Welcome To Wherever You Are

by John Marrs

  ‘How much cash have we got left?’ asked Matty.

  Declan opened his wallet and pulled out some low-denomination bills and scraps of paper.

  ‘We have the grand total of $11, plus €5, 90c off a Big Mac meal and a free bag of potato chips if we spend more than $10 at Subway.’

  ‘Feck.’

  As Matty replaced the money in his wallet, a newspaper cutting fell to the floor. Declan picked it up.

  ‘What are you doing keeping this? You need to throw it away,’ snapped Declan.

  ‘Call it a reminder.’

  ‘Call it fifteen years behind bars if anyone reads it and recognises us.’

  CHAPTER 24

  Tommy parked Nicole’s truck in the multi-storey opposite the hostel.

  He’d already dropped her and the industrial-sized bags of food in the alley behind the building, away from Eric’s beady eye. And as she helped him carry them up the stairs and into the kitchen, she rehearsed a story about why she had been away for so long, blaming rush-hour traffic.

  ‘Thanks again,’ said Tommy, unpacking the shopping and placing it onto shelves in cupboards with missing doors and handles.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘So I’ll see you later, then, I guess?’

  ‘I guess.’

  The two stood face to face like nervous teenagers at a school dance and unsure of what to do next. So Tommy took a silent breath, slowly tilted his head and moved his mouth towards Nicole’s. But just as she closed her eyes, they were interrupted by a resounding bang from the corridor. They hurried towards the source of the commotion and found a trembling Peyk with an electrical wire in his hand next to a smoking plug socket.

  ‘Come with me,’ said Nicole, rolling her eyes, grabbing Peyk’s arm and steering him into the kitchen. ‘I should get paid for being your care worker.’

  Although concerned for his friend, Tommy cursed his appalling timing.

  CHAPTER 25

  Ruth removed an orange dress from her suitcase and laid it neatly across her dormitory floor.

  With a travel iron in her hand, she began to press out the creases, but with little effect. Frustrated, she pressed harder until the door behind her opened and knocked her off balance.

  ‘Oh crap, sorry,’ apologised Nicole, and held out her hand to lift Ruth back up.

  ‘No worries,’ replied Ruth.

  ‘Ooh, Zak Stanley, you are gorgeous,’ continued Nicole as she picked up a magazine cutting stuck to the hem of the dress.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Of course! Did you see him in that film Baby Baby?’

  ‘About fifteen times!’

  ‘That bit when he says “I know this is the first time we’ve met . . . ”’

  ‘“ . . . but I don’t ever want to lose sight of you again!”’ interrupted Ruth. ‘It makes me cry every time.’

  ‘I know what you mean. And about five minutes before he’s run over by that car in Forever Us, I always turn the DVD off so that in my head, that’s where the film ends and him and Anne Hathaway live happily ever after.’

  One minute spent talking to Nicole was the longest conversation Ruth had had with anyone during her six days in America. She opened her mouth to continue, but closed it again when she recalled her mother’s reaction to why she was going to LA. Ruth didn’t want to hear the same words from somebody else, but Nicole seemed nice, she thought. Maybe she could trust her?

  ‘Are you busy?’ Ruth asked with a whisper, even though there was nobody else in the room.

  ‘Not really, what’s up?’

  ‘Can you keep a secret?’

  I’m becoming an expert in them, thought Nicole. ‘Sure.’

  Ruth rifled around in her suitcase and found an envelope with a piece of white A4 paper inside, and handed it to Nicole. Nicole unfolded it and began to read. Halfway through she gasped, her eyes opened wide and she glared at Ruth.

  ‘Oh. My. God. Is this for real?’

  THREE WEEKS EARLIER – VICTORIA, AUSTRALIA

  Bare breasted, rake-thin women with long, blonde hair extensions tumbling down their backs posed in sexy positions on the posters behind Ruth.

  Once she’d avoid going into her brother’s bedroom, as it felt like a dozen pairs of beautiful strangers’ eyes were laughing at her sturdy frame. But since Zak Stanley came into her life, everything was different. There was only one opinion that mattered, and it belonged to Zak. He could see beyond a plastic façade; he’d told that interviewer on the DVD he was looking for an ordinary girl, and Ruth was nothing if not ordinary, as her mother and brother made a frequent point of reminding her.

  She’d waited for Kevin to leave the house for the second of his twice-daily gym pilgrimages before she switched on his computer. Her mother was fiercely protective of her own laptop after Ruth had spilled a milkshake over the keyboard and Denise was hit with a $400 Apple Store repair bill. But as long as Ruth deleted the browsing history after each session, Kevin had never been any the wiser.

  Ruth sifted through her emails. She hadn’t been online for almost a week, and four new messages were waiting in her – three more than she usually received. One was from Facebook informing her she had a new friend request. Out of curiosity, she clicked on it and realised it was from someone writing in a foreign language she didn’t understand, but she accepted it anyway, taking the total number into double figures. The other emails were newsletters from online forums she’d joined like ‘Zak Stanley Web Ring’; ‘Circle of Zak’ and ‘Zak’s World’. She scanned them, dragged some pictures on to Kevin’s desktop and then added them to her Tumblr and Pinterest collections.

  Satisfied with her latest harvest, she was about to log off when she noticed a message hidden in the junk folder. She clicked on it to read the subject heading: ‘Official Zak Stanley Fan Club – You Are A Winner.’

  Curious, she clicked on a link, and an audio file began to play as a computerised voice spoke: ‘Congratulations, Ruth Donovan, you have been chosen by the Official Zak Stanley Fan Club as this month’s winner of our Meet Zak competition. On June 4, you will accompany Zak for a private lunch for two in Los Angeles. Please reply to this email to confirm your attendance and we will furnish you with an address and further details.’

  Then a flashing image of Zak’s smiling face appeared on the screen. Ruth replayed the message five times until the news sank in – she’d won the online competition she’d entered a month earlier.

  ‘Mum!’ she screamed, ‘Mum! Mum!’

  ‘What?’ her mother snapped from another room.

  ‘Come here!’

  Denise tutted and reluctantly made her way towards her daughter’s excited voice. ‘What are you doing in here? Kevin’s going to—’

  ‘Read this!’

  Denise removed her glasses from her tracksuit pocket and squinted at the computer screen.

  ‘I’m going to meet Zak!’ squealed Ruth, ‘I’m going to meet him!’

  Her mother removed her glasses, raised her eyebrows and let out a long breath.

  ‘I guess you didn’t have to send a photo to win,’ she mumbled rhetorically, and left her daughter to celebrate alone.

  TODAY

  ‘I’m so jealous,’ admitted Nicole. ‘You’re so lucky!’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ said Ruth. ‘I’m going to take my scrapbooks to show him what a big fan I am.’

  ‘Maybe that’s not the best idea,’ said Nicole hesitantly. ‘You don’t want him to think you’re a stalker.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ replied Ruth, who hadn’t considered that. ‘How about this then?’

  She went back into the suitcase and pulled out a half-complete jumper she’d been knitting, which hung by the needles. ‘It’s not finished yet, but see? It’s Zak’s face.’

  Nicole was unsure of how to react to the crude effigy – Zak’s eyes faced in opposite directions and he had a mouth like Batman’s nemesis, The Joker. But she didn’t want to hurt Ruth’s feelings.

  ‘I’m sure he�
��ll love it,’ assured Nicole, and a huge grin spread across Ruth’s face.

  CHAPTER 26

  DAY THREE

  Tommy examined the brown crusts framing two slices of white bread, and used his knife to chip away circles of blue mouldy spores.

  He reached for a variety pack of store-brand cornflakes, pulled open the plastic packing and poured them between the slices to make a sandwich. It tasted just as he guessed it might, like two things that can sit together comfortably on the same table but shouldn’t be combined into one dish. And one cooked meal a night courtesy of the hostel didn’t give him enough fuel to keep going throughout the day. He wondered how supermodels managed it.

  ‘Living the high life eh, Tommy-boy?’ began Peyk as he wandered in with Savannah, and slouched across the table. His arm still tingled from his electric shock.

  ‘The homeless eat better than I do,’ Tommy replied, taking another mouthful of his arid snack. ‘I’m broke. I need a job as my work here only covers my bed and board and I’m going to be on my way home soon.’

  ‘I can give you some cash if you need it, sweetie?’ offered Savannah.

  ‘Thanks, Sav, but I need some regular work.’

  ‘I know someone who might be able to help you,’ added Peyk.

  Tommy eyed him up suspiciously. ‘This isn’t going to be something dodgy that’ll land me in jail, is it?’

  ‘Trust your Uncle Peyk, Tommy-boy, this job has your name written all over it,’ he replied, failing to hide his smirk.

  CHAPTER 27

  As a rule, Ruth and mirrors were not a compatible match.

  It wasn’t that she’d deceived herself into believing she was Miranda Kerr and was disillusioned by the reality of her appearance; it was more the empty feeling that grew when she saw the same thing as everyone else.

  But that night was an exception.

  Instead of throwing on a pair of joggers and a baggy T-shirt like she did most days, Ruth spent the morning rigorously working on her outfit, shaving her legs, straightening her hair, and even slapping on make-up for the first time that year. She was so delighted with the results that she didn’t register the sniggers greeting her when she entered the hostel lounge to find Nicole.

  Eric was the first to notice her, his eyes working their way up from toes that reminded him of cocktail sausages stuffed into too-small high-heel shoes, her red tights, orange pinafore dress, green shawl and a plastic lily tucked behind her hair.

  ‘What the actual fuck?’ he mouthed at Nicole, who was equally as surprised, but pinched his forearm before he vocalised his thoughts.

  ‘Wow, Ruth, look at you!’ began Nicole supportively, and glared around the room to stop the handful of other hostellers from laughing.

  ‘It’s a designer dress,’ Ruth smiled.

  ‘By who, Picasso?’ asked Eric.

  ‘No, Topshop,’ replied Ruth.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ continued Nicole.

  ‘She looks like a traffic light,’ whispered Eric, so Nicole pinched him harder.

  She stood up to give Ruth a hug. ‘Go and have a fantastic time and tell me all about it when you get back.’

  Ruth smiled and swung an unsuitably large handbag over her shoulder, clipping Tommy’s face as he entered the lounge.

  ‘You’re free, Willy!’ waved Eric behind Ruth’s back.

  ‘Where’s she heading?’ asked Tommy, cringing.

  ‘For disappointment,’ replied Eric, and moved his arm to avoid Nicole’s next pinch.

  *

  It took forty-five minutes for Ruth to traipse from Venice Beach to the Viceroy Hotel in Santa Monica.

  At 1.30 p.m. the sun was at its harshest and she struggled with the rising heat as she walked along the boardwalk in heels that were twice as hard work as her sneakers. Occasionally, she’d stop and rub her ankles where the skin began to chafe.

  Ruth took a paper tissue from her handbag and mopped her wet brow, but as she put it back, one of the false fingernails she’d attached with Pritt Stick caught the clasp and fell somewhere in the sand. She hoped Zak wouldn’t notice.

  With her destination in sight, Ruth made her way up a slope towards Ocean Avenue and spotted the hotel. Once inside, the air conditioning was like manna from heaven. Muffled music came from behind the closed doors of the Cameo bar as a pianist played classical songs she didn’t recognise. She turned her head to search for a restaurant called Cast, and smiled as she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the many framed mirrors behind the lobby’s marble reception desk. She removed an email printout from her handbag and reread it.

  Sender: Zakstanleyfanclub@hotmail.au

  Dear Ruth,

  Just to confirm, Zak Stanley will meet you for lunch at 2 p.m. at Cast in the Viceroy Hotel, Santa Monica. A table has been booked in your name and Zak will be there to welcome you. He requests no photographs be taken during your meal. Zak looks forward to meeting you.

  Yours,

  Paul Mollegh, manager.

  Ruth clutched the email to her chest and beamed, unaware the sweat her dress had absorbed the paper’s ink and left a light stain. She steeled herself, took deep, nervous breaths and strode towards the dining room’s entrance.

  The maître d’, accustomed to receiving guests of a certain calibre at Santa Monica’s most prestigious of eateries, consulted a list of bookings and was surprised to find Ruth’s name.

  ‘You’re the first of your party to arrive, Madam,’ he began in a hybrid French/American accent.

  ‘Oh, okay,’ Ruth replied, checking her watch and realising she was a quarter of an hour early. ‘I’m having lunch with Zak Stanley.’ Her eyes lit up as she showed him the email.

  ‘How lovely for you,’ he replied, wondering if the movie star he’d seated two nights earlier was now involved in charity work.

  Once he’d led her to a private dining booth overlooking the ocean, Ruth sat at her table, and when she thought nobody was looking, took an embossed napkin and mopped her armpits. Meanwhile, silent, derisive chuckles came from the waiters, tipped off by the maître d’, rubbernecking from the kitchen’s porthole window.

  A hundred times Ruth had attempted to rehearse what she’d say when Zak arrived, but right then, right there, her mind was a blank. She wanted to tell him she’d seen every one of the ten films he’d made since his transition from teen actor to Hollywood star. She wanted to explain how she’d used his picture from About the Two of Us as her phone screensaver before she dropped it in the toilet. She wanted him to know that she loved him for who he was and not because of his fame or his money. And how, if given a chance, she wanted them to be friends. In reality, she wanted far more than that, but that would happen in due time, she told herself.

  Ruth practiced her smile over and over again, readjusted her top, ordered a Diet Coke, and waited.

  CHAPTER 28

  ‘Hotdog and a lemonade, just one dollar,’ began Tommy, talking through a white plastic megaphone.

  Self-consciously he stood on an upturned plastic box by the boardwalk as passing tourists stared at him and the mobile food trailer behind him. Inside, José, the heavily tattooed and recently paroled chef, yawned and watched a film he’d downloaded on his mobile phone.

  ‘Louder, I need you to be louder,’ barked Mr Fiaca in his strong Cypriot accent, waving his short stubby arms from the side of his circular frame.

  ‘Hotdog and a lemonade, just one dollar,’ Tommy repeated, more forcefully. Quietly he cursed Peyk for getting him a trial on a fast food stand, even though he was desperate for work.

  ‘No, no, no! Project your voice, and do the English accent more. We’re not selling fast food; we’re selling a lifestyle.’

  ‘You’re selling entrails in a bap,’ Tommy muttered to himself and wondered what his brothers would think if they saw how low he’d stooped to make a living.

  ‘Hotdog and a lemonade, just one dollar!’ yelled Tommy, creating loud, grating microphone feedback.

  ‘Yes!’ said Mr Fiaca triumphan
tly. ‘Your uniform is round the back.’

  Tommy frowned. ‘Uniform?’

  Any remaining shred of dignity Tommy had evaporated when, ten minutes later, he mounted his box, enclosed in a man-sized hotdog costume, complete with mustard coloured hat and bap-shaped booties.

  ‘Hotdog and a lemonade, just one dollar,’ he muttered, defeated so soon.

  ‘Louder!’ bellowed Mr Fiaca’s voice from behind the counter.

  The only words Tommy heard from Matty and Declan as they passed him were ‘fecking’ and ‘eejit’ as they doubled up in laughter.

  CHAPTER 29

  Ruth waited.

  And waited.

  And then waited some more.

  When Zak was twenty minutes late, she blamed it on the heavy Friday lunchtime traffic as Santa Monica’s natives headed out of town for the weekend. When her watch read 2.45 p.m., she began nibbling at the skin around her thumbs and told herself Zak was probably struggling to find a parking space.

  Even after an hour and half, Ruth was still convinced Zak wouldn’t let her down. But by 4.20 p.m., even the once-snooty waiters were beginning to gaze at her sympathetically, as she became the last remaining lunchtime customer in the restaurant.

  ‘May I get you anything else, Madam?’ the maître d’ asked as Ruth stood up.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she replied, her voice wobbling, and she offered a less than convincing smile. She removed a $20 bill from her purse to pay for her drinks, but the maître d’ shook his head and gave her her money back, holding her hand for a moment.