“You saved me from Douche Bailey. Let me save you from this.”
“I don’t need saving.” With that, I end the call and look at my mum. “What the hell am I supposed to do?” I ask, my eyes wide.
She places her hands on either side of my upper arms and looks at me with determination. It’s a look that says she’s got a plan. That she’s going to fix this. Mums always have the answers. “Call work,” she starts. “Tell them you’re going away. We’re going down the coast for a few days to stay in the caravan. Your father will stay here and make sure your house gets repaired, and he can probably call a few old friends to pull some strings and scare those pappy-rarzi things away.”
“Too right,” Dad adds. “You girls go relax for a few days. Me and the boys will clear this right up.”
I step closer to my dad and wrap my arms around his neck, feeling better already. “Have I ever told you you’re the best man I know?”
“Tell me again,” he says, hugging me back tighter.
“You’re the best man I know, Daddy.”
“Helps that you’re the best daughter.”
A couple of hours later, we’re pulling up outside our family’s caravan in Gerringong. It’s where I spent every long weekend and holiday as a kid, living like a beach bum. They’re some of my most favourite memories, so I’m glad this is where Mum and I are waiting out this media storm. I’m reminded of simpler times the moment we get out of the station wagon.
“Oh my god.” Mum scrunches up her nose as soon as she unlocks the door. “Help me open everything up, it smells like someone put prawn heads in the curtain rods.” She walks around the built-on annex, opening all the windows, her blonde ponytail swishing from side to side, making her appear much younger than her forty-nine years.
“It’s not that bad.” I chuckle, dropping our bags on the futon I remember using when friends came to stay with us during my teen years. I step into the van and push open the small windows above the tiny kitchen. Then I slide open the window above the main bed and between the four bunk beds that are to the rear. The cool sea air flows through in a rush, filling the van with a fresh saltiness that you don’t get in the city despite the giant harbour.
Standing in the kitchen area, I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket. It’s been going off non-stop, and I silenced it hours ago. I’m surprised it still has battery. I pull it out of my pocket and look at the screen. There’s an endless list of missed calls. Many are from private numbers or numbers I don’t have saved in my phone, others are from friends and co-workers; people I haven’t heard from in forever. I guess they all know by now. I don’t like that they think I’m involved with Jonathan Masters, because I’m not. A drunken one-night-stand doesn’t equal a relationship in anyone’s books. And even though I’m furious with Lisa, I don’t want her to hear the rumours and think I’ve run off with him.
“That’s a thousand times better,” Mum says with a happy sigh as she steps into the caravan and plonks herself down at the dining table. “What do you think about taking a walk on the beach? Stretch our legs a bit before dinner.”
“You know something, Mum?” Flicking through the numbers, I’m beyond overwhelmed. How the hell am I supposed to deal with this? I was just trying to help a friend… Pushing my thoughts aside, I power off my phone and slide it on top of the fridge. “I think that’s sounds bloody-brilliant. I’m disconnecting from the world, and you and I will have mother-daughter time.”
She actually squeals.
Ten
Jonathan
“Whoa, man. You’re going a little hard on the bag,” Joel says as my punches jolt him back. He’s a big guy and he’s not a stranger to bag spotting, but I’m throwing everything I have at this. My life is a shit-show, and I’m over it. “You’re gonna split your knuckles.”
“I don’t care. I need this, man. I need to work out until I’m exhausted and can’t fucking think anymore.”
“Marnie got you down?”
“I’m fucking furious. She’s been doing every talk show that will take her, talking about how loving a serial cheater has made her a better person.” I hit the bag, jabbing left then right. “It’s such bullshit. If I had a dollar for every cock she’s sucked that wasn’t mine, I’d be a hundred times richer.”
“Dude,” Joel says. “That’s not cool. You might not like her, but don’t slut shame the girl. You two have an arrangement. She’s not doing anything you wouldn’t do if it was the other way around.”
Giving the bag a shove, I step back and release a heavy breath. “No. I wouldn’t do that to her.”
He pushes his dark hair back from his eyes. “Only because you did it to Leisel already.”
“Are you asking for a fistfight?” I frown, pulling the Velcro on my wrist and unwinding my strapping.
“I’m just giving you the hard truth. You know that’s what I do.” He holds his hands out to side, and I shake my head. The truth. That’s what Joel has always been good for. And it’s something I’ve always counted on. When Leisel drove my car through the front of my house, the media frenzy was insane. And I leveraged it until I became the A-lister I am today. I am not without sin.
“Can’t you just agree with me every now and then?” I pant, picking up my water bottle and squirting it into my mouth.
“I’ll agree with you when you’re right,” he says, clapping me on the back. “You want my advice?”
“Probably not. But hit me with it anyway.”
“End the sham with Marnie. You’ve gotten all you can out of it, and the only one benefiting from it anymore is her. She’s making you look like the scum of the earth right now. End it before she damages your career. No one’s gonna offer a dog a role in a rom-com.”
“Maybe I don’t wanna do rom-coms anymore.”
“Maybe you won’t get any offers anymore.”
“Fuck. Fine. You’re right.” I shake my head. “You’re right. I’ll call her and end it before this gets any worse.” I make a move to go to my bag for my phone, but Joel catches me by the arm.
“After you’ve hit the ropes. Let’s go, buddy. Training’s not over yet.”
I groan. Joel is the worst best friend ever. He tells me the truth, forces me to keep in shape and sorts out all my legal shit. He’s such a good person that sometimes, it makes me sick. Still, everyone needs one of him in their life.
“Fine.” I move across the room and pick up the heavy ropes. “What’s the interval?”
“Thirty seconds on. Ten seconds off,” he says before hitting a button on his watch. “Go.”
My arms burn, but at least it’s hard to think when you’re in pain.
When my training session is over, I take a drive out to the lower blue mountains to check the progress on Sandra’s house repairs. We probably should have made Douche Bailey fix it, but I footed the bill since really, I’m the catalyst to all of this drama.
Had I been faithful to Leisel, or had I never pursued her in the first place, none of this would have happened.
It’s been a solid week since Leisel’s reappearance, and as predicted, without any further sightings of her, myself or Sandra, the paparazzi has moved on to different things. In the US, it’d be a different story since Marnie’s leading the charge over there. But in Sydney, the paparazzi have hopped onto a plane bound for Perth after a tennis player was caught manhandling his wife in a shopping centre car park. I think it’s a really cunty thing to be a part of. I mean, what happens if their presence stresses the guy out so much he really hurts the girl? They’d have to consider themselves culpable.
With a solid ninety minute drive ahead of me, I take the opportunity to call Marnie and let her know about my decision. She’s in LA, so with the time difference, it’ll be about nine on Thursday night for her. If she’s not busy ‘entertaining’ some movie exec, she should be available to talk.
The phone picks up after the second ring. “Speak of the devil,” she croons over my Bluetooth.
“Talking about me again
, huh?”
“It’s all I do lately.”
“And I see it’s working for you.”
“The star shines bright with this one. What do you want? I’m entertaining. Having my fiancé call is messing with the mood.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk about. I’m getting Owen to put out a press release saying we’ve called it quits. If you’re gonna go round town dragging my name through the mud, I can’t afford to bankroll your lifestyle.”
“But,” she starts.
“This isn’t negotiable. When we started this thing, we were good for each other’s image, and you’re not good for my image anymore, sweetheart. We’re through.”
“What was I supposed to do?” she complains.
“Keep your mouth shut. Be supportive, say you didn’t believe anything without actual proof. You’re messing with my career. Did you know I lost two proposals this past week? I’m not going down over this because I didn’t do anything fucking wrong.”
“I can take it all back.”
I actually laugh at that. “The damage is done. Thank you for the last year, but it’s time we part ways as friends. Owen will call and ask if there’s anything you want to add to the press release. Keep it short, simple and nice. If you can do that, he’s agreed to find someone else for you.”
“Like who?” This has her interested.
“Dark hair, action star…”
“Oh my god, seriously?” She squeals.
“It didn’t come from me, Marnie.”
“This is so exciting. Thank you. And, I guess I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble.” She guesses…
“I’ll land on my feet. It’s been real, Marnie. Catch you around.”
“Bye, Jonathan.” Even fake fiancées call me by my full name.
With that over, I put a call into Owen to get him to do what I just told Marnie about. He was less excited, but agreed it was probably a good time to call it quits since he’d received word that I wasn’t being offered a role he was sure I had in the bag.
I sigh when I hang up, hating that one random meeting with an old flame can stir up so much shit. Although, one good thing did come out of this mess. And that’s Sandra.
To say I’m impressed by her is an understatement. She’s unlike any reporter I’ve ever met. There hasn’t been a single story from her point of view all week, and considering we both got really drunk and really loose with our lips on Saturday night, she could have made a killing feeding some of that information to the less reputable press outlets.
On top of having good business morals, she seems like a top chick too. She stood up and fought for her friend at Mary’s Underground, then she braved the paparazzi for her. And on top of that, she stood up and fought for me—a guy she didn’t even know—when Douche Bailey attacked me in her living room. Then when we spent the night together, getting drunk and telling stories about growing up in the suburbs, it was a natural thing to take things into the bedroom. What wasn’t natural was her taking off the next morning with my clothes. But, I believe her when she said it was an accident. We were stupid drunk when we fell into bed, even I have to admit it took a few moments for me to remember where I was and why I was naked. And maybe she’s regretful. I have history with her friend, after all. That could be weird.
“Hey.” The contractor greets me as I pull into the driveway of Sandra’s little two-bedroom house. “Great timing. I’m just finishing up.”
I get out and survey the big front window, shiny and new with blinds exactly like the old ones. You’d never know the destruction that went down here looking at it now.
“Looks great. How’d you go sourcing a new chair?” I ask as he walks me inside. There isn’t a hint of mess here anymore. It’s as perfect as it was the first moment I walked in.
“We ended up getting a whole new setting. Couldn’t find the same chair anywhere. Cost extra to get it shipped in time, but you said spare no expense, so…”
“Great. Thanks for your work.” We shake hands and part ways before I do a quick check around Sandra’s place. I don’t want her coming back to a single thing out of place. And I tell myself that’s the reason for checking over her bedroom where we’d thrown some clothes in a bag and ran from the cameras.
I straighten her drawers, tucking the clothes back in and pushing them closed. Then I pick up the blue dress she was wearing on Friday night and fold it with the intention of sitting it on the end of her bed. But I pause, lifting it to my nose and inhaling. Creepy, I’m sure. But there’s something about the way she smelled when I was with her, I don’t know if it was her or the lavender milk bath she took, but upon smelling her dress, I realise it’s her. She smells good. In a way that makes me hungry, just not for food.
Tucking her dress under my arm, I pick up the track pants and T-shirt she got from Leisel. Just holding them pisses me off because I know they belong to Douche Bailey. My stomach flares with an uncomfortable heat knowing his clothing touched her body. Then I remember the comment she made about having history with him and I find myself growling. Wait. Am I jealous?
That’s weird. Because I’ve never been jealous over a woman before. But here I am, resenting the fact these clothes touched her body while thinking about setting them on fire.
Instead, I tuck them under my arm with the dress and walk out of her room, pulling my phone from my pocket and texting Sandra to let her know her house is ready and it’s safe to come back.
I’d rather call her, but like Leisel, she’s gone incommunicado these past few days while she’s hiding out from the cameras. It’s sucked for me, because I keep finding myself thinking about her but I have no way of getting in touch. I should probably leave her alone. History says I have no business chasing after women for longer than it takes to bed them. But history also says I’m selfish, so when I leave her house with the douche’s clothes plus her blue dress, I don’t even feel a shred of guilt about it.
Eleven
Sandra
I haven’t disconnected since I got my first iPhone in high school. Since then, social media and the constant need to ‘research’ has been my day to day. Hell, I didn’t even take a shit without the damn phone in my hand. But a few days leaving that damn thing switched off on top of the caravan’s fridge has been bliss.
If I’m honest, the first day was hard. That urge to check in made my fingertips itchy. But a walk along the beach and dinner at the bowling club with a glass of wine and random conversations with locals had me happy to be without the distraction. I think it’s the first time in years where I’ve really been in the moment. And Mum’s and my relationship is better for it.
That’s not to say we didn’t check in at all. A daily call to dad kept us apprised of things back home. By Friday, the news vans had stopping parking outside my house, and my name hadn’t been mentioned for over twenty-four hours. The saying, ‘Yesterday’s news will be tomorrow’s bin liners’ really rang true, and I was grateful for the general public’s short attention span.
“I’m sad to go home,” I say when Mum and I load up her wagon with our bags. Dad is missing her dreadfully, so we’re heading back so we can have a quiet family evening together.
“We should do this more often. We don’t get time to have quality mother-daughter time any more. I miss it.”
“That sounds perfect. The next long weekend, it’s you and me.”
“It’s a date.” She grins and gets into the car while I bite the bullet and switch my phone back on. Message alerts go crazy, and my voicemail is full, so I take my time and scroll through each one, deleting all interview requests and responding only to those I speak with regularly. However, there are no texts or voice messages from Leisel. So much for explanations…
“My window has been fixed,” I say to Mum, finding the text from Jonathan letting me know. I hover my thumbs over the screen, trying to decide if I want to respond.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Your dad said there’s been security watching your place and everything. He di
dn’t need to lift a finger because that lovely movie star took care of it all.”
“Lovely movie star,” I repeat, smiling a little. “He’s got a name.”
“I know. But I feel weird saying it like I know him when I don’t.”
“I don’t really know him either. He just feels responsible for what happened.”
“I think your friend Lisa is responsible, to be honest. She should never have gotten you involved.”
I shrug. “I chose to help her. I didn’t have to.”
“Still, at least now you can put this whole mess behind you.”
“God, I hope so.” I rest back against the seat as I tap out a simple thank you to Jonathan.
Jonathan: I owe you so much more for saving my life. Consider this a down payment.
Me: you really don’t owe me anything. You’ve already done enough. Consider us even.
Jonathan: the one with the debt gets to decide when it’s repaid
Me: did you get that one out of a fortune cookie?
Jonathan: probably. When are you coming back?
Me: now, actually.
Jonathan: can I see you?
Me: why? There’s no reason to.
Jonathan: well, you did take my clothes…
Me: and you told me I could sell them. Maybe they’re already gone.
Jonathan: I don’t think so. You’re not that kind of person
Me: what makes you so sure?
Jonathan: in my line of work you learn to read people
Me: mine too. But I’m struggling to decide whether I met the real you, or if I just fell for your act.
Jonathan: my act?
Me: the one you use on all the girls.
The dots bounce, but then they stop, and I’m pretty sure I offended him because they don’t start up again. Probably just as well, I don’t need him sniffing around and messing up my life again. I don’t have that many holidays up my sleeve that I can take off for another week to hide from the press.
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