My Own Personal Rockstar

by Kirsty McManus

“Wow. How have I never heard of this before?”

  “Because you’re basic,” Felix jokes.

  I quickly go back and make a second one for Felix. “Are you okay going vegetarian today?” I ask him.

  “Sure. Why not? I wouldn’t say no to anything you wanted to make, but I’ll be vegie in solidarity.”

  I finish his and take it over. He dives on it, cutting a huge chunk and shoving it in his mouth. His eyes roll back in his head.

  “You need to open a restaurant,” he says.

  “Actually, I did markets for a long time, but it’s easier to manage my schedule around Daisy if I do the online stuff. And my supermarket deal now takes up any other spare time I might have had.” I look at my watch. “Which reminds me, Daisy will be finished at school soon.”

  “Please do whatever you need to,” Lincoln says. “We’ll leave after eating.”

  “Oh, no. I’ll ask Millicent to pick her up today. Please take your time. I don’t think the paparazzi will give up that easily.”

  “I’ll book a hotel for tonight,” Felix says. “And then if it’s not clear by 4pm, you can come stay with me.”

  Lincoln shakes his head. “This is all so weird.”

  “It does feel a bit like a spy movie, doesn’t it?” Felix says. I think he’s enjoying the drama a little too much.

  I get out my phone and send a text to Millicent.

  Can you please pick up Daisy and bring her home? I have an important work call I can’t get out of. I’ll owe you big time!

  I decide not to tell her about Lincoln and Felix’s presence in my living room, figuring she’ll find out soon enough. I hadn’t filled her in on my recent communication with Felix because I knew she’d call me a stalker.

  She types back. When you say owe, do you mean in terms of a certain car I’ve been bugging you about?

  I know she’s just continuing the earlier joke, but I’m tempted to put a big bow on Felix’s car outside and trick her into thinking I’d followed through.

  Me: We’ll see. I will at least return the favour and pick up Ryder for you next week.

  Millicent: Good enough. See you soon!

  I can’t wait to see her face when she gets here.

  THIRTEEN

  Lincoln

  I hear a woman’s voice before I see her.

  “Holy shit, Tash! You didn’t actually go out and buy me a…” She appears in the doorway and stops dead. Two kids, presumably Daisy and Ryder, comically bump into the back of her.

  “Ow,” Daisy squeaks. “Ryder! Why did you stop?”

  “It’s my mum’s fault!” he protests.

  Millicent’s eyes go wide as she sees me. I half wave. “Hey.”

  Daisy peers around Millicent’s legs and then stares up at Tash, looking terrified.

  She quickly does the introductions. “Millicent, Daisy, Ryder, this is Felix and Lincoln.”

  Millicent is the first to recover and sits down on an armchair next to the couch. “Hi.” She then leans in, and in a loud mock-whisper says, “Blink once for yes and twice for no if Tash is holding you hostage.”

  Felix chuckles, and I smile weakly.

  “I knew Tash’s friends would be as awesome as her,” Felix says.

  Daisy runs over and jumps onto Tash’s lap, clinging for dear life. Ryder hangs back, looking on warily.

  “Lincoln and Felix are visiting us for a bit. There are some silly people trying to take photos of Lincoln at his house, so we’re keeping him safe.”

  Daisy tilts her head to the side. “Is it the paparazzi?”

  “How do you know about the paparazzi?” Tash demands.

  “I remember you saying how annoying they were when you were talking to Missy about the royal family one time. You know, when you said how jealous you were of Meghan Markle because she married Prince Harry. Except you didn’t like the way the paparazzi treated her.”

  She blushes. “Okay, then. Thank you for that.”

  Millicent cracks up laughing. Felix grins, and I give Tash a look of what I hope she understands is empathy. There’s nothing like children saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to make a situation awkward.

  Before I can dwell on the fact that my own children are now far away, Daisy pipes up.

  “Have you been making okonomiyaki? Is there any left?”

  “I can make some more if you like.” Tash turns to Millicent and Ryder. “Do you want any, too?”

  “Yes, please,” they say in unison.

  “One of the many perks of being friends with this one,” Millicent says, jerking a thumb in Tash’s direction.

  “I know. Tash is great,” Felix agrees. “I’m starting to wonder if I should move up to this end of the country. The people here are so hospitable.”

  “Yeah, but your life and career are down there,” I point out.

  “I guess. Although Sydney is a bit of a cultural wasteland these days. I’m probably better off moving to Melbourne. But I do have a soft spot for Brisbane.”

  Tash goes back over to the kitchen and starts making up more okonomiyaki mixture. Millicent joins her.

  She glances over at us, and presumably thinks we’re too far away to hear her talking, but I can just make out their conversation. I pretend to flick through a magazine on the coffee table but strain my ears to hear what they’re saying.

  “What exactly is going on here?”

  “His partner left the country with his girls, and the media must have found out, so I’m letting him and Felix hide out here for a bit,” she whispers.

  Her mouth falls open. “Seriously?”

  Tash nods. “So, don’t ask anything personal.”

  “What about his music?”

  “I guess that would be okay.”

  Millicent hands Tash a couple of eggs, and she cracks them into the bowl in front of her. I glance at Ryder and Daisy sitting in the corner of the room. They’re staring at Felix and me.

  Felix turns to Daisy. “Hey, do you have any paper and crayons?”

  She looks at Tash for permission to answer.

  “Sure you do. In the cupboard over there.”

  Daisy jumps up and retrieves them, dumping them in Felix’s lap and then retreating to her spot next to Ryder.

  Felix starts sketching some shapes. I can’t tell from my vantage point what he’s doing, but he keeps looking at me and smiling.

  After a few moments, he holds up his finished drawing. It’s an abstract sketch of me, and I have to say, it’s pretty good.

  He hands it to Daisy. “I heard you like Lincoln’s music.”

  She looks at me, embarrassed, but then snatches the drawing from Felix. “Thanks.”

  Tash finishes making more okonomiyaki and serves it up, giving herself some, too.

  The kids seem to get bored of hanging out with the adults and disappear off somewhere. The remaining four of us sit quietly. I have no idea what to say, so I continue to flick through the magazine. It’s a local lifestyle publication, and one of the articles is about Tash’s new supermarket deal. I’m about to comment on it when Millicent pipes up.

  “Lincoln, tell me something that happened behind the scenes of Sing to Me that the public doesn’t know about.”

  “Actually, it wasn’t particularly controversial. Everyone was really nice and encouraging. I think there’s a lot more awareness about looking out for contestants’ mental health these days. Not like when I was on Have You Got What It Takes? That was toxic. And even though the public voted for their favourite performances back then, it was mostly rigged. I didn’t know this until I was being dropped from the label, but production would turn off the reverb on contestants they didn’t like. That made their singing sound flat, and the public wouldn’t vote for them.”

  Tash’s mouth drops open. “So, what were they implying? That they left the reverb on for you to control the outcome?”

  I nod grimly. “Apparently.”

  “That’s terrible. But also, I wouldn’t believe it was the only reason you w
on. You are super talented. Remember, I’ve heard you sing without any microphones, and you were still amazing.”

  The edges of my mouth turn up slightly. “Thank you.”

  “It’s true,” Felix says. “I hope you haven’t been holding on to that for all those years, thinking you weren’t as good as you actually are.”

  I don’t say anything because I kind of have. It was hard not to feel like a puppet when I wasn’t allowed any input into my career back then.

  “I think it’s difficult in all creative industries to know where you fit,” Tash says. “Even with the stuff I do.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Felix concedes. “Even though I look confident on the outside, I’m always worried everyone’s going to realise I’m a total fraud one day.”

  “None of you are frauds,” Millicent cuts in. “I’m actually feeling a bit inferior myself right now, sitting in a room full of creative geniuses.”

  “Says the secret government hacker,” Tash teases.

  Felix and I look at each other, impressed.

  “Tell me how that works,” Felix demands.

  Millicent obliges and fills us in on the ins and outs of her job. She definitely underplays how much talent is required for such a position.

  We stay for another hour before Felix stands up. “I think we should go see if your house is clear now. And if not, I’ll go in and grab some stuff to bring to the hotel.”

  I stand up, too, and smile faintly. “Thank you, Tash, for letting us hang out here. I really appreciate it.” I step forward and give her a hug. She freezes up for a moment before returning the gesture. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable, so I let go and move on to Millicent, giving her a quick embrace as well.

  Felix comes over and winks at Tash, also wrapping his arms around her. “You’ve been a real sweetheart. We need to talk more. Come and visit me in Sydney sometime!”

  “I’ll try,” she promises.

  We head outside and back to Felix’s car.

  That was a nice distraction, but now I’m back in a reality I don’t want to face. Paparazzi stalking me, and an empty house I’m not interested in returning to even if I could.

  What am I going to do?

  FOURTEEN

  Tash

  The guys leave, and I collapse on the couch. Millicent sits down beside me.

  “Well, that’s not your everyday occurrence.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I must say, you did very well acting like an actual person and not a deranged groupie.”

  I chuckle. “Thanks, babe.” I tell her about Lincoln’s daughters not being his, and her expression is appalled.

  “That’s horrendous.”

  “I know! I can’t begin to imagine what he’s going through.”

  “Make sure you don’t take advantage of the poor guy,” she warns.

  “I would never do that!”

  “You’ll both end up getting hurt,” she continues.

  “I know. I’m quite capable of separating the fascination I have for him as a musician from being there as a friend.”

  She snorts. “Friend.”

  “If that’s what Lincoln needs, it’s what I’m going to give him.”

  “Okay. But definitely be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Ryder wanders out into the living room and starts complaining about wanting to go home. Apparently, our Nintendo Switch games aren’t interesting enough and he wants to play the ones at his place.

  “I suppose I should get this one home,” Millicent says, nodding her head at her son. “But let me know if you befriend any other rockstars in the future. I’m still not quite sure how Lincoln ended up here, but I trust you’ll behave yourself.”

  “I will.”

  I see them off and start the evening routine with Daisy. After she’s in bed, I open Instagram. I know my obsession is bordering on unhealthy, but I can’t help myself. I go to Lincoln’s account to see if he’s posted anything else. Not that I think he would have mentioned me or anything.

  His last image is still the one about betrayal, and it has attracted dozens more comments. I ignore it and click on some older photos, the ones of him performing on Sing to Me and jokey selfies.

  Before I can think too hard about it, I click Follow and then heart a few of my favourite images of him. After having him spend the day at my house, I feel like he’d appreciate the gesture for what it is: a show of emotional support.

  I go to bed, glad I could help Lincoln Page in his time of need. He deserves to be happy.

  It feels like I’ve only just drifted off to sleep when my phone beeps. I usually turn it to silent, but I must have forgotten tonight. I glance at the time. 3am. I wonder if someone from the other side of the world has messaged me. I often get US fans contacting me at odd hours—which of course aren’t odd at all for them. I blearily look at the notifications on my screen and sit bolt upright.

  Lincoln has followed me back. And when I click on the app, I see he’s liked two of my photos. One is the teddy-bear-themed bento box I showed him on the plane, and the other is a photo of me, one of the rare ones I posted that isn’t a picture of food.

  I can’t keep the smile off my face.

  Even though he’s going through the worst time of his life, Lincoln Page is thinking about me.

  ***

  On the morning my bento boxes are delivered to supermarkets all over the east coast, I get a text from the head of marketing, containing pictures of my food on one of their shelves, and a feature page of their weekly magazine.

  I sit there, staring at the message, realising that I’ve kind of made it. This is probably as good as my career is going to get. I mean, I could expand to the rest of Australia, and even go international, but right now, with everything fresh and exciting and still manageable…this is where it’s at.

  I forward the text to Millicent, who responds with a million celebratory emojis, and a bunch of gifs featuring shirtless dancing men. I’m not sure why she thinks that’s appropriate, but Millicent is always looking for a reason to post gifs of half-naked guys.

  Today, I’m supposed to be doing paperwork for the web side of my business, but it’s almost impossible to concentrate. If I was in the kitchen, I’d be able to lose myself in my cooking, but the last few weeks have required me to do more of the boring, administrative stuff.

  I want to go to every supermarket within a fifty-mile radius and stand in the cold food section bragging to everyone who will listen that those are my meals.

  But obviously, I’m not going to do that. I’m a mature professional businesswoman. I will have to restrict myself to jumping around the living room on my own.

  In between all the excitement, I take a moment to sit down and lose myself in the mindlessness of social media. Lincoln doesn’t post a lot on Instagram anymore, but I now allow myself to like each image he shares. I’ve decided I don’t care if my followers know I’m into him. Besides, everybody seems to be into him now. His follower count has risen from thirty thousand to almost sixty thousand since the news of his split emerged.

  Which makes it all the more thrilling when he notices a post I’ve done on my account and likes it, too. He even commented on a new dish I’d made featuring characters from Studio Ghibli—one of my favourite film franchises—with an endorsement for my products. I noticed a modest rise in my own followers after that. Millicent would be happy.

  A week later, everything is just starting to settle down when I see Lincoln upload a post officially advertising the dates of his multi-city tour, and it begins in Brisbane next month. I immediately buy two tickets and take a photo of them to send to Millicent.

  She writes back. I assume you want me to be your plus one?

  Me: Yes, please.

  Millicent: OK. As long as you don’t do anything embarrassing. Like throw your underwear on the stage.

  Me: That sounds like something YOU would do.

  Millicent: Haha, you’re right. Well, don’t let me get drun
k enough to do that.

  I send her the eye-roll emoji followed by a kiss.

  I am so excited to finally see Lincoln perform live. After hearing him that one time when he sang for Felix and me in Sydney, I knew that what I saw on TV wasn’t manipulated.

  I don’t think I have been this amped for a concert in my life.

  ***

  Lincoln is playing at The Triffid, a cool music venue at the back of Newstead. It used to be an aircraft hangar in World War II but has now been converted for concerts.

  I haven’t been to a live gig in forever. Millicent and I are actually a little late to arrive because I spent so much time fretting over my outfit. In the end, I chose some distressed denim jeans, a black top with long sleeves and a cropped midriff, and some cute suede boots. Millicent has a very distinctive going-out style, sort of a gothic Barbie, so tonight, she’s wearing several studded belts looped around a black mini skirt and a lacy bra top. It’s the middle of winter, so she’s added a Matrix-like leather coat to the look.

  “Do you think we’re too old for this kind of thing?” I ask.

  “Too old to see a band?” she asks incredulously.

  “You know what I mean. We’re mums in our mid-thirties.”

  “Honestly, I don’t think about age. There are so many kick-ass women these days in their fifties and sixties, we shouldn’t be restricted by some outdated stereotype. And look at Cher! She’s in her seventies and still wearing whatever the hell she wants.”

  “Yeah, but she’s Cher.”

  “And you’re Natasha!”

  “Okay, okay. I get your point.”

  We hand our tickets to the security guard, and I’m quite flattered we have to show our IDs until I realise it’s not to check our age, but to log our attendance.

  Once inside, we make our way as close to the front as possible, which really isn’t that close. The show must have sold out because the audience is tightly packed. We’ve missed the support act, and it seems like it will only be moments before Lincoln appears.

  Several people are on stage, tuning guitars and checking equipment. I feel the familiar buzz of energy I remember from going to big-name rock concerts as a teenager. I can’t believe I’m more wired tonight than I was seeing the Red Hot Chili Peppers at the height of their fame.