‘Um.’ He chews his bottom lip. ‘I meant to. I just.’
‘Grrr… Out. Out. Out!’ I push him back through the door, slamming it in his wake.
MARCO
She’s standing there in front of me – Clara. The girl we hired today. The one with the blonde hair and all the curves. She went home to get changed. That’s what she said. She told me she was going to get dressed up.
‘No,’ I say simply. We’re supposed to be going to RJ King’s, one of the best jazz clubs in town; if the voice on the tape is singing anywhere in the city, that’s where she has to be. I’ve got the tape. King must know the girl. He’s like a walking encyclopaedia on talent. The music industry is just worlds within worlds. Everyone knows everyone. But this isn’t going to work because she, the girl, this Clara, is wearing… Hmm, I’m not even sure what you’d call it. Office wear. Librarian wear. Euthanasia-appropriate attire. And then there’s the hair. What in the hell happened to the hair?
‘What…’ She glances down at herself.
The way she does it, the uncertainty, it is actually quite endearing. Fitz would give me a black eye if I tried to interfere with her fashion choices. Then again, Fitz knows what to wear and when.
I steeple my hands in front of my face. Clearly, I’m going to have to spell out the problem. ‘We’re going to a nightclub, an expensive nightclub. You can’t look like you’ve just come straight from work.’ It’s some kind of shirt thing, slightly fitted, which is nice, but it’s a dull-as-ditch-water grey and the obscene eighties-style gold buttons shot down it like a military general make her look as stiff and uninteresting as said military general.
She blushes, and I guess I’ve hit the nail on the head. This is exactly what she wears to work. The blue outfit she’d been sporting earlier was just a lucky dip out of the closet.
She furrows her brow, puts one small hand up to her face, like kids do when they’re about to blush, or sob. She doesn’t even pretend to be okay with the criticism. This woman is so transparent, so honest. Being with her, I feel kind of raw. Kind of naked. Bugger. I walk to the other side of the table. Sit down and try to look irritated rather than curious. She’s in the worst fashion choice I’ve seen in years, so why do I find her so magnetic? Despite the outfit, I’m reluctant to take my eyes from her.
‘I’ll call a taxi,’ I say, reaching for the phone.
Her pretty face shifts to one side, in an attitude of curiosity. ‘I thought we were going to walk?’ She sounds confused.
The club isn’t far. We were going to walk, but that plan’s dead in the water now. Odd, because I was actually looking forward to the walk. A stroll through the streets. They’re lit with lamps this time of year and giving off that sulphurous glow that reminds you of early autumn. I could have maybe slipped my arm around her if she got cold, I could… I give myself a shake. This is seriously not the time or the person to be striking up a relationship with. That was my dad all over. He split up with my mum after she found him in this very office, naked, over the mixing desk with the secretary, the receptionist, and the saxophone player. Maybe I am lucky. Maybe I inherited the man’s business, but there’s no way I’d want to inherit his personality.
CLARA
I knew there was something wrong as soon as he looked at me. I’d been worrying about being too dressy, but it seemed as though I had pushed my look way too far back the other way. I’m getting this excruciatingly awkward feeling that Marco’s embarrassed to be seen walking down the street with me. He called a taxi straight off, and the club isn’t far from the Towers. In fact, it will take longer by cab, seeing as the offices are wrapped in a massive one-way system. I’m kind of beginning to wish I’d never taken a single step away from that reception desk in the foyer. This is not my world. I don’t have the right clothes for it, the right words for it, and I’ve already seriously messed up all Marco’s work. I’m beginning to wish I’d stayed home with Minty.
It’s then that Marco slides open a drawer and pulls out a bundle of papers.
‘Contract,’ he says, brusquely. ‘You should sign it tonight, so we can get you on the system.’
I stare at the neat booklet in front of me, with its embossed logo. Isn’t this exactly what I wanted? But I hesitate.
Once they find out I was the one who left the door open, I’ll be out on my ear. Can they threaten legal action against me? Is it incompetence? Of course it is. Am I better being contracted or saying I was just a stand-in, just helping? I am so screwed. But working in the music industry is a dream come true. I pick up the pen and flick through the pages, it’s all standard stuff, with enough of a pay raise for strawberries for my brother and few new additions to my wardrobe. I want this job. I sign. Marco witnesses. I’m just going to have to take one day at a time, but one thing is for absolute certain – I’ve got to do something about that CCTV footage.
I had left a message on Stan’s answerphone asking if he could stall handing it over. Stan might not work in security, but he knows everyone in the building, and they all seem to owe him a favour. Maybe I could just edit my bit out and then give them the rest of the footage, the part where the criminals burst through the door and nick the guitars. Guitars and admin. Because that is, after all, the only element the police will be interested in. Although something’s not stacking up. For the life of me, I can’t work out why anyone would steal Betsy’s admin. Then again, I’m not one hundred per cent sure Stan will be able to help. So, I know I didn’t commit a crime, but the guitars are worth a fortune. This has to be a police matter. If it’s in their hands already, there’ll be no stopping this snowball.
All this is bubbling around in my head as we exit the building. The cold air of the street hits me as we step out of Marco’s private lift and jump into a taxi. Despite the worry, I still can’t quite believe my luck. Okay, so this might be business but I happen to be out on the town with the most glorious man.
Live for the moment, I remind myself, taking a deep breath as the streets outside the taxi blur into an eclectic pattern of light and dark. I did nothing wrong. I didn’t actually steal anything. It was just a…
‘Clara.’ Marco’s voice jolts me back to the present. ‘We’re here.’
Confused, I glance out of the door. We are so not here. I may never have set one foot inside the door of RJ King’s, but I sure as hell know it’s not down some dark alley. I peer anxiously out of the cab window.
‘Well, get out,’ Marco says, opening his own door and getting out.
I glance nervously at the driver. He offers a search-me shrug.
Hmm, none of this is making sense. But Marco’s already turning, walking away down the backstreet, his shoes echoing against the high walls of industrial buildings.
‘Hurry up,’ he shouts without turning. ‘We don’t have all night.’
My heart sinks. It’s drugs. He’s clearly got some kind of habit. I don’t do drugs. My parents had dabbled and it never did them any good. I’m trying to build a life I want to be in, not escape from.
‘Clara!’ He turns to me, his deep voice bellowing down the corridor of silent blank walls.
