Don't Mention the Rock Star

by Bree Darcy

  “As if I’ll ever be allowed to forget that! For once, it’d be nice to come home to find a wife who appreciates the efforts you make supporting this family.” Curtis bundled up his laptop and work folders, and stormed off to his study.

  I couldn’t resist getting in the last word. “Then you should have married someone willing to sacrifice their career to wait on you hand and foot. Maybe you should have fought your brother for Felicity.”

  The study door slammed and I was left to go upstairs to sort out Ciara’s presentation and brood by myself in a bubble bath.

  The water was turning tepid by the time Curtis appeared in the doorway. “I’m sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. But this job’s really getting me down, I’m beyond burnt out.” His eyes brimmed with tears. The last time I’d seen him this upset was when Lance Armstrong admitted he was a drug cheat.

  “That’s why I really want to accept APB’s offer. I thought you wouldn’t mind – I mean it’s not like your career’s going anywhere. And I was sure you’d welcome the opportunity to put more distance between yourself and my mother. You know Ciara’s the type of kid to be happy wherever she lands so that just leaves Ryan. And I don’t think it’s fair he gets to hold the rest of us to ransom because he finds it so hard adjusting.” Curtis held out my towel as I pulled the plug.

  “Just give me more time to think about it. It’s not like you’ve had your meeting with head office yet – you might find your job’s perfectly safe. Which means you could take your time looking for a great research position here.”

  “There’s no research here that I’m interested in, certainly none with the stature of Professor Fulbright’s team. Anyway, enough about that for now.” Curtis grabbed a bottle of body lotion from the cupboard. “You must be all stressed out after your big day. How about I give you a foot massage while you tell me what you found out about Alley’s affair?”

  CHAPTER 4

  I pushed open the door to the Stand Up Against Bullying office. Todd, who was looking to promote a charity fun run, was on the phone and gestured he’d be with me in a moment. Behind his desk was a large mounted photograph of Aleisha, the teenage girl whose death inspired him to start the organisation.

  “So how’s your son?” Todd asked as he showed me to a back room, past a flank of volunteer counsellors manning the crisis phone lines. I explained that Ryan seemed a lot happier after enrolling in another school, learning some self-defence moves and embracing his passion for music. We’d had it relatively easy compared to some of the heartbreaking stories they dealt with here.

  “Actually that reminds me,” Todd said, flicking the kettle switch to boil us a cup of tea. “I caught up with a friend of yours in La-La-land.”

  Todd was fresh off the plane from the Hollywood premiere of Eternal Heart, based on the bestselling book series about a zombie apocalypse. He and Neil Lucas played rogue soldiers who saved the day. Shooting of the sequel, White Night, was due to kick off a week after the fun run. But that meant Hollywood’s gain was Acton Avenue’s loss – his character, James the plumber, had departed the neighbourhood to join a doomsday cult.

  “How is Mr Lucas?” I asked. “Recovered from our encounter on the red carpet yet?”

  “I’m not talking about him. I meant AJ Dangerfield. His song features in the movie.”

  “And he’s doing the next soundtrack too, I believe. How’d you work out we know one another?”

  “AJ was throwing back a few drinks at the after-party. I wanted to gauge his interest in lending his name to our cause, so worked up my courage to approach him and mention a reporter once told me about his experiences at school. And straight away, he cottoned on it was you … And then he told me all about you guys. From when he first saw you playing tennis, to touring with the band together, to celebrating his birthday in London, to meeting up again last year.”

  “I can’t believe he told you all that.” I sunk my head into my hands. “I’m sorry, he must have completely bored you to death.”

  “Not at all. It was sweet. I told him it sounded like the perfect rom-com script. But the bucketloads of gin he’d been drinking made him all maudlin, saying there was no happy ending and you were too embarrassed to even tell anyone about him. Seriously, I had to wipe a tear from my eye.”

  Todd grinned at me as I cringed with embarrassment.

  “And then he passed out.”

  * * *

  It was weird being in the office so early. There was no hum of conversation, no ringing phones, no clatter of fingers on keyboards. I had volunteered for the six am shift so I could attend the teacher-parent conferences at Ciara’s school this afternoon.

  I drummed my fingers on the desk waiting for my computer to boot up. Lenny wasn’t even around to debate who was the father of Maddie’s baby on Acton Avenue. Actually that was a point, he’d borrowed my copy of People magazine last week, and I needed it to check what Jennifer Lawrence had worn to that award ceremony.

  I’d have a quick hunt around on his desk to see if I could find it. And if I came across a folder marked ‘Capital Staff – Merger’ and it accidentally dropped to the floor, scattering its contents everywhere …

  For someone who was only with us one day a week, Lenny had sure accumulated a lot of junk. Amid all the coffee-stained newspapers, paper piles and lolly wrappers, I finally unearthed my magazine.

  Maybe I’d just have a look through the rest of his stuff to see if he’d forgotten to return anything else to me.

  Hmm, interesting, a Christmas card from the Fenneys, with a photo of Dudley and his wife Gina formally posing in front of an ornate marble fireplace strung with ivy. The Lenny I knew would have framed this card and hung it above his desk, with a spotlight shining on it. Making it on to the chief executive’s Christmas card list was something to boast about, not hide away under a pile of magazines.

  I mean, when Lenny convinced singer Remy Fields to autograph his parking fine – it was the only piece of paper he had handy on him at the time – there was not a single person in the entire Capital building who did not witness that famous scrawl.

  As I opened the card, a printed invitation addressed to Leonard Smith fell out.

  We look forward to your company at our New Year’s Day luncheon at home from 1pm. RSVP executive@capitalmediainc.com.au

  The Fenney New Year’s Day luncheon was legendary. It was a roll call of Sydney’s rich, powerful and beautiful, and photos from the event were splashed all over the social pages. Foodies across the country salivated when magazines showcased this year’s menu of seared king prawns, herbed crusted beef and spit-roasted duck. I remember ripping out the recipe for the mini mocha pavlovas in the hope I might one day feel inspired enough to whip them up myself.

  Not even our esteemed editor Zara had ever scored an invite. And considering Lenny wouldn’t fall into any of the rich, powerful or beautiful categories, I was itching to find out how he was on such friendly terms with the Fenneys. Surely barracking for the same rugby team didn’t count.

  Inside the Christmas card was a handwritten message.

  Dearest Lenny

  Hope you have the most festive of Christmases. Another year to cherish your gift of life.

  Much love, Dudley and Gina

  Wait a minute, was “gift of life” referring to him donating blood? I remember him once saying he and Dudley shared the same rare blood type I had.

  I glanced up at the clock. Time was ticking and the admin staff would be arriving soon so I’d have to abandon my investigation. Which was a shame because that merger file hadn’t turned up.

  After ensuring I placed the Christmas card back exactly where I found it, I set to work on a breaking story about Mara Cain, the female host of the Daily Scope news panel program. The stand-up comedian also blogged about her life and for the past year had been keeping readers in stitches about her pregnancy and early days of motherhood.

  Overnight she had posted an update, about how she was head
ing off with her husband on a ten-day holiday to Fiji, leaving her twelve-week-old baby at home with the nanny.

  The comments from readers were scathing. “How selfish. It makes me wonder if you are ready to have a child.” “How can you be breastfeeding your baby from another country?” “Hearing about how you have palmed off your baby to someone else while you swan off makes me feel sick. Never watching your show again.”

  I had posted the story by the time Zara strode in, talking away on her mobile. She paused at my desk. “Mara Cain abandoning her bub to go laze on a beach is all over talkback radio,” she said. “We need to get on to it a-sap.”

  “Already done,” I replied smugly. “The Facebook link to our story has more than one hundred comments and counting.”

  Zara smiled and nodded, before resuming her phone conversation on her way to a management meeting upstairs.

  “What are you looking so pleased about?” asked Adele, arriving with a container of strawberry and white chocolate muffins.

  “Oh you know, it’s true what they say about the early bird catching the worm.”

  * * *

  Back from her meeting, Zara clicked her fingers at me and indicated towards her office. “Actually, on second thoughts, I need a decent coffee,” she said, picking up her zebra stripe Marc Jacobs handbag. “Let’s take this to Spagnos.”

  “Anything interesting come up at the meeting?” I asked as we hopped in a taxi for the two-minute ride to the cafe. Zara didn’t do walking in her five-inch spike heels. In fact, she had flatly refused to join our corporate team for the Stand Up Against Bullying fun run, saying “darling, if God had meant for us to run, he wouldn’t have invented high heels”.

  Maybe she knew something about Lenny and his merger file. Or maybe I was about to find out what Albino Man had been discussing in her office. Or maybe … oh no, maybe she was about to tell me I didn’t have a job anymore. I’d return to the office to find my access card deactivated and my belongings in a cardboard box at the security desk.

  “I think we both agree you’re ready for a change,” Zara said, stirring a sugar substitute into her coffee. I bit nervously into my brownie slice, if this was bad news at least let me have some chocolate in my system first.

  “Capital is looking for a columnist to do a weekly series of interviews with newsworthy people ranging from politicians and actors, to sportsmen and community figures. The interview would run not only as a column in the National Express but would also be filmed for a new online TV channel. They are looking for a fresh face but someone with experience too. I’d like to put your name forward. You have more than shown your versatility recently and I think this is just the sort of challenge you need. If you’re interested, put together a portfolio of your best profiles, and I’ll submit your application with my glowing recommendation.”

  “Zara, wow, thank you. That sounds amazing and I really appreciate your support.” Already a dozen names had sprung to mind who would be perfect to interview. “But it’s only fair to tell you my husband is thinking of relocating back to England. We won’t know for sure for a few more weeks.”

  Zara put her mug down on the table and leant forward, her chin resting on her hands. “Kellie, I don’t need to tell you what a fantastic opportunity this is. You’ve always been under-utilised reporting on entertainment; you’ve got the nous to tackle much meatier subjects.”

  Hear, hear, I could hear my former history teacher Mr Taylor echo in my head.

  “So here’s a bit of advice from me, woman to woman. You, like so many others I have worked with, have put your career on the backburner for your family. And now here is your shot at a high-profile job with national exposure. I would like to think any husband worth his salt would realise it’s time for your career to take priority now.”

  Zara continued to explain the role, including the substantial pay rise. Maybe this would make Curtis reconsider moving overseas. He could even take a sabbatical if he wanted. Thank you Zara, you might have just thrown us a last-minute lifeline.

  * * *

  Leaving the kids mulling over their homework, I set out for a run before dinner. With Todd’s fun run only a fortnight away, my training schedule was ramped up to ensure I could last the ten-kilometre distance.

  Turning back into our street, I spied the Carmichaels’ Mercedes in our driveway. Great, I hope they didn’t plan on staying long, especially with Curtis away on an overnighter.

  I found them in the dining room with Ciara. Thomas, at the head of the table, lifted his newspaper as Delia wiped down the glass surface around him.

  “You needn’t do that,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “I was sitting here chatting to my darling granddaughter, and couldn’t help but notice all the smears,” Delia tutted. “I thought I’d give everything a quick wipe for you. Next time I’ll bring Beryl’s fabric cleaner to remove those unsightly marks from the chairs. Curtis would have paid top dollar for this suite, it would be a shame for it to go to wrack and ruin.”

  Internally I rolled my eyes, while externally my mouth offered gratitude.

  “That reminds me,” Delia continued. “I was thinking I’d loan Beryl to you for a while, to get this place ready for the inspections. A top-notch real estate agent, son of a friend of mine, will be in touch soon. You’ll be wanting to lock down an auction date.”

  “Delia!” I hissed at her, tilting my head towards Ciara, who was concentrating on her art project. “Please! We’ve haven’t discussed anything with the kids yet.”

  Delia drew me into the lounge room before handing me the paperwork for some English schools.

  I rounded on my mother-in-law. “Firstly, we haven’t made any decision about moving yet. And even if we do, it will be an icy day in hell before Ryan and Ciara set foot in a boarding school. So I am sorry if you have had a wasted trip but I won’t be needing these enrolment forms.” I thrust them towards her but she folded her arms, refusing to take them.

  “You might want to reconsider, Sidewell has an excellent reputation. Harrison has just received his acceptance into business at Cambridge.” Delia ran her cleaning cloth over the coffee table. “And I would hope you will see what a monumental opportunity this is for Curtis. I do believe leaving research and going into sales was something he did for you, so it seems only fair that you support his decision now.”

  Even if I’ve been offered the job-of-a-lifetime too?

  Delia trotted back into the dining room, clapping her hands to get her husband’s attention. “Come on, Thomas, we must leave Kellie to get on with dinner. Hope you don’t mind but I had a clean-out of your freezer too. I saw a program last night about the salt content in those frozen dinners – it’s a staggering amount. I would hate for Curtis to develop hypertension because he’s not eating right.” And throwing the cloth on the table, Delia departed, followed closely by Thomas, who was still in his slippers.

  * * *

  That night in bed, I suddenly bolted upright. That gift of life comment on the Fenneys’ Christmas card, it was all coming back to me now. I fired up my laptop to confirm my hunch.

  Six years ago, Dudley was on dialysis after kidney failure when a stranger responded to his newspaper appeal for a donor. In an interview with the National Express, Dudley had thanked the man who did not want to be identified, saying he had given him “a gift of life”.

  I typed “kidney donation and blood type” into the search bar, which revealed that a person with our type of blood could only donate a kidney to a person with the same type. The chances of being a match were long-odds though, particularly for someone who was not related.

  I flicked back to the article about Dudley’s surgery. “I will never forget a kind-hearted stranger came to my rescue,” he was quoted as saying. “He will not only be on my Christmas card list for life, he will be a treasured part of my family. I owe him everything in the world.”

  The description of this mystery donor fitted Lenny to a tee – a single man with no children, former na
vy serviceman, in his fifties, non-smoker. The article even quoted him saying he would have donated his kidney to anyone. The fact that Dudley was one of the richest men in the country made no difference, he wasn’t looking to profit from his act. “Even if he didn’t have a brass razoo to his name, I would have signed up,” he said. “When I saw the ad in the paper I had no idea who the recipient was.”

  Was it a coincidence that Lenny was possibly the only person left on the planet still using the term “brass razoo”?

  This would totally explain how Lenny got such a cushy job at Capital, Dudley had repaid him by putting him on the payroll. Next chance I got, I was totally asking him about it.

  * * *

  “Now I don’t want to make you beg but …” Lenny was dangling an envelope just out of Adele’s reach.

  “Gimme, gimme,” she squealed.

  “As long as you promise not to make a fool of yourself like Kellie did.”

  “Can’t promise you that. If I get the opportunity to caress any part of Neil Lucas’ hot bod, I’m going for it.”

  “Hmmm, maybe I need to reconsider then.”

  “Lenny, if you don’t hand it over right now, your collection of Rabbitohs bobbleheads is headed straight for the dumpster.”

  “That’s a charming way to speak to the man who has a double pass to the Eternal Heart premiere in his possession. And might I add, it comes with access to the after-party. Now say thank you to your Uncle Lenny.”

  He passed the envelope to Adele.

  “Oh Lenny, your blood is worth bottling,” Adele said, giving him a quick hug.

  “His blood most certainly is,” I agreed. “Mine too. Did you know Lenny and I share the world’s rarest blood type?”