Don't Mention the Rock Star

by Bree Darcy

  Andy, dressed in a black tuxedo, stood behind Siena, his hands resting on that tiny waist of hers, while their three daughters Mackenzie, Neveah (try spelling it backwards) and Raven were sandwiched in next to their grandfather. On the other side was Siena’s older half-brother, Michael; his paediatrician wife Naomi and their two children.

  Gerry, the only other Danger Game member present at the ceremony, was in a separate photo, wearing a pink and purple striped suit with a stunning Canadian model fifteen years his junior on his arm.

  Like Chandler, Gerry had not been particularly successful in the matrimony stakes. His first wife was a Brazilian model – as in she was a model from the South American country, not that she paraded her sparsely decorated nether regions. After two tumultuous years, she moved in with a pro basketball player and Gerry rarely saw their now sixteen-year-old son.

  The second wife was an English model who underwent major nose reconstruction to repair her septum after years of cocaine abuse. They were only married for ninety-eight days.

  Things were looking more promising for Gerry a few years back when he and his Swedish fiancee – a Sports Illustrated cover girl – planned to tie the knot after the birth of their baby. But as soon as the baby girl was delivered, it became apparent that you should never assume Lokman, the Malaysian guy who acted as Trudie’s stylist/best friend, must be gay.

  I grabbed my phone ready to text a teasing message to Andy about his natty bowtie when Curtis sprinted up the stairs. “I’m popping over to my parents to pick up the tropical fish tank. Did you want to come?”

  “Better not,” I said. “I’m too busy cleaning up.”

  “Looks like it,” he smirked.

  * * *

  “There’s no way it’s been twenty years,” I spluttered the next morning. “I’m not old enough.”

  There had been whispers that a Westborough High reunion was on the cards. And now Dawn was phoning to confirm it had been booked for April next year. By then it would actually mark the twenty-first year since our graduation. Our former head girl Marissa, who was organising it, was heading off soon on an exchange program to work with handicapped orphans in Indonesia so it had been deferred until her return.

  “Hate to break it to you but we’re old. My mum was a grandmother at our age.” Dawn laughed. “You will be coming over for it, I presume?”

  I blustered for a bit, talking about how it might not be a good time to get away, how Curtis might not appreciate me making an extra trip home, how it might not be possible to get time off work …

  “Anyway it’s not like we don’t already know what everyone’s up to thanks to Facebook,” I concluded, nodding my thanks at Heidi for delivering a bundle of Real Housewives preview discs. “You and Nikki can fill me in on any gossip afterwards.”

  “You can’t keep avoiding him your whole life,” Dawn lectured. “You’re getting on that plane even if we have to come and frog-march you on.”

  Bethany knocked on my partition and gestured towards the elevators.

  “Dawn, I’ve gotta go,” I interrupted. “The Prime Minister’s just walked in.”

  “Ooh,” Dawn replied. “And I get excited when the guy from the laundry detergent commercial comes to pick up his kid from daycare. Can you tell Barnaby Alley from me that his marine park decision sucks. And don’t get me started on what he wants to do to the child-care rebate -”.

  I hung up before Dawn could run through any more of her political peeves.

  As Alley and his entourage approached, a hush descended. He was doing the rounds on his way to the boardroom for a meeting with Sir Dudley Fenney about the proposed media laws. His security team’s eyes constantly swept our office for imminent threats. Being jabbed by a stapler, perhaps. Kicking his toe on the photocopier. Or even worse, getting cornered by Lenny.

  A few people stood to shake Alley’s hand, others averted their eyes, hoping not to be drawn into conversation.

  It was a totally different response to the time Hugh Jackman came in to do a photo shoot. Staff had lined the windows awaiting his arrival and security guard Giuliano placed extra chairs in the sick bay for anyone feeling dizzy. As Hugh admired the statue of Sir Dudley’s patron saint, John Bosco, the foyer was lit up with the blinding flashes of hundreds of phone cameras.

  Lenny stood to attention now and saluted as our silver fox of a political leader swept by, making a beeline for the other end of the room, where the more alluring staffers of a fashion magazine dwelled. Despite being married to his childhood sweetheart, he had found it hard to shake off his reputation as a bit of a ladies’ man.

  Moments later, we received a group email from Lenny. Winner of the ‘what colour tie will the PM be wearing’ sweepstakes is Mike, who guessed multi-coloured with balloons.

  I narrowed my eyes at our beaming graphic designer who pocketed the kitty. “Your girlfriend’s flatmate works in the PM’s office,” I recalled. “Did you put in a call to find out what he was wearing?”

  “Just a lucky guess,” Mike answered, before whistling his way to the break area.

  “I demand an official inquiry,” I yelled at his departing back.

  Adele dropped dejectedly into her chair. “Zara hasn’t been looking for me?”

  “Nope, she’s not around. But you just missed the Prime Minister. Where have you been?”

  Adele sighed. “Shopping with Miriami. She’s being a diva as usual.”

  Miriami was the seventeen-year-old daughter of Adele’s partner, Max. She decided at the end of last year to move to Australia to live with her father, and had proven a constant headache for Adele, with her moody behaviour and outlandish demands.

  “Remember I told you about the gorgeous dress she bought for her school ball – the mint one with the sweetheart neckline and flowing chiffon skirt. Turns out she doesn’t like it anymore. The same one she was so desperate to buy only three weeks ago. And because we had the length altered, we can’t take it back. Now she says she’ll die if she doesn’t get this other dress.”

  Adele showed me a photo on her phone. The one-shoulder dress was very girly, with sequins on the white bodice and a tutu-like skirt made of sky-blue feathers. But it wasn’t something I could see the big-boned Miriami in.

  “And of course it doesn’t suit her at all. Not that you’ll ever hear me tell her that – she’d bite my head off.”

  In terms of her upcoming ball, Miriami had more demands than Jennifer Lopez singing at a sultan’s birthday party. She wanted to travel by pink Hummer limo, had booked into one of Double Bay’s swankiest hair salons, and planned to hire Pieter Gallagher, make-up artist to the stars. All of this would cost a pretty penny which her tiler father didn’t have to throw around.

  “Why doesn’t Max put his foot down?”

  “The usual,” Adele said. “He’s scared she’ll go back to New Zealand to live with her mum. And I’m sure Sonja is egging Miri on, trying to cause trouble between us.” Adele turned to me. “You wait, your nightmare days with Ciara are just around the corner.”

  “It could be worse,” I told her. “At least you don’t have a son who insists on being taken to see Star Wars for the millionth time.”

  * * *

  “I can’t believe you’ve never seen Star Wars.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve never seen The Hunger Games,” Ciara retaliated to her brother’s friend, Aariz.

  In the spirit of encouraging Ryan’s burgeoning friendship with this boy from his Cobra Ninja self-defence classes, I had agreed to take them to a special outdoors screening of Star Wars. Aariz was an earnest-looking boy with a thickening moustache who, from listening to their conversations, appeared to not only be a computer game aficionado but an aspiring thrash metal drummer as well. Thank goodness he didn’t live next door.

  It had been a scorcher of a day, over forty degrees, but the sea breeze was in so it was shaping up as a beautiful balmy night. I turned around to grab some soft drink cans from the mini esky and spotted Lenny sitting several ro
ws over by himself. I waved him over.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” I said with a smile.

  “It’s my favourite all-time movie. Any excuse to watch,” he said.

  It was lucky I had recognised Lenny at all, since he was draped in Obi-Wan Kenobi’s brown robe. I introduced him to the kids, then asked if he wanted to join us. “My husband’s due any minute but there’s more than enough room on our rug.” This would give Curtis the chance to make it up to Lenny for the awful way he behaved at the Christmas party.

  “If you’re sure your husband won’t mind, that would be lovely, thank you. Fans of the film, are you guys?”

  “We are,” Ryan said, gesturing to himself and Aariz. “My sister has never seen it.”

  Lenny gasped, clutching at his chest. “She doesn’t know what she’s been missing.”

  He hauled over his picnic basket, the boys’ eyes bugging out as he set out the treats. “Wookie cookies, Han-sandwiches, Princess Leia buns, lightsaber celery sticks – and of course Yoda soda. And for the movie, Chewbacca chewing gum and Death Star popcorn. Help yourselves, kids.”

  Ciara prevented the boys from tucking in until she had snapped some artistic Instagram shots.

  Lenny settled back in his picnic chair, chuckling over how security had set up a twenty-metre exclusion zone around the executive toilets whenever Barnaby Alley took a leak.

  My phone buzzed. It was Curtis: Sorry, still too much to do at work. Tell kids to enjoy movie.

  My heart sunk. Obviously my lecture about him having to spend more time with Ryan hadn’t sunk in.

  Lenny noticed my frown. “Everything all right?”

  “Sorry kids, that was Dad. He can’t make it after all.”

  The news barely fazed them. Ryan was engrossed in a game of Angry Birds with Aariz and Ciara was scrolling through her Facebook newsfeed. I, however, was officially upset on their behalf.

  “Hey kids, why don’t you go check out the merchandise.” Lenny pulled twenty dollars from his wallet. “I would love one of those lightsaber glow sticks – and get one for yourselves too.”

  “Sweet,” said Ryan, grabbing the note.

  “You okay?” Lenny turned to me.

  “Not really. My husband has a habit of not turning up,” I said. “Ryan, in particular, is at the stage where he really needs his father around, not someone who bales out at the last minute.”

  Lenny patted my hand in sympathy and before I knew it I was telling him all about growing up without a father and how I was worried about the effect an absentee father would have on my own kids.

  Lenny crunched a celery stick. “My old man was either working at the shipyards or down the pub, and didn’t care one brass razoo what us kids were up to,” he said. “And my mother was not what you’d call maternal. Do you know I only ever had one birthday party? When I was ten. My brother talked her into it. But I had to organise and pay for everything – the games, the lolly bags, the food. She didn’t even make a cake.”

  That explained why Lenny put so much effort into celebrations – making up for all the ones he had missed as a child.

  “So I never had much of a bond with either of my parents. But I’ve heard you talk about your kids, seen how proud you are when you stick up a new photo. With all your love, it’s impossible for them to be missing out.”

  I smiled at Lenny’s kind words. “You never thought about having children yourself?”

  Lenny looked wistful. “The opportunity never arose.”

  “Didn’t meet the right woman?”

  “I did but she was my brother’s girlfriend.”

  “Ooh, scandal,” I teased. Falling for the same girlfriend was obviously a common issue for brothers, not just Curtis and Ewan.

  “She was gorgeous. Lovely wavy hair, beautiful smile, legs that went on forever…”

  “So what happened?”

  “They broke up during my first year in the navy and I didn’t see her again for ages. Then one day I was back in Cairns on leave when I spotted her in a shopping centre, with a little girl, the dead spit of her. She’d obviously gone on, got married and had a family.” Lenny sighed. “Fate it seems never intended for us to be together.”

  “So do you believe in fate when it comes to matters of the heart?”

  “I certainly do, if it’s meant to be, fate will somehow conspire to bring you together.”

  And as the kids came back fighting with the glow sticks and the story about a galaxy far far away lit up the big screen, I daydreamed about a romance far far away in my past.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Fate definitely conspired to snatch Andy away from me. First Bad Disease came to a fiery end, not through artistic differences but a blaze that ignited in Jeff’s garage, destroying instruments and amps. Andy believed the rock gods had a hand in it, to prevent awful music being inflicted on the population.

  A week later, Andy skateboarded down my driveway and banged on the front door.

  “Haven’t seen you on your skateboard for a while. Where’s your wheels?”

  “These are my wheels now. I crashed my van last night.”

  “Oh no! You okay?” I checked him over for bumps and bruises.

  Andy had swerved into a muddy ditch while changing a cassette. The car rolled on to its side and he’d had to climb out the back doors.

  “When will it be fixed?” I asked.

  “Uncle Ed got it towed this morning. He’s selling it to some guy who’ll strip it for the parts, and advised me to put the money towards a plane ticket home.”

  It was apparent Andy had no chance of getting a working visa. Who would have thought unqualified teenagers with a taste for illicit drugs were not high on our list of desirable immigrants? The recent crackdowns on illegal workers in Vietnamese restaurants had made Andy’s boss at the warehouse nervous so he had lost his job too. He was temporarily assisting one of his uncle’s painter friends, whose apprentice was out with a broken collarbone.

  So now Andy was heading back to San Francisco to crash on a couch in Gerry’s basement. And he was desperately trying to convince me to go with him. He even got his mother in on the act.

  I had dropped in to help her fill out some paperwork. Despite living in America for years, Maria’s written English was not good. She slid a form across the kitchen bench. I looked at it confused – she wouldn’t be allowed to apply for an Australian passport.

  “If Andrew is returning home, you must go with him. Please,” she said, wringing her hands. “My son, he has not had easy life. Troublemaker is what people see but I know you see more. You are good influence.”

  Maria tapped the document with her pointer finger. “Fill this in, and I will talk to your mother. We pay. Please, you must follow him, like I did with my Tony, God rest his soul.”

  Maria had indeed migrated to another country when she wasn’t much older than me. She and her twin, Carmela, were from Catanzaro in southern Italy, and had met two dashing men – Tony, an American, and Eduardo, an Italian who lived in Australia – the same summer. Each had a whirlwind courtship and at age nineteen followed their new husbands to their new homes – Maria to San Francisco and Carmela to Perth.

  It broke her heart to be so far away from her parents and sister but her life was to be by her husband’s side. For many years, she longed for a baby but it wasn’t to be. Then when she was in her late thirties, their only son finally arrived. Trust Andy to make a late entrance.

  Maria took my silence as a positive sign. “I will miss my son when he goes but I am happy he can live his dreams to make music. The band here are … how you say … crapola. It’s good he be with Gerry again.”

  Maria picked up a framed photo of her and Tony standing on a bridge with toddler Andy wearing the cutest pair of dark green overalls. The colour had muted over time but there was no dimming the adoration on their faces.

  “I had thirty-five years with my Tony but I would have had nothing, nothing if I didn’t go with him. You will see is right thing to d
o.”

  Maria reached for her chequebook but I stopped her. “That’s very generous but I can’t accept. Of course I would love to go with Andy but I can’t. As much as I will miss him, I want to go to university. We’re far too young to settle down anyway.”

  “You may think you are young but, I know, time goes by quick.” Maria clasped my hands. “Don’t be left with regret in your heart.”

  “That’s the problem,” I replied. “I will have regrets if I don’t follow through with my plans. Plans I made long before I met your son. I can’t throw away everything I’ve been working for. I do love Andy and nothing will ever change that. We have to go our separate ways now but it’s only for a few years.”

  Maria replied in Italian, crossing herself several times.

  Meanwhile, my mum was insisting I not throw away my future for the sake of a boy. Even if that boy was Andy. She didn’t want me to make the same mistakes she had.

  Mum had quit school at fifteen, encouraged by her parents to enrol in secretarial training, even though she wanted to be a teacher. She met my father at a pie shop one lunchtime, when he honourably gave up the last chicken curry pie to the hungry teen girl who caught his eye in the queue. He was four years older and worked as a carpenter and together they made plans to backpack around Europe once they’d saved enough money. Then Mum discovered she was pregnant. He couldn’t cope with the idea of settling down with a young family, so one day he simply disappeared. A month later, a postcard with a picture of Big Ben arrived, with “Sorry! Pete xx” written on the back. That was it, no return address and as far as I knew, she never heard from him again.

  “I know you love Andy, sweetie,” Mum told me, gently combing the knots out of my damp hair. “But you both have your whole lives ahead of you. I’m sure if it’s meant to be, you’ll be together again one day. Leaving school now is not an option.”

  “But even a day without him seems too long,” I wailed.

  “I know it does. I’ll be the first to admit I’ll miss seeing his face around the place. But you’ll find a way to make it work. Going to university has been your dream for so long. Don’t give it up or you’ll regret it.”