Wild Thing

by Nicola Marsh

  Yeah, like that was the only reason.

  ‘I need to organise call-backs so if you’ll excuse me I’ve got work to do.’ He brandished the clipboard at Tanner, who grinned as if he could see right through his feeble excuse.

  ‘Get laid, buddy. It takes the edge off.’ Tanner stood and clapped him on the back. ‘According to Abby, Mak hasn’t dated anyone in ages, so you two should get reacquainted.’

  His glare was lost on Tanner as his friend sauntered away, lifting his hand in farewell. Damned if Tanner’s advice didn’t resonate.

  He’d love to put the past behind and move forward with Mak. But how could he approach her as a friend, when she’d just nailed the lead dancer role in his show?

  He might have found his leading lady but once he told her, it ensured they could never be anything but professional.

  Mak’s talent had floored him. She deserved this role.

  So where the hell did that leave him?

  CHAPTER THREE

  BY THE TIME Makayla made it back to Le Miel to start her shift she’d managed to come up with forty-three different ways she could make Hudson hurt.

  Decapitation, evisceration, circumcision...not that she knew if he needed the latter or not, considering they’d never got that far, but she’d be willing to do it without anaesthetic.

  His laconic, trite ‘we’ll be in touch’ mocked her, echoing through her head until she’d thumped the steering wheel of her car several times. It hadn’t helped. Hopefully, venting to Abby would.

  Because if Makayla knew one thing, Hudson wouldn’t call her. After the way they’d parted five years earlier, he had no freaking intention of calling her. Ever.

  Even if he did, would she accept the job? Could she work with the guy who’d judged her and found her lacking, effectively ending their friendship?

  She’d heard the rumours on the entertainment grapevine. That landing the lead gig at Embue could be a good segue into the latest dance extravaganza staging at the Opera House in a few months. And from there...well, dancing at the Sydney icon would look mighty fine on her CV if she ever made it to Broadway.

  Broadway...her dream since she’d donned her first tutu and slipped on her first tap shoes.

  Growing up, she’d spent countless hours poring over the Internet, watching video clips of shows at the many theatres in midtown Manhattan, wishing she could be a part of it.

  Her mum had never scoffed at her dreams. Instead, Julia Tarrant had fostered her love of all things dance, spending every cent she earned on Makayla’s dance lessons. It wasn’t until her mum had died that Makayla realised the extent of her mum’s sacrifice: Julia had no savings, but a detailed record of where her money had gone over the years. A budget that indicated Julia’s love for her daughter.

  Makayla had adored her mum and discovering she couldn’t afford a decent send-off...it had driven her to take drastic action and accept that stripping job for one evening only.

  The night Hudson had lost the plot and their friendship had imploded.

  ‘Ugh,’ she muttered, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stomach her usual beignet and cappuccino before she started her shift.

  Of all people to audition for, it had to be Hudson.

  What the hell was he doing anyway, producing a dance show at Embue? Back then he’d been a gofer for the clubs at the Cross. Doing whatever jobs that came his way. He’d always talked about getting out when he was older, doing something in the club scene, so how did that equate to producing a stage show?

  Entering the kitchen, she slammed the back door harder than intended, causing Abby to jump, the pastry brush in her hand clattering to the work bench.

  ‘Sheesh, what’s got your knickers in a knot?’ Abby waggled a finger. ‘Don’t you know it takes precision and genius to create the perfect lemon tartlet?’

  Makayla rolled her eyes. ‘You could make pastries in your sleep and they’d still turn out delish, so quit your moaning.’

  ‘Ouch. Someone’s in a mood.’ Abby frowned as Makayla slumped onto the nearest stool and scowled. ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’

  ‘I had an audition this morning. It didn’t go well.’ Makayla folded her arms, belatedly realising that not even the delicious aromas of cinnamon and sugar wafting from the ovens could lighten her mood today. ‘It was a biggie. And I danced my ass off.’

  Concern creased Abby’s brow. ‘And they said no on the spot?’

  ‘Hudson said “we’ll be in touch”.’ She made inverted comma signs with her fingers. ‘But I know that’s BS.’

  ‘Hudson? I know a guy called—’

  ‘Yeah, he’s Tanner’s bestie. I didn’t know he worked at Embue when I signed up otherwise I wouldn’t have auditioned.’

  Abby had just answered Makayla’s unasked question but she had to be sure. ‘You and Tanner didn’t have anything to do with me scoring a chance at auditioning for the lead, did you?’

  Confused, Abby shook her head. ‘I had no idea and I doubt Tanner would, either. He gives his staff free rein while he manages the financial side of things.’

  ‘Thought so.’ Makayla slumped further on the stool. She should be happy she’d scored an audition of that calibre on her own. Instead, all she could think about was how she would’ve landed the role if anyone else had been casting.

  ‘I don’t know Hudson well but he seems like a nice guy.’

  ‘He’s a prick.’

  Not entirely true, and she felt guilty immediately for saying it. Hudson was one of the good guys. At least, he had been until he’d gone berserk, lecturing her and admonishing her when he hadn’t had a clue about her motivation for taking off her clothes.

  She’d been stunned by the ferocity of his anger. He hadn’t given her a chance to explain. He hadn’t done much of anything that night he’d watched her strip but lose it backstage, ranting like a madman. She’d been mortified enough at taking off her clothes in front of a roomful of slobbering idiots, but she’d got through it by blocking out the club and everyone in it, and focussing on her mum.

  Then Hudson had to dump another shit storm over her at a time she needed his support the most. She’d never forgiven him and had told him so.

  Abby wiped her hands and came to sit beside Makayla. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and opened them. ‘Okay, that’s not entirely true. Hudson and I were good friends once. Then we weren’t any more. And I rocked up today, he was the guy I auditioned for, so it makes sense that’s the end of that.’

  Abby raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know what happened between you but do you think he’s that petty?’

  ‘Who knows?’ She snagged her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. It did little to cool her down. She’d been hot and bothered since she’d strutted out onto that stage at Embue and locked eyes with the devil. ‘We didn’t exactly part on amicable terms.’ She held up her hand. ‘And before you ask, shit happens. That’s all I’m going to say.’

  ‘Okay.’ Abby shot her a sideways glance. ‘So what you’re saying is you think Hudson won’t judge you on your dance ability? That he’ll let what happened in your past affect his judgement?’ Abby shook her head. ‘Doesn’t strike me as professional.’

  Before Makayla could respond, her cell rang. When she slipped it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen, she didn’t know the number.

  ‘I’m waiting on another audition so I need to get this,’ she said as Abby nodded, and she hit the answer button. ‘Makayla Tarrant speaking.’

  ‘Hey, Mak, it’s me.’

  Crap. She knew that ‘me’.

  And he was the last person she’d expected to hear from.

  She managed a curt ‘hi’ before he continued.

  ‘I wanted to let you know that your audition impressed and I’d like you to come in so we can talk.’

 
; She should thank him. Sound enthusiastic. But in that moment, with shock making her gape, all she could think was, I have the opportunity to score a great job working with a not-so-great guy.

  ‘Mak?’

  She cleared her throat. ‘Sure, I’ll come in, thanks. When do you want me?’

  Damn, that didn’t sound good. But he seemed to think so, as he chuckled. ‘Can you meet me back at the Embue studio around seven tonight?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, still surprised by his offer but managing to sound as if she weren’t. ‘See you then.’

  She hit the call end button before he could say anything else to further discombobulate her and stared at the phone as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

  ‘Good news?’ Abby tapped her on the arm, and Makayla nodded.

  ‘I got a call-back from Hudson.’

  ‘That’s great, sweetie.’ Abby leaned over and hugged her. ‘See? Told you he was a good guy.’

  ‘Yeah...’ She sounded less than convinced.

  Something in Hudson’s tone bugged her. A touch of condescension? Like he was doing her some giant favour. Probably all in her overactive imagination but for a moment she considered calling him back and citing a prior engagement.

  Foolishness, considering how badly she needed this job and how it could lead to something much bigger. But she didn’t need anyone’s pity and she’d be damned if she backed out of this before she’d given it a real shot.

  ‘At the risk of getting my head bitten off, I’m going to offer some advice.’ Abby eyeballed her with surprising seriousness. ‘Your heart is in dance, not working part-time at a patisserie to pay bills. So whatever happened between you two, forget about it and concentrate on making the most of this opportunity, okay?’

  Makayla grunted in acknowledgement. ‘Who made you so wise?’

  Abby grinned and tapped her temple. ‘Considering the mess I made of my own life until recently, guess I learned a thing or two about putting the past behind me.’

  ‘Thanks, Abs.’ She leaned over and hugged her friend. ‘I’ve wanted a dance role like this for a long time. So I’ll nail this call-back if it kills me.’

  The part where she had to meet a guy who’d once been her best friend after hours at a hip club? Not a problem at all.

  Not really.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HUDSON DIDN’T MAKE it back to the Cross much these days. Not that he shunned his past so much as he’d moved on. But Bluey McNeil had called and when the man who’d given him his first job telephoned, Hudson made an effort.

  Bluey hadn’t sounded good. In fact, he’d coughed three times during their brief conversation. Hacking coughs that invoked an image of Bluey’s packet-a-day habit and how haggard he’d looked the last time Hudson saw him about three months ago.

  Foreboding lengthened Hudson’s strides as he rounded the iconic El Alamein Fountain, skirted the bar he’d found his father passed out in too many times to count, and into the tiny jazz club aptly named Bluey’s after its owner.

  While the sun blazed outside, inside the club channelled the darkest midnight, with blackout drapes ensuring the wall sconces glowed and the faux candles created an atmosphere of intimacy. A few patrons dotted tables around the small stage, where a solo saxophonist did his thing. No older than twenty, the kid wasn’t bad. And obviously another of Bluey’s charity cases, as he’d once been.

  ‘Hey, Squirt, thanks for coming.’ A hand clapped him on the back, and Hudson grinned. He’d been a late bloomer, so Bluey had always called him Squirt and the nickname had stuck, even after he shot past six foot at seventeen.

  However, when he turned around and caught sight of his friend, Hudson’s grin faded. Bluey looked terrible. A walking skeleton. Parchment-thin skin stretched across cheekbones. Furrows bracketing his mouth. And a pallor that indicated just how ill his friend was.

  ‘Any time, you old reprobate.’ Hudson enveloped Bluey in a man hug, not surprised that his arms met at the back when they once couldn’t. Bluey had lost a shitload of weight and his earlier foreboding blossomed into full-blown panic.

  They disengaged, and Bluey gestured at the bar. ‘Let’s have a seat. What can I get you?’

  ‘The usual,’ Hudson said, knowing it got a rise out of his old friend every time.

  Bluey’s nose wrinkled. ‘Orange juice with a spritz of soda is a girl’s drink.’

  ‘So you’ve told me a million times before.’ Hudson leaned his forearms on the bar, taking comfort in watching Bluey fill a glass with orange juice and adding a shot of vodka rather than soda, something he’d seen countless times before. ‘What’s up, old man? Woman troubles?’

  Bluey grunted and slid the glass along the bar towards him. ‘You’ve got a big mouth for a whippersnapper. You know my heart belonged to Julia and no woman has come close since.’

  ‘Who’s talking about your heart?’ Hudson raised his glass in a silent toast, wondering if Mak’s mum ever knew about Bluey’s crush on her.

  This place wasn’t just special because of his first boss. Bluey’s was the place he’d met Mak, doing homework on a makeshift bench set up in a nook off the main hallway leading to the kitchen, while her mum worked tables. She’d been a beaming fifteen-year-old high on life; he’d been a jaded twenty desperate to get out of the Cross. But there’d been something about her, something refreshing, and once they’d started chatting their friendship had been born.

  Back then he’d watched Bluey make puppy dog eyes at Julia, who’d taken it in her stride, as pleasant to Bluey as she’d been to his customers. Everyone had loved Julia and he could’ve been well on his way to feeling the same for her daughter if he hadn’t screwed up so monumentally.

  ‘Listen, Squirt, I’ve got something to tell you.’ Bluey braced himself on the counter behind the bar and Hudson knew the news was bad from the way his eyes darted away. ‘I’m heading to the big jazz bar in the sky. Lung cancer. Terminal. Few months left, tops.’

  Hudson’s stomach fell away, and he downed the orange and vodka in two gulps as Bluey continued. ‘I wanted you to hear it from me, not by a second-hand phone call after one of the geezers here rang to invite you to my funeral.’

  Hudson wanted to say something, anything, to make this better. He remained silent, anger and regret roiling in his gut alongside the vodka.

  ‘And before you go getting all sentimental on me, stop.’ Bluey thumped his fist against the bar. ‘I’ve been around for sixty-one years and been lucky enough to run this place for most of it. So don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve had a good inning. And enjoyed sucking back on each and every one of those bloody cancer sticks that gave me this bugger of an illness.’ He thumped his chest. ‘So now you know. What’s happening with you?’

  The ache of impending loss blossomed in Hudson’s chest. He’d experienced the same feeling before, the night he’d strode into Le Chat and seen Mak stripping on stage. In that moment he’d laid eyes on her, wearing a thong and little else, he’d known they were over.

  And when she’d removed that thong...there’d been no coming back from that, and he grieved the loss of their friendship almost as much as he’d grieved the mother he’d never known.

  This time he waited until the ache eased. Took his time formulating a response. If he’d done the same thing with Mak back then, maybe they would’ve had a chance.

  When the lump in his throat finally subsided, Hudson said, ‘Thanks for telling me but damn, it’s fucked up.’

  ‘Yeah, Squirt, it is, but what’s a man to do?’ Bluey shrugged and blinked rapidly. ‘Tell me something to take my mind off it.’

  ‘Mak auditioned for me today.’ The words tripped out in haste and he instantly regretted them because if he’d cottoned on to Bluey’s crush on Julia the old guy definitely noticed his on Mak and had teased him endlessly about it.

  ‘How’s she doing?’

 
‘Good.’ Hudson ignored the knowing glint in Bluey’s astute gaze. ‘She’s got talent. I’m casting her as the lead dancer in the revue I’m producing at Embue.’

  ‘Well, well, well.’ Bluey folded his arms, his grin smug. ‘This should be interesting.’

  ‘We’ll be working together in a professional capacity,’ he said, sounding like a pompous ass and hoping he could keep it that way.

  He needed to delineate clear boundaries from the start: he would be Mak’s boss, she’d need to follow his orders. He couldn’t afford to blur lines. Not when he had no frigging idea how he’d go seeing her dance for him every single day. Just because he’d coped at her audition didn’t mean he had a grip on his memories.

  Seeing her dance for those few minutes already had him thinking about her way too much and imagining how their future interactions would go, professional or otherwise.

  Bluey sniggered. ‘I have no idea why you two fell out and I haven’t seen that darling girl in years but you tell her I said hi. And if you’ve got half a brain in that big head of yours, you’ll treat her right this time.’

  ‘What do you mean, this time?’

  Bluey rolled his eyes. ‘Because, numbskull, it’s always the man’s fault, and if you haven’t figured that out by now, you’re thicker than I thought.’

  Hudson managed a wry grin. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

  ‘Right back at you, kid.’ Bluey’s eyes glistened before he turned away to cough, the harsh sound raising the hairs on the back of Hudson’s neck.

  Life wasn’t fair. He’d figured that out pretty damn early when his mum did a runner and he was left in the custody of a mean drunk. But losing Bluey would hit hard and he knew it.

  When Bluey’s cough petered out, he turned back around. ‘Now get the hell out so I can do some work.’

  ‘Propping up the bar, you mean?’ Hudson stood, moved around the bar, and enveloped him in another hug. ‘You call me, okay? Any time, day or night, if you need anything.’

  ‘Thanks, kid.’ Bluey shoved him away with half-hearted force. ‘You always were a soft touch.’