The Unlikely Couple [COMPLETED]

Chapter Thirteen

In an attempt to reach Fera to schedule an interview, the requested that we start a Skype conference. After intense Google searches and a long phone conversation with Elisa, I figured out what Skype was and set up an account. I waited for Fera to accept my contact request, staring at the mound of stupid toys I purchased with my tickets at the Galactic Circus. Hal had so kindly given me a card with a large amount of credit which was blown within two hours, and allowed me to receive over three thousand tickets. I picked up a tiny toilet plunger used to prop up an iPod.

“Oh shit,” I squealed, freaking out at my laptop. The screen was flashing, indicating that Fera was attempting to call. Before I answered, I set up my phone and prepared some paper. “Hello?”

“Miss Harris,” one of her assistants smiled, this time in a red polo. “Miss Vugali will be here in a moment.”

“Thanks.” I called out, perhaps I should use my earphones like Elisa mentioned. Before she sat on her giant red chair, I plugged in the chord and turned up the volume.

“Stacey,” Fera was unimpressed to see me.

“How are you Fera?” I tried not to yell. Hopefully my microphone works well.

“Fine. Thrilled to see you.” I bet you are.

“Shall we get started?”

“You’d better hurry, I have meetings soon.” As she spoke, I crossed out a few questions.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.” Slightly younger than me and incredibly nasty.

“Where were you born?” I’m yet to confirm it.

“Melbourne. I grew up in Epping.”

“That’s quite a wealthy suburb.” As I’ve heard through friends.

“It is. My father bought a shitbox house and as a wedding present my grandparents, his parents, knocked it down and built a gorgeous four bedroom.”

“Sounds luxurious.” I scribbled as she continued.

“It didn’t last long.”

“Why is that?” I looked up at the woman, who scratched her nose with her manicured nails. Fera for a moment was hesitant, gesturing to someone. They handed her a mug while she cleared her throat.

“When I was twelve my mother convinced my dad to take us on a holiday to Indonesia for Christmas.” Fera began, sipping at the beverage. “Two days before Christmas, mum got a call from home saying that her mum had become deathly ill. My dad sent us back home because he had run into a business deal.”

“Right,” I waited as she straightened out her dress, which was surprisingly pretty. Fera sported a dark purple tunic with thin, horizontal gold stripes down the skirt.

“On Boxing Day we were confined in a hospital room, and failed to hear that a major tsunami had developed in the Indian Ocean, and Indonesia was the first to be struck.” My pen paused on the paper. The pressure of my hand allowed a small flow of blue ink to spill out on the paper.

“You’re talking about the Boxing Day tsunami?”

“I am. When we got home every channel was filled with pictures and videos of the disaster. They had managed to identify some of the victims and my father’s name showed up on the television screen.” Fera’s eyes turned down to the keyboard. “Wayne Brett, written in bold white.”

“I’m sorry,” my hand could barely move.

“My grandparents blamed my mother, so they took the house. I spent years living in my other grandma’s house, watching mum sit on the couch with terrified eyes while my grandmother cried. She couldn’t bear to see mum like that.” Tears gathered in both her eyes. “About a year later I broke out of my shell and got into weed, spending most of my time with my head in the clouds. Just before I started ecstasy mum met this nice Italian guy that grandma brought around. Johnathan Vugali. Nice bloke. He threw me into rehab and married mum.” Fera gave me a shaky smile.