4
SAN FRANCISCO
Molly pushed open the lounge door,
ready to brave the hoards of sleazy partygoers, turning the name Jack Catholic
over in her mind. She took a deep breath to stave off the inevitable overuse of
cologne but inside, the room was all but empty.
The huge lounge had been redecorated
especially for the event. White table cloths lining the opposite wall were
covered with expensively catered finger food and alcohol. A team of catering staff
stood ready, seven of them: five women and two men, dressed in black pants and
white short-sleeved shirts.
But no guests; not one; and Molly’s
mother, Jennifer, was sitting in the middle of the room on one of the new white
leather sofas, head in her hands, weeping. Her pale blond hair swirled round
her head in an extravagant style, and she was wearing an elegant ankle length
dress that showed off her lean “salsa-cised” figure. She had spent almost three
months preparing for this day and here she was, crying as though it were her
sixth birthday party and none of her friends had turned up.
Molly moved forward several steps to
comfort her but stopped, still ten feet away. “Mother? Are you okay?” It was a
clumsy, stupid question and didn’t prompt an answer. Molly went over, wishing
the barriers that had formed between them in recent years weren’t there.
“Mother?”
Jennifer lifted her head, hearing
Molly for the first time. She drew in a sharp breath, halting mid-sob. Only the
very centre of her otherwise smooth forehead was creased into a series of tiny horizontal
lines. The breath she’d inhaled burst out of her in a sound like a slit tire
going down and she started to cry again.
Molly heard a whisper and a giggle.
The hired help were standing in a row, failing to look professional. They were
all teenagers. “You can go now,” she said, sounding angrier than she’d meant
to. “We won’t need you anymore today; thank you.”
They didn’t move, shocked more
probably by the emotion in her voice than the content of what she’d said; then
one of the boys shrugged his shoulders and said, “The deal was we work here
until seven.”
“Well I’m sorry,” said Molly, still unable
to keep the hostility out of her voice. “The party’s not happening after all.
You’re going to have to leave.”
The other six started to break off
but the insolent one remained in place, his arms folded. When they saw he was
staying, the others slowed down to see what he had to say. “Are we still gonna
get paid the full amount?”
Molly nodded and started to reply but
her mother grabbed her wrist and hissed “No” quieter than a whisper. She stared
up at Molly through wide, almost childlike eyes.
Feeling unsure of herself, Molly
said, “I’ll talk to the agency and work something out. Please just leave.”
The insolent boy seemed undecided but
broke off and the rest followed him. Molly waited for them to leave then took a
seat next to her mother and placed a hand over hers. “What happened? Where is
everybody? I thought it was supposed to start three hours ago.”
The tears seemed used up but the
sorrow made Jennifer’s body rigid. Her hand, in Molly’s, felt stiff. “We’re
ruined Molly,” she said. Her voice was still quiet. Her eyes stared forward at
the ceramic tiled floor.
“What do you mean?”
“Nobody’s come. Not one. Even my
agent. Can you believe that?” She laughed. “My fucking agent couldn’t even drag
himself here. It’s a joke. A God damn joke is what it is.”
“Nobody came at all?”
“One person did: a reporter. He came
and went; took a few pictures; had a good laugh at my expense, the greasy
little shit.”
Molly squeezed her mother’s hand. “It
doesn’t matter. Who cares if nobody came? It’s their loss, right?”
Jennifer looked at Molly and now her
eyes closed to half mast. This time when she spoke her voice was at a normal
pitch. The sudden change was disturbing. “We’re broke Molly. This lunch is the
final straw. I put everything I had into it.” Her words became muted and weary.
“I was so sure it would work. We may lose the house. We’re going to have to
sell everything. It’s over.”
Molly had always tried hard not to be
a princess in an ivory tower, but she felt this news like a slit of her wrists
all the same. They didn’t live the life that they could have lived if her parents
had remained together, her father had been the one with the real wealth, but to
give up what they did have – the house, the cars – to actually be poor, to
change their whole way of life… No words came to mind. She didn’t speak. Both
of them stared forward.
“You’d have thought at least some of
my old friends would come,” said Jennifer. “Wouldn’t you?”
Molly nodded, still looking forward
with the same vacant expression her mother had worn.
“There aren’t any friends in this business
though are there? Not really. Just maggots all feeding off one another,
squirming over themselves to be on top of the pile.”
Molly couldn’t think of a single
thing to say that would mean anything. She thought of her father then she
released her mother’s hand and withdrew her own, the old wall coming back up
between them; the old bitterness. She thought of Ruben and the night her father
died. She thought about what they did and about what they should have done then
she remembered what Ruben had said just now outside the room.
“Mother?”
Jennifer slumped back in the sofa,
staring up at the ceiling. She drew in a long shaky breath then let out a sigh.
“Yes?”
“Tell me who Jack Catholic is.”
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