THOMPSON
An extract from
Aphrodite Delaney is expecting a call from fashion designer Troy MacNally
Aphrodite poured a mug of coffee, wandered into her sitting room and started
to riffle through a pile of old magazines. There, in a September issue of
Individual, was a photograph of Miriam de Courcy – Troy MacNally’s former
muse – wearing a gown from his last collection. She was draped around a
stone angel in a graveyard and her night-black hair floated around her
exquisite face like a thunder cloud. The gown was in pleated khaki lined
with amethyst silk, and Miriam wore it beautifully. She gazed directly into
the lens of the camera with a dreamy, rather melancholy expression on her
face. Aphrodite found herself thinking how strange it was that this
ravishing creature had probably been strung out on cocaine when the
photograph was taken.
In the kitchen, the phone rang again. She didn’t recognize the number on the
display.
‘Hello?’
‘Aphrodite Delaney?’ The voice was chocolate.
‘Speaking.’
‘Aphrodite. It’s Troy MacNally here. I spoke with your mother last night at
the Chamber theatre.’
‘Oh, yes. She phoned me this morning.’
‘So you know why I’m calling.’ Bitter, dark chocolate.
‘Yes. She told me that you’re interested in having me do some work on your
apartment.’
‘That’s right.’
Aphrodite hedged a little. She still wasn’t sure about this. ‘Troy – I’ve
never done professional interior design work before, so I may not be what
you’re looking for.’
‘A professional interior designer is exactly what I’m not looking for.’
‘Well.’ She tucked the phone into the niche between her jaw and collarbone,
and reached for the pen and Post-it pad. ‘Maybe we should meet up and have a
talk.’
‘I don’t need to discuss it. I’m asking you to do it. Money’s not a problem.
I’ll pay you very well.’
Aphrodite hated talking money. ‘Well, of course I’ll have no idea what to
charge until I’ve seen the place. When can we meet?’
‘We can’t. I’m going away tomorrow.’
‘Oh.’ She tried another gambit. ‘When you get back, then?’
‘No. I want the place finished by the time I get back. I don’t want painters
or workmen hanging around the joint while I’m there.’
‘I see.’ This was all happening very fast. ‘Maybe you could outline some
specifications for me and I’ll have a think.’
‘There’s only one specification, and that is that is that I want it to be as
different from the way it is now as it’s possible to be.’
This wasn’t just happening very fast, this was bonkers! ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s all up to you, Aphrodite. Do the room any way you want. Just as long
as the change is a radical one.’
‘The room? Sorry, I’m a little confused. I thought you wanted your entire
apartment redone?’
‘No. Just the bathroom.’
Curiouser and curiouser… ‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Personal reasons,’ he said. On the other end of the line Aphrodite heard
someone else talking, and Troy made a sound of irritation. ‘You’ll have to
excuse me. I must go. Are you willing to take the job on?’
‘Well, yes, in principal I am –’
‘Good. I’ll have my PA e-mail you the relevant details. If you have any
problems, talk to her. Goodbye, Aphrodite.’ The phone went dead.
Well, thought Aphrodite. What the fuck was all that about?
© 2005 Kate Thompson
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