Broken Birdie Chirpin (17 page)

The
smell of boeuf bourguignon tickled my konk as I paced back and forth in my
bedroom. Any moment the doorbell would chime and Shirley Weller would cross the
threshold into our mostly spotless abode. Mother prepared for her arrival as if
Lady Diana herself was zipping in from paradise for a bite. Fine china.
Granny’s crystal. Gooseberry tarts.

I
gazed in the mirror and inhaled deeply before mum summoned me to the living
room. Her expression immediately betrayed her displeasure with my rather casual
appearance. Faded blue jeans. T-Shirt. Bedhead. No matter. There were other
more pressing concerns on her mind.

“I
know we’ve been building this dinner up. Probably way too much really. And I
can imagine that you might feel a bit left out.” Bloody hell. If only she knew
a quarter of the truth. “But I promise that one day you’ll bring a lovely young
lady home for supper and I’ll do just the same for you, alright?” She gave me a
peck on the bonce before scurrying back into the kitchen to save the puff
pastries from burning. I appreciated mum’s gesture even though I’d never bring
a bird anywhere near Il Duce or his spawn.

A
few minutes later the doorbell rang. My ticker raced on account of a mix of
nerves and exhilaration. Brother bolted to the front door dressed like some
sort of choirboy from Uptight Alley. Mom and dad followed close behind. I
hovered near the living room door and listened to the initial introductions
from afar. Then I heard my cue. “Where’s your brother?”

“I
don’t know, mum. I thought I heard him skulking around somewhere.” Brother
couldn’t help but play dirty. Sod off. I pranced into the foyer with the joie
de vivre of a young Robert Plant.

Shirley
Weller’s recognition was immediate and her expression ghastly. “You’re
the
Shirley Weller? Wow. Nice to see you again.” She nodded awkwardly as her
shoulders rolled forward ever so slightly. Brother looked puzzled as he caught
a tiny whiff of something unsettling. No matter. Mum swept it under the rug
when she ushered us into the living room for some mostly harmless conversation
before supper.

Shirley
repeatedly shot me looks of confusion and despair. I winked and smirked
reassuringly in response. I also let her catch me peeking at her glorious legs
on more than one occasion. Our little game seemed to intrigue her more than the
dull conversation falling flat at our feet.

Dinner.
Brother rambled on about his prospects for university in between enormous bites
of boeuf. Shirley listened politely but we’d secretly begun playing footsy
under the table. This bird was way too much woman for brother. Mum finally
interrupted the proceedings. “Shirley, I apologize. We’ve barely given you a
chance to say two words. Tell me, what do you for fun?”

“I
bet she likes rock n’ roll.” I’d spoken out of turn for the sake of sport.
Brother looked at me with incredulity brimming from his hateful eyes.

“I’m
a big fan of music. All kinds really. I also like sports, dancing…all that kind
of stuff.” Shirley didn’t appreciate the white hot spot light and quickly began
needling her supper. Regrettably, dad seized the opportunity to begin a
horribly dull conversation about the World Cup. Shirley feigned interest for
the sake of appearances as I awaited more opportunities to stir the pot.

Fast
forward. We found ourselves alone in the kitchen for a moment as the others
cleared dishes. Shirley hustled over to me in search of answers. “What the hell
is going on? This is so awkward.”

“I
know. I’m mortified.”

“Oh,
really? Cause you don’t seem mortified. You seem like your rather enjoying
this.”

“Poppycock.
That stiff is my big brother.” Brother suddenly entered from our rear with a
stack of dirty dishes. Shirley practically leapt from my side and it didn’t go
unnoticed. Brother wasn’t quite suspicious yet, but he certainly seemed
disjointed. No matter. Things were about to get much worse.

Dessert
was a mostly civilized affair. Even I behaved on account of mum’s exceptional
tart-making talents. Shirley still appeared mostly fidgety as she waited for
the other shoe to drop. I had no intention of revealing anything to anyone of
course. I intended only to plant the seeds of sabotage into paranoid minds.

Bloody
hell. I couldn’t of requested a more fitting end to the festivities. Brother
stood up like a chivalrous wanker and tapped his spoon against the side of his
teacup. He gazed at Shirley for a moment before tumbling arse-first over a
cliff. “Shirley, I know we’ve only been dating for a short while, but it feels
a lot longer. I really like spending time with you. We have so many things in
common…”

“Love
of Tetley’s for one.” I sniggered but no one else seemed amused.

“And
you’re just great. A real winner. Anyhow, I’d like to give you something.” Mum
smiled from ear to ear because she thought the whole spectacle was
extraordinarily romantic. I smiled from ear to ear because I knew it was all a
horrible sham.

Brother
reached into the pocket of his blue blazer and pulled out his varsity football
pin. Shirley looked like she might chuck up. “May I?” Brother motioned towards
her upper chest.

“Of
course. That’d be lovely.” Her B-movie acting skills managed to fool the peanut
gallery. I shot up from my chair as if I was going to put paid to the charade
and save brother from this deceitful slag. Shirley looked horrified. Not so
fast. I simply strolled off to the lavy while brother pinned his sweetheart.

A
few moments later we were once again gathered in the foyer. Everyone exchanged
pleasantries as Shirley inched her way towards freedom. I brazenly leaned in
towards her ear and whispered ever so softly: “Sonny Boyd Wheeler will be back
at Captain Corver’s tomorrow night. See you there.”

“Do
you mind?” Brother scowled as he pulled Shirley away. “I’m sorry, Shirley. My
brother’s a misfit. No decorum.” Shirley smiled, endured one last wave of
farewells, and scuttled off to her car.

“What
a wonderful evening. She’s a lovely girl.” Mum patted brother on his shoulder.

“She
reminds me of a young Brigitte Bardot.” Dad would’ve been infinitely less
complimentary if he knew that I’d already been all over her.

“I
just knew you’d like her.” Brother soaked up the attention like a purring
Himalayan. He seemed genuinely smitten. Poor sap. His mostly one-sided devotion
to Shirley Weller would make the fall that much sweeter.

I
was keenly aware that brother would come after me with the fury of Cerberus
when he learned the truth, and that Shirley wouldn’t be able to keep up the
charade for long. I’d already begun formulating a plan to secure my safety. No
matter. If I had to endure a beating on account of being the better man then
I’d do so with enormous satisfaction.

Mum
and dad were in the kitchen continuing to bask in the afterglow of the
evening’s festivities. Dad probably got lucky on account of it. I dragged the
garbage out to the side of the house. Brother cornered me upon my return and
wagged his finger in front of my mug. “I don’t know why you were acting like
such a twerp tonight but Shirley thinks you’re a freak. Do us all a favor and
stop being a sodding weirdo.”

His
insecurity only whetted my appetite for the main course.

These
encounters seemed so simple when we first started out. Somehow we’d transformed
into uptight businessmen, however. Our handlers frantically liaised until all
of the necessaries had been reduced to three or four lines on a calendar
request. Time. Date. Location. Pastry/latte preferences. We’d show up like
bloody automatons, argue for thirty minutes, and return to our limos bitter and
unsatisfied.

No
matter. I marched into the spacious conference room with a clarity that had
eluded me for nearly a decade. Skeffington looked up from his scone and
acknowledged my arrival with a nod. I flopped into the plush leather office
chair directly across from him.

“I
suppose we’re just waiting for Shogun then.”

“I
told him not to come, Skeffington. I hope that’s alright.”

“That
depends.” I couldn’t fault him for his guarded approach to our dealings since
Shogun routinely mediated our rows as the only genuine adult in the room.

“Well,
let me set the tone then.” I took a deep breath while recalling my final
rehearsal with Becky. “I’m sorry for having been a thorn in this band’s side
for so bloody long. It’s over. I want us to be a great rock n’ roll band
again.”

“That’s
awfully pie in the sky. And your conditions?” Skeffington remained stiff as a
plank.

“My
conditions are simple. Frisby…” Skeffington looked as if he wanted to reach
across the conference table and strangle me. “Frisby joins the crew for our
upcoming tour and receives a hearty wage for doing so.”

“Is
that all?” The skepticism in his response was outperformed by a youthful tone
that suggested we might’ve finally reached a legitimate breakthrough.

“No.
You’re not getting off that easy.” I’d temporarily rolled back his expectations
for the sake of one final flourish. “I’m filling notebooks again, Skeffington.
I’ve got things turned around and I feel like a bloody sprog. Four brand new
songs are inches away from being ready. Really great ones. But I want you to
help me finish them. Shoulder to shoulder. Just like the old days.”

Skeffington
casually took a bite of his scone before pulling out his mobile device. “Have
your people get in touch with mine, mate. We’ll get something on the calendar.”
Skeffington smiled warmly before reclining in his chair. “Maybe we can get
Frisby on stage for a song or two. I’m sure he’d like that.”

***

The
two days that followed passed without fanfare. Sonny Boyd Wheeler’s encore
performance at Captain Corver’s was mostly uninspired. I’d done the bare
minimum to carry the other lads over the finish line. Nothing more. Nothing
less. Shirley Weller failed to make an appearance. Surprise. Surprise. I felt
certain she’d crack at any moment, especially since she consorted with brother
nearly every day at jock camp. My blood pressure spiked when brother limped
through the door each evening in anticipation of the barbaric and unbridled
retribution he’d surely unspool. He remained blissfully ignorant, however. Twas
a double-edged sword of course.

Then
came Friday night.

I
snatched a fizzy from the fridge and offered to help mum prepare supper. She
seemed chuffed at the kindly gesture. My modus operandi was slightly more
sinister: Brother would be home any minute and it felt safer to be within mum’s
gravitational pull. Boom. I knew the moment the front door slammed shut that
revenge had been exacted. Adrenaline rushed through me just as vigorously as
angst. Brother stomped into the kitchen with Cicero trailing directly behind
him.

“Can
I have a word with you, little brother?” He did a mostly poor job of hiding his
fury from mum.

“It’ll
have to wait. I’m peeling potatoes.” I gave mum’s arm a luvvly-jubbly little
squeeze.

“I’m
certain mum can do without it.” I feared mum might innocently feed me to the
wolves since she hadn’t a clue as to what had transpired. “Come on.”

“No.
No. I’m afraid it
will
have to wait. We’re busy playing chef.”
Brilliant. She’d knowingly folded me under her wing to protect me from the would-be
goons who sought my destruction. I felt extraordinarily close to mum at that
moment.

“Ok,
mum. I guess it’ll just have to wait until after dinner.” Brother mouthed
something slightly more graphic the instant mum turned towards the oven:
“You’re dead.”

My
body continued to help mum finalize our supper whilst my brain fumbled with
intricate mathematical calculations. We’d be done preparing supper in ten
minutes. We’d be sitting at the dining table twenty minutes after that. Another
thirty minutes for eating. Ten more for chores. My brain was more abacus than
calculator. Poof. Seventy minutes until my hide became fair game.

Regrettably,
my entire defense strategy hinged on some rather risky assumptions. Bloody
hell. It was time to make a phone call.

“Did
you see Shirley today?” I chortled as mum unknowingly rubbed salt into
brother’s gaping heart-wound.

“We’ve
decided to take some time off from each other.” Brother looked like he might
blubber into his glass of milk. “I’d prefer not…”

“Oh,
no. Why? You two seemed like such a wonderful couple.” Mum was making payback
everything I’d imagined and more.

“It’s
just one of those things.” Brother’s ego wouldn’t allow him tell mum and dad
the truth so he beat his chest instead. “I wasn’t really that into her.”

“Is
that why you gave her your varsity pin?” Dad jumped into the fray in a most
peculiar and satisfying manner. Brother looked dazed. I pounced in order to
capitalize on the negative energy.

“I’m
really going to miss her. You think she’d go for a loser like me after being
with a real winner like you?” Brother would’ve stabbed me in the eyeball with
his fork if we’d been alone.

“Alright.
Alright. I think we’re making your brother feel uncomfortable. Let’s give him a
chance to eat his supper in peace.” Mum shut the door on the conversation as
quickly as she’d pushed it open.

We
finished supper in relative silence. Mum did, however, share one critical
nugget of information: She and dad were riding over to Daniel and Coleen
Moriarty’s house to play Parcheesi at 6:30 p.m. They wouldn’t return home until
after 10:00 p.m. Bloody hell. The stage had been set for the final showdown.

I
finished clearing off the table at 6:25 p.m. Mum waltzed into the kitchen and
planted a peck on my cheek. “Call me if you need anything, me duckie.” I nodded
in quiet desperation since brother and Cicero were already sitting in the
garden waiting for me. My stomach churned as mum and dad finally escaped the
house amidst a flurry of midlife paranoia. Car keys. Purse. Make up. Bottle of
shiraz. Wallet. Blah, blah, blah. I stealthily peeked out of the blinds and
watched the jam jar slowly back down the driveway.

The
minutes that followed were a horrible blur. I marched through the front door
and stood toe-to-toe with brother and his lackey. They barked at me like rabid
hyenas. Spit and insults fired back and forth through the heavy air. My chest
heaved. My fists clenched. Brother’s aggression constantly teetered on the
brink of turning violent. That I’d be walloped became the conventional wisdom
as my defense strategy seemed to fizzle with each passing shout. Fortunately,
my pleasure over brother’s pain buoyed me even as my fate grew increasingly
grim.

“Shirley
knows that I’m the better man, you fucking oaf.” The words came directly from
the pit of my gut. Boom. That was that. Brother’s right arm cocked back like
the hammer of a pistol. My arms instinctively shot up to protect my konk. I
could hear his fist whistling towards me as I braced for impact. A thunderous
slapping noise followed directly after. His knuckles had surely landed squarely
on my cheekbone or forehead. I felt absolutely nothing, however. I cautiously
peeked outward through my feeble defenses. Bloody hell. The reinforcements had
arrived.