Fenny rolled onto her back and stared up at the pale blue ceiling. She’d grown attached to that ceiling; it was calming, tranquil and dreamy. In fact, she’d grown used to Gina’s entire warehouse apartment. It wasn’t just a spacious artist’s heaven, but close to both the Harbour and Bondi.

Fenny lazily rolled out of bed, her feet enjoying the feel of the warm wooden floor. She grabbed her glasses and padded out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Gina was enthralled in the morning paper and taking large gulps of her tea.

“You’re up early,” she remarked, her eyes not moving from a story on a murdered 94-year-old woman.

“Well, I have spent a couple of months in self pity. I decided today that I needed a change,” Fenny mused, snatching up the discarded entertainment section.

“About time,” Gina mused, “so what are you going to do?”

“I might go to the beach and do some sketching,” Fenny perked.

“Yeah, well don’t get sunburnt,” Gina ordered.

“Yes Mom,” Fenny sarced.

“Hey, there’s no need for sarcasm,” Gina scolded as she got to her feet and dumped her dishes in the sink.

“So are you working until the early hours or will we get to hang out?” Fenny asked.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I had planned on getting off early today. Providing my editor is not being rabid,” Gina mused.

“Great we can…oh my god,” Fenny gasped.

“How can we oh my god? I’m not into that,” Gina perked.

“No, look at this,” Fenny mused pointing to an ad in the paper. “Look who’s come to town.”

Gina looked at the ad. “Dammit, I thought he might go home after Melbourne.”

“You knew he was here?” Fenny gasped.

“I knew he was at the Melbourne Comedy Festival, didn’t know he was coming to Sydney,” Gina cussed.

Fenny studied Gina for a moment. “Why the bitterness? I thought you and he were soul mates,” she asked.

“Whatever Greg and I had is over, totally. I’m sure he’s much happier with his wife now,” Gina replied.

“But we’re going to his show, right?” Fenny cooed.

“No, why would we?” Gina countered.

“Because…it’s Greg,” Fenny exclaimed, getting to her feet.

“I’m past Greg as you’re past…” Gina was cut off.

“Don’t say it,” Fenny hissed.

“Fine, but I have no intention of catching up with Greg, ok,” Gina scorned.

“Eh,” Fenny shrugged, unconvinced.

After Gina left, Fenny raided her wardrobe for something to wear, and because it was such a nice day, she decided on black three-quatre pants, a red singlet, and her favourite red Converse sneakers. She stuffed her sketchbook, charcoal and everything else she needed into a backpack and headed out toward the beach.

She was a short way down a dank ally when Moonstar, a fellow artist and raging hippie who lived next door, stopped her.

“Fenny, my, your aura is a lovely shade of pink today,” Moonstar cooed.

“Why thank you, I’ve been working on it all morning,” Fenny perked.

“Are you still enjoying Australia?” Moonstar asked.

“Of course, I love it here,” Fenny replied.

“Created any masterpieces yet?” Moonstar queried.

“I’m working on it,” Fenny smiled.

“Wonderful. Well, I must be off. I’m having a fondue party Saturday, you are Gina are welcome to come,” Moonstar gushed.

“Oh, thank you. I’ll let Gina know,” Fenny mused as she continued walking. “A fondue party,” she giggled, imagining Gina’s response.

Fenny arrived at the beach, glad to see it devoid of children, and plonked herself in the sand. She started to undo her backpack when she noticed the local football team was having a training session that involved wearing Speedos and bouncing about in the waves. She decided it would be best to get ideas and admire the scenery for a while.

Gina arrived at work and was greeted by a full inbox and a computer monitor covered in post-it notes. She dumped her bag on the floor and unenthusiastically flumped in her chair. It was then she noticed the piece of paper on her keyboard, which read INTERVIEW WITH GREG PROOPS – 1PM.”

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” Gina hissed and thumped her head onto the desk in front of her.

“You ok, Gina?” Danny, another journalist, asked.

“Fucking wonderful,” Gina huffed, her head still resting on her desk.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Don’t I look all right?” she spat.

“Actually you look a bit….”

“Go, before I pass various parts of your anatomy through the shredder,” Gina scorned.

Danny backed away slowly and mumbled to another journalist that, “Gina’s having one of her psychotic mood swings.”

After Gina had managed to pull herself together, she grabbed her phone and dialled Fenny’s cell phone.

“Hello?”

“I hate you.”

“Thanks, Genie.”

“Don’t ever call me that again, Fennel.”

“Did you call just to insult me?”

“No, although now it’s kinda fun.”

“Gina.”

“Guess what I have to do at 1pm?”

“Get naked and do the flamenco?”

“Hey?”

“Just a guess.”

“No, interview Greg.”

Fenny cracked up laughing.

“Thank you for all your support, I’ll ask how Braddles is, shall I.”

“Don’t be evil.”

“You started it.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, that I’m not going to turn to complete mush?”

“Ok, you’re not going to turn to mush.”

“That hardly fills me with confidence, you know.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I take it you want all the details later.”

“Especially if they’re sordid.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

After Fenny ended the call, she took another look around the beach and almost passed out. For a brief moment she thought Ritza was sitting on the beach playing with a small baby, but when she looked closer she realised it wasn’t. It sure as hell looked like her, though. Fenny decided she was being stupid and went back to her sketching. After all, Ritza was in LA with Brad, wasn’t she?