Page 9 of Power Moves
CHAPTER 4
Fatima’s Café is my favourite place to go between parliament sessions. It’s the kind of place that trendy people call ‘a hidden gem’ to excuse the furnishings. The taupe chairs are the stackable type, with vinyl cushioning that’s cracked at the edges after a lifetime of providing bum comfort. The specials are scrawled by Fatima herself on an old whiteboard that hangs near the entrance. The walls are dotted with old Blu Tack stains, and when you throw in the halogen strip-lighting, the effect is eerily reminiscent of a psych ward. I find it quite soothing.
I’m about to order the lamb pie when I hear a growl in my ear.
‘Go for the pie, Millsy.’
Ugh.I spin around and find myself face-to-face with the devil, otherwise known as Archie Cohen.
‘The salad, please,’ I say to the lady behind the counter. (Archie is always finding innovative ways to ruin my day.)
‘Remember that time you won the hotdog-eating contest?’ Archie says, as I tap my card on the payWave machine.
‘No,’ I reply tersely.
‘It’s burned in my memory,’ sighs Archie. ‘I think of it at least once a month.’
Archie loves to bring up anecdotes from our past like some kind of horrible Facebook-memory machine. He forgets that we were never even friends at uni. He was a demi-god jock and I was a regular mortal, and thus he was way too cool to talk to me. He only deigns to speak to me now because I’m his gateway to Boss.
‘Archibald, I have no recollection whatsoever of any hotdog-eating event. You should get yourself checked for early-onset dementia.’
Archie chuckles and turns to the cashier. ‘I’ll grab the pie, please, and a green juice.’ The waitress smiles at him way too encouragingly and he grins back. As per usual, he’s wearing a suit that is too small for his body. He always looks as though he’s about to burst out of his clothes like the Hulk. I would never verbalise this though, because he’d probably take it as a compliment.
‘That was pretty boring,’ comments Archie, tilting his head back towards Parliament House. ‘I thought Nancy Miller might at least fire some parting shots, go down with guns blazing.’
Away from the camera Archie’s voice has a buoyant lilt, as if he’s on the verge of exploding with laughter at his own wit.
‘What are you talking about?’ I say crossly.
‘Didn’t you see the polls? Everyone’s sick of her. They’re sick of the party. Especially after your Pools in Schools debaclelast weekend. The only reason she’d get re-elected is because she’s the nicest person in politics.’
I scoff. ‘That’s what she wants you to believe.’
‘Compared with your boss, Miller could win a Nobel Prize for likeability.’
‘Boss iscompletelylikeable,’ I retort. ‘It’s just that most people don’t realise because he gets lumped in with all the other middle-aged white men in politics. He’s a victim of homogeneity.’
Archie arches an eyebrow. ‘That must besohard for him.’
I smile because I quite enjoy it when Archie resorts to sarcasm. It means I’ve frustrated him, which is a daily goal of mine.
‘Anyway, those Newspoll stats aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on,’ I say.
Archie cocks his head. ‘Is that you or the boss talking, Millsy?’
My smile fades instantly. How does Archie know Boss said that? It’s infuriating. He always seems to know everything. It’s why his biceps are so big. They’re full of secrets.
I stride off with my pre-made salad to my regular spot by the window and I’m about to start eating when an oversized body sits down opposite me as if he were invited.
‘So what scoops can you give me, Millsy?’ Archie sprawls his lunch across the table and lounges back in his chair.
I spear a chunk of pumpkin. ‘What makes you think I have any scoops, Archibald?’
Calling Archie ‘Archibald’ brings me infinite joy. I’m pretty sure he hates it because it makes him sound like a toffee-nosedprivate-school boy. The fact he actuallydidgo to a private school (thanks to a rugby scholarship) makes the nickname all the more satisfying.
Archie drapes his arm over the empty chair beside him and his fingers start drumming the frame. Off-air, he’s a fidgeter—the type of guy who compulsively rips beer coasters into tiny shreds. I’d put it down to sexual frustration but that doesn’t check out. From what he tells me, Archie has an abnormally satisfying sex life.
‘Millsy, you know the party is going to need some strong headlines if they’re going to have any chance of winning, so I’m pretty confident you’ll have a few good stories up your sleeve. Especially since you’re such a pro.’
