Stage Fright

by Marianne Delacourt

  I hung up and rechecked my mail. Juanita had sent through the press list. None of the names meant a thing and I didn’t have time now to google them. It would have to wait until I had a spare moment.

  I drained my hot chocolate, paid my bill and headed out into the sunshine. It was good to get away from the hotel room. Though it was beautiful and spacious, the tension in there seemed to eat up the oxygen.

  The walk across the bridge was picturesque—sunshine and brilliant blue sky—and I would have liked to stop and watch the river traffic for a while. Ferries scudded to and fro and there were rowing eights out, even though it was the middle of the day. Despite the water being puddle-brown, the Brisbane River definitely had its own charm. It spoke of cruise parties and drunken late-night ferry rides home. Something about it gave me a little frisson of excitement.

  I got to the other side and found Giannoukakis’s office in the basement of a decrepit but character-filled old building across from the expansive concrete Convention Centre.

  There was a young man sitting at the desk in front of a computer. His dark hair and aquiline nose suggested Mediterranean heritage but his gum-chewing and iPod was all-Aussie consumer.

  ‘Yeah?’ he asked loudly, not bothering to take out his earphones.

  ‘I’ve got an appointment to see Mr Giannoukakis.’

  ‘Wassyourname?’ Loudly again.

  ‘Tara Tozzi.’ Holy crap! Where had that come from? Right out of my mouth before I could even think about it.

  Music Boy flipped through computer screens with one hand while drumming on the desk with the other. When he couldn’t find the appointment, a scowl settled onto his face and he jerked one earphone from his ear.

  ‘Got nothing in here about an appointment. You sure you got the right day?’

  I decided to go plummy. ‘Absolutely sure. I don’t get dates wrong. I’m a journalist.’

  He frowned. ‘For who?’

  I raised my voice so you could hear it out on the street. ‘Last Rave magazine in Sydney. I’m here to do Mr Giannoukakis’s profile piece for our next issue. It has been arranged.’

  An inner office door opened and an older man peered around. ‘Fubulo? Is there a problem?’

  Fubulo? I bet he had problems with that name when he was at the pub. I could hear the ‘hey Fu**a!’ taunts in my mind.

  ‘This . . . woman says she has an appointment with you but I don’t see a record of it.’

  ‘What magazine did you say you were from, Miss?’ asked the older man.

  ‘Last Rave,’ I said, holding out my hand in greeting. ‘Tara Tozzi?’

  ‘No relation to Nick Tozzi?’ he said.

  The blood drained from my head and pooled in my feet. ‘Who?’

  He smiled and stepped into the room to shake my hand. He was an impressive-sized man with a girth to match his thickset shoulders and a booming dark blue aura that was twice as wide as most. He would be a hard man to take a stand against and I felt a pang of sympathy for Stuart, who hadn’t met with his approval as a suitor for his niece. Though he was thinning on top, his face held character and humour. Smart, I thought. And tough.

  ‘A businessman who you’d be better off not knowing,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I’m intrigued,’ I said.

  ‘Please step this way and I’ll aim to intrigue you a little more.’

  Fubba gave me a frown as I followed Andreas into his office.

  The boss closed the door and gestured to one of a pair of slightly worn and heavily patterned armchairs squatting in front of a large tinted window. Outside the wind was picking up, bending some spindly new trees on the footpath in half.

  ‘Please sit,’ he said. Lifting the phone on his desk, he told Fubba to bring in some iced water, then he folded his body into the armchair opposite me. ‘My apologies for the mix-up, Ms Tozzi. How did you want to do this?’

  ‘Just a little Q and A would be fine. I’ll arrange for the photographer to come in next week.’

  ‘Fine then. I’m at your mercy.’

  He was quite a charming man and answered my standard questions with practised ease; how he got started, best moments in his career—that kind of thing.

  Fubba marched in with the water and marched out again without a backward glance at us.

  Andreas smiled apologetically. ‘My nephew.’

  While he poured me a glass of water, I looked around the room. On the other side of the desk was a large table. It harboured an object that was hidden by a heavy cloth. I immediately had an itch to see what was underneath the cloth but that meant manufacturing a reason to get him out of there. I couldn’t think of a reason on the spot, so I proceeded with the interview. Who were his influences, the best and worst artists he’d seen tour, his opinion of the state of the Australian music industry . . .

  When his aura became expansive and soft around the edges from speaking on his favourite topic, I dropped the grenade.

  ‘According to my research you almost had another promoter in the family. I believe Stuart Cooper was engaged to your niece?’

  His aura immediately shrank. ‘That is correct.’

  ‘Had you considered merging businesses?’

  His eyes flicked to the covered table in the corner for little more than a micro-second, but I registered the movement.

  ‘There is no point in discussing what might have been, Ms Tozzi. Stuart and my niece went their own ways. Suffice to say family is everything to me. You have to watch out for your own.’

  I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that but flashes of red had begun to shoot through his aura. The colour red generally meant a person was strongly materialistic. I didn’t know what this had to do with Stuart but it gave me a strong urge to search the man’s office and computer. That, of course, would be highly illegal and I wasn’t exactly experienced at B&E. So it brought me back to my earlier thought: I had to get a look under that tablecloth.

  ‘Well, thank you so much, Andreas. Perhaps we could arrange a good time for my photographer to come around?’ I reached for my glass of water and ‘accidentally’ knocked it over. It rolled right into his lap and he flinched as the icy water soaked through his pants.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ I cried.

  He leaped up. ‘It’s fine, Ms Tozzi. Really. But if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just dry off.’

  The moment he was out of the office, I ran to the table and tried to lift the cover. It was secured to the base of the table by hooks. I unlooped a couple and peeled it back.

  Beneath was a model of an office development. Andreas’s name was printed on a label glued to one side. I grabbed my phone and took a picture of it. Then I dropped the cover back, hooked it to the eyelets, and catapulted into my seat.

  The door opened again just as I was crossing my legs.

  ‘Andreas, that was so clumsy of me. I’m so sorry.’

  He looked a little annoyed and embarrassed by the wet patch across his crotch. ‘Look, Ms Tozzi, I have to go to a meeting elsewhere. Perhaps you could talk to Fubulo about an appointment with your photographer. Or I could send you one of my press shots.’

  ‘Lovely,’ I said, standing up. ‘I’ll do that now. And thank you. What a pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘And you,’ he managed through gritted teeth.

  I left his office and organised with Fubulo to email me a press photo. He wrote my (fake) address on a post-it note, after which we exchanged a cool farewell and I split.

  •

  Outside it was still beautiful. I took my time going back across the bridge and drank in the rhythm of the riverscape. The sun was high now and every surface seemed to bounce light at me. The foot traffic had lessened with the increasing heat and those out and about wore the Brisbane sheen of perspiration.

  My plan was to wait outside Vixens at 2 pm and see what transpired, then head on to the beauty salon. I couldn’t imagine why Jade would be telling Joel Aprile to meet her at the club out of hours, but instinct told me it wouldn’t involve a lap dance. />
  At 1.50 pm I strolled past the dirty black door of the men’s club. It was locked and the place looked deserted, so I kept on walking until I reached a nearby juice bar, where I ordered an orange and beetroot blend and watched the juice guy throw fruit and vegies around like a juggler. The colour in the blender was rich and bloody and made my mouth water. As he banged a straw in the plastic cup and took my money, I glanced back down the street.

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Pardon?’ said Juice Guy.

  ‘Um, look, could you stick that in the fridge for a sec? I’ll be back.’

  He shrugged. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  I bolted across the road as soon as there was a break in the traffic and hustled back down the street the way I’d come. The shop directly opposite Vixens sold Chinese foodstuffs. I went inside and found a spot to spy, standing in the window between hanging sets of glazed barbecued ducks.

  ‘You want something, Miss?’ asked the guy behind the counter.

  ‘Just looking,’ I said.

  And I was: looking straight across the street at Joel Aprile knocking on Vixens’ door.

  The door opened and Joel stepped into Strawberry Jade’s passionate embrace.

  What the hell?

  There was nothing businesslike about the way they twined around each other’s bodies or the ferocity with which their mouths were exchanging fluids.

  Shit! No doubt in my mind. They were a couple!

  Finally, Strawberry Jade detached herself and peered out onto the street before closing the door. I shrank back to avoid being spotted and banged into one of the ducks. It hit me in the head and on instinct I ducked (ahem!), hitting another one as I jerked my head back.

  Suddenly, the whole row of ducks was swinging wildly on their hooks. The store owner raced out from behind his counter to settle them. I tried to help but grabbed too hard and one came clean off its hook. Momentum carried my arm forward and I smacked the Chinese gentleman square across the forehead.

  ‘Whaaa—’ he shouted, followed by something in Chinese that, thankfully, I didn’t understand.

  ‘I’m s-so s-sorry,’ I spluttered, whipping the duck back.

  His forehead bore a duck-beak imprint. I wanted to tell him but my tongue wouldn’t form the right words.

  ‘You try, you buy.’ He finished steadying the poultry and I followed him back to the cash register. ‘Fifty dollar.’

  ‘Fifty dollars! You’re kidding me?’

  ‘Best duck in town.’ He held out his hand. ‘Plus damages.’

  ‘Damages!’ I squeaked.

  A customer entered the shop and stared at the owner’s forehead, bemused. I gulped and handed over my credit card before he could speak.

  When the transaction was complete, the owner wrapped my duck in brown paper and I shoved it, as well as I could, into my handbag. Its head poked out near my elbow, beak open from the impact with the man’s head. Refusing to be daunted, I adopted a nonchalant air as I crossed the street to collect my juice.

  ‘Happy duck,’ said the guy.

  ‘Funny,’ I said and headed off through the city to my appointment with Sofia.

  •

  The beauty salon was on the first floor of an arcade full of sushi bars and cute accessory stores. I took the stairs, not the lift, and was sweating heavily by the time I got to the door. What was it like here in the middle of summer?

  The receptionist’s eyebrows shot skyward when I entered but she didn’t mention the duck. I gave her my name and she led me through to a cool, clean room furnished with an armchair, a bed, a cabinet, a basin and some cheesy repros of the sea hanging on the wall. Wind and chime music filtered through the O-shaped speakers hanging from the ceiling as I slung my shoes off and sat on the edge of the bed.

  I should have been planning my strategy for dealing with Sofia, but all I could think about was the fact that Jade and Joel Aprile were doing the nasty behind Stuart’s back—and not in a ‘work’ way, which suggested that Joel Aprile had been lying through his teeth to me. It certainly meant that he stayed on my suspect list. And how would Stuart take the news that his current girlfriend had a boyfriend? He was unluckier in love than me.

  Andreas wasn’t looking so squeaky clean either. There was no doubt he was carrying some baggage about Stuart but was that enough motivation to be trying to ensure that Slim Sledge’s tour failed?

  While I remembered it, I sent the picture I’d snapped in his office to Nick Tozzi with a message. Nick, can you tell me what this looks like? Important. Tara.

  Tozzi mightn’t have been an architect or an engineer but he knew plenty. And he loved to be able to tell me about things I didn’t know. I was sure he’d get back to me with something but I didn’t want it to be while I was talking to Sofia, so I turned my phone off.

  Sofia walked in as I was sliding it back in my bag alongside the duck. She stopped, stared at the open beak and then at me.

  ‘Hi, nice to meet you,’ I said, holding out my hand. ‘Tara Sharp.’

  She hiccoughed in a way that could well have been concealing a laugh and stepped forward. ‘Sofia Zachariou.’

  ‘Excuse my duck,’ I said. ‘Long story.’

  She nodded and her lips twitched upward. I saw immediately why Stuart had fallen in love: soft dark curls, flawless skin and a wide, generous smile. For me, though, the best thing about Sofia was her aura. It was the palest green and textured like shallow sea on a warm, still day. I could imagine people wanting to be near her merely for its calming effect. There was one medium-sized purple blemish situated over her left shoulder. I wondered if that psychic bruise was anything to do with my current employer.

  ‘I have you booked for a pedicure. Would you sit in the chair?’

  I did, and she scrubbed my feet in a basin of hot water and did all the toenail jazz while we exchanged pleasantries.

  When she moved on to the leg massage, I fought a desire to just lean back and forget the world. Instead I got a bit more personal.

  ‘That’s heavenly,’ I said. ‘Stuart said you were the best.’

  ‘Stuart?’

  ‘Cooper. He said you were close friends.’

  Through my half-closed lids, I saw her aura contract a little but maintain its serenity.

  ‘Yes . . . Stuart and I . . . knew each other well.’

  ‘The dude sounds like he’s besotted with you,’ I said baldly.

  A red flush stole up her neck to her cheeks. ‘Oh? What did he say?’

  I yawned. ‘Can’t remember exactly. Something about your family not liking him. No . . . that’s right . . . your uncle.’

  As soon as I said the word uncle her aura turned luminous. I pressed on while I had a reaction.

  ‘Actually, Stu’s asked me to come and work with him in his business,’ I said.

  ‘Oh?’ She kept her head bowed.

  ‘My job’s so boring it would be good to have a change.

  It will cost me my life savings though.’

  The bruise above her shoulder darkened and her aura began to swirl gently.

  I let her reaction guide me. ‘It sounds like it’ll be worth the risk though.’

  She nodded calmly but by now her aura was speeding up to whirlpool proportions. Just the mention that I might be investing in Stuart’s company got her agitated. She knew something and I had a feeling it was connected with the model hidden in her uncle’s office. I wanted to get out of here and ring Nick Tozzi about the picture I’d sent him.

  I lifted my feet out of the tub. ‘Look, that was wonderful and you’ve listened to me rambling on but I’ve just looked at the time—I have to fly.’

  ‘But I haven’t done your nail polish yet.’

  ‘No need,’ I said.

  ‘But—’

  I was already up and slipping my feet into my shoes. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Sofia.’

  She got up, soaped her hands in the basin and followed me out.

  A few more pleasantries, a quick jab of the credit ca
rd in the chip reader, and she and the receptionist watched the duck and me depart.

  CHAPTER 12

  I caught a taxi straight out to Fortitude Valley where Slim was having his publicity event. The driver talked so much I didn’t get a chance to listen to my phone messages. Instead, I watched the city workers soldiering along the pavements looking hot and bothered and felt grateful for the blast of his air-conditioner.

  The trip only took about ten minutes but the change in atmosphere was profound. While Brisbane CBD was all office bustle and sweat, Fortitude Valley was an invitation to a beer and a Vietnamese nosh-up. As soon as I got out of the car, I headed down the mall looking for a place to sit and make some calls. I still had half an hour before I had to meet Bon Ames and perform the security check.

  Little Paolo’s was about halfway along the mall so I went to Ric’s Bar opposite so I could scope the entrance and order a coffee. There was a table right in the corner, outside, screened by some potted palms. Sinking into the chair, I got my phone out and checked my messages.

  Smitty and Hoshi Hara. Nothing from Nick.

  I called him first and he answered after the second ring.

  ‘Tara?’

  His voice sent a shot of something hot through me. I didn’t realise I’d been missing him and yet it’d only been a few days since he’d picked me up on Queenslea Drive.

  Tucking that thought away, I got straight to the point. ‘Did you see the picture I sent you?’

  ‘Nice of you to say hello,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry, but I’m in the middle of something.’

  ‘You’re always in the middle of something.’

  And you’re not? I nearly added. How’s your cokehead wife? But then he’d get pissed and hang up.

  ‘It’s a model of a property development, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hang on while I have another look.’ The phone went to elevator music while he accessed his messages.

  I peered through the palm fronds while I waited. Paolo’s was locked up in the way Vixens had been; dusty, dark double doors firmly shut, illuminated sign switched off. I wondered if Little Paolo had to shut the bar for the afternoon to accommodate Slim’s media event.

  ‘Tara! Tara, are you still there?’ Nick’s voice came back on the line.