A Dash of Reality

by Murray, Lee

  In this upside-down state my head is throbbing like the Picton ferry. I’m developing a migraine. Finally, Olaf says, ‘Let’s return to child’s pose for a few minutes to recover from our upset state, Melanie.’ I take my head out of my bottom and collapse gratefully to the mat and into child’s pose.

  ‘This next position will be our last. We will be working on opening up our hips. Called the pigeon pose, it is in two parts and extremely versatile for lengthening hip rotators and flexors. I find it challenging, but one of my former clients, Kylie Henderson, an Australian gymnast - perhaps you know of her - was particularly talented at this exercise…’ I watch as Ol’ Stretchy Legs contorts himself into the pigeon pose, which consists of folding one leg under one’s body, sliding the other leg out behind like a bride’s train and then holding your torso upright. This is the first part. Apparently, you’ve got it right when your buttocks feel like overstuffed cushions squeezed down the crack in the sofa.

  ‘Keep your back long, Melanie, and remember to relieve pain breathe deeply into your tender areas…’ Unfortunately, there isn’t that much breath in a trade wind.

  ‘Loosen your jaw, Melanie…’

  What I don’t get is why Rico, (who under the watchful gaze of Guccione, was compelled to escort me into the hotel, and up to my room) why he then didn’t proceed to rip my clothes off, throw me down on the bed and finish what he started? It’s what any normal lusty male would do, isn’t it? It was as if all that scorching passion went up in a puff of smoke the instant the taxi hit the curb. Instead, Rico lurked about peeking through the curtains. After half an hour he left to sneak out through the hotel kitchen. Meanwhile, I was left with that mildly irritated feeling a girl gets when she shaves her legs for nothing.

  Olaf is on to the second part of the pose now. This is the bit where you lengthen your torso, fold forward over the flexed leg, and then do your utmost to crush the bejesus out of it by smothering it with your body. Olaf is effusive with praise when the limb goes numb, so I gather my technique is exceptional for a beginner.

  I can’t leave yet. There’s still the other leg to be immobilised. It’s all very well sitting here isolating my muscles, when what I really need is to isolate my feelings. I’m as confused as my muscles are bunched. Does Rico want me? Do I want Rico? And what about Jack? Still, I’m not forced to make a decision now. Jack has promised to wait quietly in the wings until the show is over. I can afford to keep my options open. See what happens.

  Like stretching, these things take time.

  58

  ‘Hi!’

  It’s Janeen. She’s come directly from her Dive Crescent market stall. Her freckled face is still rosy from the walk. It must have been hectic at the market. She looks tense.

  ‘You look like you’re gagging for a coffee.’

  She raises her eyebrows in response. I needn’t have asked. It’s a pity our awesome skills at thought transference tended to break down during mid-term algebra tests. Must’ve been the stress. She comes in, whumps her squishy patchwork handbag over the back of the sofa and follows me into the kitchen.

  Sundays are Janeen’s busiest day at the market, full of late morning brunchers poking around the landscapes painted on corrugated iron, felted flowers, driftwood sculpture and pohutukawa photo-blocks, hunting for a way to prolong their morning leisure and stave off their afternoon lawn-mowing. Today the first of the season’s visiting cruise ships is in port (I can see it now anchored across the bay from my apartment.) No doubt the market was overrun with overweight tourists on the hunt for cut-price kiwiana gems to display in their Colorado condominiums. Little wonder Janeen seems tense. I pour her a large cup of foamy coffee, add two heaped teaspoonfuls of sugar and hand it across the bench top. She blows on the steam.

  ‘Caro?’

  ‘She’s good.’

  ‘She’s with Margaret?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  We stand at the bench for a moment.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Me? Yeah, great thanks.’

  I so want to tell Janeen about my first proper meal with my dad. About Rico, and the steamy incident which left me breathless and confused. The thing is, I’m not supposed to let on, and even if I were, I don’t know where to start and I suspect she won’t approve. I conjure up something else to tell her as we carry our drinks into the lounge.

  ‘I’ve got a humungous blister on my heel.’ I twist my lower leg in her direction and wave vaguely at the offending pustule with my left hand. ‘The little pink pom pom on the back of my sock didn’t read its mission statement. It slipped down inside my shoe and my ankle got more rubbing than a genie’s lamp. I should get some antiseptic cream on it…’

  Janeen is glowering at the surface of her coffee as if there’s scum floating there. Something’s up and I don’t think it’s my blistered heel. Her shoulders are rigid. I suppose she’ll tell me when she’s ready. I witter on.

  ‘Did you know you can get plasters that create a second skin? I better get some. Can’t let a blister spoil my shot at stardom. I’ve come this far. I wouldn’t want to be another Richard the Lionheart…’

  ‘Richard the Lionheart?’ Aha, that piqued her interest.

  ‘Richard the Lionheart got this tiny scratch that got infected. He was off on the Crusades with his secret boyfriend and…’ I trail off. Janeen’s dark eyes flash and her flaming red hair bounces wildly about her face. What did I say? She rounds on me sharply and narrowly avoids sploshing her coffee on my white sheepskins.

  ‘What the hell has got into you, Mel? I can’t believe you’re doing this to Jack!’

  ‘Doing what to Jack? What have I done?’

  ‘Hiding him, ignoring him, humiliating him. Keeping him in the wings as your secret boyfriend.’ She spits out the last words.

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘You are, Mel. You’re playing him off against Rico Black. Do you think Jack doesn’t read the papers, Mel? He must know you’re fooling around with Black.’

  ‘I’m not fooling around with him!’

  Janeen forces air through tight lips. She wasn’t this angry when Nandor was arrested.

  ‘Mel, you were seen out with him at Chez Monique.’ She dives into her patchwork carry-all and pulls out a crumpled newspaper which she’s folded back at the gossip pages. She flings it at me. ‘It’s in the Guccione column. Don’t tell me this isn’t you.’ She snatches the paper back and reads the snippet out loud, but she needn’t bother. I already know it by heart. No names are mentioned, but inferences are made. No doubt Winston will be delighted.

  ‘That isn’t about me,’ I insist lamely.

  ‘I’ve been your best friend since we were 13-years-old. Come on, Mel. This is you.’

  ‘You can’t believe everything you read in the papers, Janeen. That’s not even real reporting. They don’t use people’s proper names, just pseudonyms or job descriptions. That article could be anyone. It certainly isn’t me.’

  ‘Here’s another one, then.’ The paper crackles as she snaps it to another page. ‘It’s an article by your friend Ross Sully.’ Sarcasm makes her voice hard. ‘It’s quite clever. He coins a new relationship term, calls you and Rico, the Short-Black blend. According to Sully it’s popular, hot, strong and steamy. What do you know? There’s a photograph of you and Rico. Half-dressed and falling out of a taxi.’ She throws the paper down in disgust. ‘What’s your answer now, Mel? Identity theft?’

  I pick the newspaper up off the floor and place it face-down on the coffee table, hiding the inflammatory article. ‘Janeen it’s pretend. It’s for the publicity. It was Winston and Derek’s idea. They wanted me to stage a relationship with Rico to create a buzz, increase our exposure, sell more stuff. I would’ve told you before, but it has to look real. Even my friends and family are supposed to be taken in.’ I lean back in the sofa cushions, giggle in a casual way. ‘And it worked, didn’t it? You believed it! You thought I was having an affair with Rico. Pretty convincing, huh? I’m stoked! If my best mate is con
vinced then the media should be a push-over. Winston and Derek are hoping for a full-blown scandal to boost the ratings.’

  Unfortunately, Janeen isn’t having a bar of my charade.

  ‘Mel, look at this picture.’ She snatches up the paper and shakes it in my direction. Sully must have done a deal with Guccione for the photo. ‘Look at you. I know that look. And this guy is all over you like a rash. Seriously sister, you’re playing with fire, playing around with this Black.’

  ‘It’s just pretend, Janeen!’ She rolls her eyes, crosses her arms over her bust, says nothing. ‘It’s play-acting. Honestly. I’m not playing around with him! More silence. ‘Okay, yes, I am. No, I don’t know. Maybe.’ I slump back on the sofa. I’m starting to feel confused. Do I fancy Rico or am I getting carried away? It didn’t feel like he was being forced to spend time with me. Those kisses felt real enough. Maybe Derek is right. Maybe there’s a spark of something there.

  ‘What sort of answer is maybe? Come on, Mel, you don’t even know the guy.’

  ‘I’m getting to know him.’

  ‘Oh please. Apart from the smouldering Latin looks and the Travolta hair, what do you really know about him?’

  ‘I know he’s got a sister called Celia, no Talia, who lives in Auckland and…’ Janeen looks at me witheringly. ‘He’s ambitious, okay? He’s got these grandiose plans. He’s not the kind of guy to settle for the status quo. I like that about him. I like the way he kisses...’

  ‘The way he kisses. The way he kisses! Mel, that man is all dark looks and no substance. Can’t you see he’s dangerous? You said it yourself, he’s ambitious, which means you’re probably no more than a stepping stone to someone or somewhere else. It’s as if you are prostituting yourself for a few photographs in the newspaper.’

  Prostituting myself! Now she’s out of line. She needs to calm down and get some perspective.

  ‘That’s not fair! It’s marketing, not prostitution!

  ‘Hrmph!’

  “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it’s no secret you’ve never liked Rico. You’ve just got this prejudice against him because he makes girls’ knees melt and their insides go gooey, but Rico’s not a bad person.’

  ‘I hope so because it seems as if you’re willing to jeopardise your relationship with Jack, who I should remind you, loves you and is lovely to you, for a fling with this Black. He’s just as likely to decamp as soon as he’s got what he wants.’

  ‘No Janeen, I think you will find those are your boyfriends.’

  As soon as it’s out I regret it. Janeen reels as if I’ve hit her dead in the solar plexus. Her eyes are wide with shock. It’s a low blow.

  ‘All I’m saying is this,’ she says, her voice almost a whisper. ‘If it’s Rico you want then you owe it to Jack to break it off. Don’t keep stepping on him like an undone shoelace. It isn’t right and you know it.’

  Then she gathers up her ugly handbag and leaves.

  59

  ‘We need to talk, Melanie, but not here at the house. Would you mind meeting me at my lunchtime appointment, please?’

  I arrive ten minutes late. A receptionist in pale pink scrubs shows me into a rear treatment room where I come face to face with the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Cushla’s face is packed with a lichen concoction. Wrapped in an apricot terry towelling robe with matching pantoufles, she’s reclining in a rattan armchair, on squabs upholstered in a vibrant tropical flower motif. Close to hand on a glass-covered table in matching rattan is a pot of steaming herbal tea purposefully positioned next to a flowering Singapore orchid. We could be in a Singapore bathhouse, but instead we’re in Tauranga’s newest beauty franchise, Cherry Fizz. Seated on a low stool carrying out a foot massage is the salon’s proprietor.

  ‘That’s lovely dear. Right there. That’s not a bunion developing, is it? Oh good, there you are Melanie...’

  ‘Try not to crack the mask, Cushla. We wouldn’t want to reduce its efficacy,’ Cherry warns. Cushla begins again, this time attempting to speak without moving her mouth.

  ‘Mow Mewanie...’

  ‘You may as well sit down,’ says Cherry, indicating an even lower stool. I drag it over and sit down. I’m practically sitting on the floor.

  ‘I understand you dined at Chez Monique.’ It’s a statement, not a question. Cushla and Marcus saw the Guccione column over brunch. It upset Marcus’ digestion to see his stepdaughter spilling from the pages of his Sunday inSight in a state of half-undress.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘With Colin.’ Cushla is made of sterner stuff. She didn’t stop at the photo. She read the text and thereby deduced that I’d been at the upmarket restaurant in the company of Colin and Candy. Perhaps it was Guccione’s comment about ‘the guests of a B-list performance car driver and his cocaine-snorting cosmetic heiress’ which gave it away.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t say anything to us about meeting with Colin.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But dear...’

  ‘So I went out with him. It was just dinner. Surely I’m allowed to do that. He’s my father, isn’t he?’

  ‘There’s no need to be defensive, Melanie. We were just surprised that you didn’t tell us, that’s all. And when you didn’t take Jack...’

  ‘So what if I didn’t take Jack? Why didn’t you bring Marcus to talk to me today? Why couldn’t we have this conversation at the house? Why exactly are we meeting here in the dingy back room of a salon, anyway?’

  ‘Hey!’ Cherry says, but her protest falls on deaf ears. I’ve made my mother angry. Cushla sits forward in the armchair, plonking her feet in the footbath and sploshing oily aromatherapy water over the edges.

  The green mask cracks as she rages. ‘I didn’t bring Marcus because he’s furious. He’s outraged that Colin can sneak into this country to wine and dine you in a top eatery when the man has never so much as stomped up for a pair of school shoes! Where was Colin when you cried all night after being turned down for the role of Roxy Hart? Where was he when you cut the top off your finger and had to have stitches? Certainly, not here. The reason I did not want Marcus to be party to this conversation is not because he doesn’t care, but because he does! Marcus has always been incensed by Colin’s cruel treatment of you. Why you’ve always held Colin in such high esteem, when really...’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it!’ I scramble off the floor. ‘You just want to poison me against Colin. None of you ever see any good in him. Even Jack. That’s why I didn’t take Jack to meet Colin, the reason I went with Rico...’

  ‘And Mel and Jack aren’t getting on very well, these days. They’ve been having a little break, haven’t you Melly?’ pipes up Cherry. Thank you very much, Cherry. I give her a scowl. Unconcerned, Cherry sets to vigorously towelling off my mother’s feet. ‘It could even be over,’ she adds. I snatch up my bag to leave. Cushla sighs deeply. A piece of green stuff falls off her face and onto her bosom.

  ‘Please sit down, Melanie. Please,’ my mother says. I give in and lower myself back onto the ridiculous stool. ‘I apologise. I have no right to vilify your father. It’s wrong of me. Just promise me you’ll be circumspect where he’s concerned.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘So, you’ll accept my apology?’

  ‘Yes,’ I mumble.

  ‘And you’ll promise to be prudent?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I say, impatient now.

  “I’m sorry to hear that you are no longer with Jack. Marcus and I were very fond of him.’ I haven’t exactly broken up with Jack, but since I can’t tell them about the arrangement, I don’t say anything.

  ‘Are you going out with Rico Black now?’ Cherry probes.

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘You must be. He was all over you in that taxi cab.’

  ‘Cherry!’ Cushla is aghast.

  ‘It isn’t a secret. It was in the tabloids. I’m just saying, Mel didn’t waste any time, did she, hooking up with that Black character?’ I wonder if Daddy’s Little Girl is jea
lous of my liaison with Rico. She did make a big fuss of him at the book launch.

  ‘You know what I think, Mel,’ says Cherry as she massages Cushla’s bunion, ‘I think you want to be careful with that one.’

  Melanie Short with Media. By Ross Sully

  Melanie Short, Sportzgirl poster girl and Racing Feat contestant, was short with media when questioned yesterday about her relationship with co-star Rico Black. Over the past few weeks, the Short-Black two-some have been seen schmoozing in some of the country’s trendier nightspots, including Rogues wine-bar and Lust after-hours club. Witnesses say their public behaviour is hotting up and the couple are making no secret of their relationship. However, it appears Short is not the first woman Black has pointed his camera at. Barista Ruby McCabe, 22 years, Black’s former fiancé, claims she’s expecting his child in September. When confronted with proof of her squeeze’s betrayal, the normally effusive Ms Short, was notably brusque. Pushing past reporters as she left the clinic of a high-end beauty therapist, the Short answer was ‘Bollocks!’

  60

  There’s a flash of orange as Kirsten comes running into my cubicle, waving wildly.

  ‘Melanie! You’re in Belle! The phone is running hot. The new girl on reception is having a nervous breakdown.’ She thrusts the magazine at me and I stare stupidly at it. ‘Here. Let me show you.’ She yanks it back and flicks furiously through the initial pages to the main feature. ‘Look!’

  There I am again, this time in full blush-pink, my neck exposed, my breast bared (the nipple has been pixelated), one leg jammed up against the roof of the car, and Black laying along my full length. It’s as if he’s ejaculated me out of the vehicle. On the facing page is a soft focus photograph of a heavily pregnant young woman.