by Murray, Lee
‘Really, the silver screen huh? I dated a movie star once. Not an advice columnist like your mother, Melanie, but a real fair dinkum star. What was the name? Great body, smelled nice too. Bit older than me. Oh yeah, Neutron Bomb. Olivia Newton John. Bit of songbird in her day. Not my kind of music, but she could hold a tune.
I can’t believe my dad dated Olivia Newton John. Wow! A waiter pours the champagne and I swallow a large swig. The bubbles waft up my nose.
‘Only it didn’t work out with our schedules,’ Colin goes on. ‘I had to stay on the move with the competitive racing circuit. It’s a merciless profession. There’s always some new smart-ass kid with a rich Daddy trying to bust onto the scene. Newts, that’s what I called her, she begged me to stay, wanted me to live with her on her ranch. Hell, maybe I should’ve given it a shot, but I was young and I wasn’t ready to sacrifice my racing for a sheila, no matter how good she smelled. My racing is that important to me, you understand? I wanted to forge my own way in the world, like you kids are now. I hear she did pretty well for herself in the end, Newts. Made a packet on the movies. I called her once, not to get together or anything, ‘cause I’m not the marrying kind, but for old times’ sake. Wouldn’t you know it, she changed her number.’
Candy joins us. Rico leaps up and pulls out her chair for her. When he sits down again he takes my hand, gives it a squeeze and looks into my eyes. From the corner of my eye I notice a camera flash. Rico does too. He smiles warmly, leans in to me and plants a little kiss on my forehead.
‘Isn’t that sweet Candy?’ says Colin affectionately. ‘Sorry about the cameras, kids. Didn’t know the New Zealand media was aware I was here. Damned nuisance being a celebrity sometimes. You shouldn’t have to put it up with it, but unfortunately when you’re with me “C’est la vie.” Isn’t that right, Candy love?’ Candy shrugs.
I’m suddenly floored. All these years Colin has been trying to protect me! That explains why I saw so little of him while I was growing up. Colin wanted to shield me from scumbags like Ross Sully and his despicable cronies.
‘You should know, Rico, I never thought I’d see our Melanie finally shake loose her prissy mother and make something of her life. It makes a man proud.’
Ohmigod, Colin is proud of me. Of me!
‘Must be ace having a spot on that reality show. You guys getting a lot of airtime?’
‘We aren’t the only contestants…’ Rico says, but Colin interrupts.
‘Could you get us on the programme? I could provide a family perspective.’ I’m touched! Colin wants to publically acknowledge me as his daughter. I almost snort my champers through my nose. ‘You remember that, won’t you Melanie? Any family cameo spots and I expect you to call me. Don’t you let ol’ boring dog’s-breath Marcus say he’s your real father on national television. I couldn’t stomach that.’
I can’t believe it. Colin and me. My dad and me. Rico puts his arm around my shoulders. ‘I’ll make sure of it, Colin.’
‘Good man.’
While we study the menu, I finger the tiny pink ring on its chain round my neck, Colin’s birthday present to me all those years ago. Colin looks up.
‘That’s pretty, love. Present was it?’
‘Yes, it was actually.’ I smile meaningfully, but Colin is distracted by the return of the waiter.
‘Whaddya say we order then?’
The menu is classic French. I choose the crottin de chèvre and seasonal salad greens. Candy orders the salad greens. Colin flips a few pages in his pocket French dictionary and translates.
‘Oooh, not sure you should have that, love. Says here a crottin is a turd. You don’t wanna eat yourself a goat turd, Melanie, no matter how fancy they cook it, eh?’
‘He’s sweet. He’s trying to be all fatherly and nurturing.’ I don’t explain about the conventional shape of goats’ cheeses. There’s no point making him feel bad.
Later, during the dessert course, I’m yumming up an unctuous serving of crème fraîche with raspberry coulis – I know it’s not on my nutritional plan but I couldn’t resist – and a plop of raspberry, like a teardrop of blood, falls from my spoon and plops rudely on my breast. What is it about me anyway? Why is it I’m I always plopping food down my front? It’s starting to run. And Gabriella Guccione is looking in my direction. Oh no, now she’s pointing in my direction.
‘Rico,’ I whisper urgently, casting around for my serviette which in typical fashion has slipped off my lap and onto the floor. ‘Help!’ Rico seems to have picked up on the urgency because he flashes me a slow, conspiratorial grin.
‘Excuse me sir,’ he says to Colin and then…ohmigod what is he doing?
He drops his head and buries it deep between my breasts where he licks the offending dribble off my skin.
Stunned, I don’t dare move.
His silken black hair is in my face and his warm breath wafts down my front to my navel and, ohmigod, his hot tongue sears me as it takes its own sweet time searching out every last trace of that little raspberry drop. Did he just do that? I can’t believe he’d dare. That’s so…so provocative! Unhurried, Rico raises his head and his glossy mane flops perfectly back into place. He steals a quick kiss on my lips, while I sit there like a plonker.
Colin is roaring with laughter, but Candy sits stony-faced. I laugh nervously and cuff Rico gently on the sleeve.
‘I like your style lad,’ Colin says. He claps Rico on the shoulder. ‘Surprise ‘em. Keep ‘em guessing. I always do.’
‘I need to powder my nose before we leave,’ Candy says. Gabriella Guccione hurries past on her way to the exit, her photographer in tow.
Later, while Candy goes for the rental car, Colin, Rico and I mill about in reception. I guess no-one wants the evening to come to an end.
‘Sorry, we can’t give you a lift back, sweetheart. It wouldn’t be practical. We’re staying in a boutique hotel in Devonport. Very swish. Spa pools on all the decks. Fruit baskets and fluffy flannelette dressing gowns, that sort of thing. It’ll take us ages to do the round trip and I’ve got a Thai hot stone massage booked later on. I think it’s best if you guys take a taxi, okay?’
‘Sure,’ I say.
‘Oops, love look I’m going to have to nip to the loo. Can you see to the bill? I’ll fix you up later. Mwah!’ He throws me one of those Hollywood air kisses from a metre away.
‘Catch you later, babe. Luv ya.’
56
There’s a taxi outside the restaurant. Rico and I crash into the back seat, which smells of wet raincoats. Rico gives the Malaysian driver the name of my hotel, Incognito, which unlike Colin and Candy’s boutique accommodation, is a sliver above sleazy. But it’s comfortable and clean and the best I could do on short notice. With Colin it’s best not to book too far ahead. As it turns out, I reserved the last room because Incognito is also tonight’s lodging choice of Midge Marsden, his band, and their hangers-on, all of whom are in town for Midge’s comeback pub tour. For a moment we’re quiet while the driver pulls out from the curb and into the hum of waterfront traffic.
‘Did you bring your shoes for an early run before your flight back?’
I snort. ‘No time. My flight’s at 6:00am. Don’t tell my trainer though, will you? He’d prefer I slog up One Tree Hill two or three or seven times. According to Olaf 5:00am is perfect for kick-starting one’s metabolism. I prefer to kick-start my day with coffee and a bagel. How about you? How’s your training going?’
‘Melanie, do you have any idea how many freaking hills there are in Wellington? I’ve only got finished slogging up one and fuck me if there isn’t another one. This whole running gig is not what I imagined. Stupid me, not signing up for The Bachelor. Now there’s a gig. All the bastard has to do is romance a bunch of gorgeous chicks. Racing Feat is blood, sweat and tears without the sequins or the glamour. Even Dancing with the Stars or New Zealand’s Top Model have more going for them. Excepting you, of course. You add the glamour in those tiny little tops that barely cover...’ He’s
teasing me. I give him a shove. He laughs. I like the sound of his voice, which is deep and smooth like Pinot Noir.
‘You’ve done great with your running, Melanie. You could win the series.’ Blushing hotly, I’m grateful for the obscurity of the cab.
‘I don’t think so,’ I say, deflecting his compliment. ‘Sione is a strong contender and he’s related to half of Auckland so he should get plenty of votes. And you’re well-placed to win, too.’
‘We’ll both know in a few weeks,’ Rico says. Our taxi idles at an intersection. An orange glow illuminates the black tar seal, tending to green as the lights change. As the taxi pulls forward a black Mercedes passes us in the inside lane.
‘Thanks for being my boyfriend in front of my dad and Candy back there. You were very charming.’
‘Hey, it was most definitely my pleasure.’
I giggle. ‘I still can’t believe you licked that raspberry off my breasts in full view of the entire restaurant!’ I say.
Rico laughs. ‘It was a stroke of genius, wasn’t it? I had to think quickly. The tabloid vultures were closing in for the kill. I wanted to make sure they had something juicy to dine out on.’
‘No question. You gave them provocative!’
‘Yes, but my head was in the way. They wouldn’t have seen any skin. Did you see if they got an incriminating photo?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t remember seeing a flash, but I was a little startled at the time. They may have. They didn’t waste any time leaving afterwards, did they?’
‘It’d be good if we could be sure.’
‘She didn’t bother to stop and get a quote.’
Rico surprises me with an approximation of Racing Feat’s Race Director Tony Bloxham. ‘And Mr Black, what did you hope to achieve by slurping raspberry off Ms Short’s…er…bazookas?’ He laughs and switches back to his own Pinot Noir tones. ‘I was hoping to spare Ms Short embarrassment. Members of the press were in the room. I simply did what any man would do when faced with an errant drip of raspberry a tongue-length from Melanie’s luscious cleavage.’ Rico’s black eyes twinkle. ‘In fact, I feel an overwhelming urge to do it again.’ He lowers his head in pretence and I push him away, laughing.
‘Stop it, silly.’ But the taxi turns a corner sharply and I fall into his arms. Hot-blooded Rico needs no further invitation. He kisses me hard, Rhett Butler-style, as if he couldn’t give a damn the taxi driver is in the front seat glancing at the scene in his rear-view mirror. I ought to mention to the driver it’d be polite, if not prudent, to watch the road, but right now Rico is rather distracting. He smells faintly of garlic aioli and cinnamon gum overlaid with the complimentary perfume provided in the restrooms at Chez Monique. His kiss is wet and wicked and delicious, and damn if he isn’t quick with his hands. The knot securing my halter dress is already undone, and the flap of fabric tumbles exposing - wouldn’t you know it - an uninspiring stock-standard white bra. Rico is not deterred, nor is he without talent because his hand has already found its way to my breast, seeking out the nipple, stroking and tweaking and sending out hot electric jolts which would probably make me gasp if his tongue were not conducting a thorough investigation of my dental work. The taxi swings crazily again and I want to yell at the driver to let me worry about what is happening back here and concentrate on the road for goodness sake, but that crazy lurch has thrown Rico on top of me, pinning me to the vinyl bench, one foot twisted at a funny angle in the foot well and my head rammed up against the door. I put a hand up to steady myself, fumbling briefly as I scrabble for a handhold, and oh my, Rico has mistaken my hand-flung-over-my-head gesture as abandonment of the come-and-take-me-big-boy variety, and while I’m considering how to extract myself from this predicament and whether I even care to, we’re suddenly thrown forward and instantly whiplashed back again as the car stops abruptly. I may have just avoided a gruesome death, although I can’t tell from here as I’m laying flat-out along the back seat with my breasts exposed, and oh shit, I’ve banged the lock with my fumbling. The door swings open and my head is thrown backwards into the emptiness. I’m only prevented from ejection into the street by Rico’s weight pressing down the length of my body, his hardness obvious between us, his lips now locked to my neck and moving downwards. Lordy! Andreas was right, his cousin is nothing if not determined. But I can’t think about that now because from upside-down I’m stuck in a nightmare where some catastrophe is about to happen and there’s nothing I can do to save myself from it. I gaze up from upside down to see, oh fuck, Gabriella Guccione interviewing antique rocker Midge Marsden outside the hotel… Slowly, gracefully, inexorably Guccione pivots, microphone in hand, and with an unhurried sweep she takes me in, appraises my co-competitor savouring my décolletage, signals to the cameraman, the cameraman swivels, sees me, focuses, and …flash!
57
Back in Tauranga the following day, my mind is totally preoccupied. I sense my performance is not the best because Olaf keeps me after class for a stretching session.
‘This first stretch is a yoga pose called the downward-facing dog,’ instructs Olaf, as he removes his shoes to reveal large hairy feet. ‘It will stretch out your spine, hamstrings and calves. Watch how I execute the position, Melanie, and then you can chimp me.’ Starting on his hands and knees, his hands slightly forward of his shoulders, Olaf straightens his knees to create an inverted letter V, exhaling in an exaggerated manner as he does so. I attempt to do the same, but my heels do not want to go to the floor.
‘It is as I thought. You are very tense. Push your but-tocks to the sky Melanie. We will hold this position for two minutes. Exhale your tension, breathe it out...’
Is it any wonder I’m tense after last night? I don’t know what to think. Rico and I are not supposed to be getting up-close and personal. He knows I have a boyfriend. So why the lustful lunge in the taxi? Not make-believe because there weren’t any cameras in the taxi. And Rico wasn’t to know that Gabriella Guccione would be at Incognito either. Unless perhaps he called her himself…?
‘Excellent, Melanie!’ booms Olaf. ‘We will rest now for a few minutes by assuming the child’s posture. Please now, sit on your knees and then lean forward and rest your arms on the ground. Yes, that’s it. Concentrate on your breath, Melanie. Breathe in and breathe out. Inhale down into your belly and release it slooowly. Perfect!’
I like this posture. I want to stay here in child’s pose forever.
Maybe the truth of it is that Rico is falling for me. The notion infuses me with a temporary glow. He is very attractive and he’s as hungry as I am for recognition. It’s refreshing to meet someone who wants the same things I do. I could definitely go places with him. With double the commitment our advance would be as effortless as a rowing coxless pair. I mean, we even look like we should be together. It’s a story as compelling as men in breeches. The public will love it. They’re already clamouring for us to be a fully-fledged couple and who doesn’t adore a happy ending? Besides, it wouldn’t hurt my ascent into über-celebdom to be able to say my partner is a former camera-man now smouldering sex-symbol or reality superstar. Whatever Rico ends up doing after the show, you can be sure it’ll have more media mileage than a school teacher. I feel a sudden frisson. Hairs stand up on my arms. I must be getting cold sitting here in this position. I shift on my knees slightly and Olaf picks up on my movement.
‘I want you to practise focusing on your dream, Melanie. Wenji Cheung used this visualisation technique to get into the medals at the World Table Tennis Championships. You will picture yourself crossing the finish line at the marathon. There will be applause…’ Olaf’s speech blunts into a background drone, tuned out like ads on the radio. I visualise two suited-up divorce lawyers having it out over a ping pong table.
‘The Rico thing is a charade right?’ says Lawyer One sending the ball across the table at the speed of light. Ping.
‘Absolutely. Complete farce, aimed at upping Racing Feat’s ratings and catapulting Sportzgirl’s market share,’ says
Two, returning the sphere with a flick of the wrist. Pong.
‘But Rico’s kiss wasn’t a friendly kiss.’ Ping.
‘Pretend.’ Pong.
‘But it was insistent. Hot.’ Ping.
‘Illusion.’ Pong.
‘Rico clearly has a thing for Melanie.’
‘Of course, he does. She’s helping him increase his exposure.’
‘I think you’ll find she was the one exposed.’
‘You’re complaining because he’s doing too good a job?’
‘There’s a killer set of abs under that shirt.’
‘Proves nothing. Lots of men have abs.’
‘Do lots of them fake erections too?’
‘Objection, your honour!’
‘Good, good Melanie,’ interrupts Olaf. ‘I think that is enough visualisation for today.’ In my head the ping pong ball ricochets off the net, travelling in a high parabola before bouncing away across the floor.
‘So now we will do the prasarita padottanasana posture…’ Whoops. I didn’t catch what Olaf said. Was that Bombay Tandoor’s takeout special? I extract my stiffening legs from child’s posture and watch as Olaf’s stands up and stretches his legs impossibly wide, his turnip calves bulging. Then he bends forward so his spiky hair bristles on the foam yoga mat. Under this unexpected strain, the seam in his running shorts resembles a zipper. I extend my legs east and west in an imitation of Olaf’s stance, and then attempt to fold my head toward the floor.
Aaargh!
‘We’re working your adductors now, Melanie,’ says my stretchy trainer. I gather the adductors muscles are found on my inseam, because those are the ones objecting. ‘Loosening these muscles will prevent strain on your IT band.’ No idea what he’s talking about. It doesn’t matter. I hold the pose, or as near to it as I can manage, for an agonising minute. On the plus side there’s a pleasant rush of blood to my head.
Anyway, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t like Rico. He’s charming, articulate and a delicious tease. My dad likes him. I know, I should’ve taken Jack on my first proper date with Colin, but I was determined to make an impact. It was important to prove to Colin that he needn’t be ashamed of me, and having Rico there as my partner made the whole event seem more momentous, more glitzy. It’s not so bad for a girl to want to impress her dad, surely?
