Evening Plans

Thomas left for Angelino Heights. I'd be more surprised if he had stayed here. He'd go there when something he perceived as troublesome had taken place, like when his tailored suits weren't delivered on time, or the family was on the brink of war with the Chang clan.

He went there to stay in solitude, to think, and plan. At least that was what I was told. But I knew he went there for companionship, from the photographs and paintings of the woman he had loved, the mother of his sons, the deadwoman. He'd seek solace from the remnant of her instead of being in this house with someone who could console him with words and touch.

I didn't mind at all. Not one bit. I was very much relieved. I had an arrangement of my own that he wouldn't appreciate.

The night was young. I went upstairs and quietly approached Clarence's room. I had no reason to do so. Perhaps the immature side of me wanted to mess with him. Faint, muffled sounds came through the thin gap between the door and the frame. I knocked and asked to speak to him. To, not with. There was a difference.

No answer. The sounds went on. I pushed open the unlocked door.

"What the hell!" He yelled, didn't get off the girl I didn't recognize. His motion froze in time. "Get the hell out."

"I need to speak to you," I repeated, looking into his eyes. "Put your pants on."

I shut the door and waited by the banister. A few moments later, he appeared while being agitated in annoyance.

"I knocked," I said before he could accuse me of invading his privacy. "Tell me, do you still want to be in the out-takes?"

"What's this? Why talk about it right now?" He frowned. "You have Wesley Lee working for you already."

"Listen," I said quietly but firmly as I handed him a matchbox, "I know you are prying on me. If I were you, I wouldn't think that would do any good. You'll have to listen to me if you want to be in. You'll do what's told with no questions asked until you earn yourself a seat at the table. With that said, be kind and light up the cigarette for me, will you?"

He hesitated.

I pointed my cigarette at him: "You and I both know you don't care for Mary. You act like you love her and claim that you intend to marry her because you want attention. You want to be seen and stand out with all that true lovedeclaration. But I warn you, it doesn't work that way. You want to make something of yourself and have a place in this family. And you should know there's nothing wrong in saying it as it is."

He struck the match.

"Thank you." I leaned in to let him light my cigarette. I sighed as I continued: "You're a Murphy. You know when to bend."

-----

Charlie was early. The sound of the door closing startled him. He stood in a brown ivy cap, rolled-up sleeved white shirt, a pair of grey pants slightly too big for him, and an old pair of brown leather shoes. The way he dressed didn't quite match the daintiness of his face.

I had put on an ivory silk and lace slip. I caught a glimpse of myself in the floor-length mirror that was usually hidden underneath a red velvet fabric, dazzled with golden tassels on one end. I rarely looked at myself in full in the reflection. I was disgusted by the boney shoulders and the protruding collarbones. What happened to the buxom creature in a beaded dress and T-strapped gold lamé shoes, the young thing that danced to jazz all night long? They said it could be the cigarettes or the liquor. Not the job, never the job.

 I sat on the bed, the bed I was supposed to share with Thomas. But in the end, it became my bed and only my bed. Feeling adventurous and drunk on an illusion of control, I gestured for Charlie to come and sit next to me.

He walked towards the bed with his cap in hand. I caught him staring at my chest before looking away swiftly. He blushed.

"Sit down," I said, "please."

He sat.

"You came," I teased. "I thought you were different from the lot of them."

"Do you ask other men to come too, Mrs. Murphy?" He stared at his cap on his lap. "Men from my precinct."

"No," I said. I let him call me Mrs. Murphy.

"Then, well," he swallowed. Slowly, he turned to look at me, "I guess I'm different, no?"

"Well," I shrugged, "also no."

His turned redder with embarrassment.

I smiled: "Remind me, Charlie, when were you born?"

"Born in 14', ma'am, turned twenty last month," he said truthfully.

"You've got yourself a girl?"

He shook his head.

"Why did you want to be a cop?"

"To set this county straight," he said in all seriousness.

"You do know whose bed you are sitting on, right?"

"You are an outlaw, Mrs. Murphy. I'm curious about you."

"Many are."

"You think I'm just a young cop with futile ambitions that'll end in vain. You think I'm impressionable and easy to manipulate. That's why you asked me to be here," he got close to me. "But you are wrong. I'm not going to be your plaything."

"And I won't ask you to be one," I said, acting as if I was confused. It made me feel free and made him blush even more. "I'm only looking for a friend. But it seems that you have other thoughts in mind."

Tiny beads of sweat appeared along his hairline. He was flustered.

"Poor thing." I ran the back of my hand down his cheek. His eye twitched unnaturally, though he didn't move. "Be at ease, will you? I'd like you to talk to me like a companion for a little while."

-----

Thomas sat at the head of the dining table, flipping through today's paper. A bottle of bourbon stood next to his empty plate. Clarence sat on the opposite end with his back to me. He had just finished his lunch.

"Good day." Thomas didn't lift his eyes.

"You're back," I said, "I didn't hear the car. I must've been sleeping."

I went to sit in the middle with the man to the left and the boy to the right. I glanced at the boy, who greeted me with a nod.

He saw Charlie last night. I had purposefully led Charlie through the part of the house where he would likely to be in.

My husband's seventeen-year-old son looked at what he thought to be my twenty-year-old affair with a blend of surprise, amusement, repulsion, and disgust. His eyes followed as I pointed the way, sending Charlie into the darkness of the night.

"Out of all the men who want to know you better," he mocked, "that's who you picked."

"It's a secret," I said without looking at him, "between you and I."

"Get dressed properly." Thomas put down the paper. "You are taking Wesley to Emma."

"Has she come to?" I asked.

"She's fine." Thomas raised his eyebrow. "Though I'm afraid she's in hysteria."

"How so?"

"Whining and crying about the Chang boy." He curled his lip. "In and out of delirium, chattering on how she'd follow him. What nonsense, especially for a Murphy. I wonder where she gets these absurd ideas from. Do you remember when she asked for permission to be a governess? How ridiculous."

He laughed. I didn't.

"What if she loved him?" I said lightly, gestured to the maid to pour some more coffee, and lit a cigarette.

Thomas sneered.

I sighed: "What's Wesley there for?"

"Did you forget what I said to you in my office?" He squinted and poured himself a glass full of bourbon. "He'll marry Emma."

I stopped reaching for my cup. Clarence raised his brows.

"Wesley is a handsome and eligible suitor," he continued. "I don't foresee any objections. Right, Anne?"

"There won't be any objections," I said dryly while getting a hold of my cup. "Although wouldn't it be quite hypocritical to forbid her from marrying the Chang boy while sending her to the arms of another Asian man?" 

"You mean strategic." He leaned forward and brushed off my comment. "You'll take Wesley to Emma. They'll meet. He'll charm her. Once Emma is better, they will wed before the end of the year."

I said nothing. There was no place for me to speak.

I stood up.

"Any problems?" He squinted. "Regarding my arrangements."

"No, not at all." I threw my cigarette into the half-full cup of coffee. "I'll get dressed and ring Wesley."

"Till death do us part, Anne, dear," he taunted, "till death do us part. Remember that."

Wesley was important to me, but he could never be a threat to Thomas of any sort. Yet, Thomas had seemingly failed to understand that. Or perhaps, it was me who couldn't comprehend the meaning behind those words. 

-----

I called Wesley. I'll come right away. He said before any other word than hello was exchanged. He spoke pensively. I hung up. He was informed, told, and agreed to compromise.

-----

He sat in the driver's seat, looking solemn as if he was going to war. War of hearts. I opened the passenger side door, slid in, and kept my eyes front.

"You are allowed to be upset," I said, "you are allowed to want to get away."

"No," he said, "it's a choice."

"Let's all run away together," I said childishly. "I'll call Laurie and tell him we're leaving."

"That's a good one," he laughed unenthusiastically and ironically. "Wouldn't that be great?"

I wasn't joking. But he didn't need to know that.