The young woman—I think her name was Shandra—fussed over my hair, straightening as much of the mess as she could in the time she had. In the end, she had to settle for a half updo to hide the stubborn waves.
Mark whispered to me, “You’re up, Mollie! Come stand here behind the curtain. I know you haven’t had a chance to practice walking on the runway, but just a few pointers. First, smile. Second, don’t fall off the stage. Walk to the end, turn around and walk back to the start. Do that twice, then stand at the back of the stage until Natalie says goodbye to you. Got it?” I nodded obediently, praying that I’d remember.
“Now introducing Mollie, wearing ‘Spring Fantasy’.” I stepped onto the stage, placing my hand on my hip, just like I’d seen the reality TV models do. I smiled and sauntered slowly to the end of the stage, but I couldn’t see anyone’s faces clearly, because the lights shone brightly into my eyes. I kind of liked that—it made the whole thing easier. I’d heard Natalie mention to flutter sleeves, so I paused and took a spin to show how they flowed. The audience applauded and I felt like a movie star. I walked back and forth and tried not to look at Natalie for fear I’d freak her—or myself—out.
“Thank you, Mollie.” I smiled and nodded to Natalie as I strutted my stuff back through the curtain. Mark and Shandra, the cosmetician, met me with smiles and small claps.
“Don’t take your shoes off, come get in line. You’ll all walk out together. Remember to count to ten before you step out. Always keep some distance between you and the model in front of you. Here we go, ladies!” Mark clapped as all ten of us walked back out onto the stage. The audience went wild and Natalie applauded us, too. What an amazing way to end the day. No wonder models loved doing this. I stood still for the photographs. A few local papers had decided to cover the fashion show. This was going to be incredible for Nat.
“Natalie, great show. I loved every bit of it. On behalf of Gustafson and Company, I would like to offer you a contract for your entire line. My guy will be calling you tomorrow to iron out the details. Congratulations!” My dark-haired friend beamed and shook the representative’s hand.
“Thank you. I look forward to working with you all.” She walked him to the door and said goodbye to her guests as they congratulated her success on their way out. Finally, she came and hugged me. “You are a true friend, Mollie. Thank you for helping me in my hour of need. I’ll never forget this.” She hugged me tight and thanked me again.
“No worries, my friend. I’ve got your back!”
By the time I’d made it home again, I was dead on my feet, but my confidence was over the moon. I’d done it! I’d actually modeled! I thought about what tomorrow’s papers would say about the show and then I crawled into bed and passed out, dreaming of modeling for a solo audience who looked a lot like Jack Fitzgerald.
Chapter Eleven — Jack
I took a drag off my cigarette and listened to the voicemail again. “This is Sergeant Shanahan with the Metro Police Department. I’m calling to inform you that your mother, Nellie Fitzgerald, has been arrested for public intoxication. She will be in our facility until such time as someone chooses to make bail. Please call 555-0365 and refer to case number 3716514 for more information.”
Fuck, Mom? Again? I took another drag and blew the smoke into tiny curls. As I watched them dissipate, I thought about how bad I really needed to quit smoking. Yeah…some other day.
I hated to admit it, but being alone in the house was great. No one yelling, no one puking all over the place. Just my thoughts and me. I put on a pot of coffee to brew, and by the time it began to drip, the phone rang again. I didn’t answer it. I was too busy rummaging around the pantry looking for something to eat. I wanted to buy groceries but Mom would only invite her drinking buddies over who’d eat it all, so it wasn’t worth it. I didn’t mind feeding the hungry, not at all, but Mom’s friends weren’t ‘the hungry’. They were the ‘spent all my money on booze’ crowd. I found a Pop-Tart, opened it and the phone rang again. I didn’t want to talk to the cops, so I let it ring but soon, I heard my mother’s voice over the phone. “Jack, this is Mom. Listen.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “These fucking cops arrested me again. Come get me out. I know you got the money. Just fucking come get me!”
I still didn’t pick up. Sure, I could get her out, but she’d just get high again or try to kill herself with booze. I never could figure that out. At least if she were behind bars, she couldn’t drink herself stupid and I was kind of enjoying the solitude, despite the phone ringing. I took a sip of my coffee and left her yelling into the machine—again.
I walked outside into the sunshine with my coffee and popped the hood of my car. As if a bell went off, Ricky and Mario came over to watch me. They had a thousand questions about the fight, the next race and, of course, Mollie. Ricky was especially on the Mollie bandwagon. “You know what?” He chewed on a hot dog, ketchup and mustard all over his chin. “You need a good woman and that nurse is a nice lady. She’s pretty and she smelled good, too. Why don’t you ask her out?”
I rubbed the scruff on my chin and stared at him. “You giving me relationship advice, little dude?”
Ricky nodded at me. “Yeah, I am, but you should listen to me. I know a hot lady when I see one.”
I tousled his hair with my hand and laughed at him. “Okay, little man. If I ever need a date, I’ll ask her, but I don’t think she’s my type. Now, hand me that wrench.” How could I explain to him that Mollie was way out of my league and I was too chicken to ask her out?
“I don’t get it. Why isn’t she your type? She’s a girl, right?”
I flicked the cigarette into the street and kept working on my car. “Well, for starters, she’s kind of short.”
“You ain’t that tall, Fitz.”
“Coming from a guy who’s only three feet nothing?” I laughed and added, “Anyway, I don’t know if I like blondes.”
“What’s wrong with blondes? I like ‘em.”
I grinned at him. “You’re an expert on girls, now?”
“No, but Andre is and he taught me everything he knows.” I had to laugh out loud.
“Well, Andre’s still a kid. But I’m glad he’s teaching you something important. He still teaching you how to make a basket?”
“Yep, I just need to get a little taller and I’ll join the NBA. I’m gonna be famous.”
“Good job, Rick. You’ll get there.”
Thankfully, Andre and a few other kids showed up and started asking me questions about the modifications I was making. I let ‘Dre use some tools to help me change belts and plugs. As always, I slid him some money as a thank you for taking care of the rest of the kids.
After a couple of hours, I closed the hood and went into the house to clean up. “Geesh!” I had seven voicemail messages—all of which I was sure were from Mom. I skipped through her swearing until I got to the last one.
“Hi, this is Sylvia from Stockton Racing, just following up on our recent correspondence. Would you please call me back at—” I scribbled the number down and tapped the pencil on the countertop.
What was I going to say? I dialed the number and waited for Ms. Donahue to pick up. “Hi, Sylvia Donahue? This is Jack Fitzgerald. Thanks for calling me back. I’m very interested in taking a spin on your racetrack, but I’ve got some family matters I have to take care of for the next few weeks. I hope that doesn’t disqualify me.”
“Not at all. Stockton is a family organization, we understand. Call me back when you’ve settled your affairs and we’ll schedule a meeting. Say, in three weeks? Is that enough time? We really do need to be moving ahead after that as the race season will be on us.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “That sounds great. Thanks so much. No problem. I should have everything tied up by then.”
“Mr. Fitzgerald…I don’t have to tell you to keep your nose clean, do I? Stockton isn’t really interested in your past, but we will have an interest in any current issue that might arise. I hope you underst
and me.”
“I’m squeaky clean, Ms. Donahue. Thanks again.” I hung up the phone, feeling strangely optimistic and a little nervous. Don’t blow this, dude! I wanted to think things were starting to look up for me—then the phone rang again. My mother, the woman who gave birth to me, bombarded me with name-calling and curses. I hung up, and then turned the ringer off. She wasn’t going to ruin this moment for me. She might have ruined my father’s life, but she wasn’t going to ruin mine. Not if I could help it.
I saw the voicemail light flash again. “Sit tight, Mom,” I said to myself. “I’ll be there soon.” I sat back in the easy chair and pulled the note out of my pocket. ‘Call me 555-2468 Mollie.’ Wow, this could be life changing for me. I ran my fingers over the yellow sticky note. I couldn’t believe she was interested, but I slid my phone out of my pocket and pressed the numbers. My throat tightened and I swallowed hard as I slid my finger across the call button. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to say, so I figured ‘Hi’ would be my best bet. Not the best pick-up line in the world, but then Mollie wasn’t just any girl. She was amazing, like no one I’d ever met, and I didn’t want to say something stupid or derogatory. She wasn’t one of the sleazy race groupies that fell all over me—she was a proper girl, and beautiful, at that.
I hung up when the call went to voicemail. Shit! I’d worked myself up for that? Fucking voicemail? My heart was pounding as I tapped the phone up and down on my leg and thought about Mollie. I wondered why she didn’t pick up. She was probably in a meeting or something.
I knew I had to give her another call before I gave up. I’d mustered up the courage to call her once and I wasn’t about to let her get away. I’d been with a million girls and I didn’t know why this was so hard for me. I took a deep breath and pressed the ‘send’ button again. This time, I’d be prepared to leave a voicemail. I cleared my throat while the recorded voice told me to leave a message at the tone. My heart thumped, my hand balled up in a fist and my leg bounced like a basketball. Right after the tone, I started.
“Hi, Mollie. This is Jack—” Then I relaxed, imagining she was right there in front of me, as if I was talking to her, face-to-face, and the words just seemed to flow naturally. I doubted if it took thirty seconds to leave a message and press ‘End’, and then the doubts crept over me again. Maybe she wasn’t serious when she wrote that note. Maybe she was still in the ‘Help a sick child’ zone? Well, I wasn’t a sick child. I sat there for a minute, looking at the note. Did I just make a fool of myself? Fuck! I wondered if I’d ever understand women, though it’s not like I’d had the best role model.
I knew exactly what I needed to take some of this stress away.
Chapter Twelve — Mollie
I’d practically worn the rubber off my shoes, putting up flyers and visiting nearby businesses to spread the word about the dire situation that the clinic was in. My heart still stung from Dad’s refusal to help me fundraise for such a good cause, but I knew I couldn’t change his mind. That didn’t stop me from leaving a flyer on his desk, though.
I’d wanted to set up a crowd fund on the internet, but Dr. Hopkins was leery at best. He admitted he wasn’t really all that internet-savvy and he’d said it sounded like a scam. I tried to explain to him that there were a little over two hundred thousand people in our town, and if everyone sent in one dollar, we’d be able to keep the clinic open, for a very long time. Understandably, he had a position to uphold in the community and he was afraid people might think he’d take the money and run, so I went old school and flyers it was.
During my canvassing, most people had nothing but good things to say about Dr. Hopkins and the Village Clinic. One exception was the nearby laundry; they complained, saying that the clinic drew drug addicts to the area. I tried to be polite and explained to them that we didn’t prescribe any pain meds or anything a drug addict would consider a drug. We weren’t a methadone clinic, either, so I didn’t know why they thought we’d draw in more drug dealers. Maybe it was a language barrier or just stubbornness on their part, but they told me to, “Go away!”
After all my walking and hard work, I only had half of the amount we needed. Dr. Hopkins said we needed 10k just to keep basic services going for a month. Thanks in large part to my best friend, we had 5k raised or pledged, but why couldn’t people see that we needed a community clinic? I fought back feelings of hopelessness and discouragement, especially after I’d spent the day with kids like Ricky and Andre.
I decided to take matters into my own hands. I had the money in my trust—why couldn’t I make the donation? There was only one obstacle in my way—just one six-foot tall obstacle called Dad. Until I was twenty-five, he had the last say on every withdrawal I made of more than a few hundred dollars a month, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it? I decided to take this fight to him, so I went to his office and took the elevator up to the seventh floor. It had been quite some time since I’d visited him here—years, in fact.
“Hi Julie. I’m here to see Dad.” I peeked over the ridiculously tall reception stand at the office. Four attorneys worked here, each with several assistants and a vast research library they all shared.
Julie walked out from behind the desk and hugged me. “Mollie! I haven’t seen you in ages. Let me call your dad—oh, forget that. Let’s just go see him, no one else is in there right now.” Julie smiled at me and tapped on the huge wooden door to his office. I admired Dad’s new gold-toned nameplate—very shiny and professional. “Mr. DuBois, look who came to see you today…”
“Hi, Dad.” I waved and grinned at him. He looked surprised, maybe even a little put out by my unannounced visit.
“Mollie, come in. Thanks, Julie. I was just about to grab a cup of coffee. Do you want anything to drink?”
“No, thanks. I had some coffee on the way over.” I took a deep breath. “Okay, Dad, I know you’re busy and I don’t want to take up lawyer time.” Julie smiled as she closed the door and left us alone.
“Okay, so I want to have a reasonable conversation with you about the Village Clinic.” Okay, no yelling so far. I continued, “You know I’ve been working really hard to raise the money we need and so far, I have almost half of it. I was wondering…I mean— I would like to make a donation to the clinic from my trust. I understand that you have to approve any withdrawals over five hundred dollars. The clinic needs five thousand. Will you sign off on this for me?”
Dad was calm, so calm that I could tell he’d been thinking about this. He must have known I’d ask eventually. “You really want to spend your trust fund on this kind of thing? What’s your return going to be? Is this a loan or a gift?”
“It would be a gift, Dad. Dr. Hopkins can’t pay me back. He hardly gets paid anything himself.” He snorted a little, I suppose at the idea of a doctor who wasn’t getting paid. Keep calm, no arguing. Dad leaned back in his high back, leather chair and interlaced his fingers behind his head.
“Mollie, I’m very proud of you for caring. Makes me think the past six years of raising you on my own wasn’t that bad. I know you have heart, but I wish you’d use your head as well. But, if you really want to do this, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll give you the money for the clinic if you agree to take your residency at University Hospital. They’ve already contacted you and made the offer. You have a place if you want it. Promise me you’ll take it, and then—I’ll write the check.”
I wanted to be excited about the check, but leaving the clinic wasn’t what I wanted. We were at least talking about it and no one was yelling—that was a start, but things weren’t all that different. Dad was still manipulating me, only this time it was on a different level.
“Don’t say no, yet. Think about it with a level head. First of all, you get what you want, funding for the clinic, and I also get what I want, a daughter in a safe residency. University Hospital is a great place to start a career. I don’t know anyone in their right mind who wouldn’t want to be there.” My father smiled at me as though he’d won the ar
gument. “What do you say? Deal?”
“Why do you do this, Dad? Why do you have to control what I do all the time? Don’t you realize when you do that, you just push me away?” It was time for some emotional honesty here. I reached out one more time.
Dad stared at me. “Honey, I’m not trying to push you away. I just don’t’ want anything bad to happen to you. You’re all I’ve got.” His voice broke. “I lost your mom. I don’t want to lose you, too. Everything I do is for you, but it’s like you don’t see it or understand it.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. I felt angry and I just lost it. “First, you didn’t ‘lose’ Mom—she died. Cancer, remember? And I was there, I watched the fucking cancer kill her, Dad, so don’t think it’s all on you,” I snapped. I knew it wasn’t my Dad’s fault but I guess I just needed to blame someone for taking my mom away from me. I’d never once cursed in front of him before, and the look he gave me told me I’d better not do it again.
Right then, my phone rang, but I ignored it and let it go to voicemail. I was finally getting some answers from my dad and I wasn’t about to let a phone call mess that up, especially since it was probably Natalie. She wouldn’t mind waiting.
My father walked out from behind his desk and sat in the chair next to me. “Mols, I know you were there and that’s why you chose nursing. You wanted to help other sick people get well.” Dad got quiet as he reflected on that painful moment in his past. I knew my dad had loved my mom and we were such a happy family—until the chemo and then the radiation. Mom had suffered a complete mastectomy, and that’s when the depression hit and she lost the battle. Not only with the cancer, but with her own demons, as well.
Tears streamed down my face as I thought back on those days. I remembered my dad was incredible and he was by her side for months. They still made me go to school and I vowed to myself I’d do something with my life to help other people. Mom’s caretakers were great and they gave me inspiration, even though we knew the end result would be tragic.
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