How to Hide a Hollywood Star

by Avoca Gardener

  “He thought he’d found a way to get through to the magic woman, by trying to show her who he really was. He thought she might find a way to forgive him, but just when she was beginning to thaw, he screwed up again.” He reached forward and took my glasses off and put them on the side of the pool.

  “First he made her think he was interested in someone else. Then he was careless with her and sent her into the arms of his friend.”

  “You know.” I couldn’t meet his gaze anymore and embarrassed dropped my head so that all I could see was our feet distorted by refraction.

  “Look at me, Andi. Please look at me.”

  I looked up at him but my throat was tight and I could feel tears building at the back of my eyes. If I squinted, he might think it was the glare. “What happened then?” I croaked.

  “Mostly what people want, when it’s a story about a man and a woman, is a happy ending, but I don’t know how this story ends. Right now, I don’t think it’s going to be happy, because I’m looking at the magic woman and I’ve upset her again, and I don’t know how to make this better. All I can think to do is to kiss her and I know that can’t possibly be the right—”

  I kissed him instead. It was the only thing I knew how to do. I touched his lips with mine and they were warm and soft and dry. I felt the scrap of his stubble and my hands went to his hair and he gathered me against him. We held each other as if to squeeze out all the confusion, anger and sadness, to finally break the spines that pricked each other and write the end of the story.

  He pulled back first, let out a ragged sigh and tucked my head against his chest so his voice rumbled in my ear when he spoke. “Are you saying there is a chance for us?”

  “I don’t know what ‘us’ is,” I said, snuggled against his collarbone.

  “Me neither, but are you prepared to give it time to work it out?”

  I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak. What was there to work out? He was a Hollywood actor. He lived on the other side of the world. He was looking for a distraction, something to take away the sting of an unhappy marriage, and I wasn’t Cinderella searching for a way out of poverty and abuse. I was a grown-up woman with my own business, home and responsibilities, with my own life. This was no glass slipper match. This was just what we had for the next two days, conveniently.

  26: Unfinished Business

  Another day. Another headline. This one had me confused with an aspiring dancer-stripper-actress. Apparently, Sydney based acting hopeful Andi Carrington did a private New Year’s Eve audition for Rush Dawson, hoping for a part in the film he was rumoured to be directing. Apparently, I’d broken my ankle dancing in a club. There was no mention of whether a pole or a cage were involved. They made it sound as if I’d given Rush a lap dance!

  It might not have felt quite so bad if anyone had been speculating I was a neurosurgeon, a property tycoon or a fashion designer, consulting on his brain, real estate or wardrobe needs, but I was clearly positioned in the loose woman category. If you can’t find a story, fake one.

  Cecily was also back in the spotlight. This time looking heartbroken with a friend in Central Park in New York. The friend was Josh Freedland and he was looking most concerned for poor, dejected Cecily, and not a little expectantly at the cameras focused on them. He was a better director than actor. Cecily was putting on the performance of her career.

  Because of the continuing headlines, if nothing else, I couldn’t put off making contact with Michael one more day, but I still didn’t know exactly what to say. I was angry, hurt and confused about him, but we needed to talk. His phone was switched through to voicemail and the sound of the leave a message beep triggered an immediate hang up response in me.

  That left a text, somewhat limited for the occasion or email, less personal and it wouldn’t answer back, at least not straight away—a perfect solution. I typed: Michael, apologies limited phone reception here will tell you the whole hysterical story next week. And deleted it. Liar, liar pants on fire. I typed: Michael, I know about you and Lainey? Tell me how I should feel when my oldest friend lies to me? And deleted it. Too hurt and angry. I typed: Michael, sorry for not being in contact. Madhouse here as you’ve probably gathered. All is well and you should see the new fees from the studio and from a separate side project. And deleted it. It would work, but it wasn’t what I wanted to say.

  I typed: Michael, I know about you and Lainey. I’m hurt and angry you didn’t tell me. Knowing you’re together made me understand what a fool I’ve been. I’ve been in love with you for a long time and I always thought one day we’d be together. I think you know that’s how I feel. I think you let me make an idiot of myself because you’re too much of a coward to tell me you didn’t care about me that way. I’m not sure I can ever forgive you for that.

  And I deleted it. Way too close to the bone. Typing it had made my hands shake.

  Maybe a snack would help. I got up to check the kitchen for some Simon created genius and from his chair across from me, Rush reached out and grabbed my hand, stopping me mid-stride and pulling me back towards him. He had an enormous grin on his face that made my insides go all wiggly. This is what we had, this man and I, just this time now. If I let it happen. Why the heck was I worried about Michael?

  I straddled Rush’s legs. His hands went around my waist, his fingers hooking the belt loops of my shorts.

  “This is nice,” he said in a low growl, his eyes raking over my body. There was nothing collegial or ambiguous about his look. I saw desire and I liked it.

  “You okay about the coverage?”

  I shrugged. “No. Are you?”

  “I’d take it back in a heartbeat if I could.”

  I smiled. I believed he would have. “What now?”

  “I usually have a director telling me what to do, how to move, where to put my hands, how to handle a woman, so I’m not exactly sure?”

  I laughed. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Grabbing you in the first place, that was my big move, totally unscripted. Now I’m lost. I don’t have any stage directions. When I kiss a girl, there are generally a dozen or more people in the room with me. I’m feeling kind of exposed with just you and me here,” he said, acting nervous, looking over his shoulder as though to assure himself a film crew was somewhere near.

  “Maybe we could improvise?” I said, remembering that was one of Toby’s instructions, though he’d certainly not envisaged quite this situation.

  “It could be a rehearsal,” he acknowledged, with that lopsided grin.

  “Ah hah.” My breathing was fast; my forehead was close to his.

  “So I could kiss you like this.” He gently brushed my lips with his, making me hold my breath. “And I could do this.” He trailed kisses across my jaw and up to my ear where he nipped my lobe. “And this.” He pulled my hips hard against his and I closed my eyes.

  “And I could say, have either of you seen the latest schedule?” said Arch, from across the room, making us both jump.

  “Maybe the old man would do a better job if we got him an audience, he needs some encouragement,” said Shane, giving a slow hand clap.

  “Maybe some specific pointers,” said Arch.

  Rush started to shake with laughter and I tucked my head down on his shoulder and felt his body rock, loving how being with him this way was making me feel. Free, young, wanted.

  “Watch this. If I yell ‘cut’, he’ll think it’s coffee break time,” said Shane.

  “You’re not helping.” Rush laughed.

  “They certainly got more work done when they hated each other’s guts,” said Arch. “Might’ve been smarter to let them stay all snapping turtle...”

  “Echidna,” interrupted Shane, then added, “Ah, unless you want to give the locals a fright, you’d better shelve it. Helen and Cathy are here.”

  I didn’t want to give Helen or Cathy any real ammunition to work with so I scrambled off Rush’s lap and moved back across the table away from him. He gave me a devil
’s grin.

  This was our last full production meeting before the show and it was an important one. I had to be focused, though that was going to take some doing. My body was busy remembering the feel of Rush’s hands and lips and my brain was rationalising that there was nothing at all the matter with a furiously short affair with a fabulously famous man and a client. Good God!

  When Sally arrived, Brick and Simon joined us and we spent the next two hours working through the production plan, the event schedule and the budget. Unforeseen disasters aside, we had everything we needed in place from portable bathrooms and event insurance to the country and western band and the first aid station.

  The money from ticket sales had been banked, the welcome and thank you speeches written, the menus and dance music selected. There were a host of last minute details to be seen to, which would keep all of us running, most of the day, but we had this beast well in hand, except for one final frontier to discuss—the presence of our silent benefactors—just how silent were they going to be?

  “We need to discuss the elephant in the room,” I began.

  “Elephants can’t possibly be native to Australia, can they?” asked Rush, all innocence.

  “Distant cousin to the wombat I believe,” laughed Arch.

  “What’s with these guys and animals?” asked Sally.

  I ploughed on. “Pay attention you lot. We’ve camped out here for six days and not a word has reached the media. We’ve been lucky and we can be very grateful the community has kept our secret.”

  “Was our pleasure,” said Cathy.

  “But the minute the three of you appear tomorrow night, we’ve totally blown our cover and I can’t guarantee one of our guests won’t talk or try to sell a picture and get us more headlines.”

  “Fair enough,” said Rush. “Shane, this is really your call. It was the studio who wanted us to keep things quiet.”

  “Quiet! I’ve got no intention of being quiet. We’re in this thing and we’re in it to the end in every possible noisy way. If it gets out, I’ll make nice with the studio and Toby, leave that to me,” said Shane.

  “So you’re coming and you’re happy to be recognised,” I asked, to be clear.

  “More like mobbed,” said Helen.

  The three of them exchanged a look. “Wouldn’t miss it,” said Rush.

  “Then that brings me to my next question, one I should have asked earlier, do you have formal suits with you?”

  “Hey we’re with the band, we’re not doing monkey suits,” said Shane, gesturing towards Arch.

  “More animals,” said Brick, and got a laugh.

  “What?” I used my best hard of hearing delivery.

  Shane grimaced. “Ah shit, I never was very good with secrets.”

  “It was supposed to be a surprise,” said Arch.

  “They made me leave it off the schedule,” said Sally.

  “What are you talking about?” I said, exasperated.

  “We’ve flown the rest of the band in. We’re the main attraction,” said Shane.

  “That’s certainly a surprise.” I sounded angry and hard. The room fell silent and then everyone spoke at once.

  “We’ve done it again,” exclaimed Arch.

  “I didn’t think,” said Sally.

  “Ooh, what sort of band is it?” asked Cathy.

  “Will Shane sing?” queried Helen.

  “Would anyone like a sandwich?” asked Simon.

  “Can I carry the guitars?” pleaded Brick.

  “The band?” said Rush.

  Shane leapt to his feet. A long litany of swear words that would never appear together in any script he ever read streaming from his mouth. “Okay, my fault, my fault, and I made Sally keep it a secret. First because I just didn’t know if Dan, Jon and Bry would get here on time and second because, I thought you’d worry and third, I can’t think of a third.” He slumped down in his seat.

  Sixteen eyeballs watched me. Eight pairs of brows furrowed. Everyone waited in the silence and one voice spoke.

  “Andi, is this a bad thing?” asked Brick, deep concern on his face.

  “No, it’s not a bad thing.”

  “Oh good,” he said. “But why are you sad?”

  “I’m not sad Brick, I’m worried. If people aren’t honest with me I can’t help them and it’s my job to help them.” I looked at Rush. If he’d been honest I could have helped him too, in a way that didn’t hurt me so badly.

  “Shane did a bad thing,” Brick chastised.

  “Shane needs his head read,” groaned Shane.

  “We could probably arrange that,” drawled Rush.

  “I’ve seen rusty garden shears around somewhere,” said Arch.

  I threw my hands up. “Okay that’s it! If you people have any more secrets, you’d better put them on the table now, or I swear I’ll...”

  “I’m in love with Arch,” shrieked Simon, leaping to his feet and the silence that followed made that earlier calm sound like a jumbo, and not the elephant kind, landing overhead, and then it broke.

  “Ah!” exclaimed Arch, “I er, ah...I’m not. Oh, shit.”

  “I kissed Shane,” announced Sally.

  “There was tongue,” added Shane.

  “I told the local paper,” admitted Cathy.

  “Rush bought Allambee,” cried Helen.

  “Could everyone now call me Peter,” asked Brick.

  The laughter when it came started with Simon’s nervous giggle and lifted through Arch’s infectious chuckle, and Helen’s chortle, hit a high note with Sally’s yelp and Cathy’s squeal, peaked at Rush’s howl and topped out with Shane’s roar.

  I was momentarily speechless. Then pointing to each of the offenders in turn said, “Let me get this right. You’re in love with him, he’s not into men, she kissed you, you used tongue, you leaked to the media, he bought this house and you want to be called Peter.”

  “That sounds about right,” said Rush, still laughing.

  I watched him rock back in his chair and I thought about my own dark little secret, one I could hardly admit to myself let alone announce.

  It took a little while to untangle that series of confessions. Arch took Simon aside and gave him a hug and much as I wanted to do the same with Rush, I stuck my laser beam on Cathy. “Who did you tell?” Turns out Cathy had told her niece who was a journalist on the local paper.

  “We can live with that,” said Shane, “It’d be a shame if your niece missed out on the story of her career, yeah. How about we give her an interview with the band?”

  While Shane and Cathy worked out the details, I drew Rush out onto the verandah.

  “Poor Simon,” he said.

  “Poor Arch.”

  “Not the first time it’s happened to him. Annoyed me though.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Stole my thunder.”

  “You’re in love with Arch?”

  “You do this deliberately. Never mind then.”

  “Oh come on, I’m sorry.” Rush was going to sulk. I nudged his shoulder. “Tell me.”

  He lent against a verandah upright and gave it a thump. “I bought the house.”

  “Ah, so I heard.” Not what I was expecting him to say.

  He patted the wooden railing. “I really like this house.”

  “I’m glad. It’s wonderful for Helen, she was worried about it and the money will make her life easier.”

  He took my hand in his. “And you can come and use it anytime you want.”

  It was surely better he hadn’t said anything more, but then why did it make me feel so hollow?

  27: Eve

  Logistics, local papers, property deals and unresolved infatuations aside, I had another problem. What to wear. No, I’m serious. When I’d packed to escape the city, I’d packed for hiding out, so I had shorts and t-shirts and light summer dresses, swimwear, thongs and runners, but nothing remotely suitable to wear to a formal dinner.

  I’d thought about raiding Helen’s w
ardrobe or asking Cathy if she could think of someone locally I might borrow from, but Helen was aghast at that suggestion.

  “You’ll either have to buy something new or get a fairy godmother,” she said. “You can’t go showing up in borrowed glad rags. It’s just not on.”

  That meant a quick trip to the one dress and shoe shop in town, crossing my fingers they had something to offer.

  Helen drove and Arch, who wanted to get some distance from Simon, came too. I sat in the backseat checking messages on my phone and feeling stupid that I hadn’t thought of this earlier. I might have had Bert post up something from my wardrobe or even got a local dressmaker to outfit me. This was a problem I needed time to solve and time was a rare commodity.

  Edith’s dress shop was smacked between the butcher and a gift shop. Edith was unpacking new stock when the three of us arrived. She greeted Helen, her Thursday afternoon tennis partner, and then gave a start of surprise when she spied Arch.

  “You make me wish I did menswear, darling,” she said, patting him on the forearm. “I’d love to dress you.”

  Arch quirked an eyebrow. “They usually want to go in the other direction.”

  Edith gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. “Oh dear, I’m a little old for all that.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he grinned.

  “You’ve made my week, you darling boy.”

  “He’s made your year, Edie,” said Helen dryly.

  “So it’s true. I thought I heard your niece was here Helen, and I did wonder if the famous boyfriend and his entourage were too.”

  I scowled at Edith. I wasn’t the least bit keen on having my relationship, affair, dalliance, two-day stand, whatever exactly it was, made public.

  “Don’t worry doll, I won’t tell anybody,” she said.

  It only took five minutes to narrow my choices to a very plain slightly too short for comfort, black dress in a fabric that was better suited to the beach than a formal dinner, or a pale apricot lace dress.

  “Reminds me of something Stevie Nicks in her Fleetwood Mac days would wear,” said Arch, fingering the lace.