The Trickster - Chapter 14

Molly

I snubbed Molly three more times after her sudden reappearance at the bistro two weeks earlier. The next encounter was at the retro-cinema. Casablanca was playing. Despite its kitsch, the story of love and sacrifice has always resonated in me. I was ten years old the first time I saw it, home, sick from school, it was the afternoon movie on the tube.

The night I ran into Molly I went to the seven o’clock screening.

Box of popcorn in hand, I knew every line by heart. It was Bogart’s character, the archetypal Rick that appealed to the hurt in me. I’ve probably watched the film fifty times… but never tire of it. Repressing what his heart pines after, the noble Rick accepts the cold, harsh fate he faces. I know it’s just a movie, but his decision to do what is right and honourable rather than embrace a cruel and selfish alternative always leaves me with a feeling of hope...

After the film ended, I milled about with the patrons as we funneled towards the exits. Although my heart was light and my thoughts free, peace of mind was undermined by an approaching blonde tempest. At the top of the stairs where the doors to the street were located, Molly was at the ticket booth purchasing a pass for the nine pm show. Our paths would inevitably come to pass. Christ Almighty, I muttered, and scanned the crowd around me.

My blood hung shivering in my veins as I frantically devised a plan.

There was a young Asian woman to my left. She looked cheerful enough, she was alone… and I made straight towards her. I hate to impose upon you. My smile was genuine. The young woman regarded me with suspicion. My ex is about to walk down the stairs and I don’t want to talk to her. If she thinks I’m alone... my words hung in the air.

The stranger laughed: You want me to pretend I’m on a date with you?

If you wouldn’t mind!

She laughed and placed her hand on my forearm. Where were you yesterday when I ran into my ex? We moved towards the stairwell just as Molly began descending down.

Is she the one in sun-dress?

I nodded my head, but didn’t dare look up. My focus remained on Molly’s feet and I knew by the stutter in her step the exact moment she recognized me. Compounding my good fortune, my companion leaned into me and whispered seductively into my ear: This should do the trick.

Rick to Ilsa: Here’s looking at you kid. I walked right past her without looking up.

At that moment I thought the hold that Molly had on me was over; that I’d somehow slipped the noose she had lassoed around my heart. Was I ever in denial!

When my new-found companion and I reached the exit, she immediately removed her hand from my forearm. Her smile was warm and sincere. That was fun.

I cleared my throat and stared a moment too long into her eyes.

She laughed: Was that really your ex? She scrutinized me. Because if it was some lame attempt to pick me up… I have a boyfriend. She smiled at me, rubbed my shoulder with her hand and walked away.

Hit and run followed hit and run… Our next encounter happened at the Musee d’art contemporien. I was strolling through the galleries featuring paintings of Murdoch Matheson. As I walked from one gallery to the next, I spotted Molly surrounded by more than a dozen somber landscapes. When our eyes met I turned around and beat a quick retreat back into the room I had just walked through. Once inside I turned to my left and stood flat against the wall. I started to count and just before I hit the number six, I heard the hurried click of Molly’s shoes strumming across the hardwood floors. She raced right past me hurrying towards the preceding exhibition space. With her back to me I quickly slipped back into the room we’d both just left and raced towards the exit.

Three days later I spotted Molly while I was sitting in a taxi. We were heading north on St Laurent when the driver stopped for a red light. She was standing on the corner, waiting for the traffic signal to change. She held onto a shopping bag in one hand and balanced an umbrella above her head with the other. When she turned to her left, she noticed me right away. Our eyes met. She smiled, but the joy on her face quickly disappeared when I failed to respond. I wanted to turn away, to break the gaze, but I couldn’t. But then a crack of thunder echoing across the sky shattered the spell. Molly shuddered and moved towards the taxi. Rain streamed down. I locked the door. Not wanting to be dragged down into Pluto’s house of horrors I shook my head.

She dropped her umbrella and shopping bag and pulled on the door handle. Please. Open the door. We need to talk.

The light turned green and my ride rolled away.

That night I tossed and turned in bed. The look on Molly’s face: haunted with rain as she struggled with the taxi door was embedded in my thoughts. It bothered me how my anger was receding. Worse, I was actually feeling empathy for her.

When I finally dozed off the night sky was turning from black to blue; the last of the stars diving below the ethereal plain. Falling into a dream; I found myself, lying down, in a king-size bed, covered in a white duvet. Through an open window a soft breeze sent a white curtain fluttering over the bed.

Then Molly appeared. She strolled through the bedroom door wearing pajamas and slippers and looking sleepy-eyed. After years of dream scenarios that highlighted the divisions between us, my heart began to thump. The smog of direful nightmares was giving way to a purer air. As she approached the bed, I lifted the duvet. She spooned in beside me. I wrapped my arm around her waist and kissed the back of her neck.

Why won’t you talk to me? She whispered

I sighed. What can I possibly say that isn't going to make matters worse between us?

You could start with your feelings.

I don't want to, I shook my head.

Please, she turned around and kissed me softly on the mouth.

I’d rather not open a wound I prefer to heal. I touched her pollen scented hair. Inevitably, I’m going to start sounding hurtful and cruel and that is the last thing I want to do. I caressed away a lock that fell across her face. I’ve never wanted to hurt you and I don't want to start now.

We could always start over.

I shook my head. I’ve already exposed my neck to you once and the puncture marks from your tiger fangs are still bloody on my throat.

Are you frightened of me?

I nodded my head. Worse, I feel ashamed.

Why? Molly kissed me more passionately. 

I woke up before I could answer.