have been thrilled that
her investment looked so gorgeous, but I wasn’t letting her get away with
sounding pretentious.
“Listen to you,
all blasé calling him Noah. That’s Mr. Steele to you, or have you met him
before?”
She laughed and
shook her head, her glossy brown hair sliding over the shoulders of her
charcoal silk trench coat. Coupled with a pair of killer red heels and Scarlet
Johansson red lips, she looked like she belonged at a Hollywood premiere.
In sharp
comparison, my favorite Punjabi suit—an apple green tunic with gold flecks over
matching loose pants with narrow ankles—was topped with a gold scarf to hide my
cast, and looked more of a fit for a hippy town like Belandera, especially with
my long dark hair pulled into a side ponytail that Jill had fussed over.
She was still
grinning when she said, “Pretty bloody exciting having him here. Louella will
be livid that she missed it. Plus, it will get us some national press.” The
mention of us reminded me that while Bohemian Brew was Fritha’s
brainchild, it had been Jill’s money funding it, courtesy of her stint as a
husband sitter, being paid by wives to sleep with their husbands.
I knew Finn had
gotten over his jealousy about that, but I couldn’t help suspecting he might
wonder how he compares. I certainly knew that if I got into a sexual situation
again, I’d be comparing Danny’s lovemaking.
Not that I wanted
to. Oh no. I was more than pleased to forget all about sexy Jack whoever he was,
and his stunning chest. Far easier to look after my own needs while fantasizing
about unreachable hunks like Noah Steele, who Jill was still ogling. It threw
me back twenty years to when we’d both had crushes on him.
I couldn’t help
asking, “Can we meet him?” Jill was right. Louella would be furious that her
inconvenient bout of the flu had sidelined her. It wasn’t often that I had the
celebrity experience and not her.
“Ab-so-bloody-lutely,”
Jill declared, and grabbed my good hand. “He can sign your cast.” She dragged
me toward him and I felt my cheeks flush with excitement, but Fritha got to him
first, all stick-insect arms, freckles and crazy red curls.
“Noah!” she
squealed, as if they were long lost pals.
He turned from
talking to Finn and faced her as she launched herself into his arms. Jill and I
both propped, watching as he swirled her around, laughing, and landed her back
on her bare feet, her uniform of a bright orange sundress still swirling for a
second as she righted herself.
We held back as
they chatted and Fritha called one of her waitresses over, then she showed Noah
to a booth she’d apparently set aside for celebrities, and which already
contained some local politicians and a sculptor. She finally noticed us waiting
and waved us over, introducing us and embarrassing me horrendously by telling Noah
I was the next big thing.
I stared at her,
open-mouthed, thinking she was the most audacious creature I’d ever met. But he
just grinned back and looked me up and down, making me wish—yet again—that I’d
been wearing something more glamorous.
“She’s Australia’s
Indian Diva,” Fritha added proudly.
I loved her, but
really? I wanted to slap a hand over that mouth.
“Is she now?” Noah
asked, with that larrikin smile of his, leaning back in his seat. “Is she
singing today?”
Fritha grabbed my
good arm. “Right now in fact. Maybe you two can do a duet.”
I smiled at her
graciously but the bottom was falling out of my stomach. A duet with Noah
Steele?
“What’s she
singing?” he asked.
I opened my mouth
to rattle off the laid-back jazz numbers Jill had asked for, but Fritha interrupted
by waving an airy hand. “Renee Geyer covers.”
What the hell?
Noah leant
forward, suddenly intent. “I love Renee Geyer.”
He’d been a child
of the seventies growing up in Sydney. Had he seen her perform live? Had Fritha
known that? I’d grown up singing along to Renee Geyer albums because she was
her investment looked so gorgeous, but I wasn’t letting her get away with
sounding pretentious.
“Listen to you,
all blasé calling him Noah. That’s Mr. Steele to you, or have you met him
before?”
She laughed and
shook her head, her glossy brown hair sliding over the shoulders of her
charcoal silk trench coat. Coupled with a pair of killer red heels and Scarlet
Johansson red lips, she looked like she belonged at a Hollywood premiere.
In sharp
comparison, my favorite Punjabi suit—an apple green tunic with gold flecks over
matching loose pants with narrow ankles—was topped with a gold scarf to hide my
cast, and looked more of a fit for a hippy town like Belandera, especially with
my long dark hair pulled into a side ponytail that Jill had fussed over.
She was still
grinning when she said, “Pretty bloody exciting having him here. Louella will
be livid that she missed it. Plus, it will get us some national press.” The
mention of us reminded me that while Bohemian Brew was Fritha’s
brainchild, it had been Jill’s money funding it, courtesy of her stint as a
husband sitter, being paid by wives to sleep with their husbands.
I knew Finn had
gotten over his jealousy about that, but I couldn’t help suspecting he might
wonder how he compares. I certainly knew that if I got into a sexual situation
again, I’d be comparing Danny’s lovemaking.
Not that I wanted
to. Oh no. I was more than pleased to forget all about sexy Jack whoever he was,
and his stunning chest. Far easier to look after my own needs while fantasizing
about unreachable hunks like Noah Steele, who Jill was still ogling. It threw
me back twenty years to when we’d both had crushes on him.
I couldn’t help
asking, “Can we meet him?” Jill was right. Louella would be furious that her
inconvenient bout of the flu had sidelined her. It wasn’t often that I had the
celebrity experience and not her.
“Ab-so-bloody-lutely,”
Jill declared, and grabbed my good hand. “He can sign your cast.” She dragged
me toward him and I felt my cheeks flush with excitement, but Fritha got to him
first, all stick-insect arms, freckles and crazy red curls.
“Noah!” she
squealed, as if they were long lost pals.
He turned from
talking to Finn and faced her as she launched herself into his arms. Jill and I
both propped, watching as he swirled her around, laughing, and landed her back
on her bare feet, her uniform of a bright orange sundress still swirling for a
second as she righted herself.
We held back as
they chatted and Fritha called one of her waitresses over, then she showed Noah
to a booth she’d apparently set aside for celebrities, and which already
contained some local politicians and a sculptor. She finally noticed us waiting
and waved us over, introducing us and embarrassing me horrendously by telling Noah
I was the next big thing.
I stared at her,
open-mouthed, thinking she was the most audacious creature I’d ever met. But he
just grinned back and looked me up and down, making me wish—yet again—that I’d
been wearing something more glamorous.
“She’s Australia’s
Indian Diva,” Fritha added proudly.
I loved her, but
really? I wanted to slap a hand over that mouth.
“Is she now?” Noah
asked, with that larrikin smile of his, leaning back in his seat. “Is she
singing today?”
Fritha grabbed my
good arm. “Right now in fact. Maybe you two can do a duet.”
I smiled at her
graciously but the bottom was falling out of my stomach. A duet with Noah
Steele?
“What’s she
singing?” he asked.
I opened my mouth
to rattle off the laid-back jazz numbers Jill had asked for, but Fritha interrupted
by waving an airy hand. “Renee Geyer covers.”
What the hell?
Noah leant
forward, suddenly intent. “I love Renee Geyer.”
He’d been a child
of the seventies growing up in Sydney. Had he seen her perform live? Had Fritha
known that? I’d grown up singing along to Renee Geyer albums because she was
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