Careful What You Wish For

by Maureen McCarthy

  * * *

  The next few hours zipped by in a haze of frenzied activity. First she went to the wardrobe department and a stylist came up with a whole lot of new ideas about how she should look, along with about a dozen complete sets of new clothes. After the live interview someone took off her heavy television make-up and then redid it more subtly for the photo shoot. Someone else came by to muck around with her hair. She got a new style for each different photographer and lots of pleasant chitchat from everyone.

  ‘God, you are such a star, Ruth!’ the make-up guy sighed. ‘How did you get to be so clever?’

  ‘You’ve got fabulous hair, Ruth!’ the hairdresser said. ‘Mind if we trim the front a bit?’

  Ruth had never had this much attention in her whole life. It felt weird at first, all of them hovering around asking her if she was comfy and would she mind sitting here or there and would she mind putting on a hat for the photo and then could she take it off again please. But after a couple of hours she got quite used to it; in fact, it didn’t take long before she accepted it as normal, more or less. Yes, she was happy to wear those red boots, but not the brown ones. She’d always hated brown. ‘Sure, honey! Whatever! Bring over the red boots in her size, will you, Dean?’

  ‘What happens to all the clothes at the end of this?’ Ruth asked, fingering a light-grey wool jumper longingly.

  ‘You have them, of course, Ruthie.’ Carol the props girl was busy showing her how to thread the belt through a pair of new five hundred dollar jeans. ‘It’s part of the deal.’

  The reporters were all nice, too, and they asked the same questions, so after the first interview there was nothing even vaguely scary or intimidating about talking to them.

  ‘Do you go to bed early, Ruth?’

  ‘How many hours of study do you do every day?’

  ‘What do your friends think of your success?

  ‘What is your favourite meal?’

  * * *

  Before heading back to the hotel to settle in, Ruth had lunch in the dining room. She was sitting with the crew, tucking into spicy sausage rolls and fat chips and Italian soft drink, when the realisation came to her in a flash. Being a star was totally great! Apart from a few little downers like having to stand in one position for the photographers and having to smile when you didn’t feel like it, she couldn’t think of a nicer lifestyle. Yes, she thought as she picked another sweet pastry off the little glass plate that had been brought in especially for her. At last he got it right! Thank you, Rodney!

  But by the time Ruth got back to the hotel and walked into the plush lobby she was totally exhausted.

  Cindy took her by the arm and led her to the lifts. ‘You look like you could do with a rest,’ she said. ‘We’ve got an hour-long window in our schedule. What about chilling out in front of the telly? Or you can have a swim in the heated pool or … ring your friends.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ruth stumbled into the lift ahead of Cindy, and within only a matter of seconds they were on the fifteenth floor. Cindy opened the door for her and ushered her into a beautiful room overlooking the park and, past that, the city. Such a big room and all to herself! The furniture – a desk, chair and enormous bed – was made of polished wood with deep-green leather trimmings. Ruth stood and stared around in wonder.

  ‘So you think you’ll be okay here, Ruth?’

  Ruth looked over at Cindy, who was busily setting some biscuits and a bottle of soft drink on the coffee table.

  ‘Oh, sure. I’ll be fine. Thanks, Cindy.’

  Cindy was looking at her watch. ‘How about I show you a few things and then leave you alone for a while?’

  ‘Sure,’ Ruth said. She was actually longing for Cindy to leave so she could examine everything in the room properly.

  Cindy showed her the phone and how to ring reception and the room-service menu. Then she showed her how the taps worked. The bathroom almost shocked Ruth. There were gold taps and a big fluffy white towel, little packets and bottles of shampoo, and the bath was huge.

  There was a knock on the door and a man brought in a small case.

  ‘We sent someone out to buy a few things for you,’ Cindy said. ‘Toothbrush and pyjamas and other bits and pieces.’

  ‘Wow!’ Ruth was overwhelmed. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘So have a little rest, okay?’ Cindy said, showing her again how the taps worked. ‘Now, don’t hesitate to call me if …’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Ruth reassured her again.

  ‘We’ll get back from your house around four,’ Cindy said, ‘have another rest period and then I’ll pick you up for dinner. You’ll be free at eight. You can come back here and watch telly; then up bright and early tomorrow. Okay? Remember, if you want anything I’m in 108. Only a few doors down on the right.’

  ‘Thanks, Cindy.’

  * * *

  First off, Ruth examined the contents of the little case. Just as Cindy had said, there were all the essentials, like pyjamas and toothbrush and soap, plus a couple of interesting books and magazines. She wandered around the room, touching the polished wood of the desk and the marble bath and the gold taps, and imagined herself as a grown-up woman, like Cindy, expensively dressed and checking into rooms like this all over the world. Would she ever get used to it? Maybe it would seem quite normal after a while.

  She sighed and flopped down on the big bed, then picked up and opened one of the magazines, wishing that the big room didn’t feel so empty somehow. If only she had insisted that Marcus and Paul come back with her. They would both enjoy it all so much – the huge sparkling bathroom, the view over the city, the enormous television screen. She could almost see them. Paul would be buzzing around pointing out one thing after another. Cool! He’d be pressing buttons and opening cupboards and checking out everything. You seen this? Marcus would lie back on the bed with his hands behind his head and laugh. ‘It’s a hard life,’ he’d mutter, ‘but someone’s got to live it. Might as well be me!’

  21

  Ruth got into the big black company car accompanied by Cindy, Melissa the interviewer, Greg the cameraman and his assistant Ian. There was a lot of chatter and joking between them about other people working at the network, none of whom Ruth knew. But every now and again they’d say something to include her, so she never felt completely out of it. She was nervous about having these people in her house, but realised that there was nothing she could do except take Cindy at her word. What harm would a quick interview with her parents do? Maybe it would all be in close-ups, and no one need see anything of the house.

  Only a few minutes into their drive they passed St Paul’s Cathedral and stopped at a red light. Looking out of the window, Ruth got a jolt when she noticed a distinctive red door set into the stonework on a small laneway at the back of the cathedral. She stared at it in shock. How would she find her way back there if … she needed to?

  ‘Can you tell me the name of that little lane we just passed?’ she asked the driver.

  ‘Chapman,’ he said.

  ‘So many laneways in the city,’ Cindy murmured. ‘I haven’t been down most of them myself.’

  Their car pushed on through the traffic. Ruth tried to memorise some landmarks, but after the driver took a few turns she had to give up. All the buildings started to merge into each other and she had no idea where she was. She tried not to worry. After such a fantastic morning, she couldn’t imagine wanting to go back to her former life anyway. Experience may have taught her that things can change, and often very quickly, but she had a strong feeling that this time Rodney really had done it.

  * * *

  As they turned around the corner and pulled into Wales Street it was as though she was seeing the street for the first time, and the effect was devastating. Not a tree in sight and rubbish everywhere and their house: the worst house in the street by far! It looked like it was sinking into the ground. The whole roofline was uneven. Ruth had never noticed that before. Why didn’t her father fix up those verandah posts the way he s
aid he would? This was going to be so humiliating. What were these people going to think? The whole day had been spent sitting and standing and walking on spotless, gleaming surfaces with perfectly groomed, polite people who had probably never seen a dirty fridge or heard someone fart or burp or yell loudly.

  Everyone in the car went quiet as they pulled up outside Ruth’s place and got out. Even Cindy had nothing to say. With lowered eyes Ruth led the way through the front gate. Suddenly the battered front door opened and a smiling Mrs Craze came hurrying out to greet them, making Ruth cringe with shame. He mother had on the bizarre red caftan that she’d worn to the Christmas concert and she had a bright-red fake flower stuck on the side of her head next to her ear.

  ‘Welcome!’ she said too loudly, as though the television crew were her best friends, ‘we’re all ready for you. I even made scones!’

  ‘Oh, that’s very nice of you!’ said Greg the cameraman as he looked around at the dried-out lawn with skid marks all over it, then at the pile of tyres in the corner of the yard and the newspapers all over the porch.

  ‘Now, we did what we could,’ Mrs Craze said, following his gaze nervously, ‘but I’m afraid things are still a little rough around here. We’re planning a big renovation next year, aren’t we, Ruthie?’

  Ruth nodded in humiliation.

  ‘But please come in, everyone.’ Mrs Craze held the kicked-in flywire door open and they all trooped through into the house.

  ‘Why wait for next year?’ Ruth heard Ian mutter under his breath to Greg, who chuckled in appreciation.

  ‘Maybe they’re hoping it will fall down first!’

  Just inside the front door, Greg turned to Mrs Craze. ‘Could we have a look around,’ he asked, ‘and check out the best place to do the interview?’

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’ Mrs Craze waved them on down the hallway. ‘Make yourselves at home. But I do think the front room would be best.’

  When they were out of earshot Ruth turned on her mother. ‘You must have been out of your mind! Why did you say they could do this?’

  ‘They said it was important,’ her mother said quietly, ‘and that you were willing, so I … I didn’t want to be a fly in the ointment.’

  ‘What? ’

  ‘We did what we could, Ruthie,’ Mrs Craze added feebly.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t enough!’ Ruth hissed furiously.

  * * *

  They did the interviewing in the front room, as planned, because it was really the only halfway respectable place.

  ‘What is it like being the only girl in the family, Ruth?’

  ‘What would you like to be when you grow up?’

  ‘What do you think about global warming, Ruth?’

  Ruth answered as best she could, but this time found it no fun at all. Half a day and I’ve become used to the gleaming surfaces too, she thought. Get me out of this dump! Anyway, what could she say about global warming? She was eleven years old! She was too busy thinking about whether someone might by chance have cleaned the toilet or shifted the pile of newspapers from the corner in the kitchen.

  When the interview was over Ruth looked around the room. Why had she ever thought this room was nice? It wasn’t at all. Mary Ellen’s piano and table were the only two items of furniture that were even vaguely okay. She’d been interviewed sitting on a grubby, worn sofa that looked like it had come straight out of a Brotherhood bin. The windows were streaked with dirt and the curtain was torn. The curtain rod was held together with black electrical tape. Memories of Paul doing chin-ups on it crowded into her head like unwanted guests.

  ‘So, Ruth, you going to show us around?’ Greg asked. He had the camera on his shoulder now. ‘Can we film your room … the desk and bookcase where you study?’

  ‘No.’ Ruth shook her head. ‘I don’t want to do that.’ She didn’t want to admit that there was nothing in her room even resembling a desk or a bookcase. Nor did she have a proper wardrobe. All her clothes were in piles on the floor.

  ‘Okay,’ Cindy said, ‘we’ll finish up then.’ She smiled at Ruth. ‘Mind if we just get a few establishing shots outside?’

  ‘Okay,’ Ruth said in a small voice. What was an establishing shot?

  * * *

  Ruth had to go to the toilet, and when she came back out she saw that the crew was filming the bathroom next door.

  She sidled up to Greg as he was shooting the stained bath. He started a little when he saw her.

  ‘Your mum said it’s okay, honey,’ he said in a bright, jovial tone. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t use most of it.’

  So why are you filming it? Ruth wanted to say but didn’t dare. She ran back into the kitchen, where her mother was pulling scones from the oven.

  ‘Mum, why did you say they could film everything?’ she whispered angrily.

  ‘Well, they seemed to think it was important,’ Mrs Craze said, looking a little worried. ‘I’ll be glad when this is over, Ruthie.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have said it was okay,’ Ruth said. ‘I definitely don’t want my bedroom filmed!’

  ‘I think they already have it, love,’ her mother said guiltily. ‘If only we’d got you that new bedroom suite. Remember last year we were planning to and …’ ‘Too late,’ Ruth snapped.

  ‘I’m sure everything will be okay,’ Mrs Craze said, trying to be more positive.

  ‘That’s what you always say and it hardly ever is!’

  ‘Well, sometimes it is,’ her mother said, and popped a little bit of scone in her mouth. ‘I think you’ll find that these are okay.’

  Ruth gave a huge sigh and walked out of the room.

  * * *

  But by the end of an hour they had filmed her parents sitting on the verandah eating scones, along with Marcus sitting on his bike sucking a slurpie – he saw the camera crew’s presence as a chance to promote himself as a champion racer. Paul did his interview sitting on his bed while he played the recorder. Cindy and the crew told her it would make for more interesting television to show the whole house and Ruth decided there was nothing she could do. What did she know? They were the professionals. They probably knew what they were doing.

  22

  Ruth couldn’t move. There was something heavy on her chest. She gasped for breath. What was happening to her? Her heart was racing. Where was she?

  Gradually she woke up to find … nothing. She was lying on top of the hotel bed but no one was there. The weight was off her chest and she could breathe easily again. A bad dream, she told herself, just a bad dream. She looked over to the window and took some deep breaths. Everything was … okay. Wasn’t it?

  The light was failing outside and the room was now full of shadows. How long had she been asleep? She sat up and looked at the clock. It was getting on for five now. There was an hour to go before Cindy was going to wake her for dinner, and suddenly Ruth didn’t want to stay in the room any longer. Why not get out and do something … normal? Maybe she could go and check out the pool.

  Making sure she had her key, Ruth went to the door and pulled it open. Out in the corridor she looked around for some kind of sign that would point her in the right direction. Apart from the clunk of the cleaner stacking things on a steel trolley down the other end, all was hushed quietness. Maybe if she walked to the end of the corridor she’d see a sign that told her where the pool was. Ah! Voices. She would ask someone. Ruth took a few tentative steps towards the noise just as Cindy’s laugh rose above the rest of the chatter.

  ‘Can’t you see the headline if she wins?’ Cindy was giggling wildly. ‘Slum Girl Fights Her Way to the Top!’ There was music and the clinking of glasses in the background.

  ‘What about that shed full of useless crap!’

  ‘Talk about eccentrics! That father was a nutcase!’

  ‘And the mother!’

  ‘What about the scones?’

  ‘Like rocks!’

  ‘Did you get a shot of her pulling them out of the oven?’

  ‘Yep.’ This was followed by
a roar of laughter.

  ‘For God’s sake, she looked like a medieval soothsayer in that get-up.’

  ‘So what else did you get?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘Our audience is going to lap it up!’ Cindy said with a laugh. ‘Mr and Mrs Average in Altona will feel like their own lives are normal and successful in comparison.’

  ‘It will work for the show too,’ Ian said more seriously. ‘When they see the family the kid comes from, they’ll want to see her win.’

  ‘Did they all sign the form?’

  ‘You betcha!’ Cindy said gaily. ‘And not a murmur out of any of them.’

  ‘So we’re safe?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  * * *

  Ruth ran back to her room, her face blazing with humiliation. The ‘At Home with Ruth Craze’ segment would make her family the laughing-stock of the country. She shuddered. The flea-ridden dog, her dad’s shed of mad inventions, her fat mum’s terrible dress sense – they’d caught it all on film! She looked around the room wildly. A wobbly feeling in her chest and tummy made her feel like she might be going to faint. But … she was on this roller-coaster now and there was only one way to stop it. She’d signed those bits of paper and, more importantly, her parents had signed other bits. The whole thing was going to happen!

  Suddenly the phone rang. Ruth jumped and stood staring at it. Once, twice, three times … Ruth tentatively picked it up.

  ‘Yes?’ she said.

  ‘Hello.’ It was her mother’s voice. ‘Ruthie?’

  ‘Mum.’ The creeping tightness in her throat made it impossible to say much else.

  All of a sudden she wished she was home and that none of this had happened. Home. She was actually longing for the familiar smell of it. She would like to be in her own little shoebox of a room watching the night sky outside, hearing those annoying, loud brothers prattling on in the next room.