Saving Jazz (15 page)

‘Yes,' Lisa nodded, ‘Tony has mentioned you, but not as much as Frank.' She smiled, ‘I'm so glad you came on a date with him.'

‘Date?' I laughed loudly. ‘This isn't a date. Frank just invited me to come to listen to him play. It's just a thing.'

Lisa frowned, ‘Oh, I thought …' and then she was muffled by the applause of the crowd as Frank took the stage. He had taken his leather jacket off and stood with his shirt rolled up above his elbows, tight black jeans and narrow leather shoes. I couldn't help but think how hot he was.

‘Thanks for coming,' he said. ‘My name is Nials Wisher and I'm going to play a couple of tunes for you.' He started strumming his guitar and clicking a few pedals on the floor, and then the music he'd played for me at the coffee shop suddenly took on magnificent proportions. He had the full backing of other instruments and his own voice was harmonising with his pre-recording. There was one man on stage, with a guitar, but the effect was that of an entire jazz band. It was awesome.

‘He's amazing,' Lisa said. I nodded. I'd never heard anything like him. His voice, his lyrics. Sitting there I realised that my crush had suddenly gone epic. I was totally fangirling him.

‘Nials Wisher?' I asked as he approached the table.

He laughed. ‘Yeah, it was something that started a while ago. I didn't want to perform as an Adamo — in case I wasn't good enough and spoilt the family rep, or if I succeeded people would think it was only because I was an Adamo. Neither has happened, but the name has stuck,' he shrugged. ‘It's kind of cool in a way — when I get up there I truly become a different person. It makes it easy to handle the criticism.'

‘What criticism?' I asked. ‘The crowd love you.'

‘This crowd does,' Frank said, ‘but I've played in places where they've hated me.' He lifted his fringe up and there was a long scar. ‘Some guy hated me so much he threw a bottle at my head. Thirteen stitches.'

‘Oh my god,' I shook my head. ‘Yet you came back for more?'

‘Yep,' Frank said. ‘I'll never perform there again, of course. But when you love something enough, you always pursue it.'

I nodded. Frank was so inspiring. When he dropped me home I realised that things had started to improve. I had been out — not on a date, as Lisa had thought, but out with a group. My days of
isolation might be ending, I thought. There was a chance that I might have friends again.

And so the days passed, a mix of study and work. I feel like work is the wrong word for my time at Chicco, I loved it so much. I loved the regulars, who would drop in for a chat and whose orders I always knew in advance. I loved the staff. And I loved Joe, Frank's dad, who was always making me take home pastry and cake for my family.

‘You take this to your aunty,' Joe would say, wrapping up a homemade beef pie and an apple strudel. ‘She feeds the many.'

I'd given up refusing. ‘Let me pay,' I pleaded with him, ‘you can't pay me
and
give me stuff.'

Joe looked at me with those same dark eyes Frank had. ‘It's to show my gratitude,' Joe said. ‘If it wasn't for the loyalty of your aunty I wouldn't have
my finest employee. I never forget a good turn.' It was easy to see where Frank got his charm from.

And of course working at Chicco meant spending time with Frank. Our coffee and cake had become a weekly occurrence, and most shifts we were on together. The rare times I turned up and Frank wasn't there were the only times it ever felt remotely like work. But the next time Frank would be there, leaning against the counter and smiling at me when I walked in the door.

‘Morning, Shiraz. Miss me yesterday?' he'd ask, and I'd shake my head at him.

‘Not really, didn't even realise you weren't here,' I'd say, tying my apron on.

One day I was filling the pastry cabinet and Frank was chatting to a tall raven-haired girl with deep chocolate-coloured eyes. Even I thought she was beautiful, so I wasn't surprised to see Frank's charm offensive was switched to high. And because I had such a huge crush on him by then, I have to admit I was feeling somewhat jealous. She was flirting back with him.

‘So,' she drawled with obvious confidence, ‘how
much longer do I have to wait, Frank?'

‘I'm pretty sure you don't ever have to wait for anything, Layla,' Frank said, fashioning a love heart onto her coffee.

‘Well, you've been keeping me waiting for a year,' she pouted.

‘Have I?' Frank pushed the coffee across, his hand brushing hers. I was mesmerised by this ritual. Peering at them through the glass cabinet, I wished I were Layla. ‘What am I withholding from you?' he said.

‘You,' she pouted. ‘I decided that if you didn't finally ask me on a date today then I would ask you.'

‘Oh,' Frank rushed around the counter and grabbed Layla's hands. She giggled prettily. ‘Layla, I will fall on my sword if I've misled you into thinking that I was going to ask you on a date. In fact, this is a good opportunity for me to reassess my behaviour, because I am madly in love with someone and I would die if she perceived me as a womaniser or outrageous flirt still.'

Layla looked shocked. As Frank had suggested, I'm sure Layla had never had to wait for anything, or not get what she wanted. ‘Hmmm,' Layla said, ‘so the
word
still
indicates that there were signs there? That I've not made this all up?'

‘Ah Layla,' Frank murmured, ‘it's true. I think up until recently I may have sent you the wrong signals — I was so in awe of your beauty. But one doesn't choose for the heart. The heart chooses. And mine has.'

I waited for Layla's reaction. Frank had the type of sincerity and humour that somehow made these crazy expressions sound thoughtful and kind.

‘Who is she?' Layla asked. I thought she was handling the rejection gracefully — but then again, she was graceful in all ways.

‘My Shiraz,' Frank said, looking at me.

I was so surprised I banged my head into the shelf and a strawberry cheesecake fell onto the floor, splatting over my boots and up my trouser legs.

‘Shit,' I muttered reaching down to pick it up.

‘Look at her, Layla, don't you agree she's beautiful, graceful and elegant?' Frank quipped, and I couldn't tell if he was serious or just having a laugh. I straightened, my cheeks burning red, crumbs in my plait and my hands full of berries and cream cheese.

‘Hi,' I said and stared at Frank. And then I saw
it. He was looking at me in a way I'd only ever seen once before. And that was the way Uncle Rob looked at Aunty Jane. ‘Frank?'

‘Tell me you feel the same?' Frank came back behind the counter and grabbed my mucky hands, ‘because I have to confess I used every weapon I had to get you here. The day of the coffee scam, I used a secret family recipe that we don't even sell here, in order to win that debate, and win you.'

‘Vanilla?' I asked, laughing. ‘I've never tasted it since.'

‘Correct,' Frank was also laughing. ‘Agree to go out with me, on a real date, and I'll even share that secret with you.'

‘Who could resist that?' I said, shaking my head.

‘Not me,' said Layla. ‘You're a lucky girl. What did you do to deserve him?'

And then those words sent me into a panic. What
had
I done to deserve him? Nothing. I'd ruined another girl's life. How could I admit that to this beautiful man? My secret past would be revealed if I went on a date with him. So far I'd evaded personal talk at work, redirecting our conversations to the world we lived in, not the sordid past I'd escaped. I
wouldn't be able to hide it any longer and then this new Jazz, Frank's own Shiraz, would be exposed. The façade would crumble and he'd never see me the same way again. I felt like I was suffocating. ‘Oh hang on,' I said untying my apron, ‘I've just remembered I've got to go.' Both Frank and Layla looked at me bewildered.

‘Jazz?' Frank said, putting out a hand as if to stop me. ‘Are you okay?'

‘Sorry,' I was trying not to flip out, but I could barely contain my panic. ‘I know my shift isn't over but I've got to go.'

I ran.

I sat in my room shaking. How would it ever be possible to move on from the wreckage I'd created? The policewoman's words still haunted me: ‘They will never leave you alone. When you don't suspect it, they will reappear and you'll be facing this judgement again.' How would I ever be accepted again by normal people once they knew the truth about me?

Aunty Jane tapped on my door. ‘You're home early,' she said, ‘is everything okay?'

‘Everything is terrible,' I confessed. ‘I ran out on Frank. I can't ever go back there. I can't face him and tell him the truth about me. I feel like a liar and a phony. I can't escape what I've done. Ever.'

‘He's here,' Aunty Jane said, nodding towards the house.

‘Here? Who is? Frank?' I was in a terrible panic.

‘He's worried he's offended you. Overstepped the boundaries. He thinks he's scared you. He doesn't look happy,' she admitted.

‘Oh shit,' I ran my hands through my hair and crumbs fell out. ‘What am I going to do?'

‘Talk to him,' Aunty Jane said.

‘And tell him what?' I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. ‘Tell him I raped my best friend, and then abandoned her? That I've been disowned by my parents? That I have a criminal conviction? I can't. I can't do it,' I was rambling and panicking and rambling.

‘Just tell him the truth, honey,' Aunty Jane said. ‘If he doesn't like it he can leave. You can quit your job. Or, he might just surprise you.'

I followed Aunty Jane into the house. I still had my work uniform on. My hair was out and it was a
mess. I felt feral. Frank leapt to his feet when he saw me.

‘Jazz, I'm so sorry,' he said, looking forlorn. ‘I've made a massive dick of myself. I've embarrassed you publicly. I know how shy and reserved you are.'

Shy and reserved?
That surprised me — was that what he saw?

He continued. ‘I wasn't planning on doing that. I wanted to wait until we'd shut shop and sat down for a coffee and cheesecake.' He looked at my splattered pants. ‘Although maybe not the strawberry one. But I was going to tell you how much I loved your company and our chats, how funny and clever you are. How beautiful I think you are. And I didn't want you to think that I was the old flirt still. I still love the ladies, but I wanted to tell you that there is only one for me and I wanted to ask you out. On a real date, so that this time you'd know it was one — not like last time.' He finally paused for breath and looked at me expectantly.

‘I would go out with you in a heartbeat,' I said, and the truth actually felt good. ‘It's just that there is so much you don't know about me. I wasn't always shy and reserved. It's just been since I got here,
from the country. I had to leave some really bad stuff behind, stuff that I didn't want to tell anyone. Because of what a terrible person I've been.'

‘Maybe,' Frank moved closer, ‘you could give me a chance? You could try and tell me what happened — whatever you're comfortable telling me. And see what happens?'

‘I think you'll hate me,' I said.

He was shaking his head. ‘I'm pretty sure I won't,' Frank said. ‘Will you trust me?'

I nodded. I had to start somewhere.

Frank drove us to the beach. It was a warm evening and we sat on the sand, our feet bare, and I told him about the party, the abuse and then everything that followed, including Annie's suicide attempt and the court case. I couldn't look at him. I stared at the sun settling down on the horizon. ‘So that's it. The truth about what a terrible person I am.'

‘This is the bit you miss,' Frank said. He picked up my hand and I felt electricity run up my arm. ‘A truly terrible person wouldn't think they were terrible. They would justify their actions, place all the blame on others. But you don't, Jazz, you remind
yourself all the time that you did this awful thing. I think you need to realise you made a drunken mistake, one that had massive consequences. You know, as you were talking I was thinking of all the stupid things I've ever done, drunk and sober, and what the effects could have been. But I was lucky. You were caught up in a whole string of effects.'

I sighed heavily. ‘Really? Do you really believe that?'

‘Yes,' he threaded his fingers through mine. ‘I know the real Jazz. I know that inside is a beautiful girl who matches her beautiful exterior. You are lovely, you know.'

‘Well, that's what my birth certificate says,' I said.

Frank laughed. ‘And funny, too. Can we go on a real date?' He turned his brown eyes on me and I think they were hypnotic or magical because I nodded my head.

‘Yes.'

A couple of months ago, I had my final high school exams.

I sat them at the Central TAFE with other external students. My studies had been hard over the years following Greenheadgate, but I was a motivated student. No matter what had happened, I couldn't allow this to be a fuck-up too. So I'd studied late into each evening when Aunty Jane and the kids were asleep. I'd pored over my textbooks, memorising dates and formulas, theories and concepts. I'd kept meticulous files with highlighted notes, colour-coded in terms of importance, or relevance. I'd reread the English texts more than fifteen times — to this day I can still quote verbatim F. Scott Fitzgerald or Virginia Woolf. I was so
prepared. By studying I'd allowed myself to retreat from the horrors of that night and replace them with a hope that somehow, someday, I might be able to move on past that dirty and sordid pivotal moment in my life. And of course I also had work and Frank.