Fractures

by M R Field

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. I close my sketchpad while moving my other hand to retrieve it. In some uncanny coincidence, my father’s name blinks up at me. The black cloud that never seems to leave. Even though he is my burden, as I look around the burnt bar I think at least he would never try to have me killed or ruin my life, like Hazel’s mother and ex-lover had. Nope. At least I could be grateful for that.

  My thumb hovers over the screen until I press end—again. What had my mother seen in him? I barely remember her, yet her betrayal untethers me to him. The dead can’t speak. I’m sure, though, if my mother had her chance, she would tell me to answer the missed calls left by him. That his recent persistence is one of concern. But I have nothing to say to the man who I have barely spoken to for ten years. If I could ask her one question, it would be to hopefully shed some light on what the fuck I am supposed to do about him now, without hitting the answer button.

  I look up and see Robbie staring back at me.

  “You look like you could use a drink.” He gestures to the back of the room.

  “Or ten.” I tuck the notepad under my arm. “But since I’m due back at the office soon, I’ll take that drink on opening night.”

  “Deal.” Robbie winks, and I try to ignore the weight in my pocket from my father’s phone call.

  Click.

  Click-click.

  Click.

  I stiffen in my seat next to my fellow workmates, flattening my feet to the ground as I stare across the oak table at my boss, Cole. He leans back in his reclining chair, rocking slightly as he thumbs the pen poised in hand. Click-click. With one knee bent across his other leg, he reclines farther as he circles the pen in the air in front of him while looking at the brief laid out. I’m surprised the orange fluorescent ankle strap he wears to protect his trousers while he rides to work isn’t fastened around his leg.

  My fingers tighten around the fine liner pen that rests on top of my notepad. A sketch of an angry figurehead is in the corner, lurking inside a black panel I drew, now competing for thought space in my mind. Maybe I should add my boss in my next addition—one where that pen explodes once it’s pressed. Kaboom! Where did he explode? Over there! New scene.

  But I never draw pantomimes. Far from it. More like art imitating life.

  Most of what he’s talked about quickly turns to vapour as the incessant clicking resumes. New client with a mega-dollar project. Eager to begin. World-renowned reputation. The incessant clicking continues, and my jaw clenches as each sound reminds me too abrasively of the regimented childhood I experienced. “Each note will be practised to perfection, Theo.” My father’s thick Japanese accent fills the silent room, as he watches the placement of my hands along the keys. “Perfection is paramount.” The hands of the grandfather clock that stands by the piano tick away each gruelling moment. “You cannot succeed without perfection.”

  I clear my throat to dispel the memories from lingering further. Click. Click. That fucking pen. What is it with my father being in my head today?

  The desire to ram that pen down Cole’s throat is short-lived, as his bent leg finally drops to the floor and he leans forward to press his feeble marker against the paper.

  “Our new clients have heard great things about us. Seems they took a liking to our recent subdivision project along the Docklands.”

  This isn’t new news to me. Ever since the launch of the sky-rises, our company has been jacked up with new projects. Seems our new apartments are a significant advancement over the dreary-looking flats that face the Yarra. Our boss is still living in the midst of that success. “Now, these investors have approached us in the hopes of revamping the old area by the gardens. Many potential firms fought tooth and nail to get these guys. The fact that they ignored them and came directly to us just goes to show that the quality of our projects is second to none. The call-out by investors has been a great endorsement of our designs. We didn’t win them over for nothing, lads. We have a great pedigree of talent right here, gentlemen.”

  A faint yawn is heard next to me and I turn my face slightly to Letty, our secretary, who looks bored while her long fingernails tap on her keyboard. No doubt she is probably secretly messaging her sister in Toronto while listening to the usual bragging. Most days Cole seems to forget that she is the only woman in the room. Again.

  Letty and I make eye contact as her gaze then flicks over to Cole for a moment in disapproval, her lips pressing together. She looks down at my sketch of a black cloud looming and raises her eyebrow at me. She is one of the few who know about my drawing. I nod in recognition of our boss’s brush over her before a sharp tap on the table catches my attention. I turn my head back to find Cole staring back at us. Letty continues to type on her tablet, her fingers tapping quickly, no doubt recounting being glared at. Cole raises his eyebrow for a moment as his eyes move from Letty to me before he breaks eye contact and juts his chin out towards the papers in front of him.

  Reaching for the leaflet, I focus on the sheet in my hand without looking back at Cole. Taking note of the client’s name in the top corner, I freeze in my seat. Macaro. Fuck, these guys are loaded. Opportunists. They were the ones who bought half of the northern suburbs and now are coming back to the central business district. Ruthless businessmen with their eyes on the prize. Who could blame them? They were all about new infrastructures, shopping centres, and businesses popping up left, right, and centre.

  I stare at the shelves behind Cole and focus briefly on the folders where most of the previous designs are stored. Fresh new designs that are striking to the consumers. Dynamic and bold. I want in on that project. I could revamp those gardens and make them mine.

  “Steve, Brad, and Nige, I need you to read over the request, and we’ll meet here in an hour to begin planning.”

  I freeze. What?

  Cole stands, quickly adjusts his suit jacket and grabs his pen and unread folio from the desk. “Theo.”

  I stare back at him in confusion.

  “Follow me. Grab your jacket—we’re going to grab a coffee.”

  Oh shit. I turn sharply, quickly double-checking that my shirtsleeves are rolled down to cover my tatted arms before grabbing the jacket that I had draped on the chair earlier. As I weave my arms quickly through the sleeves, my gut clenches. I don’t have a good feeling about this.

  Tucking the chair under the table, I turn to find the other guys at their individual desks, already planning their next project. Nige looks up at me and nods before bending his head back down to his desk. Lucky bastard.

  “Leticia,” Cole calls over his shoulder to summon Letty. She rises from her seat and glares back at him.

  “It’s Letty—you should know that by now,” she responds through gritted teeth. My tension unfurls as I bite into my cheek to stop from smiling at Cole stumbling over her name again. No clue, man.

  Cole tucks the pen into his top pocket as he points to his office in the far corner, ignoring her. “Hold any calls until we come back.”

  He turns, walking towards the door. Letty presses her lips together, and I shrug in disbelief. One day she’s going to stick her boot up his arse.

  His hard footsteps thud across the carpeted floors as we make our way to the elevators. I move my hands to my pockets to hide the clenching of my fists. Not being put on that team isn’t good.

  As we walk briskly down the hallway, my mind automatically narrows to our last group project. Stills of the designs begin to flick in succession through my mind as I check and recheck the sketches I made. Was my design too vague? Not edgy enough? Am I too rigid?

  We reach the elevator and I stare down at my shoes, momentarily dreading not being more “carefree” with my work approach. Maybe I need to involve myself in the Friday beer raffle or something. Or maybe, just maybe let myself go like I do in TTE. I wonder what my boss would think of his employee living an alternative life?

  As the steel doors open, we step in quietly, and all the while I stare at the room lights above. “Be sure
to remind me to get the quote from Leticia on the Nico project sorted when we get back to the office.”

  “Sure.”

  The elevator pings and we step out into the foyer, Cole walking briskly towards the front doors. He tilts his head towards the café across the street and I follow him quickly, eager to get this over with. Gesturing to the empty chair out front, I take a seat while he sits opposite me. I sit still as a waitress takes our order, wondering when the guillotine will drop.

  “So, Theo.” Cole reaches into his jacket and retrieves his phone. He glances down at the screen while swiping his finger across it. “I know we could have had this chat in my office, but a coffee was calling me.” He chuckles, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. “Right, so, you’ve been with our firm for almost two years. You came to us as a fresh-faced lad on work placement who was keen to get started.”

  I swallow and nod, trying to control my nerves.

  “You haven’t stopped since we hired you permanently, either,” he continues.

  I remain sitting in limbo as the waitress arrives with our coffees, but I’m too wired to reach out for mine. Cole takes a moment to sip his coffee before slowly replacing the cup. I focus my attention on the watch that appears from his cuff as he sits for a moment, turning his phone in a circle with his other hand on the table top.

  The seconds continue to tick by until Cole clears his throat. He taps the screen on his phone to illuminate a picture of a large, dark room. Pointing to it, he finally continues, “Take a look at these pictures I was sent by a client.”

  I reach forward and grab the phone, focusing on the unknown building shown on the screen. For a moment it reminds me of Trinity’s warehouse but unfurnished and bare.

  “Looks like a warehouse,” I add stupidly.

  “It sure is, but the client is hoping that it will be much more.”

  I nod, still confused as to where this is going. I feel my hands tighten, so I reach for my coffee to keep my stiff fingers occupied and controlled. Taking a sip, I stare at the image and flick to the next, trying to make out the location better. It has tall dark walls with high windows and a staircase in the left corner leading up to a second level. It looks like many pre-existing warehouses that are around North Melbourne.

  “Well, our client recently purchased this site to build another of his award-winning restaurants, but this time with a different motive—to revamp the vibe a bit.” Reaching out, Cole swipes the screen to the next image of the building’s front, where an old heavily graffitied garage door and a worn front door do little to solve what Cole is going on about. “What would you do with this front, Theo? How would you make customers want to enter the front doors and dine here?”

  I frown at the image for a moment and respond. “Rip out the doors and run three rows of square-edged double-glazed windows above them.” Pointing from one edge of the image to the other side, I add, “They’d run from here to here. Underneath, where the doors are, I’d replace them with three double-thick oak-edged doors with large windows.” Moving closer, I circle my finger around the front and continue, “You could easily open them all up for entertaining if need be, or just enjoy the natural light streaming through.”

  I glance up to find Cole smiling at me while he drinks from his cup. I place his phone back onto the table and sit back.

  “Great answer.” He reaches out for his phone and taps on the screen a few more times. “I can see why he wanted you for this.”

  I stiffen in my seat as I lean forward in confusion. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

  “Well, Theo, I know my company hasn’t been established as long as others, however, we’ve managed to secure a solid reputation. Having said that, I’ve been speaking to a new client who not only believes that his business will be in the right hands with us, but he’s also specifically asked for you to be the head designer on this project.”

  “What?” My mouth falls open in disbelief. “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. He is incredibly keen to make a start. He expressed an admiration for the minor projects that you’ve run so far, and thought you were the eyes needed to revamp this.”

  “What ideas has he had to transform this place?” My heart races as the excitement begins to build. It’s not a high-rise building, but a restaurant that can garner a hot reputation can also get more clients.

  “A restaurant, similar to what existed in the area years ago, but bigger and with a stage and a salsa dance floor. He wants to get in touch with his Spanish roots. Seems he’s been here most of his life and is feeling nostalgic. He wants a lively atmosphere.”

  Too easy. I designed a cabaret establishment; this will be just as invigorating.

  “Looks like I’m getting into a niche market for club designing,” I chuckle.

  “Indeed,” Cole responds, tucking his phone away and reaching into his pocket. “Leticia will email further details but in the meantime”—he pulls a business card out of his pocket—“here are his details. He is eager to begin discussions and from your initial thought just then, I think you’ll get along just fine.”

  I smile and nod, reaching for the card. “Thanks so mu—” I begin, but freeze mid-sentence. The name that stares back at me is the same name that changed my life eight years ago. The name that erupted my identity and made me forge a new existence. Ricardo Arce—Entrepreneur and Award-Winning Restaurant Owner.

  Ricardo Arce from Arce’s Enterprises, the ruthless businessman who stopped at nothing until he achieved success and all the accolades. Even if that included seducing my mother while she was happily married, leaving my father to bear the brunt of the betrayal while Ricardo never even tried to get to know me. It was all to protect his reputation. Why else would he wait sixteen years to approach my father and finally meet me, his bastard son?

  Now, this arsehole wants to work with me. My jaw clenches as I press my thumb into the card.

  “Everything okay?” Cole asks, staring at my thumb.

  “Yep, sure. I’ll get onto it right away.”

  He nods and stands. I shove the card into my pocket and grind my teeth together. What the fuck is he trying to do?

  I shake my head and rise, following Cole back to the office. My shoulders stiffen as the thought of the email that no doubt is waiting for me creates a brick of lead so heavy on my chest that I want to pass out.

  As we enter the quiet office, I make my way to my desk, my feet dragging across the carpeted floor in resistance. I have no choice. I’m about to work with my real father.

  There I was thinking I was getting a demotion or fired. In some ways, I wish that were the case.

  “When you choose to live by a dream, know that one day you’ll wake up. Be prepared for that.”

  Love, M

  TRINITY

  “Hey little ninja,” Trice whispers, as she bends forward to kiss the forehead of her sleeping nephew in Hazel’s arms. Gian has been home from the hospital almost one week and has settled in really well. According to Hazel, he is still a sleeping possum, but we know that isn’t going to last much longer. After the fire at the club, which caused Hazel to go into labour almost a month early, we were given the biggest fright of our lives. Luckily, though, our little man came out roaring to begin life, and that shitty moment hasn’t been mentioned since—and that worries me. Our gal is holding out on Trice and I, and it needs to stop.

  Hazel shifts in her armchair, adjusting the pillow that sits under her elbow. Her eyes never leave Gian as he continues to sleep peacefully in her arms.

  “Do you want me to take him, hon?” I offer, stretching out my arms. “Aunt Trin is happy for a cuddle if you’d like to go nap or something.”

  Haze glances up at me and smiles. “No, thanks sweets. I’m enjoying watching my little man. I don’t think I’m ready to let go just yet. Even Robbie has to wrestle me for him.” She clears her throat, and although she means to be playful, I know she is anything but. Her tight smile is a clue to that. After knowing Hazel for more than ten years,
I know that smile is bullshit. That fire scared the living fuck out of her, and it still affects her just as it affects all of us.

  “Haze, if you want to talk about it …” I start, but her shoulders stiffen.

  “No.” Her voice cuts through the air like a blade. “I don’t want to give that arsehole any further mention. He almost killed Gian and me. He destroyed Robbie’s business. He and my mother can go burn for all I care.”

  “Okay.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “But know that when you’re ready, I have a punching bag in my warehouse that you’re welcome to. I can probably source a couple of voodoo dolls, too. Just say the word, and we can make him a eunuch.”

  Trice snickers next to me as the tension releases from Hazel’s shoulders.

  “Thank you, Trin.” Haze’s voice drops to a soft whisper. “I know I need to talk about it, but right now, what’s in my arms is the only thing keeping me from losing my mind about that day.” A lone tear cascades down her face, and I bend down to the floor by her knees.

  “He’s pretty special.” I reach out and place my hand against his shoulder. “I am sensing that he’s going to have all of us wrapped around his little finger once he starts moving around.”

  “Definitely,” Trice adds, grabbing her phone to take a photo. She turns and faces the screen towards her to take an awkward selfie of the three of us.

  “Oh!” I giggle. “She’s capturing a moment. Smile biatches.” I rise slowly to avoid waking Gian and move to the couch next to Hazel’s chair.

  “So, whose arse am I going to put in lace and silk now that the group is on hold? You girls were my saving grace from the bridezillas.” For months I have designed some kick-arse outfits for both Haze and Trice for their Emerald Vixen cabaret group as a side project. It has spurred my creativity, and I love the naughty edge to it. Don’t get me wrong—my designs are pretty fucking epic for my bridal range, and even my formal gowns are to die for. But it is worth stepping out and doing something a little quirkier once in a while.