Don't Mention the Rock Star

by Bree Darcy

  I reached for the door handle. “I thought we could be friends but I don’t think we can. You’re trying to turn me into a person I despise, making me cheat on the man who loves me.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” Andy scoffed. “If Curtis really loved you, he would never have left you to run by yourself because he was out to impress with his time. A man who loves you would have moved heaven and earth to see Ryan perform. He would be willing to give up everything to be with you, he’d …” Andy looked at me with his melting eyes. “Can’t you see – the man who loves you is me. It’s always been me and it’ll always be me.”

  Now it was my turn to scoff. “No, you’ve got that wrong. Someone who loves me would never cheat on me and break my heart. He’d never dump me because his friend was in trouble, he’d never lose my phone number and not contact me for years. And he certainly wouldn’t use me to get back at his crazy wife. So why don’t you go sort out that ridiculous marriage of yours before you start lecturing me about mine.”

  And with that I yanked open the door and ran down the flight of stairs to wait for the lift at the next floor.

  * * *

  I ignored Andy’s messages over the next few days, unwilling to let him guilt-trip me into seeing him again. Then after a rooftop gig for a radio station, Danger Game jetted out of the country.

  The next message I received from Andy, the following week while I was doing my final early Sunday shift, was a cryptic one. Stand by. Speshal announcment 19.00 PST.

  I checked our time against Pacific Standard Time and realised that was an hour away. I bided my time by posting a photo gallery from the latest Thor movie set and sorting through my filing cabinet. I stacked the folders I wanted to keep on Adele’s cleared desk. She had already taken redundancy and returned to New Zealand with Max and Miriami.

  I kept glancing at my phone to see if Andy had sent an update. Finally a tweet from Sebastian Sloane linked to an article that revealed all:

  Danger Game frontman AJ Dangerfield and his wife Siena Ellement, creative director of Atticus Records, have announced their separation.

  A spokesman for the couple says: “AJ and Siena have found they are living increasingly separate lives. The split is an amicable one and no third party is involved. They ask that their privacy be respected at this time.”

  The Grammy-winning singer and his wife were rocked by the sudden death of Atticus Records founder Chandler Ellement earlier this year. They have three children, Mackenzie, and twins Neveah and Raven. Dangerfield has another daughter, Emma, from an earlier relationship.

  This Saturday, Danger Game are due to kick off a 24-show European tour, which will wrap up in Gdansk, Poland, on December 2.

  Moments later, my phone pinged with a text: Ridiculos marriage sorted. Over to u.

  * * *

  I arrived home to find Curtis stuffing pieces of splintered wood into the rubbish bin.

  “What on earth happened?” I asked, recognising bits of Ryan’s guitar.

  “Your son was being disrespectful. I found his school report – the one no one bothered to show me. Four Cs and two Ds! No wonder you hid it from me, all the while telling me he was doing so much better at his new school. At this rate he’ll never get accepted into Sidewell, even with me being an old boy. Can you imagine the pleasure that will give Evan? I told Ryan he needs to pull his finger out and stop being distracted by all this music nonsense. He started getting mouthy … so no more guitar for him.”

  “So you smashed it to pieces?”

  “I did.” He snapped close the bin lid and wiped his hands.

  I raced upstairs, to find Ryan curled in a ball on his bed. Another sob convulsed his body as I rubbed his back. “I hate him so much, Mum.”

  “Oh Ryan, don’t say that. Your father shouldn’t have wrecked your guitar. It’s just he gets so frustrated because he doesn’t understand why you find school so hard.”

  Ryan sat up, wiping his hand across his snotty nose. “You know how awful it was being bullied at school. For me, what I cop at home from him is a million times worse. All he does is constantly tell me I’ll amount to nothing. You can see from the way he looks at me that he’s ashamed of me. I’m sick of it. I hate him and you can forget about me moving to England with him.”

  “Sweetheart, Dad only wants what’s best for you. He just doesn’t have a good way of showing it. Grandpa probably was like that with him too so it’s not really his fault. But please don’t ever think that Dad doesn’t love you … I know he does. And I’m sure he feels real bad about what he’s done in the heat of the moment. We’ll get you another guitar. Maybe Andy -”.

  “Maybe he would make a better father.” Ryan swung his legs off the bed and strode over to his wall of posters. “I know AJ is really my dad. You don’t have to keep it a secret any more because I’m glad. I’m glad I’m not related to that bastard downstairs.”

  I shook my head repeatedly but he kept talking.

  “I’ve known for a while. I heard you and Dad fighting about it when we were over visiting Nanna. When I asked AJ about it, he went all quiet, did some counting on his fingers – he’s not really that good at maths either – and then said you must have your reasons for not saying anything and we had to respect that. But why did you never tell us? My life could have been so different. Now I don’t have to feel terrible because my dad doesn’t like me. Because AJ does and spends time with me even though he’s so famous he could hang out with anyone.”

  “Oh sweetheart,” I said, walking over to embrace him. “I wish you’d talked to me about this. That night at Nanna’s, Dad was angry and said things he didn’t mean. He is definitely your father, not AJ. And he does love you and always will. As for AJ, I’m sure he’ll always be your friend, regardless.”

  As I watched my son process the fact that he was stuck with the father he had, I realised I owed a difficult phone call to someone I also hoped would always be my friend.

  Curtis was watching the basketball when I returned downstairs feeling physically drained.

  “Your son could do with an apology,” I said, blocking his view of the TV. “You know how much he adored that guitar. He’s that upset he thinks it proves you don’t love him.”

  “He needs to apologise first for being disrespectful. And promise to try harder at school. Maybe then he’d be a bit easier to love.” Curtis leant to the side so he could see around me.

  “You know what, Curtis? Every day you remind me more and more of your father. Stay down here watching sports and ignoring your son. See if I care, I’m going out and don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  * * *

  My feet strained to reach the pedals until I reached the top of the hill and coasted down the other side. I hadn’t been on a bike for years. I thought about that first time I met Andy, when he pushed my bike home from the tennis courts. How he was a boy grieving for his beloved father, talking to a girl who’d never had one. Was that why I had allowed my son to grow up feeling so disconnected from his own?

  I jolted over the kerb, steering towards the park bench under the Moreton Bay fig tree. My fingers couldn’t type fast enough: I just found out Ryan thinks you’re his father.

  A minute later my phone rang.

  “Am I?”

  I closed my eyes, remembering when I first found out I was pregnant. The fear when I realised I couldn’t be sure who the father was. And my guilt at the fact I was torn between wanting the baby to be Curtis’ so life could go on as normal – and wishing with all my heart it was Andy’s.

  “No, Curtis is definitely the father.”

  “You sure? Cos I remember that time at the palm tree hotel in London. It all tallies up with when Ryan was born.”

  “You’re right about the timing – that night could have been it.” I explained how it had always weighed on my mind until, after watching one too many episodes of Maury Povich, I did a DNA test a few years ago by secretly swiping some of their hair. The results came back that Curtis was definitely the fat
her.

  “I don’t have the letter to show you or anything – I ripped it up,” I said.

  “I don’t need no evidence, I believe you. I should have mentioned it when Ryan first brought it up. But I figured if you wanted me to know you’d have told me.”

  My eyes followed a young boy kicking a ball with his father.

  “You sure the test result wasn’t wrong?”

  “It’s considered one hundred per cent accurate.”

  Andy didn’t say anything for a moment. “Geez, I didn’t realise how much I was counting on it being true until finding out it’s not. I’m gutted. Thinking we’d created something so wonderful together. Ryan’s such a great kid, I’d have been stoked…” He exhaled. “How did he take it?”

  “Not well, it was after a big argument with his father.”

  I sat in the park and chatted to Andy until the sun disappeared behind the trees. Then I went to the street to wait for my taxi, leaving a note propped against Curtis’ five-thousand-dollar racing bike saying “Free to a good home.”

  CHAPTER 11

  “Mrs Carmichael, this is Ridgewood High. There’s been an incident and we need you to come in immediately.”

  “Is Ryan okay?”

  “Ryan’s fine,” the office lady reassured me, before telling me not to be alarmed when I saw the police car. Which immediately alarmed me.

  Leaving the washing basket of wet clothes on the kitchen floor, I grabbed my keys and tore off towards the school. There was a police car and an ambulance in the carpark. That office lady never mentioned ambulances!

  As I hurried towards the front office, my phone rang – thank goodness that’d be Curtis. I’d left a message with his secretary, Pamela, for him to call me urgently.

  “I believe Ryan’s in trouble.” Was Andy psychic now? “He texted me, saying he needs a lawyer. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, freaking out even more. If Ryan had been caught with drugs, I’d kill him. “I’m heading into the school now. I’ll ring later to let you know.”

  “No! Don’t hang up. Leave the phone on so I can hear what’s going on.”

  The vice-principal, a short, stocky man named Mr Dimakakos, escorted me into his office. Two police officers stood as I entered the room but there was no sign of Ryan.

  Mr Dimakakos explained that Ryan had injured another boy by hitting him over the head with his guitar. They were investigating what sparked the incident. Only one other student – a sixteen-year-old girl – had witnessed it.

  The older cop turned to me. “We need to question Ryan but require a parent, guardian or solicitor to be present as he is a minor.”

  “Is he being charged?”

  “Not at this stage. He’s helping with our inquiries.”

  Following the policemen towards the room where Ryan was under the watch of the school counsellor, we passed a tall man with a tidy goatee waiting at the front desk. He looked from me to the policemen. “Kellie Carmichael?” He shook my hand. “Officers.” He nodded at the policemen. “I’m Wade Wrightson. Here to represent Ryan. If you’d care to explain the situation before I see my client.” And before I could ask where he had materialised from, he disappeared with the policemen back into the deputy’s office.

  I suddenly remembered Andy was still on the line. “Andy, you there?” I hissed.

  “Uh huh. Wade’s an Atticus lawyer.”

  I should have guessed the record company connection – the skinny black jeans and red blazer were a dead giveaway.

  “He’ll look after Ryan. And if it’s anything serious we’ll find him a proper criminal attorney. Did I hear them say he hit someone with his guitar?”

  “Seems so. Look Andy, thanks for helping out. But I need to get hold of Curtis. Not to mention it must be really late where you are.”

  Andy yawned as if he just remembered. “It is. We’d just come off stage when I got Ryan’s message.” He yawned again. “We’re shipping out for Dublin in the morning so I’d better get to bed. But I’ll keep my phone on all night if you need me.”

  * * *

  Curtis finally returned my call around four o’clock.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been leaving messages all day.”

  “Client meetings. What’s the problem?” Curtis sounded impatient.

  “Sorry to interrupt you but I thought you’d like to know the police were up at the school today to question your son.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  And so I filled him in on how Ryan had been running late to his first class because he’d been in the music room testing out his new guitar – a replacement for his broken one – and hadn’t heard the siren. He was on his way to sneak into his health lesson when he heard screams from the girls’ toilets. He saw a guy dragging one of the Year 11 girls out the door, trying to force her to leave the school with him. Ryan noticed he had a small knife in his hand, so clocked him over the head with his guitar and restrained him until help arrived. With the girl in too much shock to speak, that was why everyone initially thought Ryan had been the aggressor. But she later collaborated his version of events, identifying her ex-boyfriend who wasn’t a student at the school. The police said it was unlikely Ryan would be charged but the other youth could face counts of deprivation of liberty, attempted kidnapping and assault.

  “That’s it, I’m pulling Ryan out of that school. Drug-crazed hoodlums on the loose,” Curtis said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This was a freak, one-off thing. And Ryan handled it so well.”

  “He could have been killed. This sort of thing doesn’t happen at proper schools. I’m looking into having him transfer back to Holyoakes until we leave for England. No arguments.”

  Our hero! but can u tell him Strats dont grow on trees. Ax

  CHAPTER 12

  Before I knew it, it was the first week of the new year and I had logged off at work for the final time. StarReach was set to launch on January 10 and Zara and Amanda, much to their disgust, had been installed as joint editors. The space on the twelfth floor had been reconfigured so they had mirror-image offices, allowing them to glare at one other from their desks.

  True to his word, Dudley Fenney had pulled some strings so I could work as a freelance contributor from England. But, to be honest, I doubted I’d take up the offer. This move was an opportunity for me to start over and it was time to leave celebrity gossip behind.

  Despite having handed in my Capital pass only a few days earlier, Zara was nagging me to do some freelance assignments over in Western Australia. Pro surfer Koby Miller was getting hitched to a Canadian TV actress in his hometown of Margaret River and Zara needed someone “bland and respectable-looking” to be a wedding crasher. She also wanted me to interview Miles Oakland, the heavily tattooed singer of rock band Man Under, who was contesting the upcoming election, and hang out on set with actor Sam Worthington.

  As tempting as it was to make one final trip back home and see my friends again, I was simply too busy packing up our house. There was still so much to do, particularly because I’d put it all off while Mum was here. For the first time ever, she had come over to spend her birthday and Christmas with us. I had just seen her through the departure gate at the airport and who knew when I’d see her again.

  I fished my ringing phone out of my handbag.

  “I thought you could do with some cheering up.”

  Andy knew me so well. Wiping my red-rimmed eyes, I sank into a chair to have a chat.

  Andy, back home after Danger Game’s European tour, was burning the midnight oil writing tracks for the White Night soundtrack. Although he wasn’t back home, as in his family home – he was renting a studio flat while he figured out his next move.

  “So you never did explain,” I said. “How did you get Siena to finally agree to the divorce?”

  It was a convoluted saga but basically Andy had negotiated with Marjorie to sell the debt-riddled record company to her daughter Siena, for a tidy sum that would keep her in
yoga pants and incense for years. He then reached an agreement with the creditors to settle Chandler’s gambling-related debts. And in return for having a functioning company again, Siena agreed to sign the divorce papers.

  I whistled. “Wow, that must have cost a small fortune. How do you like living on baked beans again?”

  Andy laughed. “I’m not quite destitute yet and it was worth every penny. Now I feel at peace that I’ve done the right thing by Siena, so I don’t have to worry about Chandler haunting me. And I did have a little help from my friends. Gerry stumbled on some shares he forgot he’d bought back in the nineties. At the time he thought he was becoming a major investor in the Beatles’ label. But you know him, he got it all mixed up. Instead he bought-”.

  “Let me guess – shares in Apple Computers?”

  “Uh-ha.”

  This would have been before Steve Jobs rejoined the company, Gerry must have made a killing. It was lovely of him to share his windfall, particularly to cut loose a woman he’d always admired.

  “As Gerry says, we’re getting too old to live with regrets. Which brings me to why I’m ringing,” Andy continued. “I find myself at a bit of a loose end for my birthday, got no one special to celebrate it with.”

  “Just so you know, cos you can’t see me, I’m miming playing a violin.”

  “Thanks for your sympathies. Anyway I got to thinking about my big birthdays and the fact I was always with you. So for my fortieth, you’re it again.”

  “Me?”

  “I’m booking a flight to Sydney so we can hang out.”

  “And what if I don’t want to hang out?”

  “Then I’ll have to go with plan B. That model Trinity, the one with the naked billboard on the Sunset Strip, slipped me her number at a club last night.” It was said with the nonchalance of a guy who was used to gorgeous women stuffing phone numbers in his pocket all the time.

  “And what a stunning couple you’d make,” I retorted. “She’s about six foot two, she’d tower over you. I guess she could tote you around in her Fendi handbag like she does with her chihuahua.”