The Mag Hags

by Lollie Barr

  After the closed-door chat Maggie spent a lot of time locked in the bathroom, analysing herself in the mirror. There was a sense of symmetry about her face, as though God had had his geometry set out and spaced her eyes evenly from the bridge of her nose; her cheekbones, which looked as though they had been cut from marble, jutted out at ninety degrees; and her lips were fat and bee-stung. But Maggie didn’t see this at all. Her mind had concocted a picture of what she looked like – a giraffe, with slightly hunched shoulders from having to munch leaves from low trees.

  But what had Lisa said? Did her sisters really think she was attractive? If so, why were they always trying to change her? Trying to make her dress like them? To be interested in what they were interested in? To be just like them?

  This introspection came to an abrupt halt when Lisa banged on the door and said she was dying for the loo and she couldn’t bear the indignity of going to the spare one, with just a shower curtain with fishes on it to cover her modesty.

  Maggie splashed her face with water and opened the door. Lisa gave her a big hug.

  ‘Maggie,’ she said, holding her by the shoulders. ‘Don’t worry about Caro, you know she can be a superficial bitch. You’re not a freak, you’re just different from us. But it’s what makes you so unique – you’re intelligent, you’re sweet-natured, and you’re gorgeous! And as you get older, you’ll learn to love the fact that you’re not like everybody else.’

  ‘But I want to be like everyone else and not feel like I’m watching a play that I can’t join in,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Sweetie,’ said Lisa without a touch of condescension, ‘being fifteen can suck the big one. But it gets better, I promise.’

  ‘When?’ said Maggie, really hoping Lisa could provide her with the answer.

  ‘Soon,’ said Lisa. ‘Soon, sweetie.’

  But soon could never be soon enough for Maggie.

  As the final weeks of the competition kicked in, the girls were working on their magazine every day. It was a hectic time for them as they were studying for exams at the same time. While the other groups were all keen to win, the girls had discovered their passion. Maggie loved editing – playing with words, shuffling them around to make sentences with clear intention. Mand loved writing, being able to express herself and her views about the world. Cat loved writing captions to the photos and using her wit to come up with crazy headlines for the stories. While Wanda and Belle loved the visual aspect of the magazine, finding fantastic photos, choosing font types, moving blocks of type about.

  After three afternoons at Mag Hag Central, Mand suggested that they meet up at Hoolio’s on Friday afternoon, for a change of pace. They took what had become ‘their’ booth at the back.

  ‘Can I tempt you with anything sweet, girls?’ said Jez, the waiter dude, after taking their drinks order.

  ‘I’ll take a piece of your pie,’ said Mand doing her best to embarass him, which obviously succeeded, as Jez flushed bright red. Maggie gave him a sympathetic smile, which he beamed back at her, before walking away.

  Maggie took out her schedule of what needed to be done. She had printed out a rather official looking list on her father’s printer, the one he used for invoicing clients for building work, and passed it around to the girls.

  ‘So Cat, do you think we should drop the whole Tyler story?’ said Maggie. ‘I know you’ve been chasing him like crazy, but we may need to come up with another idea.’

  Cat had a smile that spread across her face like soft butter. ‘Well, girls,’ she said as she reached into her bag, ‘I interviewed Tyler on Saturday!’

  ‘You’re kidding!’ said Mand. ‘What was he like?’

  ‘Maybe you should just read the feature!’ said Cat, handing out a copy to each of the girls, except Belle.

  Will the real Tyler Grey please stand up?

  Our very own Cat Dean gets a very exclusive interview with Federal Investigation’s Tyler Grey

  Oh my god! I’m sitting in the green room of Channel 19’s studio about to meet Tyler Grey. Yes, the Tyler Grey of Federal Investigation, who we have all swooned over, have plastered over our bedroom walls and followed every move since he hit our TV screens playing the super-sexy, super-cool Detective Adam Yorke, Chase City’s very own boy-wonder detective, famous for the most incredible stunts and solving the grisliest murders, using a combination of modern high-tech methods and advice from his grandfather, Old Par, played by Warren Sigwicki, who teaches him those good old-fashioned detective methods from the days before DNA testing.

  Tyler, who turned twenty-two on December 22, has made a big impact since hitting our screens at the beginning of last year. On his mantlepiece sits a Goldie, TV’s top accolade for Personality of the Year, as well as two silver Goldies for Most Popular Actor in a Drama and Most Popular Newcomer. Not to mention all the hearts he’s won from girls across the nation.

  And now I’m going to meet him. I’m so nervous it feels like my heart is going to explode when the door opens and in walks Tyler. ‘Hi, you must be Cat,’ he says, his voice deep and bassy like a funked-up dance-floor hit. OH. MY. GOD! Tyler Grey knows my name!

  I stand up and the back of my knees stick to the black leather sofa, making a squeaking sound, and I put out my shaking hand. He takes my hand in his (I pray that my palm isn’t sweaty) and squeezes it tight, then kisses me on the cheek. I feel his trademark stubble graze my skin, and his delicious aftershave (Pom Pour Homme, I later learn) fills my nasal passages. I feel as though I’m going to faint!

  For a few seconds I’m, like, totally lost for words. ‘Oh my god,’ I finally splutter, feeling the heat of embarrassment raging in my cheeks like an open fire at camp. ‘Hello, Tyler,’ I say as my eyes drink him in. He is dressed in white from top to toe – white jeans, tight white T-shirt, white socks and white trainers that look like they’ve just come out of the box (which I later learn they did: ‘I never wear the same pair of trainers twice,’ Tyler told me).

  His five-foot-eleven body is gloriously tanned the colour of deep treacle; his muscles bulge and strain against his body-hugging white clothes. His shock of black spiky hair is wet with hair gel, and I can see myself reflected in his trademark aviator sunglasses. I notice I look nervous as I fumble about for my notepad ready to ask the questions we are desperate to know about Tyler.

  ‘Relax,’ he says as he flops down on the sofa next to me. ‘I know you’re going to find this hard to believe, but I’m really just a normal person. Okay, I might drive a Ferrari, have a penthouse and have more clothes than you’ll have in a lifetime. But think of it this way: I’m just like you, just with more talent and money.’

  I’m not sure if he’s joking until he starts laughing. Tyler Grey laughs like this: Gawfur, Gawfur, Gawfur – kind of like a machine gun. Tyler’s assistant Felix then pours him a cup of green tea from a silver flask (‘Fab for the skin, sweetie,’ says Tyler. ‘It’s full of antioxidants.’) into a tiny silver glass, which he sips delicately with his little finger poking out and curled a bit. Tyler drinks a lot of tea. I know this because his assistant Felix carries a flask and fills his glass every time he takes a sip. ‘More tea, T?’

  I take a deep breath and compose myself. ‘So Tyler,’ I say feeling very professional as I press the red record button on my MP3 player to record our conversation. ‘The girls at The Mag Hag have come up with a list of questions’.

  ‘Fire away,’ says Tyler, smiling at Felix.

  Cat Dean: How did you get into acting?

  Tyler Grey: The question should be, how did acting get into me? I was bitten. Bitten by the bug. I love the craft. The craft, sweetie, we actors call it, the craft. I think I was born to do it. I started when I was nineteen. I was walking down the street when a car pulled up and a guy leaned out the window and asked me to audition for Federal Investigation. He said I had that look, you know – dangerous, edgy and cool, but still pretty and youthful. I was working as a hairdresser at the time, but felt I needed to, you know, stretch my creativity in different di
rections.

  Cat Dean: Were you nervous at the audition?

  Tyler Grey: The director said the camera loved me. He said it was my high cheekbones. Feel them. (At this point, I touch Tyler’s sharp cheekbones – yes, they do feel like cut glass.) They reflect the light apparently and make my eyes sparkle. That’s why I wear sunglasses when I’m not filming, so people don’t always stare at my eyes. That happens you know, the staring.

  Cat Dean: How much like Adam Yorke are you?

  Tyler Grey: I embody Adam Yorke. That tough machoness of Yorke is all me really.

  Felix: And Tony Felano, the stunt man. You should give him credit, T.

  Tyler: Why should I give him credit? Okay, so he rolls over bonnets, gets set on fire and dives off tall buildings. But the facial expressions are all mine – I give Adam Yorke his character, babes. Anyway, why do you always have to bring up Tony? I hate how you always bring up Tony. Leave Tony out of this, okay? It’s not about Tony.

  Felix: Whatever.

  Tyler: Whatever, yourself.

  Cat: Is it true you’re dating Sarah-Leigh Trundall, who plays Lizzie in Federal Investigation?

  Tyler: Oh, Sarah is such a sweetie. A fabulous actress – she cries so freely. No inhibitions when it comes to tears and tantrums, that Sarah. Boo Hoo is her nickname on set. Oh, yes. Love love love, dear old Boo Hoo to death, darling. Love her.

  Felix: But not in love with her, shouldn’t you add, T?

  Tyler: Obviously I’m not in love with her.

  Cat: Would you ever date a fan?

  Tyler: Date a fan! Date a fan! That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard! A civilian, a normal, a non-celeb! Did you hear that, Felix? Date a fan? Too funny, darling. Too funny! Next!

  Cat: Why did you change your name to Tyler Grey from Arthur Shanks?

  Tyler: Felix, what’s this? She’s a journalist and she’s asking me about Arthur Shanks? Doesn’t she know the rules? Artie Shanks is D–E–A–D – there is no Artie Shanks. I’m Tyler Grey. Do you hear me?

  At this point, Tyler Grey got up and walked out of the green room (which wasn’t painted green at all but a dull magnolia, like you’d find in a hospital) slamming the door behind him so hard the wooden doorframe splintered.

  ‘Didn’t Lauren-Beth warn you about not mentioning Artie Shanks?’ said Felix, packing up Tyler’s things.

  ‘She must have forgotten that part,’ I said.

  ‘Artie Shanks reminds Tyler of who he used to be.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ I asked. ‘Who did he used to be?’

  ‘A little fat kid that used to get bullied because he wore glasses and had a sense of the theatrical. He doesn’t want to remember that now he’s a star. Doesn’t that say it all?’

  With that, Felix left the room and I was left sitting alone feeling like I really had screwed up. How would I ever explain to the girls who’d had so much faith in me? On the way home I thought about what I’d learned about Tyler Grey from my interview. Tyler had been everything to me, but like Detective Adam Yorke, Tyler Grey doesn’t really exist at all. It makes me wonder whether you should ever meet your heroes because they can never live up to the expectations you put upon them – after all, they really are just people with issues, secrets and problems, just like me and you.

  ‘Ohmigod!’ said Maggie, who finished reading the story first. ‘Cat, that is absolutely fantastic! I can’t believe you pulled it off, and it’s such a great read too.’

  ‘He sounds like such a wanker,’ said Mand. ‘Was he really that bad?’

  ‘He was a total prima donna,’ said Belle. ‘But according to Felix, he got a big head once he became famous.’

  ‘Were you there too?’ asked Wanda, feeling slightly jealous. She really fancied Tyler, even if he was a wanker.

  ‘Well, that’s the second part of the surprise,’ said Cat as Belle reached into her pink handbag and pulled out her laptop.

  Belle placed the laptop at the end of the table so all the girls could see it. She opened Illustrator onto a page with a big picture of Tyler Grey smiling his big white toothy smile like he was the happiest person in the world, his arms spread wide, as if he was going to embrace the whole world.

  ‘You took this photo?’ said Wanda. ‘It’s brilliant.’

  ‘Wow! That is the coolest spread,’ said Mand. ‘We’ve got to win now!’

  Kylie Mannigan appeared at the head of the table. ‘Win? You bunch of losers? The geekiest of the geeks,’ looking at Wanda, ‘the mouthiest of the mouths,’ looking at Mand, ‘the boringest of the boring,’ looking at Maggie, ‘the spoiltest of the spoiled,’ looking at Belle, ‘and the most unpopular of populars. Yes, that means you, Dean,’ said Kylie.

  ‘Move on, Mannigan,’ said Mand.

  ‘Why don’t you make me?’ said Kylie.

  ‘Really, Mannigan, you must have something better to do like hanging out with the Pus Crew,’ said Cat.

  ‘Come on, Kylie,’ said Maggie reasonably. ‘We’re just trying to do our work, okay?’

  ‘No, it’s not okay,’ said Kylie. ‘It’s time you learnt a little respect, Dean.’

  At this point in events it was impossible to say what really happened, whether Kylie Mannigan was just leaning over the booth to get to Cat, or whether she deliberately sent Belle’s untouched Berry Berry shake spilling all over her laptop, covering the keyboard in a sticky purple goo.

  ‘What have you done?’ screamed Maggie, as Tyler Grey’s smiling face pixilated and then dissolved on the screen as though he had been dipped in a vat of hydro-chloric acid. ‘There’s weeks and weeks of our blood, sweat and tears in that laptop.’

  ‘I didn’t mean –’ said Kylie clearly shocked. ‘I mean, I didn’t mean to kill your laptop, really, I wouldn’t do that.’

  By this stage Mand, who had been sitting at the back of the booth, had sprung over Cat and Belle and was about to throttle Kylie when Hoolio, the man with the best timing in the music business, intervened by placing his bulky frame squarely between the two girls. ‘Okay, ladies, and yes, I am being polite, what is the trouble here?’

  ‘She … she … she …’ said Wanda, trying to gasp for air. ‘She has killed our magazine stone dead! And on purpose!’

  ‘And you don’t have a backup, anything on CD or a hard drive?’ asked Hoolio who, although artistic, was also very practical.

  All the girls looked at Belle, their eyes full of pleading, desperate expectation.

  ‘No,’ said Belle. ‘There were a million times when I thought about it but I just never got around to it. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Mand, trying to get past Hoolio again, and failing. ‘It’s not your fault, it’s Kylie bloody bitch-face Mannigan’s fault.’

  ‘Mand! Stop it!’ yelled Maggie. ‘It’s not worth it. Let’s leave McTavish to dish out Kylie’s karma for her. Yes, Kylie, we’ll be going straight to the principal’s office, then you can explain to him how you managed to wreck our major English assignment and Belle’s laptop.’

  ‘You’ll be on detention until you’re sixty-five!’ spat Wanda.

  ‘Try turning on your laptop,’ said Cat. ‘You never know, it might just work.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ said Hoolio, a man who was quite handy in all matters IT. He even ran his very own fan site – apparently he still had a huge following in Germany. ‘You want to turn it upside down and let the Berry Berry shake drip out. You have to dry it out, not heat it up. Don’t touch a thing, I’ll be right back.’

  Hoolio went off to get cleaning equipment and to escort a crying Kylie Mannigan off the premises forever as a cloud of doom descended over the booth.

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ said Maggie. ‘I’ve got lots of raw copy on my dad’s computer.’

  ‘It’s all the design and pictures that are the real problem,’ said Wanda. ‘Do you know how long Belle and I have worked making everything look that good?’

  ‘Not to mention all the photos I took, and I spent day
s working on the future formal photos – putting in all those background pictures took an eternity,’ said Belle, looking utterly dejected. ‘For what? For nothing!’

  Hoolio came back with an old white towel and gently picked up Belle’s computer and turned it upside down. The computer vomited up the Berry Berry shake onto the towel like a teenager vomiting up vile purple sick after too many alcopops in the local park. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but at least there were no carrots.

  ‘Girls, look, it may not be so bad,’ said Hoolio. ‘Just leave your laptop with me until Sunday and I’ll try to fix it.’

  When the girls left Hoolio’s, they felt like one of his cream donuts with a big empty hole in the middle. It was in the lap of the computer gods as to whether their hard work was going to be lost forever and there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it.

  For Wanda, Black Friday continued when she got home. As soon as she had put her key in the front door, her father was on at her with the ‘little talk’ routine again. Wanda knew exactly what this was about: she had failed to top the maths class again and the truth was, frankly, she didn’t give a damn.

  According to Mr Weinwitz who’d been in her father’s ear again, her ranking had now dropped down to a lowly sixth in the form after the last maths test; hardly the sort of ranking for a girl with Wanda’s talent for figures. While both men agreed it was sometimes the case that students had off weeks, Wanda had had an off term and at this critical juncture of her life, something had to be done to stop the rot.

  ‘Can you imagine the disappointment I had to see in Mr Weinwitz’s face?’ said Mr Hong, following Wanda down the hallway into the lounge room, his arms crossed against his chest. ‘He’d been counting on you to represent the school at the regional Maths Inn and now his plans are in ruins. Why? Because you can’t be bothered studying.’

  ‘I’m so glad you’re concerned about Mr Weinwitz’s disappointment,’ said Wanda, dropping her school bag, her school tunic showing the splashes of the Berry Berry shake Mannigan had sent flying. ‘What about mine? Have you any idea how I feel about this?’