by Murray, Lee
Rico entertains the audience with stories about Starship, his involvement with some of the children, and his interest in the nurses, but when Sione’s turn comes, there are no entertaining anecdotes. His message is grim, but relevant. His small cousin joins him on the podium.
‘This is my cousin Masina. Masina’s mother, my aunt, died from complications of diabetes. She was 42-years-old. My aunty was a beautiful kind person. I miss her and so does Masina here. Entering the Racing Feat contest was all about family for me. We have to stop our people from dying. We have to show them how to eat well, how to get plenty of exercise and see their doctor for regular health checks.’ He swings the little girl up in his arms and plants a kiss on her check. ‘Masina here has already learned these things, but it was a hard lesson. Please, New Zealand. Do it for Masina and other children like her. Do it for your family.’ The applause is deafening as Sione and Masina leave the stage.
Beside me, Tazza wipes a tear out of his eye. ‘Stupid eyelash,’ he says.
I’m up next. I feel totally inadequate. The speech Kirsten’s prepared for me is pathetic by comparison. How am I supposed to make an impression after Sione’s impassioned plea? Still, I can’t change the text now. At least, I feel glamorous as I mount the podium. Janeen and Cherry have transformed me.
‘And now our series winner, with a marathon time of 4 hours and 3 minutes, the poster-lady-cum-tabloid darling, please welcome, Sportzgirl’s own, Melanie Short!’ announces Good. I wait for the commotion to die down and clear my throat.
‘It was a great honour for me to be selected as Sportzgirl’s contestant (I hope I’m not pulling a face) and an even greater honour to be selected by the New Zealand public as the supreme winner of this important series.’ Kirsten is mouthing the words as I speak. I hope the camera crew don’t notice her.
‘A lot of people helped me to get here. I’d like to thank Sportzgirl for their faith in me (I choke back an impulse to shout ‘Yeah right!’), my personal trainer Olaf Raaken – he guaranteed I’d be on this podium tonight and he didn’t disappoint, thank you, Olaf – and also my new friends at Tauranga Road Runners, especially Fran, who you saw nurse me to the finish line at Mount Maunganui. Of course, many other people have supported me in this marathon effort, so to my family and special friends... (Kirsten has written Rico’s name here, but at the last minute I leave it out. Kirsten looks puzzled, but the cameraman zooms in for a close up of Rico, so she’s satisfied)… I’d like….to…
Then I notice the tittering. I haven’t said anything funny. I look over to Rico who smiles and shrugs. Something amusing is being projected on the screen behind me. Sione bustles his young cousin out of the hall. Oh no. Please, don’t let it be the photo from Belle. I never want to see that photo again. The audience is crying with hilarity now. It has to be that stupid photo. I turn.
It’s my bottom.
Bent over in all its thonged glory at the Cherry Fizz opening party. Even partially pixelated, it’s humiliating. I could weep. Please aliens swoop down now and suck me up in your spaceship. Where are the all the damn aliens, anyway? And where’s Jack? I’m alone up here, my pants around my ankles on national television and Jack isn’t here to rescue me. I’ve never felt more alone. Well, if that’s how it is…
Biting back tears, I turn to confront the audience, the cameras and the nation and then, as if I was in on the joke all the time, I give every last one of them my biggest, widest, cheeriest ‘I don’t give a damn’ smile, and step down from the podium.
71
In the bathroom mirror the beautiful make-up Cherry applied earlier has dissolved into a streaky mess of tears and snot. I scrub at my face with a ball of toilet paper and wipe away the worst of it. It doesn’t matter anyway. I doubt it’s my face people will remember after tonight. I’ve been hiding here for half an hour so hopefully the offensive photo will be gone now. As soon as I exit the ladies, Rico sidles up beside me. Just when you think it’s safe to come out of the ladies.
‘Great exit in there, Mel. Terrific idea! What say we top it off with some saucy Short-Black copy for tomorrow? I saw Sully slinking about over by the bar.’
‘What about your former fiancé. The one expecting your child? Won’t she mind?’ Rico looks surprised.
‘Ruby? She’s as good as gold. She’s known all along about our arrangement. You knew she contacted Belle? Made a nice little sum from the deal and put it in trust for the baby.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ He has the grace to look awkward.
‘About Rubes? About the baby? We said we wouldn’t complicate things.’ We did. We stand there for a few minutes while next-door the band starts a new set.
‘Rico, did you know the press would be at my hotel that night we went out to Chez Monique’s?’
‘Nah.’ Rico shakes his head.
‘Then why did you make a pass at me in the taxi? There weren’t any paparazzi in the back seat.’
‘Oh, that,’ he says sheepishly. ‘If you must know, I hadn’t made it up to Hamilton to see Rubes for a while and when I did she was off sex, being preggers, so I was a feeling a bit deprived, and there you were looking hot and sexy with your skimpy dress and your nipples falling out of your schoolgirl bra. You can hardly blame a bloke, can you? I was supposed to be playing your lover! I couldn’t help myself.’ He looks apologetic.
‘You did want to shag me then?’
‘I wouldn’t put it that way...’
‘Rico!’
‘Okay, yes.’
‘But you don’t now?’
‘No. I like you, Mel. I wasn’t lying when I said you’re a lovely person. But for me this was about developing my personal brand as your likeable scallywag. I just got a bit carried away. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, but I’m with Rubes. I love her.’ I sigh.
‘I love Jack too, but he’s left me.’
‘Oh crap. Sorry, Mel. I could call him if you like. Tell him it was all for the cameras.’
‘Somehow I don’t think he’ll believe you.’
‘You’re probably right.’ He’s quiet for a moment. ‘I suppose we should call it a day on the affair then?’
‘I think so, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, I guess. I’ve had a really promising job offer as a result of the publicity. It’s fairly hush-hush at the moment…’ Suddenly animated, Rico tells me all about his new job. I find I’m pleased for him.
‘Good luck, Rico.’ I do a rapid scan for cameras, give him a quick hug, and step back.
‘You too,’ says Rico, already grooming his midnight locks with a practised two-handed slick-back. I start toward the exit. ‘You’re not going back in, then?’
‘Actually, I think I’ll go home. Bye Rico.’
‘Oh, Mel. One last thing…’
‘Mmm?’
‘You can call me Richard.’
72
The phone rings again. At first, I think I won’t pick it up, but then I think, what if it’s Jack? So I pick it up.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello. Mel Short? Harrison Kale here. NZTV.’
NZTV?
‘Look, Mel, can-I-call-you-Mel?’ Harrison Kale of NZTV doesn’t wait for me to say yes, no, or otherwise.
‘It’s about our Good Morning Show. 6:00–8:00am. Our current presenter is about to go on maternity leave and it’s odds-on as to whether or not she’ll be coming back. The indication is no: we have it on good authority she’s considering a higher profile role over the ditch. Something to do with the Wiggles. So we’re looking for her replacement. Our producer has been following you on that reality show - nice work there, by the way – and in the Sunday tabloid gossip columns, especially Ross Sully’s page. He likes the way you’ve stood up to a bit of friendly ribbing.’
He calls that a bit of friendly ribbing? The Short and Curlies? The Come-Up Short? I wonder what the producer thinks constitutes total public humiliation?
Kale carries on. ‘The producer feels you’re exactly what the morning show ne
eds. An injection of fun. Someone who isn’t scared to laugh at herself, who doesn’t take herself too seriously. Self-deprecating. We’re wanting to move away from the news report in the morning and make it brighter, funnier, and we were wondering if you’d be willing to pop down to Wellington for a screen test.’
‘A screen test?’
‘Yeah, a screen test. Although between you me, it’s pretty much a formality. The producer wants you and he usually gets what he wants. I think it’s fair to say the job’s yours if you want it.’
‘Mr Kale?’
‘Harrison.’
‘Harrison. Would I have to move to Wellington to take up this job?’
‘Well, Mel,’ Kale interrupts himself to laugh at his little rhyme. ‘That would be best. It’s going to be a rush to get from Tauranga to Wellington in time to do make-up and briefing before 6:00am.’
‘Right.’
‘If it’s a problem we have an apartment you could use for the first couple of months. On the Terrace. Twelfth floor. View over the harbour. You’ll love it.’
‘Harrison, would you mind if I give it some thought and call you back?’
‘Think it over?’ Thinking it over seems to be a new concept to Kale. He rushes on undeterred. ‘NZTV offers an attractive remuneration package.’
‘I’d like some time to think about it.’
‘Look Mel, you did say I could call you Mel, didn’t you?’ Once again Kale doesn’t wait for my reply. ‘I can see you’re going to play hardball with me. Fair enough. You’ve probably got a few irons in the fire since your big win. But this is a good offer, and we can’t hold it open forever. I don’t need to tell you in this business, unless you get back on the air in a hurry your popularity will go flat faster than Coca Cola. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but you’ve kind of forced my hand here. Here’s the thing. The producer is talking about re-naming the show. We’re going to call it Mornings with Mel. Not bad, huh?’
Mornings with Mel. My own show. My heart does a little flutter.
‘That’s very flattering, Harrison. Would you mind sending me some details? It’d be easier for me to consider your proposal if I have it in front of me.’
‘Sure thing, Mel. You want it in concrete. I can understand that. I’ll get my secretary to courier you the paperwork. You’re going to love being on our team. We’ll set up the screen test for Tuesday or Wednesday. Look forward to seeing you then.’
I put the phone down, smiling grimly as it dawns on me that I’ve finally made it. I’ve come to that poignant life-altering moment in my life. NZTV wants to give me my own show. My own show. Imagine it. I could be the next Karen Ropati. People won’t be able help but notice me now, and not for being half-nude on a bill-board the size of barn. I’m finally about to be somebody here. I clap my hands together and give a little whistle in an attempt to be enthusiastic, but in my empty apartment the sound bounces off the matai floorboards and comes back hollow and half-hearted. Not a happy sound. I should be ecstatic. I should be euphoric. I should be punching the air, ready to leap up on my white leather couch and shout at the top of my lungs, something significant like ‘SHOW ME THE MONEY!’ I’m convinced that in Wellington Harrison Kale and his producer expect me to be doing exactly that. The thing is, this is not the Tom Cruise moment I’ve been waiting for.
And finally I get it. How can I possibly go to Wellington? How could I even consider relocating to a twelfth-storey luxury apartment in the capital? No sooner would I be in the front door, but I’d be clinging to the walls like a limpet. There’s no way I can go. Besides, my friends and family are here; Janeen, Caro, and even Daddy’s Little Girl, Cherry.
And Jack.
Jack is never going to up stakes and move to Wellington. I know, he isn’t actually talking to me right now, but even if he were, he wouldn’t be moving. Not for me. Not after the affair with Rico. If Jack and I are ever going to have a chance to get back together I’m going to have to stay here in Tauranga, where at least I can see him. Even if it’s just as friends. Friends who aren’t currently talking to each other.
Consequently, I won’t be accepting NZTV’s offer. There will be no Mornings with Mel. I know that now. I don’t need to be a famous celebrity. I sink into the solid cold leather of my winter white couch and sigh. Yeah, who needs to be cherished by the whole country?
I’d settle for one man.
73
A few days later, as I eat my wholegrain cereal, I realise I need to think hard about my career now I’ve turned down NZTV’s offer. Mr Kale had been taken aback. He tried calling back within an hour with a $20,000 increase, a company car, and a full year’s lease on the aforementioned apartment. He even implied that I could keep all the designer clothes I’d be modelling on the show. I was tempted to throw in the towel and skip merrily off to the windy city, but I’m proud to attest I held firm, and finally Kale got the message.
So now I’m at a loose end because although I haven’t yet been ejected from my cubicle, my job at Sportzgirl has run its course. I flick my tongue forward and dislodge a tiny flax seed from the roof of my mouth before crushing the nutty kernel with my teeth. Where to now then? I guess I hadn’t thought much further than becoming a celebrity and acquiring the necessary Miu Miu handbag. The phone rings. It’s early for a phone call. I hop up quickly and pop it on speaker so I can sit back down at the table with my tea.
‘Darling. It’s Colin.’
For years and years, I’ve craved Colin’s attention and this is the first time he’s ever phoned me. It’s strange, because he’s the last person I want to speak to right now.
‘Great news about the television gig.’ Today his nuevo Australian twang sounds decidedly brash.
‘Colin, I haven’t…’
‘Imagine NZTV offering you your own television show. Who’d have believed it, aye? My little girl. And your poor ol’ Dad had to read about it in the papers.’
‘Colin...’
‘The thing is, sweetheart, I was wondering about you getting a guest spot on the show for your stepmum.’ Who? Colin must sense the slight delay because he cheerfully fills in the blank for me. ‘For Candy, love. It’d be a great chance for her to flog Candygloss cosmetics to the New Zealand market. Surely you could wangle it for your ol’ Dad?’ I realise it’s a rhetorical question. He isn’t looking for a reply.
‘Candy thinks the timing’s perfect for a push into the New Zealand market. I suggested you could be the new face of Candygloss, but Candy said no. Apparently, it’s something blokes don’t understand about marketing demographics and bone structure.’
‘The thing is, Colin…’
‘Now I realise it’s early days yet, so Candy is happy to wait for a couple of weeks.’
‘Colin!’ But Colin isn’t listening. He’s like a puppy let off his lead, running off ahead in search of exciting foul-smelling things.
‘Oh, and sweetheart you’ll never guess! FPM magazine wants to do a father-daughter article on us. Just picture it. An exclusive article on you and me, love. Candy’s marketing people set it up. It’s for FPM’s Christmas issue. They’re after a piece about how close we are, how you got your drive from your ol’ Dad: picking out the parallels between your running and my racing, that sort of thing. Well, you sure as hell didn’t get your fighting spirit from Cushla, now did you?’
I have an unexpected rush of respect for Cushla. I marvel at how she could have put up with this insufferable man for four interminable months of pregnancy. The strength of the woman astounds me. Colin is still rabbiting-on in my ear in his put-on Aussie drawl.
‘Now, you’re going to need to nip over to Melbourne. Maybe you could bring your young man over. Nicko, isn’t it? I only met him the once, but I like him. Just the right sort for my little girl. Oh yeah, FPM want you in an Aussie flag bikini, or a Santa bikini - they haven’t decided yet – you’ll be draped over the front of my racing car. They reckon it’ll sell like hot cakes.’ I’m feeling queasy and I don’t think it’s the flax seeds o
n my cereal. I cast about for an inventive excuse to hang up.
‘Colin. I’m going to have to call you back. There’s someone at the door.’
‘Sure thing, babe. Call me when you schedule a spot for Candy, okay?’
Poor Colin. I hope he isn’t going to be too disappointed.
Selling Herself Short? By Ross Sully
Is Melanie Short, Sportzgirl cover girl and recent winner of the NZTV-Sportzgirl venture, Racing Feat, peddling herself about town for a new high-paying gig now the series is over? Sources close to Ms Short suggest she’s so determined to make New Zealand’s A-list she’s ready to sell herself to the highest bidder, no matter how tawdry the proposition. Indeed, rumours have surfaced of a white-hot photo-series in the pipeline with gentleman’s magazine, FPM, which Ms Short hotly denies. NZTV casting agent Harrison Kale, intimated to the Sunday inSight that NZTV has offered Ms Short a popular daytime television slot together with a generous remuneration package including extended use of a high-rise luxury apartment in the capital. Kale claims Ms Short is dragging her feet over the details of the contract. It seems clear Racing Feat’s Melanie is determined not to sell herself Short. Current sponsor Sportzgirl should be warned. It’s about to find itself Short of a poster girl.
74
I slip on my runners and let myself out of the apartment. The air is still and cool there’s a faint whiff of Caribbean Roast coming from down the road at Starbucks. I head west through town toward the boardwalk, holding myself until I reach the corner of Wharepai Domain where I increase my pace a little. I decide to run anticlockwise, starting with the short stretch of bush-canopied trail. There’s no-one about, just a bandy-legged chap with his dog. I find my rhythm and get myself in to the zone. Just me and the trail and the morning. A gentle breeze adds itself to the recipe as I pass over the causeway. I let it cool me as I increase my tempo slightly. I’m running parallel to Jack’s house – not that I’ve noticed. Nor does it occur to me that he might be up making himself breakfast and reading the morning newspaper. Nor do I imagine the downy blonde hairs on his forearms as he raises the cup to his mouth, the tousled just-out-of-bed look his hair has, the delicious scent of Diesel layered over Dove soap, his lopsided grin…
