My Own Personal Rockstar

by Kirsty McManus

  He smiles when he sees me. “Hi. Natasha?”

  I paste on a smile in return. “Yes. Hi. Tomas.”

  He comes over and gives me a kiss on both cheeks. He smells quite strongly of cheap lime-scented aftershave, and thanks to the double kiss, he has now transferred the fragrance to me.

  “After you,” he says, ushering me into the bar. “What would you like to drink?”

  “I think I’ll get a mojito.” I figure they have lime in them, which might distract me from the amount on my skin. I swear it’s getting stronger.

  “Why don’t you grab a seat and I’ll bring it over?”

  “Thank you.” I rummage around in my purse and pull out a twenty. “Here’s some money.”

  He takes it. “Thanks.”

  I find a couple of stools in the corner and nervously sit down. Tomas is standing at the bar, laughing at something the woman behind the counter is saying. I must say, apart from his hair, which really isn’t that bad, and the lime overload, he seems okay so far. He’s wearing a loose pair of chinos and a long-sleeved black shirt.

  He comes over with the drinks and puts the mojito in front of me. I take a big sip to calm my jitters.

  “Have you met many people on dating sites?” I ask.

  He laughs. “A few. Why? Do you want a list?”

  “No, no. Sorry. I was just making conversation. You’re the first person I’ve met on one.”

  He raises an eyebrow interestedly. “Really? You’re a dating-site virgin?”

  I’m not sure I like the way he said the word virgin, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “I, uh, I guess I’m a bit out of practice with the whole dating thing in general.” Now would be the time to tell him about Daisy, but for some reason, I hesitate.

  “That’s okay. I find that refreshing, actually. There are a lot of crazy and jaded women out there.”

  “I suppose there’d be a lot of douchebags those women have to deal with,” I point out.

  He frowns. “Are you a feminist?”

  “I’m not sure what prompted you to ask that, but if you mean, do I think all women should be treated equally to men? Then, yes.”

  “All the feminists I know go on about ‘toxic masculinity’ and group all men in as part of the #MeToo movement.”

  Well, this went in a very strange direction very fast. “It’s more complex than that. Maybe not something you want to get into two minutes after meeting someone…”

  He cuts me off. “I’m sick of women blaming all men for their problems. We’re not the enemy, you know!”

  I look at him, bewildered. “I never said you were.”

  “How am I responsible for some random guy raping a woman?”

  “Uh, you’re not?” Jeez, this guy has a massive chip on his shoulder.

  “Yeah, but that’s not what all those feminists think. They say we have to take responsibility. For what, I don’t fucking know.”

  This is not going at all how I planned. And if I really wanted to, I could try and explain that being a part of any demographic that negatively affects another doesn’t mean you are directly responsible, but you do have a duty as a decent human being to listen to the people speaking out and see if there’s anything you can do to help the situation. But I don’t think he’d appreciate that.

  “Maybe I should leave,” I say, starting to stand up.

  It’s like he doesn’t even hear me. “I should have known. Any woman with fluoro hair is either gay or a left-wing feminist.”

  Okay. That’s definitely enough.

  “I’m going to go.”

  I hurry out, annoyed that I didn’t get to finish my drink, and head around the corner to order an Uber to take me home.

  What the actual hell? How could I have misjudged the situation so badly?

  If this is what online dating is like, I am going to be single for the rest of eternity.

  ***

  Millicent is disturbed to see me home so early.

  “What happened? What did you do?”

  “Why did you think it was something I did? Tomas was a freakin’ weirdo. I swear, within two seconds of us sitting down, it was like he was reading directly from a men’s rights activist manual.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Yes! I actually think he might require medication. There was something really wrong with the guy.”

  “I’m sorry, Tash. We probably should have looked at his bio more closely. I just didn’t want to freak you out, when you were already a bit wary of the whole experience.”

  She opens her phone and navigates to Tomas’s page on the dating site.

  “Ah, see. I should have known. He’s written here that he likes upbeat women.”

  “And that means he’s a raving misogynist?”

  “Yep. It assumes that women should always be happy specifically for their partner. Other things to look out for are when a guy says he wants someone who ‘looks after themselves’ because you know that’s code for ‘if you don’t go to the gym seven days a week, don’t even think about coming near me.’ Or if their pic shows them on a large motorcycle, you know they’re overcompensating for something.”

  “I’m not going out with anyone else from online.”

  “But you have to! Don’t let one bad guy mess up your chance for happiness.”

  “What if I tried something else? Maybe I could find someone in one of those meet-up groups instead. You know, the kind where they all go hiking or surfing?”

  “Do you know who goes to meet-up groups? People over sixty. Come on, Tash. Give online dating another try.”

  “I’ll have to think about it. But right now, I just want to get into my PJs and watch old reruns of How I Met Your Mother. At least that show never lets me down.”

  Millicent sighs. “Okay. Sorry, hon. I really just want you to be happy.”

  “I know. And I appreciate you helping me. But I think meeting someone is something I have to do on my own. On my terms.”

  “You want me to stay tonight?”

  “It’s up to you. If Ryder is already settled, then you might as well.”

  “I’ve got the kids set up in Daisy’s room with the iPad. They’re watching Hotel Transylvania.”

  “Maybe just leave them, then. You feel like laughing at some of Barney’s antics with me?”

  “Yeah, why not. My love life isn’t exactly happening right now either.”

  “Have you met many guys online?”

  “That’s the only way I meet them. But it does seem to be getting harder and harder to find the nice ones. There’s so much ghosting and…what’s that other thing they do? Zombie-ing? You know, where they totally ignore you, but then three months later they suddenly start liking your social media posts? I don’t get that at all. Oh, and then there’s catfishing. Thank God I’ve never had to deal with that…”

  “And you thought I would benefit from entering this world?” I ask incredulously.

  “It’s worth it in the long run. If you look up the stats, at least a third of people online are looking for serious relationships. And like, ten percent of people end up getting married.”

  “Is that ten percent of the third or the total?”

  “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

  “It would probably be a big difference in figures.”

  “Either way, there are good guys out there. You just have to kiss a few frogs first.”

  I’m starting to wonder if that’s true. Is there really another guy out there for me? Or are all the eligible ones already taken?

  But then, Ted on How I Met Your Mother took forever to find his match. Maybe I’ll just have to wait a bit longer. Although, I hope I don’t have to take as many detours as he did to end up with ‘the one.’

  Love might be a bit more trouble than it’s worth.

  TEN

  Lincoln

  Playing music with the guys is one of the best things in my life. And while live performances are the ultimate, I can relax and enjoy
myself a lot more with rehearsals. We’re currently practicing a bunch of songs in Beau’s garage. He’s the band’s drummer and lives just outside the city on acreage, so we don’t have to worry about disturbing the neighbours.

  It’s Saturday, and exactly nine weeks until we start the tour. I’m looking forward to getting out of South-East Queensland to play in the other states, and also performing at some bigger venues. Normally, we play pubs and small clubs, but this time we’ll be doing actual concert halls.

  Things have calmed down at home over the last couple of months. Rachel hasn’t mentioned feeling left out or ignored—and she seems happy enough, so I’m quietly optimistic that she feels our lives are headed in a positive direction. Occasionally, I’ve tried to prompt her about whether she wants to enrol in a course or fill out any job applications, but she hasn’t seemed particularly interested. Maybe she’s realised that the money I’m going to be earning for the tour is enough for us after all.

  I start playing a few chords on my guitar, ones that go with the song I sang for Felix and Natasha that night in Sydney. They probably don’t realise, but their positive reaction has inspired me to get more serious about my songwriting.

  Jesse, the lead guitarist, joins in, and then Andy, the bassist, takes his cue. Finally, Beau starts tapping out a beat. And it works. I quietly sing the lyrics so the guys can hear what I initially intended for the song.

  Afterwards, they all look at me, surprised. “Where did that come from?” Beau asks.

  “I wrote it a while back, but I didn’t want to push my stuff on you in case you didn’t like it.”

  “Dude! We’ve been dropping hints to do originals for years! We always thought you wanted to stick with covers because they were easy.”

  “I guess that’s true in a way. But I’ve kind of realised lately that I need to take more risks.” I think back to my conversation with Natasha about how she pursued her dream—and at the time, I made excuses for why I couldn’t pursue mine. But it was bullshit. I was just scared. Going on Sing to Me helped me remember I have talent, but that night in Sydney confirmed I should be following my dreams more fully.

  “Then let’s do something with it. Talk to Max and see if he’ll let us test out a couple of tunes on the tour. And obviously reassure him we’ll still do the fan favourites.”

  “Okay. I will. And of course, if any of you have songs you want to try, let me know.”

  They all look at each other with an expression I can’t decipher.

  “What?”

  Beau answers. “We kind of started working on some stuff while you were on the show. We were going to tell you at some point, but then Max gave us the tour, so we didn’t want to complicate things further.”

  “You should have said! I would love to hear what you’ve come up with!”

  Beau looks relieved. “Great. Do you want to go through some of it now?”

  I check the time. It’s already 4pm. Wow. That went fast. We’ve been here for over four hours.

  “Actually, I better head home. Rachel will be wondering what happened to me. But I definitely want to hear what you’ve got at the next rehearsal.”

  “No problem,” Jesse says. “I’ll set up a share drive for us so we can store all our files.”

  “Awesome.”

  I nod my head at the guys and head out to the car, lugging my amp, guitar, and microphone with me.

  I sing in the car all the way home. I can’t believe we’re finally branching out into originals. And even if Max doesn’t want us to play them on tour, it shouldn’t stop us from experimenting in our own time. It’s crazy that the whole band was so worried about rocking the boat that we never really talked about trying something new.

  But for now, that can wait, because I’m looking forward to a relaxed evening at home with my girls. I need to make the most of it while I can. Rachel hasn’t confirmed whether she and the twins are going to accompany me for part of the tour yet, but I have a feeling she won’t want to come along for much of it.

  I pull into the driveway, taking all my stuff in with me. It’s not cheap equipment, so I can’t afford to leave it in the car out on the street.

  “Hello?” I call out as I dump everything just inside the door.

  Silence.

  “Anyone home?”

  Still no answer.

  I curiously peek inside the living room and the girls’ bedrooms, but don’t find them. They must have gone out somewhere. I dial Rachel’s number and it goes to messages.

  Strange.

  I make myself a coffee and sit at the kitchen bench. It’ll be 5pm soon. Rachel never usually has the girls out past 6pm unless it’s a special occasion. I’ll start planning dinner, and I’m sure they’ll be home before I know it.

  I should probably have a shower first, though. Singing and playing guitar in a garage for several hours can be hot work.

  After stripping off my shirt, I’m about to throw it in the washing basket when I pause at the edge of the walk-in closet. Something doesn’t look right.

  It takes a moment for me to realise that Rachel’s side is almost completely empty. I open her drawers and notice nearly everything is gone from there, too.

  A sinking feeling settles in my chest. Of course, she might have taken everything out to do a spring clean, but when I look up at the top shelf and notice a couple of suitcases are also gone, my heart starts racing.

  This can’t be happening.

  I bolt over to the girls’ room and rip open their closet. It’s almost empty as well.

  What has Rachel done?

  I scour the house for a note but am unable to find one. I have no idea who to call. The police? But what if it’s all just a weird misunderstanding? Did Rachel have a pre-planned getaway I forgot about?

  No, that’s definitely not the case. Of course I would remember if my partner and children were going away today.

  I don’t want to face the possibility that she’s left me. It doesn’t make sense. Has she been blackmailed or kidnapped? Our life was so good. Sure, she seemed a bit moody after I didn’t win Sing to Me, but we were happy most of the time.

  I’m very, very confused. Not to mention terrified.

  I do another quick check of the house. Where would they have gone? Most of Rachel’s family lives in the UK and she doesn’t have a lot of close friends here in Brisbane. At least, none that would accommodate two young girls. Most of Rachel’s acquaintances are younger than her and childless. Their lives are all about their careers and partying.

  That’s it. I’m phoning the police.

  I’m just dialling the number when my phone beeps.

  It’s a text from Rachel.

  I open it.

  Holy shit.

  ELEVEN

  Tash

  It’s only three weeks until my meals start being stocked in supermarkets, and I am equally excited and scared. What if they completely flop? Or what if they’re super successful and I run out of stock in the first few days? Obviously, the latter outcome would be preferable, but I want the team who approved the deal to see how professional I am and feel that they made the right decision.

  I can’t believe it’s been ten weeks since that first meeting in Sydney. It feels like no time has passed, but also an eternity.

  That’s also how long it’s been since I met Lincoln, and I have to say, my crush on him has not subsided in the least. I check his Instagram feed every day, hoping he posts a new selfie I can drool over, or provide a little further insight into his personal life. But in a way, how I feel about him is now more the way I’d feel about any attractive celebrity—a sort of pretend fantasy with my own ideals projected on to him. If I met him again, I’d probably be disappointed by how little he resembles what I’ve built up in my head.

  He finally posted about his secret news, and it turns out he’s going on a national tour. I am so buying a ticket for that show, even if I have to go alone.

  It’s Monday morning, and I have just arrived back home after
dropping Daisy at school. I make myself a cup of tea and sit down to look through my Instagram feed. Felix has a gorgeous new artwork that vaguely resembles a close-up of lilies, painted in a rainbow of vivid blues, greens, and oranges. He and I regularly comment on each other’s posts with supportive messages. It’s a shame he lives in Sydney because I think we’d hang out all the time in person otherwise. The other people I follow are mostly acquaintances posting shots of their weekend adventures. I click the small heart icon beside most of them and then go to the search function. Lincoln’s name is at the top, as usual. I still haven’t summoned the courage to officially follow him, but if he was able to see his account stats, he’d discover I was one of his top fans.

  A mix of emotions flows through me when I see his most recent post. It’s a black square with white text that reads Betrayal shows up where you least expect it.

  What does that mean? Has JC’s manager cancelled the tour? That would be a pretty big betrayal, considering what happened the first time he made it big in the music industry.

  I scroll to the comments. Lincoln hasn’t written a caption underneath, but dozens of his followers have posted messages.

  Are you OK?

  I’m sorry to hear you’re going through a tough time. My thoughts are with you.

  What’s wrong?

  Is your tour still on?

  And then I see a message from Felix. He should have learned from last time, but apparently not.

  Hang in there, buddy. I’ll see you soon.

  I wonder if that means he’s coming to Brisbane, or if Lincoln is going to visit him. I so badly want to contact Lincoln, but it doesn’t seem right. I only really spoke to him for a few hours over two-and-a-half months ago.

  I send a screenshot of the post to Millicent.

  Look what Lincoln posted on IG. What do you think it means?

  She types back. I don’t know. Probably just some vague-posting to boost his profile. Maybe lyrics to a new song?

  Me: But Felix said he’s going to see him. There might be something wrong.