Sharp Edge

by Marianne Delacourt

  ‘I’ll explain, in detail, later.’

  I would have pressed him on it, but I spied Phoebe sitting at the end of the front row on the opposite side. She got up, put her brochure down and headed towards the sign that read Restrooms.

  Perfect! ‘I’ll be back in a moment. Just seen someone I need to speak to.’

  ‘It’ll be starting in just under ten minutes,’ he said looking at his watch. ‘They don’t like it if you’re not seated by then.’

  ‘Back in a flash,’ I said.

  ‘Tara?’

  ‘Promise!’

  He grunted and turned to the woman next to him who was tapping on his arm. Tozzi was never short of people wanting to talk to him.

  I escaped through to the back rows and circumnavigated the room. From my lofty six feet four inch vantage point, I spied Smitty directly opposite Nick and me across the catwalk, but in the last row. She was chatting to the woman next to her and happily sipping her complimentary champagne.

  Further perusal of the venue revealed Bok off-stage but near where the models would enter. He was talking with a person who, I guessed, from his interesting garb, was a designer. I felt a wave of reassurance. Smitty and Bok were both here.

  Smiling to myself, I turned away to follow Phoebe into the restroom and bumped straight into a couple who’d just entered through the main doors. The man righted me with a hand on my arm.

  ‘Pardon me, I’m so—’ I started to say and then broke off.

  Jake Stranger was my collision partner, and tottering next to him on heels that would have made my nose bleed, was his sulky girlfriend.

  ‘Jeez,’ I breathed. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  Jake glanced around to assess who could hear us, and then shot me an appraising look. ‘Wow.’

  His girlfriend’s expression turned from sulky to malevolent, and I had an awful flash of her pulling a pistol from her clutch and shooting me.

  Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself, after a peep at her purse. It’s much too small to fit a revolver.

  ‘I mean, if you’re here, why am I?’ I said.

  The admiration bled out of his features. I could see the tattoo peeping up over his collar and his hand on my arm tightened. ‘Just do what you came here to do.’

  We locked gazes and after a moment I nodded and pulled my arm from his grip.

  I cast a quick look over my shoulder, to see if anyone had noticed our encounter. From the sea of faces, and the blur of auras, one stood out. John Viaspa. He was staring straight at us from the second row, down near the foot of the runway. Why hadn’t I seen him before? What in the hell was he doing here?

  I thought for a second that I might throw up: Jake Stranger and now Viaspa—a big ol’ black hole of bad karma in one room that totally cancelled out the comfort I felt from Smitts and Bok being there.

  I hadn’t seen Viaspa since Brisbane. Before I went there, he’d put a contract out on me, but since the person he’d hired had been arrested by the police, he’d decided to lay low. I assumed that was because he was trying to distance himself from hiring someone to kill me. Then in Brisbane, Bon Ames had come to my rescue. That was why I was in this predicament with them, why I owed them.

  I turned and headed to the restroom. When I was safely inside, I leaned against the wall and tried to steady my breathing.

  Phoebe Kenilworth was at the basin applying lippy. She glanced up and saw me.

  ‘Oh, hello.’ Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Goodness. You should be on the catwalk in that outfit, Tara. You look…’

  ‘Phoebe. Hi! But please hold that thought,’ I said interrupting her. ‘I wish I’d never worn the damn thing.’

  She smiled, but her face looked pale and pinched. She put her lipstick away into her tiny white-ribboned clutch. ‘Well, just between you and me, I’d rather be anywhere but here too,’ she sighed.

  I rallied from my double shot of Jake Stranger/Johnny Viaspa shock and went over to the basin. ‘I guess you get sick of these things?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s not that. It’s just that I … well…,’ she lowered her voice. ‘I don’t mean to get too personal … but I … lost someone close to me recently… I’m still in—’

  She broke off as a toilet flushed and someone exited one of the stalls and joined us at the basins. I took my comb out and ran it through my hair, while Phoebe touched up her concealer.

  The woman dried her hands under the blower and left, and I dived into the opening Phoebe’d given me. ‘Yes, it changes your perspective about these kinds of things, doesn’t it?’ I said gently. Her cool blue aura, which had been throbbing, began to flake: slender shreds of cobalt floating off into the air around us both. She was a mess and I wanted to give her a hug.

  ‘Yes, he was. And his … death … was … horrible…’ she shuddered.

  I leaned over and patted her back—near her heart—just where the worst of the flakes were peeling off, and tried to stem the flow. ‘You don’t mean Bernard Romeo, by any chance, do you?’

  She flinched and glanced at me with fear in her eyes. ‘How do you know?’

  I pressed gently on the same spot, still trying to stem the flaking. ‘Nothing. It’s just that his death was in the papers recently, and I took a guess. I do this kind of thing for a living. Two and two, I mean.’

  My answer seemed to calm her a little. ‘Please don’t mention this to anyone. Our … relationship wasn’t … well, not many people knew about it. I don’t want the press hounding me. And…’ she flushed, ‘he was married.’

  ‘No judgement from me,’ I said softly. ‘I have enough problems with my own love life.’

  She managed a small smile. ‘Was that Nick Tozzi, you walked in with?’

  ‘Oh, you saw us?’

  ‘A little hard not to. From one school chum to another … you want to watch that wife of his. She’s a loose cannon.’

  I nodded. ‘Thanks. I know. Hey, if you ever want a friendly ear, I’ve just moved into the old Gar Lok restaurant. That is, I’m living upstairs.’ I fished a business card out of my bag. ‘And—’

  Someone else entered the toilet, and I stopped.

  She pursed her lips and nodded. ‘Thanks, Tara. Take care.’

  I waited a few moments, before I followed her out, knowing that I’d cracked the ice, established a connection. But it wasn’t enough. I hadn’t learned enough.

  I thought about moving interstate again. Phoebe was a nice woman, a sad woman. I didn’t want to embroil her in anything to do with Jake Stranger.

  As I wrenched open the door, the music shifted gears and the lights dimmed. I couldn’t see Stranger, or Viaspa which was something. I hustled back to my seat, as quickly as my heels would let me, and plopped down next to Tozzi as the compère began introducing the designer lines.

  ‘Cut that fine,’ he breathed.

  His huge hand engulfed mine, and I sensed the women around us exchanging glances.

  I slipped my hand out of his grip and folded my arms. I’d never given any thought to what dating Nick Tozzi might be like, and I suddenly didn’t feel ready for this kind of scrutiny.

  ‘What is it?’ he whispered to me as the first models appeared and began to sashay down.

  ‘Everyone’s staring at us,’ I said.

  ‘Ignore them,’ he said.

  ‘Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with a fringe up to your breakfast.’

  His hand moved to my knee and began to slide along my leg. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’

  ‘Jeez,’ I said and clamped my knees together.

  He sighed in a resigned kind of way and removed his wandering fingers. ‘Honestly, you’ll get used to it. It means nothing.’

  ‘No,’ I said sinking lower in my seat. This whole arriving-with-Tozzi-plus-fringe-dress had been one of the worst ideas I’d had in a long time. ‘I doubt it.’

  The models were coming in waves now, jutting their hips out in unnatural poses, turning their angular jaws, and dishing out bland expres
sions.

  I’d been to a bunch of similar shows over the years, usually for fundraisers, and usually under protest. But for the first time, it really struck me how I truly abhorred the whole concept of them. Not so much the exhibition of the clothes, but more the ridiculous standards the models were held to, and the focus on physical beauty. Yet, here I was in a butt-revealing dress, all in the name of fashion. The size of the scowl on my face matched my disgust in myself.

  Tozzi could see it too. ‘Can’t you pretend to enjoy it,’ he whispered.

  ‘It’s a bloody meat market,’ I said.

  To my surprise, he agreed with me. ‘Yes, but it means fifteen thousand dollars to the new children’s hospital. And it’s a creative art. We need to support those kinds of things. So keep it in perspective.’

  I glanced at him. I think I’d just learned something new about my date. Silver linings.

  The music ramped up as the first part of the show reached its crescendo, and I slipped my hand across and gave his a squeeze. ‘You’re really a good guy, you know that.’

  He grinned but didn’t turn his head. ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.’

  I was busy smiling at him when something happened. A cooing noise from the largely female crowd drew my attention back to the runway. A male model had emerged and was standing there in an open shirt which showed off his immaculate pecs, a pair of Hugo Boss knit trousers, a bow tie, and a set of angels wings pinned to his back.

  Spontaneous applause broke out. It was Ed, looking chiselled and divinely divine.

  My mouth dropped open. Firstly, it hadn’t occurred to me that he might be working this gig. Secondly, I mean, I knew he was gorgeous, but seeing him up there, in his element, strutting his stuff was something else. The theme song from the Magic Mike movies started up, and most of the female audience got to their feet and started clapping.

  ‘Isn’t that your … friend?’ said Tozzi, his expression tightening.

  I swallowed. ‘Umm … that’s Ed, yeah.’

  Ed began to move down the runway, half dancing, half-strutting, with an elegance that made Channing Tatum seem clumsy.

  Every few steps he stopped and connected with the audience, smiling, gyrating, and dancing: titillating the women closest to him, and many of the men too, I guessed.

  In about thirty seconds, he was going to be in front of me. I hadn’t known he was working on this parade, and he hadn’t known I was coming. It shouldn’t be an awkward moment, but it was going to be. Especially when he saw Nick Tozzi at my side. I let go of Tozzi’s elbow. How was I going to explain this? Where was Jane? Where was Bok? Help! I needed a distraction.

  The good Lord answered my prayers in a wicked way.

  ‘Nicholas! What is she doing in my seat?’ In the lull between music tracks changing, Antonia Tozzi’s voice was like a razor blade scraping glass: loud, scratchy, and shiver inducing.

  She stood in front of us in a stunning white dress that left her flawless, tanned midriff bare. Her hair was upswept and immaculate, with just two golden tendrils spiralling around her face. Save for the look of petulant fury on her face, she smelled and looked like the Madonna of haute couture.

  The music kicked in again and I trembled under the clamber of competing sights and sounds: Ed’s moment of recognition and confusion before the music carried him onward; Toni Tozzi’s blazing aura that shot mortars of energy in my direction; and the heat radiating from Nick, as he looked up at his estranged wife.

  ‘Toni, go and sit somewhere else. You’re making an unnecessary scene.’

  ‘Unnecessary!’ she shrieked above the sound. ‘You’ve given your slut my front row seat!’

  Slut! I felt my own body heat ignite, and I stood up. Just a few seats away from me, Jake Stranger watched with interest and his lady friend’s smug, narrow-eyed expression nauseated me. Viaspa would be watching too, but I avoided looking for him.

  The music started again and Ed danced past again on his way back down the catwalk, trying to maintain his indifference to the ugly little scene developing in the middle of his big moment.

  I glanced around desperately for Smitty or Bok, and instead of them, I caught sight of Phoebe Kenilworth heading towards the door.

  ‘Gotta run,’ I told Nick curtly, and before Toni Tozzi could embarrass all of us any further, I bailed.

  ‘Tara,’ he lurched after me, but Toni latched onto his arm like someone falling off a cliff, and together they sank down into the seats.

  I kicked Jake Stranger’s outstretched foot as I hustled past, and caught a glimpse of Johnny Viaspa getting up to follow me. As soon as I was out of the ballroom, I shucked off my sandals, sprinted down the stairs and out onto the pavement.

  It was dark now, but I caught sight of Phoebe in the street lights, walking down towards the river, and I hurried down the hill after her. She looked like she was going to the park in front of the river, but at the last moment she turned into a street and walked towards some flats. When she reached the brick letterbox outside she looked about then went down into a driveway undercroft.

  I glanced over my shoulder. No Viaspa, so I slowed my pace and approached from the other side of the road, using the parked cars as cover. When I reached the post box opposite, I crouched behind it and peered around.

  Phoebe had her back to me and was talking to a short, round man in a flamboyant Hawaiian shirt. Something about him was familiar. I was sure I knew him from somewhere.

  He had his hand on her elbow but she shook it off. The hand moved to her hip. And then he groped her butt.

  She pushed him back, repulsed. I crept across the street to take photos of them, but the light was low and the flash went off.

  ‘What was that?’ said the guy.

  They turned in my direction, so I ran a few steps along the street, stepped over a low hedge in front of a renovated cottage and crouched down behind it. Moments later Phoebe’s heels clicked past me on the pavement. I pressed against the hedge, my fringe-exposed butt scraping the scratchy grass.

  Then something bit me. Lots of something. Hot pokers of pain attacked my bum and thighs. Fricking green ants.

  As soon as she’d gone far enough past, I leapt up and over the hedge, feeling under the dress to locate the bities.

  That’s where Nick Tozzi found me, dancing about, shoes off, and with my hand up my fringed skirt.

  ‘What are you doing, Tara?’

  ‘Owwww!’ I yowled glaring at him. ‘Go away.’

  ‘I came to apologise for my wi—’

  ‘Eeeehh.’ Another wave of hot-poker-pain swept my nether regions. ‘Get them off!’

  ‘Get what off?’

  ‘Owwww! S-s-stupid fringe. F-frigging g-green ants in my pants!’

  He went into immediate action mode, pulling off his jacket and holding it up in front of me to shield me from the headlights of cars driving along the road. Of course that did nothing to protect me from the cottage and nearby apartment windows, but I was beyond caring.

  ‘Quick. Strip your underwear off. I’ll shield you,’ he said.

  I went to work as he suggested and ripped my knickers down. In the glow of the streetlights, I saw the offending ants writhing about inside them, so I turned my underwear inside out and shook it. Satisfied the bities were gone I quickly slipped it back on. The pain was getting worse though. I needed ice.

  ‘Can you go get the car? The pain… I don’t think I can walk.’

  ‘On my way,’ he said. ‘What about Jane though?’

  ‘I’ll text her. But please hurry,’ I said. ‘I need to get into a cold shower or something.’

  He loped off up the street, leaving me to let Smitts know. I crouched down and laboured over the text.

  Work stuff took me outside. Stung by green ants. ALL OVER!!!!! Going home. Grab taxi and I’ll pay.

  When I was done, I screwed up my eyes again, willing the pain away. Green ant bites could sting for a few minutes or hours depending on the species and the amount of venom the
y injected. I’d once squashed one with my big toe and had been in agony for almost a day.

  This was multiple bites on a tender part of my anatomy. I needed cool water and ice packs. And some privacy.

  Tozzi was back in record time, but it still felt like hours. Tears streamed down my face as he opened the car door for me, and all I wanted to do was swear.

  ‘Home,’ I managed to grind out.

  He grimaced in sympathy and reached into the back seat, producing a silver ice bucket full of ice cubes.

  ‘Help yourself,’ he said. ‘I promise not to peek.’

  ‘You hero!’ I gasped.

  My phone made a series of buzzing sounds: texts coming in from Jane, Bok and Ed. I couldn’t deal with any of them.

  ‘Eyes on the road,’ I told Tozzi. And with an almost choking relief, I clamped ice cubes onto my crotch.

  17

  I told Nick to go home when we arrived at the Gar Lok.

  ‘Don’t be stupid about this, Tara. People can suffer anaphylactic shock from green ant bites,’ he said as I got out of the car.

  ‘It would have happened already,’ I replied. ‘I just need to lie down for a bit. And next time you ask a girl on a date, make sure it’s not to sit in your ex-wife’s seat.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea. We’re not together. She’s just trying to make it … hard for me.’

  ‘Well now’s not the time to hash it out. I’m sorry you missed the second half of the show.’ I wasn’t really, but my upbringing dictated that I finished up politely.

  He managed a smile. ‘Never a dull moment…’

  ‘Backatcha,’ I said with meaning and shut the car door.

  I went straight to bed with the rest of the ice, and slowly the pain began to ebb. The ignominy of my experience grew though. I’d taken my undies off in the middle of an—albeit dark—street. Thank goodness there’d been no one much around to see.

  I picked up my phone and studied the snap of Phoebe and the short, round man. I was sure of it. But from where…?

  Maybe if I occupied my mind with something else it would come back to me, so I checked my texts and replied to Smitts telling her that I was AOK and at home with my friend, Mr Ice Cube.