‘He’s probably terrified of coming back. He’ll get a major ribbing.’
‘I bet he’s more terrified of La Stupenda getting her claws into him for another night.’
‘She sure knows how to throw her weight around.’
‘And believe me, there’s plenty of it.’
We talked through the implications, whether it would be good or bad publicity for the production for the story to hit the papers. I could see the headlines: ‘Chorus Boy over Fat Lady who Sings’ or, more likely, ‘Chorus Boy Flattened by Fat Lady who Sings’.
‘Would it be better to let it run, Penny? Or should we find a way to stop her now?’ Nicky asked.
‘I don’t think she’s the sort of person you can stop,’ Ginny said.
‘Well, in that case the best you can do is be prepared — know what you’re going to say if it gets out and how to make the most of it, publicity-wise.’ I shrugged. ‘As long as she doesn’t squash the life out of him. I mean, people know she behaves badly. They’re probably waiting for something like this to happen.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ Ginny said. ‘The media have been hanging around the rehearsal hall and the hotel. I just know they’re looking for something like this.’
‘Well, you’ll have to take the line that there’s no such thing as bad publicity — unless it’s your obituary,’ I said. I agreed to help Ginny prepare a statement, then we moved on down the agenda.
‘Ah, Penny, I see you’ve been running up a client entertainment bill over the weekend,’ Tracey said, eyes twinkling.
‘Yes, a wonderful opportunity for you to treat your clients to a big night out,’ Ginny said, grinning. ‘Just a small matter of two thousand dollars to cover it.’
‘That’s my entertainment budget blown for the next few months,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
‘Not like you at all,’ Ginny said. ‘You’ve bid up the lots many times before and never once got caught.’
‘I know, I’m sorry. It was so embarrassing.’
‘You said you’d been distracted by something,’ Ginny probed. ‘What was upsetting you? You didn’t have a row with Simon, did you?’
‘No, nothing like that.’ I took a deep breath. Now was the time to bring it up. ‘He asked me to meet him in Turkey for two weeks.’
‘Hey, that’s fantastic,’ Ginny said. ‘No wonder you were looking a bit spacey.’
‘Yes, great. When would you go?’ Tracey said. She sounded a bit cagey.
‘In about a month’s time.’ I swallowed. ‘I’d like to take twelve days’ leave in September. I know it’s kind of short notice, but if I could …’
‘What about your clients?’ said Tracey.
‘I’ll make sure all my projects are sorted before I go.’
‘And I’ll be able to take over anything that crops up while you’re away,’ Nicky said, smiling. ‘I think this is one of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities you should grab by the horns, Penny. You go for it. I’ll do whatever has to be done to keep your clients under control while you’re away. You need a break — you’ve been looking pretty stressed lately.’
‘Thank you Nicky. I guess I have been under a bit of pressure.’ And not just lately, I thought to myself.
‘As long as you can keep everything covered while you’re away, I suppose it’ll be okay,’ Tracey said reluctantly. ‘But it means we’ll be down on budget for that month.’
‘Yes, but we’ve been doing all right up to now,’ Nicky countered. ‘In fact, we’re doing much better than budget for the year already.’
‘You’ll be flying business class of course,’ Ginny said.
‘I doubt it,’ I laughed. ‘I’m going to see what I can do with my air points first.’
As it turned out, I had enough air points to fly one way to Istanbul via Bangkok and Dubai, but I would have to pay for the return flight, as well as the internal flights in Turkey. I persuaded the nice bank lady to extend my Visa limit to cover this and expenses.
• • •
Simon left three days later, leaving me a list of instructions — where to meet up with him (at the hotel in Marmaris), how to get there from the airport at Dalaman (by bus), how to manage the currency (credit card transaction at the airport, he said, since it was so hard to get Turkish lira at home) and what to bring (sunscreen and mosquito repellent were high on the list). I waved him goodbye at the airport. I felt more excited than sad: the next time we’d meet, we’d be in an exotic, sun-drenched port far across the sea.
Without Simon, however, everything seemed harder. Dad seemed more morose than usual, visits to see Mum an endless trial. Adam seemed to be forever on the computer with Darren, and Charlotte’s complaints about Jacinta’s dietary habits lost their funny side. I began to regret ever mentioning the stupid beans; Charlotte wouldn’t stop going on about them and Jacinta’s farting propensities.
‘I mean, she even did it when we were in this posh shop in the mall,’ Charlotte wailed down the phone. ‘She didn’t seem to care. Just said “Excuse me” and kept rifling through the rack of clothes. I was mortified.’
I grinned, despite myself.
‘Farting is a natural bodily function,’ I countered. ‘You’ll just have to get over it. Jacinta is finding her body has all sorts of natural functions that she never knew about before she became pregnant.’
‘Pregnancy sucks. I’m never going to get pregnant.’
I ignored that.
‘She’s doing the best she can. You’ve got to hand it to her, Charlotte. She’s given up all the bad things like wine and coffee and she’s eating what’s good for her. I mean, legumes are very good for you.’
‘If they’re so good for you, why do they make you fart all the time?’
‘I don’t know. But it’s just as well she’s not eating vast quantities of onions as well … or she’d be producing tear gas!’ I laughed at my own joke but Charlotte didn’t think it at all funny.
‘Not everything she eats is good for her,’ Charlotte said darkly.
‘Why? Don’t tell me she’s having cravings for coal?’
‘What?’
‘Oh, never mind. Some women apparently get cravings for weird things, like coal and pickled gherkins.’
‘Yeah, it’s a bit like that. The other day she ate a bowl of cheerios. You know, those things you used to give us at our birthday parties with lots of tomato sauce. She said she had a craving for them.’
I choked back a yelp of delight. Yes! I thought, mentally pumping the air with my fist.
‘Cheerios?’ I said after I’d regained control. No way was I going to let on I’d ever mentioned them to Jacinta.
‘Yes. Can’t say what she sees in them. I used to like them when I was a kid but not any more.’
‘She’ll get over it, don’t worry. Something in her is telling her she needs cheerios. When you get cravings, you can’t fight them. You just have to go with them.’
There was plenty going on at work to keep me busy, however. I hadn’t found a single investor for the sewage-to-oil project, nor had I progressed far with finding the right promotion for my mountain-biking client Phil Wiggins. However, in a fortuitous moment of distraction I managed to muddle their email addresses and sent Phil the IT geek Ted the sewage guy’s draft press release. The next thing I knew, Phil had phoned Ted, having assumed my hastily typed ‘What about this?’ was a suggestion that he design a whizz-bang webpage that would promote Ted’s environmental initiative while showcasing Phil’s IT skills and community spirit.
Genius idea — why didn’t I think of it? Consciously, I mean, not by a stupid mistake!
You can see why I felt I desperately needed a holiday.
With just a week to go, things stepped up a pace with the crazy librarian fellow too, after he went off his rocker at a council meeting. Waving his certificate to say he was certifiably sane, he’d walked in to the meeting and started denouncing his boss, the uncertified but still definitely sane
Sarah Russell. The local council reporter immediately woke up from his somnolent reverie and started taking copious notes, so it wasn’t long before the poor beleaguered Ms Russell was begging for help.
‘What can I do?’ she said. ‘I’ve had the Herald calling and two radio networks and they’re all asking what’s going on. I’m at my wits’ end what to say to them.’
In answer to my questioning, she revealed she’d been a good girl and followed the key messages about it being an employment issue and therefore there was nothing she could say.
‘Well, there’s not much more you can say, under the circumstances,’ I said. ‘We can put that statement in writing and email it out to anyone who phones, but your hands are tied. You can’t get into specifics. It’ll only end up costing you a lot more.’
‘Oh, it’s so unfair,’ she cried. ‘If only I could tell them what he’s really like.’
‘I think they’ll be able to work that out for themselves pretty easily. And I doubt very much if they’ll run anything. They know perfectly well how it is with employment situations. I mean, they have them too!’
‘I guess.’ She sighed.
‘I know it’s hard, but believe me, this way is better than you confirming or denying any of his allegations. That’s a sure-fire way of getting his complaints all over the front page. I’ll send you the brief statement again so you can send it out to anyone who phones.’
That same day, Ginny introduced me to one of her new clients, the famous film-maker David Quinn.
‘I need you to handle him for me, please Penny. I’ve got so much on this week I simply can’t do him as well. Besides, it’ll take your mind off Turkey for a while,’ she said.
‘Only twelve more sleeps,’ I replied.
‘David will help the time pass real quick. He’s hard work, but he’s worth it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ever seen a picture of him?’
‘Can’t say I have.’
‘Well, you’ll see what I mean when you meet him.’
She was right. He was an absolute hunk — quintessentially tall, dark and handsome, like a real-life James Bond. For just a moment, all thoughts of Simon disappeared from my mind. However, my adulation didn’t last long. It soon became very apparent that the narcissistic Mr Quinn was only too well aware of how good he looked and liked nothing better than to talk about himself ad infinitum.
‘Thanks, Ginny,’ I said when I finally got away from him and arrived back at the office. ‘I thought he was never going to stop talking.’
‘I know. He never grows tired of telling you all about himself. You’d think after he’s been interviewed by several dozen reporters, one after the other, he’d get sick of it, but he just goes on and on.’
‘It shouldn’t be too hard to set up a chain of interviews for tomorrow, then.’
‘I’ve already made a couple of appointments for you. The first is at seven-forty in the morning. You have to have him in the TV studio for breakfast television just after seven. And the next one’s just after eight, on radio. They’re both live, of course.’
‘Thanks a bundle. I can see I’m in for an early start.’
It was just as well I went to bed early that night because the phone went at three a.m. I grabbed it quickly, wide awake at once, fearful that something had happened to Simon.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘You bet there’s something wrong, sis — how did you know?’
‘Oh God, Stephanie.’ I looked at the bedside clock. ‘Do you know what time it is?’
‘Of course I do, silly. It’s three in the afternoon.’
‘Well, it’s three in the morning here. I was sound asleep and I’ve got to get up in a couple of hours.’ My initial fears for Simon had quickly been replaced with a mounting irritation.
‘Listen, this is important,’ she said. ‘I need your help.’
I groaned. ‘Oh, Steph. What have you done?’
‘Those bloody paparazzi caught me and JJ yesterday coming out of a restaurant and it was all over the papers this morning. The News of the World put it on the front page with this awful headline. They called him a shagged-out shagger and said I was an over-the-hill kiddy writer. It was just awful. And now some TV programme wants to interview me and all these magazines are calling. I don’t know what to do,’ she wailed.
‘You’ve got two choices,’ I said, summoning up as much of my brain power as I could at that ungodly hour. ‘You either go with all the publicity and have fun with it …’
‘I can’t do that! I’ll be a laughing stock.’
‘It sounds like you already are. So you could capitalise on it and get your name splashed everywhere. Think of the book sales!’
‘You mean like all publicity is good publicity?’
‘Yes, that’s how some people look at it. People with a very thick skin and nothing to lose.’
‘So what’s the other choice?’
‘You can go to ground. You’d have to move out of JJ’s apartment and find somewhere else to live. Or you’d have to come home.’
‘I don’t think I can come home right now. Marcus will be livid if he finds out.’
‘You’re going to have to come home sooner or later, Steph. Might as well get it over with.’
‘Do you think the media will be interested at home?’
‘Might be. Probably will be. You know how they love Kiwi women who shag washed-up rock stars. But if you don’t tell anyone you’re coming back, you could slink in without anyone knowing. Then you could hole up at home and refuse to take any calls.’
‘Oh God, it sounds awful either way.’
I bit back an urge to say ‘What did you expect?’ and instead said, ‘Your choice, Steph.’
‘What would you do?’
Not have shagged the old rocker in the first place, I thought, but out loud I said, ‘You know perfectly well what you should do. You should jump on the next plane home and beg forgiveness from Marcus and Seraya. And keep away from the media.’
‘That’s all very well, but what about …’
‘Look, Steph, I’m not going to argue the toss with you. I need to get back to sleep because I’ve got to get up at five-thirty and get David Quinn to the television studio.’
‘David Quinn? You’re looking after David Quinn? You lucky …’
‘Steph, I’ve got to go. You decide what you want to do. I can’t decide for you.’
‘But …’
‘Bye Steph.’ I put the phone down and flopped back down on the bed. Seconds later, the phone rang again. I ignored it, knowing it would take more than a ringing phone to wake Adam or Dad at this hour, and let it go to answerphone.
• • •
The only other bit of excitement to relieve the long wait for my holiday to start was provided — somewhat predictably — by the opera diva Santangela di Palmavera, who managed to get herself on the front page of the entertainment section (a section particularly appropriate for her behaviour). This time it wasn’t for kidnapping poor put-upon chorus boys as we’d expected, but for storming out of the dress rehearsal and threatening to catch the next flight home after a major falling-out with the conductor. It turned out she’d had an affair with him many years previously (‘Which conductor hasn’t she had a fling with?’ Ginny sighed) and had never quite recovered from him dropping her the night the opera season was over. Apparently he’d said she had all the sex appeal of Marilyn Monroe — whoe had been dead and buried since 1962.
However, Ginny’s main concern was not how the media would cover the diva’s hissy fit but whether the silly woman was actually going to make the first night.
‘There’s a perfectly good understudy just dying to go on, but it’s not the same as the big star,’ she sighed. ‘Whatever you say about La Stupenda, she’s got that something special when she’s up on stage. She’s just got to get over it and come back.’
‘Don’t you know it,’ I said, grinning broadly. ‘Didn’t
we say it ain’t over till the fat lady sings?’
‘If I hear that one more time …’
‘Sorry. I just couldn’t resist it.’
As it turned out, La Stupenda couldn’t resist it either. Not wanting to miss the limelight or the usual rave reviews, she was in her dressing room well before the appointed time and performed that night with more sparkle and pizzazz than ever before. And the electricity between her and the conductor was enough to fire the entire bank of spotlights.
The headline the next day was, predictably, a variation of the fat lady line. The whole affair seemed to have spurred people on to go to the show, because bookings started to come in at a phenomenal rate.
‘They’re going to have the “House Full” sign out for the next two performances,’ Ginny said, delighted.
‘Just goes to show that even the bad stories can do some good,’ I laughed.
‘Perhaps she and Cerdanski stage-managed it all along,’ Ginny said. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me, the crafty old cow.’
‘Maybe she did. I reckon she could teach us a thing or two about PR!’
Chapter 15
I finally arrived in Istanbul looking like one of Tigger’s chew toys. My hotel there, with a rooftop view of the stunning Blue Mosque, illuminated by night, only partly relieved my exhaustion as the bed was small and hard (my first experience of eastern European beds — predominantly single and firm to the point of bone-cracking). I was so excited about cramming all the things I wanted to do in this city into the following thirty-six hours that I was up soon after dawn the next day. I breakfasted on yoghurt and sultanas, accompanied by a heart-pumping, industrial-strength Turkish coffee, gathered up camera, tourist guide and bag and hit the streets.
I’d wondered how I might feel, being all on my own and well out of my comfort zone in a strange city on the other side of the world, far from the people and things I knew. I’d been warned at least a dozen times to be careful, especially if I was going out alone. I admit I was a little anxious as I sallied forth from the hotel into a totally unfamiliar environment. But within minutes I realised there was nothing to worry about.
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