by Foster, Zoe
It was liberating, Lily realised. She could do whatever she wanted, and didn’t have to worry about guys. Not running into one she liked, not seeing one she didn’t like, not even Facebook stalking was an option any more. How marvellously freeing. She hit call on her phone.
‘There she is!’
‘Mimi, do you know what day and time it is?’
A laugh and then, ‘Better than you, I think. Today’s the day we booked our Italian cooking class.’
‘Oh, shit, oh God, I totally forgot. I’m so sorry, what time does it start?’
‘In twenty minutes. I was calling to see if you wanted me to pick you up but it’s too late now.’ Mimi wasn’t one of those mollycoddling mums. She’d do her best then leave you to your own devices. Suffer, baby, suffer and all that jazz.
‘You sound a bit rough darling . . . Big night?’ she asked.
‘Accidental. Sim bullied me into it.’
‘Are you still up for this? I was about to ask Denis, which might be best if you’d rather stay at home and wallow in your hangover —’
Denis was Mimi’s gay best friend. Ever since Lily’s parents had split the two of them had been joined at the hip, and they loved nothing more than cooking and decorating together like an old married couple, just without the sex and romance.
‘No, I can do this. A big greasy pasta is just what I need. Okay, I might be a bit late but I’ll get there as fast as I can.’ The class was being held in a huge Italian warehouse, complete with cooking school, restaurant, provedore and gelateria. Lily had been there for work once; she could vaguely picture the street it was on.
‘All right, darling. Drive safely, please. Strong coffee and no speeding.’
Lily skolled the remnants of her drink and tore upstairs to shower. What a shithead she was – she’d bought this for Mimi for her birthday, she knew how excited her mum was about it, and now Lily had almost ruined it. Bad daughter. Today the idea of being delightful and fully present and learny and cooking a three-course Italian meal was her idea of hell, but she was going to do it, and she was going to do it convincingly, or so may her house be filled with rotting meatballs forever more.
‘I must say I was happy with my sardines —’
‘OUR sardines, thank you,’ Lily corrected Mimi cheekily, the life flowing back into her thanks to the huge bowl of pasta she’d all but polished off. And her third Chinotto. Mimi, on the other hand, was beside herself to have discovered a bottle of barolo was part of the package, and was slurping away at it with intense enjoyment. Lily could do no more than a token glass, which was a real shame, as it was prohibitively expensive and extremely tasty.
‘Yes, whatever would I have done if you weren’t here to chop the parsley. But weren’t the sardines lovely? I would never have thought to add walnuts.’
‘We’re still getting some gelati on the way out, right?’ Low-blood-sugar Lily had been disappointed to learn that three courses did not include dessert, but rather antipasto, entrée and then main.
‘Would you stop thinking ahead for one moment, greedy-guts? We put a lot of love and time into this meal . . . You’re always so fidgety, Bean. Drives me up the wall.’
Bean had been Lily’s nickname since she was in the womb.
‘I didn’t even check my phone once! Even though my flatmate could be dead or missing, for all I know.’
‘She’ll ruin those stunning looks of hers if she’s not careful,’ Mimi said, elegantly placing the final pieces of her pasta into her mouth and savouring the taste as she dabbed her mouth with her napkin.
‘Impossible.’ Sim had won the genetic jackpot at birth, and still had plenty of winnings in the bank.
‘I’d actually like to do a bit of shopping in the provedore, too . . . Closest I can get to feeling like I’m in Italy until I’m actually over there in a few months,’ Mimi finished off her glass of wine and corked the bottle to take with her. She had started taking herself off on international holidays ten years ago under the guise of ‘research’ for her homewares store, but in truth she was addicted to travel. In Europe especially.
Lily collected her bag and checked her phone – nothing from Sim. She’d be fine, Lily reassured herself. She’d be somewhere safe and warm, fast asleep.
Fifteen minutes later, Lily could no longer stand her mother’s snail-pace browsing and took herself off for a Ferrero Rocher gelato from the adorable little hole-in-the-wall gelateria. She waited in line, and upon finally getting her waffle cone and bulbous gelato, went to find Mimi. As she walked through the fresh produce she saw her mother chatting to someone in the pasta section. Just before reaching them, she recognised who Mimi was with. Jack Winters. Her heart rate picked up, and she immediately smoothed her mess of a ponytail, as if that would somehow undo all the other physical mess. What was he doing here, Lily wondered; although being a chef, and this being one of Sydney’s wankiest food provedores, it wasn’t that far a stretch. Jack looked up and saw her standing there like a dork, licking her gigantic ice-cream. A small smile – a smirk? – crossed his face, then he went back to speaking to her mother. Lily looked down at her light-blue shirt, smattered with oil and tomato flecks, and her Converse and her jeans, and realised the best option here was to retreat. Casually turning around, pretending to look at the tinned legumes, Lily headed back towards the flower section, which, with its wild greenery, would conceal her until he’d left.
She waited five minutes, and seeing her mother, now thankfully solo, head towards the register, wire basket brimming with cheeses and pasta, Lily binned the last of her gelato and walked towards her, wiping her hands on her bum as she did so.
‘You’ve got something on your shoe.’
Lily stopped dead, registering the voice, and looked down at her shoe, which was indeed giving a free ride to a long piece of wax paper.
She bent down and ripped it off, chucking it aside before spinning around to face Jack, whom she most definitely did not want to turn around and face. He was wearing a white T-shirt, dark jeans and a plain navy cap.
‘Thanks, Jack,’ Lily said, wondering how Jack got so far in life when he was so rude. He didn’t even say hello, for God’s sake.
‘And something on your face.’ He wiped his own face as an indicator, that same smile-smirk painted on his stupid face.
Lily blushed, her hands flying up to her mouth and chin, wiping frantically. She couldn’t decide if she were more annoyed at looking like such a mess, or at Jack’s lack of politeness in pointing out her numerous flaws.
‘Anything else?’ she asked, more petulantly than she had intended.
‘Just trying to help,’ he said, a cheeky smile on his face.
‘ ’Kay, well, thanks. See you tomorrow. Get a good night’s sleep, it’s gonna be a big one.’
She couldn’t resist, knowing how nervous he was already.
He looked like he was about to say something but Lily began walking towards Mimi, fuming with something – embarrassment? incredulity? She couldn’t place it.
‘There you are! Oh, Bean, I met such a divine man in the pasta section, he was so knowledgeable and so helpful, and he doesn’t even work here. Just a regular Joe, shopping like me. Tell you what,’ she lowered her voice mischievously, ‘he was a beautiful-looking fella. If I were thirty years younger . . .’
Lily smiled at her mother, who was flushed with joy at her moment with Jack. If only Lily could say the same – but generally when she had an interlude with Jack, she walked away filled with disbelief at how rude he was. Maybe it was just her. Maybe he didn’t like her. Oh well, she thought, I don’t like him either.
Lily didn’t mention she knew Jack, and worked with him. She didn’t have the energy, but also, she was pissed off that Jack, who was so rude to her, had managed to make her mother’s year with his soliloquy on fettuccine. She was over him already and they hadn’t even technically started working together.
9
Lily returned home, desperate for a few hours of trashy TV and an early
night to be ready for the first live show tomorrow. Instead, she heard squeals and music and laughter and, if her ears did not deceive her, splashing water.
She gingerly set her keys and bag on the kitchen bench on her way upstairs. There was a shriek from Simone. There was laughter from Skye. And there was a male voice too. Lily almost didn’t want to know what she’d find when she got up to the second landing.
The bathroom door was open, and Lily walked towards it, wishing for once she had a normal flatmate who’d be watching The X-Factor in her pyjamas on a Sunday evening as opposed to orchestrating what sounded like a mini-spring break.
‘Uh, Sim?’ Lily called out, trying to make herself heard over Salt-N-Pepa.
‘SIM?’ she called again, this time with more determination and irritation.
Nothing. Fine, she was going in. She stuck her head around the corner and saw the inspiration behind a million pornos, and some of the more edgy fashion magazines: Skye and Simone were topless in the daggy ’80s style corner bath, drinking champagne and splashing each other. There was a very hot, young guy standing in his boxers and a trucker cap laughing, dancing and geeing the girls up, smoking and taking photos on his phone and drinking champagne, all at once, which actually would have been quite impressive if it weren’t so disgusting. An iPhone was docked into Simone’s little travel speaker on the vanity, but it didn’t quite fit, and was hanging on a precarious angle. Not only were the overhead lights on, but the heat lights were on too, making it less ‘sexy, swinging spa party’ and more ‘bathtime then bed’. The whole scene was extraordinarily wrong.
‘LIL! Lil’s home, my girl’s home. Ho, ho, hey-ho, where’s my girl been at, oh wheeeeeeere’s my girl been at!’ Simone grinned at Lily, swaying her head to the tinny music and her singsong greeting. She was off her face. So much so that it was questionable whether she had ever been on her face. Her glazed, dilated eyes told a sorry story, one involving no sleep for thirty-six hours, far too much booze and a lot of drugs.
‘I’m not with him!’ Simone suddenly yelled, realising how it might look to Lily to see her ‘men cleanse’ buddy topless with a guy in the bathroom.
‘NOTHING has happened at all. I’m a good girl, tell her, Kane, tell her nothing has happened and I’magoodgirl. Hezafriend, and I have had no man touches and I’magoodgirl.’
He looked up at Lily.
‘She’s not into me, babe, swear.’
Lily believed them. He was not her type at all, far too young and broke-looking.
‘Lily, come in!’ squealed Skye, clapping her hands as best she could while holding a flute of champagne. ‘We’re having our own pool party!’
Skye became more infantile the more messed up she got, which was a lethal combination for men, especially when paired with partial nudity. Lily turned to the guy, still trying to make sense of it all. He was texting, but when he looked up and saw her looking at him, chucked his phone down onto the sink and bounded over and took her hand, jumping around and singing, trying to get her to bounce along with him. He could not have been older than twenty-one. His left arm was heaving with tattoos, and they all looked about two days old.
‘This is like, the best song ever,’ he said, sincerely. ‘Like, old-school cool. Just, you know, how it used to be.’
Lily wondered if this boy had even been alive when Salt-N-Pepa were big, let alone old enough to comment on it being ‘old school’. She shook her hand free, smiling so as not to cause offence, and edged back to the door, mindful of the floor being covered in water.
There didn’t seem to be a threesome vibe, which was a relief, more just three good-looking gumbies having a bathroom party. But still, Lily wanted them out: they were so loud, and so not going to sleep for a long time, and so blissfully ignorant of the Sunday night Flatmate Consideration Code.
‘You guys go ahead, I’m feeling pretty wrecked, and it’s my first show tomorrow morning, so I might just head to bed.’
‘Party pooooper!’ Skye said, with her bottom lip dropped in faux sadness, missing the several undisguised hints in Lily’s sentence.
‘We’ll be soooooooo quiet,’ Simone said earnestly. ‘We’ll be real good for my Lil.’ But then the manchild pulled down his undies, and with not a lick of shame or modesty, stepped into the bath, and awkwardly clambered down so that he was sitting under the water. This, of course led to even louder shrieking and laughter and splashing, which Lily took as her cue to leave.
As she walked out and down the hallway to her room, she heard Simone call her name.
‘Babe, would you, do you miiiiiind, is it possible for you to maaaaaybe bring up another bottle of champs? Is that okay? Have some! Have some with us!’
‘You should come in!’ Skye squealed with excitement, as if she’d not just thought of that idea a few minutes ago.
Lily decided there was no point trying to quash this mess, and, sighing, slunk downstairs to the fridge.
Arriving at work the next day with the dregs of a double latte clasped in her hand, feeling like an elf had snuck in during the night and slipped her a handful of sleeping pills, Lily couldn’t believe she was expected to function. She put this down to her topless flatmate and simple friends having carried on until three a.m. before finally taking whatever it was they took to sleep and crashing out in the lounge room, with several candles burning and loud music playing.
Lily was surprised to see Dale and Jack chatting by Dale’s desk. Mostly because ‘chatting’ to Dale was harder then putting toothpaste back in its tube, but also because Jack really did seem to be the world’s friendliest man to everyone except her. Today, she did not care. She had a job to do. As did he, more importantly.
Eliza was doing her usual thing of not a lot, sitting in her office for a few minutes, then coming into the green room to graciously fawn over the talent, then retreating again. This made her look both busy and important, neither of which was very accurate. Sasha, on the other hand, was locked away in the production room, making sure every second of the show would be the very best it could. She was barely seen until after the show, unless she liked what had been cooked in Lily’s segment, in which case she would be first on set to claim.
‘You got hayfever, Lily Woo? I’ve got tablets for that. They make you feel like Alice in Wonderland, it’s fucking glorious,’ Alice said, walking past Lily with a tray of coffee for her talent, an adorable brother-sister interior-design duo from Brisbane.
‘No?’ Lily said, confused. ‘Oh . . . I get it. I look like shit. Simone had a bender, I got zero sleep.’
‘Did she break your stupid bet?’ Alice asked, clearly thrilled at the idea.
‘No, well, not that I know of. She and Skye did bring a male model home with them, but he seemed more interested in dancing with his own reflection in the mirror. ‘
Alice laughed.
‘Hey, get this,’ said Lily. ‘I ran into Jack yesterday at Delugi Brothers. He was so rude, didn’t even say hello, just told me I had something on my shoe, and then something on my face.’
‘Well, did you?’ Alice asked seriously.
‘Yeah, but, who does that?’
‘Was he supposed to not say something?’
‘Well, I thought it was rude. He’s rude and abrupt and weird and rude.’
Alice cocked her head to one side, a sly smile spreading over her face. ‘I smell a crush. A filthy big sex crush.’
Lily rolled her eyes. ‘You think everyone has a crush on everyone. You thought I had a crush on bloody Dale, for God’s sake. I can tell you in no uncertain terms that I do NOT have a crush on Jack, because not only is that predictable, but he is consistently offensive.’
‘We only get angry with those we have feelings for. Didn’t your earth-mother tart of a flatmate teach you that?’ And Alice began to walk off, winking at Lily as she did.
10
Lily walked onto set and felt the familiar combo of excitement, nerves and adrenalin sprint through her veins: it was go time, the first live show of the yea
r. All the planning and meeting and spreadsheets took a back seat and, finally, she started to remember why loved her job.
She watched Jack read over his script on set and had to admit he looked pretty good. Even in his stupid apron. His thick hair sat scruffily, perfectly messy on his head, the dark blond mingling with the brown in a way that women pay hundreds of dollars for at the hairdressers, and styled to look as though he’d just woken up. And he had the perfect amount of stubble, two-day growth at most. The mums at home were going to lose it when they met Jack Winters.
Eliza had made sure there’d been some press for him over the weekend, including a lame photo shoot with him fake-barbecuing for the gossip pages, which Alice and Lily had found highly amusing. He certainly appeared to be The Daily’s new favourite toy. The fact that the market was already saturated with charismatic, handsome chefs didn’t seem to matter.
Jack looked up as Lily walked onto the dark ‘floorboards’ of the trendy fake kitchen.
‘Hey,’ he said, nodding. Oh, God. He was completely petrified. His eyes were wide and distracted as his brain clearly tried to make all of the words in his script stick. The set, as deconstructed and hip as it was, was still swimming in bright TV lights.
‘How you doing there? Got all you need? Everything good to go?’ Lily felt weird doing the ‘checking on you’ thing, but it was her job. He obviously needed someone to calm him down, and, dammit, producers and talent were meant to be close, working together, a team.
