The Other Madonna (9 page)

‘I'll just nip into the ladies.'

‘No! Right here. Wait.'

‘Okay.'

‘Promise?'

‘Right! Hurry, I'm going to burst.'

‘Promise?'

‘Promise!'

‘Good. Don't burst.'

He disappeared into the toilets and came out far too quickly to have used any of the facilities. He held out his hand.

‘What?'

‘Come on,' he whispered. ‘There's no one in there.'

‘I'm not going in there. That's –'

‘Shhh.'

He dragged me into the gents. We were in a hall between two doors. He clamped his hand over my eyes. I could smell his aftershave and his fingers were dry. Thankfully.

‘Jiff, I don't . . . Where are we . . .?'

‘Shhh. It's okay.'

The inner door creaked as he led me through. It certainly didn't smell like the boys' toilets at school. Smelled like talcum powder. He was just like Dad, I thought. This is the sort of trick that got Tricky his name, I was sure. Then Jiff stopped and pulled his hand away from my eyes.

‘Ta daaa,' he sang.

I stood facing a plate-glass window that stretched from the floor to the ceiling in – yes, little white bowls hanging from the wall – the gents' toilets. The view made me step back and grab for breath. The window was on the outside wall of the thirty-fifth floor. I could see forever. I could see the MCG below me and roads spidering off to everywhere. As my confidence grew and I stepped closer to the wall of glass, I could see people – specks – in the park directly below us, smaller buildings and, in the distance, mountains cloaked in trees.

As my breathing returned to normal and I began to see even more detail in the beautiful panorama, I became conscious again of where I was. A door clunked and I spun around. My bag rattled. Jiff's eyes grew wide and we both held our breath.

No one came through the door.

‘It's beautiful, Jiff. Can we go now?'

He smiled. ‘You go. I have to operate the conveniences.'

I stepped through the doors back into the sound of the waterfall. The room was empty. I couldn't see any security cameras. I went into the ladies, found an empty cubicle and tossed my bag on the floor. My sigh of relief echoed in the little tiled room and I made my own waterfall.

I washed my hands at the basin. There wasn't any paper towel, no wall-mounted dryer for your hands. No way. That place had
towels
. Fluffy white hand towels that made me want to dry my hands thoroughly and admire the view from a different window, only potted plants screened the plate-glass wall in the ladies. I liked the view in the gents.

Jiff was waiting.

‘It's the same in the ladies. You could have come in with me.'

He grunted. ‘I don't think so. If a bloke spotted you in the gents, he'd think . . . well, that you were a bit of a goer, ay. And I reckon he'd be right.' He led me to the lift. ‘But if a sheila sprung me in the ladies, I'd go to jail. They'd throw away the key. Bloody pervert.'

I shook my head slowly. He was right.

We dagged around and ate burgers under the shot tower.

I asked him about shops in New Zealand and he shrugged. ‘Nothing like this. In Wellington, yeah, but not this big, ay.'

‘Do you have a girlfriend in New Zealand?' I said. Just blurted it out.

He shook his head. ‘I was going out with this girl at school. Alli. We were . . . you know . . . pretty serious and that. When school finished, she went to Canada and we kind of broke up.'

‘Kind of?'

‘Well, we never said we were officially going out with each other. And when Alli was leaving for Canada we didn't say “You're dropped!” or anything like that. Just “See ya.”'

‘Fair enough.' Not much of a history as a monster, I thought. I realised I'd left myself wide open for interrogation and I shifted in my seat.

‘What about you?' he asked.

‘Me?'

We heard someone shout ‘Go' from above. We looked up to see a squadron of paper planes being launched from the top floor. Hundreds. They looped, glided and eventually crashed around us. Jiff jumped out of his seat and picked one up from beneath the empty table next to us. He unfolded it and read an advertisement for a show at a pub in Collingwood. The Weird Beasts live.

‘We'd better get going,' he said, and I sighed to myself with relief.

We watched a busker clowning in Bourke Street and when we made it full circle back to Pepe's, we kissed. Jiff hugged me and lifted me off the ground and kissed my lips. A quick kiss but not a peck. He purred as our lips touched and I smiled. He kissed my teeth. He laughed. My boobs mashed against his hard chest and he breathed into my mouth. I hung on around his neck, my feet dangling, and he thanked me for a brilliant day.

‘Spose I'll see you in a couple of hours, ay.'

It was four o'clock. I didn't want to go. There were so many things I should have told him. About Paolo. About Molinari at the Bullpit. About Dartanian. All the other monsters that had stomped through my life. Every one was a tiny peck of guilt. I wanted to tell him everything and wipe the slate clean. All the pecks were just pecks until Jiff walked off. It had been a dreamy day and I felt an ache watching the bounce in his step. When he was out of sight, the pecks of guilt became a mob of partying shadows in my gut.

D
ad wasn't home. His note was on the bench where I'd left it. I showered and dressed for work. I thought that work had always helped me keep my head. When everything around me was changing, it was reliable and solid. I thought that I'd be treated like a goddess again by the DiFrescos and the thought made me smile.

Dad still hadn't arrived. I was checking out how neat my ponytail was, holding my little mirror behind my head and looking at the reflection in the bathroom mirror when I dropped the little mirror. It hit the tiles and cracked.

‘Bummer.'

It was cracked but still usable.

It was time to leave. Dad still hadn't arrived. I was hungry by then and angry at Tricky for not keeping his word. I slammed the door behind me and realised that I'd locked my keys inside with my bag.

‘Bummer.'

I huffed and stepped into the lift.

Ground floor. I cut across the lawn and squeezed
between two rubbish bins that smelled as though they'd been filled with prawn shells for a month. I gagged and covered my mouth and nose. There was a flash of movement near my feet and I jumped. It was a cat. A ginger tom with a big head and scrawny body. It had sprung away to a safe distance and crouched, surveying me with eyes that seemed to glow.

‘Hello, puss,' I said. It darted under the bushes.

I could see a form leaning against the wall in front of Pepe's. It was Bruna. I waved but she didn't see me. She slipped inside. I pushed through the door and stopped just inside. Bruna stood in the entry, ice in her eyes.

‘Hello . . . Bruna . . . How are you?'

She nodded and crossed her arms.

‘What's the matter?'

‘You not come to work here no more.'

‘What?' My fingers tingled and I shifted feet.

‘You not come here to work. No more.'

‘But . . . why?'

She pushed past me and opened the door. Pepe and Lucia were behind the counter. Luce had been crying.

‘What? What did I do? If it was about last night and having the pizza with Jiff, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Promise.'

Bruna shook her head. Her face filled with blood and her eyes narrowed. ‘You drag our name through the mud. You make us so mad with your evil things. No more!'

‘What are you talking about? What did I do?'

‘Out!' she screamed. Spit flew from her mouth. ‘Get out!'

I couldn't remember seeing Bruna so angry. She looked like she was going to burst a blood vessel. I wasn't scared. Not even a little bit. Shocked, yeah. Steaming up with anger, yeah. But I wasn't frightened of the big hairy drama queen. I stepped further into the restaurant. ‘Pepe, what's this about?'

He shrugged and Bruna stepped in front of me.

‘You lied. You lied to us. You tell us you can heal people and –'

‘I never told you I could heal anybody.'

‘And you CAN'T!' she shouted. ‘You're a liar. A liar and a fake. You drag our good name through the mud.
Putana!
'

‘Mum! Stop!' Luce screamed. ‘It's not Maddie's fault. She didn't say any of that stuff.
You
reckoned she could heal.
You
made it all up.
You
pushed her into it.'

Bruna turned and strode through the restaurant. She slapped Luce across the face. Pepe jumped. Luce dropped to her knees. I put my hand over my mouth. Bruna was seriously tripping out.

She swore at Luce in Italian. Pepe stared at me with his eyes rimmed red, flashing with tears.

Bruna stormed past and pulled the door open. ‘Go, Madonna. Get out. NOW!'

I looked at Pepe.

‘Sorry,' he said. ‘So sorry. You're a good girl. But now Mena has a broken hip and . . .'

‘Wha?' I said.

Pepe nodded.

‘You broke my mama's hip! Get out!' Bruna barked.

‘No!' Luce shouted. She'd got up, holding her cheek. ‘You're wrong, Mum. It's not Maddie's fault.'

She was flaunting death. I had this vision of her mum grabbing her by the hair and slamming her into the bain-marie like a wrestler.

Bruna was breathing through her nose. Short rasping breaths like an athlete.

‘It's not her fault,' Luce said again. ‘She goes then I go.'

‘Whaat?' Bruna said. There was more than a gram of ridicule in her voice. ‘And where you go? You live on the street, huh? Another
putana
.'

With her hands on her hips, she laughed at her daughter. It did seem unlikely. Luce didn't exactly bristle with independence. I would have left already. No one slaps me around.

Bruna flashed a look at me. She wore a satisfied grin. ‘Go. You no come back.'

I looked at Luce, begging with my eyes. Come on Luce, I thought. Just one step. You can stay with Dad and me. It'll work out. Luce held her face and sniffed. She looked at the floor, her eyes glazed with shock and indecision.

‘Fine,' Luce said. She said ‘Fine' and took a step.

The phone rang.

Luce looked over her shoulder at the phone.

Come on, Luce.

She answered it. Nothing would change.

I left.

I shook my head and swore under my breath the whole way home. Bruna was a dumb old bag. Pepe was a spineless wimp. Lucia would never have a life of her own.
I hated the bloody job, anyway. I'd find another one. A better one. Evie could get me a job. At least I could go to bed at a reasonable time. Could even go out on a Friday or Saturday night. Riding up the fluorescent-lit elevator I decided that night was going to be useless for anything else so I thought I'd grab my wallet and go. Go visiting. Go clubbing. Go off. Yeah!

Then the lift doors opened and I remembered I'd locked my key in the flat and the mosh pit going on in my head turned into a brawl. The door was locked.

‘Dad? Open up!'

No movement. Not a sound.

I knocked on the door, louder and harder until it hurt my knuckles.

‘Daaaaad!'

I kicked the door and the explosion of sound rattled in the concrete hallway. It hurt my foot and felt good. I did it again. And again. And again. Something broke open in me. Some pressure-relief valve broke and the door copped it. I punched it until my knuckles screamed. I pounded at it and tore at the knob. With my teeth clamped I ran at it and heard it crack as I hit it shoulder first. Again. I kicked and punched and pounded on the door until the steam had gone. Until my breath rasped in my neck. Until my hair stuck to the side of my face. Until my vision was blurry and I had to sit down. I slumped against the door and pulled my knees up to my chest. I rested my forehead in my hand. My body shuddered with sobs and tears rained on the grotty concrete.

I wanted to apologise to the door, the knob, the hinges.
I wanted to say sorry to Bruna and Pepe and Lucia. I felt like I was flipping out. Going crazy. I needed help.

There was a gentle hand on my head and I jumped.

Red. I almost scared him out of his skin but he crept up beside me again and rested his hand on my shoulder. His voice was almost a whisper. ‘You okay, Madonna? Everything okay?'

I nodded and patted his hand. He pulled away and I felt like a monster. I wiped my face on my sleeve and held my hand out to him.

‘I'm okay, Red. Sorry.'

He took my hand.

‘Help me up. I locked my keys inside. Dad's not home yet. I can't get in.'

He pulled on my fingers and helped me stand.

‘Thanks,' I said.

He let my hand go and shrugged. ‘That's all right. Do you want to come to my place while you're waiting for your dad?' He looked across at the door. ‘Bushka won't mind. Bushka likes you. I like you too. Specially for fixing my leg. You can come to our place if you want. Bushka's got some bikkies in a jar. If your dad doesn't come back, you can stay if you want. You can sleep in my bedroom. You can have my bed and I'll sleep on the floor. I can sleep in my beanbag. Bushka won't mind.'

I looked at him. I squatted so our eyes were level and took his hand again. ‘Thanks, Red. Thanks for the offer. That's very kind of you. You're a kind little man. I think my dad will be home soon. I think I'll wait here.'

He shrugged. ‘That's okay. You want me to wait with
you? I could go and ask Bushka. I think it'll be okay.'

I started to protest but he was already running. Head down, shoulders pushed forward and arms pumping. He reached his hand up to the doorknob and called to me over his shoulder. ‘I'll just ask Bushka if it's okay.' He pushed his palm in my direction, fingers outstretched. ‘Stay there!'

I smiled and nodded. He struggled with the knob and eventually opened the door. A blast of too-loud TV spilled into the hallway and he stepped inside calling for Bushka.

There were marks on the door from the soles of my runners. The paint had lost its gloss where I'd been punching and my knuckles were powdered with white. I shook my head and smiled to myself as I rubbed at the paint on my hands. No one would try to rape me. Paolo had learned the lesson. He'd learned to trust his judgement. If anyone was stupid enough to give it a go, I reckon I'd go psycho. Do more than bite him on the dick. Psycho bitch. Tear his bloody eyes out. After the initial stay in intensive care he'd need six months of physio before he could walk properly again. Rage is a powerful thing.

Behind the door to our flat, the phone rang. I reached for the knob again and my shoulders dropped. Would that be Dad? Ringing to let me know not to bother making him any tea. That he was going to be drinking for another three hours.

I slumped with my back against the door again, knees to my chest. I pulled the hair tie from my ponytail and shook my head. No, I thought. Dad would think I was at work like every Thursday in the last year and a bit.
Must have been Jiff. He'd made it to work and Lucia had told him what had happened. He was ringing to see if I was okay. I breathed and realised that losing my job and the anger and the creeping sense of injustice that came with it couldn't make a mark on what I was feeling for Jiff. It was big. If losing my job was bouncing on one end of the seesaw and Jiff was on the other, the poor man wouldn't get the slightest ride. He was rock solid.

The door down the hallway opened again and the sound of nagging adverts made me want to cover my ears. Red slammed the door behind him and came pumping and puffing to a stop at my feet. He was digging in the pocket of his red jacket. The jacket with ‘world class' embroidered across the chest. The jacket he always wore. He licked his lips while he fished around and eventually dragged the best part of two sugar-sprinkled biscuits into the light. He held his hand out and I caught the crumbs. He put both biscuits on my fingers and dusted himself off before sitting beside me. ‘I nicked them. Bushka didn't see. It was an emergency.'

I laughed and offered them to him.

He shook his head. ‘They're for you. To make you feel better.'

‘I'll have one. You have the other. I couldn't fit them both in anyway.'

‘Okay,' he said, and snatched the top biscuit. He chewed but they didn't crunch. It didn't seem to bother Red. I gave him mine as well, thanked him and told him I was full.

‘How did you hurt yourself that day?' I asked.

‘My leg?'

‘Mmm.'

‘Fell.'

‘Fell where? Off the letterboxes?'

He shook his head.

‘Steps?'

‘Nup.'

‘Where then?'

‘Valcomy.'

‘Where?'

‘Valcomy. The box in front of the window.'

I twisted my shoulders and looked at his face. ‘Balcony? Whose balcony?'

‘I dunno. Near the bottom. Sometimes when Bushka has a sleep in the afternoon I go out and see if anyone is home.'

‘How do you do that? How can you see if anyone is home?'

‘I just get on their valcomy and look in the window but I try not to let them see me. If they see me then I'm dead.'

I remembered the handprint on our window and shivered at the thought of how it got there.

‘How do you get from one balcony to another? Do you have ropes or a ladder or something?'

‘I just jump. Jump to the across ones and hang down to the underneath ones. It's easy.'

I covered my eyes with my hand. ‘Have you been caught? Has anyone seen you before?'

‘One time. Only one time when I fell. That time. An old lady down the bottom saw me and I went to hang down
to another valcomy and there was only concrete underneath. I couldn't get back up and I fell. That's when I hurt my leg. When I landed on the concrete.'

I imagined the distance from the first-floor balcony to the footpath and I guessed it was five metres.

I turned and took both of Red's scaly hands in my own. ‘Look at me.'

He turned his head. ‘What?'

‘Promise me you'll never go out on the balcony again.'

His face screwed up and he tried to pull away. ‘Ever? Why? It's my funnest game.'

I held tight. ‘Promise?'

‘Why?'

‘It's very, very dangerous, Red. You could fall and die. Not just hurt your leg. Really die.'

‘My mum died,' he said.

‘Did she? That's sad, mate. I bet you miss her.'

He shrugged. ‘Nah. Bushka looks after me. She died when I was a little baby.'

‘My mum died, too,' I said. ‘She died when I was a little, little baby.'

Red looked right in my eyes.

I swallowed hard. ‘I miss my mum.'

Red blinked. ‘Where's your dad?'

‘Probably at the pub. Where's your dad?'

His shoulders jumped and he poked his bottom lip out. ‘Somewhere.'

‘Do you see him?'

‘No. I never see him. He didn't want a baby.'

‘Oh,' I said, and bit my lip. The joy of being with Jiff
had easily outweighed Bruna's tirade but the little boy nearly broke my heart. ‘Promise me.'

‘But if I get hurt then you can fix me.'