Hiding Hollywood Page 5

  “What do normal people do?” asked Shane.

  I laughed. “They stay home and party with friends and family and watch the fireworks on TV or they find somewhere with a view of the harbour.”

  “Then that’s what we wanna do.”

  “You mean forget the yacht. Forget the Opera House?”

  “Yep.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep, we spend most of our lives going to damn events. Hell, being the damn event. We try to be normal and just hang out whenever we can.”

  This was a twist. Neither of the invitations had been easy to wrangle and both were events that were sold out a year in advance. It hadn’t occurred to me they would want to avoid the prime party spots that everyone else was desperate to get into.

  “You are sure?”

  With that Shane flung open the bathroom door and shouted over the shower water, “Arch, what do ya wanna to do tonight?”

  Arch stuck a wet torso out from behind the plastic screen and I lurched back behind the door but not before seeing how very muscular he was. Oh my goodness. “Can we do something normal? With pizza?”

  “Rush, where are you? What do you wanna to do tonight?” called Shane.

  “Out here,” called Rush from the verandah. “I’ve been working on my Aussie accent. I’d like to get out on the street and try it out,” he said, adding in a near perfect imitation of Bert, “Whaddya reckon mate?”

  I made a few very apologetic phone calls, had Simon rustle up gourmet pizza and beer and downgraded my wardrobe for the evening. Instead of a deep blue slinky silk halter-neck number we’d be going strictly casual, which was a much better look for me in any case, given the unfortunate footwear situation.

  I’d just called a taxi to drop us into the city when Rush appeared at my side. He was dressed casually in a pair of dark blue jeans and boots, with a white button-down shirt. It wasn’t the clothes that made the impression, it was the way he moved, the confidence in his gestures, the quick upward flick of his left eyebrow, the subtle tilt of his head and the slow, almost shy, lopsided smile he gave me.

  It did something odd to my insides, made me feel light headed and stupid with the imagined scent of jasmine and the desire to keep standing there beside him.

  “I wanted to thank you for taking us into your home Andi. It was a big call. We knew we were sailing close to the wind making these arrangements so late, so if you’d have put us in a tent, we’d have been happy. This is terrific, really.”

  Oh goodness. He had this liquid golden syrup voice, all warm and deep. Not sure I took in what he said the shiver running up my spine was so distracting. Lord, I hoped my mouth was closed.

  “It’s also good of you to take time out from friends and family to look after us on such short notice. I hope we didn’t ruin your own New Year’s plans.”

  And his way of looking straight in your eyes as though he could see every sin you’d ever thought of committing. That was beyond distracting, it was downright invasive. It was quite possible I was drooling.

  “Did we ruin your plans?”

  Oh God, that was a real question. “Ah, no, my family is away and I was planning on having a very quiet time, resting the leg, so it’s no problem.”

  “Well, we’ll try not to be too much trouble and I hope you can have a good night too,” he reached out and touched my forearm and with a smile and a nod he left the room.

  I wanted to laugh aloud. My deserted island fantasy was in my kitchen and he touched me. I was suddenly every ridiculous teenage TV character who was never going to wash again. What on earth was wrong with me?

  By 7.00pm, we were piled into a taxi on our way into the city. The plan was to do what normal people did, which meant walking as close to the crowded harbour foreshore as we could get to join in with the street party. As plans go, it was reasonable. I figured we’d be relatively anonymous if we blended in with the crowd. In some ways, it was safer than the yacht or Opera House options where I could never be sure some media savvy socialite wouldn’t catch us in our cover story lie.

  It was a hot and steamy night with clear skies and beginnings of a pink sunset. There were thousands of people on the streets. Families with little kids and babies in strollers and backpacks, giggling teenagers with big expectations, groups of friends out for a rowdy time and couples looking for magic in the air. The bars and restaurants were brim full of people in party hard mode.

  Wearing jeans and cotton shirts, the men looked no different from others out and about. Rush and Arch both had caps pulled down low over their faces and Shane had a short brimmed straw trilby. There wasn’t a pair of stereotypical dark sunglasses to be seen. “Sunglasses at night, that’s like wearing a billboard that says ‘look at me’,” snorted Shane.

  We managed to get through the crowds as far as the famous Jack’s on George where music from a live band was blaring. There was an ripple of glances and the three of them charged into the packed, dimly lit bar leaving me standing on the pavement cursing the plan and wondering if I would ever find them again. A few minutes later, Arch was back, he took my crutches, grabbed my hand and made a pathway for me to a table they’d secured by attaching themselves to a big group of single girls.

  “Are you with John, Robert and Ted?” sneered a peroxide blonde in skin tight pink spandex. She looked me up and down, rating me a zero in the competition stakes. If only she knew who I’d just glimpsed naked in the shower.

  They’d been arguing about what alias to use in the taxi. I was grateful they’d gone with political royalty over comedy royalty. I’d pointed out that calling themselves Harpo, Chico and Groucho wasn’t all that consistent with our flying under the radar strategy.

  Drinks were bought, dancing was done, and accents were assumed. Hearing a Scottish burr from Arch was a surprise and Shane’s Aussie accent was more Cockney, but Rush had it down pat. He could have been born here instead of only having arrived this morning.

  The guys were having a good time and the girls were counting lucky stars to have all the attention and I took it all in quietly from a stool Arch had magically procured, completely amazed at what we were getting away with. This was too easy.

  By about 10.00pm Shane was talking with the band, Arch had a redhead in a micro mini skirt on his knee and Rush was deep in conversation with a drag queen in a feathered bra top, silver flares and platform heels.

  Fifteen minutes later, easy evaporated. Suddenly, Shane was on stage with the band screaming out ACDC’s ‘You shook me all night long’ to roars of approval. He’d taken Arch’s cap and pulled it low down over his face, but this was so far above the radar as to be orbiting the sun.

  I needed to get them out of here and get us lost in the crowds at the foreshore, as quickly as possible. The bar was dangerously full, sweaty and jumping. I’d lost sight of Rush and I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going get them out of the bar unrecognised.

  There was no way I could get anywhere near the stage, where Shane and the band were now doing Cold Chisel’s ‘Khe sahn’, but mad waving of a crutch above the heads of the crowd managed to get Arch’s attention, so I crossed my fingers that he and Shane would make their way out soon.

  On the street, I found Rush nursing a beer and limped across to him, but I didn’t see that he was on the phone until I was at his side and heard him say, “You bitch. You’re bluffing. There is no way you will see this through. I’m not playing your fucking nasty little game.”

  I backed off, but not before Rush lifted his head, caught sight of me and gave me a dark look that made my insides curl up and die. He moved away to continue the conversation and I leaned on my crutches feeling like a naughty school girl waiting to see the principal.

  A few minutes later the crowd inside the bar erupted with cheers and whistles to the strains of the line, ‘The last plane out of Sydney’s almost gone’, and a dishevelled Shane and a shirtless Arch were beside me.

  “Love Australian rock. Whoo!” Shane danced about and punched the air. “Sorry
Andi, couldn’t help myself.”

  “Do we need our cover story?” I asked fearfully.

  “Maybe,” he laughed. “He needs a shirt,” he pointed at Arch.

  “No I just need buttons,” Arch waved his shirt above his head cowboy stripper style. “Where’s, Groucho?”

  “There,” I pointed. “On the phone.”

  “And not too happy either,” mused Shane, studying Rush. “Andi, we’re safe, I promise you. C’mon, let’s go see the fireworks.”

  The four of us made our way down to the foreshore and stood with thousands of others looking out towards the Bridge, the Opera House and the north shore. Arch manoeuvred us to a space near a set of traffic barricades and lifted me up to sit on top of one saying, “There you go, much safer for you.” Then he propped beside me with a look that said, ‘you’ll have to get past me to get to her’, and I realised he’d known how handicapped I was in a crowd and was actively looking out for me. I snuck a look at him. He had his shirt back on but without the buttons it was open, displaying his smooth chest and ripped abdominal muscles. Oh my. Take that spandex girl.

  I wasn’t the only one looking. We’d attracted some attention amongst the people waiting and to my dismay I heard, “Hey, aren’t you that bloke, that guy from the movies. You are, you’re him, that guy!” Oh no, this is what I’d been tensed and waiting for, but I needn’t have worried.

  “Mate, you’ve just won me twenty bucks,” yelled Rush, sounding like a younger version of Bert. “Pay up ya bastard,” he clapped Shane on the shoulder. As Shane handed across the money, Rush laughed, “That’s why I like going out with this bloke. There’s always a sucker who thinks he’s that actor and I always go home richer!”

  All around us laughter rang out as the three of them started a mock punch up, cuffing and shoving at each other. Rush flipped Shane’s hat off, Arch lifted Rush off the ground and Shane danced around them with his fists up saying, “I’ll take ya both.” Suddenly we went from being the object of unwanted attention to just another boisterous group out for a good time. I shot Rush a look and mouthed the words, ‘Thank you’ and got a mini salute in return.

  At midnight the real show began, with a spectacular parade of boats and water crafts all lit up and the crowd counting down to the moment where we said goodbye to the old year. Hoots, whistles and cheers along with the first of the bright, shimmery fireworks filled the air. The crowd was oh-ing and ah-ing as one explosion of light and colour after another illuminated the night sky.

  There were starbursts and flower shapes, and rockets of bursting colour flaring way overhead and coming from a dozen vantage points around the harbour to create the sensation of being at the centre of a wondrous flight of fantasy.

  The firework display was set to music and paced to create a sense of drama, building to a crescendo where the Bridge was transformed into a cascading waterfall of sparkles crowned with shooting stars, finally revealing a large flashing peace sign that served as a symbol to welcome the New Year.

  As the music moved from a dramatic classical overture to dance music, Arch pulled me into a big hug, kissed me softly on the forehead and said, “Best New Year in a long time. Thank you Andi.” Rush stepped forward and kissed my cheek softly, “Happy New Year Andi.” Oh my God, now I couldn’t wash my cheek either.

  Then Shane was in front of me. He manoeuvred his hips between my linen trousered knees, tipped his hat back, wrapped his arms around my waist and said, “Pucker up beautiful, I’m comin’ in for the kill,” then he pulled me off the barricade, clasped me against his body and kissed me hard.

  And Lord help me, I kissed him back. I melted into his tight embrace and kissed him back. It was New Year, he was an amazingly beautiful man and, well, he started it.

  I knew the fireworks had stopped but behind my closed eyes there were still bolts of colour streaking the sky.

  12: Dial Tone

  “Whohooo! Sweet as!” yelled Shane when he finally released me. He gave me a wicked grin, leaving me to wobble on unsteady legs, catch my breath and wonder how badly I’d just damaged my professional reputation.

  He grabbed Arch and Rush in a hug and then in a deep, gravelly voice, he sang out, “Day-oh”, and Arch answered with “Day-ay-ay-oh,” and the three of them sang the final line, “Daylight come and we don’t wanna go home.” Harry Belafonte by way of Jason Derulo.

  Shane took up the next line, “Day, me say day, me say day, me say day, me say day, me say day-ay-ay-oh,” and with clapping and cheering, the crowd around us answered with, “Daylight come and we don’t wanna go home.”

  Throwing his arms around the shoulders of his two buddies he said the ominous words, “Now, we party.”

  “But not you Andi,” said Arch. “You need to get home before your leg turns into a pumpkin, being out in this crowd is not good for you.”

  “And yes we can look after ourselves, and no we won’t make tomorrow’s news, I promise,” said Shane, with such a rakish grin it was impossible to trust him.

  “Now why would I believe that?” I said.

  “Because we’ve been careful, haven’t we?” That was debatable. “We really do want this to be a private event without all the hassles of being recognised,” said Rush.

  “We do,” added Arch.

  I had to admit they had, up to a fine point, been careful and nothing I could do, apart from drag them home by their hair, would make them be more so.

  I was suddenly relieved of duty and deposited on the end of a long taxi rank queue. It was going to be a lengthy wait, more than enough time to respond to a number of New Year text messages and voicemails and send one to Mum and Dad.

  There was a sweet text from Brick and another from Matt and a missed call from Bert who could never get comfortable with leaving a message, and as I was about to hit send on a response to Matt when my phone rang. It was quite loud on the street and I had trouble hearing at first but then I made out a woman’s voice laughing and saying “Don’t! Don’t that tickles, stop it, you’ve made me drop everything. Don’t!” and laughing again before the call disconnected. I knew that laugh, that was Lainey, she must have accidently dialled my number while being ‘tickled’ to death.

  Well, well, Lainey was having an interesting start to the New Year. Good for her. Hopefully whatever she was up to was more meaningful than my shameful teenage pash with a Hollywood hunk. Couldn’t wait to see her after the break and share the full story and all the tantalising details.

  I was smiling to myself until I looked down at my phone and saw that the last number received wasn’t Lainey’s number at all. It was Michael’s. How could that be? Had I looked at that right? I studied the call log again. The last call received on my phone was from Michael. But I was sure that was Lainey’s laughing voice I’d heard.

  Lainey with Michael? No, couldn’t be. I must be wrong. It must be someone who just sounds like Lainey. That had to be it. Made sense. Michael had found a new friend to ring in the New Year with, more than I could say for myself.

  Despite the fact that I was sharing a house with three complete studs, I was the one who was alone. I was pondering the unfairness of the situation as the taxi queue slowly inched forward and out of nowhere Rush appeared beside me.

  ‘Oi, no pushing in mate,” said a bloke behind me.

  “Oh, sorry, he’s with me,” I responded, and Rush playing along, snaked his arm around my waist, pulled me close and said in a perfect strine, “Thanks love.”

  “What happened?” I asked when he released me.

  “I’ve had enough for tonight, I’m happy to call it quits. Those two will go on till dawn. This is the sort of thing they train for.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “It’s nothing worry will help, Andi,” he said, then helped me into the back seat of the taxi. He slipped in beside me and was quiet all the way home, occasionally thumbing through messages on his phone.

  In the house, Simon had left yummy snacks and a coffee pot all ready to be brewed. I cou
ld get used to having Simon around, but coffee might keep me awake and it was sleep I needed now and since Rush had disappeared to his room I was free to have a quick shower and get to bed.

  I was almost in the land of nod when I heard a raised voice. Was that Shane or Arch, it would be nice to know they were safely home? I hobbled over to the bedroom door and opened it a crack, no it was Rush and he was angry with someone. I could only hear the occasional word, but his forceful tone told me he was in a temper. I felt momentarily sorry for the person on the other end of his call.

  Now I was well and truly awake again and I lay and looked at the freshly painted, patterned plaster ceiling. If you discounted the fact that I couldn’t be sure the morning’s media wouldn’t display photos of Shane or Arch dancing on tables or throwing up in gutters we’d done alright so far.

  We’d survived the airport pickup, the completely oddball idea of staying at the house, the introduction to Bert, Harvey and even Chook. We’d been from one end of George Street, to the other, taken to the stage at Jack’s and called more attention to ourselves at Circular Quay but so far we’d managed to escape obvious recognition.

  This had been a long day with a lot packed in, but with the advantage of having had the chance to see Shane, Arch and Rush as real people instead of manufactured cut- outs from the gossip press and Hollywood media machine.

  Part of me had braced for the type of star who believed deeply in his own hype, had particular odd ways, likes and dislikes and would be near impossible to please. I’d met that type before. They made you long for a cup of tea and a good lie down.

  Thank goodness the other part of me had been in charge. The part that chose to trust Tobias when he said I wouldn’t be dealing with C-grade try-hards, but genuine Hollywood royalty, who knew how to behave themselves, despite what I might read in the press.