Chapter 10 #2
She furrows her brow, puts one small hand up to her face, like kids do when they’re about to blush, or sob.
She doesn’t even pretend to be okay with the criticism.
This woman is so transparent, so honest. Being with her, I feel kind of raw.
Kind of naked. Bugger. I walk to the other side of the table.
Sit down and try to look irritated rather than curious.
She’s in the worst fashion choice I’ve seen in years, so why do I find her so magnetic?
Despite the outfit, I’m reluctant to take my eyes from her.
‘I’ll call a taxi,’ I say, reaching for the phone.
Her pretty face shifts to one side, in an attitude of curiosity. ‘I thought we were going to walk?’ She sounds confused.
The club isn’t far. We were going to walk, but that plan’s dead in the water now.
Odd, because I was actually looking forward to the walk.
A stroll through the streets. They’re lit with lamps this time of year and giving off that sulphurous glow that reminds you of early autumn.
I could have maybe slipped my arm around her if she got cold, I could…
I give myself a shake. This is seriously not the time or the person to be striking up a relationship with.
That was my dad all over. He split up with my mum after she found him in this very office, naked, over the mixing desk with the secretary, the receptionist, and the saxophone player.
Maybe I am lucky. Maybe I inherited the man’s business, but there’s no way I’d want to inherit his personality.
* * *
CLARA
I knew there was something wrong as soon as he looked at me.
I’d been worrying about being too dressy, but it seemed as though I had pushed my look way too far back the other way.
I’m getting this excruciatingly awkward feeling that Marco’s embarrassed to be seen walking down the street with me.
He called a taxi straight off, and the club isn’t far from the Towers.
In fact, it will take longer by cab, seeing as the offices are wrapped in a massive one-way system.
I’m kind of beginning to wish I’d never taken a single step away from that reception desk in the foyer.
This is not my world. I don’t have the right clothes for it, the right words for it, and I’ve already seriously messed up all Marco’s work.
I’m beginning to wish I’d stayed home with Minty.
It’s then that Marco slides open a drawer and pulls out a bundle of papers.
‘Contract,’ he says, brusquely. ‘You should sign it tonight, so we can get you on the system.’
I stare at the neat booklet in front of me, with its embossed logo. Isn’t this exactly what I wanted? But I hesitate.
Once they find out I was the one who left the door open, I’ll be out on my ear.
Can they threaten legal action against me?
Is it incompetence? Of course it is. Am I better being contracted or saying I was just a stand-in, just helping?
I am so screwed. But working in the music industry is a dream come true.
I pick up the pen and flick through the pages, it’s all standard stuff, with enough of a pay raise for strawberries for my brother and few new additions to my wardrobe.
I want this job. I sign. Marco witnesses.
I’m just going to have to take one day at a time, but one thing is for absolute certain – I’ve got to do something about that CCTV footage.
I had left a message on Stan’s answerphone asking if he could stall handing it over.
Stan might not work in security, but he knows everyone in the building, and they all seem to owe him a favour.
Maybe I could just edit my bit out and then give them the rest of the footage, the part where the criminals burst through the door and nick the guitars.
Guitars and admin. Because that is, after all, the only element the police will be interested in.
Although something’s not stacking up. For the life of me, I can’t work out why anyone would steal Betsy’s admin.
Then again, I’m not one hundred per cent sure Stan will be able to help.
So, I know I didn’t commit a crime, but the guitars are worth a fortune.
This has to be a police matter. If it’s in their hands already, there’ll be no stopping this snowball.
All this is bubbling around in my head as we exit the building.
The cold air of the street hits me as we step out of Marco’s private lift and jump into a taxi.
Despite the worry, I still can’t quite believe my luck.
Okay, so this might be business but I happen to be out on the town with the most glorious man.
Live for the moment, I remind myself, taking a deep breath as the streets outside the taxi blur into an eclectic pattern of light and dark. I did nothing wrong. I didn’t actually steal anything. It was just a…
‘Clara.’ Marco’s voice jolts me back to the present. ‘We’re here.’
Confused, I glance out of the door. We are so not here. I may never have set one foot inside the door of RJ King’s, but I sure as hell know it’s not down some dark alley. I peer anxiously out of the cab window.
‘Well, get out,’ Marco says, opening his own door and getting out.
I glance nervously at the driver. He offers a search-me shrug.
Hmm, none of this is making sense. But Marco’s already turning, walking away down the backstreet, his shoes echoing against the high walls of industrial buildings.
‘Hurry up,’ he shouts without turning. ‘We don’t have all night.’
My heart sinks. It’s drugs. He’s clearly got some kind of habit. I don’t do drugs. My parents had dabbled and it never did them any good. I’m trying to build a life I want to be in, not escape from.
‘Clara!’ He turns to me, his deep voice bellowing down the corridor of silent blank walls.
‘Coming,’ I say with all the brightness of a lapdog.
Sometimes I irritate myself so much. This is not all right.
I don’t want to be in contact with any tail end of the drug trade.
It doesn’t matter if it’s just for personal use.
I don’t want to get involved, and yet here I am, hurrying grudgingly along behind a man I barely know.
‘Okay?’ Marco says when I catch up. He’s standing behind an iron door.
I am so not okay. I glance back towards the empty street. The cab’s gone. I take a deep breath. It’s best to get my feelings about this out on the table. ‘I…’
He raps hard on the metal door; the sound ricochets off into the night.
‘I just f-feel…’ I stutter, needing to stop for another breath, trying desperately to grab hold of a little courage. He’s my new boss, and what with the audition bungle…
Marco raps on the door again, loudly, causing me to practically jump out of my skin.
I feel myself stepping away from the door.
What with the burglary, the missing admin, the fact I’m here looking for this mystery singer – looking for myself.
I take another step back as Marco raps again, even louder this time.
Then there’s the clown convention dress fiasco.
I look down at my shirt dress, pulling it gently over my knees.
I now hate this dress. Again, he raps. I clutch my stomach, feeling sick.
Can I tell him I’m feeling sick? That’s an idea. I could go home. I could…
‘Nelly,’ Marco shouts at the metal door. ‘Open up.’
I cringe. He’s actually shouting now. Everything about him says desperately seeking illegal substances.
I may have thought he was attractive before, but now the only thing I want to do is run.
Turn tail and run fast, but it’s too late.
The door pulls back. Standing on the other side is a man with Afro hair and a thin, dark face.
He’s wearing a forest-green velvet jacket and some kind of …
I peer closer. What even is that? A purple paisley cravat.
And then there’s the jewellery. The man has more gold than a lost-at-sea Spanish galleon.
Speaking of lost, now I seriously want to run.
From the way he’s dressed, he must be high up in the drugs trade. I take a step back.
‘Oh for goodness’ sake, darlings,’ the man called Nelly drawls. ‘Have you no patience?’
He gives Marco a withering look before returning his dark, wide eyes to me. ‘So what have we here?’
‘I’m–’ I stutter.
‘Hmm.’ He draws himself in. ‘An absolute walking fashion disaster.’
My mouth practically hits the floor.
‘I see exactly what you mean, Marco. Thank you for the text. I needed a warning. Good God.’ He pulls one bejewelled hand across his forehead in an exasperated fashion.
‘This,’ he waggles a hand in my general direction, ‘is all eighties secretary vibe.’ He throws both hands up in an attitude of total and unmitigated despair.
‘I didn’t know you could even buy clothes like this anymore unless you worked wardrobe for one of the networks.
You were so right, Marco my friend. This is an absolute emergency. ’ He takes a step back.
I stand there, dumbfounded. Marco is staring at me. Nelly is staring at me. I don’t like all this attention.
‘The favours I have to do for you.’ Nelly sighs. ‘You just make sure that your next “voice of whatever” is wearing one of my gowns, or I swear I’ll sue. This,’ he points straight at me, ‘is going to be difficult.’
‘You got it, Nelly,’ Marco says, glancing furtively back out into the street.
I wish someone would tell me what is going on. But Nelly looks like he’s on the move. He’s turning, throwing one skinny, velvet-clad arm up behind him in a circular motion. Inviting us to step over the iron grille at the base of the door before disappearing off into the darkness of his warehouse.
‘I’m not sure…’ I say, hurrying down corridor after corridor behind the two men.
‘Just keep up,’ Nelly calls back. ‘You get lost in here, we may never find you again.’