Hiding Hollywood Read online

“Who is it?”

  “That’s the problem. The buyer wants it to be silent. We won’t know who they are. It’s a condition of the deal.”

  “Tom?” I suggested - it was a Tom kind of thing to do.

  Michael nodded, “That’s what I was thinking, but it’s unlike him to be modest in anything, it’s not his style, but he’s the most likely. Of course it might not be a competitor. It could be a private investor. We just won’t know.”

  “Who else would want to buy a business as new and unproven as ours?” I mused.

  “That’s what I want to know. Thing is, it’s a deal breaker, the investor stays silent or it’s a no go.”

  “What else would change?” I stood up, needing to move around to try and digest this.

  “Well that’s the good news. Nothing, they don’t want us to change anything, just keep doing what we’re doing.”

  I sat down again, puzzled, “That doesn’t sound like Tom either.”

  “No, and it all sounds too good to be true.”

  On that it was easy to agree. An offer to invest in our business and yet not change anything we were doing falling in our lap, easy as dandruff. Way too good to be true. There had to be a catch somewhere and we were going to have to find it before we made any decisions.

  34: The Hollywood Problem

  Post event blues day five. I was completely bored with looking at my screen, assessing my in-tray and anything else vaguely resembling real work and I’d only been in the office for half an hour. Plenty to do, but none of it appetising, least of all dealing with the Hollywood Problem.

  Thinking about it like that meant I didn’t have to think his name. I didn’t have to recall that insane reaction he could provoke deep inside me just by walking into a room. That floating ten feet high feeling when he said my name, that out of body experience when he touched me.

  I’d told Michael I didn’t know how I felt about Rush. Liar, liar, underpants on fire. I knew exactly how I felt about him, nothing wishy-washy at all. I had it bad for Rush Dawson and I had to forget about it and the sooner the better. High on my to-do list, even above the critical decision on the silent partner, was to deal with the Hollywood Problem. Make the apology and then make like a bat and get out of this heartbreak hell.

  I was about to go execute another productivity stalling move and make coffee when my laptop beeped, a video call. I clicked the screen and there was Shane.

  “Hey girl!” A big friendly grin that made you want to mirror it.

  “Hey, my gosh, hello.” I mirrored, pleased to my toes to see him.

  “Listen up, we’re real sorry we took off like that,” he looked over his shoulder and raised his voice. “A certain person, not mentioning any names, but he’s a big jerk, had a pole up his butt and couldn’t be talked into hanging around.”

  “Oh.” Was the Hollywood Problem in the room too?

  “You got him good,” Shane faced me and then turned his head again, “Big dent in that big ego,” he emphasised the ‘big’. “Don’t think he’s ever been dumped quite like that before, it was pretty cool. ‘Cept he wasn’t. Cool that is. And since it was his jet, we didn’t get much say in what was happening. Good reason to get my own jet, yeah.”

  “Oh.” So that was why they’d dumped the schedule and run off early. I’d thought as much, but there was the confirmation and it did seem like the Hollywood Problem was definitely somewhere in that room. Oh.

  “Anyway I wanted you to know that we didn’t mean to blow the scene without saying goodbye and...” another voice cut across Shane.

  “Do they fit? Ask her if they fit?”

  Then the camera was looking at Arch. Maybe HP wasn’t in the room after all. “Do the boots fit?”

  “They do, they’re fantastic. The leather is so beautiful and soft. Hey, nice jumper.”

  “Jumper?” Arch looked down.

  “Ah, you call them sweaters.”

  He patted his chest, “Jumper, yeah that’s what Elizabeth called it, a jumper, nice huh?”

  My jaw dropped, “Elizabeth knitted that for you?”

  “She sure did.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Hey I’m good with older women.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Hey back off, she’s a nice lady, she’s the same age as my mother. Can I help it if I’m charming?” he said, with a grin and a shrug of purled shoulders.

  “Apparently not,” I laughed.

  “Andi, good to see you, I’ll give you back to Shane.” The picture wobbled and shifted and before the vision settled, I heard a voice say, “It’s the big jerk here, are you still not talking to me?”

  Oh my God! Blue skies, jasmine, mangoes and melted chocolate. The camera stopped showing wild pictures of floors and walls, chair legs and Arch’s knitted arm and fixed on Rush. I suddenly felt incredibly hot, as though I’d just stepped into a sauna wearing a winter coat, and dizzy like I might fall through the screen into his eyes like Alice through the looking-glass.

  “Well are you?” said Rush, liquid voice, smiling at me, eyes and all.

  “Am I what?” Big, small, right sized Alice?

  “Not talking to me?”

  “Of course I’m talking to you. I owe you an apology. I...” Curiouser and curiouser, I could hardly make my words come out.

  He shook his head, “Andi, don’t.”

  It was just as hard to meet his eyes on screen as it would have been in person, “No, I was wrong not to let you explain, not to give you a chance.”

  “And I could have prevented all that if I’d just talked to you about it first. I got distracted, but I didn’t think it would matter. I thought you’d be pleased. I never stopped to think I’d already taught you to be suspicious of me. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to have to apologise to you again, but here I am.” He shrugged, looked serious, his brow wrinkled. He ran a hand through his hair and let the silence build.

  I would’ve replied, if only I could’ve remembered my script, the cool and sensible, crisp and professional one and then the Hollywood Problem would be dealt with. But the laptop camera was ripped away from Rush and Shane said, “Friggin’ hell, have you guys made up yet? This call’s about me dude, not you. Romance her in your own time.” I heard Rush laugh and after a few seconds vision of an expensive looking rug, I was looking at Shane again.

  “I’ve got some news and I wanted to give it to you personally. It’s not so good,” he said, his handsome face twisted in frown.

  “Oh.” What could this be?

  “I screwed up. The studio says I’ve been over exposed in the Australian market. Something to do with a little fun at New Year, can you imagine, so they’re cancelling the Australian launch tour. They’re making me go to Singapore instead.” He looked glum, eyebrows drawn and chin rumpled up.

  “Oh.” That was bad news, despite the extra earnings from New Year and the fundraiser, I’d been counting on earnings from the movie tour to give us a financial buffer.

  “You’ll get it officially from Toby, but I wanted to tell you first. It’s got nothing to do with anything you did. It’s just one of those things. I don’t want you to worry, right?”

  “Right,” I said, thinking, wrong, wrong, wrong. Lots of this was wrong, especially how Rush didn’t sound angry and had apologised. I’d depended on him to be a surly Mr Darcy or even the White Rabbit, racing off to another more important date.

  “Wait there’s more. I’m gonna do Streetcar. I’m gonna be Stanley,” he said, then threw his head back and bellowed, “Stel- lah,” one of the lines from the play made famous by Marlon Brando. “You’ve gotta be there. Opening night in May so you standby yeah. Totally my treat and you’re not saying no.”

  “We’re not saying no and we’re not saying yes,” said Michael, pacing the short length of his office, three strides, turn, three strides, turn.

  “So, what are we saying?” He was making me dizzy so I looked down at my shoes, still a novelty to have two that matched, even if they were stil
l flatties.

  “Um.”

  “Decisive aren’t we.”

  “Apparently not.” He stopped pacing and sat down.

  “Let’s go over it again. We are a less than two year old business with reasonable, but by no means certain, prospects for success in a very competitive industry,” I recited.

  “Right.”

  “We’ve had a recent high profile success with the hall fundraiser and with Horan and friends.”

  “Check. Nice of you to say ‘we’,” he grinned.

  “I’m nothing if not nice. We’ve got dedicated and talented principals and staff.”

  “Tick. Sometimes you are very unkind,” he said, with affected ruefulness.

  I ignored his pouting. “We’ve been made an offer to invest in our business at no cost to us, with no change to the way we do things.”

  “Yep.”

  “And we don’t and won’t know who the investor is.”

  “Spot on.”

  “And it might be someone we don’t like or trust.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And we can’t find a downside, though we think there must be fine print that’s too fine to read because it’s all too good to be true.”

  “Correct.”

  “If we take the investment, we can have security about staying in business and we’re more likely to make it.”

  “Yep.”

  “And we don’t know who’s investing.”

  “You said that already,” he pounced.

  “I’m having trouble with that,” I said. “I keep thinking it has to be Tom. He made it clear he was watching us. I think he was hoping we’d fail. That Christmas hamper was a threat. Even offering me a job was probably meant more to disrupt us than because he wanted me as his partner. That’s why he told you. He really wants you, his old protégé, back as his partner.”

  Michael huffed, “Tom Flourish never does anything quietly. I’m sure he took out a billboard on Parramatta Road last time he polished his shoes. The structure of this secret deal would be so out of character for him.”

  “Tom wouldn’t polish his own shoes,” I corrected.

  “True. He’d have a poor unsuspecting work experience student do it.”

  “Anyway, that’s why I think it’s him,” I said, “after the job offer he knows we’re on our guard.”

  “You think this is a reverse psychology thing?”

  “No. I think it’s a straight out Tom genius thing,” I said.

  “Can we live with Tom as a silent partner?”

  “The lawyers say we’re protected. The deal is solid, the investor can’t interfere and it’s to our advantage.”

  Michael stood again, “Can we live if we don’t have this investment?”

  “We can but, it’s a risk,” I said.

  “So, we’re about to say – what?”

  This time I was watching Michael not my black ballet flats. “No movie tour?” Now he was asking the questions.

  “Nope, not this year.”

  “No possible way to pay anyone a bonus or increase anyone’s salary this year?”

  “Nope, and you and I are poorly paid in terms of our industry benchmark.”

  “Don’t remind me,” he rolled his eyes.

  “We say yes,” I said.

  “We say yes,” he repeated.

  And we did. The two of us signing the deal and then there were three of us. Michael, me and our new invisible friend called Tom.

  35: On Broadway

  The crowd outside the Barrymore Theatre was already starting to push through the doors and still I hadn’t sighted Arch. I fingered the ticket in my jacket pocket, delivered to the hotel this morning by an excited Simon, fresh from his shift at the restaurant Shane and Arch were partners in. Of course they were.

  Simon had been in New York for three months now and was thoroughly enjoying his apprenticeship in the Big Apple. I’d only arrived last night, on my first visit to the city, courtesy of Shane, just as he’d promised.

  I was supposed to meet Arch outside the theatre and you’d think I’d be able to see the big lug despite the crush. Maybe I’d missed him while I was scanning the photographs of Shane and the cast in the display windows. I was so excited. My first Broadway show, my first opening night, my first chance to see Shane, Arch and Rush since Sydney.

  I was so nervous about seeing Rush, I’d changed outfits from my limited suitcase supply twice before leaving the hotel, which was completely stupid. Rush was a friend, be still my thumping heart, and nothing more.

  In the time since that first video call we’d only managed to connect in person once, for a long, soft conversation that took away all the awkwardness of the night in the glass room on the cliff. Meanwhile our message services were taking on a second mortgage and having a third child together.

  We’d had more success with email, enough for me to know about his new work projects, his time with Anissa and his ideas for foundation projects. Enough to share a joke, every time he was photographed with a new mystery woman, which was annoyingly often. I did retain the honour of being the original and the best mystery woman, he’d told me, more than once.

  But being in the same room as Rush, even with a thousand other theatre goers, now that was going to be a completely different thing. It was easy to be light and friendly, the modern day successor to crisp and professional, on a keyboard, but in the same room, I was worried about my knees and the liquid effect he might have on them.

  When the warning bell rang I moved with the rest of the crowd through the big double doors and the fancy foyer, keeping a watch out for Arch. He saw me first.

  “Andi! Andiiiiii!” his big voice boomed out and about two hundred people looked his way.

  Immediately another male voice from somewhere behind me boomed, “Stella! Stel- lah,” and those same two hundred people laughed.

  I found Arch in a dress circle box adjacent to the stage. He crushed me in a bear hug and then stood me at arm’s length to look me over.

  “It’s so good to see you! You’ve got stripper heels on, fantastic!”

  I laughed, trust him to notice my shoes. He looked good too, his hair was longer and he was wearing more clothes than I had regularly seen him in but he wore them damn well. I looked around. No Simon, who I knew would be running late from the restaurant and no Rush, but four other women.

  Arch introduced me to Shane’s two sisters, Rebecca and Samantha and his girlfriend Neela. The family resemblance between the Horans was obvious, Rebecca and Samantha sharing Shane’s blonde locks and vivid blue eyes. Neela was another matter altogether, tall, stick thin and vacant looking.

  “A model,” whispered Arch in my ear, “Flavour of the month.” I tried not to stare at her completely expressionless face. She might have been smiling or maybe even profoundly disturbed, but it was impossible to tell.

  “And this is Catrina,” said Arch, directing my attention to his right.

  Dark and exotic looking Catrina gave my outstretched hand a limp shake and put her arm around Arch’s waist, “How do you know each other?” she asked, giving me a practiced death stare.

  “Andi is one of my dearest friends,” he looked straight at me, shifted to release Catrina’s arm, “We haven’t seen each other for a while so please excuse us for a minute.”

  Apart from the others he winced, “Sorry about that.”

  “Flavour of the month?” I chanced.

  “More like soup of the day. I’m so much better with older women,” he grimaced.

  I laughed too loudly and I said in a mothering kind of manner, “We will talk about this later,” and then I couldn’t help myself but ask, “Rush?”

  “He’s not coming. Anissa had to have her appendix removed today. He never made it out of LA.”

  A wave of disappointment shaped like nausea swept through me and the nervous energy that was holding my jetlag at bay suddenly made itself known.

  “Are you ok?” he grabbed my hand.

  “I’m fi
ne, just jetlag catching up with me.”

  “He would have been here Andi. He wanted to see you even more than he wanted to see Shane strut his stuff and you know how proud he is of Shane for doing this.”

  I nodded and took my seat. I had no reason to feel so gutted.

  “You still have feelings for him don’t you?”

  I nodded again, “But it’s obviously complicated.”

  “How?”

  “Distance for one, not to mention my general distain for actors,” I smiled sweetly, trying not to have this conversation.

  “We will talk about this later,” he said, hovering over me with a pretend fierceness.

  From our box we could see people taking their seats in the dress circle. It was a who’s who of the acting fraternity. I was happily playing spot the famous face when Arch interrupted.

  “Yep, that’s her,” he said, when he saw me lean forward. “Any other mother would be with her daughter tonight, but not Harriet. No career advantage in being by a hospital sick bed,” disgust dropped his voice low.

  “She is beautiful.”

  Arch grunted, “That’s Josh she’s with.”

  I was mesmerised by Harriet who had glanced up and waved to Arch with an air of languid grace, but then the houselights dimmed and we started on another journey altogether. Blanche riding on a streetcar named Desire to her sister Stella.

  When Shane walked on stage he was barely recognisable as the rake who’d partied hard in Sydney and rocked out in Bangalow. From his first line, ‘Oh you’re Stella’s sister’, he had me riveted. When we got to the scene we’d played in the lounge room at Allambee I could barely contain my excitement and Arch reached over and held my hand. I was pretty sure Catrina was cutting off the circulation in his other one.

  When Shane flirted with Blanche, doing up the buttons on her dress and then lost his temper and hit Stella, drunkenly calling her name over and over, he had me convinced he was a complete stranger. A brutal, vulgar ape of a man, hard and cruel and primitive, capable of belittling, and beating and raping a woman with little remorse.

  When the curtain came down on the last scene Arch and I were on our feet shouting, “Bravo! Encore.”