by Kitty French
‘Genie, this is Ada.’ Deanna made the introduction, almost hopping from one foot to the other with barely contained excitement. Genie shot her friend a quick, curious look as Ada surveyed the auditorium, then she stuck her hand out with a smile.
‘I’m Genie,’ she said, taking the other woman’s outstretched hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’
Ada nodded, her eyes still roaming the theatre. ‘This is quite the place you have here,’ she said, and right away Genie detected the rounded American accent behind her admiring tone. Ada turned her gaze to Deanna. ‘You weren’t lying when you said it was old school,’ she grinned, her hands on her hips and her face full of wonder as she took the old place in. ‘It’s just beautiful.’
Deanna nodded and then looked at Genie triumphantly. ‘Ada is a location scout for Dalton Productions.’
It wasn’t at all what Genie had anticipated her friend would say. She’d heard of Dalton Productions, of course she had, she hadn’t spent the last ten years living under a rock. They were one of the biggest movie producers in Hollywood, she’d grown up seeing their company logo emblazoned on the screen before scores of blockbuster films at the cinema.
‘Sounds an interesting job,’ Genie said carefully, her mind alight with hope and possibilities.
‘It sure is,’ Ada agreed, picking up her camera and looking through the lens with one eye squinted shut. ‘Bali, New Zealand, Moscow…it takes me all over, I love it.’
Deanna clutched her hands together in a move that said I want your life and spoke a little breathlessly. ‘Dalton are looking for a theatre to film a movie in later this year. And I thought this place might fit the bill.’
Ada nodded, readjusting the lens of the camera. ‘It’s a sweeping romantic saga set around the production of a musical during the second world war,’ she explained, lifting the camera to her eye again to check it. ‘Mind if I take a look around on my own? I want to get some close ups on the architectural details. I might be a while.’
‘Go for it,’ Genie said, finding her voice, opening her hands wide and smiling. ‘Go anywhere you need to.’ She gestured upwards. ‘The carving on the boxes is especially beautiful.’
Deanna and Genie watched Ada make her way out into the foyer and then sat down on the edge of the stage, their legs dangling.
‘What’s going on, Dee?’ Genie whispered.
Deanna grinned. ‘I know, crazy, right? I saw this article in my monthly photographers’ magazine about Dalton Productions, a big splashy double page spread. Anyway, it mentioned Ada and her fabulous job as a location scout, and after I died of jealousy I emailed her and told her about the theatre.’
‘You never told me you did that,’ Genie said, leaning her shoulder against Deanna’s and swinging her legs. They looked like a couple of kids skimming rocks off the end of a pier rather than two women trying to produce a miracle out of hope, thin air and glitter.
‘I didn’t really think anything would come of it,’ Deanna admitted, bright-eyed. ‘But then she emailed me and said it must be fate because they were actually looking for somewhere in London exactly like this and could she come over and see it in person. Oh my God, Genie! I didn’t tell you in case she changed her mind, but she didn’t and now she’s here. Isn’t that bizarre!’
Genie nodded. Bizarre was a good word for it. She still hadn’t quite taken it in. ‘So… how does it work then?’
‘That’s the best bit,’ Deanna said out of the side of her mouth, looking out for Ada. ‘If they decide this place fits the bill, then they hire it lock stock and barrel for the duration of the shoot.’
‘Which is… ?’
‘Four months! And here’s the even better bit. She mentioned a figure that would give you enough money to buy this place and go on a world cruise with the change! Honestly, G, I tried to look cool but I’m not sure I pulled it off… I practically wet myself!’
Genie’s mind raced at the news. It was a potential game changer. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she murmured.
‘It’s not definite yet,’ Deanna cautioned, clearly fearing that Genie would be too crushed if it didn’t come off.
‘I know, I know.’ Genie held Deanna’s hand. ‘Thank you Dee. Even if it doesn’t happen, I love that you’re trying so hard.’
Deanna squeezed her fingers and grinned. ‘Imagine it though G… Jesus, I hope Ryan Gosling is in it. I’ll be here every bloody day! In fact I’ll move in!’
Genie laughed. ‘You can have Uncle Davey’s flat when we kick God’s Gift out.’
Both girls fell silent. ‘I can’t believe we might actually pull this off,’ Deanna said quietly.
Genie nodded. The idea of being able to run upstairs and victoriously tell Abel Kingdom to book his flight home held a lot of appeal, but then… gah. But then nothing. She pushed any feelings of anything other than elation firmly down and out of her head. Better to concentrate all of her thoughts and hope on the slender American woman clicking away on her camera out in the foyer.
Spirits amongst the Divine Girls soared when they heard the - for now - confidential news about the movie, and it seemed to rub off on both their performances and the theatre’s books. Their sensual, high energy shows were very often sell-outs, and the theatre’s profits grew healthier by the day. It wouldn’t be enough on its own to trouble Abel Kingdom, but if the movie offer came through then they’d be home and dry.
Genie didn’t mention the lifeline to her uncle: the thought of getting his hopes up only to dash them again was too much to bear. So she hugged her secret to herself, and slept with her fingers crossed and dreamed big dreams of the theatre’s rosy future. Subtle renovations would be the order of the day, nothing too noticeable, just enough to let the old girl shine as she really deserved to. The movie Ada had outlined called for a place with faded grandeur, which was pretty much exactly what they had at the moment. Once the movie was done with and when funds permitted, Genie was going to see to it that Theatre Divine went all out from faded to fabulous.
Across the landing, Abel stewed in his own juices. He’d been avoiding Genie since the fondue incident, in fact he’d thrown the whole fondue set out the same day, as if it were personally to blame for the disastrous way their lunch date had ended. He hadn’t intended to call Genie a whore five minutes after throwing her on the floor and eating chocolate from the most intimate parts her body, it had just kind of happened that way. Why couldn’t she see the difference?
How could he explain that when she donned her disguise of feathers, glitter and rhinestones, she covered the real woman he was attracted to? How hard was it for her to understand that strippers didn’t turn him on? It was as if she didn’t see the distinction between the two sides of her life, and she was offended that he did.
Glancing outside and frowning at the gathering clouds overhead, he grabbed his jacket and slammed his way out of the theatre. The forecasters hadn’t been wrong with their stormy predictions for the day ahead on the radio. Rain, rain and more fucking infernal rain. Grey streets under grey skies in a city full of grey people. His skin itched as he walked the familiar route towards his childhood home. He didn’t have a conscious plan. Well he did, really, but because he hadn’t reached the point of being able to face it directly he told himself he was just going for a walk to blow away the cobwebs.
Cobwebs. That was exactly how he felt, as if invisible nets were being wrapped around him, tightening, constricting his breathing until he broke into a sweat and battled for air. He wanted to go home. He longed for the clean air and sunshine, for the warmth and familiarity of the friends he counted as family in the absence of the real thing.
Maybe that was why he’d let this thing with Genie get so tangled up: he was on his own here, and she staved off the spectre of his childhood. Even if they were at loggerheads, she was a distraction, a preoccupation – perhaps an obsession. She made him forget the bad stuff lurking around all the corners in this drab city. He didn’t look at London and see cosmopolitan or vibrant. He’d never
got past seeing it through his own eleven-year-old eyes, a place where he wasn’t safe, where people lied for convenience, and where love didn’t count for anything.
Love. It was a word he’d struggled with his whole adult life, because it was something no one had bothered to teach him as a child. He’d arrived in Australia hardened, and much as he’d embraced his new life, love wasn’t part of his mindset. He’d dated, sure, but always backed off when women wanted more from him than he had to give. Sex was one thing; he was more than happy to share his body, but emotional intimacy didn’t sit easy with him. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in love, or anything quite so dramatic. It was more that he didn't particularly see the benefit of it, nor did he consider himself eligible for it in the long term.
If your own mother can’t love you, who can?
And suddenly he was there, dragging his feet as he drew closer to the row of terraces, shabby two-up two-downs lived in by downtrodden people. And his mother. Head down, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched, he glanced up through his lashes towards her windows. It was a little before ten in the morning; early, by her standards in any case. Predictably, the curtains were still drawn downstairs, and Abel found himself caught between relief and irritation. Had he hoped to catch her up and ready for a visitor, or maybe just leaving the house, so as to force a meeting without him needing to knock on the door? Why was he even here?
He didn’t know what the hell he was going to say to her, he just knew that he couldn’t go back to Australia with unfinished business. What was the point in opening a gym around the corner from here, in stamping his authority and success on the area if he wasn’t going to see her? How could he erase the pencil stroke memories of a slight, dark haired boy in charity shop clothes from the history of these streets if he didn’t face down the reason he’d fallen through the cracks, become the invisible boy for so many years?
Movement caught his eye. The curtains were being opened. He walked on quickly, unreasonable panic rising in his throat. He made it to the end of the street and rounded the corner before bending double and throwing up in a drain.
Leaning shamefacedly on the nearest wall afterwards, horrified by the strength and physicality of his reaction, he caught his breath and pulled himself together. This wasn’t okay. This wasn’t how he’d expected to feel. He’d planned to come back here, to walk right on up that no doubt still cracked path to her front door and bang on it. To let her see his good clothes and decent shoes and know that she hadn’t broken him. He'd been back once before to offer her his help; this time he wanted only to show her how far he'd come without her.
Standing there, breathing in, breathing out, Abel grew slowly more and more angry. Angry with his mother for what she’d made him, and angry with himself for not proving her wrong. Breathe in. Breathe out. He concentrated on the steady tempo, regulating himself, calming down. He wasn’t a kid any more, and this wasn’t his home. He didn’t have to be here, but the fact was that he needed to come back one last time or else he’d be forever tied, bound by dirty ropes of self-doubt holding him back.
Lifting his head, he looked one way towards the main road, and then back over his shoulder towards the nondescript street he’d grown up on. After a long moment, he doubled back on himself and set off with a purposeful stride towards his mother’s house.
Back at the theatre, Genie was practically jumping for joy. Fresh off the phone with Ada from Dalton Productions, she sat down hard on the sofa with her hands flat against her hot cheeks that ached from smiling. Ada had fed back all of her findings on the theatre to the team at Dalton and it had been a unanimous decision - Theatre Divine was perfect for the movie and they’d like to get the ball rolling on contract negotiations as soon as possible. It meant closing down for a while for filming to take place, but how exciting would that be! And then the theatre would at last be back in the family, saved and secure, and she and Uncle D could go about the pleasurable business of restoring it to its well-deserved former glory.
She picked up her phone, desperate to tell him the good news, and then cut it off again before it rang out. She’d wait until the contracts came through, just to be double certain.
There was one person who she wasn’t going to wait to tell though. Abel goddamn Kingdom. She jumped up and headed for her door, a ball of euphoric energy. Brace yourself mister, I’m about to blindside you and you didn’t even see me coming.
Abel had been right about that path. It was still cracked, and what might have been a small patch of grass beside it was a mess of weeds and clumps of dry, bare earth. No change there then. He’d told himself that he was going to walk along it without faltering, and when he got the few steps further to the door he was going to raise his fist and knock on it hard. It was that or slink away like a coward, and of all the things that she’d made him, a coward wasn’t one of them.
The paint was peeling on the door, as it always had been, and the knocker was long gone. Abel swallowed hard and then knocked, three sharp raps that said: I’m not afraid.
He knew better than to expect her to answer quickly. Right about now she’d be glancing at the mantel clock in her room and wondering who might be knocking this early, whether she could be bothered to get up just to turn away an electricity meter reader or someone in a cheap suit selling religion door to door. She was more accustomed to late night callers.
Movement through the opaque glass panes told him she’d decided to answer the door. He swallowed hard and pushed his hands through his hair before shoving them both in the pockets of his leather jacket and pushing his shoulders back. This was it, then.
Genie banged on a different door, the one opposite her own on the top floor of the theatre.
‘Hey,’ she called out, after her knock met only silence. ‘I know you’re in there, so you may as well open up.’
She listened to the stillness, then banged again, irritated.
‘Open the door, Abel. I need to talk to you.’
Nothing at all. ‘Fine,’ she called out, eventually. ‘Fine. Have it your own way, but just for the record, ignoring me is pretty fucking childish. I’m over here whenever you’re ready. And you should know… I have news.’
She accentuated her words heavily, hoping to entice him out of his lair and failing, much to her annoyance. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she’d have been exposing her own childish streak, she’d have delivered a good kick to his door before turning on her heel and stomping back into her own apartment, thwarted.
Abel watched his mother’s face carefully as she opened the door. He had the advantage of the element of surprise to put him in the driving seat, to begin with at least. He badly needed to stay in it, to stay in charge of this situation without slamming his foot down on the accelerator and smashing himself into more pieces than he knew how to put back together.
Her initial, bland expression told him that she didn’t recognise him straight away, and the suspicious frown that followed soon after told him that she had. She didn’t say anything, and after a second her eyebrows moved up, a silent question. What the hell do you want?
‘Can I come in?’ he said shortly, lifting his shoulders in the slightest of shrugs.
She paused, considering, then swung the door open and walked away from him up the hallway. Abel took a last breath of morning air, and then ducked his head under the lintel and followed his mother inside his old home.
‘I take it this is just a flying visit,’ she said, her voice flat as she turned to face him in the small living room. So little had changed since his time here. Replaced cushions, maybe, and an incongruously girlish pink notepad on the floor beside the sofa. ‘Because your room isn’t your room any more. I use it for junk.’
He watched her reach for her cigarettes from beside the over stuffed letter-rack, the same place as always, and then go through the ritual of lighting up. She held the packet out towards him, lazy mockery in her eyes. The same eyes as his own. Did he make people feel the way she could just with a glance?
He sincerely hoped not.
He towered over her, and she flicked an imperious hand towards the sofa to bring him down to eye level. Abel looked around the gloomy, claustrophobic room with an inward sigh and opted for a dining chair at the small table near the window. His mother sat down opposite him, her heavy glass ashtray and cigarettes lined up on the table in front of her.
‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Abel?’
She couldn’t have made the fact that he was unwelcome more plain. In a perverse way, it made it easier. They were on the same page. The question he'd come to ask lingered in his parched mouth. This wasn’t a social call and there was no place for social niceties. He was here now, and he didn’t plan on coming back again. Out with it. He had nothing to lose.
‘I want to know who my father is.’
He wasn’t sure how to categorise the sound his mother made. Half laugh, half cough of surprise, and her lips curled into a slow, sarcastic smile as she looked down and tapped the lengthening ash from her cigarette.
‘Why?’
He lifted one shoulder. ‘Why not?’
‘You won’t get his kidney if you’re dying.’ She looked him over as she dragged deeply on the cigarette. ‘Or mine, for that matter.’
Abel was fine with that. He’d rather die than accept any part of his mother’s smoke-addled body. She seemed smaller than ever, more pinched around the mouth and lined around the eyes. Some women he knew in their fifties could pass for being in their thirties; his mother seemed to have gone the other way.
‘I’m not dying,’ he said. ‘I just want to know who he is.’
She blew smoke out and set her features in an arrangement that might have been an attempt at regret. Or defiance. Or mockery. He just couldn’t tell.
