Claudia's Big Break Page 4

  I’m not generally a scaredy cat, but this was pushing it. Cutting a path through the overgrown weeds, I knocked on the front door. It swung open so I tentatively called out. ‘Geia sas.’

  Good sense told me to drop the envelope at the door, turn around and get the hell out of there. But then again, I rarely listened to good sense.

  I stuck my nose in the hallway. It was dark and smelt of rotten wood, mould and cigarettes. Stepping inside, I heard a loud thud followed by a muffled scream. At the end of the hallway, some distance from where I stood, two men, silhouetted in a distant light, appeared to be arguing with another man and one of them was holding what looked like a long piece of wood.

  This wasn’t good. I had to get out without being seen. Carefully, silently, I backed out of the hallway, through the open door and then ran as fast as I could towards the street. Surely no one would come after me in broad daylight? Still running, I tripped on the uneven gravel road and crashed to the ground, landing on my already grazed knee.

  Bleeding profusely, my mangled knee was almost impossible to walk on. But I didn’t care. I was terrified and just wanted to get the hell away from the place. The street was silent as I made my way back to the café. Again the locals stopped and looked up from their games, watching as I sat down at a table, my face as red as a beetroot, my skin clammy and hot.

  Con walked over and handed me a glass of water.

  ‘Efharisto, thank you,’ I said, shaking as I accepted the drink from him. Dazed and dehydrated, I downed the liquid in one go, then ordered a short black.

  Moments later, he returned with coffee and two wedges of baklava glistening with honey and walnuts. ‘Eat!’ he commanded, not unkindly.

  By the time I’d downed the coffee and finished off the baklava, my breathing had almost returned to normal and it dawned on me that I still had Marcus’s rotten envelope. So I called him.

  ‘Marcus, you sent me to a wasteland. Con wasn’t even there,’ I shouted into my mobile phone, only to realise it was after eleven o’clock at night in Brisbane and he was probably in bed.

  ‘Claudia, calm down. All I’ve asked in return for a two-week holiday is that you deliver some papers to Con and have him sign them. You’ll need to go back —’

  ‘It was a condemned building, not an office. Men were arguing. Big, angry men. It was really dodgy. I’m not risking my life to give some random guy an envelope, even if he does make the best olive oil in Greece.’

  ‘Not to mention organic wine.’

  ‘Marcus!’

  ‘Risking your life? You wouldn’t be exaggerating, would you?’

  ‘There were syringes —’

  ‘Okay, I’ll ring him and get him to call you. We don’t want you risking your life again. I’m sure he’ll catch up with you before you head to Santorini.’

  ‘And if not?’

  ‘Well, I guess he’ll have to find you there. Make sure you keep your mobile charged and turned on.’

  After I hung up, I sat on a rickety wooden stool in the corner of the café, pretending to read a Greek Cosmopolitan but thinking about what had just happened. Who were the men in the building and what were they doing? My imagination started to run wild then, coming up with increasingly life-threatening scenarios involving my being killed or sold into white slavery. I started shaking.

  As the shopkeeper cleared away my plate and cup, I decided to have another go. ‘Excuse me, do you know Con Kafentsis?’ I asked in broken Greek.

  He shrugged his shoulders and made a fifty-fifty motion with his right hand.

  I was hoping for more but this Con wasn’t about to shed any light on that Con. He did offer to call me a cab though.

  In an effort to distract myself while waiting for my ride, I turned my thoughts to Marcus — how he sashayed through the office, bestowing smiles on his appreciative staff and regaling them with anecdotes he’d picked up on breakfast radio on his drive into work. I pictured his hands as they cupped his morning coffee (black, one sugar), his fingers as they hovered over the computer keyboard. I remembered the many times I’d catch his eye and then quickly look away, shy, embarrassed, and more than a little aroused. Then there were those secret times after work — no game playing, no having to be careful because someone could be watching — when it was just the two of us, alone. Alone with our private jokes and intimacies.

  I should have forced myself to stop before our flirtation went too far. But I couldn’t pull back, even though I knew where it was heading. Still, I tried not to think that I might have been falling in love with Marcus. We were just two work colleagues enjoying each other’s company. At least that’s what I foolishly told myself.

  4

  ‘No wonder you thought the guys were sleazy, Claud,’ Tara said, scanning the guidebook as we drank a local white wine blend and picked at feta and black olives in a traditional taverna near the hotel. ‘You were in the red-light district.’

  ‘That explains a lot.’

  ‘Didn’t you read anything about the area before going?’

  ‘Too tired. I just wanted to get there. I was going to read on the bus but —’ I shrugged. I didn’t want to think about it any more. ‘And look at my bloody knee,’ I said, peering down at it. ‘It’s swollen.’ For God’s sake, this was supposed to be a holiday. Two weeks in the sun. We hadn’t been in Greece a day and I was wrecked.

  Severe jet lag was setting in and I was finding it increasingly difficult to think straight. I figured Sophie and Tara didn’t need to know the finer details about my adventure and the dubious characters I’d seen.

  ‘You’ll never guess what else happened,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘I bumped into a guy I met at Brisbane airport.’

  ‘Get out,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Unfortunately, I tripped into a sunglasses stand in the process of trying to avoid him.’

  ‘Why —’ Sophie started.

  ‘I was wearing a baseball cap, my hair was flat . . . he was too good-looking —’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So . . . nothing. He helped me up. I was mortified, I thanked him and made my way to the red-light district where I hung out with prostitutes and here we are.’

  I turned my attention to the scenery. Here we were, in the Plaka, gazing up at the Acropolis perched high above us on the hillside. The impressive combination of moon and artificial light really showed off the ancient architecture to its majestic best. I had dreamt of seeing the Acropolis all my life and now I was finally here. I had arrived. It was breathtaking.

  All around, enthused spruikers did their best to persuade hordes of hungry tourists passing by to sit and sample traditional Greek mezedes and drink retsina. (Rather like the spruikers trawling for punters outside seedy bars in Kings Cross.)

  ‘Look at that,’ said Tara. ‘The locals hang out on their mopeds, drinking short blacks, while tourists like us lounge in overpriced cafés and bars, guzzling beer and eating dinner at the ridiculously early evening hour of,’ Tara checked her watch, ‘eight o’clock.’

  I nodded, listening to the foreign voices murmuring around us. Nearby, several local lads stood beside a souvlaki stand watching gyros twirl on a stake.

  ‘There are a few locals sitting down,’ I said. Close by, men clicked worry beads between nicotine-stained fingers and played backgammon.

  We turned to watch as two men at a neighbouring table started shouting at each other and gesturing at their backgammon board. One of them slammed his fist on the table, sending several pieces flying. They both stood up and continued berating each other and gesticulating madly. Arms were swinging widely in all directions. Around them, other men came to join the debate. It was crazy, loud and fierce.

  ‘Feisty, aren’t they?’ observed Sophie as we sipped our wine. Even Levi, who was falling asleep in Sophie’s arms, raised his head.

  Moments later, the men were embracing and slapping each other on the back. They sat down, repositioned their pieces and got on with the game. It was as though the previous five mi
nutes had never happened.

  ‘Passion,’ remarked Tara.

  ‘Imagine if we screamed like that at each other?’ I said. ‘We wouldn’t speak again for days.’

  Just then the waiter arrived with more food — garlicky yogurt dip, steaming calamari, dolmades swimming in olive oil, and freshly baked chunks of bread. Each mouthful tasted more delicious than the last.

  ‘I can’t believe we’re in Athens, staring up at the Acropolis, surrounded by these gorgeous Greek boys,’ said Sophie, her eyes settling on a couple of handsome locals.

  ‘Absolutely,’ agreed Tara, raising her glass. ‘A toast to Claudia for insisting we come along.’

  ‘It’s Marcus you should be thanking,’ I said as we clinked glasses and sipped our wine.

  ‘Okay, let’s drink to him too,’ said Sophie. ‘And to an amazing two weeks in paradise.’

  Just then a photographer came by to ‘take picture of beautiful ladies’.

  Twenty minutes later, after parting with thirty Euros, we each held a key ring of the four of us smiling (Levi holding a green dinosaur) with the neon-lit Acropolis in the background. Okay, so my hair was messy and Tara was pursing her lips, but really, what more could we have asked for? On our very first evening in Athens we’d scored an unforgettable keepsake of our holiday.

  It felt like old times, the three of us eating, drinking and nattering about the minutiae of our lives. The team was back together again. That was the beauty of long friendships — we could pick up the pieces of a conversation thread from five, ten, fifteen years ago and know exactly what the other person was talking about. We might not always agree but we respected each other’s opinions and supported one another’s choices. Over the years we’d told each other many home truths, concerning dubious boyfriends and less than stellar career choices to the odd bout of halitosis — no matter how painful. Tara and Sophie could tell me things I didn’t want to tell myself. They knew everything (most things) and still hung out with me anyway. I stared at my new key ring. It didn’t get better than this.

  5

  ‘I know Marcus is funding this holiday but I would have left the envelope under the door,’ Tara said briskly at breakfast the next morning. ‘Then it would be over and done with.’

  ‘I know you would have, but I want to do the right thing by him. Besides, he specifically told me that the papers need to be signed in my presence.’

  Tara eyeballed me. ‘I know he’s like the third richest guy in Queensland, but seriously, does Marcus do this for all his staff?’

  ‘No, and that’s why I don’t want to let him down,’ I said quickly. ‘He could have done this job himself, and then where would we be?’

  ‘Brisbane,’ Sophie chimed in.

  ‘Exactly! And he knows all about the mess I got into with George. Thankfully, he’s too busy to leave the office so is doing me a favour because he’s a nice bloke.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Besides, all I have to do is watch while some guy signs a piece of paper and collects a memory stick. It shouldn’t be this hard.’

  Although I hadn’t told Tara and Sophie about my liaison with Marcus, I got the distinct impression Tara was suspicious. Marcus would have told me I was being paranoid, so I tried not to dwell on it and busied myself pushing a spoon of yogurt and honey towards Sophie’s mouth.

  She pushed me away and continued chopping Levi’s banana while he gargled orange juice. ‘I expected a call from Alex by now. You’d think he’d at least want to talk to Levi.’

  Levi coughed and spurted his juice across the table. I moved away from him under the guise of helping myself to more honey.

  ‘I’m sure he’s just busy. He’ll ring when he can.’

  Sophie bit her top lip and mopped up Levi’s mess. ‘Alex is always too busy. Never too busy for Jake though.’

  ‘I lub Jake,’ said Levi.

  Sophie shrugged and turned to me. ‘Don’t know why, all he does is grunt and eat.’

  True. I’d been in Jake’s company a few times and the kid did show a distinct distaste for words. Sophie had tried being his friend. After all, she’d known him since he was little. But the two had never taken a shine to each other. I guess it was just one of those things.

  ‘How about I read your Angel cards?’ I offered. ‘See what the Goddess Oracle has in store for us?’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ said Tara, looking up from her map of Athens and shaking her head in disbelief. ‘You brought those things with you?’

  ‘Sure did.’ I never travelled anywhere without my Angel cards; you never knew you might need a little guidance or direction. True, they hadn’t guided me away from stuffing up my life, but I didn’t want to think about that right now. I pulled the cards from my bag, released them from their purple satin sack and patted them. ‘We’ll stick with the three-card read, hey?’

  ‘How about I read your cards first, Claud?’ said Tara.

  ‘Sure, I don’t mind.’ But secretly, I did. I felt the Goddess wasn’t backing me at the moment. I shuffled, picked out three cards and laid them on the breakfast table. Tara looked at the angels and fumbled with the instruction book before squealing.

  ‘The Angel of Death!’

  ‘That’s bad,’ Sophie said, twitching uncomfortably and twirling her ringlets.

  ‘Can’t be good, can it? Let me read,’ continued Tara. ‘Says here that choosing this particular angel could represent a preoccupation with death.’

  I knew the angels weren’t on my side today. I should have listened to my own inner goddess, the one that minutes before had shouted at me not to choose any of them.

  I looked at the cards again and grabbed the book from Tara. ‘Here. Give me a look at that!’ After reading and rereading several interpretations, I came to my own conclusion. ‘Look, fool. It doesn’t necessarily mean death as in dead. It says, “This angel may also represent the end of a particular cycle or way of life.” And as I’m just about to turn thirty-nine and will be job-hunting when I get back home, I think this reading might be very accurate.’

  ‘Jeez, you can put a positive spin on anything,’ Tara said. ‘Anyway, why will you be job-hunting, especially after Marcus has been so generous?’

  ‘I need a change. You know me. I don’t stick with things long.’

  ‘You haven’t convinced me,’ said Sophie. ‘I wouldn’t be happy with death being thrown at me.’

  ‘I was put off by Tara telling me she wanted to read my cards. I didn’t get a good shuffle in,’ I said, looking at Tara who was smirking into her coffee. ‘It’s not a game, you know. It’s not for laughs. You have to respect the angels. Appreciate the messages the universe is sending you.’

  Who was I kidding? I was jumping from one landmine to the next.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Tara. ‘You may as well read mine. Can’t be any worse than a tap on the shoulder from death.’ She picked up the cards and shuffled.

  I swished my hands dramatically in the air while Tara laid her three cards on the dining table.

  I studied them before consulting my guidebook. ‘“From now on things are going to be different. At first, you may only notice subtle changes. Forget the past. It’s really over. The future is looking rather wonderful.”’

  ‘I ask you,’ said Tara, spluttering dry toast crumbs over the cards. ‘What the hell does that mean? “The past is over.” A truly earth-shattering revelation there.’

  To placate her, I scanned the book for more information. There wasn’t any.

  ‘I’m more annoyed with myself than you, Claud,’ Tara sniffed. ‘Please don’t read for me ever again. I get so worked up, I could scream.’

  Sophie picked up the cards, shuffled, and placed three on the table. ‘Do mine. Hopefully, the angels will tell me how I should be living my futile life.’

  Tara yawned. ‘If your life’s futile, there’s no hope for the rest of us.’

  I eyed Sophie’s pink Pucci-inspired Maxi and the Tiffany rock sitting on her perfectly manicu
red ring finger and held my tongue.

  ‘There you go,’ I said, after examining her cards. ‘“Be careful today, you are attaching too much importance to something that is ultimately irrelevant.”’

  ‘Please explain?’ Tara said, glaring at me while Sophie chewed her bottom lip.

  ‘It means that although I’ll die in the next couple of days, ultimately it won’t matter to Soph. And with me out of your life, Tara, you’ll have your house back and your future will be rosy. There. That make you happy?’

  Sophie smiled. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘I do believe I’m feeling better already,’ said Tara.

  ‘Yeah, well while we’re waiting for me to die, let’s hit the Athenian sights, for tomorrow we fly to Santorini,’ I said, dismissing the angel talk with a clap of my hands.

  We walked and walked. Three women (one with a bung knee) and a cranky child in a worn red Bugaboo Bee stroller.

  ‘He looks preposterous,’ Tara said, pointing to Levi in the straining stroller. ‘He can’t be comfortable. He’s all squashed and his legs are buckling.’

  Sophie glared at her. ‘Do you want to carry him around all day?’

  In the sweltering heat and humidity we strolled through the Plaka towards the Acropolis, distracted every couple of metres by the vast variety of souvenir shops selling everything from plastic replicas of Greek icons like the Parthenon, to T-shirts and jewellery. Our surroundings were colourful, frenzied and loud. I especially enjoyed watching moped-riding locals darting in between tourists along the cobbled alleyways.

  Shopping. I couldn’t help myself. Once I started buying presents for friends, I couldn’t stop. How could I resist when there were so many kitsch icons to purchase?

  ‘Hey,’ said Tara, dragging me away from a fascinating street stall selling bronze statues of Zeus, Poseidon and Eros. ‘You’ve bought enough trinkets.’

  ‘But they’re bargains. It’d be a crime not to buy a few more.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a marble Zeus paperweight. ‘Marcus would love that,’ I started — because he collected paperweights, not because I was thinking of him.