Barbra Novac
For a deeper emotional twist...
Take it as it Comes
Due for Release December 2009
Read an Excerpt...
Chapter One
“Oh My god! You can’t cancel on me tonight!”
Linda Jacobs shrieked into the handset of her home phone, a crying baby balanced precariously on her left hip, and two children pulling at the arm holding the phone. Although barely audible, two words stood out distinctly from the vague cloud of babble coming from her sitter. ‘Sorry’ and ‘Tonight’.
“My apologies, Ms Jacobs.” The woman on the other end of the phone raised her voice to be heard over the screaming children. “My mother is ill and I can’t come this evening.”
“But this is the biggest night of the season for me! You know that. You know I am supposed to be there in 90 minutes. I have to prepare myself also, and you cancel on me NOW!”
Linda knew hysteria gripped her, and at some other time, may even consider herself to be a little irrational; but she’d slipped into emergency mode now, and she needed help. She had to get to her beloved launch, preferably without three children with her. Panic rose seized her belly, adding to the existing compounded stress that lived resident-like in her neck. Taking her eyes off the mess of a sitting room floor--that just couldn’t matter now--she shook the two older children off her elbow, searching her mind for a way to talk this woman into coming over.
“My mother is sick-”
“Bring her with you.”
“She’s in the hospital Ms Jacobs-”
“I don’t care. Come, get the children, and take them with you to visit. How could you do this to me?”
The words were out before she realized what she’d said.
A chill in the pause told Linda she’d gone too far. Shifting Aaron to the other hip, she passed the phone from one hand to the other in a smooth, practiced move. She had it pressed to her ear in time to hear the words she knew were coming. She’d gone and created a stale mate-again. Third sitter in three months: here it came.
“I’m sorry Ms Jacobs. This is not working out. I don’t think my request is unreasonable tonight. Please find another sitter. I won’t be coming back.”
Linda could just hear the click of the hang up over Aaron’s tears.
“Fuck” she said under her breath. The exciting word caused three-year-old Aaron to halt his tears. He shouted, “FUCK” as loud as he could.
“No no, mummy said duck darling.” Linda said through closed eyes and clenched teeth.
“You said fuck mummy! I heard it. It’s a rude word, and we get into trouble if we say it at school.”
Jemma still hung off her arm, no doubt with the intention of catching Linda in the act of being a bad mother. Toby gave up and sat in front of the television in a silent rage.
“I did not say fuck, but I will in a minute!” Linda yelled at her daughter, causing the baby to burst into tears again.
Satisfied, Jemma let go of her arm and skipped off to the other end of the apartment singing, “Mummy said fu-ck, Mummy said fu-ck” in sweet lilting tones.
“Don’t say that Jemma or there’ll be trouble.” Linda yelled after her as she heard the song continue in the distance unabated. She’ll have to deal with that one later.
She took Aaron and sat him on the couch in front of the television just in time to notice Toby watching Big Brother.
Now in full emergency mode, Linda dialed the phone again as she called out, “I told you I don’t like you watching that Toby”.
Mae answered with her cheery “Hi” as Toby said, “I’m twelve now. I’d like to see you stop me.”
Linda stared blankly at her son, until Mae’s third “Hi” brought her back to reality.
“Mae! I need help. I have no sitter tonight. And my children seemed to have suddenly become possessed by the devil.”
“What! You lost another one. Tonight? Your kids aren’t bad enough to go through this many sitters.”
As the words “I know” were forming on her lips, six-year-old Jemma strolled by the phone and yelled out “Mummy said fuck!”
Mae chuckled. “Okay. We need to find you another sitter.”
“God. Help me. I’m not even dressed.”
“Jesus Linda. Do you have to do family crises at every big event? You’re Forty years old! When are you going to get this sorted? Jeez, I’ll call Kirsty. She’ll have an emergency person--like you should have.” On an afterthought, she added, “Why did you call me? Why not Helen?”
“The last two I got were from Helen. I know you don’t have kids but I thought it smarter to try you, rather than risk being told my grace period had expired.”
“Good call. I’ll solve this. I’ll ring you back in five minutes.”
Linda breathed a temporary sigh of relief. She needed to dress as fast as she could manage. The tension had started an hour ago when she realized she’d missed her hairdressing appointment. Now she’d have to complete her whole look alone.
Shit, why wasn’t I better organized? Linda agonized. This is the story of my life. Well, my home life. Complete chaos, as usual.
Linda’s life, while confused at home, couldn’t be more different at work. This launch, the pinnacle of her career thus far, had been timed to perfection, with no detail left to chance.
Tonight, the launch of Koans’ latest summer range would place them firmly on the international stage. Linda planned this night for well over a year, from inspiration, to design. Mae pre-sold to the boutique stores, but tonight they stretched further. Mae wanted to sell, out of the comfort zone. They’d been riding high on the cashmere theme for seven winters and six summers. Now was their dawn of the Age of Aquarius. These new light summer fabrics, finely woven and creatively designed, displayed Koans’ innovation and dexterity. The silks, linins and Egyptian cottons added over the last few years, were back, but this season they’d added blends. Organza, cotton lace, viscose and crepe de chine made up some of the more glamorous fabrics. Linda even allowed some model jersey.
They took a risk doing their own launch at a cocktail party. Nevertheless, the acceptances flooded in. All A-list. For a little country down under, Koan made its mark as the biggest fashion prospect Australia had to offer the world.
In Linda’s mind, this high standard provided them with foundations of stone upon which to build.
When Linda designed for rival company City Road part time and Mae worked as their chief buyer, the women worked on Koan at nights and on weekends. Eventually, they built the business out of nothing. These days, they had a financier on board, a team of staff, and a marvelous new designer who worked primarily on their growing corporate division.
As the newest member of the team, Helen proved to be a valuable asset to the company. This evening would see the entire wait staff dressed in Helen’s line. A third of tonight’s attendees came from restaurants and top-shelf department stores. It didn’t have the glamour of couture, but it did have the money--and the clientele, to show the world the Koan fashion house took itself seriously in the world of money and business. Big Business.
Planned to perfection, the night started in two hours. Linda, now desperate, had already waited for over an hour for the sitter, in order to get down there and see that everything moved forward according to plan. This last minute problem hit her between the eyes, as the family stuff usually did. Then the phone rang.
“Mae?”
“It’s me. I found you a sitter. He’ll be there in twenty minutes, and I have references from four different sources. Kirsty can vouch for him. She says he’s perfect.”
“He?” Linda suddenly felt her stomach lurch. This night only got worse, not better.
“Yeah. He. What’s the big deal?” Mae used her this-had-better-not-be-a-problem warning tone.
“Um, Can I leave my children with a man I’ve never met?”
“You can when you have four references to back him up and you’re already an hour and a half late!”
“What if he is a... You know… pedophile?”
“What? It is the 21st century for gods’ sake. Men can do this job too you know.”
“But… um… I don’t know.”
“Look!” Mae’s tone moved from firm to aggressive. “This guy has references and he has been sitting for four of our friends for the past two years. His certification covers child-care, as well as first aid. He is perfect. And you are in no position to let prejudice get in the way.”
Mae continued before Linda had a chance to argue.
“Here’s his mobile number. 0423560345. You call him and you cancel if you want. He’ll be at your door in about 20 minutes. His name is Andrew Barton.”
The click told Linda she’s been hung up on for the second time in ten minutes.
Linda stood for a moment in the middle of the room holding the phone. She’d forgotten the number to ring and cancel. She looked at Jemma who sat behind Toby, slowly pulling his hair, and then at Toby trying to watch Big Brother. Her stare passed right through them as she wondered, trance like, what to do. Noticing her off the phone, Aaron used the moment to waddle to her feet, vying for attention.
Although trapped in an impossibly difficult situation, she dialed again.
“This had better not be you Linda!”
“Um… Hi Mae, it’s me.”
“What is it?”
“I didn’t write that number down. I don’t think I can do this.”
“I’m not okay with this Linda. What are you going to do? Bring them?”
“I don’t know… I-”
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
“Linda, answer the door and get that sitter in with your kids and get your head around tonight. This guy has more references than any sitter you’ve had before. Your attitude is sexism pure and simple, and we’ve got no time for it.”
Linda walked to the door and opened it.
“I’m sorry Mr. Er... Huh?” and she drew her breath in sharply.
Mae chuckled on the phone. “I think I forgot to mention that he’s gorgeous and twenty-six. Now hang up, introduce your sitter, and get yourself ready for tonight.”
Take it as it Comes
is due for release December 2009 through Siren Publishing
Honest Masks
Available Now through Loose Id Publishing.
Read and excecerpt here...
In their way, the masks assisted the drones of Electricity Australia. The idle boredom lay behind a transparent veneer, comforting in its consistency, safe in its stability.
Every day, sitting at their desks by nine, smiles plastered on their faces, lips spread evenly over white teeth, they shuffled the paperwork they’d left behind the night before. Every morning, they all wondered why they hadn’t completed that task yesterday before they left. Now they had to start the day with it, a mind-numbing chore, now overdue as well as excruciatingly dull.
Each day, they shouted, “Mornin’, Bob. How was your night?” or “Tracie, you look nice! New dress?”
The all-important debriefing of television shows or last night’s news, usually left till morning tea, could be bumped forward if something really exciting happened. In that case, people would break with convention, allow the energy to seep into the day, and begin the prattle about controversy as soon as they reached their desks.
“Did you hear those Abos refused the fruit-picking job? It was on A Current Affair.”
“Yeah, take away their benefits! That’ll learn ’em.”
“My grandfather, Mum’s dad, is Samoan! He wouldn’t have come to this country if it wasn’t for the fruit pickin’ being available to Islanders. So the Abos don’t want to do it. Don’t make ’em, I say. We get more productive Islanders who do want to work in this country.”
“Anyone watch Law and Order?”
“Lawyers! They should bury the lot of ’em.”
Thus flowed the conversation, each and every day; very little -- including the television shows -- changed.
Chloe arrived ten minutes late, as per her routine. Also according to daily custom, Ross, sitting opposite, glanced at his watch and shouted “Good afternoon” as Chloe bent over the sign-in book. It was a way to make sure she signed in at nine ten a.m. and didn’t cheat the system by writing nine a.m.
Secretly Chloe hankered for the day she’d write nine a.m. even though she arrived at nine ten. Just to buck the system. But Ross was always early, and no matter how many good intentions were made at five fifteen p.m. every day, by the next morning, she couldn’t do without those ten extra minutes in bed.
“Morning, Ross. I’m going to get you a new watch. Yours seems to be broken again.”
Ross grinned at her, shook his wrist, and moved his watch to his ear as if to check on it. “No, no, I think it works perfectly. Nine ten a.m., your check-in time every day.”
Chloe smiled, letting him win this round, but like all victors, it wasn’t enough to satisfy his bloodlust.
With excited eyes, he shouted across to her as she poured her coffee at the urn, “Your chair’s gone. Been nicked. I was here early, but it was gone when I got here. Must have happened last night.”
Chloe looked over at her desk with irritation. “What? I’ve had it three days. This place is unbelievable. Has someone actually stolen it?”
“Told you,” said Ross triumphantly.
He had told her. If you went through the proper channels and got yourself assigned an ergonomic chair, it would get nicked by someone who couldn’t be bothered to go through the process. It was how things always were. A fresh, new chair with an interesting shape and that clean leather smell was too valuable a prize to leave around the desk at night, too tempting to the bored, artificially reduced minds at Electricity Australia. “And besides,” Ross had claimed at the time, “what are you going to do if it gets nicked? Call the cops? It’s a waste of time if you ask me.”
Chloe looked at the plastic, hard-backed stool that sat at her desk. “I can’t believe someone stole my chair,” she said absently.
“Waste of bloody time gettin’ that thing,” Ross murmured under his breath.
Chloe drooped at her desk and started to reshuffle the papers she’d shuffled into their positions the night before. Mechanically, she turned on the computer and slumped her chin in her hands as she waited for the screen to warm up. Her eyes stung. She had to find a way to get to bed earlier. But then, she knew that was never going to happen. Not the way she filled her nights.
Still wilting into her hand, Chloe let her eyes travel around the grey office. Her two years at Electricity Australia seemed nothing when compared with others in the room. Some of them, like Ross, had frittered away over twenty-five years.
When Chloe had first moved from the States and taken the job there, it had surprised her when her colleagues had treated her like a celebrity. People had commented on her accent, asked her questions about the exotic location she’d come from (San Francisco), and generally treated her like Paris Hilton’s first cousin.
Chloe had thought it rather provincial and nice. But soon, she’d discovered the boredom; sheer boredom had driven their interest in her. The curiosity in her hometown had given way to the daily grind. No longer a novelty, she’d blended in hiding behind her own version of the mask, although they still considered her an expert on all things in the United States.
“Why doesn’t the US get that Steve Jobs from Apple to run the country, Chloe? He’s doing damn fine work at Apple.”
“When are they going to bring out the next series of The Simpsons DVDs, Chloe?”
“How’s the cleanup after Hurricane Katrina going, Chloe?”
Chloe had warmed fast to her work colleagues. The bond of ennui connecting them had created ties almost familial. Despite the fact that they all thought Chloe odd (she didn’t watch television), they’d embraced her and made her feel welcome. Chloe had come initially seeking this kind of modest, unemotional warmth, so the mind-numbing surroundings suited her well.
Opening her top drawer, she ignored the photograph of her mother she’d carefully placed there to keep her in check. She took out the computer keyboard and plonked it on the desk, ready for the day’s work.
Chloe turned toward her screen and glanced down at the Internet Explorer icon. Peeking behind her shoulder to be sure no one was watching her screen, she typed “Eva Peron” into the search engine. Narrowing the search to “images,” Chloe sifted through a number of photographs of the iconic politician, searching for the one she wanted.
Soon, an image caught her breath, indicating the end of her search. Eva Peron in a dress made of cotton, lying back in the sun, the exhilaration on her face natural and the softness of her hair wind tousled. The dress clung at the bodice: crisp, sharp, and young. Black-and-white striped in a halter style, the embodiment of Peron as a young woman.
Chloe stared at the image, a familiar thrill working its way around her insides. She forgot the smallness of Electricity Australia and imagined the verve of the woman in the picture. Eva’s life was such a strange mixture of confined feminine conformity and a wild, untamed lust for life.
Transported by her reverie, Chloe studied the dress, thinking how she could copy the pattern, her environment slipping away from her. She’d need some cotton, the finest, in white and then black. She’d need to draft the pattern from the picture on this Web site. But that was no problem. She’d done that many times.
“Chloe! Good news! I have the chair!”
Chloe jumped. Hearing her name thrust her uncomfortably into the real world. In a well-practised move, she made the site disappear, leaving the blank desktop suspicious in its emptiness. Looking up, without yet fully comprehending where she was, Chloe gazed into the eyes of Gary, a work colleague, who had stopped, rather foolishly holding her chair while looking down at her.
“What are you looking at on the Net? Was that Evita?”
Chloe laughed nervously. “Of course not! What the hell would I be looking at Evita for?”
“Maybe to get us double tickets to say thanks for making sure your chair was safe?”
Gary made the kind of joke that sounded like a joke, but if you actually laughed at it, you risked causing deep offence. Chloe knew Gary had a mild crush on her, which would explain why he stood by her desk at this moment, looking ridiculous behind a large chair that he’d pushed all the way from his floor.
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