Hiding Hollywood

by Paton, Ainslie

  “Yes.” I met Rush’s eyes. His focus skewered me to the spot, making it impossible to move.

  Arch said, “Are you being nice to him?”

  “Not especially.”

  “Andi, if you don’t throw yourself in his arms right now, I’m gonna....”

  “What?” I interrupted. “What?”

  “I’m going to be really, really sad for you,” Arch said softly. “Try it Andi. You might like it.”

  And suddenly all the anger and fear drained out of me. I looked at the beautiful man standing in my verandah, focusing his whole self on me, his intelligent, strong, brave, talented and passionate self. He’s not trying to rescue me, change me or control me, he’s not trying to jam me into something that will fit too tight and chaff. I’m an inconvenience and yet he’s just offered me the whole fantasy. I’d stopped myself from believing something like that was possible. Possible for me.

  I didn’t want to be a frightened, angry orange cat any more. I stepped into Rush’s waiting arms and he exhaled a long held breath. He folded me against his body and I could feel him shake, the tension leaving him too now that he had his answer.

  “Where would we live?” I muttered against his shirt.

  “Wherever you want? Several places at once if you like. Do you want me to give up the movie business?”

  “Not if it makes you happy. But I need you to understand that it’s foreign to me, that I might not ever be comfortable with it.”

  “I can do that.”

  “And I’m not giving up the company,” I lifted my head to watch his face.

  “I should hope not.”

  I laughed at his expression, “What’s it to you? I thought you were rich enough to support a freeloader or two.” I teased.

  “I have an investment to protect.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I invested in you.”

  “You mean your time to chase me down?”

  “I mean my money. If I couldn’t win you with my native charm, and you wouldn’t take my job offer, I needed a new excuse to be near you,” he stroked my hair. “So I found a new hall to finance.

  “What new hall?”

  “I’m your silent partner.”

  My jaw dropped. Why hadn’t I seen this coming? I’d been so focused on trying to forget Rush, I’d overlooked the reach and power he had. I’d overlooked his history of doing things like this.

  “What do you want from the investment, what’s the fine print?” I said sharply, suspicion leaping in my consciousness.

  “All I wanted was a way to stay involved with you, no matter how distant. No strings, no tricks. I’ll retire the deal if it makes you unhappy,” he said, his expression pained.

  “It will take some getting used to, but it doesn’t necessarily make me unhappy.” No Tom, it would make Michael ecstatic.

  “Will you take the job with us?”

  “If I can fit it in my busy schedule,” I smiled, maybe desert island dreams could come true. “I’ll have to take it up with my partners.” I shifted so I could put my arms around him and realised I was still holding the call from Arch.

  “Bastards are probably still listening,” said Rush, taking the phone from my hand, “Arch, are you still there?”

  “Six sisters,” said Arch. “Think any of them would ever cook for me again if I didn’t have all the details.”

  “Incredible. Ever heard of privacy?” groaned Rush.

  “Old man, fucking get on with it, we haven’t got all night here,” broke in Shane. “I swear if you foul this up, I’m on the next plane to beat the crap out of you and beg her to take me on instead.”

  Rush took a deep breath, pulled me closer, locked eyes with me, gave me that drop dead gorgeous smile that lit his whole face and said, “I can’t live with half measures. Will you take me and all my Hollywood faults and my rat bastard buddies, my wonderful daughter, my career, my money, my groupies, my misleading headlines, my unfortunate fame and stand against them all with me?

  A tiny chorus of cheers and whistles from the phone and Harvey whacked his tail against our legs.

  “Will you take me to bed and let me love you before we sleep?”

  Platonic was over rated.

  “Will you give me time to explain when I mess up, when I get stuff wrong? And I will.”

  Sainthood was so old fashioned. So long St Francis.

  “Will you let me be with you, however you want, wherever you want, for as long as you want?”

  There was only one answer.

  “Andi Carrington, will you think about maybe marrying me one day?”

  “Oh, I’ve thought about it.”

  “And?” he frowned, “now, you’ve made me nervous.”

  “I’m nervous too.” I was having trouble looking at him.

  “You’ve given me stage fright. But I’m always at my best when I’m a little scared. Tell me.”

  I looked up. “Rush, this is not a performance.” If he thought this was some make-believe scene for a movie we were done for before we began.

  “No, it’s not. It’s my life. You’re my life,” he said, his voice breaking.

  I looked into his eyes, wide and wet and I believed him.

  “So?” he said softly, hesitantly.

  I just nodded. I’d thought about it so many ways, so many times. In the form of a stupid schoolgirl daydream, as a secret, sinful adult desire, and as a scrambled and shocked realisation that being with him was what I wanted.

  His grin was broad and his eyes glittered.

  “What the hell’s happening?” demanded Arch.

  “Are you guys kissing?” asked Shane.

  “Just say the word my darling and I’ll lose the entourage?” said Rush, laughing with relief and resting his forehead on mine.

  “Hey!” chorused the entourage, just before he ended the call. We had much better things to do.

  His arms were tight around me, holding me against his length, his lips warm and insistent, parting mine and melting me to him. My hands were in his hair, my racing heart pressed against his chest. I was thoroughly, hopeless lost in his touch and dissolved in his kiss.

  In the fantasy, the island was fully equipped with the latest conveniences and unmentionable luxuries that were so decadent they should have been illegal. In the fantasy, none of that mattered. There was just him and me, everlasting blue skies, calm oceans, fragrant flowers and fruits. He was offering me the fantasy.

  What can I say? I bought it all.

  38: Encore

  January 22

  Hot Hollywood Gossip

  The latest on Tinsel town’s stars

  By Gossip King, Roger Smyth

  Sydney Cinderella gets her Prince

  Heartthrob Rush Dawson protests too much.

  It seems the Hollywood Prince ran a deliberate campaign of misinformation around this time last year during his highly public divorce from the charming Harriet Vale.

  While lovely Harriet was crying buckets, the handsome Mr Dawson was caught partying in Sydney with firm friends Shane Horan and Arch Drummond, and photographed in the company of mystery woman, Andi Carrington, joint owner of the launch management company Arrive.

  The star denied Ms Carrington was the reason for his breakup and in an exclusive with this paper during a fundraiser in the town of Bangalow, persuaded me that he and Ms Carrington shared a strictly professional relationship. I guess professional is in the eye of the beholder.

  The truth has finally caught up with Dawson, fresh from directing his first movie and now semi resident in Sydney. He married Ms Carrington in a private and secret ceremony in the tiny postcode of Possum Creek at the weekend. Horan and Drummond were in attendance. The bride reportedly wore a vintage dress owned by a family member. They are rumoured to be honeymooning at Shane Horan’s Hawaiian island home on Maui.

  The couple intend to split their time between Sydney, Los Angeles and New York and despite repeated requests declined to be interviewed.

 
Acknowledgements

  For the fantastic songs of: ACDC, Cold Chisel, Harry Belafonte, Jason Derulo, John Mayer, Amy Winehouse, Duffy, Cee Lo Green and The Rolling Stones.

  For the amazing music of: Frank Sinatra, Jamie Cullum, Harry Connick Junior, Ray Charles, Norah Jones and Nat King Cole.

  Thank you Tennessee Williams.

  Thank you amazing readers: MP, Lou2, SL, MM, JM, VA & JS. It’s basically all your fault we came this far.

  Thank you MP for the title.

  Thank you beautiful stranger SG for Hollywood’s red carpet cover treatment.

  Turning Tables

  Ainslie Paton

  A romance about intimidation, getting lost in

  the detail and finding the emu.

  When Mac called her a ruthless mercenary, a heartless career whore, Cassidy Tyler laughed him off.

  It was just one of his bully boy intimidation tactics and who was he anyway? He’d had the one job all his life in a dying industry in a two bit town out the back of nowhere and she was a highly paid consultant with a dream career, a fantastic home and a hot car.

  Her life was on track with a promotion sitting in the wings and his had been thrown overboard without a lifejacket, so when they’re forced to work together sparks and feet fly.

  But Mac isn’t quite what he seems and turns the tables forcing Cassidy to re-think her attitude, her job and her life and more importantly to find her emu.

  1:

  Jarrah

  The only thought in his head was - wow.

  And it wasn’t a flimsy, passing notion, competing with other more rational ideas. It was all he could think.

  She obviously figured she was all alone in the airy tin shed workshop though he’d heard her boots striking boldly on the concrete floor. She ran her hand across the smooth, rich, red brown table top and smiled. The slab was old, hard, strong and dense with colour and wood grain. She pulled out the matching dining chair and sat with a satisfied sigh. She closed her eyes and appeared to savour the sharp scent of sawdust and beeswax as she marvelled at the beauty of the carved wooden furniture around her.

  Just when he was worried she might look over and see him and he felt a momentary flicker of panic about not having anything intelligent to say, she slid her hands out in front of her across the flat, clear surface of the table and then around in two circles either side of her until she was gripping the table’s rounded edge, arms wide open, body grazing the rich polished wood and head titled to one side. It was as close to hugging the table as you could get. And he heard the word wow echo on repeat in his brain.

  He should have gone to her, looked in her eyes, listened to her explain what she wanted in an out of the way, dusty custom furniture workshop, but hell that was Rob’s job. Instead he continued to lean against the doorjamb of the office, sip his coffee and soak her in.

  She had good taste. That old jarrah table was their best piece, the slab over three hundred years old and it was the last piece Frank made. It wasn’t for sale no matter how much they needed the cash, no matter how attractive the buyer might be and this woman was attractive, more than attractive, she was an angel. She had thick red gold hair and flawless peaches and cream skin that meant she didn’t spend much time outdoors. He wondered what colour her eyes were. He wondered what her voice sounded like, what she did to earn the money to buy that gold chain at her throat and the soft honey mustard leather jacket she wore.

  She sure wasn’t their average customer. In fact, there was nothing average about her. She was on her feet now, moving gracefully and confidently around the workshop coolly appraising the finished pieces and the raw materials alike.

  She walked between the bigger uncut and unpolished slabs of jarrah, stopping every now and then to look closer or run her hand down a length of plank. That was her new model BMW in the yard, which meant he really should have been out there trying to sell her something rather than wait for Rob, but it was much nicer just watching her. It would totally break the spell if she had a screechy little voice or a bitchy manner or if she tried to nickel and dime on the price of something.

  There was probably a boyfriend or a husband somewhere, maybe that’s where Rob was, selling something to her significant other. Yeah, a woman as good looking as that, there had to have a man on the scene. Some suit wearing loser from Sydney, a banker or worse, a lawyer. Ah well, looking was free and even more fun when you knew you were doing it unseen.

  Rob almost broke the spell calling to her from the doorway. “Hello. I was out the back. I didn’t know you were here. Can I help you?”

  “Hi. I was just looking around. These are beautiful pieces. Do you make them?” she said, in a voice that was neither screechy nor bitchy, but confident and warm like a caress.

  “We do. Me and my brother. Well, only me for the moment, but yeah, it’s a family business. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

  “No, I just saw the sign and came in. I’m visiting the area. I wasn’t ready for how beautiful this furniture is. The big table,” she pointed back into the room, “How much is it?”

  “Ah, that one’s not for sale, well not yet anyway. That’s a special piece, sort of a family heirloom I guess you could say.”

  “Well, I can understand you not wanting to sell it.”

  “Is there anything else I can show you?”

  “No, thank you, I should get going. I’ll come back one day with my credit card.”

  “You do that. I’d love you to have something special.”

  Rob walked the woman out the doorway and watched her get in her car. He’d be half cursing the loss of a sale and half in wonder at just how a babe like her had found them in the first place.

  He joined Rob in the doorway and thumped him on the back. “Pull your tongue in. Drooling on the customer isn’t attractive. Retail one-oh-one.”

  “You saw her then? What a babe.”

  “Yeah, I saw her.”

  “Well, why the hell didn’t you sell her something?”

  “What and spoil your fun, little brother – never.”

  Also available: Producing Real and coming mid 2012, Grease Monkey Jive

  About Ainslie Paton

  Hi, I’m Ainslie Paton.

  When I was a little kid my favourite person was my grandfather and our favourite thing was story time. Pop never finished school, so reading and writing were not his strong suit, but he could tell a mean story. We’d lie on the grass in the backyard and he’d make up stories about animals, fire engines and picnics with crust-less sandwiches, cordial and cake. I don’t think the delight of being told a story ever left me.

  Once I’d learned to read I disappeared into books. The Famous Five, The Secret Seven, Black Beauty, My Friend Flicka, Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew. I used to hide out under the bedcovers with a torch at night so I could read long after I was supposed to be asleep. I wrote my first play at eleven and we performed it for the whole of primary school. It was a medical tragi-comedy featuring doctors and nurses wearing oversized sunglasses that constantly fell off their faces. I can’t remember why, but it made the kids and teachers laugh.

  By the time I was fourteen, I’d read everything on my mum’s bookshelf which meant Jackie Collins, Taylor Caldwell, Harold Robbins, Sidney Sheldon, Judith Krantz, Susan Howatch and Colleen McCullough.

  Goodness knows what I made of half of it, but I never stopped reading and more importantly I never got caught. Mum was horrified, even twenty years after the event, that I’d been anywhere near her books, let alone read them all. How I never got caught sneaking them off her shelf and into my room and back again the next morning I’ll never know.

  Of course I wanted to grow up to own a horse, wear beautiful clothes, live in a country estate and have a tropical island getaway, travel, solve mysteries, have men fall at my feet and write stories.

  Not having been at all successful with any of the other ambitions, I’m finally having a go at that last one. You can always hope.

  You can visit me
at www.ainsliepaton.com.au