MultiDate

by Kirsty McManus

  I watch him talk. Colleague, huh? I suppose in a parallel universe that would be true. Colleague to me implies a career equal. Patrick and I are as far apart on the job spectrum as it’s possible to be.

  “Great. We’ll be there in five. Thanks. I owe you.”

  He hangs up and smiles at me. “Phil will check it out to make sure it’s nothing serious.”

  “I know it’s nothing serious,” I try again.

  “Either way, it doesn’t hurt to be safe.”

  “Well, thank you. It’s very kind of you. And I’m sorry to mess with your plans.”

  “A ten minute detour means nothing in the scheme of things. Besides, you’re new to town. You’ll need a reliable GP and I can recommend Phil as one of the best. He normally doesn’t take new patients because he’s so popular, but once he’s seen you today, you’ll be on the books.”

  “Oh. That’s good to know.”

  We stop out the front of a narrow sandstone building that shares a block with a fancy massage parlour and yoga studio.

  “I’ll wait here,” Patrick says, holding up his phone. “I have a couple of calls to make. Take your time. And there’s a pharmacy a few doors up if you need to fill a prescription afterwards.”

  “I won’t be long,” I promise.

  I jump out of the car, cradling my wrist, and go inside the doctor’s surgery. There aren’t any other patients waiting. A kindly older woman smiles at me. “You must be Patrick’s colleague. Come on through.”

  I could get used to this. Back home, I’d always have to wait a minimum of half an hour to see a doctor. I follow the woman back into the most plushly decorated medical office I have ever seen. There are white leather armchairs for the patients, and a huge pink crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A vase of purple orchids sits in the corner on a glass table.

  I must be gawking, because a voice starts chuckling.

  “Comfortable enough for you?” he teases.

  I turn towards the source of the voice, who I assume is Phil, my doctor. And do a double take. He would totally give McDreamy a run for his money. What is going on? This kind of stuff doesn’t happen to people like me! I mean, my childhood wasn’t exactly deprived, but it wasn’t very exciting either. Our family had money, but Mum and Dad were always so busy working that we never spent any of it.

  “Uh, sorry. It’s just, I’ve never seen such a nice doctor’s office.”

  “That’s okay. It’s a common reaction. And an appreciated one. I want my patients to feel at ease in here. So what have you done to yourself?”

  I hold out my arm. “Oh, I slipped on the tiles at work earlier today. I think it might just be sprained.”

  “Let me have a look. Please take a seat.” He indicates one of the white chairs. I sit down and lean my wrist on the padded armrest. It’s still throbbing.

  Phil inspects it carefully, gently prodding it in various places and bending it to see my reaction. After a moment he nods. “It is a sprain, and you have a slight hematoma, which is really just another way of saying internal bleeding—but it’s nothing serious and should heal on its own. Just keep icing it and it should be fine in a few days. But if you have any concerns, please make a follow-up appointment and we’ll take another look. How’s the pain?”

  “It’s not great, but I was just going to get some Panadol,” I say hurriedly. I don’t want to waste any more of his time.

  He turns to his computer. “I’ll write you a script for something a little stronger that will also help with the inflammation. You’re not going to be operating any heavy machinery tonight?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Good.” He prints out the prescription and hands it to me. “Take two with food in the next hour or so, and you should get a decent night’s sleep. It’s important you’re well rested so your body has a chance to repair itself.”

  “Thanks.” I stand up and almost bow with gratitude. “I really appreciate you seeing me at short notice—and so late in the afternoon.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  I hurry out, profusely thanking the woman on reception when she bulk bills my visit. I look up the street and see the pharmacy Patrick mentioned before. It still appears to be open, so I motion to Patrick that I’ll walk up and be back in a minute. He nods through the closed window.

  While I wait for the prescription to be filled, I suddenly realise how bad the pain really is. I’d been operating on adrenalin most of the day and hadn’t noticed until now. I pick up a protein bar and a bottle of water at the front counter and chow down on the bar as soon as I’ve paid. I swallow two of the pills with water and hope they work quickly. Then at least I might enjoy my flight to Brisbane.

  Patrick smiles expectantly at me when I get back in the car. “All good?”

  “Yep. He said it’s just a sprain, but I’ve got some painkillers until the swelling goes down.”

  “Great. Then I’ll guess we’ll be on our way.”

  “Thanks again. I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to repay you for all of this.”

  “You don’t have to. I like helping people out if I can.”

  Okay. So he’s not trying to impress me specifically. Good to know.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m just writing an email. I’ll be done in a minute,” he says.

  “Oh, of course. Do whatever you have to. Just pretend I’m not here.”

  He chuckles, but doesn’t explain why.

  I get out my own phone and text Katie.

  On my way to the airport. See you in a few hours! XOXO

  She doesn’t write back straight away, so I scroll mindlessly through Facebook for a few minutes and then switch over to Instagram. I like being able to spy on all my favourite celebrities—including Reid Martinez, who I haven’t yet seen in person.

  I pause on his latest post, which shows him drinking a coffee on a street in Paris. Mmm…He’s looking mighty fine in those chinos…

  Patrick chooses that exact moment to glance over at what I’m doing. It’s possible I said the ‘mmm’ out loud.

  He laughs. “Is that work, or are you a fan?”

  “Uh…” I blush. “Both?”

  I think we both know it’s not both, but he doesn’t call me out on it.

  “Have you met him yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “We can change that if you like.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not very good at meeting celebrities. I get all tongue-tied.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “I just don’t know what to say. It’s not like they know who I am. And I’m always aware that they have busy lives and probably don’t want to be interrupted during downtime.”

  “They’re just normal people. And a lot of them are insecure, so they love it when you tell them you’re a fan.”

  “Really? Is Reid like that?”

  “Uh, no. But he wouldn’t mind you saying hi. I guarantee it.”

  I wonder whether he means Reid is not insecure, but he’d still be okay meeting a fan, or if he means he’d be okay meeting me in particular.

  “I’ll just finish this email and we can talk more,” he says.

  “Sure.” I look out the window and watch the city buildings glide past. This is my world now. I think I can handle that.

  ***

  By the time we get to the airport, I’m starting to feel weird. Really tired, like I can barely keep my eyes open. But at least my wrist has stopped hurting.

  I slide out of the car as if I’m climbing through molasses. What is going on?

  And then I remember Dr Phil (ha–Dr Phil! I find that way more entertaining than I probably should) saying something about not operating heavy machinery tonight. That was an understatement. I can barely operate my own body.

  Patrick doesn’t seem to notice until I stumble on my way into the terminal.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I think the painkillers have made me a little drowsy,” I mumble.

  “O
h. Not to worry. You can sleep on the plane.”

  Through my brain fog I try to protest. I don’t want to sleep through my first private plane flight! I had all these plans to act sophisticated and engage in witty repartee with the head of NBS, dazzling his socks off with my knowledge of all his shows. Well, mostly just MultiDate. But still. Instead, I’m going to be a drooling mess and half comatose for the rest of the night.

  I wonder how long the effects last?

  I manage to walk through the terminal and security without falling over. Which is a miracle, considering I’m still wearing those four-inch heels. I have no idea where my suitcase is, but I’m trusting Patrick to look after it for me.

  A woman dressed in a tailored navy blue dress leads us to the plane and directs us up the stairs. Another woman, who in my state of delirium looks like her twin, is waiting at the top and points us to our seats.

  Patrick lets me sit by the window, but by this stage, my eyelids weigh a ton. I drag the seatbelt across my lap and click it in place before resting my head against the side of the plane.

  “I’m just going to close my eyes for a few minutes,” I murmur.

  “That’s fine,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”

  That’s all the encouragement I need.

  I’m out.

  FOURTEEN

  “Lauren?” A soft voice accompanies a gentle shake on my arm. “We’re here.”

  I peel my eyes open. For a moment, I have no idea where I am, or who is talking to me. And then it all comes flooding back. The private plane! Did I miss it?

  I peer out the window, which tells me nothing. It’s dark.

  “We’re in Brisbane?” I ask groggily.

  “Yep.”

  “Oh no!”

  “What? Are you okay? You’re not feeling sick, are you?”

  “No. I just didn’t want to miss the flight.”

  Patrick laughs. “There’ll be another one tomorrow night. Don’t worry about it.”

  I stand up unsteadily. “I’m so sorry. Those painkillers were strong.”

  “But your wrist is feeling all right?”

  Actually, yes. There’s only a tiny dull ache now. “Yeah. It’s not too bad.”

  “Good. And don’t worry about missing the flight. It wasn’t very exciting. Although, your snoring was a little distracting.”

  My eyes widen. “I didn’t snore, did I?”

  He smiles mischievously. “No, I just wanted to see your reaction. You were a very graceful sleeper.”

  I relax. That’s a relief. “Well, I want to apologise anyway. It’s not very polite to fall asleep on someone.”

  “I really didn’t mind. I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”

  We exit the plane and head into the terminal. One of the women from earlier wheels over our suitcases.

  “Do you need a ride anywhere?” Patrick asks me. “I’m staying in Hamilton, so if you’re on the way…?”

  “No, no. I’ll find my way from here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’ll be fine. You’ve already done so much. I’ll see you back here tomorrow. What time?”

  “We’ll be flying out at 6pm.”

  “Okay, great. Thanks again.”

  Patrick nods and heads off. I let out a deep breath. What a night. I drag my suitcase down to the train platform. I could catch an Uber, but the train is just as easy, and a lot cheaper. I need to start watching my spending. My pay is similar to what I was getting at Loony Rob’s, but Sydney is more expensive than Brisbane, so my money doesn’t go as far.

  I’ve woken up a little, but I still feel spacey. I can’t believe I slept through the whole flight and any opportunity to get to know a bit more about Patrick! I know I’ll get another chance tomorrow, but it would have been nice to be awake for both trips.

  The train ride passes in a blur and I’m soon back at my old building. A brief pang of nostalgia washes over me. This was my haven after all the drama with Mum and Dad. I felt safe here. It will be nice to spend tonight and tomorrow with Katie. I can sleep in my old room and, at least for a few hours, we can pretend nothing has changed.

  I turn the handle on the front door, only to find it locked. Oops. No problem. I have my key somewhere…I scramble around in my handbag, trying to find it. I took it off my keyring to avoid confusion with the one Finn gave me for my new place.

  Huh. I can’t seem to find it. Okay, I suppose I’ll just have to knock.

  I rap twice on the door and wait.

  “Just a second!” Katie calls out.

  I shift from foot to foot. It’s only now I realise I have to go to the bathroom quite urgently.

  After what seems like an inordinate amount of time, Katie flings open the door and disappears back inside. “Hey, sorry, I’m just in the middle of rinsing a colour out of my hair.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I leave my suitcase just inside the door and cautiously enter. “Are you in the ensuite or main bathroom?” I ask.

  “The ensuite.”

  “All right, I’ll just quickly use the other one.”

  I hurry over to the bathroom that used to be considered mine, and close the door. I look around and notice it’s all different. The towels aren’t mine, and the woven box I stored all my paraphernalia in is gone. There’s also a toothbrush I don’t recognise by the sink. Hmm…

  I finish using the toilet and wash my hands. I sneak a glance inside the cabinet, only to find that my accessories are all gone.

  I venture out and peek into the bedroom. Someone who vaguely resembles Bree is lying on the bed, an unfamiliar quilt bunched up around her. Again, there are no traces of my things.

  “Uh, hi. Bree?” I say. The last time I saw her, my best friend’s sister was fourteen, had long red hair and freckles, and wore cute blue rompers. The woman in front of me has short cropped hair, dyed black, and is wearing black jeans with a baggy long-sleeved black shirt.

  She nods.

  “I didn’t realise you were already staying here.”

  “I got out early,” she says tonelessly.

  “Oh. That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “I guess.”

  I stand there awkwardly for a moment. I don’t know what else to say. What do you say to someone you haven’t spoken to since they were a teenager and who has just come out of rehab?

  “You can go if you like,” she offers.

  I guess I’ve been dismissed. I go and sit on the couch, noting the complete absence of anything I own. I feel like a stranger here.

  Katie finally reappears. “Hey, you!” She plonks down beside me and wraps me in a hug. Her hair, which used to be blonde, is now a shiny chestnut and dripping all over me.

  “Hey. Felt like a change, huh?”

  “Yep. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing. So, how was your trip?”

  “It was okay. Um, you didn’t mention that Bree was already here.”

  She frowns. “Are you sure? I swear I did.”

  “I’m pretty sure you didn’t. I even made a crack about you having my bed ready when we spoke on the phone.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. It’s not a big deal, though, is it? You can share my bed. We used to do that all the time when we were teenagers.”

  “I know. But…” It’s just…I don’t know. I can’t help but feel slightly rejected.

  Katie senses the sombre mood overtaking the conversation and tries to steer it back to safer ground. “It’s great to see you. You got here earlier than I expected.”

  “Oh, yeah. I flew up with the head of NBS Studios on his private jet,” I say casually.

  She wrinkles her brow. “Sorry, what?”

  I laugh. “I frickin’ flew on a private jet with Patrick James, who owns NBS Studios!”

  She squeals. “No way!”

  “I know, right? How does that even happen?”

 
She shakes her head. “What was it like?”

  “Actually, not as good as it could have been. I sprained my wrist and took some painkillers, and then fell asleep. It was kind of embarrassing.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Only you would do something like that.” She glances down at my wrist. “Is it okay now?”

  “A bit sore. If you have an ice pack, it might help.”

  “Sure.” She heads into the kitchen and opens the freezer. I follow her, trying to ignore the fact that this room is also devoid of my influence.

  “Where’s all my stuff?” I ask. I’m trying really hard not to sound judgy, but I can’t help it. I would have thought Katie could have waited at least until I came back before she removed everything from the apartment. I can understand her wanting to move my clothes to make way for Bree’s, but all my photos and knick-knacks have been packed up too.

  “Just in the garage. I thought I’d save you the effort, because I knew you probably wouldn’t have much time when you did come back. It’s all in boxes ready to go.”

  “Thanks,” I say, again trying keep a light tone to my voice. It makes sense, but I still can’t help feeling like the child who comes home to visit their parents after moving out and finds that their bedroom has been converted into a pool room.

  Katie wraps the ice pack in a towel and hands it to me. She then ushers me back over to the couch, which feels strange, like I have to be invited to sit there. “So, how’s Sydney?”

  “Good.” I shake off the negativity and sit down next to her. “It’s different. Big. And a little intimidating.”

  “But you’ve settled in all right?”

  “I’m starting to. I’m living with this guy called Finn, whose girlfriend is in Melbourne for six months for work.”

  “Is he hot?” she asks devilishly.

  My face heats up. “He’s okay looking. Sort of like Jef Holm.”

  “You love Jef Holm!” she squeals.

  “Yeah, but Finn is taken, as I just mentioned.”

  “What about this bigshot executive you just flew up with? What’s he like?”

  My face feels even warmer. “He’s nice.”

  “Oh my God, I hate you. Surrounded by all these hot new guys.”