Tales From A Broad (30 page)

‘I don't know. Why don't we bring their kids down. That should be a hint.'

‘Hey!' Simon calls from outside. I stiffen. ‘You have any vodka?'

‘No.'

‘Yes.' Frank and I contradict each other.

‘I'll get the kids; you make them
one
drink,' I mutter.

I scoop Natalie up in my arms and bring her down to the sofa. She sits upright for half a second, then falls over, deep in sleep. I roll Charlie's pram into the living room. Melanie waves to her unconscious children from the other side of the window.

‘I wish I had some cocaine,' Simon says. ‘I'll bet you have some, Music Man.'

‘Sorry, my friend, can't say that I do,' Frank responds.

‘Well, you can't
say
it but you can bring it out.'

‘Really, I don't have any.'

‘Fuck you, you fuckin' selfish faggot.'

‘Simon!' Melanie says.

‘You too, bitch. Come here.'

Melanie goes over and sits on his lap, giggling away.

Simon tells a great story that almost makes me feel like staying up longer. It's about working on a cruise liner in Spain and suddenly waking up to find himself on a sofa in a casino in St Moritz.

‘I
have
to go to bed.' I stand. ‘I'm having the New Year's Day party here. Good night, see you around two or so tomorrow.' I leave but I have a moment of complete telepathy with Frank and I hear his mind call mine a ‘traitor'. I stop and turn around. ‘Frank, would you please come up, too? I'm sorry, Simon and Melanie, I just think Frank needs to help me tomorrow and I don't want to go to bed alone on New Year's, so, well, here are your two great kids and thanks for making things so much fun. No one I would have wanted to ring it in with better, that's for sure. Good night, see you tomorrow.'

I pull the covers down. Oh my God, this feels so good.

‘Do you think they left?' Frank asks.

‘Did you actually get that impression when Simon went into the kitchen and brought the bottle outside?' I whisper.

Frank climbs into bed. ‘Good night.' We both hear it: Charlie's squeaky pram is being wheeled out the door, Natalie is saying, ‘Where are we?' Frank and I smile and settle in. These sheets are so chilled, so fresh, they feel, uh, so amazing. The mattress is perfect. Every muscle is relaxing, and, though I still have ghost-music in my head, it's getting fainter. Gee, that was fun, boy, I wish someone videoed me and Sam doing
Hair
. We're getting really good. Frank's in love with Valerie. I'm not in love with Sam. He can dance, that's for sure. He's fun. So's Frank. We're all a bunch of fun. These pillows are too high. I didn't eat anything … I am yammering away to myself and my eyes are open wider than they've been all night and there isn't a chance in hell I will ever ever ever fall asleep. Nope, not when everything's just buzzing and buzzing around in my little head and I had such a great time and, gee, I wish I knew if Frank wished he was married to Valerie. ‘Frank, you up? Frank, you up?' I kick him. He is asleep. I know this because he yawns.

I must have fallen asleep because I am wishing I never woke up. I go downstairs to make some coffee and on the way see Melanie, passed out on our balcony chair.

I have to get the stuff ready for the New Year's Day party. I've told everyone to come at two. I slice bagels, carve up chicken for chicken salad, roll deli meats into appealing funnels, bake some salmon, whip up two quiches and a noodle
kuggel
. At about 11 am I go out for a run, which is not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I come home, rinse off, arrange chips and dips and olives and gherkins, and at about one, the kids and Frank are exactly as I found them five hours ago when Sadie and Huxley bounded into our room. They are on our bed, watching TV.

‘Frank, did anyone eat anything yet?'

‘Nah, they didn't want to.'

‘Did you ask?'

‘Nah, they didn't want to.' His eyes are dilated, transfixed on Cartoon Network.

‘Sadie, Huxley, would you like something to eat?'

‘
Yeah!
' They both scramble off the bed.

I don't make too fine a point of it. I calmly usher them out of the room and say, ‘I'm so sorry, guys, Mommy was busy making 900 dishes and running 16 kilometres and Daddy was busy too, obviously, lying there, turning the channels.'

‘I turned the channels, Mom!' Sadie says proudly. ‘Daddy was sleeping.'

I make them cheese omelettes and cinnamon toast. I stew two apples in the microwave and add sugar, vanilla yogurt, raisins and Graham crackers. Frank comes down and takes up the sofa. He puts on the Disney channel and holds out his arms. The kids leave their breakfast and leap onto his chest. He enfolds them and tells them what they missed on
Tarzan
.

I organise chairs, put candles around, and start making a strudel. Frank is getting his appendix taken out with a plastic screwdriver by Dr Huxley and his temperature taken by Nurse Sadie.

‘Frank, can you go buy some beer and ice?'

‘Daddy's dead,' Huxley announces.

‘Gosh, Huxley, it was just supposed to be a routine operation. Ah well, we'll get another daddy when the shops open tomorrow.'

‘Fran!' Frank is horrified.

‘It's a miracle! Listen, do you think maybe you came back as, hmmm, someone
useful
?'

‘All right, kids, get up, Mommy needs to give orders to be happy.' Frank gets up, then sits back down. ‘I forgot, I don't have a cent and I can't find my card.'

So I go out for money while Frank is assigned the task of getting vertical.

‘TRANSACTION CANCELLED' comes up again on the screen. I guess the holidays are the worst times to count on a cash machine.

‘Now what would be the trouble yere havin', Frahn? And, if ye don't mind, Happy New Year.' It's Irish Kell with her daughter, Ryot, which is pronounced
Kim
, of course.

‘Machine's out of money.'

‘Is it, now? Aw, I'll give 'er a try.'

‘All yours. See you later at my house around two.'

‘Hey, I'm a lucky winner!' she calls out to me, waving bills in the air. ‘Come back, Frahn, I'll lend ye the money ye be needin'.'

‘Thanks. I don't get it, though, why didn't my card work?'

‘Temperamental bastards, that's what these devils are. Here, take a couple hundred to tide ye over. Come on, Ryot (Kim).'

‘Gee, I wonder where everyone is?' I say to a plate of rolls. I am standing entirely alone, surrounded by perfectly balanced pyramids of once-tempting nosh; it's three-thirty.

Frank bounds down the stairs. ‘Fran, since no one's coming …'

‘Frank, that is so mean!'

‘Hey, don't take it out on me. I didn't tell them not to come. I'm going to see if your card is working yet.'

‘Well, hurry back. I'll need you to bartend.'

‘No, you won't.'

‘Yes, I will.'

Na na na naa na. As he opens the door, a wave of people knock Frank back inside. Everyone's come at once. They don't look terrifically fresh. If we were in a different climate, the dress code would be sweatpants; everyone seems to have messy hair or the mange. I swing way far away when Arthur comes to kiss me. He's got that white sticky stuff in the corners of his mouth. Valerie, who wins for most radiant, says she was feeling sick all morning.

‘But you didn't drink.'

‘I probably got high off Sam's fumes.'

Sam doesn't know it's
not
morning. He just got up.

I'm delighted to see my tennis pal Julee and her husband, Daniel, and some friends from the gym who I thought would be too shy to come. My local friends might not know what to make of me, but they seem to be enjoying the show. It's a nice, mellow party, people moving wordlessly down the table, unable to speak not so much because their mouths are full of food but because they're having trouble making complete sentences. The only sounds are from Elvis Costello, the tons of kids jumping around unattended upstairs, Greg and Samantha, who, having shared an evening in romantic sanctuary,
now
crave conversation, and intermittent sobs from Melanie in the bathroom. Simon assures us that she's always melancholy on New Year's Day, she'll get over it, not to worry. ‘Let the bloody fat-arsed wombat have her cry in private, you vultures,' he says, not unkindly.

As the sun drops into the sea and brain cells multiply, the drinks stiffen, the voices escalate and Frank plays me like a marionette, putting on songs to make me go faster and faster. He and Valerie watch me from a shady corner of the room. The party starts to swing. The bunch of kids running around unattended have thrown all 500 balls from the ball tent into the living room. Barbie heads come next, followed by Barbie limbs and torsos and a heavy shower of beanie babies. Melanie comes out of the bathroom, finds Simon and they embrace and sway as their tongues lap the length of each other's neck.

Irish Kell clinks a glass. ‘Can I have yere attention? Um, sorry to say, we'll be 'avin' it of you lot. We'll be movin' back to Ireland in a month's time. My Collin got the job, God love him. So, 'ere's to you.'

We're shocked and dampened. Irish Kell has been here longer than anyone. She has never gotten tanned, never learned how to swim, never gotten used to the heat and the mosquitoes, never had a kind word to say about most anyone or anything; she seemed so happy here. She just gave birth to twins two months ago – Bymthe and Gvngythe (pronounced
Eileen
and
Sue
of course) – and she has two other daughters and two maids. How can she bear the thought of leaving?

‘Yere all invited to dinner at the Shangri-la on Chinese New Year's.'

I've never heard Collin say anything. I don't think he talks. I look over at him and see he's a little surprised by his generosity.

I go over to Kell. ‘Are you all right?'

She says, ‘I'm madder than a grubby in a Guinness.'

‘That bad, huh?'

‘Ah, yeah, sad as a lutinary. Sure, to be going back home isn't worse en cauliflower cake, but this life's been good to me. I'm makin' damn certain my Collin pays for this, Frahn. I'll tell ye, I don' wan' to go.'

Melanie comes over. ‘We're leaving, too.'

‘Oh no! Is that why you locked yourself in the bathroom?'

Melanie nods.

I say, ‘I thought you'd be happy to go back.' (Yeah, right, Melanie-go-lightly, who's only been depressed twice in her life – once for four years and once for 30. She told me age five was a good year for her.)

‘Yeah, I'm fine. Only Charlie's so pissed off about it.'

‘Melanie, you're kidding. Charlie's three months old.' I laugh.

‘Just look at him.' She thrusts the baby to me. He starts to cry. ‘See, he knows. Uprooted again.'

‘So when are you leaving, Melanie?' I ask.

‘I don't know. Could be years.'

The party breaks up at 11. Frank and I put the kids to bed in their clothes, unwashed, with promises of brushing twice as hard tomorrow. We clean up whatever might attract pernicious knids and leave the rest for Posie when she is back on duty tomorrow. As we're putting dips in Tupperware and wrapping chicken salad in cellophane, Frank tells me that everyone had fun at my house; it's all I need right now.

The next day, Frank goes to work. I need to grocery shop. I go to the bank machine with my fingers crossed. We're out of beer, cigarettes, wine, food too, I think, and, apparently, money. Again, as I request a few hundred bob, the machine has the nerve to say ‘TRANSACTION CANCELLED'. I guess I'll borrow more off Irish Kell, help her in that wrong-headed effort to get back at Collin.

I call Frank. ‘There's something the matter with my card. I can't get out any money.'

‘I'm in a meeting now, Fran.'

‘There's no money, Frank.'

‘I'll call you back.'