The Spin Doctor's Wife

Chapter 4: It’s Not What You Know

Chapter 4

It’s Not What You Know

“I’ll have a blueberry muffin and a soy latte,” Carla said to the waitress, who looked like a Swedish model.

Across the table Lindy waved her hand. “Don’t have soy; it’s carcinogenic. It’s all part of a marketing conspiracy to get us to drink unwanted soybeans left over from the husks used in packing cases.”

Carla rolled her eyes. Lindy’s young children, Ben and Grace, looked longingly at the muffins on the counter.

“And don’t eat the muffins – sugar and white flour will give you bowel cancer.” Lindy looked at the doe-eyed waitress. “We’ll have two acai berry smoothies with a spirulina shot. The kids will share a mango smoothie with activated almond milk.”

“Lindy, give me a break, I need a caffeine hit; I didn’t have much sleep.”

“Good night, huh?” Lindy winked. On her lap, her four-year-old daughter was sucking the end of a sugar packet. “Gracie, stop that! Sit next to Ben and draw me a picture of a pony.”

“I hate ponies!” Gracie pouted and stuck her finger in her nose.

Lindy smiled at her old friend. “So, c’mon, was he any good?”

“Why should I tell you?”

Lindy always seemed to have the higher moral ground. “Because I’m a 37-year-old mother of two who only has s*x on my birthday, wedding anniversary and Christmas, and I need to live vicariously through singles like you.”

Carla laughed. Lindy was also always good with the one-liners. “Why don’t you and Dean have more s*x?”

“Too tired, too busy, can’t be bothered. So how was it?”

“Aaaamazing,” Carla giggled.

Linda leant forward and whispered, “I hate to break this to you but I think Laurie Sutcliffe is married.”

Carla’s eyes widened. “No, he’s not! He didn’t have a wedding ring.”

“Sorry darl, I’m pretty sure he is. When you told me his name this morning, I googled him. His wife used to teach English at Bondi Beach Secondary College before I was there.”

“Oh, s**t, not again! Why didn’t you tell me last night? Why do I always have to make a fool of myself?”

“I didn’t know it was him for sure.”

Carla moaned. “Aargh, I hate myself.”

“Hey, you’re not the lying creep. Stop beating yourself up.”

Carla felt the heat drain from her body. She ran her hands through her thick tangled hair. “I feel like such a loser. That’s the third time I’ve been duped by a married man.”

“You know how to pick ‘em.”

The waitress bought the drinks. Carla sucked at her smoothie and made a face.

“There was certainly chemistry between us,” she frowned. “Why wasn’t his wife there?”

Lindy looked over at her children. “I don’t know much about Megan, only gossip from the other teachers. She’s a bit of a weirdo. Keeps to herself. She left Bondi Beach College before I started teaching music there. There was some scandal. A kid was badly hurt on her watch and she got the sack. There was talk of the parents suing her.”

“That’s heavy. Do they have kids?”

“Don’t think so. It’s a shame. Apparently, she was a gifted English teacher.”

Gracie rubbed her sugary hands on Lindy’s tracksuit pants. “Mummy, I wanna marshmallow!”

“No, it’ll rot your teeth.” Lindy rummaged in her bag and brought out a Tupperware container of raw carrot sticks. Carla scooped Gracie onto her knee and nuzzled into the child’s fairy floss hair. Pretending Gracie was a ventriloquist doll, Carla pursed her lips and said in a squeaky voice, “Don’t be so mean mummy, I wanna marshmallow.”

Lindy frowned. “You know, Gwyneth Paltrow took her kids off all white flour, pasta and rice. She says their eyes are glowing and they’re better behaved.”

“That’s just her marketing spin.”

They laughed and when Gracie slipped off Carla’s knees and waddled away, Lindy leaned forward and whispered, “What a bastard. His poor wife. Fancy being married to a player like him!”

Carla rested her head in her hands. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

Lindy raised her eyebrows and stirred her smoothie.

Carla watched families file past the string of beachside cafes. A couple with a three-wheeled pram dodged the pavement chairs; a bleary-eyed dad carried his startled newborn in a baby carrier on his chest; a 10-year-old boy on a skateboard zoomed ahead of his sisters, scouting out a free table. Sydney’s eastern beachside suburbs were where TV directors came to cast their perfect families for commercials.

Families were part of the reason Carla had left Adelaide. She’d been fed up with being everyone’s favourite maiden aunt in the city of brides. After studying at the Adelaide Music Conservatorium and years of freelance singing gigs, she decided to try her luck in Sydney.

She drove her trusty Toyota Corolla across the arid land, singing loudly along to her playlist. On the outskirts of Sydney, her pulse quickened at the unfamiliar sight of lurid graffiti, and tropical palms clinging to concrete overpasses. This was where she’d reinvent herself and make her father proud.

But that was five years ago. So far she’d neither cracked the career nor the relationship code. Sydney had turned out to be a great place for running around and getting nowhere. Maybe there was something wrong with her. She slumped in her seat.

“I give up on men. I’m just going to concentrate on my career. I’ve got to start recording or something!” She grabbed Lindy’s forearm. “When am I going to get a freakin’ break?”

Her old friend seemed to grasp Carla’s desperation. “I keep telling you to write your own stuff. Your compositions are great. I was always envious of you at the Con. I thought, of any of us, you would make the big time.”

“What’s the use of talent and training when I can’t even get an audition?”

“That’s ridiculous. You were the star of Oz Talent Tots. Australia’s Shirley Temple!”

“I was 10! I don’t have ringlets and dimples anymore – except the dimples on my arse!”

“Ha ha.”

“And it’s easy to be a star in little-old-Adelaide. In Sydney, it’s not what you know; it’s who you know. I don’t know anyone with that sort of influence here.”

Lindy handed her credit card to the statuesque waitress and winked at Carla. “As of last night, you do. And now you know he’s married. He owes you a big favour.”

“Yeah, right.” Carla rolled her eyes.

“No, seriously. Like I said, I googled him this morning. His company Sutcliffe Management is handling the publicity for that new talent quest, Everybody Sings. They start shooting in a few weeks.”

“What’s that?”

“Honestly, do you live under a rock? For someone who wants to be a successful singer, you really should keep up with celebrity news. Or do you think you’re above all that?”

“Whatever.”

“Everybody Sings was a huge hit in the UK and now it’s coming here. Auditions are most likely over. But Laurie can probably still get you one. He certainly owes you.”

Lindy took the receipt from the waitress. “My shout. Gotta get the kids down for their nap before they turn feral. I’ll call you next week. Get that audition! Mwah.” She kissed the air and waved goodbye.

As soon as Lindy and her children had gone, Carla ordered a double shot coffee and a cinnamon bun and searched on her phone for ‘Laurie Sutcliffe’. There were countless Sutcliffe Management media releases, promoting a host of clients from thick-necked rugby players to swan-like starlets. In the consumer range, Sutcliffe was linked to energy drinks, pharmaceuticals and technology. There was also another division called ‘issues management’ with photos of grim-faced middle-aged politicians and CEOs in blue suits, who looked vaguely familiar from the news.

On YouTube, Carla watched Laurie give a keynote speech in Canberra about improving the Defence Service’s public image. There was even a surprising article that mentioned his pro bono work for a kids’ charity. She read his CV on LinkedIn and noted he had a thousand professional contacts. Feeling like a spy, she fossicked through his photos on f*******:. His handsome profile photo made her blush. An i********: of him and his elegant blonde wife at a gala dinner made her ill. Stretching the size of Megan’s photo with her sugary fingers, she studied the image like an art critic. His wife had a pale, subtle beauty; she was tall and willowy with a high regal forehead like those women in Victorian portraits. Her intelligent blue eyes were fringed with flaxen lashes. In one candid snap taken at an event Megan was laughing and talking to Laurie. Around her long neck was a string of freshwater pearls. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was tied back and she wore only the faintest sign of makeup on her fair skin – a light dusting of blusher and lip gloss, her yellow lashes bare.

The contrast between her looks and Carla’s could not have been starker. Carla immediately felt frumpy and wolfed down the pastry.

She continued stalking Laurie down the Google wormhole. On his website she clicked on ‘Follow us on Twitter, f*******:, i********:’. There were media releases on Sutcliffe Management winning the publicity contract for the Australian version of Everybody Sings. Laurie was quoted, saying this was the ultimate chance for Australian singers to have their voices heard on a global scale. Yada yada, spin, spin. But she couldn’t help fantasising about winning the $100,000 prize money, the recording contract and the publicity tour. She imagined singing her heart out on primetime television and the judges’ praise: Your voice is incredible, Carla. You’re through to the next round!

Perhaps Lindy was right. It was time to stop daydreaming. No more Little Miss Nice Girl. It was time to look like a lady and act like a man.