Hiding Hollywood Read online

  On the stairs to his door we very nearly forgot the world altogether, hands searching, gripping, pulses skipping, breath catching, buttons popped, jackets tossed.

  And I have no doubt we would have continued this exploration in a more serious and detailed fashion, with less fabric between us, had ruckus laughter from Michael’s flat not seared itself into our consciousness. Well his at least. My world had become this tiny place full of incredible sensations made up of the touch of his fingers, the smell of his skin, the wet of his tongue and the thrill of his closeness.

  Had it not been for Michael’s flatmate and a group of third year med student friends having their end of term drinks party, I dread to think what might have happened because it would have changed everything.

  Anyway after that night, when we very nearly spun the planet a new axis, we more or less agreed that MSG, antihistamines and an unknown intergalactic force, inspired by clairvoyant fortune cookie messages, had put the devil in us. He was more and I was less. But Michael had Jess and lust might just have cost me the very last thing I wanted to lose - my best friend.

  What made me keep those tiny fortune cookie messages, folded up and yellowed in my wallet, I’ll never know.

  3: Hypothetically

  “Unwrapping this tour is like an anti-Christmas present,” groaned Lainey, sprinting on fashionably high heels across the office from the kitchen to answer her trilling phone.

  Nearby, Allan was having a very spirited conversation with Roger Smyth, the self styled ‘Gossip King’ from the Herald, who was insisting that pulling the movie release date must mean the movie was dog awful and destined to go straight to DVD.

  Cloistered in my office, Michael and I were going over the books and working through what needed to be done before the office closed for the holiday. We were in fact debating whether the office should be shut at all. But I had another agenda.

  Michael was tired, well we both were. It had been an intense year of focus and hard work, but since my accident, Michael had taken on some of my workload as well as being the lead on the Shane Horan tour. In the last month he’d flown to LA and back twice to work directly with Tobias and the movie studio, so his tiredness was overlayed by suppressed jetlag.

  “We should close now that the tour is off,” I said.

  “We should stay open, have at least one or two of us available.”

  “We should close and just switch our desk phones through to our mobile phones. No one really cares where we answer their call so long as we answer it.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know. It seems like we should have someone here,” he mused.

  “And if the tour had been on we would all have had to be here, but it’s not, and it’s a blessing in disguise.”

  “Exactly how does that figure in your pea brain, Andi?”

  “Well perhaps if you’d had that haircut you’d be able to hear me clearer, Michael. It goes like this. No tour, no need to keep the office open. Let everyone have a break because we’ll need to be pumping again in mid January to make sure we do stay ahead of the curve. And I do mean everyone,” I said, giving his chair a kick with my space boot.

  “So when you say everyone, what precisely do you mean?”

  “Oh God, it’s not just the hearing, you’ve lost brain cells and the ability to understand plain English. You, need a break. Big time. I’ve never seen you look so tired.”

  “That’s unkind. And I’m supposed to be the insensitive one,” Michael pouted.

  “You know I’m right.”

  “You’re always right, doesn’t mean I’m agreeing with you.”

  “And you are infuriating.”

  “Pleased you noticed. Hypothetically, if I did take a break, who would take any calls from the office?”

  “Hypothetically, that would be me.”

  “What, no, you need a break as much as I do,” he protested.

  “In case you’re also suffering from memory failure, I’ve had a break,” I waggled my boot.

  “Yes, but that was hardly a real break.”

  “Funny, according to the hospital bills it was.”

  “Hypothetically, if I took a break now, you could take one later,” he said.

  “Hypothetically I could.” I waggled again.

  “Do you think it’s too late to jump a plane to a fantastic resort somewhere?”

  “Hypothetically?”

  “No for real. I’d love to go lay by a pool, in a resort with room service, really fluffy towels and those little chocolates you get on your pillow at night. And maybe read a book just for the fun of it.”

  “Then you’d better get moving if you have any chance of getting a flight anywhere at this late stage,” I sensed victory. “And we will close the office for at least ten days and I’ll take any calls and when we come back you can owe me time off. Deal?”

  “Deal!”

  With that Michael was on his feet, out of my office and chasing his dream of a pool side lounge chair.

  I wasn’t alone with my thoughts for more than five seconds before Brick was at my door. “Will I get your favourite lunch Andi?” he asked.

  My current favourite lunch was a chicken salad sandwich and a cappuccino and since I’d been less mobile, Brick our office junior, had been bringing me lunch every day. I found my bag and fished about for my wallet, but Brick stopped me.

  “Andi, can I be your Santa today? I’d like to buy your lunch as a present,” he said.

  “Well, I don’t know, that’s very nice but...”

  “Please.”

  “Ok, but only if you let me buy yours as well. We can be each other’s secret Santa,” I said, handing Brick a bundle of notes.

  He took them, did a funny little bow and just about skipped off, passing Michael in the corridor. He bowed solemnly to Michael as well.

  We’d employed Brick about three months ago. His job was to manage the post, keep the kitchen and meeting rooms clean, help with press kits, organise couriers and printing, love-up the photocopier and a hundred other jobs that helped the account staff stay focused on the big picture.

  It was one of the best decisions we’d made. Brick was super efficient and very serious about everything he was asked to do, but employing him had seemed like a risk at the time. He was the oldest and least likely candidate and the only one who’d brought his mum to the interview.

  The sight of Brick and his mum in reception had almost stopped me in my tracks. Brick’s mum must have anticipated my reaction, she sprang to her feet and thrust her hand out to shake mine. “I’m Elizabeth Aitken and this is my son Peter,” she said. “He has a mild intellectual disability, but he is very capable and trustworthy.”

  Peter stood too and he’d done the little bow we’d become so used to now. “I can do all the jobs on your list, but I don’t think you will give me a job because this place is fancy and I’m not,” he finished, turning around to take in the stark white floor tiles, the bright red floral Florence Broadhurst wallpaper and the tropical fish tank.

  I was momentarily stumped. He’d said exactly what I was thinking. Our office projected a certain image of sophistication and my instant reaction to Peter was that he would be a poor fit, but I was intrigued by him at the same time.

  “Do you like fish Peter?” I asked.

  “I like fish. You have lots of tetras and clownfish but no rainbow fish. You should have rainbow fish.”

  And so our interview began. An hour later, I was in Michael’s office convincing him to hire Peter who liked to be called Brick, because, he’d solemnly informed me, being called Brick to your face was better than being called ‘Thick’ behind your back.

  Now Michael was back in the doorway. “I got a flight. But I have to leave tonight.”

  “Wow, well get out of here then, you have a bag to pack.”

  He swooped around my desk and went down on his knees to give me a tight hug. “I don’t like leaving you behind, but I am tired and I do need to recharge and it does make sense for me to go, but you
call me the minute anything out of the ordinary happens.”

  I hugged him back. He smelt of lime and musk, the Tom Ford cologne I’d given him for his 30th birthday. “I will.”

  But I had no intention of calling him. I wanted to see him fresh and revitalised after a complete break and in any case, there would be nothing to call him about.

  4: News Travels

  Later that afternoon we had staff Christmas drinks and Brick wearing a pair of reindeer antlers gave out small gifts from Michael and I. He made a serious sort of Santa, but it was clear he had settled into the office environment exceptionally well and despite his sometimes surprisingly straightforward manner, had made friends and earned the respect of our consultants and managers.

  Brick was particularly fond of Lainey and he wasn’t alone in that. Lainey and I had worked together at Patterson’s Public Relations. She was a talented creative thinker who gave off sparks of energy. She was also incredibly chic. Lainey was always dressed in the latest look and had the most amazing shoe collection. She made most of her own clothing, creating new designs on her sewing machine overnight and she hunted in second-hand shops and markets for beautiful old jewellery to accessorise her look.

  Importantly for us, Lainey’s clients adored her. Her office currently looked like a florist shop. Even more importantly, she was a genuinely lovely person. She always had a smile and a kind word, was first to volunteer to help a colleague out, organise a collection for a birthday present or notice when something wasn’t quite right and roll up her sleeves to fix it.

  Lainey was our first employee. I was desperate to have her join us because I knew she’d make a superb addition to our team and would be more than willing to work hard as we established ourselves. Michael liked her on sight – of course, and I loved the fact we were working together again.

  Lainey collapsed in the chair beside me, kicking off her snakeskin heels. “If I have one more cashew I am going to bust my zipper.”

  “Now that I’d like to see!”

  “Well you just might, so get ready to step back. Speaking of stepping how is the leg?”

  “I’m doing well, hopefully the boot will come off permanently after New Year and then I start physiotherapy.”

  “And Christmas, what’s the plan?” she asked.

  Lainey was heading off for an overseas break, one that featured surf, sun and sand. She’d made herself a gorgeous turquoise sarong and claimed she planned on wearing it, and not much more, every day over the holiday.

  “The plan is to sleep, eat too much, read, sleep more, hit the beach, avoid the New Year sales and generally do a whole lot of nothing much. Oh and seafood. Lots of seafood.”

  “Will you spend it with your folks?”

  “No, my parents are still in London. Dad’s posting got extended and they won’t be back until September next year, so I’m being very grown up and spending Christmas on my own.”

  “No Matt?” she queried.

  “No Matt. I haven’t seen him since October.”

  “Ah sorry, I thought maybe....?” she trailed off.

  “No, it’s definitely over. We’ll probably always be friends, but that’s really all it was. He’s a great guy but we had such different interests, so in the end we were hardly making any time to be together. It’s better this way.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  “Not really, well, maybe, a little. Yeah, I guess I do.”

  Lainey laughed, “No mixed feelings at all I see.”

  “Nothing more chocolate won’t fix,” I said, grabbing a handful of chocolate coated macadamia nuts that our receptionist Karen offered.

  Did I really miss Matt? In truth I’d hardly thought about him recently. For a while he and I had been a fixture and we’d both relaxed into a secure and warm relationship. But over time some other priority always seemed to be bigger or more exciting than the two of us.

  My work was certainly at fault. Too many late nights and weekends spent at the office or travelling with clients, and his passion for sailing meant he was often away crewing for some yacht race or other. Almost by default we were seeing less and less of each other, so the break up, when it happened was more a sensible decision than a wrench of the heart.

  But it was Christmas, and despite my plan to be a grown up and enjoy time to myself, part of me felt like a sixteen year old who’d missed out on an invitation to the school dance, unloved and unlovely in my ugly space boot.

  At that moment a harassed courier staggered into reception carrying a massive Christmas hamper. “Oh no!” exclaimed Brick, slapping his forehead, “More gifts for Lainey!”

  I’m not sure whether the courier was more amused by the laughter or the glass of eggnog someone put in his hand. “This is for Michael Carson and Andi Carrington,” he said.

  The hamper was full of fresh fruit, nuts and jams. There was a leg of ham, a tin of shortbread biscuits, a bottle of champagne, there was freshly ground coffee beans, and smoked salmon, and gourmet condiments. It was a hamper that would feed the whole office. Karen fished out the card and handed it to me and there was an air of anticipation as I broke the envelope. I hesitated then decided that I might as well share the news, before it became gossip. I read the card out.

  To Michael, Andi and the team at Arrive

  Cool Yule. Impressed with what you’ve achieved so far. Can’t wait to see what the New Year brings for us all – A-list Hollywood celebrity media tour anyone?

  All the best from your friendly rivals at Flourish & Co

  Tom Flourish. Silver fox, media mastermind, industry doyen, Michael’s old boss and clearly already on top of the news that the Horan tour had been cancelled.

  “Is that a threat?” asked Allan.

  “Does sound like it,” said Felicia.

  “No,” I said, “not a threat. That’s just Tom letting us know nothing moves in this industry without him being aware of it. Flourish is our biggest competitor and Tom wasn’t pleased when Michael left him to launch a rival firm. It’s not a threat, it’s a compliment. We’re only a year old and yet Tom is keeping a watch on us. It means he thinks we’re a serious competitor.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Lainey, to a rousing chorus of cheers.

  An hour or so later, after a very untidy limbo contest, which I was grateful to be scratched from, the party broke up. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and a half day at work. The plan was for folk to make their last phone calls, tidy their desks, finish any last minute client reports, put out-of-office replies on email, switch their desk phones to mobiles and quit the office for holiday, friends and family.

  As I was locking up for the night a text message from Michael beeped on my phone. At airport, glad u insisted. Luv M.

  We’d weathered the cancellation of the Horan tour, the staff party had been fun, the hamper had been divided up and shared, Michael was closer to his pool-side lounge chair, Tom Flourish had stopped to notice our little company and everything was right with the world.

  5: The Creature that Stirred

  I very nearly slept through the alarm next morning and was grateful that it was a casual dress day. I flung on shorts and a t-shirt, buckled my trusty space boot, hoisted my faithful crutches, captured an excited Harvey and hit the road.

  I wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of last night’s party. The office staggered to a fully awake state only after Brick and Karen did a coffee run and brought back a profusion of cappuccinos, short blacks, ristrettos, macchiatos and soy lattes.

  Harvey meanwhile had found food in the conference room the cleaners had missed and had a very special morning tea that I hoped he wouldn’t throw up later.

  As the morning wore on, folk finished their work and came past to say their goodbyes. By midday there was only Lainey, Felecia, Brick, a slumbering Harvey and I left in the office. Brick was sorting out long life food for the fish, Felecia was waiting for her sister to pick her up for a trip to their home town in the Blue Mountains and Lainey was sending one last email. Sh
e was also singing. Every so often I could hear her ‘pah rum pum pum pum’ through a chorus of ‘The little drummer boy’.

  In short order, Felecia’s sister arrived, Brick’s best friend Collin appeared to take him last minute shopping, very last minute, and Lainey popped into my office with a brightly wrapped parcel.

  “I know we made a rule not to give Christmas presents,” she said, “but I saw this fabric and thought you’d love it and it wasn’t expensive, anyway, I made this for you.”

  It was a black and white sarong, perfect for my planned holiday activities.

  “Oh Lainey, thank you,” I said, caught quite unaware.

  “Will you be alright on your own?”

  “Oh I’ll be fine and far more glamorous than I was anticipating,” I said, smoothing the fabric of the sarong.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m dead sure,” I said, brushing away what I could see was genuine concern.

  “Ok, well I’m off then. Merry Christmas, see you next year,” Lainey hugged me goodbye, but halfway out the door she stopped and turned back.

  “What did you forget? Whatever it is I’ll bet it can wait,” I said.

  She hesitated, looked down at her bright green sandals and shook her head. “Ah, you’re right it can wait,” and with a wave and a pat for Harvey, she was gone.

  Alone, I turned up the sound system, made a pot of tea and promised myself I’d be out of here in the next hour. And I almost kept that vow.

  If a certain Irish woman named Caitlin O’Brien hadn’t birthed a boy called Tobias, who grew up to be a United States based celebrity agent, working for a major Hollywood movie studio, I’d probably have been home by 2.00pm wrapping Christmas presents. I might even have had time to paint my toenails a festive red by 3.00pm. And if a certain hotter than hot, movie star come rock God, hadn’t woken up that morning half a world away and decided to bring two of his best friends to Sydney for New Year, I’d have most definitely been giving Harvey his Christmas bath before dinner time.