Direct Action. J D Svenson
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of sweat had formed. ‘Why is it so fucking hot here? I thought Australia was meant to be paradise. This is worse than Chengdu.’ He looked at her. ‘You look alright though. You single?’
Cress snorted. ‘Um, no. Sorry, yes, it’s usually cooler in March. Anyway, look, you can ask for consideration to be expedited,’ she said, sitting back and sipping her drink. ‘But even then, that’s about how long it will take. Till the first clod can be turned, anyway.’
‘Anus,’ said Terry. He looked around. ‘Does anyone have any pilsener? I hate your country’s horsepiss beer.’ He threw the contents of his glass on the lawn behind him. ‘Has that pretentious wanker got any Asahi in his fridge?’ He pointed his chin at Michael.
‘Um … Mr Zhou wants to know if you have any Asahi.’
‘Oh. Um, no. Crown?’
‘I think anything other than beer at this point.’
‘Richard,’ Michael said, still smiling at the CEO. Richard hauled himself up and went into the kitchen, returning with a can of Canadian Club and handing it to Mr Zhou, who tasted it, burst into a grin and sank half, waving the empty can in thanks when he was done. He turned back to Cressida.
‘Much better. Arrgh. What choice do I have?’ he shrugged. ‘Your coal is the cheapest. Cunt-struck fuck. Five years?’
‘Yep.’ Cressida sighed. ‘Though the good news is,’ she said, ‘the government here have snuffed the National Energy Guarantee, so no Paris targets. And despite what the rest of the world is doing they’re still committed to coal, so’ – she shrugged – ‘you’re good.’
Terry shook his head.
‘National Energy Guarantee,’ he said, and rolled his eyes. ‘I will never understand you Australians. Why would you want to make fucking solar panels when you can just dig up cash. Anyway.’ He crushed the can and held it up in cheers. ‘Thanks.’
When the client and Partners had gone, Cressida subsided into a patio chair beside Pip and watched her demolish the remaining duck pancakes. Her workmate’s curves were resplendent that day in a turquoise velveteen dress atop black platform sandals. Where Cressida was rail thin, Pip was more Monica Lewinsky, but she really worked it, Cressida thought. She was the only Senior Associate Cressida knew who could get away with fishnet stockings and five-inch heels as workwear. With her dark hair and blue-grey eyes that were like coins falling through water, Cressida knew she never lacked for right-swipes on Tinder.
‘Pip,’ Cressida said. She leaned across to kiss her colleague’s cheek, catching a whiff of her heavy perfume as she touched the moist skin, and inspected the table. ‘It’s been ages.’ Nothing on it she could eat, she thought. Wall to wall fat and carbs. Although there was a plate of melon on the end. She’d read somewhere it took more energy to digest melon than it contained, so she settled on that, delicately arresting a slice from the bone china.
‘You really nailed it there, Cressida,’ Pip said, munching and mopping up sweet sauce with a pancake. ‘I wish I had your brain.’
‘Hah!’ laughed Cressida, holding the slice of melon between two fingers and sucking off the juice. ‘How do you know that? I was speaking Chinese.’
‘Yeah, and that. The whole thing. You’re the real thing,’ Pip said.
‘Yeah well,’ she said, wiping her fingers on a napkin, ‘at one point he was calling everyone anus faces, so be glad you missed it. Anyway’ – she took in Pip’s outfit with an appreciative glance again – ‘I wish I had your dress sense. Dressing down, I see.’
‘Oh this old thing,’ Pip laughed. ‘Collette Dinnigan on sale, three years ago. I love this muted palette thing you’re doing today, though,’ she said. ‘Silk on a weekend. You can talk about dress sense.’
‘Alessa’s in town.’ Cressida sighed, knowing that to Pip, at least, that would explain it. The mention of her name brought back the burn of her sister’s words. All through their childhood Alessa had been the cool one, the popular one, the one who always knew what the uber-on-trend colour and style was for hair, shoes, year twelve formal dresses, all the things that had mattered to her as a too-skinny fifteen-year-old – and now, it seemed, wedding invitations. Tahitian foam. Sounded like something they’d use to fluoride your teeth at the dentist.
‘Ah. How’s she coping with no power?’ said Pip. ‘Not well, I imagine.’
‘Oh darling, this sort of thing happens all the time in Singapore, don’t you know?’ said Cress, reaching for another slice of melon. ‘I’m not sure what all the fuss is about. Meanwhile she’s complaining about absolutely everything. “The toilet’s blocked. My laptop doesn’t work. Isn’t there anything other than canned food? I want a shower.”’ It was good to vent about it with Pip. At least Pip knew her sister well enough to understand, and she was on her side. ‘I agree with the last one though. I hate not being able to have a hot shower,’ she said, mopping her face with a serviette. ‘Even a lukewarm one to wash off the bloody humidity. Can you believe this? What kind of idiots blow up a power station?’ She blew out air so it fluffed her fringe and rolled her eyes at Pip.
‘Very intense ones,’ Pip said, rolling her eyes in return. ‘Nobody I’ve ever met, anyway. I suppose it had to happen some time though. I mean, why should the UK and the US get all the fun? I feel like we’ve arrived now, you know, as a country – we’ve had our very own terrorist attack.’ She threw a grape into her mouth.
‘It’s hardly fun, Pip,’ chided Cressida, frowning. ‘I mean, there are a bunch of people out there who are finding this really difficult. There’s even, like, you know, emergency shelters. Helena said there’s one at Moore Park Stadium.’
‘Oh I know that, silly. But the main thing is, it’s not us, is it? Goodness, doesn’t this look like an entrail,’ she said, picking up the last rice paper roll from a plate. ‘I’m just taking the Oscar Wilde approach to life; that it’s far too important a thing to be taken seriously. Hey – on the note of things serious – how’s the wedding planning going?’
‘Oh God I don’t know,’ Cressida said, falling back against the wicker chair. ‘I can’t believe it’s only eighteen months away. There seems to be so much to do.’
‘Is Alessa helping? That’s her job, you know. As your only sister.’
‘Hmph. Yeah right. No. Not really. Other than to tell me my invitations look dated. “So two years ago” she said.’
‘You’re kidding. Charming. Best off without her then. Well like I said, tell me if there’s anything I can do. Bummer about the partnership vote, by the way. They’re crazy to treat you like that.’
‘Yeah, crazy. Some woman from Melbourne brought up Dad though, so what chance did I have?’ She looked out at the pool. ‘Fucked if I know how she even knew about him. On the other hand, of course, there was that three-week run in The Australian, I guess,’ she snorted. ‘Anyway I ended up threatening her with defamation, so it was pretty much doomed from the start. So let’s not go on too much about my brains,’ she laughed.
Pip’s mouth dropped open. She covered a laugh with her hand. ‘You threatened Debra Bollos with defamation?’
‘Is that her name.’ It seemed odd that Pip knew it. But knowledge was power at Hannes Swartling, so maybe it wasn’t that surprising. Maybe they’d worked on a deal together or something. ‘Anyway. Overall I’m putting the whole thing down to misadventure. Trying not to take it personally. I’m sure they’ll reschedule it when they can.’
‘Hmm,’ said Pip, looking thoughtful. ‘Yeah. I guess so. Though something similar happened in Singapore last week, I’m told’ – she stretched forward for a dumpling – ‘and they did reschedule it – for forty-eight hours later.’ She bit into the soggy morsel. ‘Because of course we