White Balance

by Paton, Ainslie

  “I’m going for a tuna salad focaccia,” she said, realising that’s what Blake would have ordered for her.

  “Roast beef for me,” he said. As their hovering waitress took the order, he popped a peeping mobile phone out of his front pants pocket. He glanced briefly at the screen and turned it towards her. “Good to know we’re making him nervous.”

  The screen read, “Be nice,” a message from Blake. It made Bailey dig her own phone out of her oversize wallet. She had a message from Blake too. “Remember I love you.” She held it out to Aiden and they both laughed.

  “Bailey, I’m really pleased to finally meet you,” he said, in that voice that could launch a thousand listener call-ins, and a look that gave off warmth and sincerity. “I know you’re only going to be around for a while, but you have fresh insights into the business that will jump start me. I’d really like to take advantage of what you’ve learned.”

  Bailey’s evil sixteen year old twin would’ve melted had she not been so busy scrawling Mrs Bailey Riley on any available fixed, dry surface. Ignoring amongst a range of dinosaur- sized issues—an existing Mrs Riley for instance—how completely silly the coupling of those two names sounded, and thinking—take advantage of me now.

  Bailey’s thirty year old self; practical, problem solving and obliging said, “I’m happy to help.”

  For the next hour they talked through the issues from the odd quirks of various staff members to the unrealised skills needs. She talked about immediate concerns and possibilities for the future. The more she talked, the more she felt her first meeting nerves drop away. This was better, this was the way she and Aiden should be relating, through the work. That’s what mattered; that’s what they were being paid for.

  Aiden listened without interrupting, eating his sandwich when it arrived without seeming to see it. He gave her his total attention, occasionally making a note on his tablet computer. It was unsettling all over again. He was so different to Blake who’d want to swap half a sandwich. Who’d have half an eye on what was going on at other tables, making her think he wasn’t listening, and who’d pepper her with constant questions, and never let her finish a sentence unchallenged.

  Aiden made her feel self-conscious, as though he was seeing deep inside her with every thought she completed—seeing a part of her in every opinion she gave. She hoped she wasn’t blushing, because he was watching her so closely he’d see it, and think it was silly. She didn’t want Aiden to think she was silly. She wanted him to think she was... what, marvellous, miraculous, indispensable? Oh God, she might as well be hoping he’d fall desperately in love with her, ditch the wife, sweep her off her feet, carry her into the sunset and show her happily ever after.

  “Bailey, eat. I’m sorry. I should’ve let you eat.”

  “Oh, right,” she glanced down at her plate. They’d been there an hour and she’d only managed to take a couple of bites and drink a cappuccino, and she was starving.

  “Please eat, and I’ll give you my first impressions.”

  She picked up the half eaten section of sandwich and Aiden talked about the challenges for the industry. He was so easy to listen to she forgot about being self-conscious and let his voice wash over her, warm like summer air, beguiling and hypnotic. He used his hands as he talked, punctuating his points. At one stage, moving the salt and pepper shakers and bowl of sugar satchels around on the table to illustrate his position. She could see why Blake said clients adored him. He was a salesman without selling. He was interested and interesting, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so engaged by another person.

  When he finished talking and rested both palms down on the table she had an overwhelming desire to reach over and put her hand in his. She had no idea where that impulse was coming from, other than her evil underage twin. She knew it was wildly inappropriate, and hoped she looked at least somewhat natural sitting there gripping the edges of her empty plate as though to stop it frisbeeing around the room.

  17: Illegal Drug

  He must have been sprouting a bunch of rubbish because Bailey was looking at him as though he was speaking in rhyming couplet. Blinking her big blue eyes at him and sitting very still.

  Ever since he’d first seen her—a shrewish Juliet on the upper floor to his unwitting Romeo in reception—he’d wanted to talk to her. Which was a mistake for a number of reasons. She wasn’t his day one priority. She wasn’t a priority at all. The work she was doing was peripheral to his, and not even Bailey could be told what the main game was about. He’d wondered about that. But Blake wanted to keep the plan exclusively between the two of them, and in any case Bailey’s contract would be over and she’d be gone before they got much finalised.

  But he’d not been able to stay away. Mostly that was about getting under Blake’s skin. Between him and Bailey they could write Blake’s curriculum vitae, his memoirs, a comedy show roast, and his obituary—without missing a seminal event or a laugh. No wonder the guy was nervous about them spending time together. And if he was honest, it was also about trying to ease his way into Heed. He knew he’d have to knock heads and play bad guy to get things happening quickly, and he wasn’t looking forward to stepping back into that role again, no matter how briefly. Spending time with Bailey put that moment off. At least for a few hours, and he rationalised she did have a fresh perspective of the business and its staff which was worth investigating.

  Her perspective wasn’t the only thing that was fresh. She was like a shot of illegal street drugs. Blake always said Bailey was smart, and she’d have to be a strong and self- aware person to deal with him successfully. But smart and strong didn’t near cover it. She was clear eyed, incisive, thoughtful and witty. After listening to her for an hour, Aiden would’ve employed her without a reference check, without a hesitation. It puzzled him why Blake hadn’t done that, tried to bring her into Heed full time. He made a note on his tablet to find out why.

  Aside from all the esoteric stuff like her brain capacity, intuition and emotional intelligence, Bailey had something else going for her. She sparkled. And it wasn’t because she was gorgeous looking, without trying. She was like Shannon in that way. No obvious makeup, other than a swipe of mascara and a lick of lipstick, eaten off with her sandwich. Her hair pulled back from her face and bundled on her head, secured mysteriously. No, the sparkle had nothing to do with her warm, olive toned skin or her enormous dark blue eyes, or her very tidy body. She could’ve been the size of a bus with bug eyes and onion breath, and she’d still have sparkled. Whatever the property was that made her seem glittery was more than surface deep, it came from inside. It was the real Bailey, independent of how she was wrapped up.

  Over the course of a short walk, a sandwich and a coffee, Aiden shifted from intrigued about Blake’s Bailey, to attentive. She spoke a lot of sense. What’s more he trusted her. And that was a big call. It wasn’t only Blake’s endorsement either. They’d often disagreed about who the good guys were. They were about to disagree very soon about Dominic and his specific role with Heed. So it wasn’t that Bailey came with impeccable references. She was her own cleverly worded, beautifully photographed, stunningly persuasive advertisement.

  Aiden thought he could trust Bailey to do whatever was needed to get things done, to make stuff right, to keep things moving. She was energy and direction, focus and refinement. She was ‘bring it on’, and ‘let me at it’.

  “I hope Blake realises what he had, what he’s still got in you.”

  Bailey waved a hand as though to laugh that off. “The stereotypical woman behind the man thing.”

  “I’m serious. Blake would’ve been at his most rambunctious and outrageous when you worked together. He was all ideas and no delivery. He had to learn the practical aspects of magic. It didn’t come naturally to him. Someone taught him and it wasn’t me.”

  “You know he’s a con artist of the best kind. He lets people think he’s disorganised so he can skewer them with their own presumptions.”

&nbs
p; “Bailey Wyatt. If you’re giving me false modesty I’m going to be disappointed.” She could give him any other attitude and he’d cop it sweet, but for this quick creature to deny her role in helping Blake succeed was not something he could bear.

  Bailey laughed, full throated. “You’re calling my bluff.”

  “I am.”

  “But I don’t know your tells yet.”

  “I don’t have any. Having tells is Blake’s problem.”

  “That’s a bluff.”

  “Is it?” This was banter, that’s for sure. It’d been a while since Aiden had exercised his wit on anyone other than Blake or Cody. And with Cody it was an unfair contest in Cody’s favour.

  She laughed again. “He’s terrible...”

  “The thing with the neck...”

  “And the sleeves.”

  “When he looks at you...”

  “That way—I know.” Bailey hid her face in her hands to muffle her mirth, her shoulders shaking and her laughter coming in gusts. Aiden felt light, like air could pass through him, like his feet might hover above the ground when he walked. It was a disorienting feeling. He wanted to reach out and hold Bailey’s hand, make sure she knew she was special not only to Blake but to him too.

  This from a man who felt uncomfortable every time his new girlfriend touched him. Who would shift from under her hand, step back, keep his distance to stop her trying to grasp at him. Where Willow’s touch was irritating, the idea of Bailey’s felt like comfort. The realisation made him feel conflicted all over again about Willow. He should quit whatever it was they were doing before it became something you could define, before he hurt Willow. She was a cute kid and he was an emotional mess. Just the way he was reacting to Bailey, this instant attraction or whatever it was—was proof of that. He simply couldn’t trust anything he felt these days. His emotions were like a house built on sand, cracks everywhere. Only things you could measure—account numbers, revenue projections, margin estimates and performance metrics—were safe to lean on.

  “Can we talk about the work you’re specifically doing?” He had to get this back on track. Bailey talked him through her projects. They were all important as part of expanding. And she had a complete handle on them. There was no value he could add to the process. That meant Blake was theoretically right. He and Bailey had no need to work together, they’d be parallel, but he was wrong too. Bailey could add so much to their thinking, strengthen their forces. He made a note on his Talk to Blake list about that too.

  “I guess we should get back.” He glanced at the bill the waitress had left on the table.

  “Anything else I can help you with?” Bailey said.

  He looked up. Was it his imagination, or was she stalling? “Not about your projects, not right now. But I have one last question for you.”

  She tilted her head and a curl from her bundle of hair fell forward. She tucked it back behind her ear and he wished he’d done it for her, that thought so disorienting he almost forgot the question. “Have you hurt yourself? Are you limping?”

  “No.”

  Here was a different Bailey. A ‘don’t get in my road’, ‘don’t fuck with me’ version. He heard it in the precision of that one clipped word, and saw it in the blink-less look she gave him. It made him stumble over an apology. “I thought...”

  “No.” There it was again. That unexpected edge where the sparkle in her could slice you up. It was a tell. He just didn’t know what it was meant to say other than this subject is closed.

  So closed she picked up the bill and stood. ”Heed can pay for this one as your welcome to the company.” He shut down his tablet, collected his phone and went to join her at the counter. He’d wanted to watch her walk across the cafe, to see if he’d been wrong about the limp. But that felt like checking up on her, and he didn’t want to risk catching her in a lie.

  The Bailey he’d met didn’t lie. The Bailey he’d met was the ideal foil for Blake. She was the rigour to his riddle, the sense to his sensationalism. His perfect alternate. Olivia was right to pick her. Not that the two women were anything alike, other than both of them having the ability to stand toe to toe with Blake and talk him round. But if Blake didn’t have Olivia then he could certainly love Bailey, and she certainly loved him.

  18: Falling Down

  The man on the footpath in front of them was weaving. Staggering left then right, stopping; then faltering forward again, his body sloping sideways.

  “Too much to drink or...” said Bailey. She didn’t finish her sentence, as the man listed to his left and went down hard on the pavement, his head hitting the cement with a sickening thud.

  Both of them moved, breaking into a run to get to him, Aiden arriving slightly ahead of Bailey, going down on his knees in front of the man. His eyes were open and had a panicked look in them. There was no smell of alcohol about him. He was wearing a suit and tie. This wasn’t a riotous lunch and the dead cat bounce of a drunk, this was something more serious.

  “Mate, can you talk to me?”

  The man mumbled something. Aiden looked to Bailey to see if she’d caught it. She shook her head.

  “Hang in there. We’re going to call you an ambulance. We’ll stay with you, hang in there.”

  Aiden reached for his phone as Bailey crouched alongside him, taking the man’s hand and then sliding forward to cradle his head in her lap. He was bleeding on her from a head wound. He was having trouble breathing. Aiden said heart attack and the name of the street to the triple zero operator, knowing that was a decent assumption and it wouldn’t matter if he was wrong, but might make a difference to how quickly they arrived. When he hung up he could hear Bailey talking softly to the man, reassuring him. She was stroking her hand down his arm. She’d taken his glasses off and undone his tie and top buttons.

  “Bailey, see if he has a wallet.”

  She went for the man’s coat pocket, and found a black leather wallet, handing it to him.

  “Sorry, mate. We’re not stealing from you. We’re going to see who you are, and if we can work out who to call for you.”

  A driver’s license identified the man as David Millar. A business card said he was a financial planner, working in a building not far from Heed’s office.

  “David. I’m Aiden, and that’s Bailey. The ambulance is coming. I’m going to call your office. They’ll know how to get in touch with your family. It’s going to be ok. You keep looking at Bailey. She’s gorgeous isn’t she? Like Scarlett Johansson with dark hair. You keep looking at her, and it’s going to be all good.”

  But Aiden didn’t know that. David was a ghastly blue-grey colour, his body limp and unmoving, and there was no sign of the ambulance. He called the office number on David’s business card, spoke to a receptionist and made her squeal. When he hung up he had no faith she’d know what to do, despite asking her to tell the most senior person in the office, and to notify David’s next of kin.

  Bailey appeared to know what to do though. She was talking to the man, keeping him anchored, keeping his eyes open. Aiden sat on the pavement beside her feeling redundant now the calls had been made. There was no one else on the street. If they hadn’t been there God knows. If they hadn’t been there this would be like it was for Shannon. David would be alone, hurt, scared, without hope.

  He couldn’t die. Not like this. At home in his bed with family close, ok, that was reasonable—but not like this.

  He was sixty something, slightly overweight. His suit was well made and his shoes were shined. David Millar looked after himself reasonably well. He wasn’t going to die today if there was anything Aiden could do about it. He dialled triple 0 again. An ambulance had been dispatched. He looked at Bailey. That rogue curl had fallen across her cheek. He tucked it behind her ear, and she gave him a quick flick of her eyes, and a breathy thanks. But her focus was on David, as though willing him to hang on with her look and her touch, and her soft voiced words.

  When David suddenly closed his eyes she moaned. “David, open y
our eyes. Look at me, please look at me.” He was unresponsive and Aiden reached out to touch his neck looking for a pulse. It was faint but it was there.

  “He’s still breathing.”

  “Oh, God.” She turned wide flared eyes to him, her top teeth clamped down on her bottom lip. Her hands were shaking but she didn’t stop stroking David’s arm.

  Why wasn’t someone like Bailey with Shannon when she’d fallen? It should’ve been so easy. A crowded shopping centre car park, so many people coming and going. Why had Shannon died alone? Why hadn’t there been someone to cradle her, call for help, alert her next of kin, who was sitting in his office doing nothing special, when he could’ve been saving her life.

  The sound of running feet brought Aiden’s attention back. Three people, two men and a woman, making straight for them. They’d come in the direction of David’s office. He stood to meet them, giving Bailey’s free hand a squeeze before he got to his feet. He said, “Hang in there,” as much to her as to David, and himself.

  They were David’s colleagues. One of the men got down next to Bailey and started talking to David, some rubbish about needing to be awake so he could select his teams for the week’s footy tipping comp. The other two hovered anxiously after slamming Aiden with questions. What happened? How did they find David? Did he talk?

  Aiden answered as best he could. It was only eleven minutes since he and Bailey had left the cafe. Eleven minutes since David collapsed, but it felt like hours and the ambulance would never come. When they heard the siren, Aiden allowed himself to breathe properly again, he uncoiled his fists. At least now there was proper help.

  Everything moved at warp speed. The two paramedics had David on his back and his shirt open in seconds: giving him oxygen, attaching electrodes, calling readings to each other. The female snapped off questions. How old was he? Did he have any illnesses? Was he diabetic? Did he have heart trouble? Apart from age which Aiden took from David’s license, the answers were vague. Someone had called his wife and daughter. What hospital should they go to?