by Lisa Heidke
‘I know it’s painful for you,’ says the presenter. ‘Do you need a drink of water?’
Gloria snorts. ‘Ha! Vodka more like it.’
‘I’m okay,’ Alana says. ‘After seeing the destruction on that beautiful island -’ she gulps, ‘- Max made the heartbreaking decision to do the honourable thing and come home to his wife for the sake of the kids.’
I can almost see Alana’s halo shining.
‘He didn’t want to, mind you,’ says Trish, ‘because he loves my Alana, dearly loves her, but Max is a man of honour.’
‘This is crap!’ I screech. ‘It’s all garbage.’
‘These people are whack jobs,’ says Gloria. ‘Nuts.’
When I can hardly bear any more, Alana finishes with: ‘I really hope Max and I get back together after his children have grown up. In the meantime, I’m going back to university to study social work to help those less fortunate than me because I’m really good at that.’
I switch the TV off. ‘Well, that was enlightening.’
‘We’ll need to go into serious damage control after that little performance. Because it looks like Trish is going to be the ruin of us all.’ Gloria’s rattled … and she never gets rattled.
‘Don’t answer it,’ she barks when the phone starts ringing.
I have absolutely no intention of answering it.
After Gloria’s left and the kids have gone to bed, I check the answering machine. Most are hang-ups but there’s one from Mum (of course), sobbing. ‘My heart, Lucy, my heart. I can’t take anymore.’
Even though it keeps ringing all through the night.
Eventually, I unplug it.
Day 60
This morning, the last of the kitchen is installed, the power’s connected to the oven, and the black granite benchtops are secured. They complement the walnut parquetry perfectly. While I would have preferred Carrara marble, let’s not quibble. My new kitchen is stunning and I’m thrilled. I say so to Rock when he interviews me on camera.
‘It’s a dream come true,’ I gush, focusing on the task at hand, refusing to mope over last night’s interview.
‘Tonight the kids and I will be having a lamb roast, that’s for sure.’
‘Why is that?’ Rock asks blandly.
‘Because tonight I will cook on my new stovetop, bake in my new oven. I also have a new stainless-steel fridge. Look.’
Rock barely glances at the appliances.
‘Do you know how long I’ve been without a kitchen?’
I go on. ‘Ten weeks; that’s seventy days and nights. But it’s all over now. I’m the happiest woman in the world.’
Beside us, the twins are sweeping the new parquetry floor. I can’t see any rising dust but Rock starts to shake.
‘Sorry -’
‘About -’
‘That -’
‘Mate -’ the twins say as they sweep past Rock, myself, Digger and Patch.
‘Don’t you just love them?’ I say, and smile at them.
‘You’re both hilarious.’
‘Too -’
‘Right.’
‘Bummer about Today Tonight,’ says Patch. ‘Can’t believe people buy into that shit. Doesn’t anyone think the little tart had it coming?’
I give him the thumbs up. ‘I like your take on the situation.’
‘She’s nineteen,’ he goes on. ‘You can’t tell me she didn’t know what she was getting into with the old bugger.’
‘Too right,’ says Twin One.
‘Yeah,’ says Twin Two.
‘Still, I’d do her,’ says Joel as he walks by.
A burly overweight guy with a shabby beard interrupts. ‘You Lucy Springer?’
I nod.
‘Got a delivery for you.’
‘Just pop it over there,’ I say, pointing to the kitchen bench. It’s about bloody time the knobs for the cupboards turned up. I ordered them several weeks ago. Finally, my nagging and name-calling has paid off.
The delivery guy looks at me strangely. Obviously he watches bad TV and reads the weekly trash magazines.
‘It’s a bit large to go there, love.’
‘Why? What is it?’
‘Dining table, eight chairs.’
‘But I haven’t ordered -’
‘Says here it’s from a Dominic Delahunty. You know ’im?’
I nod again, bewildered. ‘I guess here then, in front of the kitchen.’
‘I’ll round up the boys,’ he says.
Several minutes later, a beautiful recycled hardwood timber dining table and eight hand-carved hardwood chairs are sitting in the room in front of my kitchen, which will henceforth be known as the dining room. How posh!
‘Dominic, they’re truly gorgeous,’ I tell him on the phone later. ‘But I can’t accept them. They must have cost you a fortune. They’re beautiful, original, unique.’
‘I’m glad you like them.’
‘Like them? I love them. They’re exquisite.’
‘Well, you said you didn’t have a dining suite. I saw that piece of wood and thought it’d be perfect. It reminded me of you.’
‘Really? Which part? Recycled? Aged? Hardwood?’
‘I was thinking more about its natural character and charm. So, you like?’
‘I love.’
‘Then it’s my gift to you.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Thank you would be a good start.’
‘Of course, Dom. Thank you. It’s the most beautiful piece of furniture -’
‘Then it deserves to belong to you.’
‘Don’t … I insist on paying for it. At least for the divine chairs, something.’
‘I vill not accept zee payment.’
‘Are you doing a really bad German accent?’
‘I guess … just trying to lighten the mood. Terrible?’
‘Dreadful.’
‘Just for that, I insist you do pay.’
‘Good, I’ll write you a cheque.’
‘I don’t want your money. I want you and your children to hop in your car - you still have a car, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course, a little beaten up but it works.’
‘Okay then. Get in your car and drive down to the country for a couple of days as my guests, this weekend.’
‘This weekend! I couldn’t possibly -’
‘You need some time out from all the shitty people crawling out of the woodwork giving shitty interviews and saying shitty untruths about you.’
‘So you saw the interview?’
‘Afraid so. In fact, I’d like your permission to join the parade, go on TV and tell even more outrageous tales about you - like how you used to hide spliffs under your bed, and prance around nude doing unspeakable tricks with ping-pong balls and bananas at all hours of the day and night. Come on, Luce. Throw a few clothes in a bag and come down.’
‘I’ll have to think about it.’
‘Seriously? What’s to think about? And bring that old duck with you.’
‘Gloria?’
‘That’s the one.’
As I’m making fried rice for dinner (I’ve given up on the idea of a roast), I become increasingly panicked. What’s it going to be like meeting up with a man I haven’t seen for thirteen years? Sure, I’ve spoken to him and he sounds like the same old Dom, but thirteen years can change a person. Look at me. Two kids, a failed marriage, a lame career, not to mention a few extra kilos and laugh lines.
When I knew Dom, we were both young and vibrant, had the world at our feet, and Sheryl Crow’s ‘All I Wanna Do’ was the number one song. We spent many a night propped up against a bar, singing along and dreaming that one day we’d go to Santa Monica Boulevard. Since then, Sheryl’s won several Grammy Awards, dated Owen Wilson, got her hair cut, acted in movies, been engaged to Lance Armstrong, beat breast cancer, adopted a child, Wyatt, and is currently one of Revlon’s famous faces. She’s also grown her hair again.
What I’m saying is, a lot’s happened
since the last time I saw Dom. Times have changed. I should be moving forward with my life, not trying to recapture the past.
Will I even recognise him when I see him? And what on earth will we have to talk about? We’ve missed out on so many significant events in each other’s lives. How can we possibly build a bridge across such a huge gap?
When I dump all this on Gloria after dinner, she simply says, ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, hey? He’s invited you down for the weekend, not to spend the rest of your lives together. It’s only one night.’
‘That’s what scares me.’
‘You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t tag along.’
‘Yes, you bloody well should. I’m not going by myself.’
‘You have Bella and Sam to keep you company.’
‘I need you there as well. Anyway, you’re his friend, the one who’s been talking to him. I wonder …’ I stop.
‘What? How long he’s been divorced? Whether he has children?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Then why didn’t you bloody well ask him?’
‘Because he didn’t offer and I didn’t want to pry.’
‘You’re an idiot. I liked you better as a redhead.’
‘Yeah, I’m over this stripy hair business as well.’
‘Hey, I’ve got some news that’ll cheer you up,’ Gloria says, changing the subject. ‘You know how Gracie Gardener’s being sued by Edwin for supergluing his dick to his belly?’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, now Gracie’s being investigated for tax fraud. Apparently she’s been charged with fifteen offences against the Commonwealth for continuing to claim disability support pension payments while working as an actor between 2005 and 2007.’
‘She’s not disabled.’
‘She fell off a horse while filming a remake of The Man from Snowy River in 2004 and got an actor’s disability pension that was only payable while she wasn’t working.’
‘So now Edwin’s blown the whistle?’
‘Sure has.’
I get to thinking my life’s not so bad. I’m not under threat of being sent to jail. I’ve never been caught not wearing underwear in public; I’ve never even been slightly tempted to get a tattoo after a couple of drinks - and my house is almost completed. I guess I have a lot in my life to be happy about.
Day 61
When I clomp down my beautiful Oregon stairs at seven in the morning and see Sandy and Rock waiting for me, I know from their faces they mean trouble.
‘We need to go into damage control - again,’ Sandy says coldly. ‘First it was print but then Alana and her goddamn mother go and do a blab fest on TV - it’s getting out of hand.’
‘I really don’t -’
‘That combined with the fact that you and Rock are … Well, what exactly are you doing with Lucy, Rock?’ Sandy glares at him instead of me.
‘Yeah, I like you and everything,’ Rock tells me. ‘But I can’t risk my career -’
‘Rock, there’s really nothing to explain,’ I say, looking around for a pit to fall into. This can’t be happening. I’m not standing in my brand-new kitchen discussing my one-night stand with Rock. It’s ancient history. And that kiss a week ago? So not going to happen again.
‘I know you’re into me and everything,’ Rock goes on, ‘and I dig you, but I’ve got to think about my future. If I don’t have my television career, I’ve got nothing.’
‘What he’s trying to say, Lucy,’ says Sandy, ‘is that from now on you two need to keep it professional. I don’t know if the program will go ahead in its current format given everything that’s happened in the last week, but if it does, all of us have to remain professional.’ She nods to Rock to speak.
‘Sandy’s right,’ he says. ‘We need to lie low for a while, Lucy, then, when this blows over, we can, you know, be together again.’
I look away, willing myself not to laugh.
‘Hey, don’t cry, babe,’ Rock says.
It’s too much to bear. I run up the stairs to Bella’s room at the other end of the house, lie on her bed and give in to hysterics. I haven’t laughed this hard for a very long time. It feels fantastic.
‘Lucy-Lou, I’m glad I found you,’ Gloria says when she tracks me down in the bathroom, where I’m plucking my eyebrows.
‘Where else would I be? I’m a prisoner in my own home, just waiting for the next instalment of my public humiliation.’
‘Nonsense. That’s what I’m here to talk about. You’ll never believe -’
‘Gloria, I’m not in the mood.’
‘You will be, girlfriend, you will be!’ Gloria squeals.
‘I’ve been inundated with calls of support for you - women saying they’ll boycott New Idea and the current affairs shows because of how badly you’ve been treated.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘No way. I’ve got it all written down. There are pages and pages of the stuff. I’ve also fielded a call from Centre Management at Westfield asking if you’ll be their official ambassador.’
‘Get out!’
‘True! And get this, Foxtel are launching a nineties month in two weeks and they want you to host the whole shebang, kicking off with - drum roll, please - the very first episode of The Young Residents.’
‘Really?’
‘All true - to coincide with the release of a special edition DVD featuring twelve classic episodes -’
‘The wedding?’
‘Of course - the wedding, the coma, your death scene, it’s all in there. And I had an old woman ring up from Darwin saying she loved you in the broccoli commercial, and another one from Adelaide saying that in her neighbourhood they’ve started a petition to bring back Marvels.’
‘See, I told you a talking detective dog was definitely the way of the future,’ I say.
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, darl.’
Day 62
I’ve not had time to feel nervous about seeing Dominic today because I’m still recovering from last night’s celebration with Gloria about my possible acceptance back into polite society. Last night, in a moment of excitement, I rang Mum and told her the good news. Not that she believed me. ‘You’re living in a fool’s paradise, Lucy,’ she said.
Thanks Mum.
But nothing can upset me today. Luckily I don’t have too much of a hangover due to drinking white wine spritzers and downing two Beroccas before bed. It was a girlie night full of giggles and stories from our past. And by the end of it, Gloria and I decided that Max is no more than the father of my children. I have to move on from him and that’s what I intend to do.
And Dom? Well, Dom’s still the one I dream about.
And today’s the day it could all come crashing down. I keep telling myself not to have any expectations of this weekend. It’s just a chance for old friends to catch up, and for my children to meet the ‘cute’ guy in my ancient NIDA photos.
But I can’t help feeling happy and excited about seeing him. There are so many knots inside my stomach I feel like a tormented Girl Guide.
The kids and I leave the house in Patch’s capable (!) hands.
‘Luce, you won’t know the place when you get back,’ he assures me, as he and three other men position the bi-fold doors ready for hanging.
‘So you keep telling me. I hope you’ve measured those doors properly this time,’ I say, looking them up and down.
‘Third time’s a charm. Have faith. Have I ever let you down before?’ Patch speaks straight to the camera.
‘Let’s wait and see, shall we? And while you’re doing the paint touch-ups, remember the new downpipes need to be painted to match the brickwork, okay?’
‘Will do.’
‘And the smoke detectors need to be fitted.’
‘Will do.’
There are a hundred and one other things that need doing as well but I can’t think of them.
‘We’ll take care of everything,’ Patch tells the camera.
‘Go and enjoy your weeken
d.’
‘You have my number -’
‘Forever ingrained in my memory,’ Patch says and smiles. ‘Now shoo. Let me get on with it.’
‘What if we have nothing to talk about?’ I say to Gloria on the drive down.
‘With your life? Please.’
‘Well, what if we get there and he’s short, fat and bald and parades his beautiful Eurasian girlfriend and four kids in front of me?’
‘Then you’ll be your charming self. You’ll smile, shake their hands and say thanks for inviting us.’
‘Do you really think -’
‘Of course not. For a start, the guy’s six foot two on a short day, and last time I saw him he was lean, tanned and had a full head of shiny brown hair.’
‘And the girlfriend?’
‘You should have asked.’
Maybe I should have gone to more trouble than throwing on a comfortable pair of jeans, cream jumper and brown boots. A bikini wax wouldn’t have gone astray either. I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. I can’t think straight. This is a huge mistake.
Following Gloria’s messy instructions, we exit the highway, drive along a dirt road for ten kilometres and veer right at the fork in the road.
‘Next we should cross a cow grid,’ Gloria says, peering ahead. ‘And voila! So over we go … bump, bump, bump. And just about now we should arrive at Lot 74, the home of Dominic Delahunty. Bingo!’
The land is green and lush, and there’s a huge pond to the left and several horses in a paddock on the right. At the top of the hill is a large rustic homestead. I turn off the engine and breathe in the fresh eucalypt air. I may just throw up.
‘Gloria, I can’t move.’
‘Well, you’d better find your legs soon, honey, because the man himself’s just walked out onto the verandah. I’d say he’s expecting company, and guess what? There’s no lady friend standing beside him.’
Looking up, I see Dom grinning, wearing a red check flannelette shirt, Levi’s and work boots. As I struggle to open the car door, he walks down to greet us. The kids are already running around on the freshly mown grass.