Vintage Rob

Chapter 7 - Money

Sylvester eased his body out of the booth. Steadying himself with a hand on the table, he picked up the Gears CD and looked expectantly at Molly.

With a squeaky voice, Rob pretended his plea was fake. "Don't leave me alone with her."

Sylvester smirked slightly. Otherwise, he waited like a driver at a limousine door. When Molly arrived, he greeted her with a big smile. "Dear girl, a gift." He pressed the CD into her hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Milyaro." She examined it. "It won't be released until next month. May I upload it to the Internet for my friends?"

Her skin glowed. Sylvester blinked as if blinded. "I'm flattered you know me. I'd stay, but I must make my rounds or this place will go to hell." He motioned with his hand at the booth. "Please, sit. It's a relief to leave Rob in good company." With his hand over his heart, he shuffled away.

Molly slid into the booth and put the CD on the table. "I was afraid of him when I was little."

"I still am," Rob said, shocked by her conversational tone. Her resemblance to her mother, who he had realized too late was the love of his life, threw him too. He pointed at the CD. "I wrote the liner notes. The photographs inside are mine too."

"You mentioned that before."

"So I did." Molly wore a simple brown sweater for her Friday night date with George. Rob would meet Connie and some of her friends the next day in New York. She did not dress up for him, but she never dressed as causally as Molly.

Molly slid the CD into her lap. "George told me you're going to spend some hours in the ambulance with him."

"Yeah. I can't promise anything. Photojournalism is a dying profession in my opinion. Even I may become a paparazzi instead."

She looked down, then raised her head. "George told me you wanted to see me."

Since Rob did not want to anymore, he lied about the reason. "I'm never going to see your father again. That's what you want?"

"Yes."

His throat contracted, his eyes stung, and he could not hide it. If she noticed, she did not let on. "You trust me with George but not your father?"

"Please don't become George's friend."

He wished he could laugh, but at least he maintained a smile. She lacked her usual fierceness. The hopelessness in her voice may have been payment for helping George. But maybe it meant something, something genuine, something lost.

"You betrayed my father. You and my mother." She spoke in a sharp whisper. "I could be your daughter. That's why-"

Whoa, stop. "That's not true, Molly. That's not true."

"It is. I could be your biological daughter."

His hands shook. The buzz of the restaurant crowd filled his ears suddenly as his mind shot away from the conversation. Did she feel jilted? "Would you welcome that?"

"No." She hissed. "No."

The aroma of seafood penetrated the fog and noise. He gazed at a yellow-red blob, pasta for a nearby table. The sight of wine glasses throughout the restaurant, an orchestra of them lifting up and down, brought some reality to his blinkered senses, but his eyes probably looked like Sylvester's had earlier: wet and hurt. "Paul would never mention this. Did Sarah?"

Molly glanced away.

Sarah. Why bother? "I'm only telling you this for your mother's sake." But as he spoke he questioned his judgment and stopped.

"Go on," Molly said.

"You may not understand or want to hear but they had an open marriage then. Paul had other lovers too. Sarah, for one."

Molly grimaced. In other circumstances, her transparency might have been adorable.

"It was too much for all of us to handle, obviously," Rob said. "We were young and stupid."

The shock and disgust dissipated, but Molly's grimace remained. It floated upward and wrinkled her forehead, roiled by an overworked brain. She stared off into space for awhile. "Who ended the friendship?" she said finally. "My father, or you?"

"He did. He also told me what you saw when you were babysitting Makiko one day."

She slid to the edge of her seat, with furrowed brows and dry eyes. "When I told him, I didn't know Makiko would go to Japan forever."

Rob rubbed his eyes. He swung his legs out of the booth. "George is waiting for you and I have to go to the bathroom."

Molly made no signs of leaving. "My father doesn't know the whole story. I also saw who you were with. Did my parents have an open marriage then too, when I was fifteen?"

It was possible he was with Samantha. Moving erratically, he banged his hand into the table. "Okay, we made mistakes. You're right about that."

She rotated her head back and forth and stood. "I understand lust-" Her eyes darted across the room, and she frowned. "Hey, what's Sylvester doing?"

Rob put his elbow on the table and leaned over to see better. Sylvester was in her chair, sharing a laugh with George. "Don't worry about it, Molly. They're fine, especially if Sylvester takes a shine to him."

"Sylvester Milyaro is a gangster." Her voice was flat.

Stop worrying about the mistakes of old farts. He wanted to tell her that. "Your mother wanted me to look out for you," Rob said.

"My father does that."

"And I don't want to interfere." He took out his wallet and removed bills from the second compartment, his reserve, and placed them on her side of the table. All hundreds. "Just take it."

Already he regretted resorting to money. A stupid, stupid impulse.

She picked up the thousand dollars and fanned it out. "I'll give you something in return."

"You don't have to."

She put the money in her handbag and smoothed out her skirt. She sighed. "I didn't really like Makiko the last time I saw her. She is boring and uptight."

With that, Molly left.

Rob gazed at Sylvester's laptop. His open wallet polluted his lap, so he pushed it onto the seat. It collapsed shut and rolled onto the floor like a scurrying animal. Over at table fifty-two, Sylvester stood next to George and Molly. George's arms were crossed but his smile and eyes glowed.

Later, Rob would meet Mark in the lounge. To get there, he did not have to pass by table fifty-two. Instead, he slunk through the lobby.

***

Rob sat on a barstool in the lounge. A young bartender with thick brown sideburns offered nuts and replaced the whiskey Rob carried from the dining room. "Mr. Milyaro said to save you a table." A small table along the wall had a reserved tent on it.

More than an hour remained before the appointment with Mark. "Thanks. I'll move there when my enemy comes."

Beside him, two lovers whispered confidingly. After awhile, a tense couple replaced them. For a long time, Molly's Molly-ness filled Rob with dread. It also bothered him that Makiko might be too serious. That had been his ex-wife's worst quality. And if Makiko was too serious, maybe that was his fault for not being around.

Cool jazz came from the speakers - a stand up bass, a piano, a trumpet. Taking turns, each instrument poked holes at his pensiveness. The smooth singer did too.

Mark was a nuisance, and practicing nonviolence might be impossible if the guy was persistent about blackmailing him. Damn it, Rob just wanted to get to know Makiko.

If you've ever done something you regret, maybe you can identify with Rob's stupid impulse to give Molly money. What about Molly? Was taking the money a stupid impulse too?

Rob is about to meet Mark again. Do you remember anything about him?

Money might be evil, but stars aren't. They're free! Thank you!