Derailed (39 page)

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Sarah says, as she too helps herself from her mother’s pack of cigarette. Soon all six are contributing equally to my upcoming lung cancer. Like a girl, I start to sneeze and cough.

“You want my asthma puffer?” Mabel asks. Before I can answer, she looks at Sarah. “Go bring my puffer. It’s in my room.”

“I got mine here,” Brianna says. She pulls hers from her pocket and thrusts it at me.

“He can have mine,” Sarah quips. “Mine’s new.”

“N...no thanks,” I croak, holding up my palms to both of them. “I’ll be fine.”

All three continue smoking.

“So tell me; did you see Rival on Saturday night?” I ask. “Rival for
sure
.”

All three agree that they did not get a clear shot at her face, however, they unanimously agree that they heard her yell.

“I think she was mad because Bradley and Scarlett, they were tight.”

“Tight?” I cock my head at them. “What do you mean?”

“Brianna and Sarah were at the party that Saturday night.” Mabel says.

I look at the two girls in surprise. They nod at me.

“How?” I ask. I mean, it was an affair Scarlett was invited to – it had to be a fancy. How the hell did these two women fit in?

“They work casually for Wankhers Catering, who catered at the event.”

“Ah.”

“It’s Wankhers with a k-h,” Sarah says, pointing her finger at me. “Now don’t go making jokes about the name. It’s the boss’s surname, and if you make fun of it,” she taps her head with her knuckles, “he does his block.”

“No, no, I won’t. I promise.”

“They pay us cash, you know,” Brianna says and follows it with a wink. “Doesn’t affect our Centrelink benefits.”

“You’re on Centrelink? Both of you?”

Mabel nods. “Asthma. Terrible. They’re unable to hold down full-time jobs because of it.”

I look at Sarah. She confirms Mabel’s statement with a cough. 

I look at Brianna. She touches her chest and lets out a slight wheeze on command.

“Mm.” The question is: does Centrelink know about their smoking?

“Anyway,” Brianna continues, in a voice that tells me she’s dying to tell me all about Saturday night. “They arrived by helicopter!”

“Helicopter?”

She nods, her eyes bulging. “The helicopter dropped Bradley and Scarlett outside the party. It was such an amazing entrance I tell you.”

“And their outfits, they like, matched,” Sarah adds. From then on, both Sarah and Brianna report in surround sound.

“Yeah, Bradley had on a tux and a like, lavender shirt, and the bitch, she wore a lavender gown –”

“With her hair high up. Terrific couple, I have to say.”

“And the DJ, he announced on the loudspeaker, ‘This song goes out to the lovely Scarlett Murdoch. It’s been requested by Mr. Murdoch himself.’ It was Ed Sherman’s ‘Thinking out Loud,’ and –”

“Sheeran, not Sherman.”

“Sheeran, Sherman whatever…and Bradley, he was like, shining. He danced up to Scarlett, put out his hand and said, ‘May I have this dance?’ and everybody watched them twirl around the dance floor. He pulled her close, pushed her out, and everyone was looking at them because they made such a good, striking couple. It was like, so romantic and stuff, and I was like, jealous. I think every single woman at the dance was jealous of Scarlett.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. “But she got all emotional and stuff and started to cry.”

“Yeah, she did, didn’t she? I didn’t understand that bit – why she cried. But he was so sweet, he held her really tight and kissed her.”

My ears prick. “He
kissed
her?”

“Well, on her cheek, not her lips. I didn’t see him kiss her lips.”

Even though I nod, the story doesn’t make sense. I mean, I believe Sarah and Brianna, but Bradley was ready to knife me over Rival, so why would he make such a public spectacle of himself with Scarlett?

“Then he twirled her around and he dipped her.”   

“Do you know that song?” Brianna asks. “
People fall in love in mysterious ways
…” she sings, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself.

I shrug, distracted at the sight of the nanas with their heads together.

“See if he drives a Jeep,” I hear the one say.

The other Miss Daisy shuffles to the window and peers outside. The cops still have my Jeep, so I’m driving our company ute.
Whew
!

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” I say and take a sip of my rum, even though it’s not yet 10 a.m.

“…
maybe it’s all part of the plan
,” Brianna continues. 

“Anyway!” Sarah snaps.

Brianna’s eyes open, she falls silent, and slowly, her arms drop from around her.

“It was…beautiful…” Sarah’s eyes turn glassy and her voice turns slightly hoarse. She looks at the carpet, a sad look on her face. “I don’t like her, I
hate
her actually, but after what I saw on Saturday night, I do think that Bradley loved her very much. They were totally in love.”

I nod. Bet the cops got the same story from everyone at the party.

“I can’t believe Bradley’s dead,” Mabel says in an emotional voice. “He was a great guy. The best. He didn’t deserve to die.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and takes a sip of her rum.

“Yes,” I say in an equally emotional voice. “He was a great guy. He was my friend.”
In spite of everything, I loved him like a brother.

For a few minutes, we all drink in silence in the smoke-filled room.

“You sure you’re not from Africa?”

I look at the Miss Daisy posing the question.

“Your accent…”

“New Zealand – people always confuse the two,” I say in a pronounced Kiwi accent. “Born in Christchurch, New Zealand.” Fear of the three old birds has me blabbing.

“Then you must know how to do the Hakka?” one of them says, her eyes now slits.

“Of course!” I say, even though I can’t.

“Do it,” she says.

I jerk back. “What? Now?”

She gets to her feet and advances slowly toward me. “Do it now, or this conversation is over.”

Jayzus
! I need to help Rival, so I cannot afford to blow this chance of mine. Feeling cornered, I slap a shoulder and murmur, “Ka mate, ka mate –”

“Why would Rival do something like that?” Mabel interrupts, oblivious to my predicament.

Grateful for the interruption, I quit the Hakka, turn, and give her my undivided attention.
Whew
!

“She’s gonna go to jail for the rest of her life. Now the kids will have lost both parents.”

Slowly I nod. That may be true.

When I leave Mabel’s house, I’m mellowed out by the rum, but in need of eye drops. The smoke has scorched my eyes. I’m also relieved to have dodged the three Miss Daisies. My mind turns to Rival. She’s looking guilty as hell.
Honey, how the hell do I save you? 

RIVAL

It is with a bitter taste in my mouth that I watch Ritchie and Scarlett on the 6 p.m. news. The way Ritchie protects Scarlett, the way he holds Scarlett’s hand and leads her to the car – as if he really cares about her and wants to protect her. I remember a time when he held my hand like that. Look how he scuffles with reporters. He takes on three of them at the same time, showing no fear. Scarlett must be gloating right now.  

The thing that irks me the most is his response to the reporter’s insulting question.
You’re really chummy with your late friend’s wife, aren’t you?”
 

He didn’t protest or deny it. He should have denied it. Why didn’t he?

“What you watching?” Arena asks from behind me.

“Your brother defending Scarlett on the TV.”

“Oh, that means nothing,” she’s quick to say.

“Mm.”

“Ritchie’s protective instinct is surfacing, that’s all. Then there’s guilt about Bradley…”

“How the hell does she do it?” I mumble. “First Bradley, now Ritchie?” I look at Arena with my little finger circling the air. “Round her pinkie.”

With her hands on her hips, Arena smiles. “Bet she’s asking the same question. You’ve got two guys…or
had
two guys, fighting over you, remember?”

She’s right, I didn’t think of it that way.

“Don’t worry about Ritchie; his guilt over Bradley’s death won’t allow him to do nothing. He blames himself for it, and he’ll only back off after the funeral. I know my brother.”

RITCHIE

It’s eight days since Bradley’s death. Scarlett and I are driving home from a meeting with the funeral home. I’ve been helping her with just about everything, and I’m drained and exhausted. But after the funeral tomorrow, I plan to take a few days off. Maybe I will head over to my holiday house with the kids. Do some fishing, maybe teach the kids how to fish and surf. I might take Holly with us, considering her anger toward Rival.  

“I need to eat,” I say to Scarlett as I gun the Porsche back to her house. “I’m famished.”  I look at her. “How ’bout you? Aren’t you hungry?”

She leans her head against the window and stares out of it. “I haven’t eaten since Bradley died,” she says in a sad voice.

“That’s not good. Lemme get you something. What would you like?”

Her lips curl downward. “Well, restaurants are out, too many reporters.”

“Okay, so I’ll pick up some food for you and bring it over to your place. What d’ya like?”

She thinks about it for a moment. “Only if you’ll eat with me.”

I think about my kids, who I haven’t seen much since Bradley died. The good thing about living next to Liefie is that she just takes over without any hassles, and for that I am grateful. “Sure,” I say. “What would you like?”

“Whatever you order is fine with me,” she says. “Except McDonald’s.”

I laugh.

We stop to pick up some Chinese food before I take her home. 

While I wolf down my food, she just plays with hers. Her phone goes off all the time, and most of the time she ignores it. But eventually, she looks at the screen and says, “It’s my dad.”

I motion for her to take it. She steps out onto the patio, shuts the door behind her, and takes the call. I continue eating.

Then I hear a buzzing sound – like that of a phone, but a muted vibration. I look at my phone. Nothing. I look outside at Scarlett – she’s talking on hers. The sound persists. As I look around, I realize that the vibrating is emanating from Scarlett’s handbag, which is on a side table. That’s odd, considering she is talking on her phone right now. The buzzing continues.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of me. I unzip her bag a little and peak into it. Although I can’t see the phone, the interior of the bag is lit up. I jerk back. Scarlett has two phones! I’ve never seen her use the second phone. 

It’s odd, I think to myself. As the minutes tick by, I don’t think it’s just odd, I think it’s a little suspicious. Why would she have two phones, one which clearly is a
secret
phone? Do the cops know about her secret phone?

The buzzing persists and before I know it, I’m doing something rotten – I reach into the bag, remove the secret phone, and look at the screen.
Unknown Caller.
Blame curiosity, lack of manners, whatever – but I hit
Answer
.

“Took your time, didn’t you?” a man with a cracked voice asks. “And who’s the prick with you?”

Prick? Me? I don’t answer. Instead I end the call and quietly replace the phone. When I turn around, I look into Scarlett’s face.

“Ritchie! What are you doing in my bag?”

Guilty, I freeze for a moment as Scarlett’s eyes flit between my face and her bag.

Then I realize that I really have nothing to be guilty about. It is she who has a secret phone.

“I thought I heard your phone go off,” I say, sitting back in my chair and looking directly at her. “You have two phones?”

It’s her turn to look really guilty. Her secret phone continues to buzz angrily. Looking like a deer in headlights, she hesitates for a second, then retrieves her secret phone and looks at the screen. “It’s my mother,” she says. “I have a direct line to her.”

“Ah.”
Pants on fire!

Casually, she walks out of the house, shuts the patio door behind her, and answers the call. Then her neck jerks to look at me. Busted. Okay, so my friendship with her is kaput after this. But at least I know that a man, someone really close to her, who she finds the need to use a secret phone to communicate with, is lurking around calling me a prick. The question is: who is this man?

I look at her on the patio. Judging from her hand gestures and her angry face, it looks like she’s having an argument with her “mother” on the phone.

When she returns to the dining room, Scarlett’s demeanor has drastically changed. No longer does she have that five o’clock stoop that grief lends. She sashays into the room, tits sticking out, a flirty smile on her lips. She walks over to me, drops a light kiss on my head, squeezes my shoulder really hard, then glides over to the drinks cabinet.   

While I reel from the kiss, the strong imprint of her hand on my shoulder, and the change in her bearing, she gets out a bottle of red wine and pours us both a glass. Without a word, she hands me one. Even though I’m not a lover of wine, I accept it. With her eyes on me, she starts to drink.

“I had a dream about you last night,” she says in a husky voice.

“Oh?”

She nods and slowly licks the rim of her glass – a move that in a bar, would have me inviting her over to the bathroom.

“Well, I guess…I mean, tell me about it.”

“It…it’s embarrassing,” she says with a throaty little laugh.

“Oh. Really?”

She cocks her head and looks at me. “You’re turning red. How cute.”

I shrug. “I can be a real sissy. Tell me about your dream.”

“It’s so…embarrassing,” she says as she slowly circles the rim of her glass with her finger.

“Oh, okay then,” I say, being the wuss I am and feeling my ears start to burn.

“I mean, like, at first, I couldn’t remember the dream, then as we drove here, I started to remember details, and I said to myself, ‘You’d better cancel this
dinner
, Scarlett.’ But it was too late to do that.” She covers her face with both hands. “This is so embarrassing, Ritchie.”