Getting Real

by Ainslie Paton

  They travelled the rest of the way to Minx FM in silence. Rielle sat stiffly beside him as if she was worried she might wrinkle. She wore a short, figure-hugging geometric print dress and 1960s style jewellery and makeup. She had on a pair of enormous Jackie O style sunglasses.

  Jake watched the first interview through the glass studio window. Watched as Rielle came alive to joke with the presenters, back announce her favourite top forty songs and talk to concert ticket competition winners on the call-in line. Half an hour later, she was back in the corridor with him, the smile gone from her face, her eyes drooping and her shoulders slumped.

  She said, “One down, three to go,” and he almost felt sorry for her. She hadn’t given an angry spray at Rand, hadn’t tried to duck out on the interviews, and hadn’t complained about not feeling well. Whatever else he thought about her, she was a professional.

  By the time she’d done the last interview, Rielle was white faced and her hands were shaking.

  “Did you eat at all?” he asked, and when she shook her head, it was like adding water to powdered annoyance. He was thoroughly irritated with her, any random trace of sympathy evaporated. “Great, you look about ready to faint. You’re going to eat right now.”

  She didn’t protest when he had the car take them to the Stokehouse in St Kilda. It was late but they were still serving lunch. She ordered a chicken salad and ate hungrily in the near empty restaurant.

  He sat opposite her, sipping a beer he didn’t want, watching the joggers, dog walkers and women pushing kids in strollers on the boardwalk. This wasn’t exactly pleasant but it was bearable.

  Rielle knew it was probably an after effect of her hangover, or something to do with blood sugar, but watching Jake distance himself so thoroughly was making her teary. Teary for God’s sake! And she’d already cried way too many tears over Jake. If she sat here any longer, he might actually see them. “Can we walk?” she asked. The thought of fresh, salt air was like medicine.

  He looked surprised, but went to settle their bill and escorted her out onto the boardwalk without discussion. Outside she breathed deeply, then knew what she needed was to put her feet in the sea. Shoes in hand, she made her way down to the shoreline.

  He let her get ahead of him and then followed. She suspected there was no way he’d allow her to get too far from him in a public place like this. It wasn’t like Adelaide; this was a far more accessible location.

  At the shore, she padded in and was surprised how cold the water was, backing up immediately to catch her breath, then standing in the drowned sand letting the small waves swirl around her ankles.

  She couldn’t let this silence with Jake go on. It was clear he wasn’t going to say anything. He’d barely been able to look at her all day. He’d gone all strong, silent type, and that’s how he probably planned to play out the rest of the tour. It wasn’t only the hangover that was making her feel miserable—it was the weight of the lie that lay between them. Why couldn’t he yell at her and then they could fight it out? This sucking it up thing he was doing was hard to deal with.

  This was even worse than fighting with Rand, because no matter how bad the fight, Rand would always forgive her. Together they were unconditional. When they fought, she’d yell and carry on, and he’d wait til the storm passed, then they’d calmly sort out whatever was wrong. That was their pattern from the time they were kids. Unless it was Rand who was angry and then all bets were off, but even then, whatever it was, they got through it together. Always.

  The problem with Jake was that no matter what she tried, the result was so uncertain. He didn’t have to understand her, forgive her, agree with her, or when it came down to it, bother to argue with her. He didn’t even have to tell her what he thought. He could just walk away and, judging from the way he was treating her now, that’s what he’d decided to do. Well, she wasn’t going to let him do that without a fight, even if he turned his back on her—she was going to try.

  She took a deep breath and steeled herself to trudge back up the beach to him. By the time she got back to the boardwalk she’d know exactly what to say. She pulled her feet out of the wet sand and turned to find him sitting not a dozen paces away.

  Rielle stumbled and Jake looked up, catching her uncertainty, but not reading anything else through her big glasses. He caught himself wondering what she’d been thinking while she’d stared at the horizon, and then watching her trudge through the soft sand towards him thought—what does it matter?

  Before she reached him she said, “You don’t understand, Jake.”

  He sighed. This again. “What don’t I understand?” his voice hardened, “wait, it doesn’t matter whether I understand or not.”

  “It does.”

  “To you, maybe.”

  He saw her anger flaring in the way her shoulders came up and body stiffened. “Right, because you can shut off and not give a flying fuck just because things don’t go your way.”

  He scrambled to his feet, and closed the distance between them, flicking sand up everywhere. “What the hell does that mean? Could you try and keep your voice down?” She’d managed to be anonymous til now, but if she kept shouting it’d be a whole different ball game.

  “You have this notion about what I should be and I don’t live up to your expectations. Talk about me being a control freak.”

  He was shocked, the truth of what she said slapping him in the face. He did want her to be different and he was disappointed she couldn’t show him her truth, her real self. He clenched and unclenched his fists, struggling to know how to react.

  “I know, Jake. I know you found me out. You know my eyes are green, my hair is blonde, and that I don’t have such good teeth. But you don’t understand why I do it.”

  He chose rage. “I don’t care why you do it,” he barked.

  Hands thrust on her hips she said, “That’s a dirty lie.”

  “Who are you—living a lie—to call me a liar?”

  “I live a lie because it’s the job.”

  “Ah.” Jake shook his head in disgust at her continued deceit. “This conversation is so over, we’re going back to the hotel.” He turned his back on her.

  She shouted, “No, it’s not over. We’re not over.”

  He wheeled around. People were looking their way. He kept his voice level. “We were never anything to be over.”

  She took off her sunglasses, flashed those fake violet eyes. “I feel this—this thing for you.”

  He snarled, “Well that’s your problem, darlin’.” And this time when he aimed for cavalier, he precision nailed it, and her flinch was his reward.

  But she wasn’t done with him. She spoke low and hard, her voice rasping in anger. “I live a lie because I don’t like the person I am, and not being her all the time is the only way I can get by. I live a lie because I’m stronger this way. I’ve had to make up this life, Jake. There was only Rand to help me and he was making it up too—we were just kids. Can you possibly understand how hard that was—how hard it was for us to be here and not on welfare or in jail or dead?”

  Jake was breathing hard, as if he’d run a soft sand marathon.

  “No, I didn’t think you could.” She took a step towards him, thrust her chin up. “Being this Rielle Mainline is the best I can do. The other one is just regret, a pale imitation, and if you can’t accept that, then yeah, you bastard, you’re right, it is my problem.”

  She tried to step past him, but the sand was loose and it was hard to move quickly. He caught her in two easy strides, snatching her arm. She pulled against his hold, without turning around. “Let me go.”

  There were plenty of eyes on them now. He needed to get her out of here. “I’m sorry.”

  “Too easy, Jake. I don’t do easy.” She broke away, but he stepped around her and blocked her path.

  “I didn’t understand and it does matter. You’re right. I wanted you to be someone else. I wanted you to be real. I was angry when I figured out you were the girl in the gym, but I
have no right to want to change you. None at all.”

  She dropped her head, stared at the mini mountain ranges in the churned up sand at their feet. She looked suddenly spent, nothing left to fight him with, nothing left to make him care. “Do you hate me?”

  He exhaled, pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. “I don’t hate you. I did this morning when I figured it out, but you’re hard to hate, Rielle. You’re confusing as all hell, but I don’t hate you.”

  She pinned her eyes on his. “I could do with a friend, Jake. Just for the tour.”

  It was odd how a little shouting could make you feel better. His rage burned out the moment she dropped her eyes to the sand. Now he felt depleted, off balance. He had thrilled to Rielle as the rock star and lusted after her as the mystery girl in the gym. That they were the same person made his head spin and he couldn’t sort out his feelings.

  “I don’t know, Rie, but I can try.”

  28. Intervention

  Lying on his side, Rand watched Harry. Curled beside him, warm and soft, abandoned to her dreams. He dared not move in case he woke her. He wanted this moment to be a long-play track, to stretch heroically forever. After two nights, he couldn’t imagine not wanting to wake beside her. Not that either of them had slept much.

  He’d only dozed and then woke with music in his head—creeping out of the rumpled sheets to scribble in the filtered light of early dawn. Something fresh and gentle, not Ice Queen style. Beautiful instead of punchy, lyrical instead of throbbing, older and wiser and full of secret intentions.

  This thing with Harry was almost enough to make him believe in minor miracles. She had swum out of his near forgotten longings and punctured his sense of the future with new meaning. Now there was a choice. A life with Harry or a life without. A life without her was a black pit of despair—inconceivable that he should have to attempt to live it. A life with her needed her permission.

  Until the day claimed her, he had every glorious possibility open to him, so he wanted her to rest, long and tender, while he fantasised his way through the building blocks of loving her.

  He saw her smiling at him across a dinner table, home cooked food on the plates. He saw her working, coming home to him with stories of her day. He saw her opening presents on Christmas morning, and annoyed at him about spending too long in his studio. He saw her in his arms by firelight in winter, and splashing him in the sea in summer. He saw her in jeans and evening dresses and nothing at all. He saw her happy and sad, excited and quiet, delighted and angry, and he saw himself with her in every mood and motion. She was home.

  But the longer she slept the more nervous he became. He climbed back into bed to be nearer her. What if she didn’t feel the same? What if this whole romance was a just a flash flood, out of nowhere, quick, deadly and done with, leaving him impossibly, inadequately prepared to go on alone?

  He checked himself. His runaway passions and dire self predictions made for good song writing, but poor life management. If growing up with Rielle had taught him anything, it was that few situations were ever as bad or as complex as you thought they’d be, and there was always a way to make things better. He’d take whatever Harry would give him and make a life that worked.

  While he watched her chest rise and fall with even breaths, and her eyelids twitch with the deep pull of sleep, his thoughts skipped to Rielle. It was a bad time to leave her alone. The closer they got to Sydney, the worse it was for her. Growing up had taught Rie life hurt and the only way you could survive it was to fight against it and pretend you didn’t care. The accident had made her into a warrior and him into a sage and both of them survivors and poets.

  He’d almost dropped off to sleep himself when Harry made a breathy sigh and stretched. He was instantly awake. This was it. What would he see? He lay still and let her meet the morning. She rolled toward him, her face serious, a slight frown above her pale eyes. He felt his breathing kick up a pace, catch in his throat.

  “We’re in big trouble,” she said softly.

  “There’ll be a flight this morning.” He lurched for the simple explanation for her solemn expression, grasping at the obvious first.

  She shook her tousled head, and he started a swift calculation of what he could do to make things better. He could back off a little, give her more space; he could let her call the shots; he could quit the band.

  “No. We’re in big trouble because one of us might need to move house.”

  He heard a choir in his head, a host of angels singing new anthems he’d write for them. To be sure it wasn’t just the early stages of tinnitus, he said, “Do you mean that?”

  She wriggled into his arms, pressed her forehead on his. “Not to be melodramatic or anything, but if you leave me I’ll quit work and become your number one most scary, stalking groupie. I will follow you to the ends of the earth, or your last tour date, whichever comes first. I will simply force myself on you until you take pity on me and let me,” she faltered, “I don’t know, let me shine your guitars.”

  “Do you really mean that?”

  “Like a prayer.”

  He brushed her lips lightly. “You think we can do this thing together?”

  “I think we can do anything we want together.”

  “I won’t always be in this band; there’s other stuff I want to do.”

  “And I want to keep my career going, but it’s a portable credential. I can move.”

  “You move beautifully.”

  “I think you had something to do with that.”

  He wrapped his arms tighter around her and rolled her on top of him. “I think I did too. Did you like it?”

  “I like everything about you Rand Mainline. I always have.”

  I can live with ‘like’. I can make ‘like’ work. He said, “I loved you, Harry Young, when you were just a little smart, shy thing and I didn’t know what love was. I love you now you’re clever and worldly, and we both understand heartache. I’ll love you when you’re wrinkly and cranky too and, even when you wise up to me, take half my fortune and throw me out—I’ll still love you.”

  “If I ever threw you out, Rie would put a contract out on me, so you’re safe from that one.”

  He chuckled. “Rie would take you out herself.”

  “I love you too, Rand.” He sucked in a breath and held it and she smoothed her hand across his brow. “I don’t understand how it’s happened, but I can’t be without you now.”

  “Are you sure? Because if you’re not, it’s okay. I’ll just write lots of appalling crap about broken hearts for the rest of my life.”

  “I’m sure then, because that would be a terrible waste of your talents.”

  “I’m going to need reminding.”

  She slid down his length so that she could plant kisses on his chest. “I’ll have it tattooed somewhere for you.”

  He grinned, twitched under her searching tongue, his fingers carving into her hair, “You’ll need to find the right place.”

  She said, “Mmhm,” between her nips and licks, and in his head the angel choir sang them home.

  Rielle gave Stu a shove. “He’ll be here. When has he ever let us down?” Typical, Stu would be the one to complain.

  “How about yesterday?” he drawled.

  “Yesterday was fine. Totally optional for Rand and if you were so worried about me doing the interviews on my own you could’ve stepped in.”

  “Not unless we wanted to build a reputation for the worst radio interview ever,” said Roley. That stopped the squabble, but earned Roley icy stares from both of them. He pantomimed surrender. “Sheesh, I’m just saying.”

  Stu regarded Roley. “Always just doing something aren’t you.” He caught him in a headlock, resulting in a noisy scuffle in the hotel reception where they waited. He gave Roley’s gelled head a rub with his open palm, knotted his hair and released him suddenly, making him stagger backwards, almost smacking into Rand and Harry on their way in—hand in hand.

  How saw it too and brok
e into song: Gaga, muscle trucks and stakes through the heart.

  Rielle felt happiness flow over her like sunshine. Rand looked so pleased with himself. Harry looked so split between proud and embarrassed at the attention they were getting. The noise they’d made had half the staff and guests in the lobby clocking their antics, the singing made them the centre of attention.

  “Thank you, Lady Gaga,” said Rand with a laugh.

  How took an extravagant bow combining it with an Elvis Presley style “Thankyouverymuch.”

  The next thing Rand said was, “Ooof,” when Rielle punched him in the solar plexus. Getting on Rand’s case was her job not Stu’s.

  “That’s for leaving me with the media crap—twice.”

  He straightened up and wheezed. “You do want me to be able to walk and talk for the broadcast right?”

  She flipped him the bird. “I can live without it.”

  Roley said, “Right, everything back to normal then.”

  Seeing Rielle’s punch made Jake smile. After yesterday’s strained mood, she was back in rock diva mode and raring to go. She wore the tightest pair of blue jeans he’d ever seen, slung low on her hips with a studded belt. Getting into them must have required a contortionist’s skills, or oil, or both. The edge and straps of her red lace bra peaked out deliberately from her white fitted top which left a good portion of her concave belly on display. Her heels were dangerously high, her lips provocatively red. With sparks in her eyes and fire on her tongue, she damn near took his breath away.

  He’d spent much of last night trying to solve the puzzle of Rielle. Trying to figure out his reaction to her. It was a shock to realise how harshly he’d judged her, how unfair he’d been about who she was and how she wanted the world to see her.

  Okay, so she needed her armour. He understood that a little better now; it wasn’t just about her performance—it was about her life. Okay, so he’d caught her out in a lie, but she hadn’t been flaunting it. In fact she’d tried not to engage with him in the gym, especially the second time, when she knew who he was.