His parents had bought a theatre restaurant in Sydney in the late sixties and still owned and worked it today. Run on a Casablanca theme it was so successful they’d been able to buy other properties, including an old shoe factory which they’d converted into a club venue for live bands. When Joel was seventeen he’d pretty much taken over running the club, which was still one of Sydney’s best live gigs. By the age of twenty-five, though, Joel had moved on to full-time promoting and installed a manager in the club. He named his new company OTB Productions, the initials standing for Only The Best.
OTB had its own entry in Wiki, which had clearly been copied straight from the company website. The only variation was that Stuart was listed on the Wiki site as a former assistant manager but his name was nowhere to be found on www.onlythebest.com.
Giannoukakis’s company was called Easy A and showed he’d promoted a mixed bag of events and concerts, everything from Kitchen Superstar and Martin Delectable to old rockers like Deep Purple and Status Quo. In between were the Polka Dancers and a welter of standup comedians.
A knock at the door interrupted me and I opened it for room service.
‘Slim,’ I called. ‘Food!’
‘Bring it in here, babe,’ he replied. ‘I’m watchin’ Sports Centre.’
Biting my lip in annoyance, I thanked the waiter—Aussies don’t tip at home—then pushed the trolley through to Slim and fixed the table leaf so he could sit at it.
‘Right?’ I asked.
He lifted the plate cover and gave a satisfied grunt.
‘I’ll be out here working,’ I said and took my plate back out to the other room.
After two pancakes, I settled back at the computer. Giannoukakis’s business had the feel of a variety show catering to all age groups. Only The Best, though, was definitely aimed at the sixteen to twenty-five demographic—and their parents, who, in many cases, would have forked out for the concert tickets. There were a few general articles, the most recent from the Brisbane News portraying Andreas as a family man with a big heart and deep pockets. Apparently Giannoukakis contributed generously to a number of charities every year. His online profile didn’t fit with the kind of man who’d run a vendetta against his niece’s lovesick suitor, but scratch any surface and it usually bleeds.
When I googled Sofia Zachariou, Stuart’s ex-fiancée, I came up with pics of a beautiful Greek girl with dark curly hair and a nice smile. Altogether too sweet looking for Stuart—but that was an opinion I’d keep to myself. There were pics of her on social pages and she’d also modelled for one of her uncle’s charities. She had Facebook and Tumblr pages and a Twitter account. I bookmarked the Tumblr page but hesitated on sending a friend request to FB or following her on Twitter. I didn’t want to leave a footprint behind. The Tumblr blog looked like it was updated regularly, so I made a note to come back and read all the old entries. Softly, softly . . .
The only other item of interest I found was that Giannoukakis was a big fan of the Supanova Pop Expo, Australia’s biggest pop culture convention. He was a regular at the event, dressed—according to the pics I found—as either Captain America or the Incredible Hulk.
I got up and stretched. My internet surfing had killed the best part of five hours. Where was Stuart?
I went to the toilet and peeked into the bedroom to check on my charge. Sebastian ‘Slim’ Sledge was asleep on top of his covers, on his back, stark naked. I thought about throwing a cover over him but he kicked out with one leg and started moaning. Then he rolled over, got on his knees, and began pawing at the sheets, giving me the full benefit of his naked butt. A few seconds later he was lying down again, curled into a ball.
I noticed a door on the other side of the bedroom. Some hotel suites had adjoining rooms, so they could accommodate families. With visions of snooping photographers copping an eyeful of a bare-arsed Slim, I checked it was securely locked then went back into the sitting room. It was after 4 pm and I was starving again.
Just as I started thinking about more room service, there was a knock at the door. Stuart was standing there with a Maccas bag in one hand and a briefcase in the other.
‘Where’s the bodyguard?’ I whispered as he walked past me.
He shook his head. ‘It’s this freaking conference. No one’s available.’
‘Don’t you know anyone?’
‘Jade knows some of the Comancheros. Apparently they hire out.’
‘Bikies?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m desperate.’
I nodded towards the bedroom. ‘Slim ate breakfast and he’s been out cold since you left, pretty much.’
‘Let me know if you come up with something. We’ve got a press call tomorrow at nine.’
‘Television?’
He nodded. ‘And print press. Tara . . . er, thanks. I’ve kind of thrown you in the deep end here. Wal said you were a trooper.’
Did he just? I made myself smile. ‘All part of the service. Did you smooth over the airport thing?’
His aura squirmed. ‘Yeah, I think so.’
If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to get out of the hotel room, I would have pressed him on it but my feet were already heading out the door. I caught the lift and almost ran through the foyer onto the street for fear he’d call me back. I’d just learned something about myself: I don’t like being trapped inside hotel rooms, babysitting rap stars. I’m pretty sure that’d apply to any other kind of star as well.
That revelation made my stomach rumble and I bagged a seat in a Gloria Jean’s café. Googling a map of the CBD, I saw that the club where Joel Aprile was meeting with ‘Strawberry’ Jade wasn’t far away. I had time to eat, so I ordered a caramel milkshake and some raisin toast.
The toast came thick and buttery and I wolfed it down. The last slurp of the milkshake was best; caramel sticky and sweet with splinters of ice in it.
My phone rang as I sucked up the last bit. I checked the caller ID. ‘Ed?’
‘Tara, hi.’
We both started to speak at once then laughed.
‘You first,’ he said.
‘No, you,’ I insisted.
‘Okay. Look, I’m sorry about the other night. I just . . . had some stuff to do.’
The night Smitty, Bok and I had got drunk and Tozzi had driven me home already felt like weeks ago. ‘I nearly came over anyway then I remembered my manners.’
‘You sounded drunk.’
I sighed. ‘Smitty needed counselling. That doesn’t happen very often. Bok broke out the bourbon.’
‘Sounds like fun.’ There was wistfulness in his tone.
I thought about Smitty’s insistence that I spy on Henry, and how bad my hangover had been, and how Tozzi and I had parted on less than friendly terms again. ‘Not really. Not the next day, at least. How are things with you, anyway?’
‘Good. Great, really. I picked up a part in a music video.’
‘You mean . . . for, like . . . a band?’
‘I mean . . . for, like . . . the Hilltop Hoods!’
‘The Hoods! For real?’
‘Last time I checked.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I’m shooting it now. I’m in Brisbane.’
‘You’re in Brisbane.’
‘Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you . . .’ He trailed off as I burst out laughing. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘So am I.’
‘No way.’
‘Way.’
‘Where?’
‘I’m in a café on . . .’ I squinted at the street sign outside. ‘Elizabeth Street. There’s an empty Borders store across the road.’
‘Surreal!’ he said. ‘Look at the next corner. Can you see the McDonald’s sign?’
I scanned around and located it. ‘Gotcha.’
‘That’s the Myer Centre. I’m in a boutique on the left trying on clothes for the shoot.’
‘Right now?’
‘Yeah. Come over.’
I checked the time. Aprile wo
uld be at the club in about ten minutes. I’d do a fly-by on Ed and head over there.
‘On my way.’ I swished water around in my mouth to dilute the last of the caramel and paid the bill. A makeup stop would have been nice but I didn’t have time now. Instead, I sprinted across at the lights and burst in the door of a boutique called Urban, Sex and Fancy. Two women who looked like staff turned, alarmed, but Ed pitched me a beautiful grin. There was no one else in the shop.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you all. I’m in a bit of a hurry.’
‘Tara’s always in a hurry,’ said Ed calmly. He was looking more divine than divine; dark hair long and curling around his shoulders, skin glowing. His shirt was unbuttoned, giving me a peek at his advertisement-ready abs. He didn’t need a spray-on tan, either; his skin colour was naturally olive.
The sales assistants glanced back and forth between us. Both were quite glamorously dressed; one a tall redhead and the other blonde and perfectly petite. They both had the slightly flushed complexion and moist lips that women tended to get around Ed. I could have been possessive but it seemed pointless. A girl could drive herself nuts if she went that route. I still wasn’t really sure why he wanted to date me anyway, seeing as I was seven years older and a lot less beautiful than he was—it just didn’t make sense. And if he was looking for some mothering, I was definitely the wrong bet.
He handed a coat to the redhead and walked past them both to give me a warm hug. When he drew back, my erogenous bits were sending smoke signals to each other. I hadn’t had sex in a while now—months. Every time Ed and I had got close to doing the deed, something got in the way. And as for Tozzi . . . well, I wasn’t planning to go there with Mr Mightily Married to the Material Girl.
‘Shari, Lulu, this is Tara Sharp.’
The girls muttered unimpressed hellos.
‘Nice to meet you,’ I beamed in return.
‘Shari, can I just have five minutes to talk to Tara?’ Ed asked.
Shari looked me up and down. She was older than Lulu with a thin but strong dark red aura. In contrast, Lulu’s aura was soft pink and mushy, like it might disintegrate at any moment. Shari was definitely the boss. Lulu looked like she might have trouble catching the bus in the mornings.
‘Don’t be long, darling,’ said Shari. ‘We have a lot to get through.’
Ed gave her a nod and steered me out onto the street. We stepped back into the alcove of the next shopfront and Ed pulled me against him. Without warning he kissed me, deeply and meaningfully. Taken by surprise I took a moment to respond, and then I got very enthusiastic back.
‘Yum,’ he said, when he finally drew away. ‘You taste like caramel.’
‘Sprung,’ I said breathlessly. ‘Milkshake.’
He ran his hands down my arms and slid them around my back to pull me closer. ‘I’m so glad to see you.’
‘I noticed.’ I tried not to titter but didn’t quite manage it. Ed wasn’t usually quite so direct. ‘Feeling’s mutual but I’m late for something. But why so pleased? You can’t have been missing me already!’
He shrugged. ‘First trip away from home, I guess. I’m not good with new places.’
I recalled he’d had that slightly lost look when I’d first met him; fresh from the country and his mother’s cooking. It reminded me that he was only nineteen going on twenty.
‘Well, I’m here if you need me.’
He pressed his lower body against mine. ‘It goes without saying that I need you.’
I wanted to giggle again but scolded myself serious.
‘I’ve got to go. I’m in the middle of something.’
‘I haven’t even asked you why you’re here,’ he said.
‘I’m on a job that came up quickly. Have you heard of Slim Sledge?’
His eyes widened. ‘Slim Sledge? You’re working with him?’
I settled for a nod and a grin.
‘Tara, your life is so . . . random.’
‘Well, what about you, boyfriend? A Hoods music clip. How cool is that?’
‘I’m just a piece of meat. You get to use your brain.’
I pulled away and stared hard at him. I’d never heard Ed be cynical about his profession. He had his heart set on making a success of it.
He saw my surprise and gave a sheepish grin. ‘Had a late night. Feeling sorry for myself. You want to catch up later?’
‘Not where I’m staying,’ I said automatically. ‘We might get forced into a séance—or worse.’
‘I’m staying at the Sebel on George Street. It’s just across town.’ He pointed in a direction I thought might be north-ish. ‘Come when you can. I have a night off.’
‘I’ll be finished about nine.’ I hope. ‘I’ll call you when I’m done.’
‘We’ll have room service on my expense account.’
My day had taken a turn for the better. ‘Deal.’ I pecked him on the lips and ran off.
CHAPTER 8
The address that Stuart had given me was only a block away. At just after 5 pm, with the commuters on their way home, Vixens was a dull black and red sign and a dirty closed door.
I knocked several times on the door before an untidy-looking guy came and cracked it open.
‘We’re not open until six.’
‘Can I speak to Strawberry Jade, please?’
‘Wait here,’ he said sullenly and shut the door again.
Jade took so long that I was checking my email when she finally appeared.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, frowning.
She was pretty under her heavy make-up. Her red hair was pulled back into a tight plait and her slim torso just held up her red corset. Her skirt was long and black and slit up both sides, revealing clunky doorstopper high heels.
‘Tara Sharp,’ I replied quietly. ‘Stuart Cooper said you’d be able to help me out.’
Her slightly annoyed lip curl turned into something furtive. She stepped out into the street and pulled the door closed behind her. ‘You can’t come here now. It’s appointment only. They’ll wonder who you are.’
‘Is he here? Aprile?’
She pursed her lips and nodded.
‘I need to meet him. Can you say I’m a friend of yours or something?’
That set a bunch of crease lines crinkling along her forehead. After a moment they fell away. ‘We’re interviewing for a new girl. You could pretend to be interested.’
‘You mean . . . someone who does what you do?’
‘No, we’re looking for a hostess, not a dancer. You couldn’t do what I do without a lot of training.’
‘So what does a hostess do?’
No, Tara! my mother’s voice told me.
‘She books the girls for the rooms and makes sure the punters spend their money.’
‘Does she take her clothes off?’
Jade shook her head. ‘But sometimes she has to mind the rooms when the crowd controller is on a break—to make sure the clients are behaving.’
I could do that for one night.
No, Tara! Joanna again.
‘What happens in the rooms?’ I asked.
‘Lap dances. Strictly no touching.’
‘I’m in.’ My mother would never find out.
She looked me up and down. ‘I’ll say someone gave you my name. But we don’t know each other, okay?’
‘Sure. Absolutely. Thanks for this.’
‘Try not to ask stupid questions,’ she added.
With that she opened the door and led me down a set of narrow stairs. At the bottom was an unattended ticket booth. We entered the door next to it and walked into the club proper. Tables were scattered across the room, which had a bar on one side and a stage bordered by footstools and bearing half a dozen brass poles on the other.
Jade saw me ogling and nudged me. ‘Stop staring like you’ve never been in a men’s club before.’
I blinked and dragged my eyes from the gleaming poles. ‘What are the footstools for?’
‘Anyone who
sits that close to the girls has to tip them with notes. Your job is to make sure they do. Come on.’
Jade took me over to the bar where a guy who looked like Johnny Viaspa’s older brother was fitting bottles of spirits upside down into their holders. His long dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and he wore an apron over a black T-shirt and dark jeans. His nose was aquiline and his lips thin and he was carrying a few extra kilos.
He narrowed his eyes and shot Strawberry Jade a look. ‘What?’
‘Sammy, this is Tara something-or-other. She heard we needed a hostess.’
His eyes got even narrower. ‘You know her?’
Jade shook her head. ‘She says Meat-lover told her we were looking for someone. He gave her my name.’ She drifted off as if bored with the whole thing already, and I noted that her acting skills were better than average. I wondered, briefly, what that meant for Stuart.
‘Tar-ah, eh?’
I switched my attention to the sleazy guy giving me the eye.
‘You worked clubs before, Tar-ah?’
‘Nope.’ Didn’t seem much point in pretending otherwise. ‘But I learn quick. And I’m good with men.’
He gave me another slow appraisal. ‘So why you thinking you want to work here?’
‘I need the money.’ I tried to keep my tone as flat and practical-sounding as possible.
‘Turn around,’ he said.
I did as he asked.
‘Bend over,’ he said.
‘Pardon?’
‘Bend over and show me your arse. We don’t employ bitches with big arses. Except for one of the dancers. Some guys like chubby, y’know.’
All I knew was that I was likely to break this scum-bag’s nose if he said another stinking, insulting sexist thing. My fists clenched and my muscles bunched, ready to swing. Every move Hoshi Hara had taught me so far flashed through my mind. After I hit him, I was going to roll this guy and stomp on his head. I couldn’t think when I’d last been this mad.
Just then a door opened to my right and a thin, hawkish-looking girl in a clinging dress staggered out clutching her belly.
‘Sammy, I got the shits. Musta been that leftover sushi Meat-lover brought in. You better take over, the younger one’s getting randy.’ She ran off to the toilet.
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