Winning the Game

by Leesa Bow

  “So really I’m on trial. I’m on my own until the end of the six weeks?”

  “It’s the club’s way of making you take responsibility for your own actions. Only this time you’ll be on the world stage, and not in a bedroom.”

  “You know I was set up.”

  “And the other chicks? You chose to go to those girls’ room when you had a curfew.”

  Resting a hand on the back of my neck for support I gaze up at the ceiling. “Six weeks,” I whisper.

  “If things get tough you can call me, but the club wants you to liaise only with the network staff. Ingrid said it’s best if you have minimal contact with the outside world. Less chance of violating the silence oath.”

  “Yeah, about that. I’ll need to talk to somebody …”

  “Then I suggest you drive home to your farm and talk to your mum. It’s been a while since you visited her and I think it would be good for you. Give you time to think.”

  “Was planning on it this weekend anyway.”

  “Good luck, Rhett. I hope it all works out for you.”

  I rub my jaw, wishing to hell my team mates were here to talk to. “See you on the other side, man.”

  RHETT

  After picking up my new black SUV from a service, I head straight to RCP Broadcasting. The questions Tori allocated are folded on the seat beside me. The first question—What makes me happy?—initially seemed easy. Football … family … friends … Yet I’d spent a lot of time partying and drinking, thinking I was happy. But on the nights I wasn’t doing those things to forget, the emptiness inside me grew. So I had partied more to stop the loneliness. And Millsy made it all so damn exciting.

  Until the shit hit the fan. When I first arrived at the club, Millsy and Hunter were kings of the players. Hunter, as captain of the Blackbirds, and Millsy captained us young guys off the field. He showed us the ways …

  I shake my head. Definitely a love-hate relationship with ol’ Millsy. Damn glad he retired. I couldn’t keep up with his pace. At least Hunter tried to keep us young boys in line. Unfortunately, I’d already learned some bad habits from Millsy. And being treated like a king at nightclubs—girls literally throwing themselves at you—was pretty damn exciting back then.

  I remind myself it’s all in the past.

  Before knocking on Tori’s door I contemplate my answers once more, knowing she’ll evaluate me however I answer the question. As soon as the door opens her sweet fragrance hits me, enticing. I want to pull her close, run my lips along her neck and take in her scent. Hell, I want to loosen those damn buttons on her blouse, kiss my way to those breasts she’s hiding, and break her tight composure.

  Fuck.

  This bloody abstinence is driving me crazy.

  Our eyes lock briefly. She must have read my expression, by the way her lips part and a gentle sigh escapes her. Just as quickly her expression closes over and she lets go of the door and strides toward her desk.

  “Have you answered the questions?” she asks in a teacher-like manner.

  She has to be at least three years younger than me. I stare at her a moment, knowing it makes her uncomfortable. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  Tori links her fingers and places them gently on her desk. “I hoped you’d do what I asked of you.”

  I’m withholding a smile because now I’m thinking of other things she could ask of me. But I stay focused, remembering my conversation with Ian. “I gave it some thought and realised some of the things that made me happy also brought some sadness at some point in my life.”

  “Do you want to talk about it? Or I can read the answers.”

  I place the folded papers on her desk. “Harder than I thought.”

  Tori’s expression is deadpan as she reads all four pages. Waiting for her to comment is as nerve wracking as sitting a damn exam. I was always better with numbers than words. She flips each page, and after the last she coughs before meeting my gaze.

  “Well, I’m pleasantly surprised, and impressed by how much thought you applied to each question. Especially who you’d give a million dollars to, to make a difference, and why. It seems you know quite a bit about charity.”

  I nod. “It’s something the club endorses.”

  Tori picks up the last piece of paper and turns it over. “You say you’d like to set up medical and educational facilities for indigenous tribes in South America? Why?”

  “I have a friend who volunteers in a village in the Amazon. She talks about the lack of funding, and how isolated the natives are. I know we should be looking after our own country, but this charity lacks the resources.”

  Her eyes become round. “That is … fascinating. I’d like to hear more about it some time. Have you thought about setting up a fundraiser yourself?”

  Her honey eyes soften, and I smile. “Yeah, but I’ve a few others keeping me busy.” Rubbing the back of my neck I hesitate. “I give to the Children’s Hospital and I’m an ambassador for Apple Tree, a charity for blind children.”

  Tori’s lips part ever so slightly. I’m captivated, waiting for the next sound. “You never thought to mention this before?”

  I shrug. “Not something I talk about with others. It’s my private life.” She surprises me when she accepts my response.

  Tori hands me another set of questions. “Answer these tonight, and tomorrow we can move on to training for the show. Ingrid would like to meet with you now and give you a tour of the set. Later today Paige will brief you on lines, etc.”

  I’m not really listening because I’m busy scanning her next set of questions.

  If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?

  What is the one thing you would change about your past?

  What goals do you hope to achieve by the time you reach thirty years of age?

  Where do you envisage yourself in ten years’ time?

  One question stands out. Changing the past. If I were at the farm and not here playing football, I would have been there for my father when he was pinned under his tractor. If I were there, he might be here with me now.

  I roll the sheets of paper into a scroll. “I’ll get them back to you tomorrow.” She expects honesty, but I decide not to bring up the farm incident or anything about my family. It’s part of me I don’t like to share with the world. My answers will focus on football, and me because it’s what the show is about, after all.

  Walking down the hall, I remember what the contract said about checking in with Tori and Ingrid. Do I need to inform her I’ll be visiting the farm on the weekend?

  Tracking back, I knock on her door, surprised to find her brushing her long, dark hair into a ponytail.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “To the gym. I work out in my break. Did you forget something?”

  “Wanted to mention I’m heading out of town this weekend to visit my family. That okay, Boss?”

  “Boss?” Tori raises an eyebrow. “Now we’re on the same page.” She grins, as she hooks her backpack over her arm. “Thanks for telling me. You’ve read the booklet, so I don’t need to remind you of your contractual obligations.”

  I give her an easy smile. “Promise I’ll be on my best behaviour.” I wink before closing the door.

  TORI

  At the end of the day, Grant calls me to meet him on the set with the twelve contestants. The sensation of butterflies in my stomach surprises me considering I’ve done this many times before. Rhett is prepped ready for the first shoot on Monday, and has the weekend free. I’ve thought about him a lot these past two days. I keep telling myself it’s because I want him to succeed, and for the show to be a hit.

  My palms are damp. I’m anticipating none of the competitors will be suited to Rhett. I’ve got to know him better these past few days, witnessed a gentler side of Rhett Williams. The last thing I want is some sexy number dragging him down and portraying him as the Hook-Up Guy again. He needs to appear professional, so it reflects on me. But my thoughts were anything but profe
ssional during our last meeting. I cringe at how long I had to work out in the gym to rid my mind of dirty thoughts. I’m glad I have a few days away from Rhett to find the composure to work alongside him.

  After being introduced to the group, I head back to my office. The introductions went better than I thought. Even from a first impression, which I try to avoid, I could identify the troublemakers and the girl-next-door types. Before I shut down my computer, I read an email from Ingrid asking me to go out to Friday night drinks, but all I want to do is go home and watch The Walking Dead.

  Passing on her offer, I send a reply. Her quick response accuses me of being boring, and I should get out more. I ignore the jab at my personality. After all these years I don’t get upset anymore. To be successful, one’s social life has to come second. In my case, last.

  It doesn’t take long for my thoughts to wander back to Rhett. After he mentioned visiting his family it got me thinking about my own. It’s high time I visited my parents. I scroll through my phone, searching for available seats on flights to Melbourne, and press book.

  It’s after nine when I arrive.

  The plane is still on the tarmac. I turn my phone on and receive a message from Mum. At least this time she responded to my text message. You know where the key is. Let yourself in. We should be home around midnight.

  My visit is most likely an inconvenience to her. If I’d told her earlier she would have given me a reason not to come. I’ve learned to value the element of surprise, and not give her a chance to turn me away.

  After paying the cab, I locate the spare key under a terracotta pot, unlock the front door and flick on the hallway lights before punching the code into the alarm. I note more new furniture, and the living room has had a fresh coat of paint.

  By ten thirty I can barely keep my eyes open, so I switch off the television and head up to my old bedroom. Nothing about the room resembles a younger me. Mum has recently redecorated in grey and pastel green. Not my style. Artefacts fill the bookshelf, memories my parents collected as they travelled the world. As a child I looked forward to what they brought home, since I was never allowed to accompany them.

  Before I climb under the covers I send a text to Rhett. I’m visiting my parents in Melbourne, but you can still contact me if you need.

  At least I did the right thing and informed my client of my whereabouts in case he needs to get in touch. Well, that’s what I tell myself, but I can’t ignore my growing curiosity; and not just for the sake of the show. It’s an alien feeling. I’m not usually interested in getting to know people out of work. Most times I’m too exhausted to care.

  I snuggle under the covers and press my hand over the fluttering in my stomach. If I’m being honest, it began the moment I set eyes on him. The last thing I see before closing my eyes is Rhett’s beautiful face, and the way his eyes lock on mine when he speaks. A tingling sensation travels south. My hand moves between my legs. For the first time in a while I need my vibrator, and I’m grateful not to have it with me. And Rhett is the last person I should be thinking about while touching myself. Gratitude fills me at being at my parent’s house. I did the right thing coming home.

  At seven thirty a familiar aroma wafts under my door. I’m not asleep, and not awake either. The smell yanks me out of a doze with an urge to get up and investigate. Dressed in pyjamas, I wander down to the kitchen where my suspicion is confirmed. Dad is cooking my favourite breakfast: omelette with cheese, coriander, and tomatoes.

  “Morning, Dad.” I peer over his shoulder. “I didn’t hear you come in last night.” We hug each other, and he pats my back before we part.

  “How are you, sweetie? How are the celebs of reality television treating you?”

  I notice how he changes the subject. “They make me feel normal.”

  “We know that’s not true.” He laughs, and I laugh too.

  “Hey, I get my crazy from you.”

  He hands me a glass of orange juice and we clink our glasses in agreement. I’m the female version of my father in looks, and personality, which is why we understand each other. Although instead of inheriting his fair, curly hair, I got my mother’s dark hair.

  “At least you both acknowledge it.” Mum enters the room, sipping coconut water through a straw. Her black hair is styled straight, to just above her shoulders. Thick foundation covers her face. I’m not sure why she feels the need to layer it on when her skin is flawless. “Nice of you to visit, Victoria.” She bends to my cheek but deliberately misses, and makes an exaggerated sound with her collagen-filled, burgundy lips.

  My mother also works behind the scenes with celebrities for a morning show, only in Melbourne. It was her recommendation and connections to RCP that helped me acquire a traineeship. Even more convenient, it was in another state.

  “It seems like I haven’t seen you in forever, and I’m not sure I’ll get home before Christmas, so I thought I’d come visit before shooting begins on the next series.”

  Mum’s expression changes. Her brow furrows but she quickly composes herself and looks to Dad to answer for her. It confuses me. I don’t have time to dwell before Dad pipes up, “That’s thoughtful, love. I’m glad you did since we won’t be here this year.”

  I stare at Dad, then turn to my mother. “Oh.”

  “Don’t give me that look.” She says to my father, “I haven’t had a chance to tell her yet.”

  Dad’s expression tightens. His nose flares, and I sense he’s taking a deep breath before giving me an explanation. “We’re visiting her friend in New York. Staying for the New Year to watch the ball drop in Times Square. It’s something she’s always wanted to do.” His voice is filled with guilt. “We booked it last month.”

  “Who?” My mother doesn’t have a close friend in New York. At least no one who would be closer than her daughter. Our relationship has been strained over the years but we’ve been making ground the past three. Considering the shows Mother and I work for close over the Christmas period we agreed to my coming home for the Christmas break, before they take off on their annual luxurious vacation.

  My mother lifts her chin. “Renee Bernstein. We met in April on the set. She’s an agent for Brenda Wilde. We talked after the morning show back when Brenda was interviewed on her upcoming movie, and I offered to show them around Melbourne. We became friends. Renee recommended we stay in her penthouse, a few streets from Central Park.”

  “Well it sounds fabulous,” I say, forcing a smile. “Another trip to New York.”

  “We’ve never been at Christmas,” she says defensively, as though I’m trying to vilify her.

  I swallow large gulps of juice while my walls rebuild. “I guess it’s for the better since I’m now seeing someone. I’m hoping to see him more around the Christmas break. He has a strict training schedule.” I drink more juice to swallow the lie.

  My father’s expression perks up. He turns to my mother. “That’s good, right?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Who?”

  “No, Mum,” I say, in a sweet, fake voice. “I’m not giving you a name so you can stalk him, and make a judgement without meeting him. He plays football.”

  I help myself to the fruit on the table, not sure why I’m pleased with myself for lying to my parents.

  Mum makes a disgusted sound in her throat. “Another boy with a reputation.”

  Hairs prick on the back of my neck at the way she says “boy.” She’s having a dig at my choice in guys, as though I’m immature.

  “I don’t need to remind you what happened the last time—”

  “No, Mum, you don’t.” I throw the remainder of the banana in the bin. “Because I’m an adult.”

  “Lorelle,” Dad reprimands, “it was years ago. Let it go.”

  “She’s always been needy.” Mum looks down her nose, challenging me.

  Inhaling a controlled breath, I concentrate on shutting down every emotion. The hurt. The anger. The betrayal. Even as a child there were times I believed my mother never wanted me.
Times when I thought her career was more important than me. The December after I finished school she paid for me to go to the Bahamas. Said it was a chance to let my hair down and relax in one of the best resorts in the world. She wanted me to become independent, go on a holiday alone. She made it sound like she was doing it out of kindness. No. My mother had wanted to spend Christmas in Hawaii without me. Again.

  Turning away from my mother, my gaze lowers to the ceramic tiles in the kitchen, as the memory unfolds once more.

  On arriving in the Bahamas I was afraid and lonely. Within a couple of days I had become friends with a young cocktail bartender outside the resort at a beach bar. He made promises, ones I should have known he wouldn’t keep …

  One month after arriving home, I found out I was pregnant. My mother didn’t want me to have the baby, and when I miscarried at twelve weeks, I knew she was a little relieved. My grief didn’t stop her from lecturing me about being stupid and naïve. I was young and yes, gullible, but not stupid. Affection was my drug, and I needed to believe that someone could love me.

  Voices bickering behind me jolt me back.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not serious.” I turn on my heel, ignoring my father’s plea not to leave. I stop on the second step. “I’ll take a quick shower, Dad. And then maybe we can eat breakfast without Mum bringing up the past.”

  For years I’ve tried to forget the pain, yet every time I come home my mother manages to remind me all over again.

  After heading upstairs and taking a long hot shower, I dry off and get dressed. Whether it was the steam that cleared my head, or the release of tears providing a sense of relief, I head back downstairs to talk civilly with my mother.

  Like the adult she forgets I am.

  RHETT