“God, Tim, where the hell have you been?”
It wasn’t Emma but an agitated Joe.
“Home and at work, where else?”
“I’m downstairs.”
“Really?”
“She’s disappeared.”
“What?”
“She’s gone and I don’t know where?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Buzz me in, you idiot, I haven’t got a lot of time.”
16
He burst through my door and hurtled into the living room, bouncing off the furniture as if my apartment was a pinball machine. “You got anything to drink?”
“Wine?” I asked.
“That’s no good. Something stronger – whisky, vodka, anything.”
I poured straight vodka while he bounced. He half-swallowed it in a gulp and finally sat, his right leg jiggling as if he’d been pumped with amphetamine.
“She’s been gone for almost forty-eight hours, and it’s driving me crazy,” he said.
“Just slow down – what do you mean gone?”
“She’s on stage at the concert hall, but nowhere else. She’s avoiding me.”
“Avoiding how?”
“So, two nights ago I went to Scheherazade as usual; but there was no ticket at the box office. I figured she must have forgotten, so I bought one. It was a terrible seat. Then after the concert I went down to the stage door to wait for her, like I always do. But she didn’t show. After half an hour I asked the security guy if he could call her for me and he said she’d already gone. So I call her mobile. Nothing. It’s weird. I go around to her place and it’s completely dark. When I knock on the door it starts those bloody schnauzers barking, but that’s all. I go round the back and all the windows are black. I ring and knock for about an hour, then I give up. I figured she’s tired and fallen asleep, so I go home and have a terrible night until dawn.”
“This was the night before last?”
“Yeah, forty-eight hours. So yesterday I ring her about once an hour, but her phone is switched off. Now I’m starting to freak out, so I duck out around lunchtime to see if she’s home. Nothing. Just those damned barking schnauzers. It’s just so strange. I went to the concert again and it was a repeat performance. She vanished.”
“Except when she’s on stage.”
“Exactly.”
“She steps off the stage and – pouf! – she’s gone,” I said.
“She doesn’t go pouf!”
“You didn’t say anything to me.”
“I didn’t want to seem like a lunatic. I figured that she might be ill or something. So after the concert I go around to her place again, but still nothing.”
“And the schnauzers?”
“Still there. So tonight it’s back to the Opera House and there’s no ticket once again. I buy another one, and there she is on stage large as life playing like an angel. So after the concert I get around to the stage door as fast as I can, but it’s the same story – she’s already gone. Then I go straight around to her place and nothing. Everything’s dark.”
“And the schnauzers?”
“Will you stop asking about the damned dogs.”
“I don’t get it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why the stage door? Why didn’t you wait for her in the green room?”
“She said she wanted to keep our relationship private.”
“You’ve never been with her around other members of the orchestra?”
“Never.”
“There must be other ways out of the Opera House.”
“Of course there are, but I’m not a quantum mechanic. My particles can’t be in two places at the same time.”
“That’s strange.”
“Yeah yeah, I know. So anyway I ring and knock for a couple of hours at her place and then I came around here.”
He finished talking and stared at me through his heavy spectacles with the look of a desperate tawny frogmouth.
“I guess she wants some space,” I said, feeling lame.
“Obviously Tim, but why?”
“You know I can’t answer that. She seemed passionate about you over the pies and peas. You’re probably just going to have to give her time.”
“There isn’t any time.”
“What?”
“The last performance of Scheherazade is tomorrow night, then she’s gone.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe she’s going to live permanently in Sydney, who knows?”
It was sad to see the sudden flash of hope in his eyes. “You think?”
“Joe, I don’t know, but all you can do is wait until she surfaces again. She’s a sensitive artist – maybe this is what sensitive artists do.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
I didn’t really believe it was true at all. Jarrah’s warning about her instability was in the centre of my mind, but it wasn’t just that. I know Joe’s blazing enthusiasms. As much as he thought of himself as a man in love, he was also a passionate fan. Fan is short for fanatic and, looking at my best friend unravelling in my living room, I had the suspicion that Sophia Luca might be overwhelmed.
“Well, anyway,” Joe continued, “I’m going back to her place and stake it out.”
“You did hear what I said?”
“What?”
“Stalking her is not giving her time, is it?”
“Waiting isn’t stalking.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m not giving up, Tim.”
“By stalking her I think you are. What’s wrong with having a little faith in her? Why don’t you respect her independence?”
His leg stopped jiggling and he swallowed the rest of his vodka. “That’s the best thing to do?” he asked softly.
“Absolutely. If she needs space then there has to be a reason, and besides, it’s not going to do you any good looking like a pathetic lap dog.”
“That’s a bit harsh.”
“You know the look, Joe – snout lying forward on outstretched paws, big sad eyes staring at a closed door, the occasional whimper, the …”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”
“Good. Remember you’re as independent as she is, and I know how tough you are.”
“So: be a man?”
“You are a man, Joe, one of the best I know.”
“Okay, you’re right. I’ll go home, take a shower, take a pill and figure things out with a clear head tomorrow.”
“Excellent plan.”
He put down his