MONDAY
I awaken to the sound of a strangled yelp, and roll over. In the doorway to the bedroom stands Jaq and Charles Pitch. Jaq’s embarrassment is palpable. I should have set an alarm so he wouldn’t have to see me in his bed.
There’s a look on Charles’ face that chills me to the bone. It only lingers for a moment, but I saw it.
Charles pushes Jaq into the room, grinning.
‘Don’t tell me she’s that forgettable in bed?’
Oh no.
‘Cut it out, immediately. You’re supposed to be Jaq’s friend. He’s delicate from dealing with his parents last night. Let him recover before you bully him more.’
‘She bites!’
He winks at me.
Gross gross gross.
Jaq sinks into the desk chair on the opposite side of the room. He’s hopeless.
I glare at Charles.
‘You come to bother me this early in the morning but don’t even have the decency to bring me breakfast? You’re a monster.’
He feigns hurt while I drag myself out from under the covers – so glad I stopped for pyjamas – and head to the bathroom. He calls after me;
‘Let me know if you need any help in there – I’m sure Jaq won’t mind…’
I glance instinctively at Jaq, but he seems oblivious to the implication of the comment.
‘Stop it, Pitch. Now. You know he can’t handle shit like that.’
The sterility of the bathroom grates on my nerves – I’m already in a bad mood, I don’t need to deal with the weirdness of this house as well. I toss my pyjamas across the floor.
After showering, I dig through my bag and find my medication. I really don’t like taking it, but I’m certain this morning is going to need the soothing guidance of diazepam. I choke down a pill and steel myself to face the day. When I leave the bathroom, Charles is sitting on the desk. Jaq holds his head in his hands.
‘What have you done to him?’
Charles holds up his hands in surrender.
‘Absolutely nothing!’
‘I don’t believe you. Jaq? Are you okay?’
He straightens up and turns to me, looking a little better.
‘I’m okay. He’s just being… him. Don't be mad.’
I walk over and rest a hand on his shoulder. I’d rather go for a hug – it would be the more appropriate display of affection, but I still don’t know Jaq’s tolerance for physical contact. I give his shoulder a squeeze. He fixes his gaze somewhere near my hip and says;
‘Charles suggested that we go out together today. To get me out of the house.’
At least that’s a decent idea.
‘And Jack tells me that you’ve been looking to rent a practice space together?’
I eye him. This is probably a safe topic for discussion, but if we do rent somewhere, I don't want Pitch to know where it is. I hate the idea of him dropping by at random. I find him intolerable.
‘I found a few places I like the look of yesterday – Jaq hasn’t chosen one yet.’
‘Perhaps I could show you more?’
I force myself not to physically recoil at the suggestion. This man gives me the creeps something fierce. Normally the leering alone would be enough to make me avoid him like the plague, but... he’s Jaq’s friend. Possibly his only friend. I can't avoid him like that.
I still want to chase him out of here, screaming bloody murder.
I resist the urge.
‘Sounds like a plan.’
He beams.
‘Wonderful!’
He playfully punches Jaq in the shoulder.
‘Come on then, let’s go.’
Jaq leads the way out of the room, and I follow. Charles is close behind me. I feel his breath on my neck, and he whispers into my ear
‘You’re an odd one. But I like unusual things. It won’t be long before you get tired of Jack’s shit. When you are… I’m here for you.'
FUCK RIGHT OFF.
I struggle not to turn back and claw at the man’s face – rage fills my chest with cold fire. If thoughts could kill… he would be little more than a mote of dust blowing away on the breeze.
Instead of letting myself get tied up in knots thinking about how much I hate Charles, I spend the drive considering my next move with Frances. Someone else I dislike.
She’s a difficult one. I thought we might bond over a shared love of animals, but… I get the feeling mentioning her greyhounds was a mistake. Perhaps not perceived as an insult… maybe an invasion? She blanked me out. I’m not sure why. Most people love to talk about their pets – though there’s the possibility she doesn’t see her dogs as pets.
It’s difficult for me to get a read on her personality when both interactions I’ve had with her were so short and negative… and Jaq won’t talk about her, no matter how much I try to push for answers. I could try to ask Lionel? How do I do that without raising suspicion?
I doubt she will ever like me.
Fondness, or better, friendship would be ideal, but it’s unnecessary. What I need from her most is respect. I hope it’s something I can earn – if I can show her that I’m capable of protecting Jaq from the world, or show her that I’m good for his career… it might help. But, that’s assuming my interference won’t enrage her. I doubt that she means to keep her boys as sheltered babies, reliant on her for everything. She leaves the country frequently. Stays away for extended periods. It's more likely that neither of her children have developed the will to break away and live for themselves.
I grumble to myself. I need more information before I can make such grand judgments.
I need to be able to talk to her, or watch her talk to others.
I need to know the kind of people she respects.
The car stops in front of an even more lavish and far more modern mansion than the one we just left. This is not the promised destination. Charles taps the steering wheel and cheerily announces;
‘We’re here!’
‘This is your house…’ says Jaq in a confused monotone.
‘Of course it is. I’m hurt you didn’t ask to come over sooner. I forgive you though! Mi casa is su casa. You can twiddle on your fiddle wherever you like.’
GROSS.
He winks. I fume.
This arrangement is great for Jaq – it keeps him away from his parents, gets him out of the house, and gives him space to practice for free… but it’s going to hurt me. No, it’s going to kill me.
I don’t need a crystal ball to see that particular doom approaching.
We get out of the car and cross to the house. It has that trendy minimalist style that is so incredibly expensive. Stark white walls, blocky furniture that all perfectly matches… While there’s no visual resemblance, the atmosphere reminds me of Jaq’s house. The lack of personal touch. The lack of evidence that a human lives here. No loose mail, no shoes left in odd places. No forgotten glass sitting empty on the mantle. I hate it. I’m not sure how to describe my irrational loathing for the space… perhaps it’s a reaction to the insincerity of it all? These perfectly curated rooms house imperfect creatures – imperfect creatures that can’t wear their imperfections on the outside. Everything here is hollow. A thin veneer over a rotted-out core.
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice that Jaq has left the room.
Charles seizes the opportunity by seizing me.
His arms wrap around my waist from behind, and he pulls me close
‘So tell me… do you like my home?’
I freeze.
‘I’d be happy to give you the grand tour…’
Getawaygetawaygetaway.
‘Or maybe you’d rather I take you straight to-‘
I stamp on his foot, hard. He gasps and releases me – I take the opportunity and run, following the sound of Jaq’s violin. It doesn’t take long for Pitch to recover from the shock – but by the time he catches up, I’m sitting in a chair next to Jaq.
His music is perfection. He sways with it – absorbed in it, oblivious to my terror.
Charles smiles sweetly at me as he enters the room. He sits down, reclining lazily, as though nothing had happened.
I need a way out. Any reason to leave… I could say I need to get to work… but then he’d probably insist on driving me to the theatre, and I don’t want to be alone in a car with him. Shopping maybe? Food? Even if I claimed I had a doctor’s appointment…
I need out.
I text Lionel.
> Trapped at Charles' evil lair, Jaq is hypnotised, send help
His reply is quick;
> Have you tried throwing cold water in his face? I hear that works a treat for breaking hypnosis.
I surreptitiously send a photo with Jaq in the foreground, playing frantically, his eyes closed, Charles lounging in the background, arm extended invitingly across the back of his couch, legs spread across two seat cushions, head tilted to one side, staring at me…
> Oh jeez
>
> You might need garlic and a silver bullet for that one
That’s cute.
> Any chance you would have a reason to turn up here out of the blue? I hear there’s strength in numbers.
>
> You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Come on, come on.
> You weren’t kidding about sending me on errands, huh?
>
> Ok. I don’t have anything better to do anyway.
YES.
After a few minutes, Jaq’s phone rings. He stops playing to answer it.
‘Huh? The venue? ‘
I can’t quite make out the voice on the other end.
‘…I can send Jo… Yeah, okay.’
He turns to me;
‘Would you mind-‘
‘It’s okay. I’ll go.’
‘She’ll go… mhmm. Okay…' then, to me; 'He’s going to pick you up from here.’
‘Okay. ‘
‘She says ok. Okay.’
He hangs up, and without another word, returns to playing.
----------------------------------------
When Lionel arrives, Charles sees me to the door. He can’t resist the chance to say something weird.
‘You were saved by a lucky coincidence this time, but I’ll catch you next time.’
My skin crawls. I glare at him and hurry to Lionel’s car. What is with these people? They’re so transparently just… bad.
Once inside the enclosed safety of the vehicle, I start to shake.
‘What the fuck is wrong with that guy? Isn’t he supposed to be Jaq’s best friend? Why the fuck is he creeping on me so fucking hard?’
Lionel laughs harshly.
‘He’s bored. He’s rich. He’s an arse. He likes to mess with people. He especially likes to mess with people who are easy to fluster. He probably meant to test Jackie at first, see if he could make him jealous, but I’ll bet he’s sensed that you’ve got weaknesses of your own he can poke at. You're new, so you're a more interesting target right now.’
I turn my eyes skyward.
‘Yeah, my weakness is that he’s twice my size, has far more money and power, and if he assaulted me I’d have the option of either remaining silent, a living testament to the cruelty built into our current systems of power, or living the rest of my life constantly on guard for a baying mass of his rabid fans screaming at me, calling me a lying whore and threatening to murder me in extremely graphic ways’
Lionel glances over at me.
‘Well, shit.’
We drive in awkward silence for a while.
‘Sorry. That outburst was unfair on you. I’m just a bit stressed out. I’m not used to that kind of treatment. Thank you for coming to rescue me.’
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.’
This time, the silence is a little easier.
My phone buzzes – it’s Casey with another tabloid photo, this time of Jaq and I leaving the restaurant. They’re speculating about a possible fight between us. It does look a little that way – his scowl, my worried look. I smile a little bit, comforted that Casey’s looking out for me like this… I still feel guilty for not having gone to see her show yet.
I can fix that.
‘…do you like theatre?’
‘Huh?’
‘My friend – she’s in a production of Streetcar. I missed opening night, and I feel bad. Do you want to see it tonight?’
‘Sure.’
I text Jaq asking if he wants to go too. If I can get him away from Charles, I might be able to talk to him about his friend’s fucked up games.
Lionel may even back me up.
When Lionel parks the car I realise that I didn’t actually give him a destination. I look around. It’s an unfamiliar street lined with cramped townhouses. Lionel says;
‘There’s a place near here that does good falafel. It’s nearly lunchtime. Figured you’d want to eat.’
I forgot food. I’m starving.
The café he takes me to is cute – The tablecloths are bright and colourful, and hanging baskets of flowers act as a sort of curtain, providing a little privacy for patrons. There’s a rotating glass cake stand on one of the counters, full of tiny cupcakes decorated to look like cartoon characters and animals. The waitress smiles when she sees Lionel and leads us to a table towards the back. We sit, and she hands me a menu.
There are no prices listed on the menu. That worries me. If they assume you don’t care about the prices, then they’re probably so expensive that someone like me couldn’t afford even the most basic item.
As though reading my mind, Lionel says
‘My treat.’
I accept reluctantly.
We chat over lunch, and I share the cover stories I’d invented. He seems to believe them… but it doesn’t feel good. Lionel doesn’t seem like a villain. He’s just… a brother. A good one at that – if he’s willing to go this far out of his way for his not-yet sister in law…
Why didn’t Jaq include him in this stupid scheme? Is he too honest? Would he object?
I mean. Jaq hired me to help him defraud his parents. If anyone was going to object, it would be their other son.
I tell him to ask Jaq about the drawing of the cowboy. He laughs. He asks if I’ve got my work in any galleries at the moment – I’m a little surprised.
‘No – most of the things I do aren’t suitable for a gallery – sets are too big for most indie art spaces, and doodles of cowboys aren’t really ‘high art’.’
‘You don’t turn your doodles into paintings?’
‘…Never really had the opportunity to. Paints and canvasses are more expensive than pens and paper. They take up a lot more space too.’
He frowns.
‘If you had the chance, would you paint?’
‘I don’t really know. I think I’d still focus more on sculpture.’
‘You sculpt?’
‘A set… it’s a sculpture that serves a purpose. You can climb on it – it helps you tell a story. It’s… art you can play with.’
He listens intently.
‘Did you build the sets for this production of Streetcar?’
I nod.
‘Not all of it though. Some parts were salvaged from older productions, and I had some help with the newer parts as well. I can point out the parts I did.’
I feel a buzz in my pocket – it’s Jaq. I sigh, disappointed.
‘Jaq won’t be joining us tonight.’
‘That’s fine. I’ll still go with you. Can’t let your friend down.’
‘Thanks.’ I say, hoping it’s enough to express my gratitude.
I want to be there for Casey – and yet I’ve been totally absent for the past couple of days. A few texts now and then, but that’s not the same as being there. I haven’t even looked up reviews of the performance. I’m a terrible friend.
After lunch, we walk along the waterfront. Pigeons and sparrows squabble over crumbs left behind by picnickers. The wind off the water is cold.
‘Tell me about yourself.’ I say, still trying to work out what a future sister-in-law talks about.
‘You probably know most of it.’
‘Not really. Even under intense interrogation conditions, Jaq doesn’t talk about himself much. You, your parents, even his school life... He wanted to keep me away from it all, I think.’
Under intense interrogation, he forgot to mention he even had a brother.
‘I guess that makes sense. I mean, you’ve met Mother.’
I laugh, though it’s forced.
‘I wouldn’t say that. I saw her. She refused to shake my hand, twice, and apart from calling me a bad influence, she’s refused to speak to me entirely. I don’t think that counts as a real meeting.’
Lionel looks surprised.
‘Wow, you must have rattled her cage. She normally at least feigns niceties.’
‘Really? I wonder why…’
He shrugs. I mumble at my feet, almost hopeful he doesn't hear me;
‘Maybe she’s angry that I’m real. If she was certain I was a lie… then I’ve contradicted her by existing.’
Maybe I'm not demure enough. If I'm wrong about her not really caring about controlling her sons, then I've already threatened her by being far too feisty.
Or, maybe she wanted Jaq to be a failure so she had an excuse to hurt him more.
What the fuck is wrong with these people?
Out loud, I say;
‘If I had a better idea why she’s like this… I don’t know.’
I laugh apologetically, meeting his gaze again.
‘Sorry, I keep saying depressing things. I’m all doom and gloom today.’
Lionel gives me a one-armed hug.
‘You just got thrown into this mess of a family – it’ll take a while to get used to it.’
We slip back into silence. My mind races, drowning in unanswerable questions about Frances’ motivation. She’s turned into a bat-winged demon in my thoughts. It’s the only explanation that makes sense to the emotional part of my brain, and yet, it reduces her to little more than an obstacle for a hero to overcome. No depth, just opposition for the sake of opposition.
I can’t let my understanding of her flatten so much – she’s a human being. Humans are complex.
I just don’t see it yet.
We reach the end of a pier and I stare down into the water. Empty plastic bottles and chocolate wrappers tangled with water weeds float by.
‘Can’t imagine the fish in there are healthy.’
Lionel snorts in response.
----------------------------------------
We arrive at the theatre early so that I have a chance to say hello to Casey – she’s already in costume, but she runs out to hug me anyway.
‘You came!’
‘Of course I did.’
‘Thank you! I know you hate this play.’
I give her a squeeze.
‘Yeah, but I hate Jaq’s parents more, so…’
She laughs and lets me go. I turn to Lionel;
‘This is my shiny new future brother-in-law, Lionel.’
Casey’s eyes widen, and softly, barely containing her excitement, she says
‘You’re engaged?!’
Shit. I didn’t tell her that. She bounces on her heels
‘You’re absolutely going to have to bring Jaques next time! I have to meet him!’
I can hear Director Hollis yelling from backstage;
‘You better go back and get ready-'
She gives Lionel a quick hug before she turns and runs back to the door, shouting;
‘Next time! I expect to see Jaques! Don’t disappoint me!’
I shake my head. I have no idea how to introduce the two. She’ll want to hug him and he’ll turn to stone, then I’ll have to spend the rest of the meeting reassuring her that he’s just shy, and him that she’s just friendly.
Still looking a little surprised, Lionel says;
‘So you’ve dragged me to a play you hate?’
‘Yeah. It’s not easy to watch.’
He laughs.
‘So there was an ulterior motive to bringing me – you want someone to complain about it with.’
‘Shit, you caught me. I mean… I have no idea what you’re talking about, officer. I’m just here to support my friend.’
I try my best to look innocent. He tries his best to look stern and disapproving. I stick out my tongue and bound up the stairs to the auditorium doors.
I think about bailing, coming back at the end. Pretending I saw it. I’ve always struggled to watch Streetcar. It’s too real. Too close to home. It makes me feel vulnerable – which is exactly what it sets out to do. It isn’t entertainment. It isn’t meant to be fun. It’s one of those thinkers’ plays. I usually like things that make me think, but this… human cruelty is a topic I’m forced to think about too much already.
Casey is playing Stella. It’s kind of a big deal. So here I am.
…I shouldn’t have brought Lionel. He’s going to hate me by the end of it. I think I need the catharsis of having someone to rant about it to. Maybe he’ll enjoy having the chance to complain about my boring Streetcar tirade to Jaq. Brotherly bonding through complaining about girls.
I don't think that's the kind of relationship they have. I don't know.
He catches up to me, breathing hard.
‘Jeez, you just flew up those steps.’
I look back at the staircase. It’s not that steep.
‘Oh, you poor baby. Don’t worry, the next set is all downhill. And you’re going to love the seats.’
We make our way down to the awful wing seats set aside for crew and cast members’ comped guests. My seat is held together with silver duct tape. It’s narrow, creaky, and extremely uncomfortable. Lionel sits down in the seat beside me, then stands again and stares back down at it.
‘Did it bite you?’
‘No, just… that’s awful.’
He sits again, gingerly this time.
‘We’re supposed to watch a show while sitting in these? 10 minutes in this chair and you’re going to have to carry me out.’
‘This is just what you get when you’re watching theatre for free.’
He shakes his head.
‘This place desperately needs a renovation.’
He’s not wrong, but the theatre can barely afford to keep its doors open at all. It isn't well positioned geographically to attract affluent young hipsters who'd want to see the kinds of things that get onto the stage here. Regular people don’t go to the theatre anymore - movie tickets are cheaper. The concessions stand in both the theatre and the cinema are grossly overpriced, though. I check my purse to make sure I have enough for an ice cream cone at the intermission. This is the only place I’ll accept that kind of pricing – I didn’t pay for a ticket, and the theatre needs to get money somehow.
‘Should we have brought flowers or something for your friend?’
‘No, coming along is a big enough deal. If I brought her flowers as well… she’d probably worry I was dying or something.’
----------------------------------------
The show ends late, and Lionel drives me home – I don’t realise until it’s too late that ‘home’ means his home. Jaq's probably in his room. I don’t want to spend another night in a pile of coats on the floor… but we’re here now and it’d be weird for me to ask to be taken back to the hotel.
I hesitate at Jaq’s door, thinking.
I hear footsteps from the stairs and look back – Lionel’s staring at me from the bottom. He raises his hands in confusion. Whispering loudly, he says;
‘Did he lock the door?’
I shrug and nod, silently thanking him for coming up with an excuse for me.
‘Arse.’
He waves me down. I descend the stairs
‘Don’t worry, there are guestrooms.’
O' Hypnos, god of sleep. I accept your boon with a grateful heart.
The guest room is nearly identical to Jaq’s room. I hate it with equal passion. The décor in every room matches aggressively – this latest affront serves to compound my previous irritation. This isn’t a house for humans to live in. It's nothing but packaging. It exists to be conspicuously tasteful and expensive. It’s a façade, covering the coarse and incomplete hearts of its owners.
Not that I really know much about the owners, or how their hearts are doing. I sigh. I’m letting my melodramatic nature take over my ability to reason. Probably because I’m tired. I take off my shoes and climb into the bed.