to a door which stood ajar.
Frank sipped his coffee as he looked around the new office. It consisted of this room and another through a door on the left, which opened, a woman popping out, a screwdriver in one hand and a metal sign in the other.
‘I bring Melbourne’s finest coffee, Tessa!’
‘Best boss ever!’ the woman declared. ‘Let me put this up first.’
Frank held the sign in place while Tessa affixed the sign.
‘Lazy beggar,’ Frank said fondly to the watching Milo.
‘Every artist needs an audience, and hanging signs straight is definitely an art form.’ Milo applauded appropriately when Tessa had finished. She held the door open so they could all admire it.
“The Paolo Cruz Foundation” was etched in black on the silver background. Frank thought that Milo would have preferred something flashier, more in keeping with the Paolo he’d known, but the low-key, low-cost sign had been Milo’s choice. ‘I’d rather spend the money on the kids who need it,’ he said.
‘Phone is going on later today,’ Tessa said between sips of her coffee, ‘and I’ve updated the website with all the new social media stuff. Twitter, Facebook–’
‘Myspace?’ suggested Milo, deadpan.
‘Hell no, that’s on the way out. You don’t want to associate your brand with that. It’s right down there in the prehistoric era with Geocities.’
Frank felt like he was 34 going on 90. ‘YouTube?’ he asked tentatively.
‘We can just link to the stuff from your record company, unless you want a separate channel for the Foundation?’
‘The fundraising songs are separate to the albums, so maybe a separate channel?’ said Milo.
‘No probs. I’ll fix it up this arvo.’
‘You’re worth your weight in coffee, Tessa.’
‘Proper Melbourne currency,’ she laughed.
‘Oh, and this was in the box,’ said Milo, handing her the slightly crumpled envelope from his pocket.
Tessa frowned at it. ‘We haven’t advertised the address yet, have we? Ah, look at this. Not a stamp, even. Someone’s dropped it off. Here.’ She gave the envelope back to him. Typed across the front of it was ‘FROM YOUR NUMBER ONE FAN’. The ink impressions were uneven, so it wasn’t just a computer font. It had been typed on an honest-to-god manual typewriter.
Milo jammed his thumb under the flap. Frank grabbed a letter opener for him instead. With a defiant grin, Milo tore the envelope raggedly open.
‘If I didn’t love you madly, I’d report you for cruel and unusual punishment,’ grumbled Frank.
Milo’s cheeky retort dried up as he unfolded a single sheet of paper. Stuck to its pages were letters snipped out from magazines. The result was ludicrously melodramatic and puzzling.
LOOKING FORWARD TO YOUR NEW DUET.
‘Ooookay.’
Tessa plucked the letter from Milo’s fingers.
‘That’s a weird kind of threat. Ominous yet supportive.’ She put it into Frank’s waiting hand, only for Frank to scrunch it up and lob it into the bin.
‘At least it’s not scones,’ said Milo, sipping his coffee.
‘What’s wrong with scones?’ asked Tessa.
‘My mum’s scones? Nothing,’ said Milo.’ Anonymous scones from people who call themselves your number one fan? Absolutely everything.’
‘So if anyone ever sends food, especially if you don’t know the source, bin it,’ Frank added.
‘Bin it?’
‘I don’t care how charmingly home made it looks. Put it in the bin and set it on fire. I’ve heard stories about “secret ingredients” that would curdle your blood.’
‘Ew. Fans are nuts.’
‘Some fans are nuts,’ Milo correct her. ‘99.99 percent of them are lovely–’
‘If a little earnest,’ added Frank, thinking of Lachie.
‘–and most of the .01 are just “ominously supportive”.’
‘It’s that last .001 per cent who shoot presidents to prove their love.’
‘Being famous is weird.’
‘Tell us about it.’
A tap on the door interrupted them.
‘If it’s a free pizza–’ began Milo.
‘Bin it, burn it.’ Tessa nodded as she opened the door to a tall young woman with the same Mediterranean skin tones as Frank and Milo.
‘Gabey!’ Milo said with a sunny grin, pulling her into the office. She would have been taller than him even in bare feet; in heels she towered over everyone in the room.
The woman initial reserve vanished at Milo’s greeting. She beamed and kissed Milo noisily on both cheeks. ‘Milaki!’
‘What does that mean again?’ asked Milo, returning the European double-kiss.
‘You’re her Little Apple,’ teased Frank.
Milo preened like it was the best compliment he’d had all week. Gabey kissed Frank’s cheeks too.
‘Gabey, this is Tessa Defar. She’s managing the Foundation’s office,’ said Frank. ‘Tessa, this is–‘
‘Gabriella Valli.’ Tessa was trying not to look too starstruck. ‘I love your music, Ms Valli. I was so happy to learn you were recording again, and with Frank!’
‘He’s the best,’ Gabey agreed, ‘and streets ahead of my last producer. He’s an exacting but just task master.’
‘And he brings coffee. Shall I get you one, Ms Valli?’
‘Gabey, please. And I’m fine for coffee, thank you.’
‘Gabey.’ The new Paolo Cruz Foundation office manager tamped down her delight, bringing her Professional Person game to the room. ‘Right, I’ll leave you all to it and do a bank run, unless you need anything?’
‘We’re all good,’ Frank said. ‘This is band business.’
‘The duet you guys are doing?’
‘Among other things.’
Frank lead the way to the quiet back room to discuss the finishing touches to Gabey’s new album and the duet’s inaugural public performance.
Tessa
