Stage Fright

by Marianne Delacourt

  I admired the sound-proofing, but that was about all. Little Paolo’s office smelled of stale pizza and bourbon, and every space that wasn’t covered with CDs, piles of paper and electrical cords was thick with dust.

  ‘Stuart, you skinny bastard. Was wondering when you’d show.’

  The greeting came from a man sitting behind a wide, cluttered desk. I mean, a mountainous man. Possibly the biggest man I’d ever seen—pushing one-sixty kilos with a bright white ring around his brown aura that told me he was nursing more than one health condition. He had dark cropped hair and eyes that might have been quite sharp if I could see them properly. His face was so fleshy that skin kind of overlapped all the available space.

  He held a giant packet of gummy bears in one hand and cradled a phone receiver into the folds of his neck.

  ‘Paolo Tamp, this is Tara Sharp. My . . . er . . . sister’s girlfriend.’

  What? Suddenly I was a lesbian.

  ‘Maybe Tara would like to step outside and enjoy the club while we do our business,’ said Paolo. His voice was deep and breathy like the smoking man in the old X-Files TV show. Only Paolo didn’t look like a smoker. No time for that when you had gummy bears.

  ‘’S’cool, Paolo,’ said Stuart. ‘She’s working for me right now. I’m looking to build my dyke audience.’

  I bit my lip. Jeez, Stuart! Way to catch a girl off-balance.

  Paolo looked me up and down. His aura darkened a little as his brain ticked over, sizing me up and fitting me into his mind map.

  I was also working, checking out the hilt of a large baton peeping out from underneath a pile of papers on his desk, and the empty cartridge box in his wastepaper bin. Looked like Little Paolo had some stuff going on.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Sit.’

  Stuart offered me the only other chair in the office and leaned against the wall.

  ‘Thought you dykes didn’t like fellas doing things for you?’ said Paolo.

  I felt my palms dampen. ‘Don’t believe everything you read in Dolly,’ I said lightly.

  He laughed at that.

  Stuart looked nervous now. ‘Can we talk about the booking? You said there was a problem.’

  Paolo steepled his fingers together and leaned his forehead against his thumbs. We listened to him breathe for a second or two before he replied.

  ‘I’m not sure we’re the right fit for Slim Sledge, Cooper. He’s trouble—we all know that. And I got different kinds of kids coming in here these days. They want doof-doof and electro. They just don’t dig the live vibe anymore. It’s too real,’ he said.

  Stuart paled. ‘That’s crap, Paolo. You’re playing an R&B medley out there now. The dance floor’s packed.’

  Paolo’s aura took on a light brown tint. I guessed that if he was healthier then the colour would normally be a deep tan. People in the tan spectrum tended to be practical and hard-nosed. You didn’t push people with tan auras too much because they pushed back tenfold. I had to head this off at the pass before Stuart lost him on pure stubbornness.

  ‘I’m going to be personally managing Slim Sledge while he’s here,’ I said confidently. ‘I promise there’ll be no issues with his behaviour. And we’ve just heard his new single is debuting at number two on the Aria charts.’

  Stuart choked.

  ‘Charts aren’t due in until next week,’ grunted Paolo.

  I winked at him. ‘Sure they’re not. But I know someone . . .’

  Slim’s gig at Paolo’s was supposed to be this coming weekend. By the time the charts were out next week, I figured it wouldn’t matter that I’d made it up.

  Paolo opened his desk drawer and pulled out a large handkerchief. I glimpsed more packets of bullets—unopened—before he closed it. He mopped his brow with the hanky and looked at me with renewed interest. ‘Not your average lesbo then, eh, Stuart? She’s got connections.’

  ‘Let’s just say the music industry is my family,’ I said with cryptic grace. Inside, though, I was getting annoyed. Did lesbians have to put up with this crap all the time?

  ‘What do you say, Paolo?’ Stuart asked. ‘Sledge will pack this place out. You know that.’

  Paolo shrugged. ‘Okay, we’ll go ahead. But you gotta assure me there’ll be no hassles. I’m taking a risk on you, Stu. Certain parties won’t be happy.’

  ‘What parties? It’s Aprile, isn’t it? He wants my tour to go arse up.’

  I studied Paolo’s aura and his micro expressions. Nothing changed at the mention of Aprile’s name. Speaking of changing auras, though, Stuart’s was making like a greyhound around the racetrack.

  ‘Or is it Giannoukakis?’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  Again, there was nothing to give me a clue. Either the man was a really good liar or Stuart was way off base.

  Stuart unclenched his fists and took a deep breath. ‘Thanks, Paolo. You’re a good man.’

  ‘Yeah, well, don’t let me down.’

  •

  Stuart talked a press call, sound checks and set times with Paolo’s stage manager for a bit before we left. Leaving him to it, I plonked my butt on a bar stool and ordered a belt of rum. When in Queensland, home of Bundy rum, after a long flight sitting next to a bikie, hiding from a criminal gang lord, what else do you do?

  From my perch, I got to study the venue in more detail. It looked like the walls were able to fold back to make one huge dance floor that’d fit, I estimated, around six hundred bodies. It was small by proper entertainment-venue standards, but I guess when you’re on the comeback trail you have to take what you can get. Anyway, careers are often made on good word-of-mouth from small gigs.

  The DJ had switched from the latest Rihanna to a Jason Derulo track and the dance floor was still full. This was a forgiving crowd who just liked music, not a cliquey audience. I hoped it would be the same for the Slim Sledge gig.

  Truth was, I was excited about meeting him. I knew a few local musos in the Perth scene but I’d never met anyone on this scale of famous. Slim Sledge. Holy F-C-U-K!

  He wouldn’t be too hard to handle, I told myself. Everyone knows the press demonises music stars. Look at what happened to Eminem.

  The rum was good and Derulo was bopping but it was around midnight and I knew it was time to either have a second shot to stay awake, or head to bed. Fortunately, Stuart turned up and crooked his finger at me.

  ‘What’s the story with making me gay?’ I said as we found our way back to McWhirters car park.

  ‘You got a problem with that?’

  ‘Not at all. But a heads-up would have been good.

  Acting doesn’t come with my line of work.’

  Stuart nodded absently. ‘What did you think of Paolo?’

  I shrugged. ‘Seems okay. He didn’t react to you mentioning Joel Aprile and the Andreas guy, but I’ll do some digging around all the same. Can you email me their phone numbers and addresses? Include your girl Sofia’s as well.’

  ‘Sure, sure.’ He seemed composed again and back in normal Cooper mode.

  Before I could ask him where I was bedding down he pulled into a darkened driveway off Brunswick Street.

  ‘I’d put you up at my place,’ he said, ‘but there’s only one bedroom.’

  ‘Oh?’ I stared out of the window as he switched off the ignition and peered at the little old cottage. ‘So who lives here?’

  ‘You for the moment,’ he said, rubbing his chin nervously. ‘With a friend of mine.’

  ‘What friend?’ I couldn’t keep the suspicion out of my voice.

  ‘Inigo,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Inigo Love. She . . . ah . . . works from home.’

  ‘Doing what?’ I heard my voice rise as I mentally ran through my own list of ideas.

  ‘Oh, you know. New Age-y stuff.’

  ‘Tarot cards?’

  ‘She’s a medium. I’ll get your bag from the boot.’ With that he jumped out of the car and grabbed my luggage. Before I could think of a sound objection
to the arrangement, he was at the front door, knocking.

  I dragged myself over to join him and was met by a slim lady of about fifty with Kate Bush hair, skin so pale she could have been dead and some tiny tattoos along the sides of her face. Incense wafted out the door and straight up my nose.

  ‘Inigo, this is Tara Sharp. I’ll be back to pick her up around eleven tomorrow morning.’

  The small woman ignored Stuart but took my hand in a fierce, cool grip. She pulled me in close and sniffed me. ‘Interesting,’ she said.

  ‘Stuar—’ Before I could finish my protest, she tugged me inside, indicated that Stuart should put my bag down at our feet then shut the door in his face.

  ‘Bye, Tara,’ he said through the wood. ‘Inigo will take good care of you.’

  ‘Stuart, we’ll talk about this in the morning,’ I said meaningfully.

  A moment later the car door slammed and the engine started. I thought about bolting back out the door after him, but Inigo was already pulling me down the hall into her living room.

  ‘Stand here,’ she ordered.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh, tell her to piss off, or do as she said. Seeing as I couldn’t afford a motel and it was late, I decided the latter was the most sensible option.

  While she walked a slow circle around me, I looked around the room. It was furnished with odd and mismatched items which had either been bought on eBay or showed that Inigo Love had been to some bizarre places: an elephant-foot side table, one shaggy-haired armchair, another shaped like a giant vulva, a Mexican sombrero lamp and a half dozen shrunken skulls hanging along the picture rail.

  ‘Something wrong?’ I asked when I finished my observations and found her staring at me with her hand resting on her chin, deep in thought.

  ‘Where do you come from?’ she asked.

  ‘Perth—I’m a West Aussie,’ I said.

  ‘No, I mean where. On the psychic plane. There’s a disturbance around you that I’ve never seen before.

  Should I be scared or thrilled?’

  I gaped at her. I mean, what do you say to that?

  ‘I’m really tired, Inigo. Could you please show me where I’m sleeping?’ I asked in my most polite voice.

  The woman smiled suddenly and a lot of the weirdness left her face. ‘Follow.’

  I grabbed my suitcase and she led me back into a short corridor and along to a small bedroom. When she swung the door open, I saw a single bed covered in a bright blue doona sprinkled with moon shapes, a white wicker table next to it, and a dream catcher hanging from the window latch. The room was cheerful and clean and what I’d expect from a New-Ager.

  ‘The bathroom is next door and the kitchen is across the hall. Help yourself to anything except the Kambucha tea.’

  Kambucha tea? What was that?

  She left me to it then, and I didn’t bother to unpack anything except a nightie and my wet pack. A quick brush of my teeth in the bathroom next door, and despite the strange bed and the even stranger home owner, I was asleep before I counted ten sheep.

  CHAPTER 6

  I was finishing off a slice of cashew and honey cheese log and sipping a cup of dandelion coffee when Stuart arrived the next day. Inigo didn’t believe in caffeine or wheat, so cereal, normal toast and English Breakfast tea were off the table. I thought about asking her for eggs but reconsidered in case they came pickled.

  Inigo and Stuart talked about mutual friends while I visited the bathroom to scrub my teeth. The mirror told me I looked a bit tired, so I dotted some foundation under my eyes and smoothed outward. I normally never bothered with such things, but this morning I was meeting Slim Sledge. Vanity dictated I look half decent.

  To wit, I was wearing a sexy Free People fitted grape shift with a lacy black hemline. It was too hot for the boots I usually wore with it, so I’d opted for my Roman sandals. For once I left my hair out. I loved this outfit because it nailed sexy and comfort. Smitty liked me in this dress, but Bok said it made my shoulders look too big. I poked out my tongue at the mirror. Smitty wins!

  Back in the bedroom, I tucked my toothbrush away and grabbed my handbag. Stuart and Inigo were talking about a new local band when I rejoined them.

  I was about to thank Inigo and tell her I’d make other arrangements for tonight when she placed a key in my hand.

  ‘You look magnificent,’ she said. ‘I’ve decided to be thrilled. Mi casa es su casa.’

  My house is your house. Awkward. ‘How kind of you,’ I said, feeling ambushed.

  ‘And tonight I’ll read your palm.’

  ‘That’s very . . . thoughtful.’

  ‘Go well, Tara Sharp.’

  •

  ‘Sweet as a musk stick, isn’t she?’ said Stuart as soon as I’d climbed into the passenger seat.

  ‘Sweeter even,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t like her?’

  Hadn’t I kept the sarcasm out of my voice? ‘She’s . . . um . . . a little freaky. Is there somewhere else I could stay? What about your place?’

  ‘I live at work. Only one bedroom, sorry.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Wal said you’d be cool with Inigo.’

  ‘He knows her?’

  ‘They go way back. She used to sing in a band.’

  ‘Oh.’ My heart sank. Short of paying for something myself, I was stuck with the crazy lady. ‘Well . . . I guess it’s okay then . . .’

  ‘Awesome!’ Stuart beamed at me.

  He looked different from last night and I suddenly realised how dressed up he was in his black chinos and tan shirt with a silver chain and cross tucked into it. His dressy clothes and freshly washed hair told me that he was just as psyched as me about meeting Slim Sledge.

  ‘I’ve got Sledge booked under another name so there’s no media circus at the airport. We’ll meet Juanita, the publicist, there, collect Slim and head for the hotel. Juanita’ll be his PA while he’s here. I’ve also hired a bodyguard.’

  ‘Wal could have done that,’ I said, a little surprised.

  ‘I asked him to,’ said Stuart, ‘but he said he had some things to sort out and wasn’t available.’

  ‘Oh?’ I remembered how edgy Wal was when I’d last seen him.

  ‘Gordy—the muscle—will do fine as long as we keep him away from the sambuca.’

  We? I hoped he wasn’t including me in that.

  ‘Did you get those addresses I sent through?’ he asked.

  I scanned my email on my phone and found them. ‘Yes. Thanks. I’d like to check these out today.’

  ‘Sure. After we get Slim to the hotel.’

  I nodded, relieved. Although I was excited to meet Slim Sledge, I was used to working alone without anyone looking over my shoulder. I didn’t want Cooper trailing around after me.

  According to the email, Andreas Giannoukakis’s business was in South Brisbane but Joel Aprile’s was a Sydney address.

  ‘Joel is in Brisbane this week,’ said Stuart, as if reading my mind. ‘The third address I gave you is a club in the CBD that he likes to go to when he’s here.’

  I saw a jpeg attachment on the email and clicked it open. It was a photo of a slim, okay-looking guy.

  ‘That’s him,’ said Stuart, glancing at it.

  ‘Why would he be in Brisbane?’

  ‘He’s got family here—his mum and sister. It’s only an hour’s flight. He’s up and down all the time.’

  ‘And how do you know this?’

  ‘Like I said, I worked for him.’

  ‘I mean, how do you know he’s here right now?’

  Stuart licked his lips.

  ‘Listen, if you want me to help you, you’re going to have to share your sources, Stuart.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I understand. It’s just a bit embarrassing.’

  ‘Try me,’ I said.

  ‘I . . . er . . . I see a girl who works at the club. She says he books a private room there when he visits.’

  ‘And you keep track of this because . . . ?’

&nb
sp; ‘Good to know things about people who harbour a grudge against you, don’t you think?’

  I nodded. ‘So your . . . girl tells you this?’ That was one for the client file: Stuart was dating a lap dancer. ‘Which day has he booked for?’

  ‘Tonight. Doors open at six but they take private appointments at five.’

  ‘What’s your friend’s name?’

  ‘I don’t want her involved in this,’ he said quickly.

  ‘Well, she kind of is already,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t draw any attention to her, ’s’all I’m saying. Her name is Jade but at the club they call her Strawberry Jade.’

  He switched into the short-term parking lane and grabbed a ticket while I added Jade—Strawberry—to my notes.

  ‘So how many in Slim’s entourage?’ I asked.

  ‘Today it’s just him.’

  I glanced up.

  ‘There was a problem with his manager’s ticket at the last minute. He’s arriving tomorrow.’

  ‘Slim’s travelling alone? What about airline security?’

  ‘He’s in first class and he’ll exit the plane separately with an escort. I leaked his arrival date as tomorrow to his fan club, so there’ll be no problem.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘There’s a hardcore Sledge fan group in Brisbane. I had a friend whisper to their president, Fran Dickle. His official itinerary on his Facebook site says he’s coming in two days, so that’s what the press think.’

  ‘You don’t want the press here?’ I was a bit confused. Slim mightn’t be as big as Lady Gaga or Usher right now, but he was only one hit song away from being that hot. Australia was a buoyant market for some of these international artists. Hell, we’d almost turned Pink into a National Treasure. If this tour went well, Slim Sledge could follow in her wake . . . Didn’t they want the publicity?

  ‘We have to handle the way he’s exposed.’

  I slipped my phone into my handbag. ‘Say what?’

  ‘He doesn’t like too many people up close.’

  ‘What does that mean exactly?’

  Stuart’s aura gave a little kink and jerk, and I knew he was hiding something.

  ‘He’s fine at concerts. You know, when he’s on stage. And press conferences, as long as they don’t crowd him. But anywhere that fans might swarm . . . well, let’s just say we need to keep them back.’