Queen Kat, Carmel and St Jude Get a Life

by Maureen McCarthy

  Katerina, her head held high, began to glide slowly over to our table, a small ambiguous smile twisting her mouth. If she’d deliberately tried to make the most dramatic entrance possible, she could hardly have done better. Most of her hair was pinned high up on her head, with just a few soft curls falling down her back. The dress was made from some kind of clinging white velvet stuff. It was very tight with a low wide neckline and a slit that went up her thigh almost to her waist. She was way over-dressed for this kind of club, but I had to admit that she looked absolutely fantastic.

  ‘Well, hello, you two!’ She smiled breathlessly at Carmel and Anton and then turned to me.

  ‘And Jude!’ As though I was the last person she had been expecting to see.

  ‘Hi, Katerina,’ Carmel said quickly. I muttered hello sourly. I hated her so much for turning up like this.

  ‘It’s great you could come,’ Carmel said generously. She was uncomfortable too, but I could tell she was trying not to be intimidated by the glamour. Katerina’s men looked us all up and down silently as though we were all lesser beings.

  ‘Well, sit down, guys,’ I said with sarcastic brightness, deliberately ignoring the fact that I knew Glen. ‘Have a drink, why don’t you? Relax.’ They gave no response to my tone. But I think it kind of startled Anton into action. He smiled at them apologetically.

  ‘Yeah. Look, I’ll see if I can find some more chairs.’

  When they were all seated, the introductions began. I nudged Carmel. A couple of the guys from the band were urgently motioning for her to come back.

  ‘Carm,’ I said. ‘Quick. Get back there. They want you.’ But Carmel didn’t seem to be able to move. She was locked in, watching Katerina as Anton began introducing everyone at the table. His manners were impeccable, as always. He remembered everyone’s name and was able to say some nice little personal thing about each of them, which lightened the atmosphere a little. Katerina would fix each person briefly with her dazzling smile, then turn back to Anton with a kind of secret giggling, as though it was all a big joke and only she and Anton knew the punchline. It puzzled me. Something was going on, but I couldn’t work out what. I don’t think Anton could either.

  ‘Carmel! Come on!’ It was the other girl in the band. She was tapping Carmel on the shoulder and looked irate. ‘We want to start!’

  ‘Okay. I’m coming.’ Carmel gave the newcomers at the table a tentative smile. I saw to my dismay that she’d suddenly become very nervous. Her hands were shaking and her mouth was trembling a little.

  ‘Carmel,’ I said sternly, standing up so the others wouldn’t hear and grabbing her hand tightly. ‘You’re wonderful, you know that, don’t you?’ She gulped and nodded.

  ‘I feel stupid suddenly,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Jude, why did I ask her to come? I don’t want her to see me singing. I’m not going to be able to do it with her watching . . .’

  Sometimes I can feel what’s going on inside other people. I mean really feel it. I suddenly understood just how delicate and finely tuned was Carmel’s sense of herself. How fragile she was. She’d had eighteen years of feeling like a complete dud, and just a few short months of feeling that there just might be some real possibilities in her life. It wrung me out seeing her like that. I searched my brain frantically for some way of getting her back on track.

  ‘Okay,’ I said sharply, ‘so you stuff up. What’s the big deal? Eh? We’ll still love you. Me and Anton and . . . all the others. And you’ll still have that voice. What do you really care about her?’ She smiled. My heart gave a leap. It was working! I went on a bit, congratulating myself at the same time.

  ‘So, you mess everything up that you possibly can,’ I went on. ‘Where is the big deal about that in the broad scheme of things . . . eh?’ Carmel smiled and shook her head, as though she couldn’t believe how wise I was.

  ‘Yeah. You’re right, Jude.’

  ‘Of course I’m right,’ I went on, laying it on with a trowel. ‘We know about the broad scheme of things, don’t we? I mean, baby, we’re deep, right?’

  She giggled, let my hand go, and walked towards the stage.

  ‘Oh, Carmel!’ Katerina called from where she sat at the table. Her voice was clear, matter-of-fact, like a command.

  ‘Yes?’ Carmel said quietly, turning around.

  ‘Your father,’ Katerina began, and my insides began to heave. Shit! Oh, shit. Why hadn’t I remembered about Katerina being at home? ‘Your father has been waiting for you at the house all afternoon. He seemed to be in quite a state . . .’

  ‘What about?’ Carmel’s face had fallen. ‘Is there . . . something wrong? Did he say what he . . . ?’ A querulous mocking smile was playing around Katerina’s mouth.

  ‘Nothing wrong exactly,’ she smiled. ‘He just seemed very determined to take you home with him.’ She looked at me. ‘He saw your . . . er, protest on TV last night. He said something about your going home having been arranged by phone between your mother. and Jude . . .’ Carmel turned to me incredulously. I gulped. The three of us, Katerina, Carmel and I, kept looking from one to the other. We were the inner circle. The rest of them were watching from the sidelines.

  ‘Is that true?’ Carmel asked me in a small voice.

  ‘Yep,’ I said, not looking at her. ‘Your mother rang this morning.’ ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Jude?’ She was almost crying.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ I said. ‘I was going to tell you. Only . . .’

  ‘Only what, Jude?’ Carmel said, her eyes ablaze with anger. ‘Don’t you think I can look after myself? Make my own decisions? I mean really!’ She looked at Katerina. ‘Is he still there or what?’

  ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘When I left he was sitting on the step outside. I asked him in. Told him he could stay inside as long as he liked and that I was sure you’d be back soon . . . but he insisted on staying outside.’

  ‘Did you tell him where I was?’ Carmel whispered. ‘I mean the address of this place?’

  ‘No,’ Katerina shook her head. ‘I’d lost the address, so I couldn’t tell him.’ She smiled at one of the guys in glasses. ‘Rod knew where it was though, didn’t you, darling?’ The guy gave a terse little nod. I wanted to smash her face in.

  I didn’t know whether to get up, go around to Carmel and beg her to forgive me, or simply walk out. I needed to get away. From Katerina, from Anton, from Eduardo and all of them. It was all too much. I felt I’d suffocate if I had to stay there any longer. But Carmel beat me to it. She picked up her bag and headed for the door. We all watched open-mouthed. The rest of the band had been waiting patiently for her to rejoin them, so their eyes followed her too. And probably because she’d sung so well, dozens of eyes around the room followed her big frame striding out. Necks craned, people whispered to each other. I felt sick. I’d ruined her band, her night, her relationship with her father . . . what else?

  Suddenly she was back. At the glass doors leading out onto the street she’d turned around, swung the bag up on to her shoulder and stormed back into the room. Everyone seemed to take a breath in at the same time as they watched her make straight for the stage, a blazing defiance boiling all over her face. She flicked the hair out of her eyes, pulled off the diamanté earrings and threw them angrily onto the floor behind her. Then she kicked off her high-heeled shoes.

  ‘Sorry for the delay, everyone,’ she snarled into the microphone. ‘We’re going to do a few more numbers for you now.’

  There was a communal gasp and then all was still. It was as though she’d suddenly taken control, of the band, of the music, of everyone in the room. The skin on my arms prickled, went cold all over with excitement. She opened her mouth and the beautiful deep voice rolled out; it broke through really, through the whole two rooms like brooding distant thunder. The notes rose and fell, pulsed forward and back like an army moving in rhythm; threatening and retreating. ‘Desperado’. The classic Eagles song. But she made it sound as though it had never been sung before.

  By the time
she got to the end of it everyone’s nerves were tingling. The air was thick with melancholy and a queer elation too. Everyone’s lost dreams had been laid out flat for those few minutes, like the cards on the table in that strange song. We’d somehow been brought together. We’d all become part of it. The last note died away and the room broke into thunderous applause, shrill whistles, and cries for more.

  The next half hour was magic. Carmel ran through about six well-known songs. One after the other. Old classic blues and rock songs that most people knew, but her voice was giving them a new, raw edge. Even the rest of the band seemed to know that something quite special was happening. In the middle of the second song she took the microphone off its stand and roamed the stage, freeing herself. Seemingly only half aware of the crowd, she sang from the bottom of her soul. Within minutes everyone had risen, got as near to the stage as they could. They knew they were witnessing something they might never see again. With each new song I edged closer to the stage, until finally I was very near. I could see the beads of sweat along her forehead and nose, the damp hair sticking to her skin. I could see the pain in her face. I knew then why she was singing like that and it broke me up.

  Already I was lonely, standing in the middle of all these hot, half-drunk people crowding around to listen to her. Through the haze of cigarette smoke and the basic sound system they were greedy for what she was giving them. But I was only aware of myself coming home from university every night, eating dinner alone. No one to laugh or sing with. No one to lie around the floor with and talk to. I knew Carmel was giving it all she had because this would be her last chance for a long while, perhaps forever, to sing like that. This was her finale. She was going home with her father. The pain on her face told me that.

  I arrived home much later that night. It was the next morning, actually, because dawn was just starting to break as I put my key into the lock.

  ‘See ya, Declan. Thanks.’

  ‘You take care now, Jude.’ He waved from where he stood just by the gate. Annie was watching from the car. She gave me a thumbs-up sign.

  ‘Look after yourself, Jude!’

  ‘I will. Don’t worry.’ I grinned wearily at them and pushed the door open. I had been dreading this moment for the last few hours. I’d pleaded with them to come and eat Thai soup, pizza, drink more coffee, play music . . . pool, anything other than come back to find her gone. But now that I was here it wasn’t so bad. Like most things, once I actually faced it, it wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined.

  As soon as she’d finished singing Carmel had left by herself without saying anything much to anyone. She just stepped down from the stage, unsmiling, tossed her bag over her shoulder, and waved goodbye to our two tables. It was as though we were the last thing she’d been thinking about. She was frowning and tense. Anton had stood up, ready to accompany her I think, but it was obvious she didn’t want anyone with her. So he had simply watched her go, a puzzled frown clouding his face. Then Eduardo and Rosa had left together. I think I grunted ‘see ya’ to them, feeling as surly as an old goat. But by then I was past caring. José, Annie and Declan asked if I wanted to join them for coffee. ‘Sure,’ I’d said, as if in a bad dream, ‘let’s go and get coffee . . . and then we could go to Mario’s and play pool.’

  The silence thundered at me as I made my way down the hallway, through the lounge, and into the kitchen. The house was creaking and groaning beneath my feet in a way I’d never noticed before. I found myself wondering if it somehow knew something was up. I walked into the bathroom, feeling as if I was the only person alive in the whole city.

  I knew it wasn’t just a question of getting someone else in either. Before that year I’d spent a lot of time alone. I was quite comfortable with my own company. No, there was something else eating away at me and I couldn’t work out what it was. I walked back into the lounge room. Nothing seemed to have gone and nothing had been changed as far as I could see. The posters were still there. A mixture of Carmel’s and my CDs was still spread out on the cabinet where we’d left them the previous evening. I tried to dampen the hope that had began to uncurl in my chest. Perhaps . . .

  I tiptoed up the hallway to her room, very gently opened the door, and peered in. It was dark so I didn’t see anything at first. As my eyes adjusted I made out a figure lying on the bed with an arm resting on the pillow behind the head. She was there! Lying on the bed looking straight at me. Carmel. I blinked and gulped.

  ‘Hello,’ I said softly. There was a pause.

  ‘Come in, Jude,’ she said eventually. I breathed out, stepped into the room, and closed the door behind me.

  ‘So you didn’t go?’ I said, keeping quiet and subdued like her. She leant forward and patted the bed with one hand.

  ‘Sit down,’ she said. I did what I was told, then looked at her face. It was red and flushed, but she didn’t seem to need sympathy. On the contrary, she seemed very remote and in control. ‘I thought you’d be gone when I got back here,’ I blurted out. ‘I’m sorry about not telling you, but . . . Back to that town where you . . . don’t belong! I couldn’t stand the idea of it!’ My voice had choked up, and not only couldn’t I speak, I also couldn’t stop the tears that were coursing down my cheeks. Carmel edged a little nearer to me. She put a hand on my knee and patted it a couple of times.

  ‘See this,’ she said gently. She handed me an envelope. I took it, pulled out the large slip of white paper, and began to read.

  My dearest daughter Carmel,

  I waited for you as long as I could. I really don’t understand how you could do this to me. As I think you know, both your mother and I are anxious for you to come home. (I enclose $40 for the train fare.) Perhaps it was a mistake for me to come down to get you. But we know you don’t attend your schooling any more, and so can’t think of any good reason for you to be living in the city. Please come home as soon as you can, Carmel. We both love you very much and want the best for you. When you get here we can all sit down and decide together what course you might be able to get into at the local TAFE. (Do you remember Bert Monroe’s daughter Monica? She’s doing very well in her catering course. She told your mother that the teachers are all nice and friendly – and that there are all kinds of courses to pick from.) Best of all you could be living at home while you do the course. I don’t want to harp on this, Carmel, but you’re too young to be alone in the city. Mum and I were wrong to allow it in the first place. It’s too easy to get in with the wrong crowd.

  Come home, love, and we’ll forget and forgive everything.

  On a lighter note, did you know we had terrific rain (nearly two inches) last week? Thank God! This year looks like being a bumper season. If only the prices will hold till September when we sell the lambs.

  Love from Dad

  P.S. Had a short letter from Vince. He’s been north working on a big cattle station east of Mt Isa. He lost one of his dogs from the back of a truck on the way into town one day and he sounds pretty cut up about it.

  P.P.S. Mum heard somewhere that you were still seeing the boy from Yassfield. I hope this isn’t the case and that you’ve both come to your senses by now. He’s not our kind, Carmel. Sure it might be easy to be impressed with someone like him – all his money, etc. – but in the long run it’s better to stick with your own kind of people.

  See you soon, love. Just ring the night before you come, and we’ll pick you up from the station.

  I read it through again more carefully and then looked over at Carmel. But she was facing the wall. I couldn’t work out what to say. It was such a nice, kind, fatherly, boring . . . simply bloody awful letter. I put my hand tentatively on her leg.

  ‘Carmel?’ She gave a deep groan and sat up. She screwed both her fists up tightly and rubbed her eyes, gasping and sobbing. I put both arms around her and she leant into my shoulder, crying as if her heart would break.

  ‘Come on, Carmel,’ I said, almost afraid of the strength of her feeling. ‘It won’t be the end of the world.’

&nbs
p; ‘Yes, it will be. It is. It damn well is!’ she said, clutching me with both arms. I let her go on for a bit more.

  ‘So you’ve decided,’ I said softly. She nodded, my heart dived back into limbo land and I gave her what I hoped was an understanding squeeze. That father of hers knew how to push the right buttons. Parents were bloody master manipulators. It would be impossible to resist such an appeal to family love and loyalty.

  ‘I’ll help you pack everything up,’ I said carefully. ‘Maybe we can get someone to drive you so you don’t have to go by train . . .’

  She looked up, a strange expression on her face.

  ‘I’ll help you,’ I repeated.

  She sat back, shaking her head.

  ‘But . . . I ’m not going,’ she whispered.

  ‘What?’ I didn’t have a chance to feel happy. I was just shocked.

  ‘I’m not going home,’ she said again steadily.

  ‘But . . . you said . . .’ I didn’t quite believe her. I suppose I’d just seen her as someone who’d be easily swayed. All part of the delicate image of her I’d built up in my head. I hadn’t imagined her being able to withstand this kind of thing.

  ‘What are you going to say?’ I said, still not allowing myself to feel glad. After all, she looked wrung out.