Belinda Missen - One Week ’Til Christmas

‘… It seems like, right now, Tom Bracken has all the right moves.’ She winked at me. ‘Risky business, he is not.’

I clicked my fingers as realisation hit. Tom Bracken. That was his name.

My gaze followed her as she disappeared back up through the stalls and out of the theatre. If, in the next few moments, Tom Bracken happened to slide out of the wings in just his socks and a business shirt, I’d call Edwin to thank him for this assignment. Hell, I’d even buy him a drink or two. That would make my day, and then some.

The stage remained empty as I climbed the steps and arranged myself in one of the chairs on stage. I placed my recording device on the table, checked my email one last time and was relieved to find some notes from Edwin had finally come through. Then … I waited. When it looked like I was on my own for a while, I dug about my bag for my camera and the best lens and snapped a few random shots of the theatre.

Atmospheric. I scribbled on my notepad. Edwin would love that. He loved buzzwords like ants loved picnics.

I sneaked looks at the activity in the wings. A smartly dressed dark-haired man had his back to me as people gathered around him; one for reminders, another for a tease of the hair, and his own hands at his throat in that tell-tale move that said, ‘Be right there, just straightening my tie.’ It was momentarily fascinating and I noted what I saw, even if it did feel slightly voyeuristic.

Character . It would add some flavour to my story.

When the moment finally arrived, Tom Bracken crept slowly out onto the stage, backwards, still chatting to the attendant by the curtain. She smiled coquettishly at him. One final comment about it being almost the end of the day and, as he got closer, his footwork resembled a dance more than a stroll.

‘Good afternoon, Merry Christmas and all that. I’m Tom, lovely to meet—’ he turned slowly to face me as I stood to meet him ‘— you ?’

‘ You ?’ I echoed, loudly enough that I heard my own voice call back to me from the rear of the theatre.

Life stopped; I was sure of it. Earth stopped spinning, gravity ceased to be, and the stage floated from beneath my feet like I’d thrown myself from the International Space Station. Behind me, I heard the footsteps of security get closer, and the attendant in the wings stepped forward apprehensively.

It was him, the guy from yesterday, from the sodden newspaper, angry phone call, arse in the gutter episode. Him with the universe in his eyes and Colgate smile. Tom. It was short and sharp and suited him perfectly. Pop! Straight into your life and out again. And here he was, standing before me, eyes wide, jaw dropped and arm outstretched waiting for me to shake his hand.

I stepped forward and shook. ‘At last, he has a name.’

Tom’s head tipped ever so slightly as he closed his other hand over mine. It was like someone had flicked a switch, and electricity swirled from my fingers to my toes and back around again. In the time since I last saw him, I’d been wondering if I hadn’t just imagined that feeling, perhaps confused it for an emergency rush of adrenaline. But, no, it was there, and it was as real as the sun and the moon.

‘I do,’ he said. ‘It’s lovely to … see you again? I can’t really say meet, can I?’

‘Likewise.’ I didn’t move. Neither did he.

‘Between almost being crushed by a bus and your running off, I’m afraid we didn’t get to introduce ourselves yesterday.’

‘I’m Iz,’ I said.

‘Is she a bird, is she a plane?’ He smirked and narrowed his eyes.

‘Isobel.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Isobel Bennett, I work with the Melbourne Explorer . I’m here to interview you today.’

‘Beautiful.’ His hand slipped from mine and moved straight for his hip. ‘How are you? I haven’t permanently scared you off public transport, have I?’

‘No,’ I said with a nervous chuckle. ‘Just street corners.’

‘Seat … sit … would you like a … for Pete’s sake, Tom.’ He took a loud, deep breath and clapped his hands. ‘Let’s start again. Isobel, would you like a coffee? Can I get you a drink?’

‘I’d trip someone up for a coffee right now.’

An easy smile formed. ‘Perfect. Me too. Even better if it had a chaser in it.’ He turned away and made furious hand gestures to an assistant, who in turn made like a marathon runner on a mission. ‘Please, make yourself comfortable.’

As I turned to sit, I eyed the chair like it was about to vanish into thin air before I sat down. Had there been any phone reception on the Tube, I’d have realised who I was interviewing and I might’ve been better prepared for this moment. Or, you know, added it to my reasons to run in the opposite direction.

‘How has your day been?’ Tom asked. ‘Drier than yesterday, I hope?’

‘It has been, yes. Thank you.’ I held my hand in place long enough to see my fingers shake. This was so ridiculous. I’d spent months asking Edwin for the chance to grow, to interview people and work on other articles, and here comes an actor to throw me off course. But he wasn’t just any actor, was he? ‘How about you?’

‘Ah, rather boring,’ he said, with an embarrassed laugh. ‘Not that I should say that too loudly around these parts.’

Boring. Hmm. Not quite the word I’d have used myself, but anyway.

I reached for my notepad and pen. ‘Shall we begin?’

Tom stretched for my Dictaphone. Wait. What? I leaped forward, hand atop his. There it was again, warm and sharp and utterly exquisite. God bless this sleight of fate.

‘Relax.’ He clicked the red button. ‘You hadn’t hit record yet. Just helping you out.’

I whipped my shaky hand back and did the oh-so-casual tuck the hair behind the ear move. So suave. I was sure I fooled nobody. ‘I’m glad at least one of us knows what’s going on.’

He smiled gently, but all I could see was him in the gutter in front of the bus. On top of me.

My eyes darted nervously from him to the email on the screen in front of me, most of which now looked like Tolkienesque gibberish. What was worse was I had only fifteen minutes to nail this interview before I was booted out in favour of someone who actually had a clue what they were doing. I took a large gulp of coffee and rapped my pen against my notepad.

‘Is something wrong?’ Tom leaned in, elbows on his knees. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m sorry, I just … I have absolutely no idea what to ask you.’

‘None at all?’ He shifted, leaning back into his seat. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or amused, and I was sure I’d seen both of those expressions yesterday.

‘This thing, this interview, is a last-minute thing for me. My boss rang me about half an hour ago with a time and location and told me to get here.’

‘I was going to say, looking at my schedule before I walked out here, you don’t exactly look like an Edwin.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘Much lovelier than an Edwin, if I can be so bold.’

Oh boy. My mouth filled with sand and my heart dropped the needle on some EDM.

‘Well, I may not look like an Edwin, but I certainly feel like an imbecile, which is quite in line with his personality. I mean, he’s offered me one suggestion here: How do you unwind after a busy day? What even is that?’

‘In bed.’

Coffee cup to my mouth, I coughed. Had someone switched up the thermostat? As much as a sense of humour was the first thing I looked for in a man, I didn’t need that mental image. At least not right now. I rubbed at my chin and focused on my phone again.

I was way out of my depth and the realisation was crushing. All the daydreaming in the world wasn’t going to help me build my own brand or launch my own blog when I couldn’t stumble through the simplest of interviews. By now, I was sure I looked like I was begging and wasting everybody’s time.