My Own Personal Rockstar

by Kirsty McManus

  Millicent: There’s nothing you can do if there is.

  I sort of agree with her, but it seems weird not even offering condolences if something bad happened.

  Me: You’re right. I’m just being a crazy stalker again.

  Millicent: You are. Now go do some work. Or get back on that dating site and expend all that sexual energy on someone you’re actually allowed to sleep with.

  I post the emoji with the tongue sticking out as a way of ending the conversation.

  I might just send a quick message to Felix. There’s no harm in enquiring after someone’s wellbeing.

  After some careful consideration, I write, Hey Felix! I hope you’re well. Have you spoken to Lincoln recently? I just wanted to check he’s all right after that post he put on Instagram—but I didn’t want to bother him directly. Please pass on my best wishes. Tash.

  I spend the next half hour trying to focus on work, but I’m not very successful. I’m supposed to be liaising with the supermarket chain’s marketing department so we can finish organising advertising for my meals, but every time I start browsing through my photo gallery to look for appropriate images, my thoughts wander back to Lincoln.

  Finally, my phone dings with a notification from Felix.

  Hey, chicky. I don’t know the full story yet, but I’ll be in Brisbane tomorrow afternoon. I’ll contact you on Wednesday morning if that’s OK?

  I write back that I look forward to hearing from him.

  I hope Lincoln is all right.

  It doesn’t sound like he was just posting lyrics to a new song.

  ***

  I can barely concentrate at all for the next couple of days, although I know I need to keep working hard. Slacking on my dream while waiting to talk to a friend about my celebrity crush would be stupid.

  However, I still wake up at 5am on Wednesday morning, unable to stay asleep. I make sure my phone is charged and the volume is turned up, and I even leave it within a few feet of the shower while I wash my hair.

  I don’t pay attention while I’m preparing Daisy’s lunch, and accidentally make her a peanut butter sandwich, even though her school has a total nut ban. For the record, she doesn’t like me making really elaborate food for her every day, and sometimes just wants a plain cheese sandwich and store-bought cookies like her friends.

  Felix finally contacts me at 10am, by which time I have refreshed both his and Lincoln’s Instagram feeds at least a dozen times each. I know this isn’t the behaviour of a normal person, but I’m unable to stop.

  When the message comes through, I dive on my phone.

  Hey, Tash. I’m making Lincoln come with me to the Muschalla Gallery in Red Hill this morning. You want to join us?

  Do I want to go with them? Ha! If I wrote back how badly I did actually want to join them, I’d probably scare both of them off forever. So instead, I write, I’d love to but are you sure? Will Lincoln mind?

  Felix: Lincoln isn’t capable of much rational thought right now. I could use the extra support.

  Uh-oh. That definitely doesn’t sound good.

  Me: OK. When are you leaving? I’ll meet you there.

  Felix: 45 minutes?

  Me: Sounds good. See you soon.

  Poor Lincoln. Something really bad must have happened if Felix is talking like that.

  I dress in some white jeans and a faded denim shirt, thinking I need to look—and act—like a supportive friend, rather than an insane groupie.

  I tie my hair into a bun and head out the door, my heart thumping. Who knows what kind of situation I’m about to encounter?

  I live in Highgate Hill in an old-fashioned Queenslander, and there’s a bus stop just outside my door. I own a car, but due to the lack of free parking around the city, it’s usually more convenient to take public transport. I’m just deciding whether I should take my car today when a bus pulls up. That answers my question. I jump on and scan my pass.

  Half an hour later, I arrive at the Muschalla Gallery and nervously head inside.

  Felix and Lincoln are already in there, but they’re facing the other way, looking at a gorgeous painting by a local indigenous artist.

  The floor is polished timber, so they both turn when they hear my footsteps. Felix’s face lights up, and he hurries over to give me a hug. “Hey! It’s good to see you again.”

  “You, too! Thanks for inviting me.” I anxiously peer over his shoulder at Lincoln. His face is expressionless. Felix follows my gaze and whispers in my ear. “Don’t take it personally if he seems a little distant. He’s been through a lot these past few days.”

  I tentatively make my way over to where he’s standing. “Hi. I hope you don’t mind me tagging along. Felix said it was okay, but if you need some space…”

  He gives me a small, tired smile. “No, please stay. The more distraction, the better right now.”

  I figure I’ll find out what’s wrong soon enough, so I make it my mission to lighten the mood as much as possible.

  “I love the paintings here,” I say to Felix. “Are any of them yours?”

  “No, but I hope to soon have some on display. Not that I need a reason to come and visit my buddy here, but I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone and talk to the gallery owner.” He tilts his head towards the back of the room, where a tall woman with a blonde bob is headed for us. “Speak of the devil.” He approaches the woman and kisses her hand. “It’s lovely to finally meet you in person, Deirdre.”

  “Likewise.” She smiles politely at Lincoln and me. “I see you’ve brought a couple of friends.”

  “Yes, but they’ll entertain themselves while I chat with you.” He turns to me. “Why don’t you take my boy for a coffee and meet me back here in half an hour?”

  I panic. I thought the three of us were going to hang out together. I am wholly unprepared to be alone with a depressed Lincoln Page.

  Lincoln nods. “Cool. Text me if you’re done earlier.” He then looks at me. “Have you been to Channing’s around the corner?”

  “Actually, yes. They have really good chai.”

  He points to the door, ushering me out first. “A chai and a slice of their fig-and-almond tart sounds really good about now.”

  I force myself to relax. It’s all going to be fine. I can do this.

  Lincoln obviously needs a friend right now, so I’m going to fill that role.

  TWELVE

  Lincoln

  Inside Channing’s, Tash makes me stay put while she orders the chai and tart. She then sits back down and looks at me. I avoid her gaze and stare out the window.

  “How’s…how’s your music going?” she asks tentatively.

  I wave a hand dismissively. “Fine.”

  “So, the tour’s still on?”

  I nod, my mouth set in a straight line.

  “Is that a bad thing?” she asks.

  “No, it’s a good thing,” I say flatly.

  “You don’t seem very happy about it,” she points out gently.

  “It’s kind of hard to muster the energy to be excited when the reason you were doing all this in the first place is gone.”

  She frowns. “I’m sorry, but what does that mean?”

  I cover my face and break down in tears. Tash quickly comes over to my side of the table and wraps an arm around me, rubbing my back. It’s a sweet gesture, but I am so broken, I can’t stop crying.

  The waiter puts our drinks and food on the table, but I ignore them.

  “Do you want to leave?” Tash asks quietly.

  I rub my cheeks and take a deep, shaky breath. “God, I’m sorry about that. I’m never like this in public. Please, sit down, and we’ll wait for Felix.”

  “You don’t have to apologise for being upset. Would it help if you talked about it?”

  “Probably not. But I’m grateful you’re keeping me company, so you deserve to know.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, handing it to her. “Open the last message from Rachel.”

  She narrows her e
yes but does what I say.

  The words are seared on my brain.

  I’m sorry to do this to you Link, but I couldn’t live a lie anymore. We both deserve better. I’m going to London with the girls to live with my parents. I hope one day you can forgive me.

  She looks up at me, mouth agape. “What happened? She can’t just leave the country with your daughters without permission, can she?”

  I stare at her, my eyes stinging with the effort to hold in further tears. “Apparently she can. Because it turns out, they’re not biologically mine.”

  She gasps. “What the actual hell?”

  I snort a bitter chuckle. “My sentiments exactly.”

  “But that’s…that’s outrageous! How can someone do that to another person? How can she do that to you? You are the sweetest guy ever!”

  I feel my face soften. “Well, you don’t know me very well, but I appreciate you saying so.”

  “You were on reality TV twice, and I saw you both times. I know they say the footage on those shows is heavily manipulated, but I could still tell what you were like. I know when someone is only giving the impression of being nice and when they’re genuine. You’re the real deal.”

  I pick up my chai and take a sip. “You are very kind. I’m glad Felix invited you today.”

  “Can you take Rachel to court? Force her to let you see the girls?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to a lawyer yet. This only happened the other day, and I’m still getting my head around it.”

  “Did she say who the father is?”

  “Yeah. I finally got some information out of her once she landed in London. He’s some childhood sweetheart who lives near her parents over there. She told me they slept together once on a trip we did a while back. There was this one night where she told me she was going out with a bunch of old girlfriends and she didn’t want me along, saying I’d be bored. But instead, she hooked up with him.”

  “How can she be sure he’s the father?”

  “She had a paternity test done.” I clench my hands together. “And you know how long ago she knew?”

  Tash doesn’t say anything.

  “Before the girls were even fucking born! She had one of those diagnostic things done at twelve weeks! She’s been lying to me for four years!”

  “I’m so sorry, Lincoln. That is truly, truly horrible.”

  We sit in silence for a while. I nibble at my tart, but I’m not hungry. I feel bad dragging Tash into this mess. She doesn’t need to be a part of it.

  My phone beeps, and I glance at the screen. “Felix is done. We should go back.”

  She nods. We head outside and walk slowly back to the gallery. “Do you live nearby?” she asks. “I’m over in Highgate Hill.”

  “I’m just in Ashgrove. Only about ten minutes away.”

  “Well, I just want to say if you ever need anything, or if you want to hang out with me and my crazy friend Millicent, you’re always welcome.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot. I have to admit, I don’t have a lot of close friends anymore. When I wasn’t playing gigs or working at a friend’s café, most of my time was taken up with Rachel and the girls.”

  “I’m sure you have a bigger support network than you realise. But either way, it might be nice to spend time with people not associated with your inner circle.”

  “Exactly.”

  We get back to the gallery, and Felix is waiting outside. He looks pleased, but I can see him toning down the enthusiasm for my sake. I feel guilty that I’m ruining what would otherwise be a good day for him.

  “How did you go?” I ask.

  “Great. They’re going to do an exhibition in a few months.”

  “That’s awesome.” I force a smile to show that I am actually really happy for him.

  “What do you want to do now?” he asks. “Go out for lunch somewhere?”

  I run my hands through my hair. “Actually, if it’s okay, do you mind dropping me at home? I’m sure Tash will be much better company.”

  “I don’t want to leave you alone,” Felix protests. “You need to be mingling in society.”

  “I didn’t sleep well last night, so I’d prefer to go home and take a nap.”

  Felix looks dubious but can see I’m not going to change my mind. “All right. Tash and I will get something to eat, and I’ll bring leftovers back to your place.”

  I smile weakly. “Thanks.”

  “Did you want to leave your car here and I can bring you back later?” Felix asks Tash.

  “Oh, I caught the bus, so I can do whatever.”

  “Perfect. My ride is over here.” He points to his sleek black Audi parked near the kerb.

  “I like your car,” Tash tells him.

  “Thanks.” He waves at the passenger side. “I’ll let you two fight it out for shotgun.”

  “I’ll sit in the back,” I say immediately.

  “No, no. You take the front,” Tash says.

  “Too late.” I open the back door and slide in.

  She gives me a stern look through the window, but I pretend not to notice.

  She hops in the front seat. “Thank you, Lincoln.”

  “My pleasure.”

  ***

  Tash

  It’s so weird, but I’ve gone from feeling like a starstruck groupie to an overprotective friend in the space of an hour. I just want Lincoln to feel better.

  Felix turns the key in the ignition and types something into his phone. Within seconds, one of Lincoln’s performances from Sing to Me is blaring over the speakers. It’s a cover of Come Said the Boy, which was originally performed by Mondo Rock, but Lincoln’s arrangement sounds more like the Tex Perkins version.

  My eyes light up, but Lincoln doesn’t seem at all amused.

  “Turn that shit off,” he growls.

  “Sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood.” Felix changes the music. Soon, the Arctic Monkeys are singing Do I Wanna Know? instead.

  We drive silently across to Ashgrove and down a quiet leafy street. Only, it’s not so quiet when we get near a contemporary-looking house with a big jacaranda tree out the front. There are at least six cars parked on the road and in the driveway. It takes a second before I realise there are also several people standing around with microphones and cameras.

  “Lincoln, get down,” I order.

  He must see what I’ve seen and obeys without argument.

  “What the hell?” Felix asks as we begin to slow down.

  “Keep going!” I tell him. “Don’t stop.”

  Felix speeds up again, and we quickly pass the crowd. Thankfully, Lincoln doesn’t live in a dead-end street, so we don’t have to double back.

  “It looks like the paparazzi have discovered where you live,” I say, turning to face him. “You can’t go back there right now, so you’re coming to my place. We’ll figure out our next move there.”

  “I don’t want to put you out,” Lincoln says quietly.

  “You’re not putting me out. No one deserves to have the media following them around. Especially you right now.”

  “What do you think they wanted?” Felix asks as I direct him to my place.

  “It’s the paparazzi. They want photos that will make them money. But we’re not going to give them anything.”

  We arrive at my house, and I get Felix to park in the driveway.

  After unlocking the door, I usher them inside. I’m not the tidiest of people, but thankfully I did a clean-up this morning with all my nervous energy.

  The guys follow me through to the loungeroom, where I point to the couch. “I’ll make some food.” The kitchen is only separated by a small counter, so I can still talk to them.

  “Please don’t go out of your way for us,” Lincoln insists.

  “I’d be making myself something anyway, so it’s no trouble.”

  I get out some flour, eggs, tempura crumbs, and cabbage. “Are you okay with eggs and dairy?” I ask Lincoln.

  “Yes, tha
nks. What are you making?”

  “Okonomiyaki. Have you ever had it before?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Oh my God, Link, you are going to love it,” Felix cuts in. “For the record, we really need to expand your palate. They sell okonomiyaki everywhere now. Haven’t you been to Eat Street in Hamilton?”

  “Actually, no,” he admits.

  “How can you have never been to Eat Street? I don’t even live here, and I’ve been.”

  He smiles sadly. “The girls didn’t handle late nights very well, so we didn’t really go out for dinner that much.”

  “I don’t get out much either,” I tell Lincoln. “Millicent and I try to have a kid-free night once a month, but we often just stay in and binge-watch TV.”

  Lincoln stares bleakly at the wall. “I can’t handle the idea of starting over. And not seeing my girls…” He breaks down again, and this time Felix comes to the rescue. I continue cooking, hoping my food will distract him for a few minutes.

  I have a little rice left over from last night, so after I’ve put the first okonomiyaki in the fry pan, I cut up some seaweed and shape two balls to look like pandas. I put each of them on a small plate and carry them over to the coffee table, placing them down in front of the guys.

  “Oh my God, I love these!” Felix says, picking one up and inspecting it. “Link, aren’t these fantastic?”

  Lincoln musters a small smile. “They are very cool.”

  “They don’t taste of much, but obviously they’re edible,” I provide.

  Felix takes a big bite. “What are you talking about? They taste great.”

  “You’re easy to please,” I say dryly.

  “You are way too humble,” Felix argues. “I can’t wait to try your okonomiyaki.”

  I flip my first ‘pancake’ and serve it up on a plate, covering it in sauce and mayonnaise and taking it over to Lincoln. “They sometimes put squid in them, and bonito flakes on top, but I left them out today.”

  Lincoln gives me an appreciative look. “Thank you.” I watch as he cuts a piece off and puts it in his mouth. I can usually tell if someone is just pretending to like my food or if they actually enjoy it. The pleasantly surprised expression on Lincoln’s face is genuine.