‘Happy birthday, angel,’ her father said. He gave her a kiss and a crumpled rag of a smile. He rubbed at the table surface, dragging bread crumbs into his cupped hand.
‘I’ve been flirting with stockbrokers,’ said Gia Katalanis, sitting down opposite Maria.
Gia was crisp and yellow in a linen suit. She dumped her files and briefcase on the floor and papers from the files spilled out towards the wall. She looked down at the papers, wrinkled her nose and shrugged.
‘I’ve been flirting with stockbrokers,’ she said again, leaning forward and taking Maria’s hands. She was small and blonde with a dusting of golden hairs along her slim, tanned arms. She smelt of shampoo and red wine. She had straight hair she always cut in a neat fringe. She had fine features, a fine chin which clearly suggested both frailty and determination. ‘Well they think they are stockbrokers,’ she said, ‘but they are used car dealers in their secret hearts. One of them is from Hale & Hennesey. We hit them for three-forty thou in back taxes, plus the fines, and I think he fell in love with me.’ She laughed. ‘Ask me is he cute.’
‘Is he cute?’
‘He’s cute.’
A champagne cork popped at the next table and they both turned to watch the champagne being poured into the sixteen-year-old’s birthday glass, then laughed at their own Pavlovian response to the cork pop.
‘These days,’ Maria said, ‘when they drink champagne in movies, I always look at the label.’
‘Me too,’ Gia said. ‘Exactly.’ She lit a St Moritz and put lipstick on its gold filter tip. ‘Heidsieck,’ she said. ‘Krug, Taittinger, Bollinger, Moët, Piper-Heidsieck …’
‘Pol Roger …’
‘Veuve Clicquot.’
‘I used to think anything with bubbles was champagne,’ Maria said. ‘When I told my mother I had drunk champagne she said, “Po po anaxyi yineka” – no one will want to marry you now.’
‘Your mother always said that.’
‘She was right, poor Mama. This would kill her if she wasn’t dead, really. Even my father. I visit him at night and I always ring first and say, “Papa I’m going to come over.” I don’t want to shame him with someone …’
‘But, Maria, come on – the street knows …’
‘The street knows? Don’t be nice to me.’
‘O.K., all Newtown.’
‘Newtown? Mrs Hellos knows. She was in Balmain inspecting real estate. I always felt safe in Balmain …’
‘Oh God, Mrs Hellos. I saw her in D.J.’s with that buck-toothed nephew.’
‘Tassos.’
‘Tassos, that’s right. She said, poor Mr Takis, such a good man – first his wife, now his daughter. I said, but Mrs Hellos, Maria is not dead. No, said Mrs Hellos – so melodramatic, you know – no! So I said – Mrs Hellos, are you saying it is better that Maria is dead? I’m not saying nothing, said Mrs Hellos, I’m just thinking about Mr Takis and his kidneys.’
‘Oh God, Mrs Hellos. Oh shit,’ Maria said laughing. ‘Dear Gia, you always make me laugh. The birth class was so miserable without you.’
Gia took Maria’s hand. ‘Did they show one of those horror tapes again?’ Maria’s skin was so moist and supple and her fingers so long that it made her own hands seem dry and neurotic.
‘Uh-huh.’ There was a veiled, weary look around her eyes.
‘Are you mad at me?’
‘Of course not. Really. Not even a tiny bit.’
‘Oh Maria, I’m sorry. Did you have a shitty day as well?’
‘Well, I wasn’t flirting with stockbrokers.’
‘But I thought they finally sent you out to catch some rats?’
‘They sent me to Franklin. Can you believe that?’
‘Franklin. My God. Who’s in Franklin?’
‘No one’s in Franklin. It was some shitty little G.M. dealer.’
‘Maria, you’ve got to just tell them “no”.’
‘That’s what they want. They’re going to keep giving me these insulting little audits until I blow up. I’m like the emperor’s wife. They have to kill me too.’
‘The emperor’s ex-wife.’
‘I cooked dinners for the creeps when Alistair was director. They came to my house and drank my Heemskerk Cabernet. They were meant to be my friends. Billy Huxtable, Sally Ho. It was Sally who sent me to Franklin. I said, “What if I go into labour in Franklin?” She said, “There are very good medical facilities.” What a bitch! Plus, the clients – really – they were mice! They looked like they were Social Welfare clients, not ours. They were trying to commit her – this is an old woman, eighty-six – to a mental home when I arrived. Her children were trying to lock her up, and she seemed more sane than they did. If I hadn’t arrived she’d be locked up right now.’
‘Good for you, Maria.’
‘Well, maybe – I’m investigating her, and I’m sitting here, talking about champagne, surrounded by people drinking vintage Bollinger.’
‘Well, let’s go somewhere else. I don’t like all this either.’
Maria chose not to hear that. ‘It makes me feel sleazy,’ she said.
‘What? The clients or the restaurant?’
‘Both, together. The juxtaposition.’
‘Maria, you’re not sleazy. You’re the least sleazy person I know.’
‘I’m going to pull this investigation. I can stop it.’
‘You can’t stop it, and you’re being really dumb. Listen, my dear, you are the least sleazy person I know. You never spend more than twenty bucks here. You’ve got a village mentality. Remember when you told me Alex was wealthy … He had a new 1976 Holden and went to Surfers Paradise for his holidays. You know what you said to me … You said, “Typical Athens Greek.” And you wouldn’t go out with him.’
‘I was a little prig,’ Maria said. ‘All I’m thinking is how I can cancel the investigation.’
‘So you’re going to break into the computer, right?’ When she was anxious Gia had a tendency to shout.
‘Shush,’ said Maria. ‘I think that is what I am going to do. Yes.’
‘You don’t know how to.’
‘Shush, please, but yes I do. I’m not going to be made into a bully.’
Gia picked up Maria’s bread roll and began to tear it up. ‘O.K. Maria … O.K… . If you’re really upset by crooks drinking vintage Bollinger, we’ll just go somewhere else.’
Maria saw the stoop-shouldered man at the next table flinch as he heard himself labelled a crook. He looked up sharply.
Maria said, ‘All the poor guy is doing is giving his daughter a birthday party.’
Gia leaned across the table and spoke in her idea of a whisper. ‘That “poor guy” is Wally Fischer.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh. That’s right. Oh. We’re going to get him. He’s an inch away from jail. He can get away with dealing smack and organizing murder but he’s not going to get away with tax. He didn’t hear me.’
‘I thought he was an accountant being sweet to his wife and daughter,’ Maria whispered. ‘He heard us. He knows we’re talking about him now.’
‘This restaurant makes me sick,’ Gia said. ‘Let’s go somewhere else.’
‘No,’ Maria said. ‘I like it here.’
Gia started giggling.
‘I do,’ Maria said.
‘I know you do.’
‘When the baby’s born I won’t be able to afford to come here, but it’s very cheap for the sort of place it is.’
‘I know,’ Gia said. ‘You can get focaccias for $7.50 and wine for $3 a glass and once you sat next to Joan Collins, right over there.’