Don't Mention the Rock Star

by Bree Darcy

  “That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure?”

  “Yes, of course I’m sure. I’ve opted for bonuses along the way and … look it’s complicated. Just trust me, there is no payout. At least they’re allowing me to keep my job for a few extra months.”

  “What about cashing in some shares then?”

  Curtis shifted in his chair. “That’s not an option either. Our shares, like everyone else’s, took a hit with the global financial crisis. Then because I was certain it was a sure thing, I reinvested a lot of what was left in Vilatom.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The company behind that anti-anxiety drug, the one we had trouble with.”

  “You mean the one that was withdrawn?”

  He nodded.

  “So if the drug was withdrawn, what does that mean for investors?”

  “Essentially the shares are worthless. So even if we did cash in our investments, it wouldn’t be enough to sustain this family for more than a month. And before you even suggest it, we’re not begging to my parents.”

  I briefly considered the bonds my Mum had set up with Andy’s money. But what would I say about where the money had come from? Curtis would never accept a cent if I told him the truth.

  Curtis stared off into the distance, before reaching for my hands. “I’m sorry, I feel like I’ve let you down. But it’s time to cut our losses and head home.”

  The only problem was, for me, home was here.

  I looked at my husband, whose eyes were shining with unshed tears. For better, for worse. In good times and in bad.

  “Of course you haven’t let us down,” I said stroking his arm. “It’s not your fault if your company is laying off staff. If you think the Manchester job is your best option, then that’s where we’ll go. No question about it. Tell them first thing tomorrow and I’ll apply for redundancy. No point waiting any longer.”

  “You sure?” Curtis’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, you won’t regret this.”

  I smiled despite the sinking feeling in my stomach. “Just let me break it to Ryan.”

  * * *

  Waiting in the cafeteria queue the following week, I bumped into Lenny for the first time since the big announcement. He had officially assumed the title of staff relations manager.

  “Hi Lenny, you dark horse. How’s things?” I said, picking up my tray of vegetarian curry and rice. “I don’t get to see you anymore now you’re tucked away on the management floor and fine-dining in the executive dining room.”

  “Most days I still prefer my trusty ham, cheese and pickle sandwich.” Lenny held up his paper bag. “So you’ve put in for redundancy?”

  I nodded. “We’re moving back to England.”

  “Ryan mentioned something. He doesn’t seem too happy about it. And what about you? I imagine it’ll be hard moving so far away from your mother.”

  “What can I do, Lenny?” I shrugged. “Curtis doesn’t have a job here anymore and he wants a fresh start back home.”

  “So there’s no chance of you reconsidering? Even if you knew you were a shoo-in for that columnist job? Not that you heard it from me.”

  To be honest, I didn’t really want to hear that. It only made it harder to leave.

  “Well, I for one will miss you. You’ve always been kind to silly old duffers like myself.” Lenny’s smile couldn’t hide the sadness in his eyes.

  His change of status at work was clearly taking its toll. While lots of people had been shamelessly schmoozing him since the merger meeting, just as many were giving him the cold shoulder, angry he had been “spying” on them.

  Lenny promised to look me up if he was ever over visiting his brother. I really hoped he would.

  * * *

  Andy listened patiently to my woes – from finally getting a great career break that I couldn’t accept to Curtis losing his job. “Do you need some money?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t need money. Must you be so bloody patronising?”

  “Don’t bite my head off, I’m only trying to help.”

  “How about suggesting how I should handle things with Ryan? You had to move to a different country when you were a teenager. He has barely spoken to me since I told him. He goes off to school real early and then comes home and shuts himself in his room. How can I get him to see our move in a more positive light?”

  “I got to finally do it so that was a definite positive for me.” Andy guffawed. “Although I’m guessing that’s not the sort of thing you’d want to tell him. Do you want me to have a word?”

  “Thanks but I don’t think you should get involved.”

  “Well, the offer stands.” Andy’s breathing was becoming increasingly ragged.

  “Why are you so out of breath?” I asked.

  “I’m out jogging. Have been all year so I’m match fit for touring. It takes a lot of effort to run around a stage for a couple of hours, you know.”

  I had watched some YouTube clips from their South American tour – their last shows before Chandler’s death. I had to admit, he did look particularly fit on stage, stripped to the waist, sweat pouring from him thanks to the tropical humidity.

  “When are you touring here?”

  “Not sure, nothing’s booked beyond Europe next month. But I do have some exciting news for you. I’m making a quick trip to Sydney before the end of the month. All the boys are coming to promote Dirty Little Secret.” That was the name of their new album.

  “And Siena too?”

  “Yeah, she’s got some stuff to do with Warrior Legacy and also has her eye on a couple of bands on the festival circuit. Meanwhile I’ve signed up for some charity fun run. I believe you know the guy behind it, Todd something.”

  “Well, I suggest you get off the phone then and get serious about your training. Because I’m taking part too and I’m so going to whip your arse.”

  “You’re on, girlfriend. Loser has to buy me a drink.”

  After I hung up, I realised Curtis would be at the fun run too. But thousands of runners were expected – how hard would it be to make sure Andy and my husband didn’t run into one another?

  CHAPTER 7

  Curtis steered his car on to the oval that had been opened up for parking, honking at the vehicle in front for taking too long to pull into its spot. Saying goodbye to Ryan who was meeting friends for breakfast before lining the fun run route, we walked briskly towards the start area. It was the perfect day for a run – a fine layer of wispy white clouds punctuated the blue sky, the air was still and a pleasant mid-20C temperature was forecast.

  Curtis immediately accosted a race official, trying to find out where he should go to secure a good spot at the start line. I anxiously scanned the crowd, looking for any sign of Danger Game. With any luck, they’d had a boozy late night and would sleep through their wake-up call. Actually I could do with a stiff drink myself, the prospect of my ex and my husband being in the same vicinity was making me jumpy.

  I spotted Todd directing an energy drink delivery towards a marquee. He waved, before coming over with a big grin on his face. “Great turnout, hey? You heard your man AJ will be here?”

  “I did,” I replied. “Todd, have you met my husband? Curtis, this is Todd Zuchetti, who organised this event.”

  The men shook hands, then Todd turned to me making a “whoops, sorry” face out of Curtis’ line of vision.

  “So what do you run, Todd? I’m a thirty-nine-minute man myself.” Curtis had shaved minutes off his time lately, a feat he was very proud to share.

  “I’m more into surfing,” Todd said. “So I’ll be happy just to make it over the finish line. Come on, I’ll get you two signed in at the VIP tent.”

  I was about to politely decline but Curtis pushed me through the crowd behind Todd. “This’ll help get me in front of all the plebs,” he whispered, a gleam in his eye.

  There weren’t that many people milling about the tent – presumably real VIPs turned up at the last moment – so Curtis had plenty of room to warm up
. He stripped down to his high-tech running gear. His black singlet, with an aerodynamic turquoise stripe across the front, was made from a water-repellent and sweat-resistant microfibre. His running shorts came with inbuilt briefs, his socks were designed to help prevent muscle fatigue and cramping, and his six-hundred-dollar sneakers had sole sensors to evaluate his running style. Sometimes the Carmichael pompous-git gene really won out.

  There was a commotion outside the tent, and the flaps parted to reveal Andy and Gerry with their regular security team, Jase and Jeremy.

  I gulped and turned my back on them, hiding my face as I pretended to tie up a shoelace.

  But Andy headed straight for me. “There you are,” he said, patting the top of my head. “Hope you’re feeling energetic as I plan to give both you and Ger a run for your money.”

  “Pfft, as if,” Gerry said, nodding at me.

  Andy turned to Curtis. “Hey, I’m AJ. You must be Kellie’s husband.”

  “I know exactly who you are.” Curtis ignored Andy’s outstretched hand and manoeuvred into a side stretch. As he transitioned into upper body stretches, he nearly swiped Andy in the face with his flexed arm.

  In reply, Andy rolled up one leg of his grey sweatpants and whipped off his baggy hoody, revealing a tatty T-shirt underneath. He did a few leg bends and curls, before touching his toes with ease – obviously still very limber. Using his hoody like a cushion, he moved into a yoga headstand, waving his trusty old high-top Converse sneakers and black and white striped socks in the air. I tried not to snigger. Even harder was not staring as his T-shirt slid down towards his head, exposing his chest and those two very familiar tattoos on his hips. I quickly glanced away.

  “No Dom?” I asked.

  “He’s met up with an old friend.” Gerry gestured towards the tent exit. “We lost him out there somewhere.”

  “Remember Sven the personal trainer?” Andy righted himself again and flexed his bicep. “Apparently he’s working for some rich businessman. Think he and Dom may be off getting reacquainted. It’s hard to resist old passions, isn’t it?”

  His eyebrows did several push-ups as I glared at him.

  “There they are,” Gerry yelled, spotting the trainer’s towering physique entering the tent. “Dom – over here!”

  Dom came over by himself, feigning a heart attack on seeing me. “Oh my god girl, is that really you? You’ll never guess who else I found lurking around. Remember Sigvard – from London back when…?”

  Dom trailed off as Andy gave him a sharp poke, gesturing at my husband who was on the floor rolling his hips.

  Dom took a swig from a silver hip flask. I was very tempted to ask for some too. “Sigvard’s gonna freak when he sees how out of condition I am. Do you think I’ve got moobs?” Dom lifted his shirt and thrust out his chest. But he dropped his shirtfront rapidly when he spotted his former paramour making his way towards us with rich businessman in tow. It was none other than Dudley Fenney.

  “Here ve are,” Sigvard said. “Zeer Dudley, theze is my clients von years ago – AJ, Gevry and Dom,” he said in his gorgeous Scandinavian accent.

  Curtis was still stretching and pretending to ignore our conversation.

  “That’s the head of my company,” I whispered to Andy.

  “And this is Kellie Carmichael,” Andy said, pushing me towards Sir Dudley. “She’s one of your star reporters on Starfix. I make a point to always check in every day to see what she’s written. Isn’t it sad she’s leaving to go overseas? You really should snap her up as your UK correspondent.”

  Dudley shook hands with everyone, before clasping Andy on the shoulder. “Your father-in-law was a outstanding man,” he said. “A sad, sad loss indeed. I still remember the time he invited me to stay on Naidu island when he and David Bowie-”.

  His reminiscing was interrupted by an announcement over the speakers that the race for the ten-kilometre runners would start in five minutes.

  “Well lads, I’ll leave you to get on with your race,” said Dudley, who was entered in the four-kilometre walk. “Best of luck with your new album.” He turned to me. “And Kellie, get in touch with my secretary this week, we’ll have a chat about what you can do for us from England.”

  I watched his retreating back for a moment before spinning around to high-five Andy. “You - are - brilliant,” I said. “Curtis, did you hear that? I’ve got a meeting with Sir Dudley about working from England.”

  Curtis simply glowered at Andy.

  As officials moved through the crowd, channelling everyone towards the start line, Andy held out his hand to Curtis. “May the best man win,” he said.

  But Curtis ignored him yet again, and instead dragged me away towards the front runners.

  “You didn’t have to be so rude,” I snapped.

  “I’m not going to ask how he knew you’d be here today. Or how he heard we were moving to England. Or how his whole band seemed to know you so well. But you’re to keep away from that piece of white trash. Understand?” He then dropped his icy tone and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Righto, I’ll meet you back at the tent after the race. I’m sure I’ll have time for more than a few complimentary drinks before you finish. Ha! Ha!” And with that he squeezed his way through the pack to get closer to the start line.

  I’m sure I wasn’t the only person raising a finger at him.

  Once the starter’s pistol sounded, Curtis powered ahead, no doubt keeping an eye on his heartbeat, electrolyte intake and the barometric pressure with his running watch.

  I settled into a regular rhythm, maintaining a steady pace, shoulder to shoulder with a group in orange morphsuits. As we neared the first drink station, Andy pulled alongside me. “I cannot believe you found a guy who’s even more of a douchebag than Dan,” he declared.

  “You just caught him on a bad day. He’s not usually like that.”

  We fell into the same stride, with bodyguard Jeremy’s reassuring presence ensuring those people who couldn’t respect Andy’s personal space were soon shunted aside.

  By the second drink station, Andy was surrounded by a bevy of twenty-something girls with perky breasts. Seriously, if that one with the tramp stamp above her skimpy running shorts elbowed me one more time, I was going all Cobra Ninja on her arse. For a split-second I felt actual sympathy for Siena, having to put up with predatory women eyeing up her husband all the time.

  I leant towards Andy. “You know, I’ve been thinking about what Chandler told you before he died. About Siena.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Actually, can we stop for a sec? I need to tell you something in private.” I glared at the sorority girls who had squished in even closer to listen to our conversation.

  Andy grabbed my hand and steered us down an embankment towards an alleyway. Jeremy stayed a discreet distance behind us.

  “So?”

  I sucked in some air. “What was it Chandler told you, word for word?”

  Andy enunciated slowly: “Make - sure - you - do - the - right - thing - by - my - daughter.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Do the right thing by her. That doesn’t necessarily mean stay married to her, does it? He could have been telling you to let her go.”

  Andy wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Ya reckon? I guess you could interpret it in that way.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “Not that you have to take my word for it. But as I deal with words day in, day out …”

  I could almost hear the cogs whirling in his brain.

  “Remember how Siena went nuts when you banned her from going on tour with the Carsons – do you think she considered that was doing the right thing by her? Maybe doing the right thing is you two going your separate ways.”

  “I’ll be damned. Maybe he did mean we should break up. He was quite an intuitive guy.” Andy stared pensively into the distance. “I could be a free man with his blessing.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “Well, you’ve certainly given me something to think about.”r />
  I made a move to return to the race course but Andy grabbed my arm. “Hang on,” he said. “I need some gum.” He pointed towards a deli at the mouth of a small shopping arcade. We waited outside while Jeremy went up to the counter.

  A young African youth leaning up against a taxi spotted Andy and loped over to give him a bearhug. “AJ Dangerfield, you’re my inspiration, man. I’ve always got Danger Game playing in my cab. I love you guys so much.”

  Andy eyed the taxi. “How would you like to help us out, buddy?”

  Chenzira couldn’t have been more ecstatic to have his hero climb into his vehicle. Jeremy and I slid into the back seat, listening to Andy converse with the Zimbabwean as we skirted around the race route to be dropped near Hyde Park. “That will save you about three-quarters of the circuit,” he told Andy, who was signing his basketball cap. “Good luck, man.”

  We waited behind a tree until a big group of runners approached. “When I say go, jump back in,” Andy instructed. “If anyone asks questions, just keep running.”

  After only a minute or two back in the race, with the final one-kilometre mark looming, Gerry and his security guard Jase ran alongside us.

  “How’d you get so far in front?” Gerry puffed.

  “Long story, mate. Tell you at the finish.”

  “MUM!” Ryan waved frantically from his vantage point. Andy headed over to exchange one of those complicated knuckle bumps teen boys do.

  “I hear you’re off to Manchester,” he said. “That’s where our drummer was brought up. He says it’s a sick place. And it’s quite a coincidence too because that’s where we’re recording this movie soundtrack in April. If you’re free, you should come into the studio, check it out.”

  “Really?” Ryan beamed.

  “Absolutely. Although how come you’re not out here running with your ma?”

  Ryan turned to me. “You’re doing really well, Mum. Dad hasn’t even come past yet.”

  “Hasn’t he now?” Andy’s eyes glinted. “Come on, we’d better keep running then. Ryan, catch you later.”