I stared at his departing back as he exited the floor for the staff corridor. He wouldn’t even give me a chance to explain. That hurt most. Like I wasn’t worth his time or effort.
I was more alone than ever. I felt it down to my toes, dressed up snazzily in my new black and white two-tone Jazz style shoes. But not even fancy new shoes I couldn’t afford could improve my gloomy mood.
Petula had tried to cheer me up. She’d invited me out to dinner with herself and Kurt last night. I’d politely declined. The whole third-wheel thing, watching them so happy together, wasn’t going to help.
Giselle also tried to brighten my day, telling me stories about her last trip to Paris and how she’d visited an actual perfume blender. She stood beside the counter, polishing the glass counter tops. It was a slow day. We’d served a few customers but it wasn’t exactly exciting.
With a sigh, Gisele tossed her long ponytail behind her shoulder. “I wish you would come to Paris with me. I would show you all the special places only locals know. You could stay with me and my aunt in her apartment. It is beautiful, one of my favourite places in the world.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
The way she described the perfumery, the neighbourhood on the left bank of the Seine, the aromas when you entered the main salon, it made me yearn.
It made me want to run away to Paris, immediately. Which of course was impossible. Mainly because I needed money. Also because I couldn’t just up and leave the country, completely leaving my sister to her own devices. It was bad enough I’d left her alone in Sydney. Well, with friends, but she didn’t have me. It was only for a while, until I could get her enrolled in university. I had to be her support, her lifeline. And I wanted her to have a future.
Giselle put down her polishing cloth and turned to me. “I wish we could go. Next year. Paris in springtime. One day we will. We might be old ladies, but we’ll go.”
I laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. Giselle couldn’t take off for Paris either, not in the near future. Her parents were here in Melbourne and they were getting older. They depended on her.
Next thing I knew, Petula was speed-walking across the floor towards the perfume counter. The manicure bar was no busier than our area. “Hey, are you girls on for drinks after work tonight? Unofficial Christmas party. We’re going to Granite Bar.”
“Who’s we?”
“Oh, me and Kurt, some of the make-up team, the fashion crew, Christos...”
I held up a hand in a stop-sign motion. “Stop right there. Back up a bit. Christos is going out with the girls?”
Petula leaned on the edge of our counter and drummed her amazing fingernails on the glass. They were hot pink with a swirly pattern today. She blinked at me. “It’s not just girls. Kurt will be there. Plus Marco and the guys from upstairs.”
Okay. Maybe Petula didn’t organise this last-minute party to force Christos and I together. Maybe. The jury was still out about her motives in organising the shindig. But it wasn’t like I had any better offers. “Sure, I’ll stop by. If I’m not too tired.”
Giselle nodded, then stepped forward, standing as close to Petula’s position as she could get. “Will Peter Harrison be there?”
Hello, this was news. Giselle was asking about Mr Harrison, the elusive store manager. Since when was she interested in silver-fox type men? Since Mr Harrison, perhaps?
He existed. I’d seen him a few times, but he wafted around on the executive level upstairs and didn’t make his presence known on the cosmetics floor. Giselle had never seemed particularly interested in him, until now.
Petula’s eyes twinkled. It could have been a trick of the light or her gold glittery eyeshadow, but I suspected not. Mischief was afoot in Petula-land. “I could invite him, if you like. I know when he takes his coffee break at the place in the mall.”
Giselle rolled her eyes, ducking behind the counter to refill the display cabinets. “I don’t care. What does it matter to me?”
Petula and I locked eyes and tried not to laugh. I was more successful than she was.
Petula giggled like a schoolgirl. “Great. I’ll see you two ladies tonight. And I expect you both to look absolutely rock-star hot.”
ROCK-STAR HOT.
Glancing down at my outfit, I did a quick inventory. I wasn’t sure if it quite fit the bill, but it would have to do. I smoothed my hands down my dress in the back seat of the car. My favourite vintage ‘wiggle dress’ à la Marilyn Monroe was a satiny fabric in scarletty-pink. Spink? It fitted me like a second skin.
It was my best lady-on-the-town look, complete with high heels that made my legs look fifty miles long, but also made it difficult to walk anywhere. So I’d taken an Uber to the bar. I adjusted my dress and my victory-roll hairdo as I climbed out of the car and said goodnight to the nice grandma-like driver.
When I waddled inside Granite Bar it was dark, but I could make out some details. The walls were painted the deepest shade of purple I’d ever seen outside a Prince music video. The music was pulsing, a deep bass thrumming underfoot and rattling the glassware on the tables.
The gang was all there, mostly. Petula, gorgeous as ever in a silver halter top and black mini skirt, the smitten Kurt by her side, his hair sticking up on top like a parrot’s. A few of Marco’s crew were hanging around, sipping beers as they leaned against the bar. They were all dressed in black as usual, and blended into the background.
I waved at Petula, who’d seen my entrance, and I made my way inside, pushing past throngs of people sipping cocktails. It was Happy Hour so loads of office groups were here for the discount drinks. The scent of fake raspberry wafted by as I walked past a group of younger women drinking frozen margaritas.
Petula signalled for me to come over. I nodded. Some random man behind me wolf-whistled as I walked. I kept right on walking and rolled my eyes. Petula giggled, her shoulders shaking as she sipped her drink.
I didn’t see Christos. Not that I was looking for him. Still, I couldn’t help scoping out the remaining seats nearby.
A whole group of make-up chicks from the cosmetics counters were lined up along a low leather bench. They were glamorous as always, but they couldn’t compete with Giselle, sitting on her own in a suitably chic black leather armchair.
My French friend was checking her phone and had her legs crossed to one side. Her little black dress was covered in tiny sequins, so she shimmered whenever the overhead light hit her. A deliberate choice, I’d bet. Just like her choice of prime position with a clear view of the door.
She was waiting for someone. My money was on our mysterious store manager. I didn’t think it was likely he’d show up tonight, but what did I know? Stranger things had happened. Giselle raised her head and smiled at me, then returned to scrolling on her phone screen.
Finally, I skirted around a wooden coffee table and took a seat to the right of Petula, with Kurt on her left. He had his arm around her shoulders in a casual way.
“Hey, Lily, you look soooo sexy. Doesn’t she look sexy, Kurt?” Without waiting for an answer, Petula chatted on. “I’m looking forward to seeing if someone makes an appearance.” She nodded meaningfully at me.
“Oh, you mean Peter Harrison? Giselle’s waiting for him, I think.”
Petula goggled at me, eyes wide. “No, not him! I mean Christos. He said he might pop in on his way to his grandmother’s place. Isn’t that sweet?”
Yes, he was sweet. I’d have to try not to overindulge in thoughts of him or I’d rot my teeth. He’d obviously been avoiding me and I didn’t want a man who didn’t want me. Or who only put up with me until someone better/thinner/richer came along. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.
So why was I watching the door?
I didn’t even notice Marco until he was right in front of me, pink margarita in hand. “Here you go. Couldn’t help noticing the drink matches your dress. Nice.”
My lips twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile. “Thank you. How are you?”
He bounced o
n the balls of his feet, hands stuffed in his pockets. He didn’t have a drink of his own. “Oh, I’m great. Just got the prototype of my app up and running.”
I didn’t have the faintest clue about what to say to this guy. He was into IT stuff, I was into perfume. I didn’t think we clicked. But maybe I’d missed the point...
“It sounds interesting. What does your app do exactly?” Petula was gazing up at Marco from under her embellished eyelashes. I hadn’t noticed Kurt walk away, but he must have done.
Marco stood opposite us and preened his hair. The way he stood in such a purposefully laid-back way had to be for show. I may not be an IT genius, but I was a good judge of body language. Marco was one-hundred-and-ten per cent into Petula but trying not to show it.
He sidled up to her now and sat beside her. Not too close, but not miles away. He grabbed his smartphone and showed her something on screen. “It’s a booking app for bands for Italian-speaking users. I think there’s a big market for people booking bands for weddings and parties, and they can listen to a sample of the songs and read the reviews.”
He said something about the iTunes store and user testing. I zoned out.
Petula, for her part, was fluttering and flirting like she meant it. She touched his forearm and I felt my eyebrows pop up somewhere near my hairline. I may not have been a math expert either, but I was certain she was more than one-hundred-and-fifty per cent into Marco. Why hadn’t I noticed this earlier? What else had I been missing?
I took a few sips of my drink as I half-listened to their conversation. I hadn’t known either of them for long, so it was no wonder I didn’t understand what was going on with them. Or what they might have been hiding from me.
Petula and Marco were deep in conversation when Giselle pulled her chair up next to me. She was talkative again now.
“You know how I said we should go to Paris next year? Perhaps it will happen. I don’t know. I think...” she paused, glancing up at me. Her eyes had a suspiciously red-tinge, now I had a close-up view, “I think we will be moving back to France. My parents wish to go home and they need me.”
Earlier, I would have thought this would have been cause for celebration in Giselle’s world. But she didn’t seem ready to pop any Champagne corks or start singing La Marseillaise.
“You don’t want to go?”
Giselle closed her eyes and took a moment to answer. “I don’t know. I have not lived in France full-time since I was fifteen. Australia is my home now.”
As Giselle was reminiscing, telling me her memories of going to school in Paris, something tugged at me from deep in my brain. Or my senses, I wasn’t too sure. All I knew was the tiny hairs on the back of my neck and on my arms stood on end, an awareness of something, someone, pinged with my most visceral animal self, waking it from slumber until it was ready to purr.
I raised my head and glanced at the bar’s entrance, and I think my mouth popped open. There he was. Christos was holding the door for a couple of women entering ahead of him, because of course he was. He was a true gentleman. Dressed in a fine suit, he was also a genuine lady-killer. Purrrr...
I had to get myself under control. I shifted in my seat and crossed my legs tight together. Just because Christos was wearing a slim-fitting grey silk suit and a white shirt unbuttoned a few notches, revealing a nice tufty bit of chest hair, was no reason to roll over and mewl like a pussycat. Or to ask him to scratch my belly.
So, I had an itch that needed scratching. It wasn’t his fault. He probably didn’t even want to talk to me. Except...maybe I was wrong. Dead wrong.
He glanced in my direction and did a cartoonish double take, literally turning his head away then whipping it back, front and centre, to lock eyes with me. His smouldering hot chocolate eyes had gone liquidy-melty and were practically pouring all over my body.
Oh, yes please.
He let the door close behind him and slithered towards me. Yes, slithered. It was something about his suit, it gave him a snake-like skin. And he knew I was watching him. I knew he knew, because of the way his lips quirked up at one corner. I knew that he knew that I knew... He swivelled his hips to get past a group of guys, and I lost my train of thought.
Petula elbowed me in the ribs. “It’s Christos! He’s here. Act naturally,” she almost shouted. I rolled my eyes at her, letting my gaze leave the man I wanted to watch.
Then he was there in front of me and I had some kind of wonderful full-body shiver. He was staring down at me. Quite frankly, he shouldn’t have been allowed to use that look in public. Because I suddenly wanted to rip all my clothes off and climb Christos like a tree.
He stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and I struggled to remain focused on his face, like a lady. Certain regions of his body were at my eye level from where I sat. I’ve never been a full-on man candy aficionado until now. But I wanted this man’s candy.
He cleared his throat. “Hi, Lily.”
“Christos.” I nodded, keeping calm and composed, on the outside. “It’s good to see you.” I noted the frostiness in my own voice and crossed my legs a little tighter. It was up to him if he wanted me defrosted. A little bit of warmth from him would go a long way to thawing me out.
He extended his hand to me. “Would you like to dance?”
I tipped my head to the right and examined him, outstretched hand and all. Dancing with Christos was pretty high on my Must Do list. In fact he was at the top of my Must Do list. But the music in this gin joint was average at best, verging on terrible.
Only Mr David Bowie took over, a familiar tune playing from the speakers. I wasn’t the only one in the bar to crack a grin. Let’s Dance, indeed. It was a good omen.
So I grabbed Christos’s hand and let him haul me up from my seat. No need to keep the man in suspense. “I’d bloody well love to dance with you. Come on.” I tugged on his hand, pulling him towards the dance floor.
I’d cracked him up. He laughed low and in my opinion, dirty. I vaguely heard Petula laughing herself into a coughing fit as we made our way to the small dance floor.
Christos squeezed my hand and I nearly fell off my high heels. He took the lead now, weaving through the crowd and saying ‘excuse me’ to millions of people before we found some room to manoeuvre.
This place was primarily a watering hole, but they sometimes rented the whole bar for parties. So there was a dance floor complete with mirror ball, but it wasn’t ginormous. Still, there was no good reason why Christos had to pull me so close, right up to his body so we were smooshed together. No reason at all why he had to place his hand so possessively on my lower back, inching towards my butt. No reason. Except all the best reasons.
I tipped my head up (he was impressively tall, now I was up close) to meet the man’s gaze. His gaze flicked up to mine just a beat or two after I caught him staring down my cleavage. This was to be expected. My boobs, after all, were imposing, in the manner of mountains with a great valley between. His cheeks now held a hint of rosy colour which made me giggle.
He sighed. “I’m so glad I came out tonight. Petula told me I had to, or else.”
My giggling burbled out, full blown. “Or else what?”
He opened his eyes wide in mock horror. “I didn’t want to find out. She can be scary at times.”
With a snort, I laughed even harder. Until Christos interrupted.
“I had to see you. Petula told me you’re living in your uncle’s house. He was the one I saw the other day.”
He left it there, but I knew what else he wanted to say. Bill wasn’t who he’d thought. He wasn’t my sugar-daddy or anything so gross. I was just a grown woman living with my adult uncle...urgh, still kind of gross when I thought about it. I couldn’t wait for Bill to take off for America, then the place would be mine alone.
I tipped my head to the right and let him see a touch of the annoyance I’d felt when he’d run out on me. I raised one eyebrow. “I would have explained if you’d hung around. But you shot out of there like a bat out
of hell. I haven’t got anything to hide.”
A charming crinkle formed in the space between Christos’s eyebrows. I wanted to lick it. “I’m sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion. It’s...happened before. A woman I was seeing, two-timing me. I couldn’t go through it again.”
“So don’t do it again. Don’t run off without talking to me.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Silently, I nodded too, and linked my hands around the back of his neck. I was dying to ask about the woman who’d hurt him. Whether she was pretty. Or skinny. If she was the sort of woman who stomped all over men because she could. I knew nothing about her and hated her already. But the music infiltrated my bones and muscles, relaxing me. Or it could have been the way Christos pulled me infinitesimally tighter to his hard body. We swayed together, just as Bowie suggested. Lucky I had my red shoes on too.
I deliberately kept up the chatter, in case I followed my earlier impulse and simply climbed the man. “Anyway, my uncle’s moving to the US soon. He’s a session musician and he’s got a regular gig at a studio in LA. I’ll be renting his house for the next year, at least.”
“And then?”
I let out a long breath, deflating as I spoke. “Move back to Sydney, I suppose.”
For the first time, I thought about moving back to Sydney and my heart hit my shoes, or roundabouts. I’d thought it was what I wanted. Sydney had always been home. But maybe it was time for new plans. “I might stay here, I don’t know yet. It depends. I’m filling in for the perfume counter manager who’s on maternity leave. And then there’s my sister. I want her to come down to Melbourne for university.”
Christos listened to every word out of my mouth, intently. To be the object of his focus, his gaze, it was pleasant. Warm. Okay, the heat in my blood was almost volcanic, and it also threatened to make me pass out.
“You could stay in Melbourne then.” As he drew out the words, he stroked his fingertips over the small of my back, making me shiver.
Heart Note Page 6