Playing the Spy

by Maggie Brown

  “Well, well, the Globe gals have arrived,” murmured a petite auburn-haired woman, who moved up to make room in the booth.

  “Hi, Janet,” said Brie as she gracefully spread her very slim body along the padded chair. Somehow, she made it a statement of elegance. She nodded to the other two women. “Hello, Alice. Vera darling, where did you get those perfectly awesome earrings?” As Sophie plopped in beside her, Brie waggled a blue nail at her head. “What do you think of the hair?”

  “Wow!”

  “Fantastic!”

  “Foxy!”

  After accepting the A1 approval ratings with a smug nod, Brie touched Sophie’s knee. “Get the drinks will you, Soph.”

  Used to being the gopher, Sophie went off to the bar without a word. Once settled back in her seat, she relished the sweet tang of the Moscow Mule. She tuned out as the others chatted on, lost in her own thoughts. Fashion didn’t particularly interest her, nor did discussing the attributes of the males in proximity strike any chord in her breast.

  After a while, she was dragged from her musings by Brie’s strident voice. “Sometimes I despair about you, Sophie. You seem oblivious of every guy in the room. Haven’t you noticed that gorgeous hunk at the bar has been staring at you for simply ages?”

  Sophie glanced over and wished she could sink into anonymity. The hunk had a muscular physique, a tanned complexion that probably came from a spray can, and looked half-tanked. And he was eyeing her as if she was his next meal. She pulled up her low-cut dress self-consciously, wondering why she had allowed Brie to talk her into buying it for tonight. Too much cleavage. It was so low she had been forced to resort to a roll of boob tape to defy gravity. She ignored his wink and pressed her lips together in disapproval. “As if. He’s not my type.”

  “He looks familiar,” said Vera. “Where have I seen him?”

  They stared with renewed interest towards the bar. “I think he’s a football commentator,” offered Janet.

  “Which program?” asked Sophie.

  “Don’t ask me,” replied Janet. “I’m not interested in watching Neanderthal men tackle each other. I prefer the intellectual type.”

  “Well, I’m not a footy fan either, but he can put his shoes under my bed any day,” said Alice drolly.

  Sophie rolled her eyes. The poor bastard would get more than he bargained for with Alice. The solicitor was a real ball-buster.

  “Well, I’m not interested. I like taller men,” Sophie stated firmly.

  “For Pete’s sake,” hissed Brie, “why are you always so effing fussy?”

  “Let her alone,” interrupted Janet, a thirtyish orthodontist who was newly divorced and revelling in her freedom. “She doesn’t need a man in her life to enjoy herself.”

  Sophie smiled at her gratefully. “That’s right. Anyhow, with my workload I haven’t time for romance. Besides, I’m off for two months tomorrow.” She caught Vera’s sympathetic gaze. The quiet accountant was one of her best friends.

  A “humph” sizzled out of Brie, but thankfully she went on to another subject.

  Sophie knew she would have to come clean soon—her friends were getting impatient with her. She was sure Vera had already guessed, and it was only a matter of time before the others did as well. The day was coming when she would have to crawl out of the closet. But not tonight—she wanted a few drinks without drama before she headed off. Not that she was particularly worried about their reactions. They would probably find it amusing that she was no longer quite so boring and predictable. That wasn’t the problem. Once it was out of the bag, there was no way her family wouldn’t hear. She shut her eyes and shuddered, visualizing the news galloping like a bush fire through her myriad of relations.

  Aunt Angie, the undisputed godmother of the clan, would not be amused. If only Sophie had someone special by her side to help announce her secret. Time was marching on—she would be thirty just after she got back from this wretched assignment. But it was a catch-22. No one wanted to go out with her seriously while she was hiding in there. Her love life sucked. Why was it so damn complicated?

  As she was polishing off her second drink, the TV on the wall opposite caught her eye. Eleanor Godwin was being interviewed by the Channel Nine reporter, Merilee Watts. Sophie leaned forward to hear. The others stopped gossiping to follow her gaze.

  “Oh, it’s that gorgeous Eleanor Godwin,” exclaimed Vera.

  “Merilee looks smug about something,” said Janet. “I can’t stand the witch.”

  Alice sniggered. “Don’t worry. Next to Godwin, she looks like a horse.”

  “I read Eleanor’s going to be back in Australia for a few months,” said Janet.

  A gasp rippled into Sophie’s ear. She snapped her head around to be pinned by two very angry eyes. “She’s your assignment, isn’t she?” growled Brie.

  Sophie dropped her voice to a frantic whisper. “Shush! The boss will kill me if this gets out.”

  Brie gave her a withering look. “Okay. My lips are sealed, but I’ll never forgive you. You know that, don’t you?”

  Sophie groaned. But if Brie thought she was going to get an argument tonight, she was sorely mistaken. “I know. Now I’m going to the bar to get myself a drink.”

  “Good. Don’t come back for a while.”

  Sophie hoisted herself onto a stool and studied the shot list above the bar. Her favourite, Kick in the Crotch, was purple, sweet, and simple, but a wee bit too tame for her present mood. The Slippery Nipple didn’t have enough bite. She needed something with extra fire tonight. “Two Kamikaze shots, please.”

  She watched silently as the liquor splashed into the glasses, then picked one up and began singing, “Just a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down…”

  Chapter Two

  The makeup artist pointed to a high-backed chair in front of the long mirror. “Take a seat, please, Ms. Godwin.”

  Eleanor glanced at the nametag and said softly, “Thank you, Candice. You’ll have to work a minor miracle, I’m afraid. I had to lose quite a few kilos for my last film, which left me looking rather washed out. And please call me Eleanor.”

  The woman smiled shyly. “I don’t think you need worry…um…Eleanor. You have wonderful facial bone structure. You should see some of the people I have to work with.”

  Eleanor closed her eyes, letting her mind drift as the artist worked on her face with assured hands. She hadn’t been exaggerating about the weight loss. The addict role had required her to look gaunt, which she had achieved with determined dieting. But it had come at a cost, damaging her health in the process. She was worn out, exhausted, and her thyroid levels were out of whack.

  Her doctor had sternly ordered her to take a long holiday to recuperate, and after this week, she knew she had to. All she wanted to do was to go to bed and not surface for a week. Thankfully, her mother had employed a home-help for her.

  Unfortunately, she had to do one last interview to promote the film before she left for the island, something she needed like a hole in the head. But she had no hope of worming out of this contractual arrangement with the television station. And it wasn’t going to be easy—Merilee Watts was a notorious bitch.

  Some minutes later, Candice swivelled the chair around to face the mirror. “There, that should do it.”

  Eleanor had to admire the woman’s talent. All traces of the last strenuous months had disappeared. Her face looked fuller, her eyes brighter. “Lovely work. Now I’d better enter the lion’s den.”

  “Don’t let her get the better of you,” murmured Candice as Eleanor rose from the chair.

  “I won’t,” she replied with a wink.

  Before she stepped through the door, she plastered on a confident smile. Two lounge chairs faced each other on the studio floor, with a host of cameras and bright lights surrounding the setting. Merilee rose to shake her hand with a murmured, “Hello, Ms. Godwin,” and indicated the seat opposite.

  Eleanor sat down gingerly, with legs crossed to assume a relaxed
pose. She studied the reporter who fiddled with her notes. Watts was perfectly groomed, dressed in a navy blue suit that fitted snugly over her tall frame. Though her face was far too long and lips too thin to be considered attractive, she did have a commanding presence.

  The interview started innocuously enough. Merilee was extra pleasant, and three-quarters of the allotted time went by with no disturbing questions. In fact, the reporter had been surprisingly lighthearted as they bantered about life as a movie star. Eleanor began to relax when the director signalled five minutes to go. But then there was an imperceptible change in Merilee’s demeanour and a calculating expression flickered across her face. The hairs on the back of Eleanor’s neck twitched upright.

  “So you play a lesbian in your latest film, On the Edge of Life?” asked Merilee.

  “Yes, though the addiction is the main aspect of the plot.”

  “But a lesbian, nevertheless.”

  “That’s right. A lesbian drug addict.”

  Merilee lowered her voice as if they were sharing secrets. “I understand in a former interview some years ago, you told a reporter you once…ah…had feelings for a woman.” She drew out a long sighing breath before she announced, “And not platonic ones.”

  Eleanor paused as if testing the validity of the question before she gave a teasing laugh. “What a relief. I thought you were going to ask me if I’ve ever taken drugs.”

  “No. So there is truth in…”

  “That I’ve taken drugs?”

  “No. That…”

  “Come now, Merilee. If I play a blood-sucking vampire, it doesn’t mean I am one. So, if I play a drug addict, it doesn’t mean I am one, now does it?”

  “I’m not talking about drugs, I’m asking about being a les…”

  Eleanor gave her a stern frown as she interjected. “Well, you should be. Drugs are a real problem in the world today. My charity supports rehabilitation programs which…” she droned on, adroitly giving no opportunity for the reporter to interrupt until, with relief, the director sliced his hand in the air.

  Merilee leaned forward, her voice brittle. “I’m afraid time’s up. Eleanor Godwin…many thanks from Channel Nine for sharing your thoughts with us tonight.”

  “My pleasure, Merilee.”

  Anxious not to be cornered, Eleanor rose abruptly from her chair as soon as the cameras stopped rolling. With a wave to the crew and the producer, she hurried out of the studio. When she reached the side exit door, she looked back to see Merilee leave the set with a determined expression. With a burst of speed, Eleanor walked quickly out into the laneway to her waiting limo and tumbled in.

  “Drive,” she ordered. As the luxury car moved off, she turned to peep out the back window. Merilee stood with her hands on her hips on the footpath outside the studio. Her body language was plain—she looked thoroughly miffed. Eleanor sank back into the leather seat with a sigh. Running away like that was not one of her finest moments. Would they never forget that dreadful interview, one of her few indiscreet moments in the last ten years? Given Merilee’s reputation for hard-nosed interviews, she thought the reporter probably would bring it up, but all the same, her audacity to poke into Eleanor’s personal life had hit a nerve.

  Eleanor accepted that as an actor she was public property. Privacy wasn’t something she could cling to, but she hated how the press invaded her life without regard. Fame had long since lost its appeal. Had it ever seduced her? Maybe when she was younger, but not now. Thank heavens she was going to the seclusion of Eurydice where no newspaper hound or paparazzi could get close. One thing was certain—if any of them did, then she wasn’t going to take it lying down.

  As the city whizzed by in a blur of colour, she began to feel fragile. Her mood sank lower, precarious enough to shatter by the time she reached her hotel. The feeling of displacement was acute today—it was as if she belonged nowhere. Her home was in America, yet lately she yearned to be back with her roots. Born in Brisbane, she had lived there with her parents until she finished high school and then moved to Sydney to study at the National Institute of Dramatic Art. Having to shift to the US to further her career was a wrench, though in time she came to love her life there. Now back in Brisbane, her hometown, she found she could no longer relate to the city—she had been away too many years.

  Moisture welled over her eyelids and she sagged against the seat with an effort to contain the tears. Reason told her that the irrational emotions were a result of exhaustion and that her thyroid hormones were haywire, but it didn’t stop the despair gnawing at her. If only she had someone to come home to, instead of having to face another night alone in a hotel room. Her life was a conundrum—the more adoring her fans, the lonelier she felt.

  Her spirits lifted out of the doldrums when she found a bunch of flowers and a dinner invitation on the coffee table in the suite. Eleanor smiled as she read the scrawled handwriting. Blade Weatherly, her old friend from NIDA days, would be a pleasant distraction for the night. Although his career hadn’t taken off like hers, they had remained good friends and he always made a point of asking her to dinner when she came home. A perennial bachelor, the handsome charmer was good for a laugh, never offended by her good-natured rebuffs of his advances. She guessed it a force of habit with him. He thought she expected him to flirt.

  After she swallowed her thyroxin tablet, she opened her laptop. She scrolled down to her mother’s email.

  Here are the particulars of your hired help, dear. A friend recommended this agency.

  Eleanor clicked open the attachment, chuckling as she perused the employment criteria. Her mother had been way over the top. It read as if she wanted a superwoman rather than a simple housekeeper. Apart from that, the documentation was sketchy. No photo or particulars of the successful applicant were included, except her name, Sophie Ryan. Not that it really mattered. Help was help—domestic duties weren’t rocket science. But all the same, a feeling of disquiet lingered, for the forwarded information was too bald. Her mother was holding something back.

  She prayed the woman didn’t look like Nanny McPhee.

  She snapped down the computer lid and headed to the shower to prepare for her date. Tonight she would make a special effort with Blade even though she was tired. A good-looking man as her escort would take the heat off that ghastly interview.

  It was to be televised tonight.

  Chapter Three

  Sophie bit her bottom lip in an effort to hold back her erupting squeal. Eleanor Godwin, on the arm of a dark-haired Adonis, was walking straight toward her. Sophie galvanized into action, ducking low as she scrambled around to the other side of the bar. Instantly, she regretted the move. In her haste, she cannoned into someone, and when she turned to apologize, she groaned aloud. It was the football hunk. Now it was either an ignominious dash to the loo, or stay with him until Eleanor disappeared.

  She gave him an appraising glance. He looked harmless enough, and after the vodka, she didn’t feel all that picky. Hell…why not? It had been ages since she’d been out on the town, and the next two months were going to be a long time. At least he would be a non-judgmental drinking partner for the evening.

  She swivelled until her back was to the bar, blew a stray hair from her eye and said brightly, “Hi, I’m Sophie.”

  He swayed forward. “I’m Jerry. You come here often?”

  She wheezed sharply as a blast of beer breath whizzed up her nose. “Occasionally.”

  “You’ve got great eyes.”

  She stared at him for a moment. Oh please, not that pick-up line. “Whatever.”

  “You wanna drink?”

  She snagged a peanut from the bowl on the bar and popped it in her mouth. “Okay. Anything with vodka, a swizzel stick and a tiny umbrella will do.”

  “Gotcha.”

  As Jerry placed the order with the bartender, Sophie watched Eleanor and her escort disappear into the dining room. She looked over to her friends. Brie raised her glass of champagne in a salute, while the others g
ave little waves of encouragement. With a shrug, she turned back to the bar—she hoped they were happy now.

  When three hours later she checked her watch, she couldn’t believe how the time had flown. Jerry was sozzled, and she wasn’t much better. One last drink and she had better go home, for she’d be flat out catching the noon flight if she were any later. Surprisingly, he had been good company after she had made it clear she wasn’t interested in being horizontal with him. He turned out to be a sports commentator as well as a regular on The Footy Show. Though not interested in football except for the State of Origin, she had to concede his anecdotes were amusing. And with alcohol running riot through her veins, everything seemed super hilarious.

  She was laughing uproariously at one of his quips, when he suddenly peered at something over her shoulder. She pivoted to see Eleanor Godwin climb onto a stool on the opposite side of the bar. In the flesh, the film star looked even lovelier. She had a beauty that was graceful and natural. Her face was soft and her honey-coloured hair fell in shining waves onto her shoulders. A silky green dress showed off her slim figure, although she looked to Sophie to be unhealthily thin.

  Their eyes met. Immediately, Sophie bit back the laughter under the scrutiny.

  Then to her horror, Jerry said loudly, “She’s got great tits.” He draped his arm over Sophie’s shoulder, holding her in place. “Whatcha think, babe?”

  She blinked, unable to construct a pithy reply.

  “Great arse too,” he burbled.

  Even in her befuddled state, the ramifications of his tactless remarks about her future employer sent Sophie into survival mode. “Shush,” she whispered urgently. She tried to shake him off, but he clung like a limpet. It was more for support than a come-on, but it still irritated her that he took the liberty. Aware she probably looked like a happy hooker, Sophie flashed Eleanor an apologetic smile. Her effort was met with a frosty glare.