Free Claudia's Big Break by Lisa Heidke Page A

them there were the by now familiar tears, accusations and prayers.
    Years later, Tara’s parents still brought up the fact that she was a divorcee. Not that she saw them often. After her divorce, Tara grew weary of her parents and their values, their perceptions about how she should be living her life. She wasn’t exactly estranged but she didn’t head over there every Sunday afternoon for a family barbecue either.
    Thinking about Tara’s romantic entanglements got me thinking about my own disastrous love-life. George was a doozie and my affair with Marcus was doomed from the start, but I’d had plenty of messed-up encounters prior to those — like with Eric, my first true love.
    Eric and I crossed paths in my early twenties, and at the time I thought I loved him. We had been dating — oh, about forty-two days — before the ‘Mustang Sally’ incident put an end to that sweet romance. There were other contributing factors but really I put it all down to ‘Mustang Sally’.
    After a few vodka and oranges at the Goondiwindi B&S, with ‘easy on the eye’ Eric, I’d decided I could sing as well as, if not better than, the lead singer of the covers band. So, foolishly — hindsight is a valuable tool — I jumped onstage and sang the chorus to ‘Mustang Sally’.
    The lead singer, who, I believed, had taken a shine to me because I had a good voice and an open heart (big breasts had nothing to do with it), invited me to New York to be a rock star with him. And after seven vodkas I agreed. As you would, if you were a young Ancient History major and relatively unattached.
    I decided the lead singer was a better choice of partner than Eric. The lead singer was going places, New York for one, and I was going with him. That night after I told Eric the facts, he dumped me. Me! Even though I was on the brink of stardom and well on my way to becoming the next Madonna! You’d think he would have clung to me for dear life. Instead, he stormed off and out of my life.
    The next day, sporting a killer hangover, I was more than a little mortified to recall I’d sung out of tune in front of fifteen hundred people. Not only that, but no amount of begging would stop Eric driving back to Brisbane in his red Daihatsu without me.
    That was one weekend adventure I’d have rather never happened. (I never saw the lead singer again. And I certainly haven’t been back to Goondiwindi.)
    As for my career, I should have stuck to my original plan, back when I was at high school. Right up until the frog debacle, I wanted to be a vet. The frog thing was a turning point for me because I didn’t have a solid plan B — apart from working part-time at Myer, Carindale, to get the ten percent staff discount.
    Truth be told, I don’t think my not becoming a vet was solely due to my inability to dissect amphibians. I’ll admit fainting at the sight of intestines wasn’t a good look for a wannabe vet, but my inability to commit might also have had something to do with not excelling at maths or, in fact, any of the sciences.
    Career highlights thus far? After university, I dabbled as an administration assistant for a less than scintillating hardware company. I moved on to selling media space for an advertising firm, which was definitely a step up. And then I landed a job as an event coordinator for Riesling Renaissance, a Brisbane food and wine management company. Jackpot!
    I loved it. There was always something new to organise, from wine tastings to celebrity chef demonstrations and country cook-offs. Yes, there was the occasional disaster, à la the well-known chef who, absolutely plastered, attempted a live cooking demonstration in front of two hundred eager suburban housewives. The front row definitely got more than they bargained for when his hand got caught in the electric mixer and he was carted off in an ambulance, sirens blaring. We were front page