“Dalia should’ve thought about how you’d manage.” Taylor hit Avocado’s buzzer and she pushed the door open when it clicked.
Dalia should’ve. She was tremendously creative but as badly organised as the artistic director of a theatre company as she had been as a theatre major at uni. She had volunteered vaguely to find a theatre studies student to help him, but he’d rather have someone he knew on hand to lead him around in the dark.
He had a hazy plan to feel Georgia out about it. It wouldn’t be a date. He’d be relying on her to help him in an unfamiliar sound stage to narrate a piece of theatre where the audience moved through a series of rooms to piece together a murder mystery.
As the narrator he’d need to follow them, moving in narrow second-tier gantry, back and forth between ten different rooms. There were movement, timing and cueing implications he simply couldn’t manage on his own.
He’d present it to her as a freelance opportunity and he’d pay her a fee. She need not know the job was a favour and he’d pay it from his own account.
A blast of Avocado’s air conditioning hit his chest as they came through the door and he coughed.
“Wow, that doesn’t sound good.”
“Morning, Lauren. That’s exactly what a voice actor loves to hear. That he doesn’t sound good.” He released Taylor’s arm and she shifted away.
“You can’t have everything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lauren laughed. “You know what I mean, hottie.”
Taylor was laughing too. Damon palmed his face. “Isn’t that sexual harassment?”
“Oh pleease,” Lauren said, and he had a mental picture of her rolling her eyes. “Bring it on.”
He stood where he hoped Georgia would appear and rescue him. He heard the door buzzer, someone coming in from the street, then Georgia’s, “Hi,” and Taylor put her hand to the back of his and he took her arm so she could steer him out of the way.
A bunch of people came in and Damon heard Trent and Franca greet them and take them to the main studio. When the noise died off, he said, “Georgia?”
Taylor patted his hand. “I’m outta here.”
She turned in his arms and he bent a little to let her kiss his cheek. “See you Saturday night.” He was so grateful she’d stopped wearing that perfume. He didn’t need to add sneezing to the coughing.
“Not if I see you first,” she deadpanned, and the door opened again.
The blur in front of him would be Georgia. “Hi, busy here this morning,” he said.
“Do you have a cold?”
He shook his head. “Maybe. Throat is a bit scratchy. Let’s lay something down and see how it sounds.”
She led the way to Studio B, not saying a word, opening doors for him. He could smell her fresh scent when he went through each of them, coming close to her in the narrow corridor. Facing her through the glass wall of the iso booth he reconfigured his options.
What made him think she’d consent to going with him to Dalia’s show? He’d find someone else. But Jamie was busy and Sam was more likely to push him over a railing than stop him falling through one.
“You probably shouldn’t sing Barnsey.”
He looked out towards the control room and cleared his throat, but not the mystery of the comment.
“I was at the bar on Saturday night. You have an amazing singing voice.”
“You were at Angus’ bar?”
“Moon Blink. Yes. I went in for a counter meal. I had no idea you’d be there.”
It took a second to get over the level of whack in that coincidence. But he guessed she’d chosen to live close to Avocado and Moon Blink was in a popular restaurant strip in the area. He thought back to Saturday night and what Georgia might’ve seen. A thirty-minute set followed by a drink with some regulars. Another set and a late dinner break. The Cold Chisel song was in the second set, which means she’d stayed to the end. “You didn’t say hello.”
“You were busy.”