Don't Mention the Rock Star

by Bree Darcy

  Behind them came Mackenzie, Neveah and Raven, flanking their grandfather’s girlfriend, Kristin. Siena’s half-brother, Michael, his wife and their two children followed.

  Marjorie Ellement – Siena’s mother and Chandler’s third wife – was a surprise show, tracked down by family lawyers at a yoga retreat in Goa. Exotically attired in a red and gold saree, she stood on the steps of the church, weeping loudly into a silk handkerchief as her daughter swept past without acknowledging her. Mascara streamed from her cat-like eyes and her trout-pout mouth trembled as she gave the waiting photographers ample opportunity to capture a shot of the grieving widow. She then grabbed the arm of the young long-haired Indian man who had accompanied her, and sped off in a black convertible.

  With such tangled family ties, I wondered who had taken control of the funeral arrangements. The oldest child, Michael; the heir apparent Siena, one of his former wives, his estranged wife or his girlfriend. And what would it all mean when Chandler’s will was read – who would stand to make the most from his inheritance, if there was anything left after his gambling debts.

  “I’ll get Adele to compile a piece about the funeral.” Zara stood behind me, resting her hand on my shoulder.

  I nodded, scrolling through a photo gallery looking for a picture of Andy, Gerry and Dom together.

  “Did you know Chandler Ellement well?”

  “No,” I replied. “I never met him.”

  I appreciated the way Zara had kept quiet about my connection to Andy. As far as I was aware no one else in the office knew about it. Not even the all-knowing, ever-inquisitive Lenny.

  * * *

  “Psssst.” I tried to get Lenny’s attention. “Who’s that in with Queen Z?”

  Lenny spun around on his chair so he was facing her glass office. Zara was gesticulating at her visitor, a lanky man with snow white hair and pale, almost translucent, skin.

  “No idea.” Lenny swung back to his desk and resumed typing.

  What??? Nothing happened in the entire Capital Media building without Lenny knowing about it. He was chummy with the canteen staff, went tenpin bowling every weekend with the head security guard Giuliano, and sweet-talked the receptionists. As a result he had a network of carefully cultivated contacts to feed him information.

  I continued to surreptitiously watch the office. Albino Man seemed to be doing most of the talking now, constantly referring to a pile of documents in front of him. I wheeled my chair over to Lenny’s desk. “You heard anything about a staff reshuffle?” I muttered. “Site redesign? Anything?”

  Lenny kept his eyes on his screen. “No.”

  That was it? A single-word reply in the negative from the king of office gossip.

  Maybe Zara was getting told off for constantly undermining Reach magazine. Last week, she’d posted a spoiler about Belindah de Lacey’s shock separation from Gollum. She pretended she had no idea it was to be Reach’s exclusive cover story the following Monday but Bethany told me Amanda Russo was furious, and already plotting her revenge.

  “Adele, lend me your muffin,” I said, swiping a blueberry one off her plate.

  I carried it over to Heidi. “Is that … in there?” I fished. “What’s his name again? It’s on the tip of my tongue.” I clicked my fingers together repeatedly, pretending to recall his name.

  “Bryce Mlynar,” Heidi replied, licking the swirl of icing and flicking to the next page of her fashion magazine.

  Booyah! I hurried back to my desk to Google him. If Lenny wasn’t willing to help, I’d find out who he was on my own.

  It took a few attempts to get the spelling of Bryce’s surname right but soon an image of Capital Media’s new human resources director starred back at me, his white eyebrows knitted together in concentration. He was appointed three weeks ago, fresh from a cull at our rival media group Peyton.

  Something was definitely afoot. I glanced across at Lenny who was still fixated on his computer screen. And I’d bet my last dollar he knew more than he was letting on.

  * * *

  The next afternoon Curtis sent a text to say he’d be home in time for dinner. I quickly amended my meal-for-one plans – Ciara was seeing a movie with friends and Ryan was at band practice – to prepare his favourite lamb casserole.

  Curtis’ beaming face and bottle of Penfolds Grange suggested he was the bearer of good news. Maybe his meeting with head office had been pushed forward and he’d been told his job was safe. But instead he announced he’d been offered a role with a clinical research firm.

  “That’s fantastic,” I said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Who’s it with?”

  “Ames Penta BioMed, they’re highly regarded, lots of breakthrough research.” He quickly filled me in on the type of clinical trials they’d initiated and the sort of work he’d be doing.

  “And will you have much of a commute – where are they based?”

  “Manchester.”

  I quickly swallowed my mouthful of quiche. “Manchester, as in England?” I couldn’t help but sound shrill.

  “It’s not sales so of course the salary isn’t as high but there’s a relocation payment. And the best bit is the head of research is Professor Wallace Fulbright. He’s been nominated for the Nobel Prize for his work in immunology. It’s a huge honour to work alongside him.”

  “It sounds fantastic, darling, but surely you realise packing up and moving back to England is not ideal.”

  “You were the one telling me I should go back into research. I thought you’d be happy for me.” Curtis looked downcast.

  “I am happy for you but I have to consider what’s best for everyone. Ryan’s finally settled in at his new school and -”.

  “I’m taking over from someone who’s leaving to have a baby so the position doesn’t open up for another six months. So we’ve got plenty of time to sort everything out. The kids can start school after Easter break; Ryan at Sidewell with his cousins and Ciara at Marybourne.”

  “But isn’t Sidewell just outside London? I thought you said the job was up north?”

  “It is. They can board like I did.”

  This kept getting better and better.

  “It’ll be good for Ryan, it might be the making of him. You know I wasn’t keen on him leaving Holyoakes.”

  “This has come out of the blue,” I said, pushing away my now-cold dinner. “I need some time to get my head around it. When do you need to let them know our decision?”

  “End of the month. I’ve been contemplating moving back into research for a while. And with the future of my job here so uncertain, it was perfect timing to find out about such a prestigious position.” One of Curtis’ former colleagues from his Sheffield days had recommended him for the job. “Plus you keep saying you want me to spend more time with the family, this will give me that chance.”

  “But you’ll hardly spend more time with Ryan and Ciara if they’re stuck away in some awful boarding school. It won’t be easy for me to find a job either. And what about your parents – do you think it’s a good idea to leave them here by themselves? They are getting on a bit.”

  “They think it’s for the best, they are especially pleased about Ryan following in my footsteps at Sidewell.”

  “You told them before you told me?” I folded my arms. “Now they’ll blame me if we decide not to go.”

  “Hopefully it won’t come to that. You’ll see, this is exactly the fresh start we need … for all of us.”

  * * *

  As the clock ticked over to noon, I snuck away from my desk to call Nikki to discuss Curtis’ bombshell. I’d decided not to say anything to Mum until we’d made up our mind one way or the other. I didn’t want her to worry unnecessarily.

  I found a quiet spot on the floor below us, where the library staff used to work. It was a sign of the times to see empty desks right across the building. But Nikki wasn’t answering her phone.

  I sighed. I really needed to talk to someone. So, after a split-second of hesitation, I connected t
o a number I had recently reinstalled in my address book. It would be early evening over there.

  “Well, hello there.”

  “How’s things going?” I replied. “A tough week I bet, I’ve been thinking of you.”

  Andy told me there’d been ructions at the will reading when Marjorie was named the major beneficiary because Chandler had last updated his will around the time of their wedding. And legally she was still his wife. Apparently Chandler thought arranging his affairs properly somehow made it more likely something bad would happen to him. Even when he had that first heart attack, he preferred to take the head-in-the-sand approach, which seemed strange behaviour for such a savvy businessman. Then again, that was also his modus operandi as his gambling debts racked up.

  “Siena is furious but I’ll sort something out,” Andy said. “I did tell Chandler I’ll look after his daughter and I intend to keep that promise. At least it means she’s abandoned her ridiculous idea of turning us into reality TV stars. We certainly don’t need anyone shining a light on our affairs right now.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell Andy that all the negative stories about Chandler would soon come flooding out. That adage of ‘don’t speak ill of the dead’ would hold for about a week, then it would be open season because you couldn’t defame a dead man. It wouldn’t take much for an investigative reporter to blow the lid on Chandler’s debts.

  The obits certainly hadn’t shied away from highlighting his eccentric behaviour, including the time he hired extra security guards for metal band Cruel Match’s tour – not because he was worried about crowd control, but rather to prevent the drug-addled, anxiety-prone lead singer from fleeing the stage mid-performance. Chandler had worked wonders on the singer’s stage presence by personally threatening to slice off his balls with a Stanley cutter if he didn’t finish his set.

  “So what about you? That family situation you referred to? That all sorted?” Andy asked.

  “More or less.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really.” Despite having rung to discuss my potential move, I realised now wasn’t the time.

  “So we’re allowed to talk to one another again?”

  “I guess.”

  There was an awkward silence for a moment before we both started speaking at once.

  “You first,” he laughed.

  “I was just about to say I’d better go, I’m at work.”

  “Okay, have a nice day.”

  “You too.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Andy paused for a beat. “It’s great talking to you again. I’ve missed you.”

  “I really should go.”

  “So go.

  “You need to hang up.”

  “No, you hang up first.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Just hang up.”

  “You rang me, so you need to -”

  With a huge smile on my face, I disconnected and closed the cover on my phone. Heading back to the stairwell, I spotted Lenny over by a photocopier. What was he doing in this part of the building?

  I crept up behind him. “Whatcha up to, Lenny?”

  He jumped and nervously ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

  “Just some personal photocopying … didn’t want the boss to catch me.”

  He quickly stuffed the papers into a folder and turned it face down. But he had been too slow – I’d had enough time to read its label, ‘Capital Staff – Merger.’

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”

  As I walked back to my desk, my mind churned over the possible contents of Lenny’s folder.

  Then my phone beeped. I cant belive u hung up on me.

  CHAPTER 3

  All hell broke loose the next day when Prime Minister Barnaby Alley became engulfed in a sex scandal. A disgruntled former staffer was believed to have leaked details of his long-term affair with actress Bebe Street. As reported exclusively by the Bulletin Times newspaper, under the headline “Street is right up PM’s alley”, the affair started four years ago when the then arts and culture minister met Bebe at a theatre opening.

  Political commentators were baying for his blood because it was alleged he took his lover on a taxpayer-funded trip to Malaysia, pressured the government into giving an arts grant to the production company behind her breakout international film and compromised parliament security by sneaking her in without signing her in as a visitor.

  “You regret leaving that world?” Zara nodded towards the TV screen, where Sky News had been covering the story non-stop.

  “Sometimes,” I said, picking out some faces of my former Canberra press gallery colleagues waiting for the Prime Minister to address the nation. “A day like this would be pure adrenaline rush.”

  Everyone shuffled closer to the TV as Alley began his tearful resignation speech, his wife of twenty-six years standing stoically behind him. “I’ve embarrassed my government, my party, my wife and my family,” he said. “I offer my apologies for my misjudgments. It has been an honour to serve the people of Australia and I wish I had been able to fulfil all aims in my term of office.”

  As his statement wrapped up, the media pack pressed in to quiz him on his liaisons with the thirty-six-year-old actress. My mentor, Lance Frame, shouted out a series of rapid-fire questions.

  “Mr Alley will not be commenting on his personal life.” The press secretary quickly shut down the rabble as the former leader was escorted out the back to a waiting car, while the incoming prime minister was ushered into the conference room.

  “Right,” said Zara, clapping her hands after we’d listened to the new leader’s triumphant speech. “Kellie, you need to rework that interview you did with Bebe, update it with today’s events and work in more on her background. Adele, start ringing around and checking Twitter, we’re looking for comments from Bebe’s acting fraternity. Zoe, I need you to check our pic files to see if we have anything of them together. Film award nights, red carpet events, look everywhere.”

  Zoe replied that she had already found a photo of the couple shaking hands at a film premiere but Bebe’s back was to camera.

  “Check that garden party at Yarralumla honouring our entertainment legends last March,” I told Zoe. “We ran a lot of social pics at the time. I remember both Bebe and Alley being there.”

  I was reading over my description of the first time the public saw Bebe as she emerged from the sea, Ursula Andrews like, for a soft drink commercial, when Zara called me over to look at the garden party photo set.

  “There he is!” I jabbed at the screen as Zoe clicked on a thumbnail of Alley with actor Hugh Jackman. The next few were of the Prime Minister with various other famous faces – Cate Blanchett, Russell Crowe, Chris Hemsworth. “Can you zoom in on that last one?” I asked Zoe. “See that red dress in the background. I reckon that’s Bebe.”

  Zoe clicked to the next shot. It was Alley again, chatting with Baz Luhrmann, and this time Bebe could clearly be seen in the background sending him her best seductive look.

  “Bingo!” Zara shouted. “That’s the money shot. Let’s get a close crop on that.” She dialled Heidi’s extension. “Get our syndications guy on the line. Tell him we want to talk about a killer photo of the PM and Bebe.”

  * * *

  The rest of the day whizzed by. Once I’d finished my feature, I joined Adele chasing up reaction. It was nearly nine o’clock when Zara slid a taxi voucher across my desk.

  The TV was blaring in the lounge room when I got home but I headed straight upstairs to say goodnight to the kids.

  “You’re late,” Ryan said, still strumming his guitar.

  “Busy day. Did you hear the Prime Minister resigned?”

  Ryan nodded. “I got picked to be in the school concert,” he said. “The flyer is on the kitchen bench.”

  Ruffling his hair, I told him I was very proud and we’d definitely all be there to cheer him on.

  Ciara was lying on her bed, reading a book. No
ticing a telltale bulge under her quilt, I pulled out her laptop which was logged into Tumblr. That brought an automatic twenty-four-hour confiscation since we have a non-negotiable nine o’clock shutoff time.

  “Not fair,” she moaned. “I lost track of time. How can it be after nine when you’ve only just got back from work?”

  Ignoring her pleas for clemency, I headed back downstairs to catch up with Curtis.

  “What a day!” I sighed. “Thanks for picking up the kids from your mum’s. I hope you thanked her – she was a godsend covering for me.”

  Curtis continued tapping away on his keyboard. He spoke without looking at me. “What I’ve been trying to work out is how the PM resigning affects you – a gossip reporter?”

  I ignored his patronising tone of voice. I wasn’t looking for an argument, I just wanted a nice relaxing soak in the tub. “Alley’s mistress is an actress I interviewed a few months ago. So I was called on to work on a background piece about her. It’s running in the National Express tomorrow.”

  It would be the first time my byline had appeared in a newspaper for years.

  “Sounds thrilling,” Curtis replied in a bland voice. “Well, just as long as it’s a one-off. It was lucky my mother was willing to leave her bridge afternoon to take Ciara to softball. By the way, your daughter has to give a presentation, something about the Constitution. I said you’d give her a hand when you got back.”

  “Would it have killed you to have helped her out?”

  “It’s not my problem you’re home five hours late. In case you haven’t noticed I’m not exactly sat here with my feet up watching telly.” For the record he was slouched on the couch with his feet up, some TV detectives droning on in the background. “I’m busy with my own presentation about a cholesterol-lowering drug.”

  “And I was busy with the biggest news story of the year. My first decent story in years! You seem to have conveniently forgotten all those times I’ve covered for you. Like when you cut short our trip to the Gold Coast because of that patent problem. Or how you skipped the Wizard of Oz play despite promising Ciara you wouldn’t miss her debut as the scarecrow. And let’s not forget the time you couldn’t get away from a sales trip even though your son had been hit by a car.”