Read Online Baksheesh by Esmahan Aykol - Free Book Online Page B

Çengelköy. I want to see your face one more time before you go to jail.”
    I was in no mood to laugh at this joke, even if it meant hurting my friend’s feelings.
    Lale gave me the mobile number of Erdinç Sarıak, the greatest record producer of all time. I called him immediately.
    â€œYes?” said the man who picked up the phone.

    â€œHello, I’m a friend of Lale Çağtan—” I said.
    The man interrupted me before I could say any more.
    â€œOh, how is my Lale? It’s absolutely ages since we spoke. We go way back. She’s splendid. Absolutely splendid. I don’t think I know you. Are you wanting to make a recording? I’d have to listen to your voice first. I’d do anything for Lale, but I have to be professional about these things. You do too, no doubt. Of course, we no longer have the backing of Lale’s media outlets…” he said, breaking off with a shrill laugh. Lale had been editor of Günebakan , Turkey’s largest-selling newspaper, until she was sacked a year ago, since when she’d been unemployed.
    â€œWell, actually, I didn’t want to make a recording—”
    â€œWhat do you mean? You didn’t actually want to, but would if I insisted?” He laughed chirpily again. To himself of course, because I had no intention of joining in with anyone’s laughter.
    â€œNo. I wouldn’t, not even if you insisted.”
    â€œThen what’s your problem, darling?”
    â€œI was going to ask you if you remembered a singer who was on the scene three or four years ago.”
    â€œWell, that sounds like an excellent question.”
    I read out the lyrics and added, “She sang this song wearing a mermaid outfit. They said her name was something like Rüya or Hülya.”
    He burst out laughing.
    â€œNo, sweetie. It wasn’t Rüya or Hülya. See how wrong people can be? Never mind, they can’t help it. The poor girl’s name was Eftalya. Don’t you remember her? Eftalya the Mermaid?”
    I thought I’d heard the name.
    â€œEftalya the Mermaid was a stage name. Such a shame the song was so awful. The idea wasn’t bad. But what a waste! Bad production, embarrassing song. That was clear from the start. Her real name is… Oh, it’s on the tip of my tongue. I even know where she is at the moment. She runs a guest house at Mount
Ida. Way out in the country, not far from Troy. Called Goose Mountain nowadays. What on earth is her name? Wait a minute. Rauf will remember.”
    I think he put his hand over the handset, because I could hear him talking to someone, but not what they were saying.
    â€œHer name was Habibe Büyüktuna. Isn’t Rauf splendid? He remembers everything. Never forgets. Like an elephant. Splendid. Absolutely splendid.”
    â€œYes, he sounds really splendid. Are you certain about the guest house at Mount Ida?”
    â€œOf course I’m certain. She’s not bad, Habibe. That is, compared to others in this business.”
    â€œWhat’s the name of the guest house?”
    â€œYou’re a demanding girl, aren’t you, darling? Let’s see if Rauf knows that too. I have a terrible memory for names. By the way, what was your name? I didn’t ask, did I?”
    â€œKati.”
    â€œKati?” I waited for his response. Or at least a question.
    He didn’t ask. This time he spoke to Rauf without covering the handset. When he finished, he came back to me.
    â€œDid you get that, sweetie?”
    â€œYes, I did. Many thanks. You’ve been really helpful.”
    â€œOh, absolutely my pleasure.” The last thing I heard was that frightful laugh.
    Â 
    I called up directory enquiries and spoke to a weary-sounding woman. There was no telephone number registered for the Zeus Guest House.
    â€œCan you try another number for me, registered in the name of Habibe Büyüktuna?” I said.
    â€œIs it a Burhaniye