Stage Fright

by Marianne Delacourt

  Her folded his enormous self into the specially modified driver’s seat, handed me my milkshake, and dropped a paper bag in my lap. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  There were only about a dozen people at the van but they were all looking in our direction. It only took a dozen people to start a rumour that would spread through Perth in a day. Small city, big networks.

  Tozzi drove a way down the sea road and pulled into one of the little car parks south of the Cottesloe groyne. JoBob used to bring me swimming down here as a kid when the main beaches were crowded. There was just enough clear water to wallow about in before you hit rock.

  I slurped in some vanilla-flavoured milk and fished around in the paper bag. ‘There’s only one serve of chips,’ I told Tozzi as I passed him his burger.

  ‘Yours—I’m trying to keep my weight down,’ he said, and took a gigantic bite of his steak and egg.

  ‘Me too!’ I chowed down just as quickly on the bacon and cheese.

  When he finished his mouthful, he chuckled. ‘Toni’s friends eat celery sticks and diet pills, you know,’ he said. ‘I always feel like a glutton around them.’

  ‘That’s because you are,’ I said cheerfully. ‘But in a good way.’

  He took another chomp and the burger disappeared. The man could eat. But at seven feet tall that wasn’t surprising.

  With a cursory wipe of his hands on the paper serviette from the bag he settled back to watch me.

  ‘So what’s concerning the lovely Jane Smith?’ he asked.

  ‘Since when are you interested in my friends?’

  ‘Since I learned that they’re the ones charged with keeping you out of trouble.’

  ‘Your faith in me is underwhelming,’ I said, pulling a face at him and stuffing some chips in my mouth. ‘How’s big business?’

  Tozzi owned a sports goods chain. Despite shite with the economy, I heard along the vine that he was doing alright. In hard times people fell back to watching sport and drinking at home. And Tozzi had some decent contracts with football, basketball and cricket teams.

  ‘Can’t complain.’

  ‘And my favourite car?’

  ‘I sold the Lambo.’

  ‘You what?! How could you?’

  ‘Had an offer too good to refuse. Besides, I’ve got a hankering for something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll surprise you one day. So what’s been happening with you? You got work?’

  ‘Can’t complain,’ I lied. ‘Heading to Brisbane for a job soon, as a matter of fact.’ I wasn’t going to tell him there was no firm deal yet. It wasn’t like we saw each other every day.

  ‘Interstate? Your reputation is growing.’

  I stared at him suspiciously to see if he was being facetious but I couldn’t detect a smirk. ‘I’m good at what I do,’ I said.

  ‘You are. And what’s the job?’

  ‘Client privilege.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘You know that I know how to keep my mouth shut, Nick.’

  We shared a moment of silence filled with awkward memories. The man had saved my life and I’d saved his business from going under. Like it or not, we were tied to each other by the past and certain secrets.

  ‘No trouble from Viaspa?’ he asked.

  ‘No. And I plan to be out of town for a while, so that will help.’

  ‘Oh? How long?’

  ‘It depends on how the job pans out. How’s your wife?’

  He sighed, and I wasn’t sure if it was about me being out of town or about her. ‘Things have been okay. I mean . . . I think she’s clean. But I just keep worrying that she’s not.’

  ‘You want me to suss her out? I can do that, you know. I can tell if people are using.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘It would be a freebie.’

  ‘NO, TARA!’

  ‘Okay. Settle, petal.’ I didn’t push it any further. She wasn’t clean but I felt like I couldn’t tell him that unless he directly asked me. And clearly he wasn’t asking. At least his refusal gave me a clear conscience. I’d offered.

  ‘Sorry . . . look . . . you finished? I’ll drop you home.’

  He started the car and drove me back to Lilac Street much more quickly than he had to. Luckily there were no cops about.

  I stole a quick glance at his profile, which had turned stern and forbidding, and guessed that light banter was over for the evening.

  ‘Thanks for the ride, Nick,’ I said softly when he pulled up next to the letterbox. ‘See you around.’

  He grabbed my arm as I went to get out. ‘Tara, I . . .’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I take marriage seriously. I want mine to work.’

  ‘You don’t have to convince me, Nick,’ I said, shaking his hand off. ‘You just need to do a better job on yourself.’

  I got out of the car and scooted down the side path before he could reply.

  CHAPTER 3

  Dooooowwwn . . .

  It took me a while to realise that Usher and I weren’t on a dinner date and that he hadn’t just burst into song at our table. When I did, I groped around for the only other place Usher could be singing—my phone. I checked my display and saw it was an unknown ID.

  That required a glass of water, a scrub of my face and a good throat-clearing cough before I called back. Seven am. Who rang so early? I hit call back and waited.

  ‘Reverb Promotions,’ said a man’s voice.

  ‘Tara Sharp here. Did you just ring me?’

  ‘Tara Sharp—you’re Wal’s . . . er . . . associate?’

  How had Wal described our relationship? I wondered.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘Look, Tara, I’ve got some stuff going on. This has gotta stay on the down low. You dig?’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Stuart Cooper.’

  ‘Before we discuss your “stuff”, Mr Cooper, perhaps we should discuss my terms,’ I said a little primly.

  ‘Terms? Yeah, yeah, sure.’

  ‘I’d need airfare, accommodation and a daily retainer if you want me to do some looking around for you. Or I have an hourly rate, if you’d prefer.’

  ‘Airfare, yeah, yeah. Accommodation, sweet, sweet. Wal said you’d give me a deal on the retainer.’

  I hesitated for a second. I preferred $350 per day but instinct told me this guy wouldn’t have it, and I’d promised Wal mates rates. ‘Two hundred and fifty per day.’

  ‘Two hundred and fifty?!’

  ‘I’m good at what I do, Mr Cooper.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure. Look, that’s a deal. Give me your email. I’ll send through a ticket.’

  ‘Don’t you want to discuss the job first?’

  ‘’Course, ’course. Need a set of eyes on the ground over here. Got a big act about to touch down soon and my venues are flaking off bookings like they got sunburn. I need to find out why.’

  ‘Who’s your act?’

  ‘Slim Sledge.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Hope to die.’

  ‘Don’t mean to be rude, Stuart, but I would have expected Slim Sledge to be touring with one of the big guys.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Thing is—entre nous—he’s high maintenance. Mushroom brought him out three years ago and, among other things, he forked his minder.’

  ‘You mean with cutlery?’

  ‘Yeah. Silver. Listen, can you come today?’

  ‘Umm . . . today. Uh, sure.’

  ‘Great, great. I’ll be in touch with a flight time.’

  I gave him my email address for the e-ticket and he hung up, leaving me both irritated and bewildered. It was the most rushed interview with a client yet. And I knew that if he continued to repeat the first word of every sentence when we were face to face, I would likely smack him.

  My phone rang again before I could take that thought any further.

  ‘Missy?’

  ‘Hoshi?’

  ‘You have job?’

 
‘How did you know that?’

  ‘You must cancel job.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Hoshi dream something bad.’

  ‘What? About me?’

  ‘Hai. You surrounded by cars and then you die.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Hai.’

  I paused. ‘You been mainlining sake or something?’

  ‘Missy, you not funny. Hoshi only dream like this when mean something. You not take job.’

  ‘I have to. I need the money. And I promised Wal.’

  I heard a distinct harrumph. ‘Hoshi not come to your funeral.’ He disconnected and left me staring at my phone’s display.

  Sweet! I hadn’t had one of those days in a while, but this was shaping up to be one.

  Hoshi Hara taught me everything I knew about reading auras. He’d also helped me turn my affliction into a semi-paying job. I owed him a lot and I listened when he spoke. He was on the weird side of odd, had a spiteful sense of humour and was married to the scariest woman I’d ever met, but he was seldom wrong. If he said I was in danger then I probably was. Sadly, that was nothing new.

  I climbed out of bed, grabbed my towel from the floor and headed out the door. Living in the garage in the back garden of your parents’ home meant forgoing certain luxuries. The toilet and shower were only a step or two away, but it was a bitch when it rained.

  Still, the water was hot and I returned in better spirits and proceeded to rummage for clothes and food. Eventually, I unearthed a clean shirt and knickers and pulled on yesterday’s jeans. I padded around in bare feet collecting strewn undies into a basket ready to carry up to JoBob’s.

  A quick look in the fridge told me there was no point in lingering here. The milk was a week old and the olives had shrivelled and fallen off the pizza crusts, which now resembled baked play dough.

  By now Dad would be up and reading the paper. Hopefully Joanna would still be in bed. I headed outside, around the pool and let myself in the back door. Dad was not, as I expected, in his chair reading, but was struggling with sticky tape and paper at the kitchen bench. I saw the pink ribbon and the little cakes on the wrapping paper and my heart sank to my heels. ‘It’s Mum’s birthday?’

  Dad looked up at me. ‘Did you forget?’

  ‘No,’ I gulped. ‘Not at all.’

  He raised two disbelieving eyebrows. ‘Do you want to put your name on my card?’

  ‘Could I?’

  Still fiddling with the tape, he nodded at the pen.

  ‘Can I do that?’

  ‘Your contribution?’ he said mildly.

  I scribbled in the card and took the parcel from him. ‘I’ve been busy, Dad. I’m sorry. I’ve got a job in Brisbane. Heading over there later today.’

  ‘Brisbane? How long will you be away?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know when I get there.’

  ‘Are they paying your expenses?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be going otherwise.’ I finished with the tape.

  ‘You will be careful, Tara Sharp, won’t you?’

  My father only used my name like that when he wanted to get my attention. I glanced up and he was hovering. Though heading into his late sixties and a little less muscular than he used to be, my dad was still a decent-looking man with a full head of hair and a pleasant face. No wonder Joanna had lassoed him.

  ‘I’ll be fine, Dad. Big girl now.’ I grinned.

  ‘The bigger you get, the bigger the trouble,’ he countered.

  ‘Trouble? What trouble?’ My mother was standing at the kitchen door wearing a yellow and blue kimono that Aunt Liv had given her, with just the tiniest hint of black lingerie underneath. Her hair was epically mussed.

  Joanna never appeared outside her bedroom less than immaculate. I bit my lip to stop a gasp escaping and sent my dad a look of deep admiration. Looked like he’d given her a birthday present already.

  He walked over and put the kettle on, ignoring me.

  ‘Happy birthday, Mum.’ I slid the envelope on top of the parcel and passed it to her, glancing a kiss on her cheek.

  ‘Tara, how sweet of you. I didn’t expect you to remember.’

  Ugh. ‘Of course I remembered.’ I retreated to where Dad stood by the kettle and shooed him away. ‘I’ll make the tea and toast and bring it out to the pool.’

  He nodded and took Joanna by the arm. ‘Our daughter is making us breakfast,’ he said gravely.

  They both chuckled and Joanna kissed him on the cheek. Then they strolled outside.

  Vom-it. My parents didn’t do public displays of affection. Nor did they project afterglow.

  As I buttered and jammed the toast and tinkled my teaspoon into Russian Caravan tea, sugar and some Royal Doulton mugs, I told myself to stop being childish. My parents were entitled to celebrate their relationship.

  With those stern words in mind, I carted the tray out to the wrought-iron table and chairs set alongside the pool. We watched Joanna open her present while we sipped.

  For one long, horrible moment I thought Dad—we—had bought her a computer game and then I saw the Apple logo.

  An iPad. OMG!

  ‘What fun,’ cooed Joanna.

  ‘You’ll be able to store all your recipes on it,’ said Dad.

  She leaned over and kissed him again. ‘You’re such a thoughtful man, Bob. And thank you too, Tara,’ she added. ‘I expect you’re the one who chose it.’

  I was saved from answering by the pool gate creaking open. Cass traipsed through it, dressed in black and carrying a bouquet of orange and pink gerberas. They were a colourful contrast to her drab shift, bovver boots and eye-punch make-up. Joanna had adopted my stray teen friend when they discovered a mutual love of cooking. But even Dear Mother couldn’t take the Goth out of the girl.

  Cass had been staying a few nights with a friend she’d made at her new deli job, giving us a break from each other. My flat was too small for roomies but I couldn’t toss her out on the street, which was where she’d likely end up on account of having nowhere else to go. It wasn’t a long-term solution, but the fact I was going to Brisbane would buy us a bit more time.

  ‘Happy birthday, Mrs Sharp,’ she said, smiling sweetly as she handed over the bouquet. The ear piercings and heavy purple eye shadow belied the pretty manners but Joanna didn’t seem to notice.

  I had to hand it to my mother—she might be a terrible snob, but once she decided you were family, you could run naked through the streets of Euccy Grove and still win her approval.

  Unless, of course, you were her daughter. In that case, you could never win it.

  ‘Cassandra, how charming. Thank you.’

  ‘I also got you this.’ Cass produced a little plastic card from her sleeve.

  Joanna took it and peered at it.

  ‘It’s an iTunes card. You can buy cooking apps for your iPad with it.’

  ‘Ohhh . . . I see. How marvellous!’

  ‘Nice call, Cass,’ I agreed. ‘Glad you’re here, actually. I’m going to Brisbane today for a job. Can you look after the flat while I’m away?’

  Cass’s face lit up. She was inclined to be sullen but when she smiled, the sun grew dim. ‘You sure?’

  I nodded. ‘You’ve got your key. Just check in with Mum and Dad while I’m away.’

  ‘Working in Queensland? You will make sure you don’t wear thongs everywhere, won’t you, dear?’ chimed in Joanna. ‘Queenslanders do like to dress down.’

  Heaven forbid I dressed down! ‘Yes, Mum,’ I said automatically. ‘Must run now. Have to wash and pack.’

  ‘Of course, dear. Pop in and say goodbye before you go.’

  I gave JoBob fleeting hugs and tapped Cass on the head before escaping to do my laundry.

  Gotta love dirty clothes.

  CHAPTER 4

  When I got back to my flat my phone was ringing. ‘Tara, it’s Stuart Cooper. Got you booked on a three o’clock flight today. Ticket’s on your email. I’ll pick you up at the other end. Ping
me through a photo.’

  My heart beat a little faster. I was really going. ‘Will do! How’s the weather there?’

  ‘Beautiful one day. Perfect the next.’

  I recognised the Queensland tourist slogan and grinned. ‘Can’t wait!’

  ‘Flight gets in around ten. We’ll go straight to one of the bookings, so wear club gear.’

  ‘Fine. See you soon.’

  I hung up, relieved that he’d stopped repeating himself. Maybe he only did it when he was nervous—the way some people blink. I pulled my suitcase out from under my bed and began stuffing in clothes. I’d pick up my clean undies from the dryer on the way out.

  Then I grabbed my newest LBD off my clothes rack. It was a Bok photo-shoot cast-off: a beautiful, light Saba bohemian-style dress, simple in design with tuck detailing. You could dress it up or down, make it classy or clubby. I slipped some metallic bracelets onto my arm and unearthed my suede cut-out heels. The mirror was pretty pleased with me.

  ‘Brissie,’ I told it, ‘here I come!’

  •

  The drive to the airport was uneventful and I booked Mona into long-term parking. Cooper could cover the costs of that, as I didn’t fancy leaving my most prized possession parked alone outside Lilac Street.

  After check-in, I grabbed the new Tara Moss novel from the NewsLink store and settled at my gate lounge to wait. First, I googled Slim on my phone and began browsing the latest articles.

  There was everything you’d expect from a rap star: rehab three times, bling-a-licious, lived in a fortress in LA, brother died in a gang shooting, a big sports fan. His mum was a member of the Black Panthers and his dad was in the military—parents divorced way back. I imagined what the conversation at the dinner table must have been like when he was a kid. Yikes!

  According to Wiki he’d won two Grammys and shipped thirty-five million units (albums, I guessed). The last few years, though, he’d become too hot to handle due to personal problems.

  Peachy!