A Dash of Reality

by Murray, Lee

  ‘In this case it was more like an act of terrorism. I’m all for free expression, but not if someone gets hurt,’ Janeen replies. Rico’s losing interest.

  ‘Oh look, Rico,’ I say. ‘Charlie’s free. Excuse us, will you?’ Cherry’s moved off to the other side of the hall with Someone More Important, so it’s time to get this show on the road. I pull Rico away from Janeen and Nandor who’ve plunged into a debate and hardly notice our departure.

  Charlie doesn’t look up when I hand him my copy of Fit, Phat Food.

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Could you write ‘I must not give in to Ben’s crazy schemes’ a couple of times?’

  Recognising my voice, Charlie smiles. ‘Mel. Thanks for coming.’

  I lean in and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Charlie, I’d like you to meet Rico Black, my co-competitor on Racing Feat and my date for this evening.’

  ‘Hello, Charlie. Congratulations on your terrific book. I’ve tasted some of your hors d’oeuvres already and they’re bloody fantastic. Personally, I can’t cook to save myself, but I always appreciate a tasty canapé,’ says Rico. ‘Of course, I like to think I’ve other talents…’ If this weren’t a back-tie event this would be the moment for Rico to rip off his shirt and display his six-pack.

  ‘Er thanks,’ stammers Charlie.

  ‘Black! Nice to meet you,’ says Ben, muscling in and clapping a hand on Rico’s shoulder. ‘Ben Nielson. Good of you to come. I see you’ve met my partner, Charlie, tonight’s star author-chef. Hello there, Mel. Shame Jack couldn’t make it. Where is he again? Some school thing, wasn’t it? It’s fortunate Rico here was able to step in at short notice. But I’m going to drag him away now, because as you can see, Charlie has more books to sign (he raises an eyebrow at Charlie who sighs and sinks back down into his seat), and there are some people over here who’re simply dying to meet television’s sexiest reality star…’ He leads Rico off, his hand in the small of Rico’s back.

  Damn. Evidently, I’m not television’s sexiest reality star.

  ‘No chance your man there’s gay is there?’ Charlie whispers across the table.

  ‘Not a one.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘He does seem to have a talent for attracting attention though, doesn’t he?’

  Charlie nods, signs my copy of his book, and hands it back to me.

  ‘So where’s Jack then?’

  ‘Sorry Charlie. He’s completely snowed under with school reports tonight. He has to come up with original comments for 36 students. He’ll be at it for ages. He sends his best wishes.’ Actually, Jack hadn’t said anything of the sort. Instead, he’d reacted with a pinched not-talking-to-you mien when I’d suggested he might stay home tonight so I could get the Black Affair underway. In fact, ever since I mentioned his not coming to this event, he hasn’t said much at all.

  ‘Excuse me, Mel, would you mind?’

  ‘Oh sorry!’ I move out of the way as a woman with lipstick too bright for someone in her 50s approaches the table with a fresh copy of Fit, Phat Food for Charlie to autograph. Without Rico, I’m at a bit of a loose end so I wander over to the buffet to sample some more of Charlie’s creations. Cherry heads me off at the pass.

  ‘So Melly. Here with Rico Black, I see.’

  I straighten my back. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I spoke with him earlier. Quite the charmer, isn’t he? He’s over with Ben. Where’s the lovely Jack, tonight?’ I think for a second. If I’m staging a relationship with Rico and I’m not allowed to tell my family it’s a set up, then eventually I’m going to have to say I broke up with Jack. Otherwise, they’ll think I’m dating two men! Cushla would have kittens, although on the up side, I wouldn’t be allowed back under Marcus’ roof for at least a year.

  ‘Er, school reports?’

  ‘You don’t sound very sure.’

  ‘He is. Definitely.’

  ‘Beep. Wrong answer. It’s not like Jack to be behind on his report cards, less like him to miss a family event, and completely unlike him to let you go out with someone else. What’s up, Mel? Did you break up with Jack?’ It’s what I wanted her to think, but I’m still startled by Cherry’s conclusion. The thought of breaking up with Jack makes my chest hurt, but if I’m going to plant the seed…

  ‘Things haven’t been going too well. We thought we might take a little break. See how things go.’

  ‘I wondered. I think he’s rather sweet. Too good, really.’

  ‘Rico?’

  ‘No Jack, silly.’

  ‘Cherry? There’s a chance...’ Cherry places a lilac-manicured finger against her nose.

  ‘Secret’s safe with me, Melly.’ She moves off in search of more free champagne.

  Near a giant orchid flower arrangement, Marcus and Cushla are dressed to impress, and hobnobbing with the town councillor who forgot to pay her income tax despite seven arrears notices. Seeing her reminds me I may not be able to meet my own financial commitments if something big doesn’t come out of the reality show. Cushla and Marcus break away from the councillor and make a beeline for me.

  ‘Isn’t this a wonderful event, Mel?’ Cushla breezes so everyone around can hear. ‘I see you have a copy of Charlie’s book. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? We’re so proud of Charlie. It’s a shame it isn’t closer to Christmas, I’m sure he’d have cornered the market on ‘Christmas Ideas for Mum.’ I wonder Ben didn’t think of it. Still, I’m rather pleased as I’ve secured six pre-orders myself.’

  ‘Entrepreneurial of you, my dear,’ Marcus beams.

  ‘The Omokoroa Garden Club ladies have been especially supportive. Mind you, I do think Charlie is looking terribly tired. Don’t you think he’s looking tired, Marcus?’

  ‘I’m sure the boy is fine, Cushla. It’s highly demanding running a service business, publishing a book and developing a hospitality franchise. I doubt he’s getting 12 hours sleep and an afternoon nap, at the minute.’

  ‘Still,’ Cushla says, ‘Cherry’s running a business and she looks stunning. That watered lilac complements her complexion.’ Oh, here we go. As a beautician, Cherry’s dermal fillers, microdermabraisions and vibration plate sessions are tax deductible. It pays her to look sensational.

  ‘I can’t possibly be impartial, Cushla. I’m her father,’ Marcus says.

  Cushla takes her husband’s arm. ‘There’s a lot for you to be proud of in this room, Marcus.’ I force myself not to roll my eyes. I consider mentioning Colin’s plan to visit New Zealand. Ostensibly, Colin is coming to promote his partner’s Candygloss brand, but secretly I suspect Colin’s coming in support of me. Not that he’s said anything. He’s not the sort to make a song and dance of things. He’s probably got the Racing Feat on series select, probably plays each episode over and over looking for the bits I’m in. Call it intuition. I know in his own way Colin is just as proud of me as Marcus is of Charlie and Cherry. In the end, I don’t say anything. Marcus and Cushla will harp on about times in the past when for various reasons beyond his control, Colin hasn’t been able to make it. I don’t want to hear it. It’ll spoil everything.

  Marcus gives a cursory look around. ‘So where’s Jack this evening?’

  ‘School reports,’ I say.

  48

  Later on in the evening, Rico and I are chatting with the owners of a home-grown catering firm and I’m wondering if Rico and I are a little too under the radar. What’s the point of this charade if we don’t get seen? There are a couple of journalists here, but Tastebuds and Eat for Health magazines tend toward recipes and chef biographies rather than celebrity gossip. I’m not sure a mention in the Who’s Who of the Te Puke Gazette will impress Derek and Winston either. What’s called for is an in-depth interview with glossy photographs preferably in a publication with a huge distribution and lots of punch, like New Faces or Belle.

  I’m considering cornering Ben and asking him to discreetly point out the media among the guests when the crowd parts and bearing down on us
are Ross Sully and his photographer from the Sunday inSight. Oh no, not Sully. Why does it have to be him? He twists everything I say. It’ll take him all of one minute to work out Rico and I are a hoax. Cringing, I try to eclipse myself behind Rico, but it’s too late.

  ‘Black.’

  ‘Ross.’

  ‘A quick interview?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Nielson tells me you’re here tonight with Melanie, Ms Short.’ Sully nods his head in my direction with disdain. Odious little man. I smile sweetly.

  ‘Now look here, Sully,’ protests Rico. ‘I know your game. Don’t go getting the wrong end of the stick. There’s nothing whatsoever going on between Melanie and me. Yes, I’m here as Melanie’s date this evening, but I’d ask you please not to print that. Melanie and I are strictly friends and co-competitors.’ He takes my hand and pulls me close.

  ‘Yes, we’re just good friends,’ I spout.

  ‘And I understand tonight’s author, Charles Tyler, is your brother, Ms Short?’

  ‘My step-brother. Yes. I’m proud to support Charlie’s book.’

  ‘So Black’s here to meet the family?’

  ‘Nothing as grand as that,’ Rico laughs ‘although I’ve met Charlie and he’s a top bloke. No, there’s no ulterior motive here. Mel invited me, and I said I’d come. Fit, Phat Food is a terrific publication and completely in line with Racing Feat’s objectives, which are all about raising awareness regarding the dangers of obesity. And we’re all agreed the best approach is a two-pronged attack, increasing exercise and improving the quality of nutrition.’

  ‘Clever attempt at deflection, Mr Black.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Since you’ve changed the subject can we talk about the last Racing Feat event? Turned out to be more like an episode of Lost, I hear? As a result the organisers have allowed all of the remaining five contestants through to the marathon.’

  I adored the Toi Challenge track in spite of it being a technical run. It started in the lively Whakatane township and followed the contour of the coastal headlands. The steep inclines, rapid dips, and regular smattering of stairs were challenging (hence the name) and I was nervous about aggravating my fragile knee, but the views kept me going. I just couldn’t wait to get over each rise, or through each bush thicket to pop out and look at the next stunning seascape. At one point we descended into a secluded rocky inlet, every bit as romantic as the Greek Isles. We ran for what seemed miles along the sandy beach at Ohope. Miraculously the wind behaved and stayed behind us. After running through Ohope township we headed into the coastal bushlands, and that’s where Sione and Carline went AWOL. Whoever removed those marshalling signs must’ve gone through after me.

  ‘Can I ask who your pick is for the series win?’ Sully asks Rico.

  ‘I have to back myself, Ross, because I’m running on behalf of the good people at Starship. Those poor kiddies need our compassion.’

  ‘And if not you?’

  ‘Then I’d choose Melanie, here.’ He gives me a wolfish look as if I were a cream puff to be devoured.

  ‘Why’s that, then?’

  ‘She’s determined, ambitious, sexy and well,’ he shrugs, nonchalantly, ‘she’s a lovely person, isn’t she?’ He makes to move off, but the photographer butts in.

  ‘Just one moment. Can we have the two of you together for a photo, please?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ says Rico, slipping a finger under the spaghetti strap of my gown and drawing it higher on my shoulder. ‘People might get the wrong idea.’ He smiles enigmatically and as he sweeps me away whispers into my hair. ‘I think that went rather well, don’t you?’

  Things do not go so well when Rico drops me off at Jack’s place afterwards. Jack’s sitting on the front step under the porch light, the paper spread in front of him and a cup of tea in his hand. He places the cup on the step and stands up as Rico pulls the rental car – a silver Lexus – into the narrow driveway. Jack steps over and opens my door. I’m laughing so hard I’m having trouble getting my seatbelt undone. Rico’s been entertaining me with a perfect impression of Andrew Plumley, suggesting that underneath his dress suits the producer wears a too-tight lace garter belt, his affected speech caused by attempts to readjust his strangled testicles. The image has made my fingers go to jelly, causing me further jollity at my own helplessness. Leaning over me, Jack unfastens the belt.

  ‘Mel,’ he says tersely, taking my hand and pulling me from the vehicle. His stiff manner puts me in mind of Plumley and that restrictive lace garter, which sets me off giggling again. Rico comes around the front of the vehicle and extends his hand to Jack.

  ‘Rico Black. A pleasure.’ Jack takes Rico’s hand, gripping it hard, his expression grim. Through my giggles, I notice a look passing between the two men. They’re staring at each other like prize fighting cocks poised at the ready. I stifle a snort.

  ‘Pleasure,’ says Jack, although his expression says otherwise. He releases Rico’s hand and steps back. He pulls me close so our hips are touching, his hand about my waist, anchoring me there. I titter. ‘Thank you for running Mel home.’

  Rico tilts his head in a curt gesture of acknowledgement. It’s a moment before I finally get my hysteria under control.

  ‘Jack, you should have seen us. We were great,’ I gush. ‘Rico had the paparazzi eating out of his hand. Even that rotten Ross Sully was gagging for more. Your idea to play it under the radar was completely genius, Rico!’

  ‘I’ve no doubt,’ says Jack evenly. What’s up with him? It wouldn’t hurt him to show a bit of enthusiasm.

  Rico tilts head and smiles. ‘It was successful evening. Mel’s family made me feel particularly welcome. Charlie’s a quite a talent. I’m sure his book will be a triumph.’

  Jack attempts to smile.

  ‘I told everyone you were doing school reports. In case you want to know for later.’ Jack nods, but his eyes haven’t left Rico.

  ‘I don’t think anyone noticed your absence,’ Rico adds. At that, Jack’s lips turn white and his face thunderous. He’s more put out than I thought. For goodness sake, it was a book launch, not the last ten minutes of the Rugby Sevens final! More awkward silence follows. I need to break the tension. Put the cocks back in their cages. I opt for an everyday ritual known to facilitate rapport and forge acquaintance.

  ‘Rico, why don’t you come in for a cup of coffee?’

  ‘I’m sure Rico wants to get on, Mel.’

  ‘A quick one.’ I can tell Rico would be keen to prolong our evening together were it not for Jack’s negative vibes. Debra would not be impressed. Jack’s mother is embodiment of Kiwi hospitality. Currently, Jack is the embodiment of Kiwi hostility. ‘An espresso,’ I suggest, in a last effort at appeasement.

  ‘Jack’s right, Mel. I’d better get on. Another hot date,’ Rico says, reverting again to his Plumley impression, and making me grin. He steps toward me and takes my hand in his. Beside me, I feel Jack stiffen. ‘Melanie, thank you for the pleasure of your company tonight. You were dazzling.’ Gently drawing me away from Jack, he lifts my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist, making it tingle. I giggle. ‘I’ll be phoning you, Miss Short.’ I giggle again.

  Jack takes a step forward as Rico reverses the silver Lexus out of his driveway. He waits until Rico has purred past the school before turning on his heel and stalking inside.

  Ricombination? By Ross Sully

  Could romance be brewing between Racing Feat competitors Rico Black and Mel Short? Could the beautiful twosome be getting hot and sweaty off the course as well as on?

  Seen together recently at the swanky black-tie launch of Fit, Phat Food, the latest offering from Short’s step-brother, celebrated chef Charles Tyler and his restaurant partner, Ben Nielson, Melanie and Rico hotly deny any suggestion of a liaison claiming they’re ‘just good friends,’ a phrase we know to be a euphemism for shagging each other’s socks off.

  Insiders reject any notion of a hook-up and yet when asked Black described
his sexy Racing Feat co-star as ‘a lovely person.’

  49

  My left shoe is a snapping, flapping alligator. The front webbing has torn away from the sole and my half-devoured sock is staring morosely from its gaping jaws. I’ve just completed a brutal set of bilious leg lunges and it now looks as if the dilapidated state of my footwear will preclude my doing any more. I’m positively gleeful.

  ‘We may have to call it a day,’ I say, shaking my head in an effort to look suitably disappointed. ‘I’m sorry for wasting your time, Olaf. I know how sought-after you are.’

  ‘Please don’t worry yourself, Melanie. Mr Lissombe has already paid for my highly valuable time. But you cannot continue to run or train in these broken-down shoes. You need new ones. I only hope it’s not too late.’

  It’s most definitely too late. My shoe is dead. There’s not the slightest bit of life in it. I kick the triceps machine to be sure. The alligator makes a final desultory flop.

  ‘I will come with you to select some suitable feetwear,’ announces Olaf.

  Minutes later we’re on our way into town. Olaf’s car is a small armoured truck painted a glistening green. The words Raaken: Trainer are splashed in large pineapple-lump yellow lettering across the side.

  ‘I prefer to drive a high impact vehicle,’ says Olaf by way of explanation.

  It takes a few minutes to reach the specialist sports shoe store on Grey Street. Olaf parks in the middle space directly outside.

  ‘Go ahead, punk,’ the car seems to say. ‘Make my day.’ Olaf slots a gold coin in the meter.

  Outside the store on the footpath several trestle tables are stacked with teetering rows of partner-less shoes. I take a quick look and see they’re roughly ordered in increasing size. Great. Should be an effortless process to choose a pair at a good price.

  ‘Hey, Olaf here’s…’ Ignoring me completely, Olaf strides directly into the store and up to the counter.

  ‘Hello Olaf, lovely to see you,’ says the store manager, coming around the counter to greet him.