The Other Madonna Read online

  Scot Gardner lives near the Victorian town of Yinnar with his wife and three kidlets. He likes Mambo art, other people’s puppies and kite-flying days. When he grows up he wants to be a writer. Or an astronaut.

  Also by Scot Gardner

  One Dead Seagull

  White Ute Dreaming

  Burning Eddy

  The Other Madonna

  SCOT GARDNER

  Teachers’ notes for The Other Madonna are available at www.scotgardner.com

  You can email Scot at [email protected].

  First published 2003 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  St Martins Tower, 31 Market Street, Sydney

  Copyright © Scot Gardner 2003

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

  Gardner, Scot.

  The other Madonna.

  For primary and secondary students.

  ISBN 0 330 36439 1.

  1. Teenage girls – Juvenile fiction. I. Title.

  A823.4

  Typeset in 11.5/15 pt Aldus Roman by Midland Typesetters Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  These electronic editions published in 2003 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  The Other Madonna

  Scot Gardner

  Adobe eReader format 978-1-74197-186-6

  Microsoft Reader format 978-1-74197-387-7

  Mobipocket format 978-1-74197-588-8

  Online format 978-1-74197-789-9

  Epub format 978-1-74262-545-4

  Macmillan Digital Australia

  www.macmillandigital.com.au

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy both print and ebooks online. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.

  For Robyn.

  You are.

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter one

  Chapter two

  Chapter three

  Chapter four

  Chapter five

  Chapter six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter eight

  Chapter nine

  Chapter ten

  Chapter eleven

  Chapter twelve

  Chapter thirteen

  Chapter fourteen

  Chapter fifteen

  Chapter sixteen

  Chapter seventeen

  Chapter eighteen

  Chapter nineteen

  Chapter twenty

  Chapter twenty-one

  Chapter twenty-two

  Acknowledgements

  I get heaps of help when I write. Madonna wouldn’t be who she is without the help of the women in my life, especially my wife Robyn, who heals people and manuscripts with her bare hands, and my daughters Jennifer and Belle. Good strong women. I’d never really eaten pasta until I worked for the Giulianis. And the Montanos taught me about pizza, especially Joe and Josie (the one with the stinky cheese sandwiches). My brother Liam was holding a lizard when I bothered him on the mobile with another dumb question about the law for this book. He’s good like that.

  And to my editors – Brianne, Anna, Julia and Rowena – I give you a rock, you make a jewel. Thank you.

  one

  I needed to pee. I realised I was gripping the chair. The place smelled like a dentist’s and the chair reclined. It was comfortable but I wasn’t.

  Colin stood over me and patted my hand. ‘Don’t worry about it, Madds,’ he said. ‘It won’t hurt.’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Bianca said, but I wasn’t convinced.

  ‘Yeah,’ Evie said. ‘Maddie’s a tough chick.’

  Tough chick. Tough chick. Tough chick.

  She shook her head and smiled. ‘Dad is going to freak.’

  I shrugged. ‘He might.’

  ‘Bullshit, Madonna. He’ll freak. Guaranteed. Remember what he was like when I got my belly button done? He lost the plot.’

  ‘Yeah, and so did you.’

  She snorted a laugh, ran her fingers through her bleached locks. ‘As usual, I’m the pioneer in the family.’

  Pioneer? I guessed she was right. She was older so she got to do things first and by the time I got to do whatever it was, Dad had worked through his hissy fit. Evie was the sort of pioneer who would shoot the natives and hang their heads on posts. She turned things into huge battles. Especially with Dad.

  The girl came back in. She was wearing a surgical mask. She snapped on some latex gloves and my tummy wobbled on the inside. I licked my teeth. The girl sat on the stool next to me, her eyes deadpan.

  ‘This is the first time I’ve done this,’ she said.

  ‘Wha?’ I sat up.

  She put her hand on my shoulder. ‘Joke, Madonna. You’ll be about my thirtieth customer this week.’

  I laughed and held my chest as I flopped back in the chair. ‘Don’t do that to me.’

  ‘You did mine about three years ago,’ Colin said.

  The girl in the mask handed me a cup and told me to rinse and spit into the silver bowl beside the chair. She told me to poke out my tongue, and my sister and my friends crowded around. She drew a line on my tongue and inspected it top and bottom.

  ‘Beautiful tongue,’ she said.

  I laughed and garbled thanks. That was definitely the first time in my seventeen years that anyone had told me I had a beautiful tongue.

  She held up a small mirror and showed me the marks she’d made.

  I nodded.

  She sprayed my tongue. Some landed on my lips.

  Tough chick. Tough chick. Tough chick.

  The needle flashed in the studio light and my finger-nails bit into the vinyl of the chair. I stared at the girl. She had eyes like Dartanian. Dark and soulless. Creepy eyes. Her eyebrows were fine and they met in the middle. I nearly freaked. She was leaning over me and I had to fight my desire to kick and run.

  Tough chick. Tough chick. Tough chick.

  She was pushing at my tongue. Any minute, I thought. Here it comes. Here it comes.

  ‘All done,’ the girl in the mask said. She handed me the cup and told me to rinse and spit. I swooshed some in my mouth and dribbled on the arm of the chair. I wiped it off with my hand. I tasted blood.

  ‘You grot,’ Evie said, and I laughed and apologised.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ the girl said. ‘Happens all the time. Takes a while to get used to. Spitting and eating especially. You’ll need to rinse with salt water or an antiseptic mouthwash after every meal for a couple of weeks. Brush your teeth.’

  She held the mirror up again. I sat up and poked out my tongue. Colin rested his hand on my shoulder and licked at his chin. We had matching barbells and I wanted to whoop and squeal. It hadn’t hurt at all.

  We moved through to the front of the shop and I grabbed my purse.

  Bianca had her hand on my arm
. ‘Let me pay.’

  ‘Don’t be thilly,’ I said, and put my hand over my mouth.

  ‘I said I would. It’s a birthday present.’

  ‘No.’

  She shoved me aside and gave the girl her gold credit card.

  I rattled the lump in my tongue against my teeth.

  ‘Did it hurt?’ Evie whispered.

  ‘Nuh. Couldn’t even feel it.’

  Bianca stuffed her card in her wallet and smiled. I hugged her around the neck and kissed her cheek. She patted my back.

  ‘Happy birthday, Madds,’ she whispered. ‘And if there’s trouble, you know you’ve always got a bed at my place.’

  I pulled away and looked in her eyes. She winked.

  It should have felt good that she’d made the offer. I should have felt relieved that I had a place to go but I just got pissed at Evie.

  ‘Thanks. Dad’ll be fine.’

  I wanted to tell Bianca that it was none of her friggin business. I wanted to tell her that Evie’s full of crap. That she treats Dad like an old dog and pokes him with her attitude until he snaps. It’s different for me.

  Bianca looked at her watch. ‘We should go, Evie.’

  We stepped onto Sydney Road and Evie kissed at my ear. Colin kissed them both and they hurried to where Bianca’s BMW was parked.

  ‘Igor’s?’ Colin asked.

  I nodded and he put his arm over my shoulder as we walked to the café.

  ‘Serious tough chick,’ he said. ‘You didn’t even blink.’

  ‘I know! I couldn’t believe how much it didn’t hurt.’ The words came out clunky.

  Colin smiled. ‘You’ll get used to it.’

  We sat alfresco. I had a cappuccino, Colin a latte. ‘Poofters’ coffee,’ he said.

  I gagged on a mouthful of froth. It stung the hole in my tongue. I held my mouth.

  ‘Should try it,’ he said. ‘Latte is the next step in the initiation.’

  ‘Wha?’

  He pinched the serviette around his glass. His little finger pointed at the umbrella as he sipped. ‘I’ll make a poofter out of you yet.’

  He flashed his barbell at me and I flashed him back.

  Colin is a disease, I thought. A very lovable and infectious disease. I caught him when we were in year seven at Carlton Park. We sat near each other by default in the beginning. Middle row. We weren’t bright enough or socially disabled enough to sit in the front row. We weren’t thick enough or cool enough to sit up the back. I was good at maths; he was a gem in English. We hated the same teachers and at the end of year ten we realised that we liked the same guys. I had a terminal case of Colin when we left school at the end of that year. He couldn’t handle all the shit people were hanging on him so he decided to get a job. I told him I’d go with him. He was my only decent mate. We could say a thousand words to each other with one facial expression. He was nothing like the other males in my life – except maybe Tricky, my dad. I’d never want to stick my tongue in Colin’s mouth (I know he’d gag at the thought) but I love him to bits.

  We worked at the Bullpit together our first summer out of school. It opened the week before we arrived on Señor Molinari’s doorstep. Molinari looked me up and down then employed us both on face value. Two weeks later, when Molinari bailed me up and groped me after work, Colin started smashing glasses. I managed to kick the sleazy prick. Colin and I ran off laughing. Molinari was screaming that we’d never work in his town again.

  The Bullpit closed down. I couldn’t find any work and for a while I thought Molinari’s curse had worked. Colin was jobless for a total of three days. He landed feet first at Sapphires – Bianca’s restaurant in Little Bourke Street. I honestly considered admitting defeat and going back to school. That’s when I found my second family in the DiFrescos, who ran Pepe’s Pizzeria.

  Bianca caught the Colin disease. Six months after he started waiting on tables, Colin became manager. Colin got Evie her job. Evie waits on tables and manages Sapphires when Colin has his nights off. Bianca flits around town and sings in musicals. She’s old, like maybe thirty or something. She’s married to Philippe the wine broker who spends most of his life overseas. She’s glam and fun and more than a little bit naughty.

  ‘I can’t believe Bianca paid for my piercing. Ninety bucks!’

  Colin smiled. ‘That’s how much she makes when someone sits down for soup and salad at Sapphires.’

  ‘Yeah, but she doesn’t have to spend it on me. I don’t work for her. She’s your boss. She’s Evie’s boss, not mine.’

  ‘You could work for her. If you wanted to.’

  I lifted one shoulder. ‘Yeah, and you could come and work at Pepe’s. Pepe’s always looking for good staff. We’ve had this discussion before.’

  ‘About ten times and it still doesn’t make any sense to me. You’d get more money working at Sapphires and you’d get to work with Evie and me. And Bianca’s pathologically generous and her husband is filthy rich.’

  ‘I know all that. The DiFrescos are like family.’

  ‘Who needs another family?’

  I put up my hand.

  ‘No, you don’t. You’re all grown up now, Maddie.’

  I shook my head. ‘When I grow up I want to be like Bianca.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to be like the other Madonna. What about your scrapbook? Why have I been collecting magazine clippings for a hundred years? She’s more your style. Music videos instead of musicals. Pointy bras instead of Versace.’

  ‘Pointy bras and Versace.’

  Colin took my fingers. ‘Just be you when you grow up. You’ve got more talent and finesse than both of them put together. Look at you, your hair shining, your eyes shining. Hey, what a body. You’re gorgeous, Maddie, in every sense of the word. Bianca just wants to be in your orbit.’

  I scoffed. ‘Okay.’

  He kissed my knuckles and paid for the coffees.

  I sighed as I left. I was fine while I was with him and we were all café culture and great clothes. I only had to turn my face towards home and the reality of it all tumbled on top of me.

  The foyer of the flats smelled like human shit. The lift stank like piss. The bloke who climbed in on the eighth floor reeked of stale armpit and I had to listen to him breathing while we travelled to the twelfth.

  Dad was asleep in front of the TV. The carcasses of four king browns were tucked against the couch. Long-necks of Guinness stout. He’d had a quiet afternoon.

  ‘Zat you, Evie?’ he grumbled as I opened the bedroom door.

  ‘No, it’s me.’

  ‘Hello, Maddie lov. Where you bin? I bin looking for you.’

  ‘Just around, Dad.’ I rattled my barbell against my teeth and almost told Dad about it. I knew if I didn’t mention it, Dad wouldn’t notice my pierced tongue through the fog of black beer for days or maybe even weeks. ‘What have you been up to?’

  ‘Ah, just taking it easy. To be sure of that. Have you seen your sister?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s at work.’

  ‘Oh. When you see her can you tell her it’s her turn to do the dishes?’

  ‘She’s at work, Dad. She won’t be back until midnight. Why don’t you do the dishes?’

  ‘There’s shite everywhere. It’s Evie’s turn. I can’t find me plate. Me special plate. Ah, don’t worry about it. I’ll tell her. Bloddy oath I’ll tell her.’

  I bet your special blue and white plate is buried under your shite, Dad, I thought. Dad sounded particularly Irish that night, which is stupid really. He was born in Footscray. Dad didn’t eat much when he was on the bottle and Evie and I had been eating at work. Evie had been dining gourmet and I’d been having pizza, pasta and salad.

  The Guinness seemed to give Dad his accent. The beer and his pub mates. Mum was the Irish one.

  two

  I showered and dressed in my Pepe’s T-shirt and black skirt. My hair was still wet when I pulled it into a ponytail. I thought about eating but my tongue had a pulse. I rinsed and had some water instead
. I kissed Dad on his bald head and went to work early. Just for the smell and the company.

  For a winter’s night the air was warm and welcome on my skin. Paolo was leaning on the bonnet of his car, smoking. He was parked in front of Fun-Da-Mental, the joke shop next to his parents’ pizzeria. He wore black leather pants and a blue soccer top with a little Italian flag in a shield on the chest. A thin line of beard traced the square of his jaw and his black hair had been tip bleached and spiked so he had the mop of a wet labrador. He watched me walk from the corner, looking down his nose with his arms crossed and chewing lazily. I nodded hello and he called me over.

  ‘So . . . Madonna . . . when am I going to get to root you?’

  I smiled. Standard pig line. He doesn’t have any surprises anymore. Never says anything original.

  I pretended to yawn. ‘Maybe when you grow up. I don’t have sex with children.’

  I turned on one heel and flashed my tongue at him before walking inside.

  ‘Bitch,’ he said.

  Bruna was helping her husband Pepe behind the counter. At the sight of me, her working frown peeled away and she beamed a false-tooth grin.

  ‘Here she is! It’s the beautiful Madonna straight from God to help us. How are you today, darling?’

  ‘I’m good, Mrs D. What are you doing behind the counter? Where’s Luce?’

  ‘Bah. Lucia,’ Pepe cut in with a smile. He shook his head. ‘She’s not like our Madonna. She’s never early for work. We need more staff like you, Madonna. You got maybe a sister at home we can swap for . . .?’

  ‘Pepe!’ Bruna barked and slapped her husband on the shoulder. She left a handprint of flour on his black shirt. ‘Lucia is a good girl.’

  She stepped from behind the counter and held her arms wide so we could hug. Her bristly chin rested against my cheek. ‘Lucia is in the toilet,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t listen to that monster.’ Bruna disappeared into the kitchen and barked something in Italian to Angelina, her sister.

  I went behind the counter and pulled on my apron. There were orders for seven pizzas and, as I grabbed the first base and tray from the rack, the phone rang. Pepe rolled his eyes, his dark eyebrows clawing up his forehead. ‘It’s going to be a big night.’