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Me:See you then. Night.
Patrick Vitello:Goodnight Naomi.
Life was hilarious. Just when I thought everything had gone wrong in my life, an unexpected nice thing happened.I can’t believe I’m going to see Patrick again.Patrick Vitello. Out of all the people in the world to get a message from!I could do with a mature friend right now, and he well and truly has his life together.Fuck you, Daniel.I am Naomi Clarke, and I don’t take shit from anyone, and I wake up early. Yes, I am the queen of early mornings.
14
The Opportunity
Sunlight pierced the gap between the linen curtains and shone right onto my face. A light breeze made the curtains billow and swept cool air across the room, for a moment. Magpies out in nearby trees sang their cheerful tunes while other birds rudely interrupted with their chirps. And as much as I wanted to shut the window and close the curtains, I convinced myself:You’re an early bird now, Naomi. Come on. Up you get. I rubbed my eyes and let out a long yawn. Change was in the air – I could feel it – and even the sunshine and birds appeared to agree, having woken me long before my alarm was set to go off.
As sleep faded, my mind turned to last night. It was appalling the way Daniel treated me and had treated me the whole time I worked there. All my hours slaving away for a measly wage were not worth the mental abuse I received. And what an obnoxious, in-denial fool to text me afterwards as if last night was some kind of joke and his behaviour was excused because he was angry and it was a tough night.How so, Daniel? How was it such a hard night to make a few coffees and pour some wines while therest of your staff actually ran the restaurant and served food?Arrogance at its finest.
I felt for Deb but couldn’t help but think Daniel was not the first older man she’d slept with. She lost her virginity to a forty-year-old, smartly dressed banker with a bald, shiny head on her eighteenth birthday, leaving me at the club by myself. Anytime a man was powerful ‘money-wise’ she got instantly lured in by them and would do anything for their attention. I hated to admit it, but both Daniel and Deb were at fault for what happened. They were both adults who made their own life choices. Daniel was the one I was furious at, though. You marry someone, have a kid, and then when they go away, you sleaze onto someone younger, and an employee, for that matter.Do you enjoy what you created for yourself? I hope you go broke. No, actually, I don’t even care. I just never want to see you again.
Once the rant was out of my system, I checked my phone: 6:50am.Hmm, should I tell Deb I’m going to coffee with Patrick? Or will that only make her more upset? Best to let her sleep in and tell her about it later.
I showered, then stood in front of the large bathroom mirror and inspected my face. My eye colour looked greyer, and my hair was a frizzy mess. I sighed and spent what felt like hours brushing my hair and disposing of the loose bits in the bin. Nothing a bit of argan serum can’t fix, I thought as I crouched and grabbed the brown-tinted bottle from the cupboard and squeezed some into my palm.
After my hair was smoothish, I decided I’d let my curls down for the day and watched as the blonde locks fell to my waist. I felt an influx of nervous butterflies invade my stomach and noticed my cheeks were flushed, and so was my throat. My heart was racing so fast I could hear it in my ears. Why am I so damn nervous around this man?He’s gorgeous, yes, but he’s nice. My God. Get a hold of yourself, Naomi.
A few minutes later, after many deep breaths, I leaned into the mirror too close, and my mouth fogged my view. I wiped the smear with my clammy palm. I applied my makeup with a shaky hand, and dropped a few utensils in the process, but did a good job, considering. The end result was a natural, glowing look with a pinky-nude lip and coral cheeks.
Feeling quite pleased with how I scrubbed up, I went to the wardrobe and hunted through my clothes in search of the perfect dress. Usually, I’d throw on a T-shirt dress and Doc Martins and be done with it, but today was different. Today, I would be having coffee with one of the most successful restaurateurs in Australia, and I wanted to look my best.
I got changed into the prettiest-coloured dress in my closet. It was a cotton dress the colour of pink fairy floss that was tightly fitted around the bust and had white buttons all the way to the bottom. I smoothed the Peter Pan collars, then turned side to side in my dressing table mirror and admired how the belt cinched in my waist. The fabric was soft against my skin and fell just above my knees.My goodness, going all out this morning, I thought as I put pink rose earrings in and spritzed Chloe perfume on my décolletage and wrists. Nude sandals and my pink crossbody clutch finished the ensemble. My neck was still red with nerves and my hands were ridiculously clammy as I walked to the garage.
I took big breaths through my nose and exhaled through my mouth in hopes of steadying my heart rate and butterflies, then hopped into the car and reversed out of the garage with my cat-eyed sunglasses on. Elvis Presley, who’d always been Dad’s favourite, sang through the speakers as I navigated the moderate Thursday traffic, passing modern houses as I drove.
Thankfully, there was only the occasional twit on the road, the worst being the creep who slammed on his brakes in the middle of Gympie Terrace while looking for a park. I get it – Noosa Riveris great, but you could have at least indicated.Ugh. Despite that, I wasn’t running late for coffee with Patrick. It was going to be a good day, even though I had no job … but I’d deal with that later.
The luxurious beachside buildings came into view as I reached Hastings Street. The heart of Noosa Heads. Tanned surfer dudes strolled the footpaths, with boards on top of their noggins as they walked barefoot and crossed the road towards the beach. For a moment, I envisioned Seb, shirtless, walking beside them with his board, but the thought quickly vanished as I caught sight of the families dressed in beach attire, strolling in huddles while their kids ran excitedly ahead with Boost Juice smoothies in hand. I could only imagine how eager they all were to press their feet into the smooth sand and leap into that refreshing sea. Nothing beats Noosa Beach.
I drove past the taxi rank to the main roundabout, flicked on my left indicator, and gave way to the influx of traffic coming from all entries. A speedy man wearing a helmet zigzagged on his moped in and out of the traffic and whizzed on ahead. Judging by his black pants and chef jacket, he worked in one of the kitchens.
The whole street was lined with cars – nearly every second building was a first-class restaurant, each with its own cuisine, and breakfast menus were always popular with the tourist crowd. The buildings that weren’t restaurants were a mix of boutiques, gift shops, beachfront resorts, bars, and galleries. I resisted the urge to slam on the brakes myself, now that it was my turn to look for a park down the six-hundred-metre street. The patrons who weren’t going to the beach, dressed stylishly in bright colours, strolled the streets with recyclable coffee cups.
I kept driving to the end of the main street until I passed Patrick’s enormous restaurant: Casa di Vitello. A cleaner was wiping the already spotless windows while another one swept the expansive timber deck. The exterior of the restaurant exudeda relaxed, inviting feel with its wooden structure and stone walls. Patrick even had a cherub wishing fountain on the left side of the deck, where people could throw coins.
My car snailed behind the vehicles in front as I scanned for a vacant park. All full.
Just as I was about to give up and try further down towards Noosa Spit, a lady in a silver Range Rover began to reverse out. I flicked on my indicator and slithered into the vacant spot. What a score.
Feeling immensely satisfied with myself for scoring such a good park, I crossed the road smiling and strolled along the footpath. A trio of women in pink bikinis and cowboy hats scuffed their sandals along the cement as they passed me. They smelt of coconut body lotion and giggled as they chatted amongst themselves.
I sucked in deep breaths with each step as I got closer to Gerado’s and gave way to a lizard running across the path heading towards a nearby garden. During the walk, I passed the fairy-light-wrapped trees and a stressed-out chef who was sucking on a cigarette with his phone in hand. Clearly, someone had messed up their restaurant’s delivery as I heard him yell: ‘How the hell could you forget twenty punnets of tomatoes when that’s the main ingredient we need? It’s on you if we’re down on sales because we run out of chutney.’ He drew in another drag of cigarette to calm his frustration.
The man’s voice faded as I walked on.I can’t believe I’m meeting with Patrick for coffee. What a strange twenty-four hours.
The staircase before the restaurant was sprinkled with sand, which made a gritty sound beneath my shoes as I climbed the steps. I was almost at Gerado’s clear glass doors when a gusty ocean breeze flapped my dress above my thighs. Thank God noone was behind me, or I’m sure the poor bugger would have seen my underwear wedged up my arse.
I held my dress down with one hand and pulled open the door with the other. As I stepped inside, I absorbed the white walls decorated with seashell-framed art, the seashell chandeliers, and ginormous bar. Gerado’s was half the size of Casa di Vitello but could fit at least two hundred and fifty diners and was very chic indeed.
As I removed my sunglasses, a waiter who looked more like a model greeted me behind the guest desk with a warm smile, ‘Hello, miss. Can I help you?’
‘Oh, umm … I am meeting someone here. I’m not quite sure whether I have a reservation …’ I trailed off, hoping I didn’t look as out of place as I felt. This place was fancier than I’d expected.
‘So, you don’t have a reservation under your name?’ he asked with an arched eyebrow.
