That night I was so captivated by Molly that even her business talk about takeovers was fascinating. I tried to understand what it must be like to work in a demanding, high-pressure job like hers and to pursue success that she didn’t actually want or need.
For me my work was everything: it was my reason for breathing. Molly had to work just as hard as I did – maybe even harder – but at the end of the day, every minute she spent in that role she was effectively giving over to Laith. I was surprised by how much that bothered me. I knew it was none of my business, and I was generally well-accustomed to turning from any urge to solve other people’s problems – that was a necessary skill in my work. But this was Molly, and although I barely knew her, I felt sure she deserved better.
‘Where is our meal?’ Molly asked suddenly. ‘I always lose track of time when I’m talking to you,’ she murmured, and then looked around. A waitress hurried over to us. ‘We ordered almost an hour ago…’
‘I’m so sorry, Ms Torrington,’ she said, ‘There’s been a staffing issue in the kitchen. Your meals are on their way, but it might be another ten or fifteen minutes. I’ll organise another bottle of wine on the house as a small token of our apology.’
When the waitress left, Molly glanced at me and said, ‘I do come here fairly often, so I’m sure the free wine isn’t because she recognised me and feared the Torrington dynasty falling on her head if she delayed my food.’
‘Doesn’t a place like this lose its appeal if you come often?’ I raised my hand and waved generally towards the view. ‘Surely overexposure just makes it too familiar?’
‘It’s like a family member you really like, or a favourite piece of furniture. You still like them even if you see them every day, right?’
I stared at her blankly. If I could have forgotten for even one second just how vastly different our worlds were, there it was.
‘Did you really just refer to a Michelin-rated restaurant as a “favourite piece of furniture”?’
‘My apartment is a sixty-second walk from here. The food is fantastic. Why wouldn’t I come regularly?’
‘Because you’ve taken something exceptional and made it everyday.’
‘Or, am I just lucky enough to be in a position that the exceptional is my everyday?’
I paused, and then frowned as I considered her words. ‘Your apartment is a sixty-second walk from here? You don’t. . . tell me you don’t live in “the toaster”.’
‘It’s actually named “The Bennelong Apartments”, Leo,’ She laughed at the popular nickname I’d used for one of the wealthiest addresses in Sydney. The building did look like a giant toaster, plunked unceremoniously among the city’s most famous landmarks. ‘I take it by that haughty tone that you’re not a fan of it.’
‘It’s an eyesore,’ I winced. ‘I remember back when you could see all the way from Circular Quay down to the Botanic Gardens. That building completely changed the tone of the gateway to the city.’
‘When you say things like that, you make yourself sound quite old,’ Molly remarked, and she grinned at me. ‘A lot of people disliked that building in the nineties when it was built, but you’re the first person I’ve heard express such hatred for it recently. Now that it’s been around for a while no one really cares anymore. And yes, I live in the Bennelong Apartments – it’s a great place to live.’
‘Is there even a sense of community in a place like that? That’s what I love most about Redfern,’ I said suddenly. Molly’s face twisted a little – my comment had offended her. Right then, the waitress returned with the second bottle of wine, which she presented with grand aplomb. When she left, I raised an eyebrow at Molly. ‘I believe you were about to make some snobbish comment about Redfern?’
‘I just – it’s…’ I rather enjoyed watching her flounder for words, but after a moment, she looked at me and said with an easy shrug, ‘I am not a snob, but that area doesn’t have a very good reputation, does it?’
I leant back as I surveyed her. ‘I grew up in Redfern. I went to a public primary school then high school there, and that was long before all of the trendy parts popped up.’
‘You said that last night, but I’m still not sure there are trendy parts,’ she said. At this I sighed, and she muttered hastily, ‘Sorry.’
‘Next time we meet,’ I said suddenly. ‘We meet on my turf.’
‘Don’t you feel unsafe there?’
‘Unsafe?’ I repeated incredulously.
‘I mean, there are so many…’
‘Filthy poor people? Or do you mean filthy black people?’ Now my hackles were up and my comment was snarkier than it was playful.