4
I walked through the lobby and into the lift with the kind of confidence that can only come from thirty minutes of HAIM blasting through my AirPods. Their music always makes me feel like I could single-handedly dismantle the patriarchy wearing a leather mini skirt and nipple tassels. I got out of the elevator on the thirteenth floor and immediately searched through my handbag for my swipe pass as I’d done thousands of times. The lobby walls were adorned with giant posters advertising the network’s marquee talent. Goldie Miller, of course, was first. Staring down the barrel with an electric smile, her arms crossed in front of her. I recognised the blazer immediately as current season Dolce, which meant the photoshoot must have been recent. Next to her, the network drive show hosted by monumental flog Darren Chase and his latest co-host, an ex–reality-TV star he was no doubt sleeping with, and who would (as with all of his co-hosts) soon find themselves unable to spend another moment in his presence and quit. The neon-lit frame on the wall that once showcased the ‘Alex @ Night’ photo was now empty, which I suppose was a good thing given that I’d hated that photo from the minute I saw it. My teeth had been whitened and some idiot in marketing had done a complete hack job of my hair, photoshopping around my curls in a way that made it look like I was wearing a cafeteria lunch lady hairnet.
It still hadn’t clicked that I was no longer in possession of a swipe pass—and hadn’t been since I resigned from the network two months ago. I was elbow-deep in my giant handbag, rummaging through a swarm of tampons, USB cables and bobby pins, when the door in front of me swung open, narrowly missing my head. I didn’t have to look up to know who was in front of me. The scent hit me first.
The scent had a story. Nine months ago, I had interviewed Tinie (the hot British rapper) in a hotel in downtown Sydney. Tom had asked about his cologne, and, after the interview wrapped, we detoured via David Jones to pick some up, only to return to the office empty-handed due to the $600 price tag. But even at the age of twenty-five, Tom was milking his father’s post-divorce guilt for fancy Christmas presents, and soon enough the Creed Aventus was his.
‘Oh God, there you are. I couldn’t get through to your phone and I prayed to Cher that it meant you were just in the elevator, not doing one of your three-hour phones-off meditation classes run by that hippy man I abhor downtown.’ Tom was panting furiously, one hand around my arm as he dragged me down the hall, his new (and hideous) Balenciaga sneakers squeaking as we raced through the office.
‘You mean Phil?’
‘Ugh, Phil. He smells like sage. And I DETEST sage.’
‘I admire many things about you but your ability to really, truly hate is impressive.’
‘It’s part of my personal brand. That man needs a haircut and a steak. Anyway. You’re here now, which is a relief because I spent the last two minutes convinced that without me organising every minute of your day, you’d got the time wrong for your meeting with Goldie.’
‘How useless do you think I am ?’
‘Bitch, you once missed an interview with Katy Perry because you got stuck bingeing The Real Housewives of Orange County and lost track of time. I have every reason to doubt your ability to be here on time.’
I felt somewhat self-conscious walking through my old office. I made quick and friendly eye contact with old colleagues as I passed, thankful for Tom’s quick pace, which made it clear we had somewhere to be. We stopped outside Goldie’s office on the executive floor. Tom spun me around, put both hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes as he spoke. ‘Okay. You’re on your own from here. But just remember, you ditched me once, you can’t do it again. You’re nothing without me and I make you infinitely more organised, successful and cool. Got it?’ He pressed on. ‘Got it?’
‘Babe … what is going on?’
‘I told you. I don’t know. Well, I kind of know. But I don’t fully know. So go in there, have the chat, and I’ll be waiting in our spot for a debrief afterwards.’
He gave me a little shove towards Goldie’s office and slinked off. I took a moment to smooth out the creases on my mini dress (I’d gone with a light pink Alaia dress with fuchsia mid-calf socks and Miu Miu kitten heels), reapply a bit of lip balm and give my curls a quick shake. I took a calming breath and knocked confidently on the door.
‘Come on in, Ms York!’ I heard the familiar voice call out from inside.
Sitting in a lush velvet armchair, basking in the sunshine of her corner office, was Goldie in all her magnificent glow. She was wearing denim bellbottom pants that I recognised instantly as Stella McCartney, and an oversized embroidered sweater with the word SMILE stitched into it. Her platinum bob was sharp as a razor, and her huge blue eyes were framed by oversized fire-engine-red glasses. She stood up and greeted me with a quick hug, and pulling away, directed her attention to the desk on the other side of the room.
‘I don’t think you’ve met my dear friend, Leo. Leo Billings, this is Alex York.’
I clocked the man-bun before I even saw his face. Sitting at Goldie’s desk, straight-backed, stern, and looking altogether uncomfortable, was none other than Watch Guy from the bar. He was wearing an outfit almost identical to the one he was wearing yesterday. Crisp black tee, Levi’s, boots.
He stood up slowly and extended his hand to me across Goldie’s desk. I was absolutely flummoxed.
‘Actually, weirdly enough we have met,’ I spat, doing my best to sound confident and not at all confused. ‘In fact, I owe Leo twenty-two dollars fifty.’
‘I told you we’d meet again,’ he replied, barely looking at me.
‘Well, Leo, you could have been a liiiiittle more specific about the what, when and where of our next meeting, but here we are. Good to see you again.’
My tone indicated that it was most definitely not good to see him again. Why hadn’t this dude mentioned that he knew exactly who I was when we were in the bar yesterday? What kind of psycho would let me sit there like an idiot while I blabbed on about how nervous I was about this very meeting? My utter mortification was interrupted by Goldie ushering me to the spare lounge seat opposite hers and sitting back down.
I still couldn’t believe I was actually sitting inside Goldie Miller’s office and was momentarily distracted by the photos that adorned the walls. Goldie with every celebrity, musician and person of remote significance over the last two and a half decades. Everyone from the Backstreet Boys to Bono was there, beaming alongside Goldie and her signature bob, which only made me even more confused about why I was there and—more importantly—why Watch Guy (I was too angry to use his real name) was too.
‘Well, my dear, I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve summoned you,’ she said.
I slowly raised my eyebrows as I exhaled. ‘That is exactly what I’m wondering, to be honest, Goldie. I didn’t think I’d ever set foot back in this building again … Oh my God, is that Paul Simon?’
Out of the corner of my eye I’d spotted a gold-framed photo of a twenty-something Goldie Miller with her arms around arguably my favourite songwriter of all time. ‘Oh my lord. I’m guessing that’s from the 1983 tour. I wasn’t even born yet but man, what I would have given. I saw Simon I won’t do it again. I’ll need him by my side … and … he’ll need a pay rise.’
‘I understand. Of course,’ Goldie replied. ‘As broadcasters we are only as good as the team around us, and he is one hell of a team to have around you. I’ve lost great producers in the past and, trust me, they’re hard to replace.’
I couldn’t help but notice Goldie holding Leo’s gaze as she said this. He looked embarrassed and fidgeted with his ring again.
At this point there was too much going on for me to even think straight. I was both devastated that Goldie was retiring and giddy with excitement at the prospect of my entire life changing in three short weeks.
‘Goldie, I don’t know what to say. Five days ago I was lying on a beach in the Philippine islands with no prospects, no plan and no money. And now—’
‘Now you’re about to be 750 grand richer. Per year,’ Leo interrupted. ‘With a guaranteed thirty per cent pay rise in year two if you maintain the number one spot in the market … which nobody expects you to do, don’t worry.’ Leo looked over at Goldie and continued, ‘You can thank Goldie for that. I certainly wouldn’t have offered you such a good deal if it was up to me.’
Goldie lifted an eyebrow in his direction. ‘Well, my dear, lucky it wasn’t up to you.’
An awkward hush fell over the room. I was jumping between spending the money in my head and trying not to throw up. At least I’d be able to finally take care of my credit card bill.
Goldie clapped her hands. ‘That’s enough business for me for one day. I’ll leave you two kids to get to know each other.’
And with that, Goldie disappeared in a quick haze of colour and light, leaving me alone in her office with Leo. He cleared his throat and stood up. ‘I’ll be in touch ASAP about the contract,’ he said.
I glared at him. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me who you were yesterday. You just let me babble away like an idiot!’
He just shrugged, fiddling with his ring again. ‘What difference would it have made? I’ll see you soon, Alex.’
Then he walked past me and out of Goldie’s office without another word. So much for getting to know each other.
I headed downstairs to find Tom, who was waiting for me exactly where I knew he would be.
There are few places on Earth I would rather be than inside a radio studio. Those places include: front row at Royal Albert Hall seeing Ray Lamontagne live in 2007; sipping on an Aperol Spritz on the Amalfi Coast; and making sweet love to Ricky Martin in an alternate universe where he is not a gay man and I am fifty per cent hotter.
Our radio studio was our own sacred little world. A soundproof wonderland full of microphones and buttons with the ability to broadcast to anywhere in the world, live.
My night show had been three hours long and broadcast weeknights, with a couple of weeks off for Christmas and midyear break. That’s 720 hours spent in my little glass box every year. All 720 hours pure bliss. That is until I was too depressed over the break-up to function and all of a sudden the glass box felt more like a cage, where every love song I played made me want to scream ‘LOVE ISN’T EVEN REAL’ into the microphone.
I pushed open the heavy soundproof door like I’d done thousands of times and sat on the floor as Tom quickly made sure all of the mics were off, the faders were pulled down and ensured that there was no power running to the desk.
‘So, please tell me Goldie has convinced you to come back?’
‘Well … yeah, but she doesn’t want me doing our old show.’
He gasped as he sat up straight. ‘Oh my God. Dramatic. Tell me everything right now.’
And so I explained everything in detail to Tom, who continued to gasp, scream and at one point pretended to pass out.
‘Oh, and you’re getting a pay rise.’
And with that, he pretended to pass out for the second time in fifteen minutes, before opening one eye and looking up at me. ‘Okay, now tell me more about this Leo guy that you inexplicably have run into twice in twenty-four hours.’
‘Ugh. I have no idea what to think of him. First of all, the wedding ring thing is kind of a dead giveaway that he’s a schmuck. But I trust Goldie. And she called him her “dear friend”. Surely she’d know if her “dear friend” was a lying, cheating philanderer.’
‘Or she’s just so used to working with lying, cheating philanderers in this business that she’s grown immune. And in any case none of this changes the fact that you think he’s hot. Or at least, you thought he was hot when you saw him at the bar yesterday,’ Tom said.
I shot him a shocked, disgusted face. ‘I never said that!’
‘Babe, you didn’t have to. You’ve told me he’s brunet, has a man-bun, stubble, and kinda looks like he might ride a motorbike. He is to you what Shawn Mendes is to me. The prototype of your type. If you had to describe your type to one of those artists they get in on CSI to draw a mugshot of the perp, he would hand you back a headshot of Leo in perfect detail. Framed.’
‘Since when do you use the word perp?’
‘They’ve had me working on that pre-recorded weekends show since you left and it’s been woeful. Let’s just say I’ve been watching a lot of CSI at my desk during work hours. I’m waiting on someone from the IT department to report me to HR.’
‘I’m sorry, babe. Wanna go to Starbucks?’
‘Depends. Is your credit card working again?’
‘No, but now that I’m rich again I’ll be able to pay it off! Oh, and I’m going to return the Aquazzuras today. They gave me a bit of toe cleavage anyway. In the meantime, I’ve got a tiny bit of savings left. All is not lost.’
We were walking arm in arm towards the lift when I felt Tom’s body tighten.
‘Well look who the cat dragged in,’ a voice hissed.
My head snapped up to see Darren Chase leaning against the elevator door.
I suppose everybody, no matter what line of work they find themselves in, needs a work nemesis. Darren Chase was mine. His drive show had always been on air directly before mine, and in the years that I did ‘Alex @ Night’ he never once mentioned my name on air. Sometimes he purposefully went late to throw me off. The guy made my skin crawl. Producers and co-hosts came and left faster than the B-grade celebrities he dated. Darren had taken an intense disliking to me the day I started at Star FM, and the feeling had been mutual.
None of this changed the fact that he was a brilliant broadcaster. His shows were tight, punchy and slick in a way that mine never would be, and, when he wanted to be, he was absolutely hilarious, but always at the expense of someone else.
I groaned, forcing a saccharine smile in his direction.
‘I was hardly dragged , Darren. And while the reason for my reappearance must be eating you alive, I can’t tell you why I’m here or on whose behest. Top-secret stuff.’
He scoffed, rolling his eyes. ‘Oh I’m sure . No doubt here begging for your job back.’ He looked me up and down slowly with more than a hint of disgust. ‘Anyway, gotta run. Some of us have radio shows to prepare for.’
‘The only thing he should be preparing for is the syphilis I’ve been wishing upon him for the last four years,’ Tom muttered as Darren sauntered off towards his studio. ‘I can’t wait to see his face when he hears about you taking Goldie’s gig.’
‘Hmm. He’s gonna be a real bitch about it, isn’t he?’
‘Oh yeah. Take it from me, the biggest bitch in this building. Darren Chase is going to lose his fucking mind.’
Alex York, 5:00 pm: You. Are. Not. Going. To. Believe. This.
Vanessa Blake, 5:01 pm: TELL ME NOW!
Alex York, 5:03 pm: The guy at the bar.
Vanessa Blake, 5:03 pm: You saw him again????
Alex York, 5:0 pm: He’s my new boss.
Vanessa Blake, 5:05 pm: I’m calling you right now.