by Janette Paul
‘Hey, Gill, how was your New Year?’
‘I’m Dee. Let me know if you have any questions during the class.’
‘Penny, good to see you.’
Penny’s face lit up with eagerness. She was still in the throes of a teacher crush. Lots of new students got it, looked all doe-eyed and hung off every word as though any minute they’d hear the meaning of life. It would pass. Penny would figure out soon enough Dee wasn’t a sage. She was just doing her best like everyone else. More anxious than most, which according to the psychologists was normal if you’d watched a truck drive through your windscreen. But she worked hard, paid bills, ate too much chocolate, hoped for love, worried about her weight (keeping it on, not taking it off – she looked like a stick insect when it dropped too low). She didn’t know the meaning of life. She only knew that if you did yoga, worked on the postures and meditated, you found your own interpretation.
‘Penny, do you think you could make some room for others in the front row?’
Dee turned back to the queue of students and found a warm smile for the man in front of her. ‘Nice to see you again, Tom.’
He was sweet, serious, uncomplicated and the kind of guy she wanted to fall for. He was the dead-spit of a Hollywood Jesus – soft girlie hair, piercing blue eyes, gentle face – and a genuine, environmentally responsible, hemp-bag-carrying hippie. They’d had coffee a couple of times before Christmas, which was the closest she’d come to a date in about a year. There were no sparks flying but who said these things couldn’t grow on you?
‘Maybe we can catch up later?’ she said.
‘Love to,’ he said with a Hollywood flash of his teeth.
Still no sparks but nice anyway.
She turned back to the line of students. ‘Hey, Ros.’ She took her money and ticked off her name. ‘And how’s Emily doing?’
‘Not good. She was really well over Christmas and had a lovely time with the girls but she’s gone downhill since then.’
Emily and Ros started class together five years ago when Emily was recovering from her first episode of breast cancer. It had returned twice since then and now there were tumours in her lungs and brain.
Dee handed Ros her change. ‘Mike rang me yesterday to book some private lessons for her. He didn’t say much, just that she wasn’t up to coming to the school.’
‘She’s in a lot of pain. I think the meditation really helps.’
Dee saw the sadness on Ros’s face and felt tears in her own eyes. ‘Say hi from me next time you see her. And the girls. I’m looking forward to seeing them again.’
Dee signed in the last two students, took a minute to gather herself. She counted the students waiting quietly on their mats. Better than she’d expected but still not enough to pay the electricity bill. She shook her head. Now was not the time to be thinking about money.
A noise made her turn. A late student. A new, late student. Nice. The girl breezed in, a cloud of curly blonde hair and perfume Dee could smell from across the room.
‘Hi, am I late? Oops.’ Her hand flew to her mouth as she realised her enthusiastic volume had broken the quiet of the room.
‘It’s fine. We haven’t started yet,’ Dee said softly, hoping her hushed tone would encourage the girl to stop bustling about with the shopping bags she was stacking noisily against a wall.
‘Oh, great,’ she said, not taking the hint. ‘This is my first time. Not my first yoga class, just my first time here. I was teaching down in Melbourne before I left. You’re Dee, aren’t you?’
Dee raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes.’
‘I knew you were. Leon told me all about you. You’re the best teacher in Sydney, apparently, so I had to come to your class.’ She paid her money, continued talking as though she had no sound control. ‘I’ve just moved here, completely new in town. I’m working on the soapie with Leon and you’re just like he said you were, only much more glamorous. I love your lipstick. Us glam yoga girls have gotta stick together, right?’
Dee forced herself not to make a face as she steered her into the studio. ‘Roll your yoga mat out here and we can get started.’
The girl put her hand on Dee wrist. ‘And Leon says you’re looking for a flatmate. I’m house-sitting now but I’m going to need a new place in a week or so.’
Dee looked at her in horror. She didn’t want a glam yoga student with no volume control for a flatmate. She wanted everything back the way it was – pre-TV-ad-stress, pre-financial-destitution. Everything was fine back then. She took a deep breath, pleaded with the powers that be to pick her for the ad so she could have her old life back.
When Dee’s only weekend private student who wasn’t already on holiday called to cancel, she knew that even if the board approved her for the ad, she’d run out of money before it was shot. So she rang Jo, her caterer friend, and silently thanked the regular staffer for getting gastro and needing Thursday night off.
Now, four days since the publicity shots were taken, still waiting to hear from Lucy and working the shift for Jo, Dee collected a drinks order – champers for the lady in purple, mineral water for the guy with the stiff neck – and was walking on tip-toe, scanning the room for her targets when a body backed into her. She lurched forward, just saving the drinks from a premature exit over a woman’s naked back.
‘Nice catch.’
Dee turned and saw Ethan Roxburgh mirror her in a double-take.
‘Dee the Yoga Teacher.’
She smiled, noting how much nicer he looked in his casual shirt, how his dark eyes lit up when he laughed – and how the tall, elegant blonde beside him draped herself over his shoulder.
‘You’re here with Lucy, are you?’ he asked. ‘Good idea. Has she introduced you to Leonard yet?’
‘Well, ah …’
‘He’s definitely interested in having a real yoga aficionado doing the ad instead of a model. I think the idea of a professional with her own successful business for their well-being promotion appeals to him. Gives it credibility.’
‘Oh.’ She glanced at the drinks order she was holding and smiled apprehensively. Oh, dear.
‘Has Lucy spoken to you about the possibility of some extra PR?’
Extra PR. What did that mean? And who the hell was Leonard? For all she knew, it could be her stiff neck guy still waiting for his drink. She looked distractedly about the room. She couldn’t let Lucy see her serving food and drinks. How stupid would it make her look if her yoga professional turned out to be a caterer’s lackey? She turned back to Ethan. He seemed to be backing her too, so she couldn’t let him find out either. She’d make both Roxburghs look stupid. And herself. They’d all look stupid together – and that wouldn’t be good. In fact, it might be so not good, they would decide she was the wrong person for the ad after all.
‘I’m, ah, not here with Lucy,’ she said.
‘Then let me introduce you to Leonard.’ Ethan scanned the room.
Dee began edging away. ‘Maybe later. I have to, you know …’ She held up the drinks, as though getting back to a friend.
‘Yes, of course. Oh, and cheers. A pleasure to see you again.’ He clinked his red wine glass against the champagne flute in her hand.
She considered the expensive bubbly for a moment. One shouldn’t be rude when one is a guest and party to a toast. ‘Yes, cheers.’ She took a guilty mouthful before slipping into the crowd.
She doubled back to the bar, careful to avoid Ethan’s line of sight while she got another glass of champagne. She’d have to pretend to be a guest and a professional yoga aficionado while working her arse off as a kitchen hand. That should be easy. Skirting the room in search of Purple Lady and Stiff Neck Guy, she thought how, in other circumstances, she might enjoy chatting with Ethan Roxburgh. Now she’d not only have to avoid him but check for his whereabouts whenever she left the kitchen and look for cover before exposing herself with an incriminating platter. Should be real easy.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Jo was harried and cross wh
en Dee got back to the kitchen. ‘You’re meant to be working not drinking with the guests.’ She pulled open the oven door with an angry thud, moved trays in and out as she spoke. ‘Shit, Dee, I can’t believe you’ve been drinking. I gave you this job as a favour. The client would have a fit if she knew my staff was drinking her booze.’
‘I’m so sorry. It’s not like that. It’s that job I was telling–’
‘I don’t want to hear it. Just get this tray out there and don’t fuck around.’
Dee felt like she had a screw-top neck the way her head swivelled back and forth between the guests she was feeding and the guests she was scanning. She hadn’t spotted Lucy, had no idea what Leonard looked like, but she’d managed to keep an eye on Ethan. He was hard to miss – tall, confident, casual. He’d worked the room with the elegant blonde, chatting, shaking hands, making introductions, moving towards the balcony and the cool breeze that had turned the evening into a mild summer night.
As long as she could see him outside, Dee felt safe to venture further into the room with her tray, instead of clinging close to the exit points as she had for the past hour. Keeping her platter low, she roamed from group to group offering sushi. Halfway across the large living area, she saw Ethan detach himself from the blonde and step back inside.
Shit. He was heading in her direction. He spotted her, smiled and made a bee-line for her. Dee pushed the platter into someone’s hands, swapped it for an empty champagne glass. With any luck, Jo would think she was collecting and Ethan would think she was drinking. As he approached, she gave what she hoped was a guest-like smile, as opposed to her wait-staff, it’s-no-trouble smile.
‘Hey, Dee. Enjoying the party?’
‘Oh, yes and, ah … and it’s such a lovely night for it.’
He nodded, though he seemed a little amused. ‘Who are you here with?’
‘Oh, um …’ She waved her glass around non-committally and tipped it in the direction of the sushi crowd. ‘With, ah, some friends.’
‘You know Jonathon Beasley?’
Shit. ‘Oh, yeah. Loves sushi. Did you find Lucy?’ She worked hard on a smile, ignoring his bemusement.
‘She’s not here but I found Leonard Frost and his wife.’
‘Who?’
‘The client. Leonard’s chairman of Health Life.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘I’ve told him you’re here and he’d really like to meet you.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘He’s out on the balcony.’ Ethan nodded in that direction, encouraging her to follow him.
Dee tightened her grip on the champagne glass. ‘Actually, I was just looking for a refill.’
‘Oka-ay.’ He tweaked his brow. ‘But don’t leave without finding me first. I’d like you to meet Leonard.’
‘Sure, sure. I’ll see you later.’ She backed away to the bar, made sure Ethan was gone before crossing to the kitchen.
‘Dee, start on the dishes,’ Jo said as she walked in.
‘Yes please.’ She’d never been so relieved to wash up. This was ridiculous, she thought as she stacked glasses in the drainer. The crowd was starting to thin and there was only so long she could keep serving and hiding.
Right, she had three options.
One: she could hide in the kitchen, leave without being introduced to Leonard the Client and risk incurring the wrath of one or both Roxburghs.
Two: she could continue serving and avoiding Ethan (getting more and more difficult), leave without being introduced and risk incurring the wrath of one or both Roxburghs.
Three: fail to avoid, get introduced, be coerced into drinking the client’s booze and risk being found out as a scullery maid with a bankrupt yoga business.
Where was the up side?
‘Dee, take these,’ Jo said from behind her.
She turned, her eyes widening in gastronomic delight. ‘Oh, yum!’ Jo had laid out three huge trays of little desserts – mini lemon meringues and cheesecakes and tiramisu and citrus tarts topped with cream.
‘But there are still a lot of dishes to be washed.’ Dee pointed at the sink.
Jo wasn’t quite so angry as before but still had her catering-night harried face. ‘The dishes can wait.’
There goes Option One, she thought.
‘I want them out on the balcony.’
At last inspection, Ethan was on the balcony.
‘Now, Dee,’ Jo said impatiently.
Dee winced. Option Two was not looking good.
Dee pushed her way through the heavy glass door that opened onto the deck and anchored it open in case of an emergency exit. Ethan was at the far end and as there was still quite a crowd, she figured if she kept to one end, she might go unnoticed.
It was wishful thinking. She was on her second pass around the safe section, platter held low, when Ethan saw her. He spoke to the man beside him and now both were heading her way.
She was stranded mid-balcony with a half-full platter. Retreat was the best option. She turned, went for the door and saw it was shut.
She tried to reposition the platter at her hip but it was so big and heavy and awkwardly shaped she couldn’t hold it with one hand and haul the weighted door open with the other. She put both arms under the tray, pulled at the handle, slid a foot round the edge and tried inserting herself into the space without losing her desserts. As she pressed against the framed glass, it flew open and she stumbled backwards.
The tarts and cakes slid about like dodgem cars. She manoeuvred the tray around like a miner panning for gold, coaxing them to stay on board. When they finally came to a standstill, she looked up to see Ethan, and Option Three was at hand.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, both puzzled and amused.
‘Well, I, um, just thought I’d, ah …’
‘They’ve got caterers to do that, you know.’
‘Really? Well, it’s just they look so nice and …’ She was pressed against the glass wondering which way to go – inside or out, truth or lie, big idiot or bigger idiot?
The elegant blonde joined them, along with an older woman, who helped herself to a citrus tart from her platter.
‘Mmm. Delicious. Honey, have you tried one?’ she said to Ethan’s companion, who Dee now presumed was Leonard the Client.
He took a mini lemon meringue. ‘You’re doing a good job there, dear. The food’s very tasty. I’ll have to get one of your cards before we leave.’
Would that be my wait-staff card or my yoga card or my Big Desperate Loser card? Dee thought, smiling lamely.
Ethan narrowed his eyes, less amused. ‘Leonard, this is Dee, the yoga teacher. Not the caterer. She’s the one I’ve been trying to introduce you to all night.’ He glanced at her tray. ‘I guess she likes the dessert, too.’
The elegant blonde draped herself over his shoulder again. ‘She might teach yoga, Ethan, but she’s just a waitress. She’s been serving food all night. I’ll have another glass of champagne, thanks.’ Aiming condescending eyes at Dee, she put an empty flute on the platter between the desserts.
Ethan frowned, not amused or puzzled now – more like ticked off. ‘Dee?’
‘Well, actually, sorry, yes, I am one of the wait-staff tonight. Sorry about that. I really am a yoga teacher too, but I’m doing food tonight.’ Geez. ‘And so, if nobody wants anything more to eat, I’ll just get these back to the kitchen.’
She stepped forward, unaware the chunky knob on the big glass door had become hooked on the belt loop of her trousers. As she thrust forward with the force of her immense desire to get the hell out of there, she was hauled in reverse with an equal and opposite force. In one deft move, she was jerked backwards, arms thrown skyward – and the tray and its contents hurled at her face.
Chapter Five
Dee stood for a moment with the platter pressed to her face. Cream squelched on her cheek, something was oozing down her chin, but it felt like the perfect place to hide her mortification. That was an option she hadn’t considered – confess
ing her pretence, smacking herself in the head with a tray and smearing herself in whipped cream.
Slowly she let the platter slide, bending forward a little so globules of lemon meringue and cheesecake wouldn’t fall onto the balcony alongside the elegant woman’s champagne glass that had smashed on the tiles.
‘Dee.’ Ethan tried to relieve her of the tray.
She put a hand up like a stop sign. ‘No, I’ve got it,’ she said, not wanting to share the embarrassment. She pulled a mini citrus tart from her cheek. ‘Could you please unhook me from the door?’
While she tried not to think about his hands fumbling with her trousers, she cast a glance around. Leonard and his wife were frozen to the spot while the elegant woman had a hand over her mouth, failing to conceal a bloody great guffaw. Fuck. Nothing like staying to enjoy your moment in the limelight – or lime tart. She smiled stupidly, felt a dollop of dessert hanging off her top lip.
‘There,’ Ethan said as the door swung free.
Dee licked at the liqueur-flavoured cream. ‘Mmm, the tiramisu is really nice. Make sure you try a piece. If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to kill myself in the kitchen.’
Surprisingly enough, the evening improved after that. On a scale of embarrassing moments, with a faceful of cream cakes the low score of zero, things picked up to a creditable three or four – although not until she’d burst into tears, begged Jo for forgiveness and used a knife to scrape the desserts from her shirt. Jo, on the downhill run for the night, actually laughed so hard she had tears in her eyes then relegated her to the sink. For the next hour and a half Dee washed and dried, stacked crockery and endured with good humour the nicknames the rest of the wait-staff invented for her. She liked Sweet Chops the best but Tart Face and Tear-I-Missed-You were pretty good too. Best of all, she got to avoid Ethan, Leonard the Client, his wife and the awful elegant woman while she thought about how she was going to get her shit together when they decided she was just too stupid to do the ad.