Unstitched (3 page)

I picked it up: a simple-looking advertisement, on plain white paper for a new band,
Perennial
.

I held it up to Katie, another event planner who sat in the cubicle next to me. ‘Do you know anything about these guys?’

Katie shook her head, red hair bouncing. ‘No, not at all. Some guy brought that in yesterday for you.’

People drop in flyers and promo all the time; it was part and parcel of the industry. I looked at the name again, trying to materialise the nebulous memory it stoked. This could either be a stroke of fate or a massive fail.

‘My band for Saturday night pulled out,’ I said.

Katie wrinkled her freckled nose. ‘Oh, no. I’m doubly glad they gave that baby to you now. What a headache.’

‘Should I risk asking these guys?’ I said, holding up the flyer again.

Katie nodded emphatically. ‘God, yes. You’ve got four days to secure a band for the biggest fundraiser of the year. Even if they’re mediocre, it’s better than having no one.’

The muscles between my shoulder blades tightened and my stomach squirmed. ‘You’re right. It would be career suicide to screw this fundraiser up.’

‘Totally. Let me know if you need my help.’

‘Thanks, Katie.’

Shit, shit, shit, shit
. This was not what I needed to come back to after a full day spent with my head shoved down a toilet bowl retching for all of China to hear. I flopped back against my chair and sighed, then grabbed my phone and dialled the number on the flyer.
I choose to see this situation as fate.

‘Lucas speaking.’ A deep male voice with a hint of an accent.

‘Hi, Lucas. My name’s Anthea Lewis. I’m calling from Martin & Marshal P.R. You dropped in a flyer —’

‘Anthea. Good to hear from you. I didn’t expect you to call so soon.’

Expected a call? Confident assumption, considering most of the promo that comes through here is thrown in the bin before given a second glance.

‘I know this is really, really late notice and all, but I need a band for this Saturday night. We’re looking for music that appeals to 25 to 40 year olds. So maybe covers of contemporary rock and so on. Does that sound like
Perennial
?’

‘Yeah. We play acoustic covers and we also have a lot of our own material,’ he said.

Tingles fanned up my arms hearing his honeyed voice. My heart sped up a fraction. If this guy looked as good as he sounded… ‘That’s a good fit. The event is for the Angela Barnes Cancer Foundation. You’ll need to put together a playlist that’ll have you basically playing for three hours in between an auction and other scheduled events. Do you think you could handle that?’

‘That won’t be a problem.’

I grinned. My tightened muscles slowly relaxed. ‘Fantastic. Would you be interested in doing such a gig?’

‘We’d be happy to.’

I negotiated a reasonable fee and found a pen under a pile of contracts to scribble down some notes:

Perennial

$5 000

Supply all own equipment

Contemporary rock

‘Are you able to send through a sample of your music, pictures of the band and perhaps a playlist?’ I wasn’t willing to run completely blind on this.

‘I’ve some visual footage and sound streams from gigs we’ve done on a USB?’

‘Could you email the files?’

‘Sure. I’ve also still got the playlist from the Cloud Bar Sunday. I think that’d work, although I’ll change it up a bit for Saturday night. You know, different audience and setting and…’

I looked down at my notepad, at the next series of scribble.

USB

Playlist — Cloud Bar

My heart hammered as I squinted at my scribble. ‘Sorry, did you say you did a gig at the Cloud Bar on Sunday?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Excuse me, what’s your name again?’

‘Lucas Ryan.’

It rang a vague bell, but I could barely remember a single thing after leaving my apartment on Sunday afternoon.

Lucas, Lucas, Lucas
? A cloudy image flickered of a man with longish hair standing on a stage, strumming a guitar and singing with the most delectable voice I had ever heard.
Did I talk to him on Sunday? Surely not.

‘Come on. I’m not that forgettable, am I?’

I could hear the smile behind his taunts. ‘I remember you now.’
Kind of.
‘You’re a wonderful singer.’

He laughed. ‘So you told me.’ I squirmed in my chair. My God, I wanted to make love to this man’s voice.

I searched my drunken jumble of memories hard, trying to recall something, anything. Wobbly, unconnected images formed — an incoherent conversation with a girl crying in the bathroom; Brendt, me and the girls slamming back tequila shots at the bar; dancing on a table; last drinks being called, and then bang — his stunning green eyes, his sexy-as-hell grin and those full sleeves of tattoos from the tips of his fingers to his neck.

I licked my lips, swallowed hard, crossed my legs and squeezed tight. ‘Don’t worry about the USB. You’ll do just fine. I’ll email you through the contract and particulars in the next five minutes. If you could just sign it and shoot it back to me then we’ll be all set.’

‘All my details are on the back of that flyer I left you.’

‘Great. Thank you so much, Lucas, and I’ll see you Saturday night.’

I blew out a long breath of air. Holy shit, my body was vibrating simply from talking to this guy.

I ran my eyes over my notes:

Lucas

gorgeous smile

dreamy voice

email contract

details on back of flyer.

I flipped the flyer over. Below the typed contact details was a hand-written note in perfect script.

Good morning, Anthea

A pleasure to meet you last night.

Did you end up finding the definition for perennial?

Lucas

What the fuck?
I fired up my computer and googled
perennial
. The
answer.com
webpage spat out some definitions:

           
1. Lasting an indefinitely long time; enduring

           
2. Appearing again and again; recurrent.

Was that supposed to mean something?

Note to self: never get that drunk again.

Ever.

Brendt

The doors to Radio 219UE parted before me, and I strode into the station. It was Friday morning, nearly a week since I decked my co-host, Leith, in the nose. My boss had ripped it up me first thing Tuesday morning, once he saw the extent of Leith’s injuries — both eyes a deep shade of black and his nose the size of a lemon.

Under normal circumstances I would’ve been fucked-off by such a severe earbashing, but I had no remorse for doing what I did. I’d quit my job before I’d even consider that my actions were wrong, which is exactly what I told my boss, and which only helped bring forth another ear-bashing replete with enough expletives to make a criminal blush.

Mine and Leith’s friendship had, understandably, been tense over the last week. It was noticeable to the public, too, with a pile of emails coming through during yesterday’s show. It wasn’t helped by the on-air argument. We had planned to talk “rationally” about men taking steroids, supplements and spending hours in the gym, but I ended up calling Leith a steroid-munching Neanderthal, which then led to a long silence as we stared each other down. Silence — any length of silence — was a big no-no in the business of radio, as was antagonising your co-host.

So yesterday’s show resulted in emergency peace talks with the boss and producer, extending well into the evening, and didn’t accomplish anything. No amount of talking was going to end my hatred of Leith, although, I did, reluctantly, agree to pretend.

By the time I arrived at Rachel’s apartment, my eyes were burning. Every blink was heavy and long. And each muscle was wound so tight, I snapped at any slight criticism. I couldn’t blame Rachel for rolling over and going to sleep without so much as a ‘good night’ or a ‘fuck-off’. I didn’t know which was worse.

I dived heavily into unconsciousness, but woke during the middle of night, my skin coated with sweat, gasping at the thin air. Why did all this shit with Leith infuriate me so much? It wasn’t like me. Hell, I’d been nominated “most laid-back” in my graduating class and barely ever held a grudge. Yet I couldn’t get rid of this hand-trembling violence towards Leith, nor this instinct to wrap Anthea in my arms and cradle her tightly so nothing could ever hurt her again.

I rolled over to face Rachel, her white-blonde hair and pale skin looked ghostly under the dim moonlight that was burrowing through the cracks in the curtains. My freakin’ chest was so tight it hurt. I stroked a finger gently down Rachel’s cheek. Her skin was soft and smelt like bubble bath. I squeezed my eyes shut.

She deserved someone better than me.

I didn’t sleep much after that.

***

I made my way down the white-walled corridor to the studio. Leith was already inside, the black bruises under his eyes now faded to a deep shade of green. I had to stop myself from smiling smugly when I saw him. I pushed through the doors and took my seat beside Leith at the desk, not even a hello offered.

Leith looked me square in the eyes. ‘I miss her, Brendt. I’m going to try and win her back.’

All went silent and the air in the room became glassy. I stood, breathing deeply in the icy shards, every muscle charged, and walked back out. I marched into my boss’s office and said, ‘I quit.’

Anthea

I arrived at City Hall with Sabine before time. I felt beautiful when I stepped into the venue, but my stomach was a knot of nerves.
This needs to go off without a hitch.

I had spent the entire morning primping myself for the occasion: painted nails, ringlets and a retro band of diamantes in my hair, along with the most stunning dress of red satin, deep plunging at the front and back, that skimmed down my thighs to meet my new three-inch-high silver Jimmy Choo’s.

Angela Barnes was Martin and Marshall’s biggest client. Tonight was one of her major fundraisers and, by far, the biggest I’d ever been in charge of.

I glanced over the expansive auditorium, the result of all my hard work. There were thirty round tables, each set for ten guests with crisp white linen and shiny tableware. The centrepiece of every table was a dozen blood-red roses that billowed from ornate gold vases. Each chair was white with gold brocade. Bundles of candles set on ostentatious gold candelabras crowded against the walls, while the entire ceiling space was strung with winking fairy lights, reminiscent of a star-dotted night sky.

It was romantic, magical, everything I intended and yet so different from how I left it, because now it had laughter, expectation and animation. Yesterday, it was still lonely in anticipation of nearly three hundred guests to breathe life into it.

Sabine smiled. ‘Holy shit, Anthea. You’re a bloody genius.’

I grinned, the knot in my tummy slowly loosening. ‘Thank you.’ My job was my art. This room my canvas. And my mind, the endless contractors, props and equipment, were my pallet. This space was a tiny representation of my soul and to have it accepted and loved by others reaffirmed that there was a part of me that was beautiful and loveable, too. I craved these moments like an addict craved cocaine, because when my seeming soul was appreciated, my constant yearning stopped, albeit ever so briefly.

Angela spied me from across the room and waddled over. She was an enormously successful property developer: mid-fifties, peroxide blonde hair and oversized, botoxed lips. She wore the most exquisite silver beaded gown, and expensive jewellery dripped from her wrists and neck. As well as being M & M’s biggest client and, not to mention, my favourite, Angela had the kindest heart.

‘Anthea, darling,’ cooed Angela, as she kissed each of my cheeks, smothering me in dense plumes of expensive perfume and hairspray fumes.

‘Mrs Barnes, you look stunning, as always.’

‘You’ve done such a wonderful job tonight. The use of roses and candles is simply fabulous. Well done.’

‘Thank you so much.’

Angela narrowed her eyes and frowned. ‘So where’s this date of yours? Leith, was it?’

My stomach curdled at the mere mention of his name. I’d forgotten he was my date for tonight. I glanced sidelong at Sabine, then back to Angela. ‘Ah, Leith couldn’t make it. He’s not feeling well.’

‘Oh well, dear. Never mind. Perhaps I’ll get to meet him next time.’

‘Yes, next time. I hope you have a successful evening, Mrs Barnes.’

‘I’m sure I will. Please enjoy yourselves tonight, ladies.’

Angela noticed someone else she knew and fluttered away, leaving behind a mist of glitter and eccentricity.

Sabine hissed. ‘Fucking Leith.’

I rolled my eyes and grinned. ‘Imagine if I told her the truth — sorry, Angela, but Leith’s a complete arse-wipe and was only with me as long as it took to get into my pants and win himself a tidy sum of money.’

Sabine laughed. ‘I think she’d enjoy that.’

***

All the guests had arrived. They were sipping champagne and nibbling canapés. The band was rocking it — bellowing out songs that had the guests singing and dancing. I looked upon the stage at Lucas and his band. He was dressed in faded ripped jeans, heavy black boots and a black t-shirt. My heart warmed with gratitude for him helping me out at such late notice.

Soon enough, Angela took to the podium and the formal processions began — speeches, an auction, and a five-course banquet. By midnight the majority of guests had moved on. Sabine had left early, leaving me behind to wrap up, but I was stuck, like a foot squelching around in sticky mud, chatting with Reese Spencer, a recently divorced solicitor. He was round, not tall enough and definitely too old for me. I wanted to brush him off, because he was plastered and gawked way too much at my breasts, but he approached me and I have the hardest time being rude to people. Yes, even overzealous perverts like Reese.

‘I thought on a whim, I need a new car. So I went out last weekend and bought one of those new Range Rovers,’ he said.