Hiding Hollywood

by Paton, Ainslie

  “Jesus!” exclaimed Arch, “that’s enough to give the old man a heart attack.”

  “What old man?” asked Helen, but was easily distracted by the problem of my feet buried under metres of fabric. Missy was either a giraffe or she intended to loom over the competition on stilts.

  “Oh I can fix that in an hour,” said Cecily, “but you need shoes first.”

  Peace in the Middle East sorted, how hard could shoes be? Shoes we discovered were determining life on Mars hard. The problem was that my bad foot was still very swollen and I couldn’t walk in a high heel. I couldn’t very well go barefoot to the ball either and the one thong, one space boot look had gotten real old. Half way through the shoe trying dilemma Arch got the giggles.

  “It’s just too good,” he said, “too good. She really is Cinderella, she only has one slipper.”

  “Any time you’re ready to go do something else,” I said in frustration.

  “I’m not going out there. Scary tourists with phone cameras,” he shuddered, looking towards the door as though it marked a demilitarised zone. Oh, so now he goes all scared rabbit. This was the same guy who jumped on stage at Jack’s, joined the fire fighting crew and in spare moments had been tearing around the neighbourhood, half dressed and helmet-less on a Harley Davidson.

  “I’m safer here with Helen and Cecily,” he said, making both women go all coy. “Hold on, I’ve got an idea. Let’s take the pair that fits the best. I used to stretch my Mom’s shoes for her – terrible bunions, and we’ll ice your foot and ankle and see if we can bring that swelling down and then cross our fingers,” he said.

  Between Cecily’s fluttering eyelashes and Helen’s cooing did I have another choice?

  Back at the house, Arch spent time in the kitchen doing something to the little silver kitten heel shoes that involved wet newspaper, a hairdryer and a hot soup spoon. Meanwhile, he’d deputised Simon to keep me supplied with cold packs for my foot. So I sat at the dining table with a frozen rump steak, ultimately someone’s dinner, wrapped in a tea towel, over my ankle and caught up on email. The one that made me forget that I could no longer feel my toes was from Tom Flourish.

  Dear Andi

  I am intrigued to see you making the news, in more ways than one, and very keen to talk with you about your experience. Obviously it’s not all it seems, but without even knowing the truth I can tell you are doing an amazing job. My sources tell me you and the three gentlemen in question are still in the country but somehow managing to avoid detection, or might I suggest, entrapment. Bravo.

  In short, I have a job offer for you. Flourish & co is expanding rapidly and I believe that together we could do some very exciting work. Of course I understand that with your skills and reputation you wouldn’t consider moving for just any role and so I’m offering you a partnership and profit share.

  I’m keen to hear from you whenever you are free to talk.

  Tom

  What a crafty devil he was. Always looking for an opportunity to do whatever it took, even if that meant stealing talent from rival companies – particularly companies started by ex-employees.

  At any other time, I’d have found this most amusing and knocked myself over in haste to share it with Michael, and craft a suitable, ‘I’m flattered, but not till pigs fly’, response. But now, I found it less entertaining and more intriguing. Did I still want to work with Michael after all this? But I had no time to think it through.

  With the arrival of the rest of Running on Empty, Dan, Jon and Bry, the house was suddenly full of denim clad men with long hair deep voices. Shane announced that Peter was their special purpose roadie and handed him a guitar and Simon stood by looking out of place until Arch introduced him as the best new chef in the business.

  Helen, Cathy, Sally and I went over last minute ticket sales, seating plans and timetabling, and prepared to move our production office to the Winnebago van on site. Rush retreated to the kitchen to make some phone calls. I heard him leave a message for Anissa telling her how excited he was to be seeing her soon. It reminded me that I should contact Michael. I sent him an email, brief and to the point, providing the details for the event.

  The band rehearsed, the numbers added up, the dice were loaded and by this time tomorrow our guests would be arriving.

  Dinner was a boisterous affair for thirteen including Elizabeth who was even more wide eyed during this visit and delighted by the fact that the person once known as Brick had reformed as Peter. Simon was in his element showing off his kitchen wizardry, Sally was the belle of the evening, Shane and Cathy traded toasts, Arch and Helen heckled and all was right, if a little noisy, with the world tonight.

  “You did all this,” said Rush, handing me a slice of lemon tart.

  “We did it,” I rejoined. “Who said we didn’t make a good team?”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about, making that teamwork a more permanent thing. I want to offer you a job. I want you to come and work for the Foundation, for Arch and Shane and me, as our chief executive.”

  This was unexpected and two job offers in one day – startling. “Doing what?”

  “What you did here and a whole lot more. There is so much we could do if we dedicated time and talent to it.”

  “Like?” I was intrigued.

  “Scholarships and a micro-finance program for women and I want to grow the fund, add the money and influence of other people who get paid by the Hollywood system.”

  “That’s wonderful, truly wonderful.”

  “I’m hearing a ‘but’,” he took my uneaten pie and put it on the table.

  “I’m just surprised that’s all.” I was scrambling to know what to think about this. It had been a long day, a longer week and I was too tired to consider this. All I really wanted tonight was for him to hold me, love me, make me feel good, because after tomorrow the fantasy would be over and I’d be alone again.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Well, if it was me, I’d be saying no more sidetrack projects like rebuilding halls in country towns in prosperous countries that can support themselves.”

  “Yes ma’am. See that’s why it should be you. We need you.”

  “Where would I be based?”

  “Sydney, LA, New York, Possum Creek. Anywhere you wanted, though you’d need to travel to oversee major projects and to oversee me of course.”

  And there it was, the reason this made me uneasy. Was this a legitimate job offer or just another excuse to keep me in his orbit, spinning furiously alongside him while he travelled in a different, brighter, parallel universe?

  “Do you need an answer now?” If he did, it was no. I needed time to think about everything that had happened this week, about the business, about Michael, about how I really felt about Rush.

  He took my hand, “I need an answer when you’re ready to give me one and not before.”

  “Do you think anyone would notice if you hugged me now?” I asked.

  “I don’t think it’s anyone’s business what we do, but I’d like to do more than hug you.”

  It wasn’t like I required a formal invitation. I lead him away from Simon’s cheese platter, from Bry teaching Peter guitar chords, from Sally flirting with Shane, and Helen, Cathy and Elizabeth chatting over coffee. The only one who saw us go was Arch and if his smile had been any bigger he’d have split his lip.

  In my bedroom, Rush backed me up against the closed door, hands on either side of me. “Hmm,” he studied my face, “What time do you have to be up?”

  “Early.” That earned a kiss. Nice. I felt it in my toes.

  “How early?”

  “Five.” That earned a deeper kiss. Nicer was too polite a description.

  He gathered me into his arms. “So here’s the plan. You’re going to put your PJs on and I’m going to stay with you till you fall asleep.”

  “And....?”

  “No ‘and’, that’s it.”

  “You are kidding?” I laughed.

  He shook hi
s head, “Nope.”

  “You mean the man, for whom I’ve harboured a secret deserted island fantasy, who bizarrely I get to meet, work with, take home, share meals and bathrooms with, fight with and fall madly in lust with - and who is finally in my bedroom, is just going to lay there till I fall asleep! What planet is this?” I pushed him away. “I can’t believe this!”

  He just laughed, untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, and stretched out full length on my bed, crossing his ankles and folding his hands behind his head, exposing his tanned chest and the value of regular gym workouts and all the Yoga.

  “Oh! So not on!” I stamped my foot. The good one.

  “Take it or leave it kitten,” he growled, raising one lazy eyebrow at me.

  I made a move to pounce on him and he said, “PJs or nothing.”

  “I vote nothing,” I flicked my t-shirt over my head, remembering belatedly my best underwear was in the drawer.

  “Ah – I mean, PJs, or I’m out of here,” he qualified, and closed his eyes.

  “There must be something wrong with you. I’m standing here half-dressed and you....”

  “I’m feeling like you’ve just hit me with a bolt of electricity,” he interrupted, rolling over on his side and coming up on one elbow. He patted the bed beside him. “Hurry up or you won’t get any sleep at all.”

  “That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.”

  He got back up, came to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “We can do whatever you want, believe me I’m ready. But I’d like to think we had plenty of time to do all the stuff you’re thinking and more that I’ve got in mind, without racing into it tonight. At best you’ve got the chance for four hours sleep.”

  I dropped my head to his chest, “But after tomorrow you’ll be gone.”

  “Is that what you’re worried about? Andi, I want you in my life. I don’t want to ruin what we might have by cramming it into one night. You’re not that girl.”

  “What chance is there that there will be another night?” I said, looking up at him.

  “Well, discounting tomorrow night, and neither of us needs sleep then, I’m a guy who owns a jet, and I don’t think the concept of multiple nights and days is too far out of town.”

  I gave him a little shake, “I’m serious, Rush we don’t live in the same world. What if I am just that girl, on just this night?”

  He put me at arm’s length, hands so very warm on my hips. “I told you I was annoyed with Simon because he got in first. One public declaration of love a day is the limit in my books. I wanted to say that I was falling in love with you. That Rush Dawson was mad about Andi Carrington. That it wasn’t a setup, a rumour, a convenience and it wasn’t about control. That it was as real as the sun rising, as lovely as the moon, as bright as the stars and as vital as breathing.”

  I thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest, past the torn lace on my bra and paint him red. I was having trouble catching a full breath and I knew if I looked in his eyes I’d be crying.

  He lifted my chin but I kept my eyes firmly closed. Better to hide from this. Stand in my shorts and should-have-been-thrown-out-ages-ago-tatty-bra, clasped in his muscled arms and act like a cartoon ostrich with its head in the sand. If I didn’t look at him, maybe he couldn’t see me.

  “Are you listening?” He kissed my right eye. Salt water seeped from my left and he wiped it dry tenderly with his thumb.

  “Damn Simon,” I murmured, and opened flooded eyes.

  “Simon was brave, far braver than me. He taught me a lesson.” Rush pulled me back into his embrace and I tucked my head under his chin.

  “I was so nervous it was the wrong thing to say in front of everyone that I just sat there and did nothing. Not telling you what I’m feeling is as good as a lie and I’m never doing that to you again,” he said. “I told you I was rusty at this, I promise I’ll get better.”

  “The job, it’s not an excuse just to keep me around?” I looked up to study his face.

  “It’s not an excuse, though I want you around whether you take it or not.” He scooped me up and carried me the few steps to the mattress, “Now I really do want you in bed.”

  He stretched out and I folded in against him and I thought there was no way I would sleep with him there, interfering with my sanity, his words still rumbling in my head, but apparently I did. When I woke, with the threat of daybreak, he was still there. It hadn’t been the elaborate fantasy of a lonely girl.

  He was breathing steadily in sleep and I studied him in the soft light, noting a tiny scar above one eyebrow, the sprinkle of grey hair in the black, the long curled eyelashes and the lips that said things to drive me mad and did things that could render me senseless. He whispered, “Go back to sleep,” and the fine lines around his eyes crinkled up as he smiled and snuggled me closer. When I slept again it was with complete contentment.

  28: Break of Day

  Birds were calling to each other, though the sun was still only starting to wake when I crawled out of bed and fumbled about for some clothes. Rush was still sleeping and had no reason to be up this early. When I dropped a running shoe on the floorboards, he stirred, rolled towards me and opened one eye.

  “That time already,” he croaked.

  God, his voice was low and husky and I wanted so much just to crawl back into bed with him and forget the world. “Yes, go back to sleep.”

  “I want to know something first.”

  “It’s ok. I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t hug and tell.”

  He laughed, “I want to know about the deserted island thing.” He didn’t miss much. “I’m serious,” he said, “are we talking Blue Lagoon or Castaway?”

  “Gilligan’s Island.” I said, in all seriousness.

  “Am I the Professor or the Skipper, oh not Mr Howell?”

  “You’re Gilligan.”

  He groaned and rolled onto his back, “Gilligan! The girl couldn’t cast with a net.”

  I gathered the gear I needed and turned to go. “What no morning kiss?” he said, suddenly in my ear. He pulled me and my bundle of stuff against him. “I will know about that island, and I want you to know one other thing.”

  “What?” my best Blanche delivery.

  He chuckled, “That is the very last time I let you be so close to me without disturbing your peace. Platonic and me, we’re over.”

  “Promise?”

  “Sure do little buddy.”

  Sally was already on site along with the construction crew when I arrived. She shoved a take-away coffee cup in my hand and that was the last calm of the morning. Together we set up the production office and managed the succession of set builders, lighting specialists, sound engineers and caterers who needed to be on site. It would take a small village to get ready for one night, in all fifty people had signed on as our event crew.

  At 7.30am, Simon and Peter arrived with breakfast for everyone, bacon and egg rolls, fruit salad, juice and coffee and we checked the weather forecast, no last minute changes. Hot and fine.

  At 8.30am, the builders started constructing the balcony level which included a set of stairs and a fireman’s pole for fun, and the bathrooms arrived on a truck.

  By 10.00am, the temporary flooring was down and being swept. Two hours later the tented clear roof was suspended over the broken walls of the hall and the air-conditioning was connected to the generators.

  By 1.00pm, the kitchen was installed and the tables were being set up along with the stage. One of the local cafes brought in sandwiches for lunch.

  At 2.00pm, Rush, Shane, Arch and the rest of the band arrived for a rehearsal and a show run through and the tables were dressed in their livery of red, silver and white. When the band assembled on stage for their first song all the production staff downed tools and came to watch cheering and clapping along. Rush tracked me down in the van where Sally and I were amending the show run order.

  “Hey, need any help?” he asked. I was hot and sticky and he looked so fine and fresh.<
br />
  “We’re good,” said Sally, “it’s all running smoothly.”

  “Do you think I could talk to Andi about a little issue I have?” he said.

  “No worries, I’ll leave you to it.” I thought I caught her winking at me as she left the van.

  “Little issue?” I said.

  “Maybe not so little.”

  “What is it?” I was hovering between concern and a very strong desire to push him onto the desk and climb in his lap. I had slightly better underwear on today should I be able to manoeuvre it into being seen.

  Exercising as yet unexplored mind reading capabilities, Rush hiked his hip onto the desk and sat one denim leg dangling and one anchored on the floor. Like a puzzle piece I walked into the neat fit of his arms.

  “Problem solved,” he said, and then proceeded to bend time to his will, stopping the clock with a sequence of kisses that drew all the stress of the day out of me and filled me with light. It could have been five hours or five minutes later that he pulled back.

  “I do have another thing to discuss that does involve actual language,” he said, with a big intake of breath. “I’ve....”

  He was interrupted by a pounding on the side of the van, “Andi, we have a problem with the generator,” the electrician popped his head in. “Oh sorry,” he said on seeing us, his eyes wide.

  “It’s ok, she’s all yours,” said Rush releasing me, “but only on loan.”

  We’d underestimated the requirement for power, not knowing about the band’s needs was the culprit and it needed an urgent fix. I wasn’t going to be available any time soon and Rush watching from the doorway of the van could see that.

  “I’ll get out of your way,” he said, “see you back home.”

  At 2.30pm, the florist delivered a forest load of white lilies and their gorgeous scent masked the last of the left over charred smell of the hall and Helen and Cathy, with her hair in rollers, arrived for a site visit full of oohs and ahs.

  At 3.00pm, we solved the power problem. Peter brought me a bucket of ice and an instruction from Arch to sit with my foot in it and I edited the show run order while the DJ set up his sound desk.