I wasn’t sure why. No one had the key to my apartment but me. Maybe I was hiding it from myself. But as I stood thinking about that, my own cellphone rang. It was Rosie.
“Sweet cheeks, have I got a surprise for you!”
Another surprise was the last thing I wanted, but I pasted on a smile and said, “What?” It couldn’t be a recording contract. I was going indie. So…
“Sunshine wants you on at 8am tomorrow for a promo. Tug Dunn rang me himself.”
I swallowed down another surge of nausea, telling myself firmly that this was good. Sunshine was the highest rating breakfast show in Australia. Tug Dunn was a celebrity in his own right, and he was so well connected, I could easily understand why Rosie was thrilled that I’d be interviewed by him. I just…felt sick.
“Will I be singing?” The obvious question.
“They’ve asked for one of the Renee Geyer songs you sang for Noah, so they could segue to a clip of you two together. I was thinking of Take me where you took me last night. You’ve already recorded that so we can release it as a single straight away, and they’ll promo it on the show.”
“Great.” There wasn’t much more I could say. She certainly wouldn’t want to hear I’m an emotional mess, can I just have some time out to pull myself together.
“Fab. So I’ll cancel this afternoon’s recording sessions…” I was about to give a sigh of relief when she added, “…because you’ll need a special outfit. I’ll send Martine to pick you up in an hour. I’m thinking sexy-white.”
There was quite a pause while I thought about that and she waited me out. At last I had to say, “Nothing too revealing.”
“I’m not talking about a neckline that’s open to the waist. But…divas aren’t demure, Angel. Our angle is the oxymoron of your name vs your appearance. You’re a sexy angel. Slinky fabrics hugging those curves and a few cutouts with that glorious golden skin of yours peeping out.”
I tried to imagine what that might look like, but all I came up with was some form of Bollywood Beyoncé, which didn’t feel like me. However, I’d promised myself that I’d trust Rosie, and I assumed I had veto on any clothing. “Okay. Thanks for organizing that.”
“My job.” She was good at deflecting gratitude. “We need to be at the studio by 7am for hair and makeup. I’ll pick you up at 6. Clean face and wear something casual. Bring the outfit on a hanger.”
“Thanks, Rosie—”
I think she’d hung up before she heard me, but that was okay. I had an hour before Martine arrive, whoever she was—a stylist—and the temptation to get Jack’s phone out and watch that video again warmed my cheeks. But I resisted. Instead I sent Louella a text that said The lunch date with Doug went terribly. He’s not for me. Then I tried to put the whole dating debacle behind me.
I had no idea what the future held, but the Sunshine segment was right in front of me. Yes, live television was a terrifying idea, but I’d been spending my lonely nights going over Rosie’s directions on how to handle questions I didn’t want to answer, and practicing the handful of funny anecdotes I had about growing up in a strict Indian family surrounded by regular Aussies in the outback. I could do this.
And maybe, just maybe, it would be distracting enough to stop me thinking about Jack languishing in a luxurious hotel room somewhere, ready and willing to blow my mind.
That thought was enough to make me glance at the bedside table, but I didn’t want to keep letting that genie out of the bottle, so while I waited for Martine, I practiced tomorrow’s song. Unfortunately, Take me where you took me last night wasn’t the best way to try and forget Jack!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Aren’t you a stunner.” Tug Dunn ignored my extended hand and pulled me into a hug that made me feel stiff and awkward, but when he stepped back and held me by both shoulders—both bare shoulders—he was grinning as if I’d hugged him.
Part of my brain said I should be swooning over his unnaturally white teeth and the crystal blue eyes that had graced a hundred magazine covers. But his cheekbones were too perfect under that trademark bundle of artfully tousled, sun-bleached hair. He looked like a surfer doll come to life, and besides, I was very much aware of the documentary team who were installed in the corner of the green room, filming every breath. They’d followed my every move this morning and the situation was so claustrophobic I wanted to scream.
“Yep,” Rosie said from her stool in the corner, when I didn’t answer Tug. “She’s a star. Wait till you hear her sing live. My staff are still talking about it.”
He finally let me go, and I smoothed my good hand down the side of my too-short dress, hoping I could magically create an extra few inches of length. Damn Martine and her I’ll take it home and steam it. Rosie can bring it in the morning. She’d taken up the hem to where it now sat at mid-thigh, way too short to sit down in without showing panties!
The round neckline still sat at my throat, but the cutout at the top of my cleavage looked suspiciously larger than it had yesterday afternoon. Most of my back was on show as well, which was disconcerting, but least I was reassured that the soft white velvet that hugged my curves was thick enough to stop any backlighting making it translucent. One blessing!
Tug hadn’t taken his eyes off me, and when the silence went on a bit too long, I started to wonder if he was actually flirting with me. Was that possible? I shot Rosie a questioning glance and she slid off her stool and came to stand beside me and put an arm around my shoulders. “Be nice, Tug. This is her first time live.”
He grinned, and the effect was instantly dazzling. It was exactly the look I’d seen on all those magazine covers. “She’s safe in my hands,” he said, and for a nanosecond his gaze dropped to my breasts.
I felt Rosie’s fingers tighten on my shoulder, then she let me go.
“So,” she said and stepped forward to take Tug’s arm. “I want to see the cocktail bar set where you’re interviewing Angel. We want to hide that cast.” It was Rosie’s last-minute fix to ensure I didn’t need to sit down in such a short skirt.
Tug was on a break while the news and weather aired, so I should have been honored that he’d take time to meet me before our segment, but the whole episode was causing a bad taste in my mouth.
“Of course.” He held back a moment longer to scope out my legs before Rosie could pull him from the room, leaving me to look at anything but the wall to floor mirror that I knew would show me a girl who looked like she was going to a nightclub, not a breakfast television show. My only blessing in that moment was the documentary team following her out.
I wanted to relax, but after a minute of avoidance, I did look at the mirror, and I had to admit the styling was sexy. Rosie had been thrilled with the dress, and the flutter of tiny white feathers that appeared to be falling off one corner of the hem was set to be part of my brand.
The sexy angel—so sexy, her feathers were almost all shed. Even my cast had been hidden inside a gauze construction that looked vaguely like collapsed wing. I understood what they’d been trying to do. But I just…didn’t like it. It didn’t feel like me.
Rosie had apologized for the hem, saying that Martine should have checked that, and not just assumed I’d be fine with it. And maybe that was partly my fault. It had never occurred to me that she’d alter the dress. We’d taken such pains to find one that hugged my curves perfectly. But that was the trouble with this whole undertaking. You could fill a manual with what I didn’t know. And Rosie was trying to fill in the blanks, but she also wanted to move quickly with publicity when it was available.
So I told myself to smile and be professional. When I’d sold as many albums as Adele, then I could think about being demanding. Until then, I needed to be as accommodating as I could. So I did my warm up vocal exercises while I had the green room to myself, ignoring the glass fronted fridge full of drinks and snacks. It was ten minutes until I went on, so I had zero appetite for food.
Luckily, five minutes later Rosie arrived with the documentary
team and a female technician who clipped a microphone to my bodice and tucked the tiny radio transmitter around the back of my neck, behind my hair which hung in a dead-flat sheet around my shoulders. She led us in silence around the back of the set, picking our way over cables duct-taped to the floor. Rosie held my good arm to ensure I wouldn’t trip in my new white heels which were so high that I felt perpetually tipped forward.
At last we made it to the edge of the set and the technician held up a hand to stop us where we couldn’t be seen. The documentary team halted behind us and I tried to ignore the fact that my ‘curvy’ backside and bare back would be filmed for all to see.
I could hear Tug’s voice from the other side, laughing at something—teasing someone in that sexy I’m so beautiful you can’t resist me way of his that made even the most inappropriate suggestion funny. Now that I’d been subjected to his ‘charm’ in person, it seemed the tiniest bit creepy.
But again, I told myself to be professional. So I glanced at Rosie, planning to smile and reassure her I was fine, but instead she gave me the thumbs up and mouthed, Knock their socks off!
I nodded.
In the next few seconds we heard Tug say, “After the break we’ll meet the outback diva who stole Noah Steele’s heart…” A bad pun and a huge exaggeration. But the audience burst into applause and immediately after that, Tug’s previous guest—a tall-dark-and-handsome who I recognized immediately as British restaurant critic Maxwell Banks sauntered past us with a woman who was so beautiful she had to be a supermodel. They both ignored us completely, which did nothing for my nerves, and then the technician was tapping my arm and pointing toward the stage.
I sucked in a deep breath, remembered my friends would be watching, excited for me, and that brought a completely natural smile to my face as I stepped around the cables and into the light where the live audience could see me.
It was an ad break, so the cameras weren’t on me, but I waved at the audience all the same, and many of them broke into spontaneous applause, which buoyed my spirits.
“Over here darlin’,” Tug said, standing to one side as a new set swiveled onto the stage, complete with a chrome and black leather cocktail bar and a tiny circular stage beside it. By the time it had stopped moving, I’d reached Tug and he took my good hand to help me up the stairs, which was thoughtful considering the height of my heels. But he didn’t let my hand go as we walked around the back of the cocktail bar. Then with his back to the audience he said, “Honey, you are so hot, you should come with a fire extinguisher.”
His voice was pitched low and husky, I couldn’t stop myself pulling my hand away, surprised that he’d be so overt, but he just smiled, as if it was all part of some game I didn’t know the rules of.
Then someone behind me said, “Back live in ten, nine…”
Tug turned side-on to the audience and pointed silently to where I should stand, facing him. I shuffled over quickly, then he pointed two fingers at my eyes, then swiveled those back to his eyes.
Okay. Look at him. Not the camera.
Then I heard, “Six, five…” and nothing. Rosie had told me the last five seconds were silent, and even the audience was eerily still.
Then Tug abruptly smiled, and I realized we must be on, so I smiled back just as he turned to the audience and said, “Welcome back to Sunshine, where this morning we’re all about sexy. First that bad boy of Brit cuisine, Maxwell Banks. And now, Australia’s own Bollywood diva, the woman who’s had over a million YouTube views since her impromptu performance with Noah Steele at a recent restaurant opening in Belandera. Welcome to Sunshine, Angel Lata!”
He turned back to me with a beaming smile, and for a second I felt light-headed, as if I was in a dream. But then I remembered Jill and Fritha and Louella watching, not to mention my family, so I grinned back as cheekily as I could and said, “Thank you, Tug. It’s exciting to be here.”
“Hmmm, yes, exciting,” he crooned, as he moved in closer, and it took all of my self-control to remain still and smile. “I have to say, I can see why our mate Noah was enamored with you.”
A smattering of laughter came from the audience but it sounded forced, and I wondered if the women I’d just waved to were as outraged as I was by his blatant sexism. Unbidden, something hot and hard solidified in my chest and I raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Noah was feminist enough to find the lyrics of It’s a Man’s, Man’s World quite moving, so he told me. I’m not sure every man would.” I gazed at him pointedly, and only had to wait a few seconds for the audience to burst into surprised laughter followed by applause. I even heard some whoops and hollers of support.
Tug nodded. “Touché,” he said, appearing completely unfazed, and when the noise died down, he added to the audience, “The angel has claws,” and they laughed again. “No doubt a result of her outback upbringing. It couldn’t have been easy for a Mumbai family settling out west.” He turned back to me, smiling what appeared to be a genuine smile. “Tell us about your childhood, Angel. Were you ever victimized because of your cultural background?”
This was the question Rosie had primed me for, and I trotted out some anecdotes about lunchbox swaps that hadn’t ended well, and Sister Carmel’s constant attempts to turn we Hindu’s into Catholics. As I’d hoped, the audience laughed in all the right places and gave a good round of applause for the short video grab of Noah and I singing together.
The audio was grainy, and I knew I’d sound much better than that live, so when the ad break came, I was feeling so relieved I wanted to hug myself. Live television wasn’t as hard as I’d thought. I just had to own the song and I’d be finished.
“…stay tuned, because after the break, Angel Lata will sing for us and you can judge for yourself whether Noah’s new diva is going to float your boat.”
Some titters of laughter rewarded Tug for his bad pun, and he held his ‘show’ smile for several more seconds before the filming stopped and it slid into something that should have had warning bells attached. “I like a woman with spirit,” he said softly, gazing deep into my eyes, as if he expected me to be mesmerized. Perhaps most women were, but his charm was having zero effect on me.
And in that second, I realized what it was about Tug that I didn’t like. He reminded me far too much of Danny, spreading boyish charm and hoping it would stick somewhere. Hoping he could ‘get lucky’. Well not with me.
I smiled a sickly-sweet smile and said, “Shall I wait here or move to the stage?” I pointed at the small, circle marked on the floor a few paces from the shelter of the cocktail bar which had hidden my too-short skirt. I wanted to make it clear that I was all about business.
His expression morphed into what could only be described as wolf—all teeth and leering as he said, “Frankly, I can’t wait to see your moves.” I swallowed sickly. “But for now, the stage.”
I had to turn away, pretending obedience when in fact I was hiding my shudder of revulsion as I stepped over into the circle. Could he be any creepier?
I shook my head slightly as I faced the audience and reoriented myself, giving them a big smile and a wave. Again I had spontaneous applause, and that bolstered my confidence as I pretended to ready myself so I could fill in the seconds until we went live again.
I’d barely begun that when, side of stage, I saw a man hold his arm out horizontally, a second before he said, “Back live in ten, nine…”
And then I saw Rosie a few steps behind him, staring right at me with a worried expression on her face. I smiled at her, hoping she wasn’t nervous about my singing. Now that the talking was over, I felt like I was on the home stretch. Singing in front of a live audience, I could do, effortlessly.
But she didn’t know that yet, so I took my attention off her and locked onto the man who said, “…six,” then he was mouthing “…five, four, three, two, one,” and his arm swung around to point at Tug.
“You’re back live on Sunshine and we’ve got a special treat today. Outback diva Angel Lata, who wowed the crowd at a recent
Belandera restaurant opening by singing a duet with Noah Steele, is about to sing for us…”
I smiled at the audience, breathing in slowly through my nose, waiting for the opening bars, but instead Tug went on.
“…before she does, however, we’ve got a surprise for her.”
My fixed smile faltered.
“Here’s a snippet of video where you’ll see Angel singing before she made the big time. It’s her last night in a local Sydney nightclub, and you can see why!”
My smile slipped completely and my gaze swung to Tug who had the audacity to wink at me. But as cold prickled my cheeks, there was nothing I could do. Audio boomed across the studio of me singing All by myself, and before I could do anything to stop it, the night I’d worked so hard to forget was being rehashed, in front of a live national audience.
I couldn’t see the video they were watching, but when they frowned at the same time as the song faltered, I knew exactly what they were seeing—Jack leaning across the stage, about to vomit on my shoes. Then I remembered…
Jill was watching.
She’d find out I hadn’t saved her precious bridesmaid shoes for the wedding, but had recklessly worn them out to a club. What would she think of me? Guilt and grief over what I’d done tightened my throat, but only for a moment before it was swept away by a surge of anger so strong I wanted to storm off the stage.
How dare he show that video without my permission? I glanced back at Tug and found him watching me with a tiny self-satisfied smile, and in that very second I promised myself that he wouldn’t win.
Danny had stripped me of the one thing I’d cared for above all else—family. I wasn’t about to let some smarmy male model take my self-respect. My eyes narrowed and my shoulders went back as I stared him down. I’ll show you grace under pressure, buddy! The horrible sounds of Jack vomiting echoed around the studio as the audience squirmed, but I felt an unnatural calm come over me.
I was going to sing beautifully, and there was not a damn thing Tug Dunn or anyone else could do about that. The audience could make their own minds up about my talent. I planned to give a performance that would wipe any distaste from their minds.
Husband Stay (Husband #2) Page 18
