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He was hearing Cantonese swear words in his head and he knew what they meant. How fucking appropriate. His language was coming back one Cantonese swear word at a time.
Now he had to work out what to do to get his business back.
37. Hell and Back
“Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” — Confucius
Darcy stood with Russ, her cameraman, and Loud, her sound engineer, and five other network crews and about fifty journalists on the driveway outside the Sheraton on the Park.
Last night a Bulldog’s player and a visiting Hollywood starlet had a much photographed fling at a restaurant. The footballer was a married Brownlow Medallist and the starlet was underage. They were inside the hotel together, and they had to come out sometime.
Together or separately it didn’t much matter. It was a walk of shame regardless. There’d be excuses, misunderstandings, a variant of stoic or heartbroken wife, and tears enough for all of them before dinnertime.
When Darcy said she wanted to get back into field reporting this wasn’t what she’d been thinking about. But then, most of the journalists and crew here didn’t spring out of bed in the morning for a story like this either. As Loud said, it was better than being poor people, but after hanging around for two hours in heels that was debatable.
The only amusement was the book that was being run on whether the footballer would eventually end up with a media commentator role. It was hard to get anyone to bet against that happening.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Darcy turned to find Col Furrows on her right. “I’d say the same about you. What on earth are you doing here?”
“Mining and resources conference going on in there. I’m waiting to see what info I can pick up on various industry moves. See which CEOs are holding hands, and smiling at each other. That sort of thing.”
“Oh you mean real reporting.”
Col smiled. “Yeah. Where you buy your own clothes and wear out your own shoe leather.”
“I remember that. Actually, what I remember was being sacked for doing it.”
Col laughed. “Fun times. I don’t suppose you’d give me your contacts at Parker? Ted Barstow is in there. That Avalon Parker is about to get interesting.”
Darcy knew it was. Before she flew home Peter told her he’d decided to fight the deal, even though without Will he thought their chances of success were slim. It was too soon to think about Will without feeling slightly sick, and to never to forgive Col enough to share her insights on the Parker deal.
“I never did understand why you thought I had a special in with Parker.”
He chuckled. “Let me think. I’m not sure if it was you breaking his reputation or breaking him out of jail. Wait on, I remember. It was the card—‘I’m eternally sorry, love Will’. That’s what tipped me off.”
She gave a strangled grunt. “It did not say ‘love Will’.”
Col laughed again. “Might as well have. It was attached to a dress.”
“God, Col.” Darcy spun to face him. “You only think you know what happened. And while I remember it, thanks a lot for squealing to Brian.”
“Oh, yeah, right. Sorry about that.” He managed not to look the least bit contrite.
“Just as sorry as I am, not to remember my Parker contacts.”
“Darce, don’t be like that. Every business journo in the city is on the Parker Avalon story. Half of them are here now. I need an angle.”
She gave Col her best patronising tone. “You’re that good, I’m sure you’ll get one.”
“Is this about the story I wrote on you?”
“No, that story,” she gestured to her tailored pants suit with game show host hands, “helped me get this job. We’re square on that. This is just business.”
Col made a face but gave up the fight when a movement amongst the media pack alerted them to action in the hotel foyer. The ripple stilled as soon as it had stirred, men in suits, not a tail-between-legs, lipstick-on-collar variant of tearful, defiant or mentally incapacitated footballer. Col’s story, not hers.
The doors opened and out came a platoon of corporate suits. They blinked in confusion at the media pack, and a couple of bored photographers played it up for laughs, popping their flashes, to the amusement of everyone but the suits.
