Claudia's Big Break (14 page)

I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax, remembering back to the one yoga lesson I'd taken a hundred years ago. Vaguely, it had something to do with breathing in, breathing out, and the
ohm
sound. I couldn't quite recall how it worked. At any rate, the memory wasn't helping me calm down. What a waste of eighteen bucks that class turned out to be.

After we'd ordered — grilled swordfish and salad for me; smoked mackerel for him — we set about finding out more about each other.

‘Here on holidays?' Jack asked. ‘Sorry, stupid question, of course you are.'

I nodded. ‘And you?'

Jack nodded, frowned and stopped while the waitress set down our complimentary antipasto platter and a decanter of red wine. ‘How long you here for?' he continued as he poured two glasses.

I flicked my hair. ‘Two weeks.'

‘Me too.'

It was a dying conversation, no doubt about it. I wasn't being witty and certainly couldn't think of anything interesting to say. I was asking inane questions and feeling foolish and boring. I couldn't talk about my work and didn't want to get into a longwinded conversation about how I came to be living with Tara. So what did I have to fall back on? The beauty of Santorini? We'd already covered that.

I put it down to being stone cold sober. To be honest, I'd met most of my first dates (not that this was a date) in dark places with loud music, after the consumption of several bottles of wine. Hence, the confidence factor was way up. Sadly, the mystery of the first date quickly evaporated around the second or third date under the heavy weight of that niggling little inconvenience called reality. By the fourth date, I'd notice subtle flaws emerging, like the guy was a mummy's boy, an arms dealer, a dentist, or simply dull and boring.

‘Olive?' I held the antipasto plate out to Jack.

I lapsed into thought, watching as his youthful, unlined hand reached out to choose an olive. Then I looked at his other hand. Not a freckle on either of them (mine were freckly and dry). I glanced up at his earlobes — they were generous, not small and mean.

‘Claudia,' he said, drawing me back to the conversation. ‘What are you thinking?'

I flinched. His expression while waiting for me to answer was boyish and enthusiastic. I'd even go so far as to say he looked interested. So I could hardly say, ‘I was admiring your generous lobes.' He'd think I was odd. What next? Checking out his nose hair? Not that he appeared to have any visible strays.

Without thinking I said, ‘About how beautiful it is here and how lucky I am to be enjoying this day.' No doubt about it, I was a moron.

‘With a gorgeous girl,' Jack added, raising his glass and clinking it with mine.

I was miles away. ‘Gorgeous girl' was what Marcus called — used to call — me.

Jack was a nice enough bloke, but really, what was I doing here? I didn't want any complications — and I had an unnerving premonition that this was going to turn into a complication. Besides, there'd have to be something wrong with him. A good-looking bloke like Jack didn't ask a girl like me out to lunch. I tapped my fingers absent-mindedly on the table.

‘So how do you, Sophie and Tara all know each other?'

Ah! So it wasn't only me who was struggling for conversation.

‘School. The three of us have been best friends for years. We've known each other so long it's almost like we're one person at times. We know what each other is thinking, can finish each other's sentences.'

‘Scary.'

I nodded. ‘Yeah, but I'm not sure Tara and Sophie would be friends if not for me. I'm the glue.'

A moment or two of silence.

‘The glue?'

‘Holding it together,' I said, clasping my hands. ‘We don't see as much of each other these days, what with Tara's hectic work schedule and Sophie being busy with Levi.'

‘And your work?'

‘Yeah,' I said, thinking that discussing Cassoli Imports was the last thing I wanted to do. ‘We're all busy. That's why it's been good to catch up on this holiday. It certainly beats a weekend camping at Straddie.'

Jack smiled expectantly.

‘Anyway,' I said nervously. ‘We're all different, but somehow our threesome works. Tara's a writer. She carries around a notebook and jots down snippets of conversations she eavesdrops on.'

‘Has she written anything?'

I nodded. ‘Besides her magazine articles, she's had a few short stories published. Now she's working on a novel. I think she's finding it tough going, but once she gets into it, she'll be fine. She has an amazing imagination.'

‘Impressive. And Sophie?'

‘Used to be a litigation lawyer.'

‘And now?'

‘She looks after Levi. It's a full-time occupation.'

I sat back in my chair, momentarily fearful that I'd revealed too much.

‘And you?' Jack asked, leaning across the table toward me. ‘What's the Claudia Taylor story? I know you can't remember your passport number. What else should I know about you?'

Loaded question. Jack didn't need to know I was a closet karaoke tragic, that I hated using public rest rooms and that I had a shocking history with men.

‘Not a lot to tell,' I said, slightly embarrassed. ‘I've got good friends, a great family and I'm fairly happy most of the time.'

‘Is there a
but
in there somewhere?'

I shook my head. I was happy. It's not like I cried into my pillow every night. Jack didn't need to know any more.

I distracted myself with the olives and Jack's good looks. He looked like one of those rugged jackaroos from the outback I'd seen in magazines. Manly, virile and a bit scruffy around the edges. Tanned and muscular with broad shoulders and a great face. He wasn't a chiselled work of art. Jack had a lived-in face brimming with character and expression, and he had a fantastic smile and a cute gap between his perfectly white front teeth.

And so far he hadn't done anything offensive. He'd been nice to the waitress, made eye contact when talking, eaten with his mouth closed; he hadn't dribbled fish down his T-shirt, hadn't belched or farted. Didn't appear to be chauvinistic, too try-hard or so charming that he was creepy. He seemed, well, he seemed normal. There had to be a catch.

I licked my lips . . . couldn't feel any lipstick. My lipstick had worn off. I checked my glass. Red lipstick rimmed the edge of the wineglass. What happened to the lipstick with the supposedly stay-fast formula? The lipstick that only an efficient sandblasting would remove? Apparently, not that stay-fast because I was sitting at lunch with nude lips.

‘What about you?' I asked. ‘Where do you live?'

‘Brisbane, but I started out in Yackandandah.'

That sparked my interest. With those arms, I could imagine Jack growing up on a magnificent cattle property, with stables, and maybe a show-jumping arena, and enchanted landscaped gardens . . . spending his days bareback on a stallion, mustering cattle in the wild and untamed Aussie bush.

‘As a jackaroo?'

Jack laughed and shook his head. ‘Where did you get that idea?'

‘You're from the country, so I assumed . . .' It sounded foolish now that I'd said it.

‘Surprisingly, not all of us country folk are farmers or jackaroos.'

Touché! I was a nude-lipped idiot.

‘I moved to Sydney when I started high school and boarded at Kings. Then studied engineering at Sydney University.'

An engineer! ‘You like maths?'

‘Yeah. Working with formulas, solving problems, logical thinking.'

Strike one. I wasn't a fan of maths.

I wanted to ask him about his personal situation. Was he married? Divorced? With a significant other? But I didn't want to appear too nosy. I didn't want him getting the wrong idea. I wasn't looking for a new boyfriend.

‘Have you been to Santorini before?' I asked.

‘Never. But the opportunity came up and I thought,
Why not?
'

I smiled. ‘Same here. So, are you here alone?' I couldn't help myself.

He nodded and suddenly I was more than a little interested. What had I told myself less than a minute ago? I could have slapped myself.

‘Tell me more about you,' Jack asked. ‘Any family?'

‘Only parents and two sisters,' I said, trying to flutter my lashes which probably looked more like an involuntary twitch.

He nodded, seemingly unaware of my wonky eyes.

‘I'm the middle of three girls. Lizzie, the eldest, is a podiatrist.'

‘Likes feet?'

‘Yeah. Go figure. And Sarah, well Sarah's a bit of a misplaced hippie. She lives in inner-city Sydney but calls herself Sunbeam and pretends she's living in Nimbin. Just your average run-ofthe-mill suburban family.'

‘You sound disappointed.'

‘Nah, it's just that we've never really had any dramas.'

My parents weren't religious zealots, like Tara's parents. My father wasn't a maniac, like Sophie's dad. Mr Turner's temper tantrums were legendary. Sophie said it was because he'd fought in the Korean War. Whatever the reason, I was terrified of him. He yelled all the time for no apparent reason. She told me she'd lost count of the number of times she'd fainted or vomited during one of his tirades.

‘Looking back on my teenage years, my family was incredibly normal. Not that you'd think it looking at some of our awkward family photos.' A framed portrait of the five of us wearing matching high-waisted denim shorts sprang to mind.

‘And now?'

‘Normal. I have my friends, my work. Sometimes I find myself asking, “Is this it?” and I feel like doing something crazy to inject a bit of excitement into my life.'

‘Like skydiving?'

‘Not that crazy.' Maybe I wasn't explaining myself clearly. ‘You know the movie
As Good As It Gets
?'

Jack nodded.

‘Well, sometimes I find myself asking the same questions as Jack Nicholson. “Is this as good as it gets? Is this all there is?”'

Heavy conversation for what was supposed to be a getting-to-know-you lunch. I needed to lighten up. Either that or slow down my wine intake. I glanced at my watch. Where had the afternoon disappeared? Marcella was right. Why was I so fixated on the time of day? What did it matter? I was on holidays in Santorini and time was fluid.

‘So no skeletons in the closet?'

Odd question. ‘Not that I know of, though as I said, my sister calls herself Sunbeam. Who knows what she gets up to?' The last time I'd heard from her she was squatting in a terrace in Newtown and protesting about melting glaciers in the Antarctic.

Jack nodded and stood up. ‘It's getting late. I should see you back to your apartment. Your friends will be worried.' Suddenly he was all serious and businesslike.

Friends?
I thought absent-mindedly.
What friends?

I pulled myself up sternly. This was not allowed to happen. I'd sworn off men. There was no way I was about to fall for another handsome man's charms. He said he was here alone but for all I knew he had a wife tucked away at home. That would be just my luck.

11

B
y the time Jack and I meandered back to Marcella's, Sophie, Tara and Angie were sitting on the terrace enjoying pre-dinner drinks. The sun was warm, the breeze cool, and Jack was incredibly good-looking. And that wasn't the wine talking. So what if he wasn't a jackaroo. I was happy enough hanging out with an engineer. At least he wasn't a dentist.

I expected he'd stay for dinner but he hesitated.

‘I really should be going.'

‘You sure? My friends don't bite.'

As we stood awkwardly on the stairs, he seemed reluctant, somehow preoccupied. But just as quickly the cloud lifted and he broke into a huge smile.

‘Okay. That'd be great. Thanks.'

While Jack and I retrieved chairs from inside, Tara poured two extra glasses of rosé. Good, I thought hazily, just what I needed, more wine.

‘I bought you both sarongs,' I said to Sophie and Tara, tossing them one each.

‘Very nice,' said Sophie. ‘Thanks.'

‘Hey, there's a baggage limit,' said Tara, unfolding her gift. ‘Having said that, this is quite stunning. Thanks.' She held up the green and blue piece of cotton for everyone to admire. ‘I'm not normally into sarongs.'

After introducing Angie to Jack, we joined the conversation, which unfortunately was about work, careers and generally making something of your life . . . Topics I was desperate to avoid talking about in public, given I'd generally not made anything much of my life thus far.

Still, Marcus's offer of a ‘bonus' posed an irresistible opportunity to reinvent myself. I hated being confined to an office eight and a half hours a day. I didn't want to push papers around for the rest of my life, bound by four walls and a tiny window overlooking a filthy back alley in Fortitude Valley.

But the looming reality terrified me. As long as I was trapped by debt, I had an excuse as to why I wasn't moving forward with my life or embracing new opportunities. Once I was debt-free, I'd have no excuses and nothing holding me back.

‘At least you have a job, Tara,' Sophie was saying.

‘Yeah, but I hate it.'

‘Why? Apart from working for maniacal Melinda, it's fascinating. Seeing the inside of those amazing homes and writing about them, being on the cutting edge of interior design.'

‘I've done it to death. There are only so many ways you can describe a pink wall. After all, pink is just pink, isn't it?'

Sophie looked horrified. ‘There's light verona, coral, madras, poppy, starfish glow, sorbet, lipstick, watermelon, Priscilla, cherry, cranberry —'

‘I get the picture,' Tara said.

‘Rose, plum, Persian red, bloom, Indian rose, parrot red —'

‘I'm sorry I even mentioned it. Either way, I'm sick of writing about it. I want to write my own stories.'