‘The mousy girl in the purple dress and the fake fur coat.’
‘Oh yes, I remember now. She’s on the bits and bobs table. That’s where Sharyn put all the misfits and loners who didn’t fit anywhere else.’
Maggie heard the door to the powder room closing, but she couldn’t stand up, let alone open the cubicle door, because her whole body was shaking with rage.
More than ten years passed before she saw Josh again. By then she was a teacher and he was the keynote speaker at an in-service course on motivating students by utilising social networks: Dr Joshua Houghton, BA (Hons), MA, PhD, Senior Lecturer in Sociology. The name had hit her like a punch in the stomach during a bout of appendicitis, but once she composed herself, she decided it would be cowardly not to attend. And it might even be helpful. As a languages teacher in a western suburbs school, Maggie needed some tips on motivation. Although she could make a strong case for French as an inter national language, Latin was a different story. How many times had she defended its existence in the curriculum to a parent berating her about the irrelevance of a dead language? Nevertheless, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear any advice, even of the professional kind, from Dr Josh Houghton.
In the large lecture theatre she didn’t think he had noticed her, but at morning tea he excused himself from a circle of female teachers and made his way across the room.
‘Maggie, it’s great to see you. You haven’t changed at all.’
Still the same mousy girl, she thought, but what she said was, ‘Nor have you.’
‘What subjects are you teaching?’
‘Languages.’
‘That’s right. I remember now.’
‘What about you, Josh? Weren’t you planning to teach social sciences?’
‘Actually, I went straight into my Masters. Then I found myself caught up in the world of academia and never left.’
Maggie frowned.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Maggie. He’s just delivered a lecture on motivation in the high school classroom, but he’s never taught in a school. Still, a doctor doesn’t need to have suffered from cancer to treat cancer patients, does he?’
While Maggie was untangling his odd analogy, he asked, ‘Did you get married?’
His eyes shot so quickly from her left hand back to her face, she could easily have missed it.
‘No. How’s Sharyn?’
‘I haven’t seen her for a while. We were divorced last year.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ The curse had worked.
‘We didn’t have a lot in common, as it turned out.’
‘Kids?’
‘No, thank goodness. Children would have made things complicated. Listen, I have to circulate now, and then I have a lecture at uni this afternoon. But how about we have a drink this evening? At Noonan’s. Around six.’
Although she tried hard to think of an excuse, her mind couldn’t produce one. ‘Can we make it six-thirty?’ was the best she could come up with.
‘No problem. Better go. See you then.’
Maggie watched him cross the room with a confidence that came from knowing he was special. The anointed one. A prince among men. She wished she had one skerrick of that confidence.
Maggie had never been able to resist Josh Houghton’s charm, even now, when her better judgment told her not to make the same mistakes all over again. Yet the optimist inside her was certain this time it would be different. Firstly, there was no impediment – he was unattached. And secondly, she would make herself indispensable to him. She hadn’t tried hard enough in their university days.
Trivia Night
Carole’s remark about meeting someone had reminded Maggie of the times her mother used to push her to go out and socialise when she all she wanted was to stay home and watch old movies on TV. But she decided to turn up – just this once.
They arranged to meet at the club, an ugly 1960s building with a stunning view of the ocean. At seven-thirty on Tuesday evening Maggie made her way through double glass doors into the cobalt-blue carpeted foyer, where Edward signed her in and Mei Zhen introduced her partner, Ash. It turned out Ash was a woman – Ashleigh. Then they went upstairs to the auditorium. Their table was number ten, directly in front of the stage. On a folded card were the words: ‘Reserved for Teddy and the Dreamers’.
‘Sit here, Maggie,’ Edward said, indicating the chair on his right. Maggie had been hoping to squeeze in between Carole and Mei Zhen.
‘That’s why we’re called Teddy and the Dreamers,’ Ash whispered to Maggie as she made her way to the other side of the table. ‘He thinks he’s the boss.’
‘You’ve certainly got a dress circle position,’ Maggie said, making conversation.
‘This table brought us luck in last year’s competition,’ Edward said.
‘We came second,’ Carole explained.
‘And won a thousand-dollar stainless steel barbecue,’ Mei Zhen added.
‘It wasn’t the kind of prize you can share,’ Carole said.
‘So we sold it on the internet,’ said Ash.
‘But we don’t do this for the prizes,’ said Edward. ‘It’s the prestige.’
Nevertheless, he seemed to be gazing longingly at the collection of prizes arranged on the stage: a huge plasma TV, a collection of small electrical goods and a fancy European bone china dinner set.
‘The prize we want this year,’ said Carole, ‘is the only one not up on the stage. It’s a weekend for six at a resort in the Hunter Valley. Wouldn’t that be fun, Maggie? You could ask a friend.’
Just as Maggie was wondering how to reply, a middle-aged man who seemed to have stepped out of a 1950s rock and roll movie mounted the stage and picked up a microphone.
‘Welcome to the magnificent Clifton Heights Sports Club and week two of our autumn–winter trivia competition, with the richest prizes and smartest contestants in all of the country.’
There was a cheer from the audience.
‘I’m the Professor, and this lovely lady is my wife, Miss Kitty.’
Miss Kitty? Maggie smiled to herself. Wasn’t she the bar owner and madam in Gunsmoke? Next Maggie heard: ‘Now, let me tell you a story. A man walked into a bar.’
Oh no, she groaned silently. Don’t tell me the Professor does jokes.
‘He looked so sad the bartender asked him what the problem was. “I’ve just come from my trivia night,” said the man. “Are you any good?” asked the bartender. “I have a photographic memory,” he replied. “Then why are you so sad?” the bartender asked.’ The Professor paused for a second before offering the punchline, ‘“I forgot to put the film in.”’
There was scattered laughter.
‘That one was for all of you who remember a time before digital technology.’
Maggie winced. None of this augured well.
‘It gets better,’ Carole reassured her.
I hope so, thought Maggie.
After the first round there was a ‘Who am I?’ question.
‘We need this one,’ Edward said. They were still languishing in fifth place. ‘It’s a first in, best dressed kind of question, worth two points,’ he explained for Maggie’s benefit.
‘But if the answer’s wrong, you forfeit two points,’ Carole added.
‘I was born in London in 1937,’ the Professor began, ‘and I was raised in a theatrical family.’
Instantly, Maggie thought she had it. Either Vanessa Redgrave or Edward Fox. But she waited. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself or sacrifice two points.
‘When I was fifteen I was expelled from school,’ the Professor continued.
It couldn’t be Edward Fox, could it? No, he was definitely more of a prefect type than a rebel. Maggie was about to raise her hand and say ‘Vanessa Redgrave’, when she saw another hand shoot up at the far table. It was a fair-haired man wearing horn-rimmed glasses, sitting on his own. Where was the rest of his team?
‘Jackie Collins,’ he answered in an odd monotone.
He must have come straight from work because he was still dressed in a suit and tie.
‘Correct,’ said the Professor. ‘That’s two bonus points to the One-Man Band, putting him in the overall lead by …’ He checked the screen. ‘By six points.’
Edward turned on Maggie. ‘I thought you would have known that one.’
Maggie felt her chest tightening. She had been hoping for a pleasant, stress-free evening, but this wasn’t enjoyable at all. She certainly wouldn’t be coming back next week.
‘Leave her alone, Edward,’ Ash said. ‘You didn’t know it either.’
‘That One-Man Band guy is the centre of attention, isn’t he?’ Carole said in the pause between rounds three and four. ‘Have you seen the other teams trying to court him?’
‘It’s like a footy team head-hunting a top player,’ Edward said. ‘I wonder what they’re offering him? Cash? A grand share of the prizes? Maybe it’s sex. Now, that’s always a good lure.’
Maggie shot Edward a glance. Surely he wasn’t serious.
‘Why don’t we go and talk to him?’ said Edward. ‘See if we can entice him to join our team.’
‘I think we should leave him be,’ Carole replied. ‘He’s doing perfectly well on his own.’
‘But what a coup it would be if we could win him over. We’d be able to annihilate the Usual Suspects.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Mei Zhen, who had joined the conversation. ‘To use your footy example, Edward, a club might buy a champion player, but it doesn’t necessarily guarantee success.’
‘That’s right,’ Ash added. ‘How many times has a star import failed to live up to expectations?’
‘But sometimes their presence can lift the performance of the entire team,’ Maggie said.
‘In that case, Maggie, why don’t you go over and ask him?’ Edward prodded. ‘It couldn’t hurt.’
‘If you’re so keen on the idea, why don’t you do it, Edward?’ Ash challenged.
‘Because the offer would be more attractive coming from a woman.’
Ash glared at him. ‘Edward, you’re such a sexist bastard.’
After the fourth round of questions the Professor announced a break. Half an hour. Although it seemed innocuous enough, Maggie soon learned it was quite the opposite.
‘Karaoke time,’ said the Professor from the stage. ‘We’ll have each team come up in table number order.’
‘You didn’t tell me about any bloody karaoke,’ Maggie whispered to Carole.
‘It’s just a bit of fun,’ Carole replied. ‘There’s a prize for the best team, as judged by the Professor’s wife.’
Maggie excused herself and went to the ladies’ room. She had to queue for a toilet, but once a cubicle became available, she put the lid down, wiped it with loo paper and sat on the cold plastic surface. Thirty minutes would be a long time to lurk hidden in the powder room, but she didn’t intend to emerge until the karaoke was over. If she’d known about this, she would have brought a book to read. Instead, she took out her phone, looked up the weather, sent texts to her fellow book clubbers and checked the news.
After ten minutes, she was startled by loud knocking on the cubicle door. Oh dear. Carole had found her. But it wasn’t Carole, just a woman urgently needing to go.
‘Will you be long?’ the woman pleaded from the other side of the door. Maggie pictured a whole row of women seated in cubicles, hiding from the karaoke, while a queue of others waited in agony to empty their bladders.
‘No, won’t be a minute,’ she replied, standing up and flushing the toilet.
As she opened the door, the woman rushed in, almost before Maggie was out of the cubicle. Then she spent so much time washing and drying her hands, she might have been a surgeon prepping for an operation. Slowly she combed her hair and reapplied her lipstick. But there was still fifteen minutes to go. Perhaps Teddy and the Dreamers had finished their act by now. Maggie slipped out of the ladies’ room and was about to make her way back into the auditorium when she saw the One-Man Band coming out of the men’s. But he wasn’t going back to his table. Instead, he was heading down a dimly lit hallway. Impulsively Maggie followed him, at a safe distance, as they did in detective movies. He reached the end of the passage and dashed down a flight of stairs. By the time Maggie made it to the top of the stairwell and peered over, he was nowhere to be seen. She proceeded to the bottom and found herself in a small room with grey concrete walls. Beside a door she spotted a sign saying ‘Emergency Exit’.
Was the One-Man Band leaving early? Did he have another engagement? Or was he abandoning the competition altogether? Perhaps he was bored with the simpletons who made up the other teams. She turned the doorknob, not knowing what to expect, and found herself at the back of the club. Above the door a security light shone wanly. A low brick garden bed filled with some kind of hedge abutted the wall. There, on the brick ledge, sat Mr One-Man Band.
When he saw her, he gave a little start as if he’d been caught doing something wrong.
‘Hi. Are you escaping the karaoke too?’ she asked, breaking the silence. Surreptitiously, she took a quick look at him. He appeared to be in his forties, not tall, but not short either.
He didn’t reply.
‘Well, you don’t seem to be sneaking a cigarette,’ Maggie persisted.
There was no response.
‘I’m Maggie,’ she said, offering her hand.
‘Kevin,’ he said, pausing before he took it. The handshake that followed was brief and limp, their hands barely making contact.
‘This is my first time,’ she said, then blushed at the connotation. If Edward was here, he would make a comment for sure.
‘I only started last week myself.’
‘I didn’t realise that. You seem like an expert,’ she said, taking a seat on the brick ledge.
‘I’ve been in other competitions.’
‘What made you come here?’
‘It’s a long story.’
She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. Instead, he was looking at his watch.
‘Twelve minutes to go,’ he said.
His tone suggested he was bored with her company.
‘I didn’t mean to disturb you, Kevin. I think I’ll go back inside.’
‘Then you’ll have to join in the singing.’
‘Won’t it be over by now?’
‘Teddy and the Dreamers are table number ten. They’ll go last.’
‘Oh. In that case, I might stay a bit longer.’ How did he know which team she was in, not to mention the table number? There must have been at least eighty people in that auditorium. ‘What do you do in real life, Kevin?’ she asked casually.
‘I’m a forensic accountant.’
‘Like the guy who nailed Al Capone?’
In the half-darkness he turned his head towards her.
‘Yes, like that.’
‘Didn’t Charles Martin Smith play him in the film? But I don’t think I’ve ever heard his real name.’
‘Frank J. Wilson. He worked for the US Treasury. He wasn’t on Ness’s team at all.’
‘So they made that bit up for the film. No wonder they called the character Oscar Wallace. You know, Kevin, I’ve always found the idea of following a money trail intriguing. You must love your job.’
‘Mmm.’
‘I’m afraid my work is dull by comparison.’
‘Oh,’ he replied.
It was an odd conversation. Kevin didn’t respond in the way she expected. In fact, he would place a full stop in the dialogue just at the point he should be asking a question. So she went on talking as if he had responded in the normal way.
‘I’m a schoolteacher. Latin and French. I work with Carole, who’s married to Teddy. Actually, his real name is Edward, but he thought Teddy sounded cute. Teddy and the Dreamers. You know, like Freddie and the Dreamers. But maybe you’re too young to remember them.’
‘No, I remember. Freddie Garrity. Born Manchester, 1936. Died 2006. He was a milkman
before he became a pop star. Hit song: “I’m Telling You Now”.’
‘No wonder you win trivia competitions. Bet you can’t hum it, though.’
‘I never hum. And I don’t sing either.’
It was Maggie’s turn to say, ‘Oh.’
Another silence followed, broken only when Maggie could bear it no longer.
‘So what do you like to do, Kevin, when you’re not being an accountant?’
‘Trivia.’
‘Of course. But what else?’
‘I have notebooks.’
‘Yes?’ she encouraged.
‘I collect information, catalogue it, compile lists.’
‘I used to do that when I was a kid. I remember making a list of girls’ names starting with “A”, and then I did one with TV detectives. You know – Columbo, Kojak, Rockford.’ It was all coming back to her as she spoke. ‘There was even a list of French actors and actresses. That took me years. And once, when we drove up to Queensland for a holiday, I wrote down the name of every town we passed, and the creeks as well. Do you know how many Breakfast Creeks there are?’
‘Yes, I do. And Dinnertime Creeks too.’
Maggie looked to see if he was kidding her, but his face was in shadow.
‘I love lists,’ she continued. ‘Though nowadays computers have taken over. Everything is just there. Look at Wikipedia – they even have lists of people born in the same year. You just click at the bottom of the page and up they come.’
‘But it’s not like collecting it yourself and writing it down.’
‘I guess not.’
He was peeking at his watch again. ‘Five minutes. We should go inside.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t want to miss the first question of round five. It’s not as if you have other team members to cover for you.’ Then she remembered about inviting him to join Teddy and the Dreamers. After all, it couldn’t hurt to ask. ‘Kevin, have you ever considered merging with another team?’
‘Not really.’
‘I feel silly asking you this, but would you like to join our team?’
He was silent for so long she was afraid she had offended him.
The Trivia Man Page 3