The Wrong Girl

by Foster, Zoe

  ‘No, no, no, I’m out, youguyss have fun, and hey, whyno’go to Skye or Grace’s house if you decide to have a spa party, why don’you?’ She may have been drunk, but she still knew she wasn’t interested in another drug-soaked trash fest on home turf. She fumbled around on the bench for her tiny red bag, underneath the mammoth Alexander Wang and Balenciaga sacks belonging to Skye and Grace.

  ‘Promise,’ said Simone. ‘I’ll have a Xanny and all you’ll hear is my head slapping the pillow.’

  Lily shook her head. ‘Thass dangerous after drinking, you know that, right?’

  ‘Who’s famous?’ Simone yelled, as the music hit a crescendo.

  It was definitely, definitely time to leave, Lily thought. She walked out of the tiny bar, clutching her bag tightly to her body so as to avoid a shower of drunk-gesticulating-person beverages raining down on it. Not one guy had shown interest in her tonight, she realised sadly. Although to be fair, it would be hard to see past the trio of hair and legs and breasts that were Sim, Skye and Grace. Why did she do this to herself? Who was she trying to fool? She wasn’t a young, sassy, sexy model who could afford to get written off on a school night; she was a (pretty much) thirty-year-old producer trying to secure a promotion on the number-one morning show for women aged 25–54. She was angry at herself for thinking she needed to go out and prove herself, she was upset that no one had even tried to chat her up, let alone get to a point where she could knock them back, and she was incredibly focused on finding a takeaway shop.

  14

  ‘Tim, can you please move that stand off set, we go live in minutes and I need it off, now.’

  Lily cleared her throat. She was so thirsty. So, so thirsty. Not even two Diet Cokes and a Hydralyte and 1.5 litres of water had helped quench the desert in her mouth.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Jack piped up, and quickly lifted the heavy metal stand out of shot.

  Lily didn’t have the energy to fawn or overthink every little thing he did today. She just needed to get through the day.

  ‘Thanks, Jack. Tim only hears things that don’t involve WORK.’

  ‘I heard that!’ Tim piped up from behind, grinning.

  ‘See?’ Lily raised her eyebrows at Jack, who was smiling.

  ‘Everything all right, Lil?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I’m fine, just. Probably drank a little more than I needed to last night.’

  ‘Thought so. Eyes gave you away.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘Hangovers don’t get my sympathy, sorry.’ Gross, thought Lily. He was being one of those self-satisfied hangover-hating people.

  ‘I’ll remember that next time you have one,’ she said.

  ‘You’ll be waiting a while.’

  ‘I knew you were a non-drinker. No one who drinks would ever be so mean to the fragile and depleted.’

  ‘I had my time, believe me.’

  ‘I don’t drink often, I just – it was a close friend’s birthday.’ Lily wasn’t sure why she felt she should lie, or play it down, or defend her actions. But Jack made her feel somehow . . . inadequate.

  Jack laughed. ‘You don’t need to justify anything to me.’

  He meant it, but Lily still felt a veil of shame wash over her. That was it. She was NOT coming into work with a hangover again. It wasn’t worth it; it definitely wasn’t worth it. Alice’s mantra of having hangovers on work’s time rather than your own had seemed like a sound philosophy, but Lily needed her brain a bit more these days. Especially if she wanted that promotion. Which she did.

  ‘So Rob and Mel are in this segment with you, and I need you to mention Rob’s horrible effort at a birthday cake for Mel, because that leads into —’

  ‘The surprise party,’ he interrupted.

  ‘And the —’

  ‘Birthday cake, I know. I made it, remember, Lil?’

  She smiled at him in defeat, and he smiled back. She felt her eyes twinkling, despite their bleariness, and his eyes processed and enjoyed that cute little twinkle, and everything just shut up for one beautiful second: Lily’s headache and her stressful inner monologue, and the sound of cameramen and floor crew being clowns.

  ‘Sorry to break up this romantic moment but forty seconds to go.’ Grimmo’s voice rudely interrupted, editorialising in the extremely inappropriate way only he could do. He loved teasing Lily, said she reminded him of his daughter.

  Lily swung her head to him. ‘Grimmo! Jesus . . .’ And before Jack could see her blush, she walked over to the sofa to accompany the hosts to the ‘kitchen’, seeing as they were having too much fun chatting and seemed to have forgotten where they were required.

  Lily watched the three get into position. First few shows aside, Jack was now calm and prepared before his segment, and charming and good at explaining things during filming, and just the right mix of educational and playful, too. He was proving to be a bit of a find, she had to give Eliza that.

  The segment was a wild success, even if it wasn’t for the right reasons. Mel was so shocked and terrified when the streamers dropped and the balloons launched and the birthday music played that she’d yelled ‘Fuck!’ and then ducked and dropped her mug of tea on the floor and as she bent down to get it, so did Jack, and they knocked heads, and then, just as the gods in slapstick heaven applauded their magnificent handiwork, Jack slipped on the wet floor and fell on his arse. And it was all caught on glorious live TV.

  Sasha was thrilled to her Issey Miyake collar. She wanted authenticity and fun to be the cornerstones of the show, and the circus in the kitchen had delivered just that. Once Lily had stopped laughing, at and with the crew, and made sure her stars were okay, especially Jack, which they were, albeit embarrassed, she immediately told Siobhan to get a cut of the scene to put on the website and on social media. It was too funny not to. Lily herself watched it twelve times.

  ‘Hey, since we’re still here at eight p.m., we’ve earned a wine – got any?’

  Alice, all blazing red curls and wearing what genuinely looked like a purple painting smock and may well have been, had walk-rolled her chair over to Lily’s desk while spearing a plastic fork into a horrible-looking noodle cup, probably in the hope of finding something in there other then MSG and water.

  ‘You can. I’ve been masking a huge hangover all —’

  ‘Oh yeah, you really “masked” it, toots. Everyone knew you were hung as.’

  A wave of panic rippled through Lily.

  ‘Everyone? Like, Sasha and Eliza?’

  ‘Dunno about them, but crew, definitely. Problem is you’re too pretty in real life, so when you look a mess, it shows. Hey, your seg today . . . I couldn’t get my eyes and brain around what was happening.’

  ‘Fuck!’ Lily’s lack of sleep and heavy head and fatigue had all finally caught up with each other, and she was not coping. She felt teary and histrionic.

  ‘Chill, Lil, it’s fine, we’ve all been there . . . Remember the time I had to vomit into a shopping bag in the foyer so Sasha didn’t see? Don’t be sad . . .’ Alice looked at her friend with kind eyes.

  ‘I just, it’s not the time to be dropping the ball, is all.’ Lily wondered whether to reveal her knowledge about the series producer role to Alice. They were both segment producers; they were both eligible. Alice might use the information to outshine Lily. Although, to be fair, while Alice was good at her job, she was by no means as accomplished as Lily. Lily felt horrible admitting that about her friend, but ultimately, this was business, and she had to look out for herself. Her co-workers were not going to help her; she had to help herself.

  ‘Hey, how’s . . . Jim? Bob? Dingus? I can’t keep up.’

  ‘Nick. Went overseas for six weeks on Saturday but I’m ending it anyway. He was way too fuckin’ clingy. Would text and email me constantly, those shitty emoticons splattered all over the place . . . He even tried to come when I went to get a wax. How can I be attracted to a man who has nothing better to do on a weekend than accompany me while I have my vagina groomed?’

>   ‘You think all guys are clingy because you frustrate and confuse them by being so independent.’

  The look on Alice’s face indicated that this had in fact occurred to her, but it wasn’t the point.

  ‘So you and Jack are right old bezzies these days, huh? His face certainly lights up when you’re around . . . I reckon that maybe your crush is mutual . . .’

  ‘You’re a goose. Take your noodles and roll off, I need to finish this so I can go home and feel like I had some kind of life before seeing your head back in here at six a.m.’

  ‘We are suuuuuuuuuuch looooooooooooosers . . .’ Alice sang as she walk-rolled like a crab back to her desk, weaving through desks in the empty office, snooping along the way.

  Lily turned back to her screen but the words blurred before her. Alice was an idiot. Jack would never think of her like that. If anything, they were just morphing into mates, almost a brother-sister dynamic, complete with teasing and ribbing. Lily was quite sure he was not the kind of guy who would stay single for long and that soon she wouldn’t even have the luxury of maybe-possibly-in-another-universe dreaming of him noticing her, because he would have some annoyingly perfect girlfriend who was way more on his level. She shook her head to physically remove this idea. Jack Winters was not her type, and she was not his, and just because they were getting along well didn’t mean shit. This was strictly business, she said quietly, because it was the kind of cool sentence you never got to actually say in Real Life, and this might be her only chance.

  15

  Simone was padding around the kitchen in a singlet and undies, and boiling the kettle when Lily got home, starving and thinking of little else but the macaroni and cheese she was about to make.

  ‘Hey, dancing queen, how you feeling?’ Lily noticed Simone had make-up on, which meant she hadn’t spent the day sleeping off her big night, an impressive feat given her state last night.

  ‘Hi, babe! Good! Came up with this incredible new smoothie today which totally reboots your system after a big one . . . banana and kale and flaxseed and chia and almond milk and cashew butter, you should have one next time you’re hungover. I put the recipe on my blog. It’s worth it, trust me. Got, like, 5000 likes on Instagram, too.’Lily always found it wildly hypocritical that Mrs Health Fanatic Sim thought nothing of depositing copious amounts of cocaine and booze into her body. Not even a pilates-bikram double and a kale, spinach and parsley cold-pressed juice could undo that shit, no matter what Sim chanted to herself as she meditated.

  ‘Mmm,’ Lily said distractedly. She was urgently looking for cheese in the fridge – not sheep’s milk cheese, not soy cheese, not goat’s milk feta, just CHEESE, for fuck’s sake. It was looking dire. She’d even settle for Alice’s noodles at this point, even though MSG gave her the sweats, jitters, nightmares and daymares.

  ‘Annoyingly I slept til two, which isn’t great. I’ll have to be back in bed soon as I’m due on set at five a.m. tomorrow for a shoot, but at least my skin will look well rested.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll just pop a Valium or five and you’ll be off with the sleep fairies,’ Lily said with no malice in her voice, although she had noticed Simone had been more fond than usual of her beloved ‘tranqs’ lately.

  ‘I use Xannies for sleep, silly . . . Jesus, what are you looking for?’ Simone sipped on her all-organic, all-biodynamic, made-from-Buddha’s-actual-DNA tea, the perfect entrée to a dinner of prescription drugs, and frowned at her housemate’s frenzied kitchen search.

  ‘Look, I know it’s my fault for never shopping, but there’s nothing but healthy stuff in here, and I was trying to be good and not get Maccas on the way home, but now I really, really wish I had, because I am so hungry, and so hungover and so unhappy at the idea of packet miso soup and celery sticks.’

  Simone smiled angelically, pityingly. ‘Have some of the frittata I made yesterday. You can drench it in tommy sauce if you must.’

  ‘Yyyyes. Yes, please.’

  ‘Bottom shelf, under the foil. How fun was last night, huh?’

  ‘Those girls are mental, Sim.’ Lily sliced a huge wedge of colourful frittata and popped it in the microwave, or ‘cancer box’, as Simone called it.

  ‘Do you know what’s funny is that we’ve never all been single at the same time?’

  ‘But you’re not single . . . you’re man-detoxing. Different.’

  Simone smiled with her mouth closed.

  ‘What is that smile? What did you do? Did you cheat on me?’

  ‘LIL! No. Check my Facebook, I haven’t even been flirting on it. Check my phone even! Here!’ She picked it up from the bench and held it out, its glittery pink case shimmering under the kitchen lights.

  Lily pulled her steaming-hot plate out of the microwave, and immediately sprinkled salt and then poured tomato sauce on the meal.

  ‘You could at least try it before you butcher it,’ Simone muttered, like she always did. ‘I’m gonna hit the sack, hey – you around tomorrow night?’

  Simone had that look in her eyes like when she wanted to have a house chat about Lily always leaving the door unlocked, or forgetting to pay the cleaner.

  ‘Yeah, probably work late, though. Did I tell you there’s a promotion up for grabs? I really want it, Sim. A lot. Maybe then I can actually move out and live like a grown-up woman by myself,’ Lily said, doing that thing, as usual, where she blurted out something she’d had time to process, but shocking anyone who didn’t reside in her mind.

  ‘What do you mean, move out? Are you not happy here?’ Simone’s voice sounded panicky and Lily realised that there was a cat in the room that was no longer in its bag.

  ‘Of course I am, I love this place —’

  ‘Did I do something wrong?’ Simone looked like a scared little girl. All the sass and the sexiness and party-girl bravado was in a heap on the floor. She was in many ways more confident and successful and worldly than Lily, but she looked up to her friend, and relied on her to stay grounded and maintain some semblance of normality. Lily knew she’d tried living with other models, and it had led to one of the worst, most drug-addicted, unhappy and unhealthy periods of her life. She’d developed a full-blown eating disorder, and a slew of bad habits. Then came Michael, and that whole mess, which she was still healing from. But with Lily, Simone said she felt like she had a home, and a sister of sorts. She was healthy and looked after herself here. She was in a good place now.

  ‘No. Of course not, Sim,’ Lily said, reassuringly. ‘It was just a throwaway comment. I love living with you.’

  ‘I know I have been partying a bit lately, but I can totally put a lid on it. I want you to love living here . . . It’s our little temple. Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ Lily said, only forty per cent of her lying.

  ‘ ’Kay . . . Just always be honest with me, please, babe?’ Simone said. ‘If you pack your stuff and leave in the night you’re in deep and steaming shit, I swear to God.’

  ‘Promise I won’t. And you promise not to take too many sleepers and overdose on me, Lindsay Lohan.’

  Simone, sipping her tea, gave the universal sign for OK with her right hand, and walked upstairs and out of sight.

  Moving out of here was not going to be easy, thought Lily. Best to get the promotion first then deal with it.

  Friday’s show was ridiculous. It happened occasionally: an energy like the last day of school permeated the entire set, and for a few hours, the viewers were treated to footage of giggling idiots making mistakes and terrible jokes, as though someone had slipped rum into their coffee. The result was a hyper, hysterical, boisterous party that somehow – Lily genuinely had no idea how – worked. Jack had been particularly charming, even signing off with an earnest, ‘Cook it, share it, enjoy it,’ right down the barrel of the camera, which Lily knew Sasha would love. Sasha loved a chef with a catchphrase.

  Post-show, Jack was in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of water while Lily was quickly scraping together some breakfast, her fir
st miserable piece of food for the day. She noticed that as always after the show, he was out of his fancy TV non-plaid shirt and back in his regular plaid shirt.

  ‘My quote would be “buy it, fry it, eat it”,’ Lily said mischievously as she loaded her Vegemite toast onto what may well have been a serving platter, but was the only plate left.

  Jack laughed. ‘I believe that. Why do you eat that rubbish, Woodward? You know there’s always enough food from set for you, I can easily put some aside.’

  ‘How dare you. This is an Aussie staple.’

  ‘It’s crap. That bread is crap. If you’re going to eat bread, make it worth it, get some decent sourdough or some soy and linseed.’

  ‘Are you cheffing me?’ She turned and peered at him with squinted eyes.

  ‘Yes, I am. Life is too short for shitty bread.’

  ‘Life is too short to track down your fancy precious posh bread, more like it,’ Lily said with a guffaw, filling the kettle with water and clicking it on.

  ‘There you are!’ Eliza interrupted. ‘You guys, what on earth was going on today? Your segment was ridiculous, it was like you were all . . . I don’t know, high or something!’ She was standing in the kitchen doorway wearing a short black dress that was intended for a younger woman with designs on a tacky nightclub. She’d teamed it with high cream heels for a classy morning look. She was trying to morph into Nikkii, Lily realised with internal hilarity.

  ‘I promise I was sober,’ Jack said in a friendly tone.

  ‘Fine, but why were you all being so weird?’

  ‘It was just a bit high-energy today for some reason. I’m not sure why.’ Jack spoke with confidence.

  ‘Lily,’ Eliza’s eyes settled on Lily with a look generally reserved for disappointed mothers. ‘You know it’s your job to keep things in line. I don’t know why you let Mel sing that song when —’

  ‘Trust me, there’s nothing Lily could’ve done in that moment, Eliza. And actually, I thought she handled us perfectly.’