DAVE
Dave was on edge. The commissioner of the Victorian Civil and Administrative Tribunal was handing down his ruling on Kariem’s discrimination case today, and it was due to land in Dave’s inbox at any moment. Kariem was pacing in tiny circles behind him.
‘What’s taking so long?’
‘Any second now,’ Dave assured him, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. He winked at Zafeera in her Team Kariem T-shirt and tweaked Mrs Hipsley’s disco ball earring as it swung to and fro.
‘Oh, David,’ Mrs Hipsley giggled. She was such an old trooper, Dave thought fondly. She’d been a bit crook lately and really should be at home, but she’d insisted on seeing this through. ‘I’m on Team Kariem too,’ she’d said, swimming in a T-shirt that would have been a tight fit for a kid. Dave just hoped he wouldn’t let Team Kariem down, but at least he could say hand on heart that he’d given it his all. LightZone nightclub had refused to acknowledge any discrimination, so mediation had failed and they’d proceeded to a final hearing on the VCAT Human Rights List, where he’d advocated for Kariem with such conviction and clarity that he’d even surprised himself.
‘You were awesome, man,’ Kariem declared.
‘Amazing,’ Zafeera agreed.
‘You were wonderful, David,’ Mrs Hipsley had trilled as she stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek. Her coral-coloured lipstick had left an imprint that he hadn’t noticed until he’d arrived home and Nickie had demanded, ‘Who have you been kissing? Not the podiatrist?’
Nickie had been leery of Dave dating Heather from the start.
‘You can’t go out with someone who removes old people’s ingrown toenails for a living,’ she’d said with her face screwed up in revulsion.
‘Of course I can. You’re discriminating against podiatrists—that’s exactly the kind of ingrained discrimination that I’m fighting against at VCAT.’
‘You’re a dork, Dad,’ Nickie had said, laughing.
‘Yes, but I’m a dork who doesn’t discriminate.’
But as it turned out Nickie needn’t have worried, because things between Dave and Heather had fizzled. Her pragmatism and no-nonsense attitude, so refreshing at the beginning, had started to seem like a lack of imagination. Where was the laughter? The hopes? The dreams? In truth, he found Heather a bit joyless, especially when he compared her to—Don’t go there, Dave. He’d worried about hurting Heather’s feelings, but she’d faced their January break-up with the same brisk attitude she brought to everything else.
‘If it’s not going to work, there’s nothing I can do about it. New year, new start.’
Heather was in his past, but he was sure going to miss her cakes.
He tried to distract himself and Team Kariem by teaching Mrs Hipsley to surf the internet. She’d barely seen a computer, let alone experienced the worldwide web, and it was a treat to see her rheumy eyes light up with wonder. She asked him to take her to Myra’s website for the Romance Book Club. Cripes! Dave was wincing at Myra’s tortured prose and inexplicable design choices when blop! a new email arrived. They all jumped. Dave held his breath and checked the sender.
‘It’s from VCAT.’
‘Quick, open it, man!’
Dave vaguely registered Kariem, Zafeera and Mrs Hipsley clutching hands as he opened the email and scanned it. Oh, thank Christ.
‘We won! VCAT has ruled that you and your patrons were discriminated against, and they’ve awarded you twelve thousand dollars in compensation.’
Everyone cheered.
‘Group hug!’ said Kariem, and they all huddled together happily. ‘Say it loud and say it proud—Team Kariem!’
Chris appeared around the side of the cubicle. ‘What’s all the fucking ruckus?’
Mrs Hipsley looked shocked at his language.
‘We won!’ Dave said. ‘We won the fucking discrimination case. Oops, sorry, Mrs Hipsley.’
The poor old dear seemed a bit perturbed, but Dave thought to himself, She’ll get over it.
‘That’ll fucking learn ’em, eh?’ Chris said to Kariem. ‘Good for you, and good for this bloke.’ He gestured towards Dave with his thumb.
‘Yeah, Dave’s a legend,’ said Kariem.
It was becoming a recurring theme, Dave noted with a touch of hubris. Dave Rendall, legend. But just as quickly as he puffed himself up, he reminded himself that it was the outcome, not the advocate, that mattered. Although he couldn’t deny he was pretty stoked to have a win in front of Chris.
‘Can I borrow this bloke for a second?’ Chris asked.
‘Of course,’ said Zafeera. ‘Go on Dave. We might check out the dark web while you’re gone, eh, Mrs Hipsley?’
Everyone laughed, including Mrs Hipsley, who had no idea what Zafeera was talking about.
Chris led Dave to his office and plonked himself down behind his chaotic desk.
‘So, good fucking work.’
‘Thanks.’
Dave could feel the smile refusing to leave his face, as if someone had stuck it there with superglue. He looked around for somewhere to sit but all of Chris’s chairs were covered in files, so he leaned against a cabinet.
‘Actually, I was planning to talk to you about something else,’ Chris said intriguingly.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. Fucking Steph’s decided to move to fucking Newcastle.’
‘Fuck!’
Steph was one of NorMel’s best lawyers.
‘Yeah. Her partner’s going, so she wants to go too. Fucking selfish, eh?’ Chris grinned. ‘So what do you reckon? You want her job?’
Dave’s heart stopped. ‘Ah, sorry … what did you say?’
‘You heard me, you fucking plonker. Do you want Steph’s fucking job or not?’
Dave beamed so widely that his face hurt. ‘Fuck, yeah.’
Dave walked out of Chris’s office. He’d actually done it, he’d achieved his dream of a career in social justice, so why was his elation fading so fast? It was a strictly rhetorical question. Not being able to share this moment with Vanessa somehow diminished it, and that pissed him off. Wake up to yourself, Rendall, stop wallowing. Life had moved on and he had to move with it. He resolved to leave all thoughts of Vanessa behind—but when he arrived back at his cubicle, he was confronted by Charlotte Lancaster’s website.
‘David, guess what?’ said Mrs Hipsley. ‘Charlotte Lancaster’s going to host a new book show on TV. It’s just been announced.’
That’d be right, thought Dave. If you’re rich and famous, you can count on being rewarded for appalling behaviour.
‘I think it’s so lovely,’ Mrs Hipsley rhapsodised. She was a rusted-on fan, no doubt about it. ‘I know you were on that other girl’s side, but I could never bring myself to believe that Charlotte would copy somebody else’s book.’ Dave bristled on Vanessa’s behalf, but if he hadn’t convinced Mrs Hipsley yet, he never would. ‘I’m just so glad for Charlotte that all that ugly business is over.’
‘It’s not quite over yet,’ he pointed out. ‘They’re probably in court as we speak.’
‘No, they didn’t go to court.’
‘Yes, they did.’
‘No, they didn’t.’
Dave frowned. Was Mrs Hipsley getting confused?
‘They settled yesterday,’ Zafeera confirmed. ‘I saw it online this morning.’
Dave was surprised. So Stafford had settled at the eleventh hour? How had he managed that in the absence of evidence? And how much had he settled for? Curiosity got the better of Dave, and he sat beside Mrs Hipsley and googled Vanessa Rooney settlement Marcus Stafford. The first link that came up was a Daily Mail headline:
RED FACE FOR GLAMOUR BARRISTER
Dave’s eyes goggled. He clicked on the link.
As if Marcus Stafford’s year hasn’t been bad enough with his celebrity wife Charlotte Lancaster shutting him out of her life, now he’s been shut out by client Vanessa Rooney, who’s negotiated a confidential settlement in her breach of copyright case against Lancaster and Wax Publishing Pty Ltd without involving Stafford, her high-profile counsel. Sources close to the negotiations say that Ms Rooney deliberately excluded Stafford and negotiated the terms solo. And in the words of our confidential source, the dental assistant ‘played hardball’.
Dave’s heart swelled with pride in Vanessa, but what had prompted her rebellion? He read on.
Reached by phone, Ms Rooney’s mother Joy Spriggs confirmed that Ms Rooney also rejected Wax Publishing’s offer to publish her new novel, Laws of Love, ‘because this second book is so very special to her’. Mrs Spriggs said that Ms Rooney plans to self-publish the new tome, featuring a love affair between a veterinary nurse called Virginia Clooney and a suburban solicitor called Dane Campbell who, in Mrs Spriggs’s words ‘is modelled on the real-life man of Vanessa’s dreams’.
‘See, David? I told you: they’ve settled.’
‘How much do you think she got?’
‘Yes, how much do you think?’
‘Dave?’
‘David?’
‘He looks a million miles away.’
‘David?’
Dave turned and blinked. Zafeera and Mrs Hipsley were looking at him expectantly, but it’s a bit hard to hold up your end of a conversation when your heart is exploding with sunshine.