by Emily Bourne
Jazz smiles as he retracts his casual racism, and then something comes back to mind. “I was wearing a headscarf?”
“This thing,” Pixie-cut says, lifting the alleged headscarf.
Jazz laughs. “That’s a pashmina.” She takes in their bewildered expressions. “A shawl. It’s not a religious symbol, it’s a fashion accessory.”
“Oh,” they both exhale, shoulders drooping.
“So we haven’t offended you?” Adrian asks sheepishly.
“I’m more confused than anything,” Jazz replies.
Pixie-cut walks over and hands Jazz the shawl. “I’m Tessa.”
“Thanks,” Jazz says, massaging the fabric with her thumbs. They both look at her expecting an introduction. Jazz introduces herself to people who already know who she is, but these two seem clueless. “You don’t know who I am?”
Adrian shakes his head. “You were unconscious when we found you.”
Jazz touches her cheek and leans forward. “You don’t recognise me?”
“Should we?” Tessa asks.
Jazz’s eyes widen, and her chin drops. This never happens. “I’m Jazz.”
“Nice to meet you, Jazz,” Adrian says. “Tessa, will you take Jazz to find some clothes?”
“Clothes?” Jazz questions.
“You wanna change out of that dress?” Adrian asks. “You slept through breakfast but the kitchen is getting lunch ready. I’ll see you two in the dining room.”
Adrian leaves, and Jazz slides out of bed. She gasps in horror at the state of her dress. The blue material is filthy with dirt and has rips at the knees. “My dress!”
She scoops her hair over her shoulder and closes her eyes. She shakes her head, trying to unsee it.
“You wanna brush your hair?” Tessa says by a chest of drawers, swinging her hairbrush.
“Thanks, but I don’t use other people’s hairbrushes.”
“Girl, everything here has been used by someone else.”
Jazz’s jaw clenches. “Wait, are you taking me to get used clothes?”
Tessa nods. “They’re donated by people in the community.”
Jazz gulps and tries her best to remove the repulsion from her face. “Ok, let’s get it over with.”
“Grateful much?” Tessa smirks, leading her out of the room.
Jazz is careful going through the clothes. She selects a white t-shirt with Baby written in red. It smells of laundry detergent and has no stains. She finds a pair of blue jeans and hopes for the best. She asks Tessa to show her where she can shower.
The jeans are stiff to walk in as she enters the dining room with Tessa. Jazz hopes it’s a good sign they weren’t worn by someone else.
“Just take a seat in here,” Tessa says. “I have to go to my job interview.”
“Oh, what’s the job?”
“It’s phone support at an insurance company.”
Jazz scrutinises Tessa’s attire, and general appearance, and purses her lips so the wince doesn’t escape. Jazz knows the interviewer will note Tessa’s appearance as a negative. She already has.
“Good luck,” Jazz says.
“Thank you,” Tessa says, waving as she leaves the dining room.
Jazz sits at a plastic trestle table on a plastic stackable seat. Her elbows rest on the table and her fingers swipe over her eyelashes.
“You find everything ok?” Adrian asks, walking by her table.
She nods. “Yes, thank you.” She reflects on the communal bathroom situation. The cracked tiles, exposed and rusted pipes, and growing mould. Yes, the showers were in their own cubicles, but that didn’t stop the water from the neighbouring shower slide in and over her feet. Gross! “Oh, Adrian.”
Adrian turns and circles back to her. “Yeah?”
“Can I have my bag?”
He shakes his head. “You didn’t have a bag.”
She frowns. “I didn’t?”
He folds his arms and tilts his head. “Think you dropped it somewhere?”
“Ugh. Probably. Thanks, anyway.”
Adrian smiles and moves toward the kitchen.
My phone. Jazz can go a few days, even a week or two, without checking in with her father. Phoning him isn’t an issue. Imagine what he would think of this place. She swallows roughly when her Collage account comes to mind. Her fingers twitch with the need to check stats and post her latest image.
She smooths her palms on the table and sighs. Forget the phone for two seconds. I need to collect my thoughts after that disaster of a meeting with Ethan. I need to beat him.
The hangover is getting the better of her. She sits back on the chair, air draining through her nostrils, and decides to ease into the day. After an hour of quiet, she’ll head to her office to finish her proposal for the board.
Proposal. She shudders. Memories of hitting another bar after Overity and more intoxicating drinks filter into her mind. What a mistake.
A tubby man with a scruffy black beard waddles out of the kitchen with a tray of sandwiches. He places them on a table and meets her eyes.
“Hey homegirl,” he says, waving at her.
“Me?” Jazz asks, pointing to her chest.
Tubby chuckles and moves toward her. “You wouldn’t remember me. You were out cold. Adrian asked me to help bring ya in last night.”
“Oh no,” Jazz hushes, her reddening face collapsing in her hands.
Tubby laughs. “That’s right. I’m Hector. You ain’t got nothing to be embarrassed about. We seen a lot worse around here.”
Jazz lifts her head. “Really?”
“Miles worse. So bad I assumed you was a junkie.”
Jazz pulls back, crossing her arms. “Well, thanks.”
Hector laughs. “No sweat, homegirl.” He gestures to the food. “We got sandwiches for lunch, but dinner is da bomb. We go buffet-style.”
“Thanks, I won’t be here for––”
“––What’s your name, anyways.”
She stiffens. Don’t recognise me. Please, don’t recognise me. “Jazz.”
“Jazz? Like the music.”
She breathes out, smiling. “Yes. Like the music.”
“Right on, homegirl. That’s sweet.” Hector waves and makes his way back to the kitchen. “Help yourself to some lunch.”
Jazz stands and moves to the sandwiches. Before she can check out the selection, Adrian emerges from the kitchen with another platter. A boy of about seventeen pulls him aside to talk. Jazz notices the attentiveness in Adrian’s expression and the way the kid smiles and accepts Adrian’s advice.
“Hungry?” Adrian asks, walking by Jazz.
“Yes, thank you.” She bites her lip and then adds, “My money would be in my bag... So I don’t have any now, but I can pay later.”
Adrian sits the platter on the table and shakes his head. “You don’t pay for this.”
“You don’t?”
“We provide this for everyone,” Adrian replies. “To make sure everyone eats.”
“Oh.” It takes a bit too long for it to sink in for Jazz.
Adrian pats her shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’re ok.”
He thinks I’ll go hungry? Jazz takes in the happiness of his disposition, the effortless waves in his light brown hair, and the robustness of his smiles. A tingle runs down her spine and she blushes as she turns to the food.
“I’ll catch you later,” he says, and moves towards the kitchen.
Jazz shakes her shoulders, fighting the silly tingles. A crush, Jazz? Don’t be ridiculous.
Digging
ETHAN rubs a towel behind his neck and slings it over his shoulder. He walks back into his loft apartment after a vigorous session at the Ultimate ME gym on the corner. He pulls a bottle of water from the fridge and rounds the stainless steel benches, to cross the polished concrete floors to the living area.
He flops on the couch, still reeling over his meeting with Jazz. How could she walk out on me? She ruined a bulletproof plan. He lifts his phone, the temptation to
read work emails greater than showering. He scrolls through the inbox and lands on an email titled: “Jazz Abadi Replacement.”
He reads the email, which entails who will take over Jazz’s duties while she is on leave. She has taken leave? Ethan tilts his head to view Jazz’s handbag on his kitchen counter. She left it at the bar, and he took it home with him. She didn’t turn up for work. No one can reach her. Do they assume she’s sick?
A smile creeps on Ethan’s face. Images of a drunken Jazz, staggering through the streets of the Nightclub District, take over his thoughts. Ha, maybe she got run over.
He dials a number in his contacts and places the phone to his ear.
“Yes,” a voice answers.
“It’s Roth,” Ethan replies. “I need you to do some digging for me.”
“What have you got?”
“Jazz Abadi. She’s disappeared and I need you to locate her.”
“There’s a missing person alert on her?”
“No, not yet, and I need it to stay that way. Find her and keep it on the down-low.” Ethan eyes Jazz’s phone. “Also, I need you to hack into her phone. I’ll send you the details. I need to access the contents and disarm the tracking.”
“So, Miss Abadi doesn’t have her phone, you do?”
“Ignacio,” Ethan snaps. “I’m paying you to do my dirty work. Don’t mess with me. Jazz was last seen at Overity. She left her bag behind. I have her phone, and I need access. Make it happen.”
“Ok, ok, I’ll get right on it,” Officer Ignacio replies timidly.
“Pull the security footage from Overity. Wipe it from the bar’s hard drive and send me everything.”
“Yes, Sir. Will do.”
Ethan ends the call with the police officer. He stares at Jazz’s phone and smiles. Time to get to work.
“Good morning, Darius,” Ethan says, smoothing his suit jacket as he strides into his soon-to-be office.
“Morning,” Darius says with a mediocre wave from behind his desk. His forehead rests in his palm as he reads over paperwork.
“I saw Jazz is on leave,” Ethan says, unbuttoning his jacket and sitting on an armchair across from Darius. “Thought she might be here by your side.”
“Haven’t heard from her.” Darius clears his throat, lifts his head and straightens his tie. “I’m sure she’s diligently working on her presentation and will be in soon.”
“That’s what I would have thought,” Ethan says, pulling out his phone. He slides the phone towards Darius, opened to a text from Jazz. Boarding a yacht to do some island-hopping. Need some time away to recharge. “Looks serious, huh?”
Darius frowns at the text message. “This is from Jazz?”
“It’s her number, isn’t it?” Ethan replies, relaxing in his seat. “Once a socialite, always a socialite.”
Grimacing, Darius pushes the phone toward Ethan. The desk phone rings, and Darius lifts the receiver to take the call.
Ethan pockets his phone. The text from Ignacio replays in his mind. Jazz Abadi added to her tab at Sako Bar after leaving Overity last night. A woman matching her description was seen at the marina in the early hours of the morning. Still tracing her whereabouts.
He slips out Jazz’s phone from the other side of his jacket. He crafts a message to Darius. Father, I’m getting away with some girlfriends. I can’t do this anymore. I need some fun in my life.
Darius stands from his desk chair with the landline receiver clutched between his shoulder and cheek. He paces as he pulls his mobile phone from his pocket.
Ethan watches Darius’ face droop as he reads over Jazz’s text. Ethan combs his fingers through his sandy blonde hair, trying to distract himself from smiling. He clears his throat and sits up straight as Darius ends his call.
“Everything ok?” Ethan says, pinching the crease of his pant leg.
“Heather was just scheduling a meeting,” Darius says, acknowledging the desk phone.
Ethan smiles at Darius as warmly as he can muster. “I was referring to the other phone. I saw your reaction. Let me guess: Jazz?”
Darius paces by his bookshelf and pans the row of photos showing his business endeavours and a few posed with his daughter. “It’s not important.”
Ethan stands and re-buttons his jacket. “She’s not serious about the company.”
Darius turns to Ethan, apprehension sinking into his face. “She’s always worked here.”
Ethan exhales and broaches the topic slowly. “We met last night for drinks. She confided in me.”
“Confided?”
Ethan lowers his gaze and tries for an empathetic look. “She told me she resents the Abadi name.” He looks up and meets Darius’ reddened eyes. “She doesn’t care for you, Sir.”
Darius clutches his heart and anchors his other hand on the bookshelf. “No. No, that can’t be.”
“I’m sorry, Darius,” Ethan says, closing in on him. “She’s not here for you. Not like I am.”
Darius clicks his finger towards his desk. “My pills. My pills.”
Ethan rushes to the desk and picks up a pill bottle. He skims the instructions, tips two pills out, and pours a glass of water from the bar in the corner. He takes it to Darius, who washes them down.
Darius hands the glass back to Ethan with a shaky hand. “Thank you, Son.”
A smile curls Ethan’s lips. “You’re more than welcome. I’m always here for you.”
Ethan helps Darius back to his desk. He stands by him as Darius works, asking about his day-to-day routine and being the world’s best mentee.
Ethan notices the way Darius sighs between tasks. His thoughts drifting with the knowledge Jazz is off with her friends and has little care for her ailing father.
Ethan demonstrates a new way to incorporate a flowchart to monitor staff productivity, displaying himself as the prodigal son and rightful heir who cares about the running of the company.
“I can’t believe that Jazz would leave at a time like this,” Darius says with a sigh.
Ethan ignores the comment and continues to explain how his idea will push the company forward.
“She knows how important this is,” Darius says, lost in his thoughts. “There must be something terribly wrong.”
Ethan groans, slamming his hands on the desk and rounding to face Darius. “How about you focus on me right now? I’m the one here and committed to the company.” His cheeks redden as the anger swells inside him. “I’m not the vain socialite who spends her time posting to her social media feed.”
“Compose yourself, Roth,” Darius says. “She’s the social media marketer for the company. Her Collage feed is for the business.”
Ethan sighs, stepping back from the desk. “My apologies. I’m just worried about Jazz.”
“How so?”
“There’s something wrong with her,” Ethan says, lowering to meet Darius eye-to-eye. “Maybe mentally? She was extremely aggressive to me last night.”
Darius sits back, shocked. “What?”
“She got drunk and hurled abuse at me. I tried to help her, but she got physical with me.”
“There is nothing wrong with my daughter’s mental faculties. She’s an intelligent young woman.”
“She’s brilliant... when sober.” Ethan pulls out his phone and opens Collage. “Did you see these photos? Some were taken by paparazzi, others from the general public in the Nightclub District. This was Jazz last night. She could barely stand.”
Darius frowns, shakes his head, and looks away.
Ethan takes his phone, sits down, and lowers his voice to add, “Darius, I think you need to think about a rehab facility instead of a CEOship for Jazz.”
Darius’ jaw drops. Colour drains from his face as he slowly shakes his head, unable to fathom the claims. Darius’ declining health hinders his strong mind, allowing him to become malleable to Ethan’s manipulations.
“You should have seen the amount of drinks she had,” Ethan says in a low voice. “And now she’s on a yacht to continue
her alcoholism? I think there’s something deeply troubling Jazz that we haven’t picked up on. Maybe from her childhood? Her mother?”
An incoming message pings on Ethan’s phone. It’s a video file from Officer Ignacio with the following text: Overity footage. No sound. Agitated Abadi. Ethan locks his phone, weighing up his options. Leak it to the press, or just the members of the board?
Darius smooths a hand over his greying hair. The wrinkles on his face deepen somehow. “Jazz and I don’t have the best communication when it comes to non-business matters. We will wait for her to explain herself.”
Ethan crosses his legs and clasps his hands. He taps his fingers between his knuckles, distracting himself enough to hide his smile.
Dirty
JAZZ stands against a dining room wall, her hands clasped in front, as she watches people pass her by.
“You look lost,” Adrian says, approaching her.
“Oh, do I?” Jazz asks, straightening her stance.
“Have you met Eddy?”
“Eddy?”
“Our counsellor. If there’s any stuff you need to talk about, you can talk with him. It’s all private.”
She shakes her head. “Oh. No, I’m ok.”
“Well, he’ll be around, anyway.” Adrian shrugs. “I’ll introduce you if we pass him. You wanna come with me?”
“Where are you going?” she asks with mild curiosity.
“Lunch was quiet today, so they don’t need me to help clean up. I’m gonna check on the rest of our supplies.” He nods to the hall. “I can give ya a tour.”
Jazz pushes off the wall. “Sure, I’d love a tour.”
“Great,” he says with a bright smile.
“So, you don’t charge for the counselling either?” Jazz asks, a half-step behind him.
“What do you mean?”
“You give everything away for free?”
“Yeah, we’re not-for-profit. We’re here to help those in need.” Adrian nods to a man passing them in the hall. “Hey Tim.”
Jazz looks Tim up and down. Scruffy hair, overgrown beard, untucked and crinkled button-down shirt, ripped hem of faded chinos.