Don't Mention the Rock Star

by Bree Darcy

  “Why is Ryan with all the young tikes?” Curtis asked.

  “Because he’s a weakling,” Ciara replied with a smirk.

  “They grade the beginners by height and weight,” I explained. “Ryan is still in the intermediate level because of his size.” Most of the other teenagers had progressed through to the senior ranks.

  “Well that certainly didn’t come from me,” Curtis said. “I was six foot one by the time I was his age.”

  “Would you just sit back and watch, and show you’re proud of him, please. Is that too much to ask?”

  When Ryan came third overall, Curtis went over and clapped him on the back. They posed together as I snapped a happy shot with Ryan holding up his bronze medal.

  “Well done son. Maybe next year you’ll be able to beat those ten-year-olds and finish with the gold.”

  As Ryan’s face dropped, I imagined myself executing a karate kick right at my husband’s privates.

  * * *

  “Konichiwa!”

  “Hello to you too.” It sounded like someone had arrived in Japan.

  “How was Ryan’s karate chop tournament?”

  “Good, he did good. He came away with a bronze which he was ecstatic about. So how’s it going?”

  “Fine,” Andy sighed.

  “What have you been up to? Is it hard work reminding people who the hell you are ahead of the new album?”

  “Just stuff.”

  “Care to elaborate.”

  “I just shot a commercial.”

  “For?”

  “An energy drink called Atooshi.”

  I tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle. “A cheesy Japanese commercial! Did you get to wear a funny costume?”

  “Look, I really don’t want to talk about it – the less said the better.”

  “Who talked you into doing it? The money must be good but aren’t you worried about losing your street cred?”

  “I didn’t really have much choice. Chandler lost big-time to the company owner at a casino in Macau, this was our way of paying back the debt. Better I lose my dignity than Chandler loses a few fingers.”

  I was silent for a moment.

  “You’re very loyal, you know that, Andy?”

  “Domo arigato.”

  “And bilingual too. How do you spell this Atooshi? I want to make sure I can find the video on YouTube.”

  “A smart girl like you, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Now talking money problems, you know how you were saying your ma hasn’t had her shoulder operation yet, she’s not in some serious debt, is she?

  “No, nothing like that. She just can’t afford to go private and the public health system is backlogged. But if you’re looking for someone with money woes, you should talk to her boyfriend Ken. Apparently he’s got some tax issues and they won’t let him leave Dubai. I certainly hope they don’t threaten to chop off his fingers.” Some of these Middle Eastern countries had pretty strict penalties.

  Andy sounded distracted. “Look I’ve gotta go. Call you soon.”

  He’d disconnected before I had a chance to say sayonara.

  * * *

  Two days later, Andy rang back while I was walking through the park. “Kell, I’ve done some digging. Ken isn’t who he says he is.”

  “Huh?”

  “When you mentioned your ma still had her sore shoulder, it should have sent alarm bells ringing because four months ago I wired her twenty-five thousand dollars to cover her medical expenses. The other day I got to thinking, if she didn’t use the money for the surgery, what happened to it?”

  I was lost back at the part where Andy was giving my mother huge sums of money but he had moved on, outlining what sounded like a bizarre plot from a crime show.

  “Then when you told me Ken was stuck in Dubai with tax problems, that worried me. I had just read a Rolling Stone article about African conmen who target vulnerable people through online dating sites. And guess how they do it – by posing as wealthy men who work offshore who suddenly need money because of a crisis, like an illness or business debt.”

  “But that doesn’t sound like Ken, he’s always sending her stuff – flowers, gift cards … why would he do that if he was a scam artist? And I’ve seen his photo – he doesn’t look untrustworthy.”

  “That photo would be a fake, just some random dude they grabbed off the internet. And apparently it’s a common ploy to send gifts like a real lover would to gain her trust and win her over. To get her thinking with her heart, not her head.”

  I sank down on a park bench, pressing the phone closer to my ear, to drown out the sounds of the crows cawing in the background.

  “So I hired an investigator and just as I suspected there are no birth records that match for Kenneth Baker – it was lucky I remembered he had the same birthday as me. His Australian address isn’t a house at all, it’s an empty building on an industrial site. His company website is bogus – there is no registered business in that name, his IP location is blocked and the details on his LinkedIn profile don’t tally up. The investigator then tracked a money transfer your ma made for twenty-five thousand dollars. That payment went to Ghana and that’s where the trail goes cold.”

  I didn’t know what to say. It all sounded quite incredible.

  “But she’s expecting him to fly over as soon as he can.”

  “I doubt he’ll ever show. How long has he been stringing her along so far? The investigator says it’s rife, these sweetheart scammers preying on people looking for love. We have to figure out how deep she’s got herself and warn her to stay away from him. Hopefully she’s only lost the twenty-five grand.”

  “Andy, I’m so sorry. We’ll get your money back to you somehow.”

  “I don’t care about the money, I only care about your ma.”

  This would devastate Mum. Maybe we could delay telling her for another three weeks, so I could do it face-to-face when we arrived for my school reunion.

  “Just give me forty-eight hours,” Andy said. “To make sure all the information is correct and find out what she should tell the authorities. Don’t say anything to anyone before I get in touch.”

  I was on tenterhooks until his call came two days later. I was hoping he’d tell me his investigator got it all wrong and Ken was in fact the perfectly nice man from Rockingham we thought he was.

  “The money’s definitely gone and Kenneth Baker, oil rig engineer, definitely doesn’t exist.”

  “Oh no!” I said. “This will break her heart. I don’t know how I’ll be able to tell her…”

  Andy interrupted. “You have to, so she doesn’t fall for any more of his bullshit. And you need to do it right now. I’m standing on her street and her car is in the driveway. If you give me a moment to knock on the door, I’ll be with her when you ring. And I’ve got the file of evidence to show her if she doesn’t believe you.”

  “Oh Andy.” Tears sprang to my eyes. “You flew all that way just for…”

  “You know I’ll do anything for your ma. I’ll help her report everything to the police. And while I’m here I’ll make sure she books her surgery. Even if I have to drag her to the doctor’s office myself.”

  “Andy?”

  “Yeah?”

  I love you.

  But I didn’t say it.

  Instead I said “thank you” and hung up, psyching myself up to make one of the hardest phone calls of my life.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  It was a big exam day for me – international relations. My mind was buzzing with details about the Asia-Pacific rim, refugee policies and United Nations diplomacy as I paced the quadrangle, working off my nerves. I had arrived with half an hour to spare – Dan might not be my boyfriend anymore but his habit of being early had impressed itself on me.

  I was cramming in a Mars Bar for last-minute sustenance, when I overheard: “Did you hear about that guy from Danger Game?”

  “No, what happened?”

  “He died. Shame, I thought he was really hot
.”

  The exam doors swung open and we were told to enter silently. In the rush of students, I lost sight of the person who had been talking outside. I slid into the first available desk then swung around in my chair, hoping to spot them so I could go over and ask them to repeat what they’d said.

  An exam supervisor walked past, indicating I needed to face the front and prepare to turn over my paper.

  Somehow I forced myself to get through the next two hours, blocking out every thought about my worst nightmare being realised. I scrawled a conclusion to the last essay, and then instead of revising my work, all those agonising fears started to surface. With my heart racing and unable to hold back the tears any longer, I grabbed my belongings and rushed for the exit.

  “I didn’t think it was that hard,” I heard someone say as I pushed out the door and gulped in some fresh air.

  I frantically hit all the channels on my car radio until I found the university station heading into its news program. The Reserve Bank had raised the interest rate, an earthquake had struck Indonesia – get on with it! “Danger Game guitarist Heath Whitehead has died. Whitehead, twenty-three, is believed to have drowned while swimming at a popular waterhole in Oregon for the American Independence Day holiday. Witnesses say he had been drinking heavily in the hours leading up to his death. Police sergeant Graham Creem: “It is believed the deceased may have become disorientated while diving underwater and been unable to find his way back to the surface.” Band members AJ Dangerfield, Gerry Bitel and Dominic Castillo, who were with Whitehead at the time, are assisting police with their inquiries. Danger Game’s latest single Someone Like Him is currently in the ARIA top twenty chart.”

  I sat in the car for ages, shaking too much to drive home. I breathed in and out deeply, repeating: It isn’t Andy. It isn’t Andy. It isn’t Andy.

  * * *

  The bell jingled as I pushed open the door to the Mane Event salon.

  Caprice squealed and rushed over to hug me. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be finished with Mrs Mancini,” she said. “We can chat while I give you a trim.” She tutted and flipped my split ends – regular haircuts were a low priority for cash-strapped students.

  “You heard the news?” Caprice said as I sunk into the chair next to her workstation. “Unbelievable! Such a tragedy!” Her fingers flew as she cut layers into her client’s newly dyed hair.

  “Do you know what happened?” I asked.

  “Not really. Zia Maria has hardly had a chance to speak to Andrew as he’s been busy dealing with the police and press.” She raised her voice as she switched on the hairdryer. “He feels terribly guilty because he had a massive fight with Heath just before it happened. They’d been celebrating the Fourth of July – lots of drinking and stuff – and Heath was threatening to quit the band. Even though the new album’s not finished yet. Andrew told him the only way he’d be leaving the band was in a coffin – and Heath stormed off. Next minute someone found his body floating in the lake.”

  “But the police, they don’t think Andy had anything to do with the death?”

  Caprice spoke in rapid Italian to Mrs Mancini as she held up the mirror to show her the finished result. She steered her towards the front desk before returning to fasten the black cape around my neck.

  “From what I’m hearing it was purely an accident. No one’s to blame. Chad and Gerry were with Andrew the whole time anyway, trying to calm him down after the row. I wonder what will happen with the band, whether they’ll continue after this. It’s heartbreaking.”

  Caprice stopped combing my hair and watched me closely in the mirror. “Andrew told me what happened with Heath, the lies he told about you two. You must find it hard to forgive him for all the trouble he caused.”

  I sighed. “I never liked Heath but … I certainly don’t hate him enough to wish him dead. I feel so numb, it’s such an awful thing to happen. Although I feel terrible admitting it, when I heard it was Heath who died, all I felt was relief it wasn’t Andy. If something happened to him, I don’t know what I’d …” I got too choked up to continue.

  “Why don’t you go over to Zia Maria’s so you can speak to him? I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”

  I hadn’t spoken to Andy since the time I lost him at the London Tube station. That first Friday night I was home, I went to Maria’s house but when his collect call came and she passed the phone to me, he hung up. Two weeks later, I tried again but this time when Maria answered the door, she told me he was adamant he wouldn’t speak to me.

  “My hot-headed cousin will have forgotten all about that now,” Caprice said. “Annaliese! Stop skulking out the back and come sweep the floor. These hair clippings won’t find their own way to the bin. Seriously, you should talk to him. Mend your bridges. He’ll be needing a strong woman around him.”

  I told her that I would send a card instead, to let him know I was thinking of him. And then if he wanted to contact me, he could. That was why I’d dropped in, to see if Caprice had an address. Sending a letter through the record company would only get lost in all the fan mail.

  With my swishy new hairstyle finished, I opened my purse to extract some money.

  “It’s on the house,” Caprice said, handing me her card with Andy’s address scrawled on the back. “You’re family.”

  * * *

  I spent ages composing my message on the sympathy card. Why hadn’t I thought about writing him a letter before? Andy would never have ignored a letter from me, would he? I guiltily thought about all those unread letters of his after I found out about the baby.

  Dear Andy,

  I am so sorry about Heath. It must have been a huge shock to you. I am thinking of you, Gerry, Dom and Chad at this sad time. I just can’t get my head around the fact that Heath isn’t around anymore.

  If you feel ready to speak to me again, I’m on the same number. I’m guessing you don’t need to call collect anymore! Congratulations on your amazing success – Someone Like Him is in the charts here. I am so proud of you.

  Caprice gave me your address as well as a free haircut! She said you’d be happy to hear from me. I hope so.

  Remember when I tried to talk to you on the phone after returning from England. What I was trying to tell you, if only you’d listened, was that you were right about me and Dan not being right for one another. I came back to tell you that but I couldn’t find you again at the train station. I wanted to tell you that I chose you.

  I still choose you.

  Love Kellie

  However, laying it all on the line like that proved to be a pointless exercise.

  A few days after Heath’s funeral, after the police had declared it an accidental death, Andy took off. After seeing mortality up close, it was like he had his own death wish. No one knew where he was for months, apart from sporadic reports of him being drunk and disorderly at various notorious nightspots across America.

  Then one day, Andy realised he’d had enough of his wild bender and turned up on Gerry’s doorstep. And a few days later that strong woman he desperately needed turned up on the doorstep too.

  Siena took over full management of the band, giving Chad a substantial payout to disappear, and the band finished the album that had caused so much friction.

  And not long after, Andy married Siena in a marquee in the backyard of her father’s estate, her baby bump clearly visible beneath her cream antique lace gown.

  Unfortunately it would take another tragedy before I saw Andy again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  There was an undeniable chill in the air as grey clouds tracked across the sky. I took a short cut to the office across the damp lawn, passing the crazy bird man sharing a loaf of bread with a squabble of scavenging seagulls. It was my last day before heading to Perth for the school reunion.

  Before I even had a chance to sit down, Zara summoned me to her office. The look on her face as she closed the door indicated she wasn’t about to wish me a nice trip either.

  She slid a
photocopied photo across her desk. I inhaled sharply as I took in the image of two teenagers in their bathers perched on a sand dune with a towel wrapped around them. It was taken about a month before Andy went back to San Francisco, his blue hair a stark contrast to the white sand.

  Zara steepled her hands together. “As you know, it’s a condition of your contract that I am informed of any relationships with well-known identities.”

  I’m pretty sure it’s not. The only condition in operation here was the one afflicting Zara known as nosey-itis.

  “This photo was emailed to me overnight. From a fake account I would suggest, as the email bounced when I tried to reply. It was captioned ‘Kellie Carmichael and AJ Dangerfield 1993’. I take it you won’t be denying this is you in the photo.”

  I lowered my eyes and nodded. Although I wasn’t a Carmichael in 1993.

  “And I take it your relationship with Dangerfield was of a girlfriend-boyfriend nature.”

  Again I nodded.

  “May I remind you that not that long ago you sat in this very office, denying you had ever had sexual relations with this man.”

  “No actually, Zara, if you consult the notes, you’ll find I categorically denied making any unwelcome advances towards him. And that is the truth.”

  “Semantics, semantics.” Zara brushed aside my explanation. “As you can see from the absence of anyone recording notes this time, this is merely an informal chat between us girls.”

  It felt about as informal as a waterboarding interrogation at Guantanamo Bay.

  Zara kicked off her heels and threw her stockinged feet up on the desk. “So what I’m dying to know is what went down with you and Dangerfield. You’re not leaving this office until I hear the whole story.”

  There was no chance I was sharing the entire saga with my boss but I had to give her something. “Not that I believe this is any of your business and you have to swear you won’t repeat a word to anyone …” I moved in closer and lowering my voice, in case Heidi was listening in from her desk, told an enthralled Zara about my teenage romance with Andy and how Siena found out about it during the Kris Carson promotional tour. I was certainly not divulging all the other times we’d met up over the years. All she needed to know was we were together once, that we split up and only met up again because she assigned me to interview him. End of story.