‘And he did a good job,’ Minty says enthusiastically.
‘Yeah, that was okay, but in the restaurant, he fixed the plumbing in the men’s toilets.’ I shoot Minty a hard stare. ‘No one even asked him to do it.’
‘Like I said,’ Minty states with a sigh. ‘Good bloke.’
‘And then there was Kev cheap-at-half-the-price.’
‘Kev can always spot a bargain.’ Minty’s voice is full of appreciation.
‘But when he said take me out for a meal, I didn’t realise he meant a supermarket meal deal.’
‘Hmm.’ Minty nods. ‘You were a bit overdressed for that.’
‘Yeah. It wasn’t even a nice bench. So, I think I’ll take a pass.’ I flip open my bag and rummage for my phone. ‘Why is it that as soon as a woman reaches twenty-five everybody thinks she should get herself hitched. I don’t want a man.’
Only, of course I do, and of course, I’m lying. I gaze out of the window once again, thinking about what exactly I do want. I want a life like Evelyn’s, which did have a starring role for a man in it. Only not my brother’s friends. It had to be a man more like… like… An image flashes through my head: Marco Delagado. No way. I give myself a shake. I have got to get myself in check. The man is out of my league. Besides, he called me a goblin.
‘How was choir practice last night?’ Stan asks with a teasing grin, pushing his swing doors into a whirlwind for me to step into.
I press the disabled button, and the wide door next to the carousel slides open in front of me.
‘No fun,’ he says, raising one large bushy eyebrow as if still daring me to step into his revolving whirlpool and play.
‘Absolutely no fun,’ I confirm. ‘Are there auditions again today?’ I ask, sauntering towards my desk. Auditions seem to have been going on forever. They surely must have found their golden voice by now.
Stan follows me across the wide foyer. ‘Just the tail end. Thank goodness we haven’t had any tears yet. Usually, there are tears.’
Stan’s words make me feel more than a little relieved I’d kept a lid on it yesterday during my please-ground-swallow-me-up moment. Stan’s right – tears are a no-no in a place like Delagado Towers. Image is everything here. Emotions are not needed. Oblivious, Stan glances towards the lift, his eyebrows knitting as though perplexed. ‘Odd thing is, though, no one’s coming down from the studio.’
‘Oh?’ I’d only been working at the office for less than a year, so I’d never been here for one of their annual auditions. The talent trawl of Delagado Sounds. The Voice of the Nation is a national competition run by Delagado, sponsored by one of the terrestrial broadcasters. Sure, there are loads of these talent shows now, but this was the first, and a working record label runs it. The prize is totally sweet: a recording contract and studio backing. The event was legendary. I couldn’t wait to see who they chose. Maybe it would be someone I had ushered through the door.
It wasn’t actually part of my remit to get involved. I’m the receptionist for the entire building, not just the production company. Despite sharing a name, the main day-to-day running of the Towers and Delagado Design (the music side) doesn’t really mix. The sound studio even has its own lift, but without a dedicated reception desk. So, most likely, they don’t want the young hopefuls streaming in through that. The process goes on for around two weeks. It’s relentless. If they go past the main reception, at least everything gets recorded. Besides, the main reception, with its high marble pillars, glass windows, and wide tongue of a reception area, is big-time swanky.
It’s been so cool watching all the hopefuls traipsing by. Maybe I’m not involved with the glitz and the glamour going on in the studios above, but perhaps a little of that sparkle will rub off. What does it really matter if Marco Delagado caught me looking like a goblin? It’s a well-known fact that he might be pretty, but the man has the personality of an ogre, so I guess that makes us quits, or maybe some kind of fairy-tale incompatible. Not sure ogres and goblins have ever been storyboarded as a match made in heaven.
I grab the clipboard from the hidden drawer beneath my desk (the drawer I had put in myself) and start unpacking lanyards. Stan’s right, it looks like today is the drag end of the competition because there are only ten audition slots allocated.
‘Is there a pile of lanyards from yesterday?’ I say, glancing at my clipboard and the column of empty boxes where lanyards haven’t been handed back in. Something’s not stacking up here.
Stan shrugs. ‘Like I said, I’m not sure anybody’s come down. They ordered masses of food. Could be up there for the next twelve months.’
‘That was yesterday,’ I say, hoping Stan’s not going to mention what I’m labelling in my head as ‘the goblin incident’. Fortunately, he doesn’t. But there’s another problem. ‘Hmm.’ I chew on my bottom lip as I let the problem flit through my brain. ‘I had people sign in yesterday, but very few signed out. This is going to be a mess. They must be using the other lift.’
‘I guess,’ Stan says, not really interested, idly giving the door another swing.
I sigh. When I first took this job in reception, I had hoped I’d be more involved in the audition process, not just meeting and greeting and badge disposal. It seems as though I’m outside of the glamour, and now it appears they’re even using the other lift to avoid me. I can’t help feeling a little bit disappointed.
‘You didn’t answer me about choir practice,’ Stan says casually. ‘Did you get a chance to exercise your inner diva?’
I shrug, trying to play it cool despite the buzz of warmth I can still feel glowing inside me from last night. ‘It was fine.’
‘Hmm.’ He raises a bushy, sceptical eyebrow. ‘Something happened.’
I shrug. ‘It was just practice. Normal.’
He shakes his head slowly. ‘Clara, I can tell when you’re sitting on something, girl. Spill.’
‘Okay, okay.’ I glance around, making sure we’re alone, before whispering, ‘I had a solo.’
