I figured I had two choices, I could continue to sulk or I could have it out with him. Sulking wasn’t really in my nature and I could tell pestering was in his.
“Yes I’m mad with you. I don’t know why you couldn’t have just told me what you intended to do and asked me to play a role?”
“What would you have done?”
“I... I don’t know, I guess I’d have tried to stop you.” I realised it wasn’t quite as simple as I’d thought. I was being paid by the studio to stop the visit getting any media attention.
“Exactly. We figured it would be better for you if we just went rogue.” He waggled his hands, “You know Hollywood stars go wild. That way you couldn’t be held accountable. We were trying to protect you Andi.”
“Rush wasn’t.”
“There’s stuff you don’t know.”
“What I do know is that Rush is playing an ugly game with his wife and he used me as part of it.”
“Yeah but, that’s not....”
“Leave it Shane,” interrupted Rush, stepping in from the verandah.
“But....”
“Leave it. Andi, would you believe me if I said I was sorry,” said Rush, putting his laser focus on me.
“No.” I glared back at him.
“Andi,” Shane pleaded.
“That’s what I thought. For the record, I’m sorry,” said Rush, as he walked past with a thundercloud over his head.
Over eye-fillet steak with roast vegetables that night I felt like Shane, Arch and I weren’t mortal enemies any more. It was true, if I’d known their plans, I’d have been duty bound to tell Tobias and to do my best to stop them. As it stood, my professional reputation was intact, and if I listened to Helen, my personal status was hotter than a barbeque in hell.
Of course, once the sting of being used by Rush had passed, my taxi queue romance with the world’s most eligible married man would make a great dinner party story. Meanwhile, I was still smarting.
Even before 7.00am it was clear it was going to be a stinking hot day. The morning passed quietly, I did more pool therapy and Arch kept me company. Shane tinkered away on his guitar and who cared where Rush was. It was almost like being on a real holiday and I could almost believe we were free and clear of any further drama.
But drama is any thespian’s middle name and I had three of them on my hands. While I was doing tentative heel raises, Arch let out a yell which brought the others running.
“Smoke. Fire!” There it was - an angry column of black cloud from the town. He was out of his deck chair and into his shorts in five seconds.
“Is there a local fire brigade?”
“Yes I think so and I imagine there will be plenty of volunteers,” I said, climbing out of the pool. He gave me a hand up. “I want to be there.”
Twenty minutes later we were all on our way into town. Bangalow is a pretty village, saved from the sameness of newer townships by a highway which bypassed it in the 1970s. Its heritage buildings now housed a variety of restaurants and cafes, funky shops and art and craft galleries. It was the old community hall that was burning and out of control.
We skirted the main street and parked behind the pub. Most of the town had turned out to either watch or help put out the fire. Arch was out of the car and talking with the fire chief before I’d switched off the ignition. In the rear view mirror I saw him hoisting a hose. He’d managed to talk his way in as a volunteer.
“I think he misses it,” said Shane, “the whole being a rescue guy thing.”
Shane, Rush and I stood back, well out of the way and watched the hall burn. It only took a few minutes for my eyes to start prickling and it seemed like even less time and all that was left of the hall was a smoky husk. The roof was gone, and several of the walls, the inside was a charred shell and only the stone steps at the street edge looked intact.
A very grimy but satisfied Arch made his way back to us.
“You want to say that was awesome, but you know it’s poor form don’t you?” asked Rush, who was, as far as I was concerned, the master of poor form.
“It was awesome,” said Arch, and we all laughed.
“How will they rebuild?” asked Rush.
I had no idea but Helen later told me that the chamber of commerce who ran the hall would have to find a way to fundraise to rebuild and it would probably take some time to happen, possibly years. In the meantime, a long list of community events would be without a venue.
Being in town meant mobile phone reception and when I turned my handset on it told me I had forty two new voicemails and nineteen text messages. The men did the same, the sound of beeps, meeps and bings filled the air as the world and its cares flooded back at us.
I had several calls from Toby checking on arrangements, one from Mum and Dad asking tentatively whether I was having a good time with my new ‘friend’, two dozen from friends who made Prince Charming jokes, half a dozen from news media organisations fishing for information and two from Michael. It was clear he’d seen the coverage and he was angry.
His first message said, Need to tlk, don’t understand wot’s going on, plse call. His second was much more abrupt, Call me.
Of course I could have called him, I had reception in town and we had a land line at the house, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him, not yet anyway. The friends and family could also wait. I needed perspective before I could talk my way out of their new expectations for my whirlwind romance.
First priority was the calls from media. The six journalists who had left messages were all ones we’d previously arranged and cancelled interviews with for Shane’s movie promotional tour. They were smart enough to figure out there might be a connection between my company and the latest headlines.
Fortunately, I’d not personally met any of them so they were unlikely to identify me as Cinderella. I’d worked out a response for calls like this that was truthful without giving too much away and satisfied Toby and the studio.
“Jo Standish. Hi, this is Andi Carrington from Arrive, returning your call.”
“Right, thanks for calling. I’m looking for any information you have on the visit of Horan, Dawson and Drummond and what they got up to on New Year’s Eve?”
“Jo, there really isn’t anything more to add to the story. They were in town briefly and wanted to blow off steam and experience a Sydney New Year as you’ve obviously seen.”
“So you’re saying they’ve left the country?”
This was the tricky bit. “I’m not making a comment on where they might be.”
“Do you know where they are?
“Thanks for your call Jo. As I said, I’m not making any comments.”
One down five to go. The remaining calls followed much the same script though several of the journalists were far more aggressive with their questioning and annoyed when I produced the no comment response.
I’d left the most notorious journalist to last. Gossip King Roger Smyth, had a syndicated column and he also appeared regularly on radio and television to promote his particular brand of celebrity tattletale. I didn’t like the things Roger wrote about but I had to admit his research was impeccable and his contact book was extensive.
If anyone was going to find Cinderella’s dropped shoe it was Roger. And while not being identified at all was my preference, if I had to be unmasked, at least I could tell the truth about it and explain it was a big misunderstanding.
I phoned Roger back. If he had my name then I could clear all this crazy up.
“Roger, hello, Andi Carrington returning your call.”
“Ah Andi. Is that spelt with an i and two rs?” That was it, he had the story, why else would the spelling of my name be important?
“Yes it is,” and to test the theory, “Why is the spelling important?”
“Oh I think correctly spelling the name of Rush Dawson’s new lover is particularly important, don’t you?”
“Roger, I do have to correct you there. Unfortunately there has been a misunder
standing. I’m not in a relationship with Rush Dawson. It was simply a....”
The phone was snatched out of my hand.
“Roger, this is Rush Dawson.” I tried to grab the phone back, but Rush put his hand in the middle of my ribcage and pushed me away, holding me at arm’s distance where I fought to get around him.
“Give that back! Give it back now!”
“You’d be doing me a great personal favour if you didn’t write about Andi and me. We’re keen to avoid further attention. I’m sure you understand.”
“Mr Dawson, what a privilege to talk to you. I gather you are there now with Andi, how wonderful. Well, I can’t promise you I won’t write the story, after all it’s my business to break the news and this is such juicy news. Thank you so much for confirming things for me. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you are?” Roger paused. I held my breath. “No? Ok bye-bye then.”
Rush collapsed his elbow and I fell hard up against him, this time any shivers I felt were from pure fury.
“I couldn’t let you deny the story Andi,” he said, grabbing both my arms and pinning them to my sides.
“So you as good as confirmed it by asking for privacy instead. Bad enough you steal my image, now you’ve taken my name. It will be everywhere in twenty-four hours.” I pulled free of him and snatched my phone back.
“I could have sold out your name the same time I stole your image but I didn’t.”
“What? I’m supposed to be grateful for that.”
“I’d have been happy for you to remain the mystery girl, but Roger had the story and I couldn’t have it denied.”
“Why?” I flung at him, "Didn’t the pictures do a good enough job of hurting your wife?”
“Not nearly good enough,” he said, low and menacing, before turning and stalking away from me.
How could I ever have felt attracted to that man? I could forgive myself the playful daydreams, made from superficial fairy floss Hollywood images of him, but not the fact that in the flesh he had physically stirred me. Now the only thing he stirred in me was a desire to get as far away from him as possible.
17: Aftermath
In the morning, the smell of smoke still lingered over the valley and Cinderella had been unmasked. The national daily newspaper ran a Roger Smyth exclusive about Rush and his love interest holidaying in a ‘secret’ location. Secret because they didn’t know where we were fortunately. This time there was a name to go with my taxi queue photo. At least it was spelt correctly.
Within another twelve to twenty-four hours the story update, which was only composed of two meagre facts, Cinderella’s name and that she was somewhere in Australia with Rush, would be picked up and published by the world’s celebrity hounds, gossip writers, radio jocks and entertainment journalists.
I’d never been so grateful to be out of mobile phone coverage but Helen called the landline at the house before I’d even buttered my morning toast.
“I just heard them say on the radio that you are Cinderella! You’re Rush’s new girl. You told me it wasn’t true.”
“It’s not true. I promise you, it’s a big fat lie.”
“So why are they all saying it’s true?”
“Well, because, it’s, well, it’s complicated.”
“But it’s not true?”
“No, it’s not true.”
“Pity.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s.... well, he even makes me feel, well, you know....”
“Aunty Helen!”
“Sorry dear, but I just thought it would be lovely for you to have a really amazing romance, even if it wasn’t a forever thing. Your mother and I, we worry about you. You work so hard. You don’t have enough fun and you’re getting on you know.”
“Trust me, the Rush Dawson you think you know and the real man are very different. If you knew him like I do, you wouldn’t want me having anything to do with him.”
“Oh. Should I be worried for you dear? Do you want to come and stay with me instead of at Allambee?”
“No, it’s just a job. It’ll be finished soon and everything will be back to normal.”
After breakfast, Simon headed out to the growers’ market and dropped Arch and Shane back into town. Arch was determined to assist with the hall clean-up and Shane wanted to pick up a hired Harley Davidson. I was a liability for all these projects which left me alone with Rush. Not the deserted island scenario I’d once imagined. I did consider hiding in my bedroom to avoid him, but sixteen really was a long time ago.
He found me at the pool. “Andi, I wondered if you’d help me with something?”
Deep breath. Too late now to run and hide under the covers. I told myself to be crisp and professional, crisp and professional.
“Of course, what can I help you with?” I was thinking he wanted internet access or a grand piano, a left hand drive car or something equally annoying.
“I want to rebuild the community hall.”
“What?” Perhaps there was water in my ears.
“Well not literally rebuild it, but provide the funding to rebuild it.”
“You want to fund the rebuilding of the hall?”
“Yeah. Is that a good idea?” he said, coming to sit at the edge of the pool.
“I don’t know. In theory it might be a good idea, but it’s not really for us to decide.”
“That’s where I need your help first.”
“First?”
“To find out if the town would welcome the idea. No strings. It’s just that I think we should help.”
That was an end to tendon therapy. I had a job to do. If Rush wanted to fund the rebuilding of the hall, well it was the very least he could do.
It didn’t need much effort to get Helen motivated. She brought Cathy Donaldson, the head of the Bangalow Chamber of Commerce to the house and we hacked out the details over coffee and Simon’s incredible melt in the mouth shortbread biscuits.
The first issue was the biggest and the easiest dealt with. Cathy knew who Rush was, well she suspected, and she kept looking at him intently until she stopped the conversation looked at Helen and said, “You bitch! You could have told me.” Then she looked at me, grinned and said, “Lucky girl!”
Rush jumped in, “Cathy, those pictures, they’re not what you think. Andi is our tour manager and we were just taking a cab. The story is a complete beat up, believe me. I think Andi would rather poke my eyes out with a blunt stick than be romantically linked to me.”
Cathy looked from Rush to me and back again, tossed her yellow hair, leant forward, patted Rush on the hand and said, “More fool her,” cackling with laughter.
A blunt stick in the eye would be too good for him I thought. Not more than a day ago he’d been confirming our ‘relationship’ to the country’s biggest gossip and now he was in full denial. I had no idea what his game was, but at least he wasn’t trying to make a liar out of me in front of Helen.
When Cathy learned that the other occupants of Allambee were Shane Horan and Arch Drummond, she nearly choked on her shortbread. While she was enjoying a recovery cup of tea, I pulled Rush aside.
“I don’t understand. Why was it so important yesterday for the relationship to be real and now you’re denying it?”
“I thought that would make you happier. I know you think I’m a complete bastard for using you but I have no intention of making a liar out of you with the people close to you.”
“So you only want to make a liar out of me with the rest of the world, is that it?”
“What I want is to do something good here,” he sighed, “I’d like you to help me, but if you’d prefer not to, I can find another way?”
Crisp and professional and snide for good measure. “I’d be delighted to help you.” I realised the fee for event management services I could charge would soften the blow of having to work with him.
With Cathy, we struck an agreement that outside those who needed to know, the fact that Hollywood was hidden in the Bangal
ow hills would be keep a secret. Luckily it wasn’t in anyone’s interest to have hoards of media crawling all over the town.
I was still nervous though. The town had a newspaper and more dangerous were the hundreds of tourists with cameras, email accounts and Twitter feeds that were passing through. But after seeing Rush’s media management skills yesterday, far be it from me to point out the new risks he was running. I did call Toby though and he made it clear that anything Rush did was outside of the studio’s concerns as long as it didn’t reflect badly on Shane.
Cathy spent time on the house phone consulting other Chamber of Commerce members, the major, the local priest, the police inspector and the headmasters of the primary and high schools.
We finalised a deal that looked like this. The town would hold a fundraising event and as a silent partner Rush would double every dollar the town raised with a donation of his own, plus meet any shortfall in building costs. Rush would also organise and fund the event, which would be a concert and formal dinner dance, held on site in a temporary marquee in a week’s time, while the town was still full to busting with tourists and their holiday money.
As we waved Cathy and Helen off, Rush turned to me, “Shall we get started?” then he handed me a stick from the garden and said, “Just in case you feel the need.” In spite of my resolve to be crisp and professional with him I almost laughed.
By the time the others were back we had the rudiments of an event mapped out. I had a list of resources we’d need from event insurance and lighting to portable generators and fireworks. It was a long list and I had to admit Rush’s vision was exciting and his pockets were deep.
The only problem about all this was that it made Rush my boss and ended any thoughts I had of avoiding him. I steeled myself to think of the fee which would more than make up for the fact that I’d do all the work and he’d find a way to look good and claim the credit.
The others wanted in. Arch put himself in charge of making the site secure and the temporary venue safe and functional. Shane nominated himself master of ceremonies in charge of the entertainment and Simon volunteered to put a committee of local restaurateurs together to manage the food. We had lift off.
Hiding Hollywood Page 8
