‘Morning, ladies,’ he croaked, before planting himself on the couch. I could barely make eye contact with him after the previous night. ‘How are you feeling?’
Silence. The girls looked at me for guidance.
‘Fine, a bit tired. Angel’s going to cook up some toast,’ I said, putting on my best faking-it-until-I-make-it voice. ‘Want some?’
‘Sure, thanks.’ He yawned. ‘Man, have you guys seen Tim’s pics of you all last night? Hilarious.’
‘Oh, I forgot about those …’ Steph laughed. ‘I have vague, very vague memories.’
‘Tim’s pics?’ butted in Angel.
‘Yeah, there’s a few of Jose and Steph pulling faces, you doing the splits — that’s nuts, by the way, Angel — and a few selfies of him. Poser,’ he said. ‘Hey, can I grab honey on my toast? Ta.’
I exhaled. ‘For a second I thought you were going to say he had pics of … Never mind.’
The less James had to be reminded about Billy kissing me, the better.
‘Yeah, they’re on his Facebook — he’s tagged you all so you can check them out,’ he added. ‘That dude loves a late-night tagging spree.’
‘He tagged us?’
I hated those terrifying words. The last time someone tagged me I was dressed as Bugs Bunny, wearing fake buck teeth and chomping on a gnawed carrot. Not exactly the image I wanted to portray to five hundred and sixty-one of my closest so-called ‘friends’.
‘Yeah. So?’ James said, looking puzzled.
‘In these photos, Jose’s hair’s all pretty and braided, right?’ muttered Steph. ‘And she’s wearing the yellow dress?’
‘Yeah, I guess,’ said James.
‘And if I’m tagged in the photos, then all my friends can see them, too, right?’ asked Steph.
‘Yeah,’ said Angel.
‘Jose, I almost don’t want to say this, but I’m friends with Rae on Facebook.’
‘You can’t be,’ I said, my voice rising.
‘I am — we added each other after she and Dad started … well, doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh my god,’ I stammered. ‘She knows … Rae knows … she must.’
‘Let’s all take a breath,’ said Angel, waving a tub of honey at us. ‘It may still be okay if we take the photos down right now.’
‘What’s going on?’ James’s face showed his confusion.
I hung my head in my hands as the smell of toast filled the apartment. I wasn’t going to be the one to explain. It was bad enough that James had seen the kiss in real life; he didn’t need an encore performance.
After breakfast, Steph and Angel hid James’s laptop because they didn’t want me logging on and drowning in the madness of evil trollers. But they’d forgotten about my phone and I didn’t remind them. Angel begged me to join her on the train trip home but, as much as I wanted to get back to Mum, it was my internship day at Sash the next morning. I was staying put, whether I wanted to or not.
Once the girls left, I scrolled through Twitter, shocked by how much venom people could inject into one hundred and forty characters. Not only were they firing off evil comments about Billy, the ‘mystery girl’ and Greed, but they’d even started the hashtag #Billynastyhookup, which was now trending worldwide. Brilliant. Reading through all this rubbish while lying buried under a blanket on the couch was my punishment. And what a punishment it was: some of the tweets were just plain cruel. ‘I hope she dies from glandular fever — Billy’s mine, bitch lol’ was one that stood out. The fact that glandular fever fatalities were extremely rare didn’t ease my pain.
I pulled the blanket over my head and buried my nose in the pillow. The aching feeling of tears rising took over until I couldn’t hold them in any more. I sobbed, convulsing under the blanket, leaving a stream of day-old mascara on the pillowcase.
‘Hand the phone over, Jose,’ a guy’s voice said, startling me out of my meltdown.
I lowered the blanket and looked up, wiping my face to remove evidence of my ugly-cry. James stood there with his palm thrust out.
‘Hand it over,’ he repeated. ‘The others told me what’s happened. Tim’s photos have been taken down so you’re in the clear. C’mon, you’ve punished yourself enough.’
I shook my head, lips trembling. ‘Someone’s even started a blog about the kiss. It’s filled with pictures of stuff they’d rather see Billy kiss than me — or “mystery girl”, whatever. There’s a freaking grand piano on the list. And a half-eaten apple. What’s wrong with people?’
‘Man, some people have too much spare time,’ said James, prying the phone out of my hand. I threw the blanket over my head once more, and he pulled it down to look me in the eye. ‘Do you want to talk?’
I couldn’t reply; if I did, tears would stream down my cheeks again.
‘Jose … are we cool?’ he said. ‘I mean, I know I kind of rushed off last night …’
I nodded.
‘You know, not that it matters but I saw the kiss and it looked like nothing to me. I mean … it meant nothing to you, right?’
‘Yeah, totally, it meant nothing,’ I said, finally finding my voice.
‘And I saw you slap Billy away — you really clocked him one,’ James added.
That made me smile. ‘I did, didn’t I?’ I sat up on the couch and pulled the blanket around me. ‘Must have been all the years of practising with Mum’s tae-bo DVDs. Er, I mean … all those cool, super-tough boxing classes I’ve done.’
James shook his head at me. ‘That’s an image I won’t forget.’
‘Argh, I can’t believe I’m back at Sash tomorrow,’ I moaned, changing the subject. ‘The last time I was there Rae ripped my head off. What if she knows? Like, knows knows? I’m so nervous I could puke.’
‘Again?’ he joked.
‘Hey!’ I blushed at the memory of my epic birthday chunder.
‘You’re going to kill at this internship, I know you will,’ he said.
I just hoped he was right.
Outside the meeting room, voices rose and fell, making it impossible for me to catch a full sentence. The wall was opaque glass so I couldn’t see who was doing the talking. I peeked at their ankles, visible through a strip of clear glass that ran across the bottom of the wall. Rae’s stick-like ankles in red peep-toe heels were recognisable; there weren’t many women with legs as slim as hers. The other shoes looked like Liani’s black ballet flats. I hoped it was her.
This check-in meeting had been planned weeks ago, as part of the uni curriculum, but I couldn’t shake the thought that I was about to get in trouble. I hadn’t spoken to Rae since the coffee-spilling incident and I had no idea whether her detective skills had uncovered me as Billy’s mystery girl. Steph assured me that Rae hadn’t mentioned anything to her about Billy, the nightclub or me, so I was counting on that. My only backup plan if she did ask was ‘deny, deny, deny’. I had to survive the next ten minutes without ruining everything. Simple enough.
My mind drifted to Billy. He’d be so used to scandals this would be barely a blip on the radar; just a minor anecdote to include in his memoirs. He’d already appeared on News At Nine to share his side of the story (translation: he spruiked lies about what went down) and rumour had it Marilyn magazine was trying to lock in a contract with him to secure the first baby photos. He’d flown the I’m-human-and-everyone-makes-mistakes flag for the past twenty-four hours. While he may have convinced the mum of his future child, I wasn’t buying it. Not one bit.
The meeting room door creaked open and Rae and Liani filed in, holding folders, magazines and notepads. Rae’s lips were pursed (Steph called it her ‘constipated duck face’), while Liani was smiling and warm as usual.
Rae didn’t say anything throughout the meeting. Her face remained impossible to read, probably due to Botox. Instead of talking, she glared: at Liani, at her phone, at me (of course), at the pot plant in the corner. Nothing escaped her evil eye.
Liani did most of the talking, about the history of Sash magazine (it had been
going for thirteen years and counting), the changes it had gone through (from quarterly, to bi-monthly, to monthly) and the staff (Rae had been the editor for six years and had moulded the Sash brand to what it was today). She reminded me the industry was in a state of flux, that over the last few years many print magazines had closed down, which served as a constant reminder to perform at the highest level.
I nodded after each point, unsure what any of this had to do with my internship.
‘Any questions so far?’ asked Liani, flushed pink from talking so much.
‘No, that’s all pretty clear,’ I said. I’d read most of it on the company website.
‘Any questions about your internship?’ she pressed. ‘Are you enjoying it? Happy with what you’re getting to do? Keen to try something else?’
‘Um … nope, yes, yes and nope,’ I joked. Liani beamed back. Rae didn’t. ‘Look, I can’t get enough of the writing side of things,’ I went on. ‘It’s been amazing. But more than anything, I want to apologise again for the other week when I spilled coffee everywhere. I’m such a klutz and … I’m working on it, I promise.’
‘Oh, that’s fine,’ said Liani. ‘We haven’t thought about it since. You’re doing great.’
I glanced at Rae out of the corner of my eye. Still nothing. The woman made ice sculptures look like warm cuddly teddy bears.
Liani continued. ‘Anyway, Josie, we’ll make sure you continue to spend plenty of time with the features department while you’re here. Eloise hasn’t stopped raving about your work, so that won’t be a problem. Sia’s been singing your praises, too.’
‘Great. Thanks!’
‘Anyway, enough from me,’ she said, standing up. ‘This meeting was a box to tick, really. I’ll be sure to let your professor know that everything’s on track. I’ll, ah, leave you to it then. Any questions, you know where to find me.’
‘Chained to your computer?’ I said.
‘Always.’ Liani rushed from the room, no doubt off to another meeting or some kind of product launch. Or maybe a phone call from her husband asking where the baby wipes were kept. I followed her lead and started packing my things.
‘Wait a second, Josie,’ said Rae, breaking her silence. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. ‘Do you have a minute?’
‘Sure …’ Half-confused, half-excited that Rae was talking to me again, I lowered myself back into my seat. But then fear swamped my body: she knew; she knew about Billy and me. I needed a lie-down.
Rae swished her bob. ‘I’ve got a quick story that you may appreciate …’
‘Okay.’ I hoped it didn’t conclude with ‘Now get out of this office and never come back’.
‘Years ago — it doesn’t matter how many — I was working as a sports journalism cadet for a major paper in the city.’ She paused for effect. ‘Ambitious wouldn’t even begin to describe me back then. When I got the job, I was out of my depth: I knew nothing about cricket, netball, hockey, football, but I didn’t care — I learned and I learned quickly. I wanted to make it as a journalist. I was hungry for it. I wanted to be the best.’
Her voice was dipped in nostalgia. I waited to hear more.
‘And then I had an interview that changed my life,’ she said. ‘He was twenty-five, a famous footy player. It was a real win for the newspaper, and for me. You know the drill: gorgeous, athletic, rich — but he was also married with a child. Happily married, or so everyone believed. I only interviewed him once, but that’s all it took. Another journo from a rival paper saw him squeezing my butt as I left the room. Him squeezing my butt.’
Rae trailed off. I realised I was holding my breath in anticipation.
‘By the afternoon, the story had morphed into a nightmare. So-called sources claimed we’d slept together, my colleagues were disgusted, and the media branded me “Home-wrecking Rae”. It was devastating, and got worse when the paper stood me down. I was on leave with pay, but I didn’t care about the money. I was disgraced — and I hadn’t done anything wrong.’
This was starting to sound eerily familiar.
‘The player made it worse,’ Rae went on. ‘He gave interviews, made up stories about me, blamed me for seducing him. As if he had no control over his own actions.’
‘What happened next? Did his wife leave him?’
Rae raised an eyebrow. ‘Not straight away. But two years later she caught him cheating with his sports physiotherapist. She took him for everything he had. Last I heard, he’d gained twenty kilos and was living in his sister’s spare room.’
My mind buzzed with questions. ‘Who was he?’
‘It’s yesterday’s news, Josie. It blew over. Just like Billy’s story will … if you know what I’m saying?’
Rae was being about as subtle as a cricket bat over the head, but I gave her credit for not shrieking, ‘You made out with Billy in public, you self-centred little brat!’
‘I do,’ I said, almost whispering. ‘I know exactly what you’re saying.’
‘Good. Oh, and Josie?’
‘Yes?’
Rae pursed her lips once more. ‘No more clubbing with Steph for a while, okay?’
17.
‘Well?’ demanded Kat, slurping her milkshake. ‘Details, Jose.’
I shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’
‘Do you want me to say it? Fine. I’ll say it. I’ve totally got over the fact you were a bit of a nothing at school and am deadset jealous of you right now. There, are you happy?’
‘Bit of a nothing? Give me some of that milkshake.’ I leaned across the table and grabbed Kat’s glass. But my attempt to change the subject from my non-pash with Billy was short-lived.
‘Seriously, what a guy,’ she sighed. ‘Now, what really happened between you two?’
‘Can you lower your voice?’ I whispered, gesturing around the cafe. Our old neighbour, Mrs Pratt, was sipping a cappuccino at a nearby table. She was renowned for her grade-A eavesdropping skills so I didn’t want to take any chances. ‘Nothing. Nothing happened, okay?’
Kat raised her eyebrow. ‘Nothing’s what people say when something happened.’
‘Or maybe it’s what people say when nothing happened,’ I argued, my voice growing louder than I’d planned.
‘But there’s more to it than the one-second peck on the lips Billy’s claiming, isn’t there?’
I paused for a second too long.
‘Oh my … what happened?’ spluttered Kat, leaning across the table. ‘You saw his thing, didn’t you?’
‘No! What do you know about … things?’
Kat rolled her eyes. ‘Nothing yet. I’m waiting for you to tell me.’
‘There was a kiss. A bit of a kiss. I slapped him away, that was it.’
‘Tongue?’
I paused. ‘Kat, you can never tell anyone this. Mum would freak. You’ve seen all that stuff online.’
‘She’d just be stoked that a guy tried to … No way.’ Kat’s eyebrows furrowed into a frown.
I turned to see what had caused her reaction. It was obvious within seconds: Pete Jordan stood in the cafe doorway and he wasn’t alone. His hairless, fake-tanned arm was wrapped around a blonde girl who was about the size of my pinkie finger. I recognised her from Kat’s year — Stacey something.
They weaved their way through the cafe, squeezing past tables, dodging coffee-carrying customers. As they neared my and Kat’s table I held my breath in anticipation of some kind of apology. Something along the lines of ‘I’m sorry for treating you like a piece of meat at the party,’ probably delivered on bended knee.
Instead, Pete walked right past, squeezing Stacey’s hand and whispering in her ear. He saw me, for sure, but he simply stuck his greasy nose in the air and soldiered on.
‘Did you see that?’ I hissed at Kat, who was glaring at them.
They took a seat at a table in the corner, kissing, rubbing noses and cuddling.
My stomach lurched. ‘Ergh, let’s get out of here.’
I walk
ed up to the counter to pay our bill. The staff were rushing around, bumping into each other as they served coffees, sliced bread and arranged muffins. They didn’t function with the well-oiled efficiency of the city baristas and waiters. Finally, after suffering through five people’s coffee orders, it was my turn. I handed over the money, and then I heard her. Stacey. She was whispering into her phone, but loud enough that I could make out every word. She may as well have come up and yelled in my face.
‘Yeah, yeah, it’s her, the frigid one. Yes, here in the cafe. That’s what I said! I mean, clearly she’s not all that. Exactly. I know, right? You should see what she’s wearing, too — I mean, c’mon, get with it. Yeah, okay. Yep. I’ll call you tonight.’
Teeth clenched, I took my receipt. I’d already slapped one person this week, and if I didn’t leave the cafe in the next five seconds, I was about to boost that to two.
Standing on the driveway, Kat and I could hear Mum’s raised voice thundering from the house.
‘She must be on the phone to Aunt Julie,’ Kat whispered. ‘Quick, c’mon.’
‘What now?’ I muttered. Running into Pete and Stacey at the cafe was bad enough. Was Aunt Julie telling Mum about my drunken night with Tim and the girls? I didn’t know how much more my nerves could handle.
Kat and I raced up to the house and burst through the front door. The scene that greeted us was so bizarre it would have been funny if Mum didn’t look so distraught. Mum was blubbering into the phone and waving a frozen chook around in the air, holding it by its scrawny right leg. Our ratty old children’s toys, clothes, books and CDs in cracked cases littered the carpet. I noticed a broken vase in the corner. It looked like the one Dad had bought Mum for their anniversary a few years ago.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked, voice raised. ‘Mum?’
‘Yeah, what’s happened now?’ piped up Kat. ‘The place looks like a dump.’
Mum looked horrified we’d interrupted her meltdown. ‘Julie, I’ll call you back soon,’ she said and hung up.
The Intern Page 15