The Great Empty Page 2

  “More wine, sir?” she asked Mr. Winthrop as a dot of lime-green went flying past, clinging to a silver serving pitcher.

  Naturally, Viola complained, “Father, Donovan’s flipping peas again!”

  The veins leading away from Allister’s temples swelled with impatience as he spat, “No thank you, Miss Lucia,” and “Donovan, eat your veal!”

  When Miss Lucia glanced over to Donovan, he gave her a secretive wink and danced his eyebrows intriguingly at her, but she overlooked his mischief and began clearing away the unused portions and emptied dishes.

  However, the reprimand did little to hinder him from voicing his opinion. He was used to his father’s rhetoric, and had learned early on that the sting usually ended short of his tongue. As far back as he could remember, their conversations rarely went beyond what he provoked.

  “I don’t want to go to Australia!” he argued, not really meaning it, but up for another conquest of attitude.

  “Why the dickens not?” his father responded, perplexed by his son’s stubbornness. “You’ve never been there before. So how can you be so set against something you’ve never experienced?”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the irony of what he was saying.

  “Because I don’t want to play silly ol’ dolls with Viola and Marcy,” he whined. “That’s all she knows how to do is play sissy stuff.”

  Viola stuck her tongue out at him.

  This called for plastered on appeal. “Well, think of it as an adventure, son. It’s practically summer all year round there, and Preston may be up to taking you to the zoo.., or something.”

  “Twiddle dee dee..,” Donovan twirled one finger in the thick mass of humility and mumbled, “What jolly fun we’ll have.”

  “Anywho, it will only be for one week,” his father said flatly.

  In a mirrored image, Donovan too, plastered on a smile in momentary quiet discontent.

  When his father’s nose was buried in the bottom of his wine glass, he slid the piece of veal from his plate and into his coat pocket. Then he pulled something black from his backpack and onto his lap.

  “Finished,” he declared. “May I be excused?”

  “What’s the code word?” his mother asked as though it was required discipline.

  Reading them both like yesterday’s comics, he exposed all of his pearly whites and grinned, “Pleeease!”

  “Very well then, run along and change. We’ll be leaving in twenty minutes,” she excused him from the table.

  As he started to get up with an arm extended low, however, a flash was made evident from below the table as Miss Lucia leaned over to retrieve a carafe. Then a motorized wind sounded that ejected the picture. Donovan grinned and started to hurry off with it.

  His father halted him in his tracks. “What did you just do, Donovan? And where the bugger did you find that damn thing?!” he shouted.

  “I found it in the attic,” he replied matter-of-factly. “It was among some boxes of photographs and momentos from ages ago.”

  Allister was again perturbed. “And who gave you permission to go snooping through my things? You have a camera of your own and what you just did was highly inappropriate!”

  “Sorry,” he drooped his head downward with complete insincerity. “But may I keep it for a while? It’s the first one I’ve ever seen. It’s crazy amazing how it shoots the photo’s out the end!”

  “That’s because it’s a Kodak Polaroid camera and they probably don’t even make them anymore,” Allister sighed wearily. “So I suppose it doesn’t really matter after all. As soon as you run out of film, there’s no more harm to be done. So I guess you can hold onto it for now, but you must first apologize to Miss Lucia and give her the photo you just took,” he demanded. “Did I make myself perfectly clear?!”

  “Of course, Father,” he handed Miss Lucia the photograph.

  She snatched it from his hand and peeled back the thin black liner of the picture and winced at what she saw. Then she glared at him and shook her finger directly at him as a threat.

  “I just wanted something to remember you by while I’m away. You are so beautiful,” he grinned.

  She snapped back with a harsh whisper, “That wasn’t my face!”

  Pretty soon, the staff was rushing about mercilessly. Attempting to get all of the baggage together and outside of the lavishly furnished mansion was no easy task. They had to watch where they were going to keep from tripping over all of the floor displays and sculptures rambling about, especially with so many distractions.

  Afterwards, as Elizabeth was passing Miss Lucia in the hallway, she found her removing the delicacy from Donovan’s jacket.

  “I’ll need to press another,” she respectfully suggested.

  Elizabeth looked surprised, but curtly responded as she pushed her way past. “There’s no time for that. Just concentrate on getting him downstairs.”

  “Yes, Madam,” she replied.

  It was no sooner that Elizabeth had sat down in front of the marble dressing table and started combing out her sleek auburn hair that he meandered into the bedroom, vying for her attention as any affection starved house cat might.

  “Mother,” he said, trying his level best to be persuasive. “Won’t you please stay with us at Uncle Yancey’s? That way, we can go to the zoo together.”

  “Oh, Donovan,” she smoothed her diamond clustered hand against his cheek. “Your father needs me to be with him in Melbourne. This is a very important meeting. Please try to understand. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

  “That’s what you always say..,” he shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the room and into his bedroom.

  She could sense the disappointment was genuine, and it left them both feeling forlorn and awkward, even if it was very short lived.

  Immediately, Allister began yelling up the stairs. “Elizabeth! What’s keeping you? We have to leave now if you want to make this bloody trip!”

  Without hesitation, she hurried over to the four poster piece of antiquity and slipped into the maroon silk pantsuit that was lying across the covers. Then in complete desperation, she called out to her only anchor in times of trouble, “Lucia!”

  Donovan went into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. The walls were covered in posters of metal and punk rock bands and it was messy compared to the rest of the house, but he went about making himself comfortable as he tossed his backpack on his bed. His cell phone fell out with the music still playing, and the battery was almost dead, but he didn’t even notice. Instead, he walked over to the wooden desk and slinked into the brown swivel chair at his computer. As soon as he touched the mouse, his screen lit up and the backdrop image was a close up of Miss Lucia with a clean broad smile. He clicked on an alien game icon and it began to load when there was a knock at the door.

  In a matter of seconds, Miss Lucia had entered his room, walked up behind him and patted him endearingly on the shoulder.

  “Come along now. We have to hurry. They’re waiting for you,” she demanded.

  “But I will miss you if I go,” he coerced. “And my nights will be lonely without the thought of you there,” he grinned.

  “Oh, now,” she waved him off. “You musn’t be so objectionable all the time. One day you’ll meet a love your own age and you’ll put these petty things aside. So go ahead and grab what you must and let’s get on with it!” she replied as she clapped her hands, as though to lead him out.

  He walked over to his bed, grabbed his backpack, and shoved his cellphone back inside of it. As he swung it over his shoulder, she went to take him by the arm. Quickly, he caught hold of the turning on the footboard and gripped tightly before yelling loudly, “I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go anywhere at all! You can’t make me!”

  While she pressed on for endurance in the play of wits and tug-of-war, even more so she was fighting back the tears, as she literally had to pull him down the spiraling staircase with his b
ackpack in tow.

  Luckily though, Preston was there to assist her when they reached the car.

  Chapter Two

  In an attempt to get some temporary relief, Donovan squirmed his sore behind into every square inch of the narrow area he had conformed to. The pursuit of getting comfortable seemed an impossible task with Preston’s belly overlapping his seat and Viola’s pillow smothering his arm rest. Being sandwiched between the two of them wasn’t exactly the picnic he had been promised.

  They had been airborne since four that afternoon, landed once to refuel, and it was already past midnight. And at that moment, feeling the earth beneath his feet again actually lost priority to regaining the feeling in his legs. Ever since he had boarded the plane, the tingling sensation had been continually changing from miniscule pin pricks to all out unconsciousness.

  “Wake up,” he interrogated his knobby knees as he tried to shake the pain out through the end of his toes His heels were already tapping the floor at twenty beats per second, and now his wrist were getting involved in the commotion as he wrung them spastically. This was worse than his nightmare about being tied to a pew at an all day mass, he thought to himself.

  While his parents slept soundly on an adjacent row up, he couldn’t help but grumble his complaints, along with his sloshing stomach.

  “They have all the luck,” as one leg shot forward, denting the cushioned upholstery in front of him. Seven cans of soda were more than even the likes of Preston could handle within an eight hour period.

  In an effort to widen his air space, he stretched his arms and yawned, but to no avail. It only made his overweight companion snore a little louder and Viola pound her pillow as she groggily got resituated.

  “Why bother?” he continued the conversation with himself, when he remembered that his backpack was wedged beneath his seat. There were bound to be some goodies inside to tantalize his empty groaning.

  Within arms reach was the red canvas and he tugged at it until it came free from the tight restraints. Then he plopped it onto his lap and unzipped it, removing everything that grabbed his interest. Aside from the jumble of playing cards, a cell phone, a pack of gum, Toblerone candy bar, and the Polaroid camera, he only found use for the last two.

  All he needed was the taste of chocolate on his lips and something to toy around with, even though his feet were now making full circled swings from all of the pent up energy and disrupting Viola.

  “Be still!” she hissed.

  “Oh, be quiet. And go back to sleep..,” he said with a threat.

  She just shoved more of her pillow onto his seat as a payback for his rudeness, which only caused him to re-evaluate the situation altogether.

  With one eyebrow raised and a glint of mischief in his eyes, he studied the two sidekicks as he unpeeled the candy bar wrapper, concluding that being in the middle had its advantages.

  Ever so lightly, he lifted the lapel of Preston’s jacket and found the slim brown bottle inside. While unscrewing the top, he got a whiff of the one-hundred proof alcohol.

  “Whoa..,” his head hung momentarily in a dizzying stupor, as he rapidly blinked his vision clear again. And just as he had focused in on the old man’s face, he caught the zenith sized nostrils beginning to twitch.

  “Yikes, the nose knows..,” he jeered as he cautiously swirled the top back on. Once the aroma was trapped inside he looked again, but there was nothing to worry about. Preston’s bottom lip was quivering in the wind of his zzz’s.

  Feeling somewhat safe, he placed the bottle on the pillow beside his sleeping sister and raised the camera to meet his eager eye. All it took was a simple flash, before it shot out the developing photograph.

  Preston went undisturbed, but Viola awoke with a start.

  “What are you doing?” she whimpered as the cool bottle rolled from her face and settled into the valley of fluff.

  “Shhh.., It’s the old geezer’s.”

  “Well, put it back!” her voice exceeded a whisper.

  “All right.., all right already. Just don’t go getting Mother’s knickies in a whirl,” he chuckled, indulging in his own sense of humor.

  He did return the bottle to its proper pocket, but upside down. No bother tough, the top was screwed on tight.

  However, Viola couldn’t go back to sleep, because the more she thought about it, it was pretty funny. So she went along with her brother’s hoax and took the camera, snapping one incredulous shot after another, as their parents grew restless by the sound of their laughter.

  “Now with your eyelids inside out,” she urged, and Donovan obliged with a crooked frown, too.

  “Here’s one for Father,” he mocked with one finger up his nose as the flash went off, sending out the image.

  Suddenly though, the fun ended when they heard the accordion door slide open.

  Immediately, Donovan stashed the camera into his backpack and hurled it beneath the seat, while Viola stuffed the snapshots into her pillowcase.

  “Did I see a flash just now?” a mild-toned stewardess glared down at them both disapprovingly.

  As best as Donovan could keep a straight face, he turned to the navy mid-waist and lied, “I don’t know. Is it lightning out?”

  Viola turned to him with bulging cheeks, and then Donovan’s filled to overflowing with air too, as they both burst forth in a messy spray of laughter and spittle.

  The stewardess found neither of them amusing, and was about to deal with them by waking up their guardian when a man five rows back requested an extra pillow.

  “Well..,” the woman sighed tiredly as though letting them off the hook, while she attended the other passenger.

  “Guess you could say we were saved by the WELL,” added Donovan to his sister and they snickered some more.

  Eventually though, he managed to calm down long enough to let the rest of the night slip by. And when he awoke, thought it was pretty amazing that they had passed through seven time zones with only two more to go. Still, it was more time than he could figure so early in the morning.

  His eyes were heavy and his mouth all tangy from the high concentration of sugar he had consumed over the lagging duration. So it was only natural that he was thinking about warm maple syrup when the squeaky cart came jutting down the aisle with breakfast platters in tow.

  As it grew closer, something wasn’t quite right about the smell. It wasn’t sweet at all, but rather a pungent blend between boiled cabbage and a sweaty pig. When Donovan pulled back the clear moisture laden lid, his disappointment was confirmed by his reaction.

  “Green eggs and ham?! But I wanted hotcakes”

  At once, Allister leaned over Elizabeth from across the aisle. “Watch your manners, son. It’s a spinach omelet and very good for you. Just place it in your croissant.”

  “Do I have to?” he was always second guessing.

  In a joint effort, Elizabeth too leaned in with kind reinforcement.

  “Let’s be sure to keep it on your plate this time.”

  Donovan was sure to pinch his nose when he nibbled at the speckled green edges.

  Shortly after all the remnants from breakfast had disappeared, a cart filled with reading materials was wheeled past, pausing long enough to let each passenger choose through the assortment of newspapers, magazines and books. When Viola picked a book about the Australian ballet, Elizabeth was pleased to see her taking such an interest.

  “Donovan,” she suggested, “why don’t you familiarize yourself with the culture?”

  “Sure, Mother,” he answered in his carefree way and took his choice from the top of the stack.

  When she noticed the title, “The Aborigines of the Outback,” with a picture of natives doing a tribal dance on the cover, she simply shook her head and turned back around.

  Of course, Donovan grinned a little broader when his sheepish expression reflected back from the glossy pages of Aboriginal bare breasted women.

  “Yep,” he mumbled, “I’ll just ma
ke myself at home.”

  “Please fasten your seat belts and prepare for landing,” the pilot gave the long awaited announcement. “We’re approaching Darwin.”

  “Hooray!” exclaimed Viola as did the other passengers on board. The twenty four hour saga had finally come to a close, and she would be playing with her cousin in no time.

  As the bright Australian sun lit up the interior of the plane, Donovan was getting excited about the prospect of landing. Anxiously, he sank his elbow into Preston’s belly as he stretched to peer over him. The old man became cognizant again with a loud snort.

  “Oh dear,” he said, clearing his throat. “It must have been that hearty lunch.”

  “Or what it took to wash it down,” Donovan chuckled as he watched the coastline coming into view. Something he hadn’t anticipated had crept its way into his spirit, an enthusiasm for the unknown—born on the wings of a commercial airline.