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“Hi, I’m Angus, what can I get you?”
She ordered the steak sandwich and a Coke and watched two men set up on a small stage. Live music. It’d been a long time since she’d listened to a band. Too long. The man with close-cropped hair had to be barman Angus’ younger brother, they were so much alike despite a different rationing of hair. There was a girl too and she looked vaguely familiar. Georgia was trying to place her when her meal arrived. She nibbled on a hot chip and it came to her. Unless she was a twin, she was Damon’s pixie groupie girl and she was with the band. Hell, did that mean Damon was around? She’d have to chew quicker, and though it wasn’t possible for indigestion to hit before you’d eaten, she felt an acid burn in her chest.
She sipped her Coke. It didn’t matter if he was here, and pixie girl had never looked at her, she could relax and eat without regurgitation threatening.
She watched pixie girl move about the stage, then make her way to the bar, standing at the section where it flipped up to allow bar staff to move behind it. Pixie signalled Angus and he nodded. He poured a couple of beers and Pixie watched him as if pouring beers was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. Oh. Maybe she was a twin, maybe Damon wasn’t seeing her, because she looked interested in Angus.
While Georgia watched, another woman came to the flip-top section of the bar and lifted it. She was as blonde as pixie girl was dark, and painfully thin, and Angus might have split a lip his smile was so big when he saw her. So what was this? A suburban love triangle. Pixie wanted Angus who wanted Blondie. When Angus kissed Blondie and she stole the bar towel tucked in the back of his jeans, Pixie’s expression said it all. Jealousy.
Damon had said he was single, maybe that was the truth. Or it was a love rectangle. But then, he’d said he liked parasailing as well. She was still stupidly nervous he might be here, though she’d swept the crowd with more than one searching look. What was clear was that Angus was with the band and Pixie was its singer.
She pushed her empty plate forward and checked her watch. She had time to listen to one song before leaving for the movie. One song became two. They were surprisingly good. In fact, they were tight and Pixie had a powerful voice for a tiny person. It was earthy and throaty like she’d just rolled out of bed, or had two pack a day habit.
Georgia fossicked in her bag for her wallet, she could still make the movie, and when she next looked up Damon was on the stage. He wore suit pants and a white dress shirt, the neck open and the sleeves rolled up. He’d worn jeans during the week, but this look was nightclub, cigar smoke sexy and he had to know it, because there was a rumble of approval from the female members of the audience.
Damon had told her about ice-cream and choroideremia, that he’d driven a car and had sex before he was legal, but he’d not bothered to mention he could sing. Of course he could. She should’ve worked that out for herself.
He launched into Eric Clapton’s Layla, Angus and his brother framing him, Pixie had a tambourine and Georgia forgot all about Brad Pitt on the big screen. Damon was mesmerising, if not for his voice and its diamond rough and whisky smooth, then for the way he moved, hip and shoulder, shake of his head, hand gesture.
He was inside the music and he moved around the small stage without any hint of his poor vision. She stayed through five more songs, and was five hundred times more confused about Damon Donovan. But sure about one thing. He deserved to be treated for the person he was, not the issue she’d made him into.
9: Pure
He had that scratchy throat, coming down with a cold feeling again. Damon asked the coffee shop folk for tea with honey and lemon instead of his usual coffee. He might be too clagged up to work today. His own fault. He’d ended Saturday night’s show with a request for a Cold Chisel song and did his best Jimmy Barnes screaming, and instead of resting his voice, he’d spent hours on the phone to his parents on Sunday.
Before Taylor tooted, he’d started Monday morning hunkered under a towel over a bowl of hot water and eucalyptus oil, but he still had the urge to cough and clear his throat. Five minutes in the studio and he’d know if he should raincheck.
Bugger it. He didn’t need five minutes; he knew he wasn’t going to be able to record without sounding croaky. He could’ve phoned in and stayed home. But if he did that he wouldn’t see Georgia and he felt bad about how he’d left it with her. She had some hang-ups, obviously, but that was no reason to bark at her.
He let Taylor lead him down the hill towards Avocado. “Remember I can’t wait for you,” she said.
“I’ll be right in a taxi.”
“And I’m sorry about the thing for Dalia Friday night.”
He gave her arm a squeeze. “Don’t be.”
“I should be there.”
“You have a gig. That’s more important.”
“Not like it’s going to lead to anything. Bunch of bus drivers getting their groove on at an awards night. Who are we kidding; it’s not a gig, it’s waitressing with a microphone.”
He let her arm go, and Taylor walked on a few steps before she looped back. “Well it is. I’d rather be with you.”
“You’d rather dump a paid gig for an unpaid favour?”
She put the back of her hand against the back of his and he trailed his hand up her arm to hold her again. “Yep. I’m a dumbass. And I’m still not moving in with you.”
She walked on. If there was a limit to the amount of times he could explain to her why it was a good idea she move in, he hadn’t reached it yet, but he needed her to agree to it before he felt any further affects from his choroideremia, otherwise she’d make the decision for the wrong reasons and he’d never be able to convince her he didn’t want her there as an unpaid carer. And it was cl
ear he was getting closer to the point where he’d need to speak up. This morning he’d not been able to tell the time on his oversize bedside clock.
“Get Angus to go with you.”
“Nope. Heather worked for him Saturday. Can’t ask him to mess up her study time again.”
Taylor grunted. She’d always been prickly about Jamie’s ex, Dalia. Bizarrely cute because Jamie was totally cool with the fact Dalia now preferred a girl called Al to him. It was funny Taylor didn’t suggest he get Jamie to go with him.
