"Reaching Out To The City Lights"..Chapter Sixteen

With the company’s acquisition of Rogtex women’s wear, my personal wardrobe grew, helped by being “Johnny On The Spot” when the new season’s ranges arrived in the showrooms. Opening the cartons of new designs was like Christmas morning. My office would be deserted as I’d rush to the Rogtex showroom to assist Mr. and Mrs. Head unpack, unfold and hang each garment carefully on the clothes’ racks. It was difficult to resist, so I didn’t resist. Having one’s own fashion store a few feet away from one’s office was a dream come true and being able to purchase at cost price, sometimes less, was a girl’s idea of paradise. Wearing the company’s products, including the panti-hose was great advertising for the company’s wares. Buyers from the city and far afield regularly visited our showrooms, so it was important to at all times be well-presented. I certainly wasn’t going to put up an argument!

Dr. Robert Wright, the dentist/Chilean Consul had entered my life, platonically. Shortly after our “Machu Picchu/Easter Island” launches I needed to see a dentist so I made an appointment with Dr. Wright. During that appointment he invited me to dinner, an invitation I accepted. For the next couple of years, Robert and I had a weekly, sometimes fortnightly dinner engagement. He always picked me up from my office. It was simpler this way rather than my going home first. We had all the facilities in our premises. I would change out of my daytime attire into suitable dress for our “date” around 6-6.30pm. From there we’d go into the city to the Gateway Hotel to dine at the “Matthew Flinders’ Restaurant”. Robert was a creature of habit, I think, but I didn’t mind as I grew to love the restaurant. We were always greeted warmly by “Lucky” (“don’t call me “Lucky Luciano”), the stocky, beaming Italian maitre d. “Lucky” was adept at what he did and I enjoyed watching him at his job. It became a habit of mine, (I must have caught Robert’s ways!) to always order the same meal, “Steak Diane” as “Lucky” table-cooked. I’ve never tasted Steak Diane like that prepared by “Lucky”. Carefully watching him prepare my meal, I “stole” his method and it’s locked away in my brain. When I was cooking in restaurants, I regularly let it out of its “pigeon-hole” and I always used “Lucky’s” recipe for the preparation of Steak Diane. Sometimes I’d order dessert and I’d always order Crepe Suzette, again just to watch him cook at the table. He had flair. “Lucky’s” dream was to eventually open his own restaurant. It was a dream he fulfilled a few years later by opening “Lucky’s”, a successful, much-praised trattoria in Fortitude Valley. During one of my visits to Brisbane when I was managing the Hinchinbrook Island resort, I paid “Lucky” a visit at his restaurant. As I was ordering my meal, he came over to my table. He remembered me from those years before. It was no wonder his business was successful.

Robert was good company, a gentleman. He was someone who had led an interesting life. We had much to discuss and were never without a subject to debate over dinner. I’ll briefly recap on the evening of the death threat against him. I have written about this incident previously.

During the time Robert (remember, he was the Chilean Consul) and I were “seeing” each other, Allende was kicked out of power in Chile. One Wednesday evening, we had just begun to place our meal order when Robert was called to the office of the restaurant. He returned to our table saying we had to leave immediately as there had been a threat made against him! He instructed me to go one way to the car-park where, by habit, he always parked his car, as he went in another direction. Arriving at the car, I stood wondering to myself as he unlocked the car door whether or not I should climb in the car with him. My mind actively raced through all the movies I had seen where cars blew up when the key was put in the ignition! I felt it wouldn't be very 'kosher' for me to mention this to him at that particular moment. Caught between “the devil and the deep blue sea”, I thought to myself, 'What the hell! If it's going to happen it's going to happen and I shouldn't allow myself such thoughts." I felt it would be a very cowardly thing for me to do to allow him to proceed while I ran! So, I got in. As you can see, the car didn't blow up! It was a telling moment.

Robert drove me home along a different route, this time, along Coronation Drive, instead of his regular route, Milton Road. He told me the Federal Police were following us at a distance and that they would have done all their checks on me etc., to ensure I wasn’t a threat to his safety. As we were driving home the smell of petrol permeated the cabin of the car. Again, my mind went into overdrive. Finally, I just had to say something, so I brought the petrol smell to his attention. He had a can of motor mow He chuckled, informing me he had filled up a can of mower fuel that day and the can was in the trunk of his car, hence the heady aroma! He deposited me safely to my door, planted his customary peck on my cheek, and then went on his way! Eating dinner definitely wasn’t on that evening’s agenda.

Around this same time, protesters were waving placards through the streets of Brisbane over the events in Chile. They’d discovered the Robert’s premises in Wickham Street, Fortitude Valley so set up camp outside on the sidewalk in noisy protest. Robert, who was a grey-haired “Anglo-Saxon-Protestant, Brisbane born and bred, closed his surgery that was on the second floor and unnoticed by the madding crowd weaved his way through unscathed. I think protesters should do their homework before they start wringing their hands and screaming loudly about issues they clearly know little about. The incident with Robert was proof positive.

I knew Robert liked me, but I was soon to discover the depth of his liking.

My job with Kolotex was keeping me very busy, but missing the “footlights and the smell of the cooking oil”, I began working a couple of nights a week at a small Italian “hole-in-the-wall” on Milton Road, Auchenflower, not far from where I lived. “Spagalini’s” was owned and operated by an ex-Canadian, Casper. It was simple, uncluttered, with a few tables covered by red and white-checkered gingham tableclothes. Casper catered for “dining-in” customers as well as “take-aways” (“take-outs” to those in the Northern Hemisphere). I often grabbed a container of Lasagne, pasta or pizza on my way home from work at Kolotex if I’d had a long day, so being a “regular” I became friendly with Casper. One night we were talking as I waited for my order and I asked if he needed any help. He said, “Yes”, so that’s how I got the job. The magnetic tug of food-preparation and food-service was strong and I succumbed once more to its lure. And the extra “cash” money was a big plus!

A couple of months after my mother’s passing, “R” aka “Randall” (this seems like a ceremonial unveiling, doesn’t it?) telephoned from New York. He was planning his return to Australia, to Brisbane and to me. This announcement came as a surprise to me. My life, as it had been, suddenly was in turmoil.