by Robin Storey
‘Back a day early! Did you get sick of the family?’
‘Two days is about one-and-a-half days too long.’
He grinned. ‘I know what you mean. A few of us are going to Players after work for a couple of drinks. Want to come?’
Players was a restaurant and nightclub, the type of place where businessmen went for after-work drinks, and often stayed until the early hours of the morning. I was about to decline, not being in the mood for socialising, but decided it might be better than sitting at home thinking about Frankie.
But as I sat on a velveteen couch in the lounge bar, bathed in blue and purple light with Shakira belting it out in the background and listening to the partners discussing the ups and downs of the Sydney property market, I wished I’d gone with my first impulse to go home. The two paralegals, Emma and Rose, were discussing Rose’s upcoming $50,000 wedding, and Jared and the other graduate lawyer, Bryce, were sitting at the bar, a good vantage point for checking out the women.
I felt a strange sense of disconnection from them all, as if I were watching their lives through a window – lives that were completely foreign to me. And yet it was only three months ago that I’d sat in this same club, and drank and cracked jokes with them until we’d been asked by the manager very politely (then not so politely) to leave.
I slipped out at 9.30 before anyone could make a big deal of my leaving early while still stone cold sober. I’d left my car at work, so I caught a cab home. A brackish wind whipped around me as I got out. Although the spring days were clear and balmy, the nights reminded you that winter wasn’t yet ready to relinquish its hold. As I entered my apartment block foyer, I was instantly enveloped in its warmth. I walked up the two flights of stairs to my apartment, dug my keys out of my pocket and felt in the darkness for the shape of my front door key. Something whacked me on the head and it exploded with pain. Then nothing.
Chapter 17
11 months later. September 2007
You’re so tough on the outside
But you’re just a little girl wanting to hide
Your eyes tell a story of sorrow and pain
But darling when I see you again
There’ll be no past
Just today.
A TABLE of girls on a hen’s night out at The Three Monkeys clapped and whistled as I faded out of the song ‘Just Today’. It was the missing song on my album, the one I’d struggled with for so long. It had come to me, fully formed, after I’d recovered from my blow to the head, as if it had been waiting there all along for me to find it and transpose it.
‘Thanks everyone, just taking a small break,’ I said into the microphone, ‘Don’t go away, I’ll be back soon.’
A young couple wandered over to the side of the stage where I had copies of my CD for sale on a table. The girl picked up the CD cover. Life’s a Stage – Will McPherson. I still felt a glow of pride six months after its release. This was something tangible I’d created from my own mind, which now had a life of its own. Sales had been pretty good for an indie album by an unknown; but even if it touched only a few people, it seemed more significant than being an expert on bankruptcy, or any facet of the law. There were countless lawyers who could do the same job as me, with the same level of expertise, but there was only one Will McPherson who could write these songs.
‘I loved that last song,’ the girl said. ‘It made me cry.’
Her boyfriend rolled his eyes at me, but I ignored him. I smiled at the girl.
‘Thanks, it’s one of my favourites too.’ I was on her side. I wanted her to buy the CD, which she did.
I sat at the bar, sipping my mineral water. I’d had a lot of people compliment me on that song, which I secretly called Frankie’s Song. It was without a doubt the best song on the album. It was probably just as well she’d never heard it; it would just give her a chance to reject me again and twist the knife even further.
I’d had no contact with her since the attack on me almost 12 months ago. Not that I hadn’t tried, despite the warning in the crumpled note that I found shoved under the front door after I came to – ‘Stay away from Eddie’s missus. Next time you won’t wake up’.
I’d phoned Frankie numerous times and left text messages. I even phoned Mrs Magic Cleaning and left messages for her to phone me. All to no avail. The police investigated the matter but said they had no leads and advised me that the best course of action was, as the note said, to stay away from Eddie’s missus. I wondered if she’d been attacked as well and that was why she hadn’t responded to my messages; and each time, I felt a stab of guilt that I was responsible. I was in a state of constant flux – wanting to see her again but not wanting to endanger her safety.
Joe jolted me out of my thoughts. ‘Good night, mate?’
‘Pretty good, the 50th birthday crowd is pretty keen. Looks like I’ll be doing plenty of Eagles and Rolling Stones later on.’
I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and looked straight into those beautiful, haunted eyes.
‘Hi,’ Frankie said. Her smile was uncertain, as if unsure of her reception.
My words stuck in my throat. My first thought was that my psychic powers had summoned her – I’d been thinking of her and there she was. Even though I didn’t believe in psychic powers. God how I’d missed her. She was standing two feet away from me, yet I was acutely aware of every inch of her, right down to the beating of her heart and the blood pumping through her veins.
‘Hi, stranger,’ I finally said.
‘I heard your last song,’ she said.
My embarrassment was overlaid by surprise. ‘Where were you sitting? I didn’t see you.’
She pointed in a vague direction behind me. ‘Over there, behind the post.’ She was wearing orange jeans, boots and a purple velvet jacket over a snug jumper that moulded her breasts. Don’t look at her breasts.
‘Was it about me?’
I nodded. Her eyes grew misty. ‘I’ve never had a song written about me before.’
‘It’s about you and it’s for you. It’s yours to keep forever. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have wrapped it up with a bow and presented it to you.’
She gave a wistful smile that made my heart turn over.
‘So you just happened to be in the area?’
‘I came by to apologise. About you being attacked.’
‘It’s a bit late now.’ I took her hand. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was pretty pissed off at the time, not to mention sore, but there was no permanent damage. I was more concerned about you.’
‘I got a note saying you’d been done over and if I had any more contact with you, they’d do me over too.’
‘I got a threatening note as well. Just in case knocking me unconscious wasn’t enough.’
Frankie stared at her feet. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry.’
‘Stop apologising – it’s not your fault.’
‘Two days afterwards I got a big bunch of flowers delivered, and a note from Eddie saying he was sorry for threatening me.’
‘So that made everything right again?’
She looked daggers at me, but before she could answer, Joe interrupted.
‘Would the lady like a drink?’
‘No thanks,’ Frankie said.
‘You’re taking a risk coming here tonight then,’ I said.
‘He’s backed off now; he gets out on parole in a couple of weeks. That’s the other reason I came – to say goodbye.’
Of course. I should have seen that coming.
‘Where are you going?’ I tried to sound casual, as if my hopes hadn’t been built up and dashed to pieces in the space of a few minutes.
‘Maitland. No-one knows us there and we can make a fresh start. Eddie’s already got a labouring job lined up and I’ll get work, I don’t care what I do.’
What could I say? Have a good life?
‘Frankie, I want to ask you something. Will you promise to answer me honestly?’
‘I’m not promising
anything till I hear the question.’
‘What hold has Eddie got over you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re an intelligent, gorgeous woman. And you’ve got guts. If you wanted out of that relationship, you’d just get up and go. Violence or no violence. There are plenty of people who can help you. So there must be a reason you’re hanging in.’
“I love him.’
‘Can you look me in the eye and tell me that?’
She held my gaze but said nothing.
‘Or is it fear?’
She looked over my shoulder and signalled to Joe. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have a rum and Coke, please.’
She refused to let me pay for it. After Joe delivered it, she took a sip then swirled the ice around in her glass with her straw. ‘Eddie’s changed. I can see it when I visit him. He’s been going to counselling in prison and he’s determined to stay straight, for the sake of our future family. When he’s not on drugs, he’s the sweetest guy.’
I had a major problem with the words ‘Eddie and ‘sweetest’ being linked together, but I swallowed my revulsion. I checked my watch. I should have been back on stage five minutes ago.
‘Can you hang around for a while? I’ll be finished in an hour. I’ll buy you another drink.’
‘I don’t think...’
‘You owe me – it’s the least you can do after me spending a night in hospital and walking around with a huge egg on my head, which gave rise to all sorts of unsavoury speculation.’
She gave me one of her looks. ‘You really know how to play dirty. First you tell me it wasn’t my fault, then you pull out the guilt card to bribe me into having a drink with you.’
I grinned. ‘What do you expect from a lawyer? As far as I’m concerned, the end justifies the means.’
She sighed. ‘Okay, just one drink.’
She took her glass and perched on a nearby stool. The birthday group welcomed me back exuberantly and as predicted, inundated me with requests for covers from the 70s and 80s. I felt Frankie’s eyes on me, and I played and sang harder and stronger, softer and more expressively than I ever had before, as if all the songs had been created from my own inner core.
A couple of songs in I noticed Sarah at the bar, talking to the bar manager and watching me at the same time. I hadn’t seen her all night as she’d been supervising in the function room upstairs. I flashed her a smile and she waved back.
I finished an Eagles bracket then a male voice yelled, ‘Play “Brown Eyed Girl” again!’
‘I think once a night for “Brown-Eyed Girl” is enough,’ I replied, to raucous laughter. ‘But I can do another Van Morrison song called “Someone Like You.” It’s a beautiful song and there’s a beautiful lady sitting in the audience who can sing it with me. Come on up, Frankie!’
Everyone swivelled around and Frankie glared at me with laser-like intensity. A chant started up to the rhythm of clapping hands: ‘Frankie! Frankie!’
‘Come on, Frankie!’ I called. ‘They love you already and you haven’t even sung a note!’
Crowd expectation exerts powerful pressure; but even so, I half expected Frankie to get up and walk out. But she made her way to the stage, accompanied by cheers and whistles.
‘You arsehole!’ she hissed at me.
‘You can thank me later.’ Someone handed me up another chair and I plugged in the second mike, which I always carried with me. I placed the sheet music on the music stand. ‘You know this song?’
‘Too bad if I don’t, isn’t it?’
I wasn’t perturbed, as I knew she’d pick it up quickly. I sang the first verse, which gave her time to familiarise herself with the melody, then she sang the second verse. Her honeyed tones dipped and soared effortlessly and imbued the song with such an undertone of bitter-sweetness that a lump rose in my throat. As we came to the final chorus, I suddenly became aware of my surroundings – of the stillness in the audience, and the throng of faces all turned towards us.
The final notes faded away to thunderous applause and whistles. ‘More! More! Moondance!’
I raised my eyebrows at Frankie. She shrugged, which I took for a ‘yes,’ so we launched into ‘Moondance’, followed by the classic favourite, ‘Eagle Rock’. By now the dance floor was packed, bodies in various stages of intoxication bouncing and shuffling. After a few more dance songs and a second rendition of Happy Birthday for the birthday boy, who was by now looking the worse for wear and decidedly older than his 50 years, we wound it up. The crowd started to fizzle out and the hard-core partygoers stayed on the dance floor bopping to the jukebox.
Frankie went to find us a table while I ordered us a drink at the bar.
‘That was great,’ a voice said at my shoulder.
I turned around. Sarah was smiling at me. ‘Your friend was fantastic. Was that really an impromptu performance?’
‘Yes. Frankie’s got the knack of being able to hear a melody and harmonise perfectly first time.’
‘Have you two known each other long?’
‘Not really. I met her briefly at a pub where she was doing a gig; so when I saw her here tonight, I called her up on stage. I knew she’d be brilliant.’
I was surprised at how easily that lie had presented itself to me and how glibly I told it. Admittedly, I’d had lots of practice recently. At the same time I was annoyed with myself for feeling compelled to lie to Sarah. What did it matter what she thought of my relationship with Frankie? The fact that she wanted more than friendship from me was surely her problem, not mine.
Joe handed me my drinks and before Sarah had time to probe further, I said, ‘Gotta go. See you next time’.
I found Frankie at a corner table and as I sat down, I said, ‘You’re a natural. I’ve told you this before – you should be doing this as a career.’
‘Yeah, right.’
Her offhand comment was belied by the glow on her face. I’d watched her face as she sang, luminescent with the joy of a wanderer who’d found home, a place where she belonged. This was where she was meant to be – singing. With me. The two of us. How could I convince her?
‘Seriously, Frankie, you could have sung a page out of the telephone directory and they’d have loved it. You made it sound as if we sing together all the time.’
She shrugged. ‘I enjoy it, but it’s not something that brings in a steady wage.’
‘I guess Eddie wouldn’t be too happy about it. You up on stage, the centre of attention, all the men ogling you.’
Her face closed over. I’d broken the spell. Dammit – why did I have to spoil it by bringing up Eddie?
I stroked her hand. ‘Sorry, let’s change the subject. Will you spend the night with me?’
She looked away. But I’d seen it in her eyes – a desire so naked my heart skipped a beat.
‘What’s the point?’ she said dully.
‘I want to spend a night with you while I have the opportunity. Who knows if we’ll get another chance?’
What the hell, I had nothing to lose. She was going off to play happy families with Eddie and I’d already bared my soul to her in my song.
‘In case you haven’t guessed, I’m in love with you, Frankie. There hasn’t been a minute in the last few months you haven’t been on my mind. You’ve chosen to be with Eddie and I’m not going to pretend I’m okay with that, but I also know there’s nothing I can do about it. So let’s forget about all that and just enjoy being together tonight.’
Frankie took a deep breath. ‘‘Okay, on one condition. That we don’t go to your place. I don’t want to take any chances.’
‘Okay, I’ll book us into a motel. There’s one just down the road.’
‘And another condition. That you don’t mention the word love.’
#
The motel room was less than ideal for a last romantic tryst. Cheerless décor, faded curtains and scratched bedside tables. The Air Wick air freshener was fighting a losing battle with the musty odour. I’d bought a bottle of cha
mpagne from the bottle shop before we left the hotel and we sat up in bed, propped up by the lumpy pillows and sipped it out of chipped wine glasses.
I put my glass down, gently removed Frankie’s glass from her hand, tilted her face towards me and kissed her. I felt her defences dissolving as surely as if she were in a flotation tank. Our lovemaking was an opera of sighing, whispering, moaning, gasping, with both of us playing all the roles. My passion was so overwhelming that I had to consciously rein myself in, for fear of hurting Frankie. She responded with an intensity sparked by the desperation of knowing this was the last time we’d be together.
Afterwards as Frankie lay in my arms, I watched the dancing patterns the car lights made on the curtains. I was tired, the sublime tiredness of total repletion, but I couldn’t allow myself to fall asleep. I wanted to cherish every last second.
‘If money were no object, what would you want most in the world?’ I asked.
Frankie ran her fingers through my chest hair. ‘Money can’t buy what I want most in the world.’
I waited for her to continue.
‘All I want is a family. People make fun of wanting the cottage in a small town with the white picket fence but that’s exactly what I want. Mum and Dad cuddling on the couch, kids kicking a ball in the backyard, a roast cooking in the oven. And the kids knowing that their parents will always be there for them and that they’d kill anyone who tried to take them away. It probably sounds boring to you but that’s my dream.’
‘I think it’s a beautiful dream.’ I traced my finger around her ear. ‘You could have that dream with me.’
Frankie drew in a long breath that sounded like a half-sob. ‘I can’t. It’s too late.’
It’s never too late. I wish you could see that.
I drew her into me so closely I could feel her heart beating against my chest. I soon heard her steady, rhythmic breathing and fell into a deep dreamless sleep, the best I’d had in the last 12 months.
Chapter 18
Six years later. August 2013
MARIA Catalano leaned back in her sumptuous leather office chair and surveyed me.
‘So, Mr McPherson, why are you here?’
