“Is there anything I can do?” she asks, reaching out to pat my hair like I’m a child, and I let her, because she’s my mum and it feels nice.
“Could you see my face?”
“Not really,” she says slowly, and I wonder what she’s holding back, so I sit up really fast and grab my phone, bringing up an entertainment news site that is featuring all the pictures on their homepage as the story of the moment.
“What do you mean ‘not really’? What’s wrong with the picture?” I flick through the article and quickly land on the photo I’m in. I’m standing there, wrapped in Jonathan’s arms as my face is all scrunched up. I look like I’m howling. It’s a horrible picture and the only saving grace is that my expression is so distorted that most people would have a hard time picking me. “Well, at least you can’t tell it’s me.”
“Yes. But you look so ugly in it,” my mum mutters, taking the phone out of my hands and looking at the image. “You’re so much prettier than that. Surely they had a nicer photo of you…”
I pull the phone from her hands and stand up off the bed. “It’s a good thing they don’t mum, otherwise you’d probably have press outside your house right now. Paparazzi are relentless.”
“You’d think there’d be some sort of journalist bro code where they didn’t chase down one of their own,” she comments.
“Paps don’t have a code, mum. They just go where the money is.”
I begin hunting the wardrobe for some clothes to wear. Thank god I didn’t take everything with me when I moved out.
“Where are you going?” she asks, watching me.
“I need to go to work,” I remind her, flicking through my old clothing and wondering if I can get away with dressing like a teenager…
“To work? Why don’t you just stay here today? Wait and see what happens. I don’t want you getting chased and end up crashing in a tunnel like Princess Di.”
“I don’t think it’s going to get that bad, mum. I’m no Princess, that’s for sure,” I laugh, giving up on my clothes hunt. “Can I borrow something of yours?”
“Sure,” she says, following along behind me as I leave my old room to go to hers. But neither of us makes it. Instead we both stop half way, staring at the television with our mouths wide open as we see a press interview with a crying Simone Weston, demanding to know who the home wrecker is who stole her fiancé from her.
“Well, at least they found a nicer photo of you,” my mother says, as a clear shot of my face fills the screen. It’s a little out of focus. But it’s clearly me.
“Maybe it is going to get that bad,” I mutter, deciding that perhaps work isn’t the best place for me today.
Chapter 8
“This is a nightmare,” I moan as, my phone begins to sing. It’s a number I don’t recognise and wincing, I answer, swiping my finger across the screen and holding it against my ear as my mother looks on in concern. “Hello?”
“Sandra? It’s Jonathan. I just wanted to apologise for last night and make sure you’re OK. I just saw the news. I had no idea she was going to do that.”
“How did you even get this number?”
“My agent got it. Listen, I really am sorry about this. I don’t wish this circus on anyone.”
“It’s fine. It’ll pass,” I state, shaking my head when my mother leans in my field of vision and tries to ask me a question.
“You’re right. It will. But in the meantime, lay low, OK? And if you need anything, you’ve got my number now.”
“I won’t. But thanks.”
“And Sandra.”
“Yes?”
“You’re not at your house are you?”
“No, why?”
He lets out a relieved sigh. “Good.”
“Why? What’s going on?” I ask, still waving my mother off as she begins to pull at my shirt.
“You’re not watching the TV?”
“I am, I’m just…” I turn around, finally understanding what my mother was trying to get me to look at. “Oh shit,” I say again, as I look at footage of my house where a reporter, a woman I’ve actually worked with before, is talking about who I am and explaining that they can’t find any sign of me. “This is getting out of hand.”
“Welcome to my world. If you tell me where you are, I can come and get you. I’m pretty good at evading this kind of stuff.”
I shake my head, even though there’s no way he can see me. “No. No thanks. I don’t need your help.” And with that, I hang up the phone and look at my mum, my eyes wide as I wonder what the hell I’m supposed to do.
She places her hands on either side of my upper arms as if she’s holding me up and looks at me in that way that only mothers can. It’s a look that says she’s got a plan. That she’s going to fix this.
“Call work. Tell them you’re going away. I’m going to call your father and let him know we’re going down the coast for a few days to stay in the caravan. I’m sure it could do with an airing, anyway,” she says, and I just nod in agreement and do everything she says as the shock of my now upside down life settles in.
***
“Ew! I told you it could do with an airing. It smells like someone put prawn heads in the curtain rods,” mum says as she scrunches up her nose and walks around the built on annex and opens all the windows, her brown ponytail swishing from side to side as she moves, making her appear much younger than her forty-nine years.
“It’s not that bad,” I chuckle, dropping our bags on the futon I remember using when friends came down to visit during my teen years. I step inside the van and push the small windows open that are above the tiny kitchen, above the main bed and between the four bunk beds that are to the rear. The cool sea air flows through quickly, filling the air with a fresh saltiness that you don’t get in the city, despite the giant harbour.
Standing in the kitchen area, I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket. It’s been going off non-stop, and I silenced it hours ago. I’m surprised it still has battery. I pull it out of my pocket and look at the screen and it seems as though there’s an endless list of missed calls. Many are from private numbers or numbers I don’t have saved in my phone and others are from friends and co-workers. I guess they all know by now. And I wonder if I should answer them. I don’t like that they all think I’m involved with Jonathan Masters. I especially don’t want Lisa to think I’m involved with him. I don’t want her to think that our friendship means that little to me.
Flicking through the numbers, I feel overwhelmed. How the hell am I supposed to deal with this? I was just trying to help a friend…
“Um, mum?” I call out and she appears immediately in the doorway to the caravan with a questioning look on her face. “Do you think you could shoot a video for me? I need to tell the world I’m not a home wrecker.”
She smiles, her expression shifting from a question to pride as she nods and holds her hand out to take my phone from me.
“How do I look?” I ask, raking my fingers through my long straight blonde hair.
“You look beautiful. Do you know what you’re going to say? Do you want to write it down first?”
“No. I think I’m going to wing this one.”
“OK.”
I take a seat at the small table and my mother stands exactly where I just was and she holds out my phone then nods when it’s recording.
“My name is Sandra Haegen,” I start, my heart suddenly beating a little faster as my nerves kick in. This is why I’m a print journalist and not a TV one anymore. I’m not a huge fan of being in front of the camera. “Yesterday, my house was surrounded by a mass of paparazzi. They were there because they were looking for my friend, Leisil Marx. You all know her as the woman who drove a car through Jonathan Masters’s living room window a while back. But, I know her as Lisa, and she’s been my best friend since we started working together at Voyeur Magazine. I understand that there’s a rumour going around out there at the moment. There are people who think that Mr Masters and I have some sort of a r
elationship. But I’m here to tell you that isn’t true. I only met him yesterday when we both agreed to help out a mutual friend by getting the press to leave her house so she could find somewhere quiet to wait out the interest in her story. And now, I’ve been forced to do the same. But where I’m concerned, there is no story. There is nothing between Mr Masters and I. He helped me when I was frightened after my window had been broken, and then he took me somewhere quiet to wait while my window was fixed. That’s as far as the story goes.
“Today, I have received so many phone calls that I can’t possibly answer them all, so this video is my answer. Please, leave me alone to live my life. There is no story. I don’t know Mr Masters, and I’m unlikely to ever see him again. Marcus Bailey on the other hand, well, he owes me a window. And then we’ll call this even. Thank you,” I finish with a nod, and my mother lowers the phone and gives me a smile.
“Great work, sweetheart. It’s always good to tell your side of a story. Then they can’t make stuff up.”
I take the phone from her hands. “Let’s just hope they listen.”
***
My mother and I spend the rest of the week relaxing in the coastal town of Gerringong. We walk along the beach, we swim in the rock pool and we eat fish and chips among a squawking mass of seagulls and laugh as they fight over every offering of food and try to swallow it whole. And I find myself smiling a lot too. It’s been so long since I’ve been to the place I spent almost every holiday as a kid, and it’s been kind of nice to get away from it all, and it’s been nice to spend time alone with my mum.
Daily checks of the tabloids let us know that my video was indeed seen. It didn’t stop the phone calls, but after a few days, they dropped by half and on the final day, my phone was only ringing once every half hour, so we thought that was progress.
“My window has been fixed,” I comment, looking at my screen after it let off a message alert. The message had come from Jonathan. I don’t know why but I saved his number. I guess I knew he’d try and make contact again…
“That’s good news. Do you want to go back home or stay with your father and I for a bit?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we could do a drive by, and if it’s safe I’ll stay, but if it isn’t I’ll come to you.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she says as we load up the car and get on the road. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, I scroll through my giant missed call list again.
“Oh shit,” I exclaim as I spot the name of ‘Brad’ in my missed calls.
“What? Did you forget something?”
“Well, yeah, but not at the caravan. I was supposed to have dinner wit this guy I met last month. I completely forgot and I’ve got all these missed calls from him. I totally stood him up.”
“Well call him. Tell him what happened. He probably knows anyway.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll call him a bit later.”
“Don’t want to call a boy around your mum, huh? I thought you were twenty-three now, not thirteen.”
“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes at her as I tap his name on my phone to bring his contact details up. And as I hit call and hold the phone to my ear, I glance at my mother who is grinning to herself, looking very pleased. “Oh, you’re loving this, aren’t you?”
“Sweetheart, your life over the past week has been the most excitement I’ve had in ten years,” she laughs.
And I find myself laughing along with her as the line rings and then connects. “Sandra,” he says, his voice surprised as he answers. “How are you?”
“Hi, Brad, I’m fine. But I wanted to call and tell you how sorry I am about the other night. There’s been some stuff going on in my life, and–”
“I know,” he interrupts. “I saw the paper.”
“It’s not true.”
“It wouldn’t really matter if it were. We weren’t exclusive.”
“Oh, I know,” I reply quickly. “But still, I don’t want you thinking I’m a flake. I generally keep all of my dates, and I’m so sorry I missed this one. Can I make it up to you? I’ll even pay.”
He laughs, his tone relaxing. “There’s no need for that. But yeah, I wouldn’t mind rescheduling while I’m still in town. How does Monday night sound?”
“Monday night sounds perfect. I’ll see you then,” I smile, saying a quick goodbye before hanging up.
“Well?” my mother asks straight away. “That sounds like it went well. Are you going to tell me about him?”
I smile and shake my head. “No.”
“You are the worst fun,” she comments, causing me to laugh.
“I thought I was the most fun?” I comment.
“Well, now I’ve changed my mind,” she pouts comically.
“I’ll tell you what–if it goes well, I promise to fill you in on everything. I just don’t know him that well yet.”
“Well, at least tell me what he looks like.”
“OK, that I can do. He’s tall, good looking with really dark hair and one of those chins that has a slight dimple in it. Blue eyes, nice completion. Decent sense of humour,” I shrug, not knowing him well enough to tell her much more beyond my own first impressions.
“Sounds like Superman. And how did you meet him?”
“In a lift. He pulled my hair, we had a drink, chatted a bit. It was nice so we set up dinner.”
“Interesting,” she remarks, drawing out the word as she focuses on the road ahead of her.
“We’ll see,” I smile, as I look out the window and watch the rolling hills slowly move past us as we motor down the highway, back to my mess of a life.
Chapter 9
When we finally get home, mum and I drive past my house, and seeing that there was nobody staking the place out, we went inside.
“Well this is nice,” mum comments as I let her walk ahead of me inside and she spots a large floral arrangement that sits in the centre of a brand new dining setting. “They must be from that Marcus fellow since he came in here and lost his shit,” she says, causing me to laugh a little to myself as she isn’t a huge swear word user, but when she does swear, it all sounds very proper. “Oh dear,” she adds with a frown as she reads the card that was attached to them.
“Oh dear, what?” I ask, taking the card from between her fingers and reading over it myself.
It wasn’t an act. J x
She points at the card. “I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed but I’m pretty sure the ‘j’ stands for Jonathan. Is there something you want to tell me?”
I scrunch up the card in my hand and shake my head. “No mum. There’s nothing. This is just a man who’s used to getting what he wants feeling petulant because for once, he didn’t get it.”
“Oh I see, he tried something and you turned him down. What?” she adds when I raise my brows in her direction. “I know how these things work. I’ve had my fair share of unwanted suitors.”
“Well, this is definitely, an unwanted one,” I say, picking up the vase and walking straight outside where I drop it in the bin, just as I hear the click of a camera shutter. “Isn’t there something more interesting you could be taking pictures of?” I ask the photographer who stands in my driveway.
“Not really,” he states, taking another shot as I stand and look at him with my hand on my hips in annoyance. Then, rolling my eyes, I head back inside to where my mother is waiting.
“Back to my place then?” she asks.
And I nod. “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.”
***
After packing a bag and heading over to my parent’s house, I don’t really have any further problems with photographers. But it is nice to be around other people instead of alone in my own home–even if I do miss my own, much larger, bed.
And while the shots of me throwing the flowers in the bin run in the paper the next day, I manage to go to work without too much drama coming my way. That is, until the courier comes in and I’m given tickets to some sort of red carpet event.
“Take them ba
ck. I’m not interested,” I say, refusing to sign for them and leaving the courier feeling a bit put out.
My phone beeps within the hour.
Jonathan: First you throw out my flowers and then you refuse the tickets. I’m wounded.
Me: The flowers were dead and I’m busy tonight. Perhaps choose one of your other women. Maybe take your fiancée.
Jonathan: You should read the news more often. There is no fiancée anymore. And I don’t want to choose another woman.
I shake my head after reading the last text message and wonder where a man like that gets off. If someone doesn’t want your attentions, it doesn’t mean you should just try harder, it means you should back off. Even if you’re name is Jonathan Masters and that name is on the hottest men on the planet list. Just because he’s divinely good looking, doesn’t mean he can have everything he wants. And if I’m really honest, then yes, I am attracted to him, and yes, I did feel a chemistry between us. But I have to put that down to him being who he is, and I am a woman, and just like all women, I’m prey to my hormones at times. It doesn’t mean that my brain can’t win and make a logical choice.
A logical choice like Brad, for instance. He could be the real one for me. I mean, you think about the way we met. I was in the lift alone and when he stepped on and said hi, I said ‘oh my god, you can see me?’ I was in a weird mood and was just dicking around. He grinned and reached out and took a hold of a strand of my hair, giving it a tug before saying a simple, ‘yep’. We laughed and he asked me for my number and we went for a drink. It was a nice, simple way to meet someone. It’s the way these things are meant to go.
Now, the drink we had together wasn’t really the most fun date in the world. I had just had a teeth pulling interview with a girl band who thought they were too big to do a press junket with the other big acts at a music festival. Not only that, but he had seemed a little preoccupied as well. Although we did get along, and I do find him very attractive. The conversation between us still flowed so we set up another date that fit with both our busy schedules, and that’s when I stood him up.
A Beautiful Star (Beautiful Series, Book 5) Page 4
