Cocoa Collins Ch. 01-05

By Buddy B Blake

Chapter 1

Medical group practice principal receptionist, Willow Collins, arriving home, kicked off her shoes and changed into home clothes and freshened up before making coffee and pouring fruit juice.

She carried the two drinks to the lounge where her daughter would be watching something on TV.

Willow and husband’s two sons had long fled the nest. Daughter Coca received the fruit juice with warm thanks

“What’s up mum? You don’t usually come in here until after dinner?”

“Your future, Coca.”

“Oh, I’m in for one?”

“Yes, providing you don’t squander your best opportunities.”

Coca said her father was always joking about that. She lowered the TV sound, thinking this was serious to her mother who said, “Yes, but he believes you’ll use your MA business degree in his trucking business.

“Mum, that would be the pits for me.”

“I know dear. You’ll graduate in less than three months and you need to get off your bum and apply for jobs that would suit you.”

Cocoa said she’d looked at so-called job opportunities but none appeared to suit her.

“Tough.”

Cocoa looked at her pragmatic mother in shock.

“What.”

“Darling, few people in this world ever find their dream job.”

“Omigod.”

* * *

Almost four months later, Cocoa left for the United States. Her father Frank had been born and lived his entire life and married in Boston, until he emigrated to Australia with his Australian wife Willow, a few months before the first of their three children was born.

Willow had demanded that Frank pay his half of the $20,000 she wanted them to give Cocoa to tour around some of the northern states to gain maturity ‘while looking for keys to her future’, although Willow told Cocoa privately it would give Cocoa the ultimate opportunity to see how affluent people on the other side of the world worked and played and perhaps learn how they got to where they were in life.

Frank had attempted to stonewall his wife’s demand but was wrenched from that position by Willow saying in the heat of the moment that it he didn’t fucking front with his half of the money, then she would take out a bank loan or sell her Mercedes and provided all of the money herself.

“This is so lovely guys,” said the beneficiary of their money. “I’ve roughly calculated that I could last five months with periods of belt-tightening.”

“What will you concentrate on, darling?”

“Oh, pop-corn, guys with drooping moustaches and wearing the same pair of jeans week after week,” she joked.

“What will be really concentrate on?” said her mother, concerned that Frank might be triggered into a rage.

“I’ll study job patterns a bit, look in store windows, buy a couple of pairs of shoes and maintain a healthy lost-cost diet.”

“I’ll follow what you said and ride in a tourist bus between major cities and always use a cab in the city for the benefit of my safety.”

At that more reasonable response, both parents were not looking calmer.

Shortly after that, Cocoa was on her way to San Francisco.


After a week of travelling between places on buses, Cocoa was fed up of slow and fixed-direction transport and purchased an old car off an old guy who had a car For Sale sign nailed to his gatepost. It was a small sedan, 10 years old and had travelled 87,000 miles.

“I cannot drive any more, my eyesight is jinxed,” he wheezed.

She found that response encouraging and when he said the vehicle was only as good as one expect from a small car that had travelled almost 100,000 miles Coco believed she was talking to an honest seller. She was totally hooked when he said reverently that his car would never let her down.

Being young, she believed him and the instructions were simple: check the tire pressures monthly, check the water whenever she stopped to get gas and check the oil level fortnightly.

Cocoa followed his instructions to the letter and following five months of driving, Priscilla never let her down and she passed on to the next young women owner for $200 less that what Cocoa had paid for it.

She returned to Melbourne early, thrilled in the main with her visit and firmly decided to revisit in a couple of years or so. There was so much to see and enjoy. If only she’d had a touring companion, even her father… possibly.

Cocoa arrived at Melbourne International Airport travel wobbly and wondering had she made the wrong decision in not informing her parents or all her closest friends when she would be arriving home.

However, when waiting in Los Angeles for the flight to Australia, Cocoa had called her friend Shannon, who was pregnant but the boyfriend had done a runner. She’s not managed to find a guy to take on the role of father yet and Shannon had wept, sobbing to Cocoa there were only 5½ months to go before she had a small bundle in her arms.

“I’m returning home to my grand-parents, Cocoa.”

“Whatever for; are you bored?”

“Christ no, but you know no guy likes second-hand washing,” Shannon sobbed.

“Darling, enough of that rubbish. It’s bad enough your parents dumped you although they set up a trust fund that will care for you until the baby is two.”

“Yeah, and I wonder why they selected that age?”

Cocoa said creatively when Shannon’s father looked at steadily continuing figure of social support for sole mothers wishing to return to work would kick in within two years, he probably decided the only needed to support mother and child until for the first two years after birth.

“God, Cocoa, you are a genius with that brain of yours. Thanks to your info, that’s one less thing off my mind. May I fetch you from the airport? Mum gave me her car before leaving for London.”

“That would be great darling. I need to talk about finding you a guy prepared to accept the pregnancy to settle down with a ready-made family, aware the young mum is a stunner.”

“Oh, don’t tell anyone I’m coming home, right?”

“Okay,” Shannon said less than convincingly.

* * *

Cocoa entered the international airport’s public arrival area in Sydney at 5.45 am on Saturday morning. She didn’t have to scan the waiting crowd of greeters for Shannon. There was an immediate uproar of “Cocoa” from a dozen of her ex-high school and ex-university friends.

She waved, and immediately there was another uproar

The convey of cars of Cocoa and friends arrived at the posh address of 42 Belmont Drive and the occupants tumbled out and waited behind Cocoa as she pushed the door-bell.

Her mum openly the door fearlessly and cried, “Omigod, Cocoa” and was immediately pushed back into her home by the weight of celebratory-attuned females.

In the lounge Cocoa went around the group kissing and hugging everyone, starting with her mother and minutes later her father attracted by the noise of boisterous females that was increasing in volume by the minute.

At the first opportunity, Coca phoned her mother’s best-friend Myra Maple who was awake reading the morning newspaper.

“Cocoa darling, you’re home.”

“Just arrived,” Coca gasped. “Twelve friends were at the airport to greet me and there’re all here. Fuck.”

“Under control darling,” Myra said. “Apart from your wedding, you’ll not experience a better time than this. Enjoy the moment, help is on the way.”

The telephone clicked.

For fully seven seconds, Coca looked at the dead phone and then the message seeped through: Myra was on the way with help. Ooh, she thought wearily after the night-long flight. That’s why she’d called Myra, wasn’t it?

Twelve minutes later, when Coca’s mother Willow was figuring out how many servings would three-quarters of a 440g packet of health breakfast biscuits and a third of a jar of peaches eke out, the rescue due entered the house.

Myra and husband Lewis carried breakfast food packages from their home plus milk and various bottles of fruit and packets of yoghurt. Breakfast amid tremendous elation was underway, with Willow knowing her daughter was back, and apparently unharmed and the girls were delighted to have their unofficial leader home again.

During the festivities, if one could call a rowdy breakfast that, Myra whispered to Willow, “God, look that that girl of yours, she’s Queen Bee.”

“I’ve never known that,” Willow said, aware she’d believed she’d always known everything there was worth knowing about her daughter.

“It’s a trend with young people today to not to acknowledge their leader in any way,” Myra said, being a university lecturer in science.

* * *

On Monday while wondering what time to go to a couple of employment agencies in the city to sort through possible positions that might interest her, Cocoa discovered she might not necessarily have to apply for a job; an employer might grab her to work for them.

Incredible?

No, not really.

The director of her university research unit heard from Myra that Cocoa was back in town without a job and Mrs Meadows called Cocoa to come in and talk about her possible employment in the research unit.

Although Cocoa told herself there was no way she would commit to a long-term job in a university research unit that had a spin-off role to provide a meaningful pool of research material available for upcoming speeches of professors and the university’s top brass, but such employment might suffice for a time until a juicier opportunity came to her notice.

The city’s mornings newspaper carried a small page 3 news item centred on Cocoa’s early morning homecoming attracting an additional 53 uninvited guests who threatened to wreck the home unless they were served liquor.

Fortunately, no serious damage was down before a police car and two police vans each with six policemen in full riot gear arrived at 6.15 and managed to sort out the invited guests from the intruders to restore peace apart from five unemployed louts who were arrested for attempting to arm-wrestle with policemen who out-numbered them.


Cocoa awoke with a ripping headache and after continuing festivities all day Sunday knowing she had three hours to recover to meet Mrs Meadows at Cocoa’s former university.

Cocoa left that interview with a job contract to consider, to last for one-year. Now, after reading that stupid newspaper story with a big photo of her above it, she wondered if that publicity was would zap the job offer.

She called Mrs Meadows.

“Has what happened at my parent’s house following my arrival home from America on Saturday morning and having my photo amid the melee and plastered over page 5 ruined my employment chances?

“No dear, my colleagues and I agreed you’d done nothing wrong and we all thought what a sexy photo of you that was.”

“But one of my breasts was hanging out.”

“As I said dear, it was a sexy photo.”

Cocoa’s mother had left for work and there was no one to discuss her concerns with.

The phone went.

“Hello, this is the Collins’ home.”

“May I speak to Cocoa please.”.

“This is Cocoa and if you are the media, you can fuck off.”

“Wait, hold it Cocoa. Please, hear me out.”

“Okay, you have 15 seconds.”

“Cocoa, come to Sydney for a job interview. Say yes and air tickets and accommodation will be couriered to you.”

“A return ticket?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your name?”

“Linda.”

“What is entailed in this job.”

“You will be informed when you are here. It’s a little hush-hush at present.”

“Now you have my interest. Bye Linda. I’m saying yes.”


Willow and Frank looked at Cocoa that evening when she told them about the phone interview.

“What should I do?”

Willow said, “It’s too risky. Tell them to F-off.”

Frank said, “The courier tickets will arrive overnight. You take a flight about 1.00 and you walk in for the interview, listen and when you have the offer figure, you ask for double that and you may be employed on the spot.”

“Dad, I simply couldn’t do that. Why do you think I’d do that?”

“Because you’re a chip off my block.”

The two women waiting for him to say more, but Frank sat still, folded his arms and looked riled.

Cocoa looked at her mother who shrugged helplessly and Cocoa said, nervously, “Okay dad, I’ll try your way, just the once.”

“Good girl. Willow, how’s my dinner coming along?”

“I’ll, um, I’ll attend to it right away Frank. Cocoa get you dad a beer and mix two stiff Martinis for you and me.”

Cocoa, feeling a little under pressure, said, “Thank god you’re a clear thinker mum. Drinks coming up.”




Cocoa left Melbourne a near-nervous potential runaway. Fortunately, good support had steadied her sufficiently to avoid her bolting to her Aunt and Uncle who lived on the other side of the country near Perth.

“I’m coming with you,” her mother had declared emphatically.

Cocoa stiffened and said, “No mum, if I can’t manage even a stupid interview, I won’t be any use to them as an employee at all.”

“That my girl talking,” Willow said encouraging and relaxed a little. Her daughter was young and the uncharacteristic behaviour being displayed appeared much-like stage fright.

“Mum, I’ve become over-tense about this offer that dad describes as perhaps the greatest commercial offer that I’ll ever receive, although none of us knows what the prepared offer is about, because it’s yet to be disclosed. I’ll concentrate on the1½-hour flight. I’ll spend my time on the aircraft calming myself and thinking it’s only a job offer although perhaps a bit better than usual.”

“What? Oh yeah.”

During the flight, Cocoa gradually tuned her mind to the mode she’d drifted into when in the United States and travelling alone.

She focused when going from place to place, doing her best to keep safe and not getting lost. She controlled her spending, remembered to check the car oil periodically, to maximise enjoyment and to return home safety after however long she chose to stay under the terms of her visa.

She remembered, too, other semi-irrelevant stuff such as in some cities, females had gaping necklines while in other cities virtually no breast-line puffiness showed. And popcorn. She tried some once and spat it out. Oh, then there was the memory of overly fat stomachs and butts of many, many urban people, including cops. Who could overlook that!

Before Cocoa realised it, they were preparing to land in Sydney. She felt more relaxed and actually heaps better, that when setting off.

Inside the arrival reception area, Cocoa walked along a line of people holding up name notices until she was reading ‘Cocoa Collins’.

Wow, the suited babe looked really pretty.

“Cocoa Collins? Omigod, you’re beautiful.”

The 25-year-old from Melbourne said yes and shrugged.

“How do you like Sydney?”

Cocoa looked up at the ceiling of that part of the terminal and said it was okay.

Kelly Lake looked surprised and said it was raining with the occasional clap of thunder outside.

“Yeah, our Melbourne weather gets fucked up too.”

“Omigod, you speak just like us,” Kelly said, as if Cocoa was from Antarctica.

Cocoa boggled as they entered the stretched limo without speaking to the driver and it took off without waiting for any VIPs.

“We knew they would hire someone living beyond Sydney. Even so, from Melbourne was rather a shock. Most of us had picked candidates from Chicago and Dallas.”

“But not an Aboriginal?”

“What? Omigod, you possess humour.”

“I do, but what is this chick from wherever supposed to be recruited for?”

“Omigod,” Kelly yelled, and clammed up apart from pointing out landmarks that included the harbour bridge and the Opera House as they drew closer to the CBD.

Just over three hours of being interviewed by two or three executives in the sequence of interrogations in apparently increasing importance, a woman entered with a small retinue of male and females dressed in neat pinstripe suits as if they were advisers to the Prime Minister.

The leader looked at Cocoa as if she were in a cage, not even indicating a nod. Well, Cocoa didn’t know her either.

“Hmmm,” muttered the woman. She spun around, the seven executive-types behind her parted, and she walked out on the cleared pathway.

Momentarily, Cocoa was left alone in the room and then Kelly appeared, breathing heavily.

“That’s the closest I’ve ever been to Mrs Langley,” she gasped.

“Who’s Mrs Langley when she’s home?”

“Crystal is a business tycoon who is chairman of Jupiter Group Ltd, owner of Jupiter Newspapers Ltd, Sydney, which is now Sydney’s largest daily newspaper.”

“Careful Kelly, you may be close to letting the cat out of the bag.”

“Actually, talking a bit more expansively is okay. You have advanced to stage 3 in the recruitment process.”

“Oh, what were stages 1 and 2?”

“Stage 1 was getting yourself here for interviews and stage 2 was the first interviews and then being inspected by Mrs Langley. Stage 3 will be more interviews and a brief psychological assessment from 4.00 and then you’ll have 1½ hours in my company and then I’ll deliver you to a particular restaurant. The other three candidates will be at other restaurants in the city, as guests of one of our directors and his or her partner to question you about your moral and religious beliefs, observe your table etiquette and so on.”

“Cocoa, please take his restaurant segment as seriously as the others. It is designed to reveal your true self.”

“Kells, I mean Kelly. This whole thing is beginning to light my wick. I’ve had about enough…”

Kelly cried, “Cocoa, you’ve come this far. Don’s toss it at this late stage. Your dinner judge has probably the greater influence on Mrs Langley than the other three assessors combined. Get through this evening and you could be home and hosed, for all we know.”

“Home and hosed what?”

“I’m not permitted to says. If you are skilful enough you may find out today, and that’s saying more than I should.”

“Fine Kelly, I’ll continue with this boring charade just for today, and that’s it. I’m off back home in the morning and will wait for the computers to select me or reject me as the candidate.”

“Omigod, who told you about computer selection.”

“Jesus, perhaps you should relax. Come on take me out and we’ll grab a burger.”

Kelly looked stunned, or perhaps impressed.

* * *

Cocoa entered the restaurant with Kelly who took her to an upstairs private dining room and introduced Cocoa to Mr and Mrs Stewart and then left.

“Call me Roy, Cocoa.”

“And I’m Catherine.”

“Hi guys, I apologize for screwing tonight up for you but I guess it’s beyond your control.”

Roy said that was okay.

“Cocoa, which one of us do you think is the principal here tonight, me, Catherine or me?”

“I suppose you mean that in a business sense. It’s Catherine, obviously. Two bunches of flowers on the table, are you kidding? Her influence is evidence in that boost in table flowers as restaurants habitually provide only one.”

Roy laughed and Catherine turned and looked at the flowers.

“And is that all?”

“The main clue came when I shook your hand Roy. I felt the callouses but don’t get them surgically removed. They are part of your history as you probably began work as a youth putting steel down in footing trenches, and today you probably run a bunch of guys manning fishing trawlers or something like that.”

“You’re quite a hotshot, darling,” Catherine smiled.

“Roy founded and runs one of the largest construction machinery rentals and sales equipment companies in Sydney. That was remarkable deduction on your part but I guess but that’s the sort of thing top kids do these days”, Catherine said, standing against a chair and pointing Cocoa to a seat to her right, opposite Roy’s seat.

“I’m a senior partner in a large taxation consultancy and went through university with Crystal Langley, the woman who briefly inspected you and the others at the end of formal interviews.”

“That was an Elizabeth DeLewis dress she wore, I believe.”

“Omigod.”

“It’s okay, Catherine. Other females read fashion magazines beside you.”

Roy beckoned their private waitress over and the women agreed they’d like to start off with a glass of champagne.

Catherine said, “I cannot disclose what this proposed new appointment is about, Cocoa. Just think of it as mind-blowing.”