The Jacaranda House, page 6
Polly stared at her. Where the hell had that come from? And share her pain? Who deliberately shared their pain? It might escape and wreak havoc. Or, even worse, after having shaped her identity over so many years, it might evaporate and leave her completely hollow, an empty husk. ‘I . . .’ she began, then, ‘Yes. Sorry.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Star said.
Rhoda prompted, ‘So, tell us about Gina.’
‘Well, I miss her.’
‘I’d miss my daughter, too, if I had one.’ Rhoda pressed Tatty against her face. ‘That’s why I love her. She’s like my daughter.’
‘I have got a daughter,’ Star said.
In shocked silence Rhoda and Polly gaped at her.
Rhoda exclaimed, ‘What?’
Star dug her cigarettes out of her handbag, realised the packet was empty and stole one of Rhoda’s. ‘I’ve got a daughter. She’s seven, nearly eight now.’
‘You never told me that!’ Rhoda accused.
Polly thought she looked really quite upset.
‘You never asked,’ Star said. ‘Anyway, I don’t know all your secrets.’
Rhoda demanded, ‘Well, where is she?’
‘Townsville, with her mother.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘What’s her name? Why don’t you see her? And how did you get her? You’re a tranny and you fancy blokes. I know you do.’
Rhoda sounded angry now, and Polly realised she was jealous.
‘Her name’s Lisa,’ Star said. ‘I don’t see her because her mother doesn’t want her to have anything to do with someone like me. I met her when I was working at Mount Isa and I got Lisa the normal way, by having a root. That was before all this,’ she added, pointing at herself. ‘It was a mistake. I made a mistake, but I would like to see my daughter. And you should see yours, Polly.’
Polly took a deep breath. ‘Actually, I think I’d like her to come and live with us.’
There was a short silence, then Rhoda said, ‘Here, in the flat?’
‘Mmm.’ Polly felt nervous now. ‘Would you mind living with an eleven-year-old?’
‘What’s she like?’ Star asked.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen her for eight years.’
Rhoda said, ‘She might be really horrible.’
That struck Polly as funny and she snorted out a laugh, which gave Tatiana, dozing on Rhoda’s lap, a fright. ‘She might be, but she probably isn’t. She was lovely when she was little.’
‘What if we say we don’t want an eleven-year-old flatmate?’ Star asked.
‘Then I’ll kick you out,’ Polly said.
Star said, ‘I think it’s a grouse idea.’
‘I think it is anyway,’ Rhoda said. ‘It’ll be lovely, a breath of fresh air. She’ll make us all behave. Oh.’ She clapped her hands. ‘I suppose she’ll have to go to school, won’t she? We’ll have to make her lunches and iron her uniform and help her with her homework.’
‘Do you mind?’ Polly asked Star.
‘’Course I don’t. She’s your daughter. She should be living with you. Will her father agree? Is he around? Who is he, anyway?’
‘No, he’s not around and it doesn’t matter who he is.’
‘See? What did I tell you about mistakes?’ Star said.
‘Never mind the father,’ Rhoda said. ‘What about your mother? She’s been raising her, hasn’t she? Won’t she be upset having to give her up?’
Polly knew this was going to be a problem. Even just the thought of it was making her want to retreat to her room and take a couple of Valium. ‘I’ll sort it out when I get home. But she’s my daughter so I get to say where she lives.’
Rhoda opened her packet of smokes, then scowled at Star. ‘You bloody cow, there’s only one left.’
‘Keep your wig on. I’ve got two packets in my room.’
Taking the last cigarette and making a production of lighting it, inhaling deeply and blowing twin streams of smoke out through her nose, Rhoda said, ‘Pol, can I ask you something?’
‘You can ask.’
‘Why do you only get letters from your brother? Why does no one else from your family write to you?’
‘We’re not on speaking terms.’
‘With any of them?’ Star seemed quite shocked. ‘Evie says your family’s enormous.’
‘It is. I’ve got seven brothers, some older and some younger – Wiremu, Noah, Gilbert, Harry, Sonny, Oscar and Paroa – and three sisters – Hareta, who’s older than me, and Hine and Ruth, who’re younger. Gilbert’s in gaol for manslaughter, the fool. Sonny’s the best of them by far.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Star said.
‘Why aren’t you speaking?’ Rhoda asked.
‘I did something they disagreed with.’ Polly held up a hand. ‘And no, I’m not telling you what it was.’
‘Oh, why not?’ Star said.
‘Don’t whine.’
‘I’m not whining,’ Star grumped. ‘I’m just asking.’
‘It’s my business, that’s why,’ Polly said. ‘And Star?’
‘What?’
‘That’s really sad about your daughter.’
‘I know.’ Star stared down at her hands for a moment. ‘Thank you.’
Chapter Four
Polly wiped her sweaty palms down her trousers, then knocked on Joe Adler’s office door. She was nervous and that annoyed her. Adler was a shit and it irked her having to ask him for a favour.
‘What?’ his voice barked.
She opened the door and went in. He was where he usually was, parked behind his desk, feet up, the scuffed soles of his handmade shoes facing her.
‘What?’ he said again.
‘Mr Adler,’ she began, giving herself a small heart attack as she wondered briefly whether she’d inadvertently called him Mr Idler, the staff’s nickname for him because he seemed to do nothing at the club except sit around all night like a squat little frog, smoking his stinky cigars.
‘Come on, out with it.’
‘I need some time off, please. I have to go home for a few days. Family business.’
‘To the Islands?’
‘No, New Zealand.’ For God’s sake, when was he going to get it? She was Maori, not Fijian, or Samoan, or Tongan, or bloody Tahitian or whatever the hell else he was imagining. Bloody retard.
‘No, can’t spare you. You’re popular with the punters.’
Could have fooled me, Polly thought. ‘It’d only be for a couple of days. My father’s dying. I’d like to say goodbye. And I’ll go by plane, not ship.’
Adler heaved out a sigh. ‘Christ. Four days. Without pay.’
Polly gave him her most ingratiating smile. ‘Thank you, Mr Adler.’
‘And don’t forget to come back. I’ve got plans for this place. I’m expanding and there might be a new job for you if you play your cards right. I could use someone with brains. You and your mate, the one from New Zealand? Evelyn, isn’t it?’
Bloody hell – two compliments in one conversation. He must have been at the Valium. But who cared? He’d said she could go. If he hadn’t she would have just told him to stick his poxy job and found another one in a different strip club, but it was good to know she’d have a wage to come back to. She’d be supporting someone else by then, paying the bills for Gina, and she really was looking forward to it.
*
Rhoda gasped. ‘Oh my God, how glamorous! You’ll have to buy a new outfit!’
‘Will I?’ Polly stared at her, baffled. ‘Why?’
‘Because you’re flying, darling. No one flies in their ordinary clothes, especially on international flights.’
‘How do you know?’ Star asked.
‘I read the Women’s Weekly. They’re always going on about what you’re supposed to wear on an aeroplane. You’ll need a new frock, shoes, a hat, gloves and probably a new handbag, too, depending on what shoes you get.’
Polly made a rude noise. ‘I’m not wearing gloves. No one wears gloves any more.’
‘Older women do,’ Star said.
‘Are you saying I’m old? I’m only thirty-one!’
‘’Course not, and you don’t even look that. Rho looks like she should be wearing gloves, but you don’t.’
‘Well, maybe not gloves,’ Rhoda amended, deliberately ignoring Star, ‘but you can’t wear your usual clobber. That’s far too casual. Everyone else’ll be dressed to the nines, especially the ladies. You’ll stick out like a turd in a punchbowl. People will stare.’
Rolling her eyes, Polly said, ‘Rho, doll, I’m a stripper. I’m used to people staring.’
‘Well, up to you. I just thought you should know what fashionable women are doing.’ Rhoda grabbed a file off the coffee table and expertly attacked a fingernail. ‘If you don’t want my advice, fine.’
Polly laughed. ‘I do. I just don’t want to buy a whole new outfit. The bloody airfare was expensive enough and I’m paying for two tickets on the way back.’
‘Have you flown before?’ Rhoda asked.
‘Hardly. Do I look like an international jetsetter?’
‘You do, actually, especially when you tie your hair back with a scarf and wear your big black sunglasses.’
Star said, ‘They’re her hangover sunglasses.’
‘Are you nervous?’ Rhoda asked. ‘About flying? I would be.’
‘I’m shitting myself,’ Polly confessed. ‘But I haven’t got time to sit on a boat for days.’
‘I know you’ve told us this,’ Star said, ‘but when are you going?’
‘Next week. Wednesday.
‘That’s the twenty-fourth, isn’t it?’ Now Star gasped. ‘You might be on the same plane as the Beatles! Aren’t they heading to New Zealand on the twenty-fourth? Oh . . . my . . . God!’
Rhoda screamed, thought for a second, then said, ‘Oh, no, actually I think they’re going on the twenty-first. So close, Pol. You could have been famous!’
‘Wouldn’t they have a private plane?’ Polly said. ‘Imagine the chaos if they didn’t.’
‘That’s true,’ Star agreed. ‘Hey, you could go and see them. Are they playing in Auckland? That’s where you’re going, isn’t it?’
Polly said, ‘Yes, except I don’t particularly like them.’
Star and Rhoda regarded her with faint shock. Then Star admitted, ‘Actually, neither do I, pack of cocky little Scousers. I’d rather have the Shadows, or Elvis. Or that new band, the Rolling Stones. And Dusty Springfield! I love her.’
‘Ooh, yes, so do I,’ Rhoda said. ‘I don’t mind the Beatles, though. That George Harrison is cute. But I’d rather go to Surf City and see Billy Thorpe, if I didn’t think I’d get the shit beaten out of me.’
‘Which you would,’ Star said.
Polly had been to see Billy Thorpe and the Aztecs several times, and Star was right. Thorpe’s Stomp-performing fans would bash a tranny half to death in minutes. They could be dreadful, Australian rock audiences – shoehorned into venues, feral, and riotous with booze. But Star had given her an idea.
‘They’re coming back to Australia after New Zealand, aren’t they, the Beatles?’
‘I don’t know, I’m not their manager. Hold on, let me have a look.’ Star dug around under the coffee table and pulled out a Sydney Morning Herald. ‘Here it is. Yep, they’re flying back on the twenty-eighth of June for four concerts in Brisbane at the Festival Hall, two on the twenty-ninth and two on the thirtieth, then they’re off home. Why do you want to know?’
‘Does it say if there is an Auckland concert?’
‘Let’s see. Two on the twenty-fourth and two on the twenty-fifth, at the Auckland Town Hall.’
‘You could take Gina!’ Rhoda said. Then her face fell. ‘Oh, no, hang on, you wouldn’t get there in time to get tickets. I bet they’re like bloody hen’s teeth.’
‘Probably,’ Polly said. ‘But maybe I could for the Brisbane concerts.’
Star’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head in disbelief. ‘You’re going to tempt your daughter over here with tickets to the Beatles? Christ, Polly, that’s a bit off. Do you think she wouldn’t come otherwise?’
Polly felt her face redden. ‘Don’t be such a bitch, Star. But if they’re playing here, why not?’
‘You are!’ Star accused.
‘Oh, piss off.’
‘I don’t want to poop your party,’ Rhoda said, ‘and I really do think Gina coming to live with us would be lovely, though you might want to do something about your drinking and the drugs and, um, maybe even changing your job –’
‘Excuse me? That’s none of your bloody business,’ Polly said indignantly.
‘But do you actually know whether she wants to come?’ Rhoda went on, ignoring her. ‘I mean, you haven’t talked to her since she was, what, three? Or have you?’
‘No, but that’s not my fault.’
‘Doesn’t matter whose fault it is, darling, it’s still the way it is. Will she even remember you?’
‘Of course she bloody will!’ Polly felt a big, hard bubble of anger and fear rise in her chest, and she gripped the base of her seat to stop herself rushing into her room. ‘She does. Sonny says she does.’
‘Your brother?’ Star asked.
‘Yes. He says she asks about me all the time.’
‘That’s sweet,’ Rhoda said. ‘I’m just thinking, though, it’ll be a huge change for her coming here. Especially if she hasn’t had time to get used to the idea.’
‘Christ almighty, do you not want her to come?’ Polly snapped.
‘I do. I’ve said I do. But being the mother of an eleven-year-old might be harder than you think. I mean, it could be hard for both of you.’
Polly felt her blood whooshing in her ears. ‘For fuck’s sake, I’m her mother! What would you know about being a mother? You’re not even –’ She stopped, but it was too late – the unsaid part was out.
She stood, motionless for a moment and feeling dreadful, then went silently to her room, closing the door behind her. Then she opened her drawer and chose a selection of drugs that would slow her racing heartbeat, calm her, and muffle the worst of the cacophony in her head, lay down and waited for them to work. When she started to feel better, she returned to the lounge. Star and Rhoda were where she’d left them, except now Rhoda – with the unwelcome assistance of Tatiana – was hand-hemming a skirt and Star had the back off her transistor radio and was fiddling with something inside it.
‘Rhoda?’ Polly said.
‘Mmm?’
‘I’m sorry for what I said, and I’m sorry for getting shitty. You too, Star.’
Rhoda smiled graciously. ‘That’s all right, darl. We know you’re worried. Don’t be. It’ll work out. You’ve got us, remember?’
But Polly knew she’d hurt her.
*
The following day, Polly phoned Palings Music Store in Brisbane to buy two tickets to the Beatles, only to be told they’d sold out as soon as they’d gone on sale in April.
‘Shit,’ she said as she put the phone down and traipsed upstairs.
‘No luck?’ Star asked.
Polly shook her head. ‘Sold out weeks ago.’
‘I could have told you that.’
‘Well, why didn’t you?’
‘Honestly, doll, I didn’t think I needed to. The Beatles have been in the news for months, which you’d know if you weren’t so out of it all the time.’
Polly gave Star a sour look, but it was true – in between going to work, sleeping and ‘relaxing’, she didn’t pay much attention to what was going on in the wider world.
‘Ask your mate at the Stiletto,’ Rhoda suggested. ‘He thinks he’s an entertainment entrepreneur, doesn’t he? He should know how to get hold of a couple of tickets.’
‘What mate?’
‘Joe Adler.’
‘We’re not mates.’
Rhoda was right, though. Polly sighed. She’d have to crawl to him again, and then she’d be in his debt even more and she hated owing people.
*
‘What do you think I am,’ Adler said. ‘A bloody magician?’
‘I just thought, with all your show business connections, you might know someone with spare tickets,’ Polly said. ‘My daughter loves the Beatles. A concert would be a once in a lifetime experience for her.’
‘You never said anything about bringing a daughter back.’
‘No,’ Polly said. That’s because she’s none of your business.
Adler puffed on his cigar. ‘Hang on, that means you’re asking for even more time off. You’ve got a bloody cheek.’
‘Only one day. And you’re not paying me, remember.’
‘One day? Up to Brisbane and back on the bus?’
‘We’ll be flying.’
‘Christ, are you made of money?’
‘No, I’m treating my daughter. And of course I’m anxious to get back to work.’
Adler gave her a look as though he didn’t believe her, and so he shouldn’t. He thought for a moment, tapping his cigar on the side of an ashtray, his expression slowly changing from one of doubt to badly concealed sneakiness. Polly was reminded of why Adler was never going to be the dazzling commercial impresario he believed was his destiny.
‘As it happens, I probably can get you a couple of tickets,’ he said. ‘Cost you, though.’
Naturally, Polly thought, no doubt in several ways.
‘Let me make a couple of phone calls,’ Adler went on. ‘Come and see me before you head off.’ He scrabbled around among the papers, files, and Chiko Roll wrappers on his desk until he found a cigar cutter, and lopped the smouldering end off his stogie. ‘And don’t let anyone tell you Joe Adler’s not a family man.’
*
Polly and the girls, including Evie, had a lovely time over the next few days getting things ready for Gina. Evie was very pleased when told that Polly was going home for a visit, but wary about the idea of her bringing Gina back to Sydney.
