I stepped out of my vehicle with a newfound fire in my stomach, unloading the now useless bouquet of flowers on the first unknowing face who happened to cross my path. The cool evening air was already starting to sober me up a little, but only a little.
The night was still young, of course.
Town Square remained largely undisturbed for the most part. Many of its former inhabitants had already danced their last dance beneath the flickering street-lights, casting their drinks aside as they sailed merrily into the night. I noticed for the first time what appeared to be a surprisingly large cinema complex on the south side of the square. A large sign had been erected just above the entrance, reading; 'Opening Soon'. Elsewhere, drunks and vagabonds proceeded to shuffle through the shadows looking for somewhere to lay their weary heads. They stumbled and staggered with every inebriated step, cradled only by the cracked paving slabs and boarded-up storefronts cast all around them.
An image of loneliness and sorrow rang true throughout the square. Yet, the grand old Town Hall building hardly painted a much sweeter sight to behold. It would prove to be my rendezvous for the night. Though, not a particularly pleasant spot to drown one's despair....
Somehow the door had been left suspiciously ajar. I cautiously pushed my way inside, as several upturned tables had been left scattered around the entrance lobby with no conceivable rhyme or reason. Clearly, the place appeared deserted. I envisaged countless past committee meetings and town debates taking place within those very same walls. A series of impassioned voices would have once competed over one another in their quest to be heard. Now, however, the entire building was eerily silent, except for a dull ruffle of noises emanating from the floor above.
I steadied my nerves and followed the sound of voices, heading upstairs towards a small pokey room just off the upper walkway. A skinny man in his late teens sat perched on a wooden stool outside the room, wearing the same plain white shirt as the young survey woman who had recently shown up on my doorstep.
He was expecting me, it seemed...
“Congratulations on finding us this evening, Mr. Lucky.”
“Errr…thanks.”
“If I could just see your invitation slip before we proceed…?”
I handed him the now crumpled up paper without further ado, forgoing the fact that the young man somehow already knew my name.
He nonetheless perused the pamphlet on either side before handing it back to me with a wide-eyed grin. It was the same sickly sweet smile I would come to know all too well during my time in Clearview. And boy, had I known then exactly what lay behind those chilling smirks of unnerving expression, perhaps I would have turned...
...and ran.
“I’ve noticed that you’ve made a special effort for the meeting tonight, Mr. Lucky…” spoke the young man once again, “…that really is an amazing suit you're wearing.”
“Well thanks…” I mumbled, “…but…err…how do you know my name, eh?”
The boy beamed back at me once more.
“We at the Helping Hand Society know many things about one another, Mr. Lucky. It’s like one big happy family here. Isn't that the point?”
It may well have been. But still, his tone of voice sounded a little off to me...
“Of course…” the adolescent doorman continued, his lanky frame now suddenly towering over me, “…all we need to do now is resolve the small matter of payment, sir.”
“Payment!?” I blurted out loud, “…no one said anything about handing over any money.”
The young man smiled yet again, but this time with a slight furrow in his brow, “…as this is your first of three preliminary meetings, Mr. Lucky, we will gladly accept your donation here at the door. Dr. Reynard’s work is of the utmost significance you understand, and we at the Helping Hand Society want our practices to reflect that notion.”
Flushed for anything more witty to throw at him, I proceeded onwards, wanting nothing more than to be rid of the skinny, spotty-faced teenager hurdled in my path.
“Donation you say? So that means I have some kind of choice in this?”
“It’s cash or card…” said the boy with that same trademark smile, “…the choice is all yours.”
“Here…” I mumbled, taking out a few notes from my wallet, “…take what you need and keep the rest as a tip. That should be more than enough to set you straight...”
But the look of disapproval on his face told a much different story.
“I’m sorry sir…” the boy muttered slowly, “…but all entry donations must start at a minimum of $200. You are, of course, welcome to pay more if you so desire.”
This time I almost pinched myself.
“What!? You people are gonna all but clear me out if I’m not careful…”
But that’s exactly what he did. After some more futile back and forth I eventually caved in, with that smiling face beaming down at me like a rogue extra in a silent horror movie. In the end the boy watched me reach for my wallet, this time the real wallet housing all my rainy day money in the back seat of my pants. Soon enough he was finally satisfied with my rather sizeable donation, allowing me to pass on through the doors and venture on ahead.
Perhaps I had given him what he wanted on account of feeling so low that night. Perhaps it was the cheap booze circling my system, that and the fact that there was a newfound hole in my heart that needed rapidly patching up. Or maybe, just maybe, all I really wanted was a goddamn cigarette to help cool my nerves. It might well have turned out to be the single most expensive cigarette I ever tasted on my lips, but boy did I need one right then.
Don’t you judge me, dear reader…
*
I was in, finally.
Inside a small gathering of dower faced folk peered back at me as soon as I poked my head through the door. There were only about ten of them in total, a far cry from the numbers advertised by the survey lady, whilst the variety of food on offer extended no further than a small plate of stale bread lying dormant by the entrance. Here, there were no friendly faces to speak of. If the life and soul of Clearview was to be found taking place somewhere that night amid cheerful merriment and wild celebration, this certainly was not it.
I had no idea just what I was walking into.
“Hello Lucky…” a few of them spoke at once, barely lifting their gaze to look me in the eye.
The room was dimly lit with a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Everybody had taken up seats in a roughly hashed circle in the middle of the room, like something from an after-hours alcoholics anonymous meeting, with no table, desk, nor anything else between them. All the chairs remained occupied, except for one of course. The nearest one to the door.
“Take a seat Lucky…” spoke a sad looking man with his shirt unbutton and his tie hanging loose.
I followed his word without as much as a simple wave or spoken introduction, opting instead to subtly feast my eyes upon the range of odd characters procured before me. It was only then that a few of them suddenly stood out to me. The bartender from my opening night down at Crosby’s Bar. One of the young maids I had seen walking the corridors at Hotel Rouge. Even an elderly neighbour who lived just a couple of blocks away from my office. I certainly recognised a few of their faces from my jaunts around town.
But then, just as it seemed my night could not become any more surreal, or any more incomprehensible, another face popped out at me from the opposite end of the circle. A face that in no uncertain terms, sincerely took my breath away.
No…not Coburn, I’m afraid. Not Lucy either, sadly. But someone I had equally never expected to find in some old forgotten room in the middle of Town Square where no one would have thought to have looked for him.
I was staring at the same man who had caused something of a minor frenzy on the Channel 7 News Hour just a few days prior. The hot-shot movie star himself…
…Raldo Renato.
“So…” spoke one of the faces I did not yet recognise, addressing the group with no other designated leader in the room, “…as we have all been telling each other a bit about ourselves, shall we continue onwards?”
“Yes, yes…” spoke Renato impatiently, checking his watch and running his fingers through his thick, product infused hair, “…let’s get this show on the road already!”
With a quick-snap of the actor’s fingers they were back underway again, going about their business as if I were never there. It was unclear exactly what I had paid so much money to witness. I was just a silent observer within their midst. Peering on silently as they moved from person to person, sharing the woes of their lives to a backdrop of quiet murmuring and muted handclaps.
I listened to my elderly neighbour talk, learning of his shock habit of sleeping around with countless different women since his wife sadly passed away. We discovered how the tall man next to me had wasted all his mother’s savings on late night horse racing bets, whilst a sad-eyed middle-aged woman revealed to us her stark obsession with cats, and how she had taken to abducting all local felines in her neighbourhood.
It was something of a side-show circus act if ever I had seen one. There was much to take in.
But even so, I could barely steer my attention away from Renato.
The actor had a determined look on his face, sitting there in his silk tie and pastiche woven blazer in a little tiny chair that was clearly too small for him. He looked out of place for a whole manner of different reasons, openly sighing and tutting rather loudly whilst the rest of the group had their say. The young girl to my right was so taken by his jibes that she quickly cut her words short, gazing down into her lap as the big-named actor sought to make the stage his own.
“Go on then Raldo…” spoke another voice within the circle, “…I suppose it's your turn.”
The actor responded by letting out another huge sigh, puffing out those famous cheeks of his.
“Well thank god for that!” he said, “…jeez, where do I start? It’s about time someone lifted the vibe in here, isn’t it? It’s like a funeral home!”
He looked around the room to nothing but silent glances.
“Where do I begin?” he repeated, proudly straightening his posture, “…tell me, what do any of you lovely people here know about…me, the grandstand performer, Raldo Renato?”
The room stayed decisively still. It was a more than just a little peculiar...
You see, when Renato first arrived in Clearview people could hardly get enough of him. I had witnessed countless camera crews and news reporters swarming about that man like flies dancing around a big ol’ pile of proverbial dog mess. In there, however, in that tiny little room with no windows and no permanent furniture fittings to speak of, the actor was treated like just another guy on the street. Renato seemed disappointed, as if he expected more.
“Nothing…?” the actor continued in his performance-like manner, now standing tall and addressing his unwitting audience with a little more vigour, “…come on people, don’t be shy now…”
Again, the circle remained remarkably unmoved.
“You’re nervous…” he said, “…I get it, I would be too. Confronted face-to-face with a big movie star actor like myself! It would be enough to knock anybody off their perch, am I right? Of course I’m right...”
Suddenly he pointed towards the sad looking man with the loose tie slumped in his chair, “…you there, misery guts…when was the last time you saw Hollywood Chainsaws? One of my best works that one, wouldn’t you say people?”
The man shrugged his shoulders indifferently, causing Renato to try again.
“No? Anybody…? What about The Man with Murder on his Mind? C’mon! Every man and his dog has seen that wonderful movie, starring yours truly I might mention…"
"..."
"...hmmm, very well," he muttered, "...how about Fantastical Killer Clowns? Dancing with Delilah? Or even, Midnight Moves in Monte Carlo? Don’t tell me you all somehow missed the boat on those as well!? You people must walk around with your eyes closed!”
The self-obsessed movie star peered around at each face in the circle, temporarily pausing for dramatic effect. Renato would not let up it seemed...
“I’ve seen the one about the clowns…” spoke the lady with the self-confessed cat obsession.
“Ah-ha!” the actor cried, “…we have a winner! What’s your name dear…?”
“People call me…”
“What a lovely name, such a lovely name! Tell me…” Renato continued rather obliviously, bending down to glare that poor lady directly in the eye, “…when you look at a face as handsome, and I dare say as well-groomed as this…what do you see my dear?”
The woman was clearly at a loss for words, “…erm, I see…a man?”
“A rather handsome man at that, right?” Renato smirked, turning towards the rest of the circle, “…but no, we’ve already covered my good looks. I want you to take a closer look, my dear…what do you really see? You see a man who has come a long way, don’t you darling? You see someone who isn’t ready to slow down any time soon. Am I right?”
“…I suppose so.”
“Of course I’m right…” spoke the rather obnoxious performer, “…acclaim, recognition, esteem, I’ve seen it all! I’ve rubbed shoulders with the best of them. Been all the way to the very top, haven’t I? And still, it’s not enough...”
No one said a word.
“I want more!” he declared, raising up his hands, “…I suppose I’m addicted. It’s like there’s this bug living inside of me, and it won’t rest until everyone out there knows my name! Imagine if folk, just like you people here tonight, decided to name their daughters ‘Raldolina’, or to mould their sons into my likeness? Wouldn’t that be amazing? Wouldn’t that be just…incredible?”
Few within the circle seemed to know where to look, nor what to do with themselves. Renato’s swollen-headed rhetoric was so completely ridiculous I almost wanted to laugh. But I stopped myself in the end, and played along just like everybody else.
We were spinning the bottle with Clearview’s dearest and weirdest in some kind of desperate contest to see who, out of each of them, played host to the most pathetic set of troubles of all. I was one of them it seemed. And paying good money for the privilege.
Who knew my old-timer neighbour had a secret sex addiction? Who could have foreseen that the girl next to me was thinking about running away from home, without leaving as much as a hastily scribbled goodbye note for her lonely mother to cry over? And what about Renato, of course? Who would have guessed what a self-obsessed, overpaid, patently arrogant egomaniac he really was!? I had known the actor all of half an hour and was already growing sick of the man.
My mind was soon taken elsewhere. For the briefest of moments I contemplated the possibility of Lucy getting second thoughts that night. Perhaps she could have changed her mind, maybe venturing all the way back to Town Square until she noticed my car abandoned by the side of the road. Maybe she just wanted to tell me she was sorry, and that never again would she leave me hanging like that, heartbroken and alone and up to my neck in cheap booze. That would be just like my Luce alright. Never one for half measures…
But no. It was over with, it was done. And speaking of done, that is how I felt sitting in that dusty room. Staring opposite a whole bunch of people I hardly knew or cared for, sharing sob stories and brokenhearted tales that bored me close to tears. Raldo Renato’s awkward self-obsession had just about tipped me over the edge. For a man who had frequented countless festivities and big-named banquets in his time, the guy sure knew how to spoil a party.
"Who the hell is this Dr. Reynard character anyway!?" he asked rather accusingly, "...what good has he ever done for any of you layabouts? Seriously, someone tell me..."
A so-far silent member of the group suddenly found their voice, challenging Renato directly with a calm, but commanding tone.
"Dr. Roman Reynard is the founder of this here movement. He is the reason we are here today."
"Pfft. Big deal..." Renato replied, "...I don't see what's so special about the guy!"
"I think you will find it is a rather big deal, Raldo. Once Dr. Reynard returns to us, all will become clear. Just you wait. You will see how much he can help us..."
Another silence broke out within the circle, this time a genuine one. It would not take long for it to be interrupted once more, however, by the incessant actor in his pale coloured suit...
“Why don’t you people look to me for help, huh?” he cried, sulking like a badly behaved child, “…I’ve paid enough money in donations towards this damn self-help group! Why won’t you let me run the show!?”
“Because you’re not qualified…” somebody else countered, causing Renato to rise up once again.
“Not qualified!?” he said, “…we’ll see about that. Why don’t you all join me in prayer? Hold hands everyone, and I’ll tell you all a story. Then we’ll see who’s not qualified…”
But with that the entire room let out a quiet chorus of sniggering and laughter. It was impossible to take the man seriously in there, with his tight linen trousers looking all the more ridiculous as he stood up in front of the group. The feeling was becoming so awkward that I decided it was time to intervene. I wanted only one thing, to make myself scarce before the so-called ‘Helping Hand Society’ could waste any more of my time…
“Renato…” I ushered abruptly, halting the actor midway through his mindless flow, “…you haven’t got a cigarette I could take off your hands by any chance?”
The actor appeared startled, “…a cigarette? Of course I don’t have a cigarette! A performer of my acclaim must maintain peak physical fitness at every available…”
“Very well…” I muttered, “…anyone else?”
A young girl with several tattoos across her arms swiftly procured one for me with a motion towards her jacket pocket. She smiled in my direction, appearing more than happy to distract herself from Renato’s ceaseless rambling.
“Thanks…” I told her, before taking to my feet and heading straight for the door.
I wasted little time in reapplying my jacket and bidding my farewell. The ‘Helping Hand Society’ had seemed like an utter waste of time, and a rather expensive one at that no less. I had certainly had my fill of other people's problems for one evening...
It was time to put a much needed end to this troublesome night.
“Goodbye, dear Lucky…” a few of them mentioned as hastily made my exit.
“…perhaps we will see you again soon.”
I hoped beyond all belief, that would not be the case.
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