How to Hide a Hollywood Star

by Avoca Gardener

  Lace wasn’t my thing nor the dress my size, so it had to be the black. At least it was unremarkable, assuming I remembered not to bend over, in which case it was positively pornographic. Edith however had other plans. She disappeared into a storeroom and came back with a plastic suit bag over her arm.

  “This was a special order I had done for that Missy Yates, you know Helen, that Miss Bangalow competitor, thought she was so special. She picked it out of a Vogue magazine and I ordered it directly from the designer and when it got here she said it was too sophisticated and made her look too old. I couldn’t send it back and it wasn’t the sort of dress I could sell here, but maybe it would do for you, Andi. Missy was about your size.”

  Make or break. Edith unzipped the suit bag and out came the most incredible garment. It was a simple and striking dress of full length rich, blood red silk. It had a very low back, a V neckline and it was beautifully tailored. It was an Audrey Hepburn sort of dress, elegant and classic, without being flashy, not your average beauty pageant ‘show ‘em all you got’ look. I loved it, but the chance of it fitting me—and this was a dress that simply had to fit—wasn’t good.

  You’d have thought the four of us were involved in negotiating peace in the Middle East by the tension in the room. I nipped into a change cubicle and wriggled out of my shorts and shirt. Not my best underwear and only thongs on my feet, but no time like the present to be disappointed.

  “Helen, would you pass the black dress in,” I called.

  “Oh no, it doesn’t fit.” I could hear regret in Arch’s voice.

  “I don’t know yet, but I might as well have a backstop.”

  I took the red dress off the hanger and found the invisible zip, carefully lifted it over my head and smoothed it down my body. I expected it to bunch at my hips or strain over my thighs and there end the dream, but it slithered against me and fell to the floor. I was in, but would it zip up?

  “Can I do you up, dear?” Edith popped her head through the curtain and smiled when she saw I was in the dress.

  “Oh, I hope so.” I turned my back to her. The sound of the zipper doing its thing was a victory cry. It fit. Edith swept back the curtain and Helen started clapping.

  “Jesus!” exclaimed Arch, “that’s enough to give the old man a heart attack.”

  “What old man?” asked Helen, but was easily distracted by the problem of my feet buried under metres of fabric. Missy was either a giraffe or she intended to loom over the competition on stilts.

  “I can fix that in an hour,” said Edith, “but you need shoes first.”

  Peace in the Middle East sorted, how hard could shoes be? Shoes we discovered were determining life on Mars hard. The problem was that my bad foot was still very swollen and I couldn’t walk in a high heel. I couldn’t very well go barefoot to the ball either and the one thong, one space boot look had gotten real old. Half way through the shoe trying dilemma Arch got the giggles.

  “It’s just too good,” he said, “too good. She really is Cinderella, she only has one slipper.”

  “Any time you’re ready to go do something else,” I said in frustration.

  “I’m not going out there. Scary tourists with phone cameras,” he shuddered, looking towards the door as though it marked a war zone. Oh, so now he goes all scared rabbit. This was the same guy who joined the fire-fighting crew and in spare moments had been tearing around the neighbourhood, half dressed and helmet-less on a Harley Davidson.

  “I’m safer here with Helen and Edith,” he said, making both women go all coy. “Hold on, I’ve got an idea. Let’s take the pair that fits the best. I used to stretch my Mom’s shoes for her—terrible bunions, and we’ll ice your foot and ankle and see if we can bring that swelling down and then cross our fingers,” he said.

  Between Edith’s fluttering eyelashes and Helen’s cooing did I have another choice?

  Back at the house, Arch spent time in the kitchen doing something to the little silver kitten heel shoes that involved wet newspaper, a hairdryer and a hot soup spoon. Meanwhile, he’d deputised Simon to keep me supplied with cold packs for my foot. So I sat at the dining table with a frozen rump steak, ultimately someone’s dinner, wrapped in a tea towel, over my ankle and caught up on email. The one that made me forget that I could no longer feel my toes was from Tom Flourish.

  Dear Andi

  I’m intrigued to see you making the news, in more ways than one, and very keen to talk with you about your experience. Obviously, it’s not all it seems, but without even knowing the truth I can tell you are doing an amazing job. My sources tell me you and the three gentlemen in question are still in the country, but somehow managing to avoid detection, or might I suggest, entrapment. Bravo.

  In short, I have a job offer for you. Flourish & co is expanding rapidly and I believe together we could do some very exciting work. I understand with your skills and reputation you wouldn’t consider moving for just any role and so I’m offering you a partnership and profit share.

  I’m keen to hear from you whenever you are free to talk.

  Tom

  What a crafty old bugger he was. Always looking for an opportunity to do whatever it took, even if that meant stealing talent from rival companies—particularly companies started by ex-employees.

  At any other time, I’d have found this most amusing, knocked myself over in haste to share it with Michael, and craft a suitable, ‘I’m flattered, but not till pigs fly’, response. But now, I found it less entertaining and more intriguing. Did I still want to work with Michael after all this? But I had no time to think it through.

  With the arrival of the rest of Running on Empty, Dan, Jon and Bry, the house was suddenly full of denim clad men with long hair and deep voices. Shane announced that Peter was their special purpose roadie and handed him a guitar and Simon stood by looking out of place until Arch introduced him as the best new chef in the business.

  Helen, Cathy, Sally and I went over last minute ticket sales, seating plans and timetabling, and prepared to move our production office to the Winnebago van on site. Rush retreated to the kitchen to make phone calls. I heard him leave a message for Anissa telling her how excited he was to be seeing her soon. It reminded me I should contact Michael. I sent him an email, brief and to the point, providing the details for the event. It was less then he deserved, but more than I felt like giving him.

  The band rehearsed, the numbers added up, the dice were loaded and by this time tomorrow our guests would be arriving.

  Dinner was a boisterous affair for thirteen including Elizabeth who was even more wide eyed during this visit and delighted by the fact her son had reclaimed his name. Simon was in his element showing off his kitchen wizardry, Sally was the belle of the evening, Shane and Cathy traded toasts, Arch and Helen heckled and all was right, if a little noisy, with the world.

  “You did all this,” said Rush, handing me a slice of lemon tart.

  “We did it,” I said. “Who said we didn’t make a good team?”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about, making that teamwork a more permanent thing.”

  That put me off my pie.

  “I want to offer you a job. I want you to come and work for Arch and Shane and me, as our chief executive.”

  Two job offers in one day—startling. “Doing what?”

  “What you did here and a whole lot more. There is so much we could with our special projects if we dedicated time and talent to it full time.”

  “Like?” I was intrigued.

  “Scholarships and a micro-finance program for women and I want to grow the balance, add the money and influence of other people who get paid by the Hollywood system.”

  “That’s wonderful, truly wonderful.”

  Rush took the pie plate out of my hand and put it on the table. “I’m hearing a ‘but’.”

  “I’m just surprised that’s all.” I was scrambling to know what to think. It’d been a long day, a longer week and I was too tired to consider this. All I wa
nted tonight was for him to hold me, love me, make me feel good, because after tomorrow the fantasy would be over and I’d be alone again.

  “Well?” he said.

  “If it was me, I’d be saying no more side-track projects like rebuilding halls in country towns in prosperous countries that can support themselves.”

  “Yes ma’am. See that’s why it should be you. We need you.”

  “Where would the job be based?”

  “Sydney, LA, New York, Possum Creek. Anywhere you want, though you’d need to travel to oversee major projects and to oversee me of course.”

  And there it was, the reason this made me uneasy. Was this a legitimate job offer or an excuse to keep me in his orbit, spinning furiously alongside him while he travelled in a different, brighter, parallel universe?

  “Do you need an answer now?” If he did, it was no. I needed time to think about everything that’d happened this week, about the business, about Michael, about how I felt about Rush.

  He took my hand. “I need an answer when you’re ready to give me one and not before.”

  “Do you think anyone would notice if you hugged me now?” I asked.

  “I don’t think it’s anyone’s business what we do, but I’d like to do more than hug you.”

  It wasn’t like I required a formal invitation. I lead him away from Simon’s cheese platter, from Bry teaching Peter guitar chords, from Sally flirting with Shane, and Helen, Cathy and Elizabeth chatting over coffee. The only one who saw us go was Arch and if his smile had been any bigger he’d have split his lip.

  In my bedroom, Rush backed me up against the closed door, hands on either side of me. “Hmm.” He studied my face. “What time do you have to be up?”

  “Early.” That earned a quick kiss. I wasn’t ready for it. I felt it in my toes.

  “How early?”

  “Five.” That earned a deeper kiss. It was still a shock. To be alone with him, to have him so close. To have him touch me like that. Oh God.

  He gathered me into his arms. “So here’s the plan. You’re going to put your PJs on and I’m going to stay with you till you fall asleep.”

  “And....?”

  “No ‘and’, that’s it.”

  “You are kidding?” I laughed.

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “You mean the man, for whom I’ve harboured a secret deserted island fantasy, who bizarrely I get to meet, work with, take home, share meals and bathrooms with, fight with and fall madly in lust with—and who is finally in my bedroom—is just going to lay there till I fall asleep! What planet is this?” I pushed him away. “I can’t believe this!”

  Rush laughed. I just stared at him as he untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, then stretched out full length on my bed, crossing his ankles and folding his hands behind his head, exposing his tanned chest and the value of regular gym workouts and all the Yoga.

  “Oh! So not on!” I stamped my foot. The good one.

  “Take it or leave it, kitten,” he growled, raising one lazy eyebrow at me.

  I made a move to pounce on him and he said, “PJs or nothing.”

  “I vote nothing,” I flicked my t-shirt over my head, remembering belatedly my best underwear was in the drawer.

  His eyes opened wide. “Ah—I mean, PJs, or I’m out of here,” he qualified.

  “There must be something wrong with you. I’m standing here half-dressed and you—”

  “I feel like you’ve hit me with a bolt of electricity,” he interrupted, rolling over on his side and coming up on one elbow. He patted the bed beside him. “Hurry up or you won’t get any sleep at all.”

  “That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.”

  He got back up, came to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “We can do whatever you want, believe me I’m ready. But I’d like to think we had plenty of time to do all the stuff you’re thinking about without racing into it tonight. At best, you’ve got the chance for four hours sleep.”

  I dropped my head to his chest. “But after tomorrow you’ll be gone.”

  “Is that what you’re worried about? Andi, I want you in my life. I don’t want to ruin what we might have by cramming it into one night. You’re not that girl.”

  “You’re not that guy. You’re just passing through, Hollywood.” I said, looking up at him. He frowned at me. I shrugged. “I’d rather you didn’t try to turn this into something it isn’t.”

  “Discounting tomorrow night, and neither of us needs sleep then, I’m a guy who owns a jet, and I don’t think the concept of wanting to spend multiple nights and days with you is too far out of town.”

  I gave him a little shake. “I’m serious. Rush we don’t live in the same world. What if I am just that girl, on just this night?”

  He put me at arm’s length, hands so very warm on my hips. “I told you I was annoyed with Simon because he got in first. One public declaration of love a day is the limit in my books. I wanted to say that I was falling for you. That Rush Dawson was mad about Andi Carrington. That it wasn’t a setup, a rumour, a convenience and it wasn’t about control. That it was as real as the sun rising, as lovely as the moon, as bright as the stars and as vital as breathing.”

  I thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest, past the torn lace on my bra and paint him red. I was having trouble catching a full breath and I knew if I looked in his eyes I’d be crying. Because I didn’t think he was acting.

  He lifted my chin but I kept my eyes firmly closed. Better to hide from this. Stand in my shorts and should-have-been-thrown-out-ages-ago-tatty-bra, clasped in his muscled arms and act like a cartoon ostrich with its head in the sand. If I didn’t look at him, maybe he couldn’t see me.

  “Are you listening?” He kissed my right cheek. Salt water seeped from my left and he wiped it dry tenderly with his thumb.

  “Damn Simon,” I murmured, and opened flooded eyes.

  “Simon was brave, far braver than me. He taught me a lesson.” Rush pulled me back into his embrace and I tucked my head under his chin.

  “I was so nervous it was the wrong thing to say in front of everyone I just sat there and did nothing. Not telling you what I’m feeling is as good as a lie and I’m never doing that to you again,” he said. “I told you I was rusty at this. I promise I’ll get better.”

  “The job, it’s not an excuse just to keep me around?” I looked up to study his face.

  “It’s not an excuse, though I want you around whether you take it or not.” He scooped me up and carried me the few steps to the mattress. “Now I really do want you in bed and asleep.”

  He stretched out and I folded in against him. There was no way I would sleep with him there, interfering with my sanity, his words still rumbling in my head, but apparently, I did. When I woke, with the threat of daybreak, he was still there. It hadn’t been the elaborate fantasy of a lonely girl.

  He was breathing steadily in sleep and I studied him in the soft light, noting a tiny scar above one eyebrow, the sprinkle of grey hair in the black, the long curled eyelashes and the lips that said things to drive me mad and did things that would probably render me senseless. He whispered, “Go back to sleep,” and the fine lines around his eyes crinkled up as he smiled and snuggled me closer. When I slept again it was with complete contentment.

  28: Break of Day

  Birds were calling to each other, though the sun was still only starting to wake when I crawled out of bed and fumbled about for clothes. Rush was still sleeping and had no reason to be up this early. When I dropped a running shoe on the floorboards, he stirred, rolled towards me and opened one eye.

  “That time already,” he croaked.

  God, his voice was low and husky and I wanted so much to crawl back into bed with him and forget the world. “Yes, go back to sleep.”

  “I want to know something first.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t hug and tell.”

  He laughed. “I want to know about the desert
ed island thing.” He didn’t miss much. “I’m serious,” he said, “are we talking Blue Lagoon or Castaway?”

  “Gilligan’s Island.” I said, in all seriousness.

  “Am I the Professor or the Skipper, oh not Mr Howell?”

  “You’re Gilligan.”

  He groaned and rolled onto his back. “Gilligan! You couldn’t cast with a net.”

  I gathered the gear I needed and turned to go. “What no morning kiss?” he said, suddenly in my ear. He pulled me and my bundle of stuff against him. “I will know about that island, and I want you to know one other thing.”

  “What?” my best Patrice delivery.

  He chuckled. “That is the very last time I let you be so close to me without disturbing your peace. Platonic and me, we’re over.”

  “Promise?”

  “Sure do little buddy.”

  Sally was already on site along with the construction crew when I arrived. She shoved a take-away coffee cup in my hand and that was the last calm of the morning. Together we set up the production office and managed the succession of set builders, lighting specialists, sound engineers and caterers who needed to be on site. It would take a small village to get ready for one night, in all fifty people had signed on as our event crew.

  At 7.30am, Simon and Peter arrived with breakfast for everyone, bacon and egg rolls, fruit salad, juice and coffee and we checked the weather forecast, no last minute changes. Hot and fine.

  At 8.30am, the builders started constructing the balcony level which included a set of stairs and a fireman’s pole for fun, and the bathrooms arrived on a truck.

  By 10.00am, the temporary flooring was down and being swept. Two hours later the tented clear roof was suspended over the broken walls of the hall and the air-conditioning was connected to the generators.

  By 1.00pm, the kitchen was installed and the tables were being set up along with the stage. One of the local cafes brought in sandwiches for lunch.

  At 2.00pm, Rush, Shane, Arch and the rest of the band arrived for a rehearsal and a show run through and the tables were dressed in their livery of red, silver and white. When the band assembled on stage for their first song all the production staff downed tools and came to watch cheering and clapping along. Rush tracked me down in the van where Sally and I were amending the show run order.