by Pene Henson
Claudie narrows her eyes. “And?”
“And I want to put your story in there.”
Claudie puts her coffee cup on the table. “You told me you wouldn’t investigate me.”
“Well, no. I mean, kind of, but this is different. This is about the music industry; this stuff is more public. I meant I wouldn’t write about personal stuff.”
“Music is ‘personal stuff’ for me.”
“Yeah. But you know what I mean.”
Claudie frowns. She doesn’t look at Lien as she says, “I trusted you. You told me I could trust you. I had you in my house.”
Lien’s chest squeezes as Claudie’s anger washes over her. When Claudie looks up again, Lien shrinks.
They sit in silence. But the article matters. Lien’s not going to back down on this. She’s trying not to be that girl. She says, “Claudie, the thing is, this story is bigger than any one artist. It’s about how the music industry works, what it does to talent. It’s about how tough it is to make a living in music even when you’re the best, and how hard it is to be yourself and do well.”
Claudie doesn’t speak.
“I’m not writing about things that aren’t already known. Not really. I’m bringing them all together. And it matters. It really does matter. Because you and I both love this industry, but it doesn’t do its best by the finest people in it.”
Claudie tips her head. “Who’ve you spoken with?”
Lien rattles off a couple of names. Claudie’s interested. Lien’s pretty sure she has her. “I’m serious about this,” Lien says.
“Then you don’t need me.”
“I want you, though,” Lien says. “Your story means something.”
The cafe keeps moving around them. “Okay. Yeah, okay.” Claudie relents.
“So I can interview you?” Lien almost bounces in her seat.
“You can.” She half laughs. “Don’t you know enough about me already?”
Lien flashes back to the ways she knows Claudie. “Um. Not the way I need to.”
After a moment Claudie says, “The trouble is, the music industry isn’t just my past, Lien. I’m hoping it’s my future. So I can’t say anything that’ll damage my career.”
Lien’s ready for this. “I think this’ll do the opposite for you. I think by talking about the industry we can make it better. People will listen. So your future will be better too.”
Claudie finishes her coffee before speaking. “Okay. Fine. I’m in.”
They set a date a week and a half away. Claudie’s working extra shifts and the interval suits Lien. She has deadlines for a couple of local queer papers, and she wants to get all her groundwork finished before she starts interviewing musicians. She’s not going to rush this one and disappoint herself or anyone else.
They walk home down Oxford Street together. Lien’s phone buzzes in her pocket. The phone buzzes again. When her pocket buzzes a third time, Lien slows down and pulls out her phone. The messages are all the same. The kids are going back to Gigi’s for Thursday night drinks.
Lien doesn’t think. “Hey. We’re heading out tonight. Do you know Gigi’s on the Square?”
“Yep.”
“Looks like I’ll be there at ten with some of the guys if you want to join us? They usually have a good DJ.”
Claudie rubs at her wrist. She’s considering it, at least. Lien’s stomach flips annoyingly. It’s not as if anything hangs on Claudie’s answer. Claudie says, “Look I’ve got this idea stuck in my head. This song that I need to get out. I’d love to go with you, but until I get this written I’m going to be no company at all.”
Lien’s disappointed. “Okay. Of course.” She smiles. She wants to make it clear to Claudie that she’s never going to pressure her to go anywhere. “Sure thing.”
“Thank you, though.”
Lien nods. They go separate ways at the corner of Lien’s street. “See you later,” Lien says.
Later that night Lien’s phone buzzes with a text from Claudie.
Want to take a break and see the rock photography exhibit at the Powerhouse tomorrow?
Lien doesn’t consider saying no.
The exhibit is mostly photojournalism—huge stage pictures of Madonna and Chrissy Amphlett among mainstays of the local indie scene. Lien and Claudie don’t talk much. Now and then Claudie points out a particularly interesting fact or an instrument in one of the photos. It’s a glimpse into the things that fascinate her.
A few days later, they’re on the phone. Lien’s in her bedroom, lying back on the bed with her legs propped against the wall. She has the door to the balcony wide open. Claudie’s at her place, up on the second floor with her potted plants and guitars. Lien hasn’t seen it but it’s a lot closer than the cabin in the bush.
Lien says, “So I’m thinking I can put a few profiles in to illustrate the broader story. Make it a bit eye-catching.”
“Sounds good,” Claudie says. A crash echoes down the phone line.
Lien raises her eyebrows though Claudie can’t see her. “What was that?”
“The guys downstairs are redecorating or something. I’m trying to use it as musical inspiration rather than a distraction.”
Another crash comes. It reverberates as if Claudie’s in earthquake territory.
“That’s what redecorating sounds like?” Lien asks.
Claudie snorts. “It seems to involve ripping out some walls or taking out the foundations or something. If you don’t hear from me, the building’s come down. Look after my potted plants for me?”
Lien laughs. “I’ll love them like my own. Hey, did I tell you I have an interview with Lissy Anderson?”
“Nice.”
“I wouldn’t have got it if you hadn’t recommended me—” Another crash comes down the line, this one bigger than those before it. “Oh, my god. It sounds like thunder.”
“Yeah, the noise is not ideal.”
“Soon your power will be out, and you’ll be kicking your fridge.” Lien wasn’t planning to say that. They don’t mention their time in the cabin much.
“Oh god, you remember that?” Claudie asks.
“Of course I do. I remember everything.” Neither of them says anything. Lien waits for another crash. It doesn't come.
“What are you working on today?” she asks Claudie.
“Not much. Pulling together some new music. Mercy and I got some tracks down. I wanted to do a bit of editing on the laptop.”
“With that noise going on? Are you writing thrash metal?”
Claudie half laughs. “I’ll admit it’s not going well. I mean, I’m only listening and pulling the sounds together. I’m not really playing anything. But the vibrations are intense. I might need to take it to the store.”
“Do you want to come over here?” Lien asks before she thinks. “My room has a nook you could pop your laptop in. And I’m working, so I won’t bother you. Promise. You might need to let Beau fanboy over you, though.”
“Huh.” Three crashes come in quick succession as though the gods have spoken—the renovation gods. “Okay,” says Claudie. “Yes. That’d be great.”
“You know where it is?”
“You pointed out the street the other night when we were walking home. What number are you?”
“We’re in sixteen. It’s got a red door, tomato red.”
“I’ll be right over.” Claudie pauses. “Thank you, Lien.”
Lien throws some of her clothes into the wardrobe. She straightens her desk and turns on the fairy lights. She runs her fingers through her hair. She considers changing. They’re getting together to work; she’s not supposed to be dressing up, but maybe a different T-shirt. Fifteen minutes later there’s a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Beau yells. He thumps down the stairs before Lien can call out.
“It’s for you,” he shouts a second later.
“Cheers,” Lien says. She’s already on her way down. At the bottom of the stairs, Claudie’s framed in the doorway. She’s gorgeous in tight jeans, a white shirt and black jacket. Her hair’s tousled. She’s the girl version of James Dean. Lien wishes she’d changed into something a bit more rock star.
“Hi,” Lien says. “Come on upstairs.” She looks at Beau swiftly. “We’re working,” she says. She’s glad Beau’s grown out of saying something embarrassing.
“Enjoy,” Beau says, which is bad enough.
It’s uncomfortable being in Lien’s bedroom together. Lien scoots past Claudie to point out the window nook and the chair. “You can sit in the nook. Or, I don’t know, on the bed?” She doesn’t look at Claudie.
“The nook’s great,” Claudie says.
“We could go downstairs if you wanted. Only Beau’s cooking and sometimes he sings and he’s not really a singer.”
“I’m happy here,” says Claudie. “This is way better than what I had at my place. The whole floor was vibrating. He’s been doing it for days. I tried a cafe one day, but the waitress wasn’t too thrilled that I was taking up a table. I was almost glad to go to work yesterday. At least I got to escape.”
“Your poor plants.”
Claudie grins. “They don’t have ears. They seem to be surviving all right.”
“You’re welcome to come and edit here whenever it suits you.”
“Thank you.”
Lien sits back at her desk. Open on her desktop is a half-written column about the timeless war between Melbourne’s small bars and Sydney’s club scene. Claudie settles into the nook. She pulls on her earphones. Her forehead furrows as she works.
It’s tricky to write with Claudie there looking gorgeous and focused. Lien turns to editing a shorter article for the Sydney Star Observer. Now and then she looks at Claudie, but she doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t ask what Claudie’s hearing. For now, the song is Claudie’s.
An hour goes by. “Want a listen?” Claudie asks out of the silence. She doesn’t look comfortable asking.
“Yes, please,” says Lien. She tries to stop herself from bouncing across the room. “Absolutely.”
Claudie stands to let Lien have the seat. She positions the headphones over Lien’s ears. Lien holds her breath until she steps away.
The music’s good, raw and interesting. It might be pioneering. The excitement builds in Lien’s chest. She keeps her voice steady. “This is good stuff. Really strong.” A third keyboard melody is looped in, and Claudie’s vocals sit perfectly above it.
Claudie nods down at her. “Thank you. That’s nice to hear. Especially coming from you.”
Lien’s heart buzzes with the praise. “So what’s the plan for your music now you’re here?” she asks when she’s caught her breath.
Claudie hesitates. “Well, sometime I want to get up with Mercy to play at one of the bars in the neighborhood. Not just an open mic, an actual show. It’ll take time but I’m working on it.”
“Okay.” Lien exhales. “Okay.” This she can help with. There isn’t a live music venue that doesn’t know her. “I think I can get you into the Newcombe,” she says. “Actually, kinda soon if you want. The booking manager will love you. He was whining about the lack of new sound the other night when I was there.”
Claudie raises her eyebrows. “That would be… Really?”
“Really. It’s a small venue but Sam has a good ear for breakout work.”
“I’ll need to check, but I’m pretty sure Mercy will be keen. Thank you. That would be perfect.”
Lien grins. “Oh. It’s not a favor. You know I want to hear you play a full set in public. You’ll be amazing. And the guys at the Newcombe will be in my debt forever.”
Claudie frowns. “Mercy and I are doing well, but do you think I should find a band, first?”
Lien’s already thought about that. “Maybe. It’d be good to add the drum and bass. I can already hear the rhythm in the way you write the music. It’s got an amazing beat behind it.”
“Yeah. I’ll get onto that.”
Half an hour later Beau sticks his head through Lien’s bedroom door.
“We’re heading to the Arms,” he says. “Annie and me and a couple of the others. You two want to join?”
Lien looks across at Claudie. “You interested?” She doesn’t want to appear too eager. She breathes normally.
Claudie looks back and forth from Beau to Lien. “Okay. Sounds good.”
The pub isn’t full, which is a relief to Claudie. Nine of them pile around a tall table with their drinks and a couple of packets of chips. Claudie scans the room.
The conversation is quick and mostly about people and places Claudie doesn’t know. Claudie listens and puts together Lien’s friends.
The tall Indian woman with a boyish cut, Kam, is dating the broad, no-nonsense white woman next to her, Megan.
Kam says, “We’ve decided to go visit my family at the end of the year.”
“Big step,” Beau says.
“I’m so impressed,” says Annie from next to him.
“It’ll be okay. Well, my sister will be okay,” Kam says. “She’s got past her constant protests that she just wants me to be happy. She’s realized ‘happy’ doesn’t mean ‘exactly like her,’ I guess. And my parents love me. I want to give it a go.”
“That’s great, guys. But don’t feel like you owe them anything,” Lien says.
Kam chews her lip. “No, I agree. But I’d like to give them a chance. For my sake, too. I hate that I’m lying to them.”
Lien nods. “Yeah, I get that.”
“Anyway, they can’t afford to visit, and my dad’s turning sixty, so Megan and I are going together.”
“I’m confident. They are going to love me,” Megan says. She squeezes Kam’s hand.
The conversation turns to vintage clothing stores and how Annie was going to be first to a local estate sale but had an exam instead. Claudie drinks her beer and tries not to stare at Lien.
The renovations at Claudie’s place haven’t stopped, so Lien and Claudie are working in Lien’s bedroom.
Out of a long silence, Lien asks, “Hey, are you serious about this music thing?”
Claudie frowns. “Yeah. Of course. What do you mean?” She’s offended. She’s always serious about band things.
“Then, my girl, it’s time to get started on some social media. Twitter and Snapchat and Instagram. You have a name and a history, but you need buzz.”
Claudie sighs.
Lien looks at her face and giggles. “I know, I know. You hate it. But it’s honestly the only way to get people to come. Plus, you know me now, and I find that stuff fun. You’re helping me with my article. The least I can do is help you lift your profile.”
Claudie says, “We can leave it a few weeks. I don’t even have a band yet.”
“We can leave it as long as you like. But it’s important, Claudia. The sooner the better. I’m not going to let this go.”
Claudie nods. It’s dangerous to agree to something larger and longer-term than whether they’ll meet tomorrow. Claudie is pretty sure that, if she agreed to Lien writing two paragraphs on page eight of the newspaper, she’d come back to a headline article and a flier campaign. No, probably something more digital.
Claudie has just arrived home from work the next day when her phone rings. It takes a moment to recognize the number. She might have deleted it three years earlier, but she still knows it.
She stares at the phone. Part of being back in Sydney is banishing old ghosts. Dani is the oldest ghost of all.
“Hi,” Claudie says.
“I heard rumors you were back in Sydney,” comes Dani’s voice. It’s so familiar it sends Claudie right back thirteen years to when they first met. She’d been
awed by Dani’s confidence and impeccable style. “And now you’re playing music around town. How’s it working out?”
“Fine, thanks,” Claudie says. She sits in the comfortable chair she got from a thrift shop she visited with Lien. “Why did you call?”
“Just being an old friend, Claudie. Catching up with you. Don’t worry so much,” Dani says. “It’s worth having friends in the industry.” She takes a breath. “So Lien Hong’s managing you these days is she? Good for her. Good move from the social columns anyway. She’s a cute kid.”
“She’s not my manager. We’re friends.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive, Claudia.”
“Depends on the person,” Claudie says.
Dani sighs. “Okay. Anyway, I’m just saying I liked her.”
“You met Lien?”
“You didn’t know that?”
“I knew you’d talked, just not in person. It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, she stopped by a while back. She said you’d rescued her. She’s cute. I got the impression she had some plans for your career.”
“I am working.” She should probably stop there. “I’m doing it my own way. I’m not about to get caught up with someone making my decisions for me.”
“Of course you’re not. Is that what you think I did?” Dani says.
“Yep.”
“Claudie. I was helping your career. You need to get over it. Hey, you know who you should meet?”
“No, Dani,” Claudie says. “I should not meet anyone.”
“It seems like a good fit.” Dani’s never been anything but persistent.
“Stop. I don’t need your help. You’re not my friend. You weren’t then and you certainly aren’t now.”
Claudie hangs up. She wishes she hadn’t answered. She doesn’t need closure with Dani. She certainly doesn’t need to be caught up in Dani’s web of favors and contacts again. She pulls on her sneakers and goes for a run down to Rushcutter’s Bay to clear her head.
It’s late afternoon on a Monday when Lien interviews Claudie. The cafe they meet at is almost mid-way between their homes, and the barista is excellent. Claudie brings her coffee and Lien’s tea to the golden brown chesterfield they usually occupy. The front window faces west, and Lien’s lit from behind as the gold sun drops below the shop blinds. She’s even beautiful in silhouette. It’s infuriating.