I fished my sunglasses out of my bag.
Before we got to the next station, I'd dozed off.
Still half asleep, I noticed a woman hovering over me. She had lanky hair hanging down in her face and the smell of sweat radiated off her in waves. She grinned at me, showing a few missing teeth.
"Oi, love, is this your stop?"
I jumped up. I hadn't even noticed the train stop in the city
"Thanks," I called to the woman as I ran off the train. Lucky she'd woken me.
I ran to the next platform and jumped on another train. It was only a few more stops and at least I'd be home and could change into something decent.
When I got to my station, I waved my bag over the barrier gates. I had my transport card in my bag and that should've been enough to swipe it but the bloody barriers didn't open. I sighed then fished in my bag for my wallet so I could get my card out.
My wallet wasn't there.
What the hell! It had to be. I'd put it back in my bag after I went to the ATM. I patted myself down in case I'd put it in a pocket – even though I had no pockets in my outfit. I searched again, pulling everything out of my bag to make sure. It had to be in there but a hard lump of sick-feeling settled in my stomach. Maybe it'd fallen out on the train.
I ran back to the platform but the train was long gone so I stamped my feet and looked for a staff member.
"Well, I can let you out this time but love, if the inspectors were here, they'd bust you for sure." He looked me up and down and looked at the clock, giving me a cheeky grin. "You sure had a big night, didn't you?"
"I'm not fare evading. My wallet was stolen. And I don't want you to just let me through the barrier, I want you to contact a station down the line so they can check the train for my wallet."
The train guy rolled his eyes.
"They can't do that. Most of the stations further down the line aren't even manned. Best you'll get is maybe some kind person will hand your wallet in. You can call the central lost and found tomorrow."
"But my money…"
"Reckon that's long gone. You didn't notice anything drop out of your bag?"
"No. I had it right on the seat beside me the whole time. Unless it dropped out when that woman woke me up."
He shook his head. "Are you stupid? You were asleep and some woman woke you up? Didn't you check then? What are you, five years old? Wouldn't the first thing you did be check your bag?"
"I had to run to catch the other train."
He shook his head some more. "A fool and his money are soon parted. That's what my Nan always said. But here, I'll give you the number to call, just in case. You might get your cards and stuff back. Don't tell me you had other valuables in there? Cancel your credit cards straightaway. You could go to the police but doubt they'd be able to do much."
The bank had already cancelled my credit cards. I only had that cash. And maybe $3 or so in change in the bottom of my bag.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch something. Why couldn't the police do anything? I'd seen the woman, I'd be able to identify her. They could drag people in and I'd pick her out of a line up. I kicked the wall on my way out. I kicked it hard. Stupid trains. Stupid train people. But it didn’t make me feel better. It just hurt my foot.
I called in at the local police station on my way home but all they did was make me fill in some paperwork and, like the guy at the station, they told me I should be more careful in future. I didn't think that was a very good way to protect the safety and property of the general public but the police officer just said they were understaffed and they couldn't run after every thief who took an opportunity.
That meant I had $50 in wages due to me, and – well nothing. A possibility of some money from the band in the future but nothing at all concrete. I had rent due at the end of the week and, if I didn't pay, I'd be out on the street. I could make sure I wasn't home when they came around. Yeah, they collected my rent in cash. Nothing dodgy about that, nothing dodgy at all. But, even if I avoided them, sooner or later, I'd have to pay or they might chuck my stuff out.
I sighed. When Dad had told me I had to be tough, I don’t think he realized how tough I needed to be. Where was he? I’d done enough. I’d learnt all my lessons. Surely it was time this finished.
If I contacted Tom for a loan, he'd ask a lot of questions. I guess I could call Frank but really he'd been a bit creepy and weird since this happened as though it gave him some kind of sick pleasure seeing me down and out. And I'd get another lecture about being stupid for having my wallet stolen. Nobody tells you about things before they happen but afterwards everyone's an expert.
I'd have bought one of those delish pastries if I'd known some scumbag was going to steal my money anyway. There was no point in even trying not to spend money in this world. Fate just stepped in and punished you.
Anyway, I could deal with this myself. I was strong. I just had to use my brain and my initiative and put myself into "poor person" mode. I bet poor people dealt with this kind of thing all the time and I was obviously smarter than them.
When I got home, I threw myself on the bed. I'd just sleep for the next few days until Friday then I'd not have to eat or do anything that cost money. That would be for the best. Except I had to book the band into that club and I had to come up with a grand for the video cost. My stomach rumbled and I realised I'd had nothing but a cup of tea all day.
I emptied out my bag and counted my change. I had $3.15. That wouldn't even buy a burger. My stomach rumbled louder. Then I remembered the box in the cupboard. Filled with chocolate tree frogs. I opened the packet and took a bite. Then nearly spat it out. I checked the packaging again. These things were organic, sugar-free chocolate. The 'guilt-free' treat. Guilt-free, my butt. They should feel guilty for even making these nasty things. And I should feel guilty for handing them out to unsuspecting people.
I finished eating it though, because food is food.
Then I spent a long time lying on my bed, looking at the cracks in the ceiling. When you have a problem, cracks in the ceiling are probably the worst advisors to turn to for answers but I had nothing else. The white ceiling had water stains that looked like deformed zoo animals and the cracks were like the fences holding them in. If it wasn't for those cracks, the water stain animals would surely get free and attack me.
Then I jumped up. I had an idea. What had I been thinking? I was sitting on a gold mine. Almost literally. All my money problems would be over.
Chapter 8
"I only do commission sales," the girl said, twirling her hair around her finger, but she had the hunger in her eyes. I recognised it.
"Yeah? Well, I need the money now."
I figured if I just stood there until she said yes, she'd give in eventually. I hadn't lugged two huge bags of clothes all the way across town, using my last coins on train fare, to sell stuff on commission. She was getting a super bargain and she knew it. There were thousands of dollars of designer clothes in those bags. Not to mention handbags and shoes.
I'd sorted through the clothes in my room, ruthlessly putting them into piles of things I could sell. I'd made myself have a heart of stone. Absolute stone. No emotion at all. That formal gown I'd worn when Tom first kissed me – gone. The shoes I wore to my debutante ball – gone. The fabulous one-off gown that made me look as if I was made of diamonds – didn't need it.
When I picked up the fab Valentino boots I'd only bought a few months ago and never worn, I started to falter.
"Heart of stone, Hannah," I reminded myself and put them in the "for sale" pile.
I looked at what was left. A couple of Donna Karan dresses for those power bitch meetings, a few pairs of jeans and some t-shirts, my leather jacket that had a price tag so high I could've bought a small apartment for the same price and some cute dresses.
I picked up the top I'd worn the night I'd gone to see Storm play about to toss it in the bag but, for some stupid reason, I lifted it to my face and sniffed it. Something about th
e smell made me happy for a moment. I decided to keep it. With all the beer stains and muck on it, I doubted it would sell anyway.
"Heart of stone," I told myself again and remembered that someone had told me it was character building to help the unfortunate. Who is more unfortunate than those who have to buy second-hand clothes? It wasn't as if I was losing my clothes anyway. I was just clearing out my wardrobe so I could replace things in the future. I had nowhere to wear this stuff and it'd all get ruined and be unwearable and worthless soon.
"Why are you selling all this stuff anyway?" the shopgirl asked.
"I lost weight and don't need them any more." Like I'd tell her I needed the money or I'd starve to death. "I don't want the hassle of having to come back here so just give me some cash and it's a done deal. There's other shops you know."
I put my hands on my hips and stared her down.
She sighed. "Yes, and they work on a commission basis too."
"Not for good quality stuff like this. You know you want it."
I took a top out of the bag. Still this season's fashion. That'd be snapped in no time.
She picked up a calculator and tapped in a number then held it up to show me. It was way, way less than those clothes were worth, even second-hand and she knew it.
I hesitated then picked up the calculator and tapped in a number myself. She shook her head. We locked eyes, both not wanting to back down. Then my stomach rumbled again and I just couldn't stand the thought of another of those bloody fake chocolate tree frogs. I tapped in another number and she nodded. Score, I'd get cash.
As she handed me the invoice to sign, I nearly cried. Those clothes were my friends and now I was selling them for some cold, hard cash. What kind of monster would sell their friends for cash? A hungry monster that got rolled on the train, I guess. I took a moment to say a silent goodbye to all those darling little shoes and those sweet twin sets. No mother sending her kids off to school for the first time would ever have felt so bad. But then I guess a mother doesn't have to worry about her kids being stretched over the girth of some fat chick's belly in a change room. On the other hand, I could buy new, better clothes one day but she's stuck with the same crummy kids.
Heart of stone.
She handed me the bundle of cash and I put it in my bag then realised that wasn't safe. I spied a cheap wallet in the display case.
"How about you throw that in for free?"
"It's $100 bucks."
"Like hell it is. It's a fake. The logo is even a little bit off in the printing. You can't sell a fake for that much. Come on, you are making a bundle here."
She sighed and handed me the wallet.
I grinned. The wallet totally wasn't a fake but she'd fallen for it. See, when you look classy, you get away with murder.
I had enough money for rent and for the video costs and to buy myself a delicious burger for dinner. Today was really looking up. I went to the café where I'd gone the other day. The one with the hanging ferns. I ordered coffee and my burger then decided to move to Step 2 of the Get Hannah Out of Poverty Plan.
I took a deep breath and made the call. I put on my best business voice and asked about getting a booking.
"Sorry, we aren't booking new bands at the moment."
"But you're a band booker. That's what you do. And this band is hot. They are like the biggest band around at the moment. I can send you their demo."
I tapped my fingers on the table. Was this some crap he gave to everyone to see if they were determined? Well, I was determined. I was more determined than them all.
"Fifty times a day, I hear from bands that are the hottest thing around or the next big thing. They all want the same thing but we are booked solid for the next month. Maybe longer. I have enough bands that can drag in a crowd knocking at my door, I don't need to take a chance on an unknown."
"Well, they are hardly unknown."
"Unless they can pull in over 5,000 people guaranteed, they are unknown to me."
I quickly calculated the crowd at that bar the other night. I'm pretty sure it was less than 5,000. A lot less.
"I'll just send you the demo –"
"I don't need it. I've got to go. I'm busy."
"You'll regret that."
"Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. I'll take that chance. Now, goodbye."
Argghhh, what a pig. I could see him sitting there, stroking his big belly while smoking a cigar. Didn't he realise how important this was to me? I had a feeling "I tried my best" wouldn't cut it with Jack Colt. If they had walked away at that meeting, I couldn't stop them but, if they acknowledged me as their manager, I could get my cut of the band money and maybe sell the management company for a decent amount.
Why did I think I could do this? I didn't know the first thing about managing a band. Who knew you could ring up to make a booking and be told no? It seemed wrong like they should at least listen to the demo first and see if the band was any good. Anyone would think they just cared about making money and nothing else.
I thought about my options. I could get a job. A real job. I didn't know what I could do since I'd dropped out of my degree. I could maybe be a secretary or a waitress. Probably not even that. I had no experience. No skills. Well, apart from ballet lessons and being able to ride a pony and talking French. They didn't seem like very handy skills though.
My only hope was for Dad to come back and I hadn't even heard from him once.
I swirled the spoon in my coffee.
"Hey there."
Angie sat down opposite me.
"I've got the money for the video," I told her. "But I don't think the band is going to agree."
I explained to her about the deal and how I had to get them booked at the Metropolis. How I'd tried and how I'd miserably failed.
"Well, I wouldn't think 5,000 people would be that hard. I can start a mailing list on the website and see how many numbers I get."
"Yeah, we could just invite Jack Colt's ex-girlfriends."
I grinned but I wasn't sure if she could get 5,000 people. It seemed impossible and she hadn't heard how rude that guy was on the phone. Once, I'd have just got my dad to call back and make him an offer he couldn't refuse but those days were gone. Things were really tough for the ordinary people.
"We just need a plan."
"I don't know about plans… I'm not even cut out for this job."
Then I broke down and told her all about what happened the day before. All the gory details.
"Oh, you bitch, I hate you," she said with a grin, so I knew she didn't mean it.
"Why? I made a complete idiot of myself."
"Yeah, but you're hot and classy. That's a winning combination, right. I have no chance at all with Jack Colt with you around."
"I’m not so hot. Look at my hair. It’s in urgent need of a cut. My eyelashes need redoing. And look at this manicure!"
"You are going to steal his heart and I won't even get my two weeks."
"I don't want his heart. You can keep it. What about Eric? He's a sweet guy." I did feel a bit of a tingle though. Not that I wanted a chance with Jack Colt but I'd like to think that if I wanted to, I could. I could not work out that kiss. Maybe I'd just dreamt it. But sometimes it was like I could still feel the ghost of his lips on my forehead.
She picked at her nails. "He's nice but not my type." Then she looked at me carefully. "Do you like Eric? You do, don't you? Oh, you'd make such a cute couple. And that would leave Jack for me."
"I don't want Jack and I don't want Eric. I have a boyfriend. Tom. He's away at school."
And I hadn't even remembered to call him. Yikes. Who forgets their own boyfriend? But then, what could I say if I did call? That I'd had to sell my clothes to make rent money and I'd had to take on managing a rock band only to get drunk and stoned and end up naked and sleeping at their apartment. My life hadn't been that much to brag about lately. If Tom knew how broke I was, he'd drop me like a rock. I was the trophy girlfriend with the perfect life and he was the troph
y boyfriend. Now I was a trophy with battered sides.
"Do you have a photo?"
I reached into my bag then remembered it was in my stolen wallet. Shit, soon I wouldn't even remember what Tom looked like. I'd get back to school and not even know my own boyfriend. He’d blend into every other guy in our group with their plans for shining careers, their European holidays in summer and ski trips in winter, their latest cars and their latest phones.
Not that I was all that fond of being poor or anything, but that life started to look a little bit boring. I couldn't remember any time in that life I felt as exhilarated as I did bartering that woman up to an extra $500 for a pile of my old clothes.
"So what are you up to tonight? If you want, you can come over to my place. We'll get a bottle of wine and maybe listen to those Storm demos and think up a plan for getting the gig. Look, the dude has to book bands, right? Otherwise there'd be no one playing there. So, all we have to do is work out how everyone else does it then do it even better. Plus, I’ll give you a manicure."
"Sounds good to me." I don't know why but the way Angie said this and the way she grinned made me think it was a real possibility. A glimmer of hope returned to my heart.
We walked to her place, passed the little cafés and shops selling clothes by local designers. Some of the outfits on display were kinda cute, and not all that expensive either. Just imagine, me wearing clothes by an unknown designer. I thought I could make that work. It might even be doing the designer a favour.
Bad Boy Rock Star Page 6
