind of hallway with mirror walls and about twenty booths. Black vinyl bench seats and shiny black tables. Evie slid into an empty booth and I sat opposite her. She held her glass up as a toast and I managed to slop my drink on the table as I saluted her. The drink tasted like squash.

‘You don't get out much, do you Madds?'

I shook my head. Never had anyone to go out with. Work. Not old enough. Frightened of who I might meet.

She reached across the table and rested her hand on mine. ‘Sorry.'

‘Bah, don't be silly.'

‘I haven't been much of a sister.'

‘You're my best sister in the whole world. You've got your own life.'

She tossed her head back, took a swig then stared into the crowd down the hall.

I finished my drink and Evie ordered another. She offered me a job.

‘What?'

‘If you get sick of Pepe's. We're having trouble finding reliable staff. I could get you a job tomorrow if you want.'

I shook my head. ‘You're amazing.'

‘It's the least I could do. You'd have Colin and me as bosses. It'd be better money than the pizza place. Professional clientele.'

My tummy felt warm and by my fourth drink my bladder was fit to burst. I excused myself and staggered to the toilet. There was someone in the cubicle next to me and I heard her sniffing as I tore down my jeans and sat with my head in my hands. She was sniffing those little uncontrollable post-bawl sniffs and I hoped she was okay. I wondered how Lucia was going. I saw a black pubic hair curled on the wet floor. I washed my hands and went back to sit opposite my sister. My beautiful big sister. With the frown.

‘What's the matter?' I asked.

‘What took you so long? I was about to send out a search party.'

‘I wasn't long. Was I?'

‘About half an hour.'

‘Nah . . .'

‘Yeah. I think you'd better have another drink.'

I hung my tongue out and nodded. Evie laughed.

When the drinks arrived she sat up all sort of formal.

‘So,' she said. ‘How's Dad?'

‘He's changed since –'

‘Changed? Tricky O'Dwyer changed? Since when? Dad still wears the undies he got married in.'

‘Since you left.'

Evie shot me a look, puzzled and worried. ‘How?'

‘Um, let's see . . . he's cleaned the flat.'

‘Shit. Huge step forward.'

‘And painted it.'

Her eyes widened.

‘And he's got a job.'

Her mouth dropped open.

‘And he's in love.'

‘What? Who? God, I don't believe it.'

I nodded triumphantly. ‘Rosie. Next door.'

She said omigod to herself a few times then she grabbed my hand again. ‘Are they rooting?'

‘Whaaat?'

‘You know, are they having sex and that?'

‘How would I know? What would I
care
? Why would you care?'

‘He's my dad. I've got a right to know.'

‘He's your dad and he's got a right to his own life, more like.'

‘Wonder what Mum would think.'

‘Who cares? Mum's dead.'

Evie took a swig and wiped her mouth with a napkin. ‘I know she's dead. I think she's dead. Understand she's dead but part of me keeps expecting her to come home again.'

I nodded furiously.

‘It's like I've been waiting for Dad to say, “Sorry. It was all a story to protect you from the pain of knowing that your mother is still alive, she just doesn't want to be with you anymore.” I could live with that. Part of me
still
believes that . . . god listen to me . . . I've never talked about it . . .' She swallowed. ‘I still can't say her name. Talk about skeletons in the closet. I've only got one . . . that I know of . . . and it really is a skeleton.'

‘Yes!' I shouted, and slapped her hand. ‘There's a part of me that believes that, too.'

We used to ask Dad about Mum all the time. He told us lots of stuff. He told us she got sick and she died. After a while we gave up asking about Mum. We even gave up talking about her before we fell asleep. I guess we never gave up wondering.

Evie straightened her clothes and sat up. ‘It's different for you. You didn't know her like I did. It doesn't hurt as much if you don't know what you've lost.'

I sat back like a blast of cold air had opened a window in my face. ‘How can you say that? How can you know? Yeah, it's different but it's different for Dad, too. You
know
what you've lost. For me it's just this creeping feeling that there's something missing. You make it sound like you're the only one in the world who's ever lost anything.'

Evie looked at the table. ‘It wasn't meant to sound like that.'

‘Look at all the things you've got . . . nice place to live, your job, Bianca, your friends, Jerome.'

‘Jerome? Why Jerome?'

‘He's gorgeous and he loves you and you'll probably get married and then your life will be perfect and everyone in the whole world will want what you have.'

Evie laughed. First to herself, shaking her head, then at
me. Her mouth fell open but no sound came out. I could see her tongue. ‘I don't think so.'

‘Well, it certainly looked like it from where I was standing.'

‘There's so much you don't know though, Madds. You don't know me, do you?'

‘No. Not anymore. I did once. Not that long ago. We slept in the same bed. You don't know me either.'

Evie nodded.

‘Do you love Jerome?'

She laughed. ‘Yes, I love Jerome, but I don't want to marry him.'

‘What? Scared?'

‘No. Not exactly.'

‘What then?'

Evie sighed and looked at her watch. A waitress arrived and cleared the glasses. Asked if we wanted another drink.

‘No,' Evie said flatly.

‘Yes!'

Evie looked at the waitress then at me. ‘Two vodka and lemons, please.'

The waitress moved on but Evie held my gaze. ‘I don't know where to start.'

‘Just answer my question. Why wouldn't you marry Jerome?'

‘Because . . . because Jerome already has a partner.'

‘Oh.'

‘Adrian.'

‘Ohh.'

‘And so do I.'

‘Oh?'

‘Bianca.'

‘Bianca? Bullshit. Your boss?'

Evie shrugged. ‘Sorry. I thought you knew.'

‘How would I . . . oh that's  . . . oh no . . . that's totally off. You're bullshitting me, aren't you? Please say you're talking crap.'

Evie looked into the crowd on the dance floor. She was biting her lip.

The waitress returned with our drinks.

I touched her hand. ‘Sorry, Evie. I didn't mean to . . . Shock. Just a shock, that's all. I always thought you liked boys. I never thought you'd be . . . you always liked boys. Bianca's married.'

Evie nodded. ‘Yeah. She doesn't love Philippe. She said she's going to leave him. He's hardly ever around anyway.'

‘Yeah but . . . she's married to him. She must like boys.'

Her shoulders jumped.

I felt a bubble in my guts. I remembered when Colin told me that he was gay. I knew before he told me. Being gay fitted Colin like an old pair of shoes. Evie liked boys. There were posters of boys all over our room and I didn't put them all up. I burped and it came from the point of my borrowed strappy heels and bounced off the walls. Evie's mouth dropped open but she was smiling.

‘Excuse me,' I said.

They'd seen me naked in the shower. Gross.

Yeah, and Evie and I had had a million baths together before. That was one of the best things about having a sister.

They'd seen me naked and nothing had happened.

I grabbed her hand and kissed it. ‘You go, girl.'

Evie laughed and kissed my hand back. ‘Dance?'

My response was a drunken yelp and we danced like that other Madonna for hours. We were wild. We danced with women and men and anything that moved close. I danced until all the steam had gone from my veins and I flaked. Just fell down on the dance floor. Evie and a man who smelled like sweat and aftershave dragged me to a booth and got me a coffee. When I came round again, Evie called a taxi. She rode with me and held me up as we rode the lift to the twelfth floor. I opened the door to the flat. She kissed me on the lips and hugged me with her everything.

‘Thanks, Maddie. That was a great night. You'll have to come over for a video. Make it soon.'

‘Aren't you going to come in? Just for a little while?'

She shook her head and backed towards the lift. She shrugged. ‘Give old Tricky my love, hey?'

I
t hurt to be in sunlight on Tuesday afternoon. I wore my sunnies down to Pepe's and I didn't want to take them off. I dragged myself through the evening at work and slept until midday on Wednesday.

Things got weird on Wednesday evening. Paolo was sitting in front of Fun-Da-Mental with an orange Bacardi Breezer in his hand. The bottle hung at such an angle that it almost poured onto the footpath. He didn't notice me until I was almost standing on his toes.

‘Mahhhhdonnnnnnaaah,' he sang, and reached for the leg of my jeans. I stepped to the side and he slopped his drink on his runner.

‘Looks like you're in for a big night tonight, babe.'

Yeah, I thought. Wednesdays can get busy. I stepped inside and Bruna shushed her husband. Luce was carrying drinks from the bar to the kitchen. Her face lit up when she saw me but she didn't make a sound.

‘Hello, Madonna,' Pepe said, far too formally. ‘Good to see you.'

Bruna didn't say anything, just smiled until I thought her dentures would pop out and hugged me.

‘What?' I asked.

‘What you mean, what?' Bruna said.

‘What's going on? You've gone all weird.'

‘Weird? What are you talking about? There is nothing . . .'

Luce pushed through the kitchen door and I saw people behind her. Strange people. Luce grinned again but her eyes looked pained. I followed her into the toilets.

‘What's going on, Luce? Who's that in the kitchen?'

She put both hands on the sink and looked at me in the mirror. ‘If I was you, Madonna, I'd make a run for it now.'

‘What?'

‘Pull a sickie. Something. Just go.'

I frowned.

‘In the kitchen is my Uncle Vinnie, Nonna Mena and Nonno Dino. They've come to see
you,
Madonna. Mum and Dad and Angelina have been blabbing all over Brunswick about that thing with Jiff last weekend and it's way out of hand. Zio Vinnie wants you to fix his hip. It's gone bung from a life of concreting. Nonno wants you to fix the arthritis in his fingers so he can play piano accordion again, and Nonna  . . . Nonna Mena is in a wheelchair.'

‘Whaaat?'

Luce nodded slowly.

‘But that thing with Jiff . . . that wasn't me. I didn't do anything. I dunno what happened. They were there. They saw it. I didn't do anything.'

‘Not according to Angelina. She said you were holding Jiff's hand one minute and then you transformed into something else. She saw the Holy Mother of Christ. She had a vision, Maddie. She reckons you're not just Madonna, you're
the
Madonna.'

The
Madonna? ‘Holy Mother of Jesus' Dad used to call me. He'd call me that when I aced a maths test or found his keys. It was a joke. I remembered Angelina crossing herself. I looked at my hands and started to freak out. ‘What a crock of shit. Angelina is off her nut.'

‘I know that. You know that but Mum and Dad, they live in fear of God. They're superstitious people, Madds. If Angelina had a vision of the Madonna then she saw the Madonna as far as they're concerned. It wouldn't be the first time she had a vision. The love of her life got killed in the war. She still talks to him.'

‘Bloody hell. Where does that leave me? What am I supposed to do now?'

Luce shrugged. ‘Go in and heal them.'

‘I can't heal them. I can't heal anything. I'm flat out peeling the wrapper off a Bandaid.'

‘Yeah, and once they work that out they'll leave you alone.'

I looked at her in the mirror and she smiled.

‘Give them what they want,' she said, and left.

I looked at my hands in the mirror. My pathetic hands with the stumpy fingers and chipped-polish nails. I poked my bottom lip out at the reflection then laughed.

I acted dumb. It's not hard. Pepe and Bruna kept smiling
at me and nodding. I took orders. I made pizzas then Bruna called to me from the kitchen door.

‘Oh, Madonna. Come and meet the family.'

I put the last order in the oven and Pepe smiled at me and nodded.

‘This,' Bruna said, ‘is my brother, Vinnie. And the tall one is Dino, Nonno Dino, my papa. And this is my mama, Nonna Mena.'

I shook Uncle Vinnie's hand and he held me tight. Crushed my fingers. A life of concreting might have left him with a bung hip but his fingers still worked fine. His eyes blinked furiously and his mouth hung open like he was being electrocuted. His tongue darted around in his mouth, then his eyes rolled and his whole body shivered. He let my hand go and sighed.

I laughed and chomped in half with my teeth. Have an orgasm, why don't you.

As soon as my hand was free, Nonno Dino grabbed it and kissed it. His palm was sweaty and the skin loose. Dino shook and started panting. His eyes couldn't hold focus and for a minute I thought he was going to faint. He shouted something in Italian and kissed my hand again. And again.

Bruna was whimpering. Tears were tracing across her cheeks and she whined like a puppy. She wheeled her mother over. Mena was a frail woman and I reckoned if she convulsed herself onto the floor, I'd be able to pick her up with one arm. Her head was cocked to one side and she looked at the blanket over her knees. Bruna yelped as I took her mother's hand. I looked down my
nose at Bruna, wondering what the next theatrical outburst would be and saw she had her hand over her eyes. Mena pulled on my fingers. Her wasted little arm was dragging me to her but I stood my ground. She didn't stop pulling and the effort was hauling her out of her wheelchair.

‘Ahh, hang on a minute. Take it easy, Mena,' I said, but if she heard me she didn't understand. A shaking foot reached for the floor in front of her chair.

‘Nonna, settle,' I said. She grabbed at my shirt with her other hand and I stepped back. She pulled on my hand and next thing I knew she was standing in front of me. Her legs trembled and she seemed more wet bird than Italian grandmother.

‘Oh shit,' I said. I thought I'd whispered but behind me I heard Pepe gasp.

Bruna uncovered her eyes and squealed. ‘Mama! Mama!'

The men were beaming and shouting at each other in Italian. From behind me, I heard applause and I turned to see Paolo standing in the kitchen doorway clapping wildly. He looked shakier on his legs than Nonna Mena. His eyes were bloodshot and he'd propped himself against the door-frame.

‘I . . . I didn't . . .' I started but it was useless. My shoulders dropped and so did Nonna Mena. Like a bag of butcher's offal. I heard a crack. The air was punched out of her lungs in a pathetic squawk and garnished with a fart. I held my breath and dragged her back into her wheelchair.

‘Mama, are you all right?' Bruna asked, smiling. Mena smiled, too, in a possessed-by-the-devil kind of way. She slapped her daughter's hand off her shoulder. She barked at Bruna. Her voice was deep and gravely. The only word I understood was ‘Angelina'.

Yeah, where was Angelina? Her bloody vision got me into the mess and instead of cleaning it up I had managed to dig myself in deeper.

Thoughts lumped in on top of each other. I'm no bloody healer. I'm not a miracle worker. If an Italian bloke has an orgasm while I'm shaking his hand then that's
him
, not me. And Nonna Mena? I reckon she was faking it all along. You know, the wheelchair was for effect. Bit of sympathy. Maybe no one was taking any notice of her. Maybe . . .

‘Ten years,' Bruna crooned. ‘Ten years since Mama walked. It's a miracle.'

Pepe and Paolo backed into the restaurant as I walked to the kitchen door. Pepe held it open. Paolo held the wall for balance.

Luce must have been on a delivery. I answered the phone. Two large Pepe's Specials delivered to the ninth floor of my block of flats. I wondered if I could do the delivery myself and go home. Just for a few days. Until they got over their craziness. I made the pizzas and visited the two tables of people sitting in the restaurant. I picked up the plates from table four and they laughed too hard at their own jokes and made me squeeze in around them. There was a woman at the head of the other table and she'd stacked their empty plates and cutlery neatly. She moved
her chair to give me better access and thanked me as I walked off with an armload.

They were still ranting in the kitchen. Bruna shushed everyone as I backed through the door with my load of plates and cutlery. Paolo had left. They smiled and looked at each other. Frozen like the DVD of their lives had been paused. I put my plates on the sink and washed and dried my hands. Nobody moved.

I put my fists on my hips. I looked at Pepe. He looked at his shoes.

‘I'm going to need a pay rise, Pepe. If I have to run the whole place by myself then I want more money.'

‘Sorry, Madonna. Not all by yourself,' he said, and moved into the restaurant.

Bruna watched her husband go then bowed her head. Her lips moved but no sound came out. She crossed herself. I pushed through into the restaurant and the door swung closed behind me. It felt like I was a gunslinger going into my favourite saloon. It was my domain. To the DiFrescos, I was somebody. Maybe their faith in me was misguided but it was faith just the same. I felt powerful. I felt like a real Madonna, though the feeling was short-lived.

My name sliced through the crowd of very artsy-looking people spilling through the door. It took me a moment to recognise who'd said my name. My sister's lover–boss. Bianca. My tummy scrunched as she shoved past her friends and wrapped herself around me. She kissed me and cooed in my ear. She and her crew had just finished dress rehearsals of a new show and were on a massive
high, she said. A table for seventeen. I led her down the back and shoved three tables together.

‘Where's Evie?' I asked.

‘At work, I hope.'

Bianca introduced me and I got them drinks. It didn't occur to me until I was mixing my third gin and tonic that I was breaking the law. Luce always made the drinks. Pepe was very particular about that and without her around, I'd done it automatically. I was someone else that night. The other Madonna. I was living life on the edge. I was healing the sick. I was the pop diva and the Bible Madonna rolled into one.

Jiff arrived. My tummy did a little tango. He stood at the counter and talked to Pepe as I took meal orders at Bianca's table. Cargo pants were made for bums like Jiff's, I decided. I did more scribbling than writing with that order.

Pepe was heading for the kitchen. I gave him the pasta orders. Jiff smiled at me as I stepped behind the counter.

‘You didn't phone,' I said.

He smiled. ‘Sorry about that. I wanted to. I didn't have your number. Colin reckons he's never called you before. I didn't know where to look. Do you know how many O'Dwyers live in Brunswick? Sorry about that, ay.'

‘Yeah, no worries. I wasn't hanging by the phone or anything.'

Colin had dialled our phone more than anyone else on earth, the lying bastard.

‘Have you got your tongue pierced?' Jiff asked.

I felt my face colour and I poked out my tongue.

‘Sweet!' he said. It was almost a squeal.

‘That's not all . . .' I said, and kicked off my runner and sock to show him my tattoo. The scab had washed off in the shower and it looked like it had been there forever.

‘Whoah! So cool. Japanese, right? What does it mean?'

I smiled. ‘You working?'

He shook his head. ‘What does it mean?'

‘What can I get for you?'

He smiled. ‘Your phone number?'

‘That's easy.' I wrote the number on the back of a card.

‘Oh, and one medium Hawaiian. With prawns.'

‘Coming right up!'

Head down. Hands busy. Luce shoved through the front door and bolted for the toilets. I only saw her face for a slice of a second but the mascara scars on her cheeks were like a flashing neon sign.

Jiff noticed, too. ‘What happened to Luce?'

‘Um can you . . . I dunno. Can you make your own pizza? I'll go and . . .'

‘No worries. Go, Maddie.'

I wiped my hands and headed through to the toilets. Luce was locked in a cubicle. I heard her sniff. I saw her black leather shoes under the door.

‘Luce, you okay? What happened?'

‘Nothing,' she barked. ‘Nothing, all right? Just leave me alone.'

I nipped into the cubicle next door and peed. Luce sniffed, rattled some paper off the roll and blew her nose.

‘Luce? Are you going to be okay?'

‘Yeah,' she mumbled. ‘I'm all right.'

‘Not going to try to flush your head down the toilet or anything?'

‘No,' she said.

‘Good.'

‘I'll be out in a minute.'

‘Okay. I'm timing you.'

‘Maddie . . .'

Jiff and Pepe were delivering garlic bread to Bianca's table. I told Jiff to go and enjoy his meal. He wasn't supposed to be working.

‘Nah, doesn't matter. It's not ready yet.'

‘Go on, piss off,' I said.

He smiled and, on his way back to the counter, punched me playfully in the tummy. I doubled over and he shoved me onto my bum. I laugh-squealed and the whole restaurant looked. He held out a hand and pulled me to my feet with a satisfied grin.

Later, as I delivered her pizza, Bianca grabbed at my leg. ‘Who's the hunk?'

‘That's Jiff.'

She mouthed his name.

‘Yes, Jiff. He's from New Zealand and he's mine so eyes off.'

Bianca smiled. ‘Obviously.'

Obvious that he's from New Zealand or obvious that he's mine? I couldn't work it out. Bianca was looking at me with her eyebrows raised. Maybe she does like boys. As well.

‘What?' I asked.

‘Bring him around on Friday,' she said.

‘Pardon?'

‘Bring him to my place. Introduce him to your sister. Friday, for lunch.'

My face scrunched and I shrugged. ‘I dunno. I've got heaps of work to do and . . .'