Blue Saturn (2 page)

3.

I make my way to the The Towers lobby. I’m terribly nervous. Other than Levi, I’ve never met a celebrity. I’ve seen plenty from a safe distance, but have never been up close and personal to any.

I’m wearing my very sensible black pants and a black long sleeved top, with a light blue scarf around my neck. I suffer from Vitiligo, a skin condition which has left me with white patches on my normally dark skin. The patches spread from my waist up my back to my neck and into my hair line. I have one white streak of hair, which unfortunately I can’t hide. My back though; it remains covered unless I’m alone.

Liane told me to inform reception that I was waiting and that she’d come down to join me. I have the feeling that she was going to be making the decision as to whether I was up for the job before I meet Michael.

I inform reception of my arrival and take a seat on a grey armchair.

I’m wondering how long I’ll have to wait when a petite middle aged woman approaches me and smiles. “Thank god, you’re plain,” she says and holds out her hand to me.

“Excuse me.” I don’t take her hand.

“I’m Liane and you’ll have to get used to me. I say it how it is and you, darling, are plain as day. You’re perfect. Come with me.”

“Don’t you want to know...”

“I spoke to Levi. He’s told me everything. You have all the experience and qualifications and all that other nonsense that real mothers don’t have and yet never seem to kill their children. Not the sane ones anyway.” I follow her into an elevator. “If you can babysit the kid, that’s all we need.”

“I’m not a babysitter...”  I begin.

Liane cuts me off. “Before we go any further, you need to sign this.” She holds out a form to me.

It’s an NDA. I’ve heard of them, but have never signed one. “I’ll have to read it before I sign it.”

“Rubbish. Sign it now, or we go straight back downstairs. It’s a simple agreement which says that no matter what you see or hear over the next six weeks, it stays with you. No running off to the papers.” She holds a pen out to me.

I quickly scan the document and sign my name at the bottom.

“Lovely. Now let’s go meet the boys.”

We enter a large hotel room. The first thing that hits me is the smell. Cigarettes. The room is thick with the scent. It makes my stomach turn. The second thing I notice is how many people are present in the suite. It’s a large room and it’s full of people. As I quickly scan the area, I notice there are more people out on the balcony.

The room is a mess. There are empty bottles and glasses covering almost every flat surface. There are beer bottles around the couches and food wrappers on the floor. I fight my natural urge to start cleaning up.

“Where’s Mike?” Liane calls out.

“In his room,” a red headed man calls back. And when I say red head, I don’t mean naturally red. I mean his hair is dyed bright red. It’s short and is sticking straight up. And it’s bright, bright red. I know who he is. He’s one of the band members. He plays the guitar. But I’m not sure what his name is.

“Great,” Liane sighs. Then she turns to look at me. “Mike has one rule. No one is to ever go into his bedroom. No one. Ever.”

“Noted.” I nod my head.

“Stay right here. I’ll be back in a minute, hopefully with Mike in tow.” Liane disappears further into the room, pushing people out of her way as she goes.

I look around the room feeling completely out of place. I’m under-dressed for one. Other than Liane, most the women in the room are wearing short, low cut, figure hugging dresses. The others are wearing tight jeans with stiletto’s and low cut tops or tops which show their midriff. I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. People are starting to look at me. I smile confidently at them, but no one returns my smile. They all frown or screw up their nose at me. I’m a definite fish out of water.

A loud noise from behind me gets my attention. I turn to see a woman in her underwear enter the room, holding two wine bottles, one in each hand.

“Let’s start this party,” she calls out and then screams, running out to the balcony before throwing her arms around the red haired guitarist from earlier. He smiles and kisses her before he pushes her away. She turns and kisses another man next to her. He doesn’t seem to mind the attention and grabs at her barely covered bottom.

The crowd parts momentarily and at the far end of the room, I notice a small boy sitting in a corner, next to a large open window. He’s looking down, eating potato crisps from a blue packet. He has jet black hair and his skin is a pasty white colour. He’s young, maybe only two years old. He can’t be the little boy I’m here to care for. I’m caring for a four year old. I wonder what sort of parent would expose their son to this environment.

“Lyndsay. You stayed put. Well done.” Liane returns and as promised she has Michael Greene firmly in her grip. “Lyndsay the babysitter meet Mike the musician.”

Michael Greene is every bit as good looking in the flesh as he is on TV and on the pages of magazines. He’s taller than I thought he would be, and a lot thinner. But he has a perfect face. His brown hair is long at the front and falls over his forehead. His brown eyes are wide, but cloudy. He’s not smiling. He’s frowning. I notice then that his eyes are slowly scanning my body, from my feet up to my face. “This is the babysitter?”

I force my lips to curl up into a smile and put my hand out to him. “It’s nice to meet you Michael.”

He takes a long deep drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke out through his nose. “It’s Mike. Only my mother called me Michael.”

“Mike,” I say, testing the word. I’m still holding my hand out and it’s obvious he’s not going to take it, so I put it back down.

“She’ll do,” Mike says and turns to walk away.

“Can I ask you a few questions, Mike?” I ask.

He stops and turns around. “About what?” His eyes begin to scan me again. I feel myself blushing under his scrutiny.

“About your son.”

Mike looks at me and shakes his head. “I met the kid two weeks ago. I doubt I know the answer to any of your questions.”

“I just need to know about his...”

Mike steps forward so he’s only inches from me. He leans down and looks me square in the eyes. “I don’t want to hear your questions.” Then he straightens and looks at Liane. “Give her the book.” Then he looks back to me. His eyes still have that clouded look but they seem to be sharpening as the minutes go on. “You have one job and that’s to keep that kid away from me.”

“Mikey, baby!” The underwear wearing girl is back and is throwing her arms around Mike.

“Hey sweetheart.” Mike looks at me as he lowers his lips to the buxomly woman and he kisses her. He shamelessly grabs at her arse before he slaps it.

I turn away and look at Liane. “So where is Mike’s son?”

“He’s around here somewhere. Little black headed fellow.” She scans the room but I know where to find him.

“He’s over here.” I head toward where I saw the little boy sitting a few minutes ago.

He hasn’t moved. Only now, he’s put the bag of chips down and is holding a blue and red blanket while he sucks his thumb. He’s sitting up, but his head is resting against the wall.

Liane stands in front of him and looks down at him. “This is Mike. The other Mike. The Mike who doesn’t sleep and doesn’t talk and doesn’t eat and doesn’t smile and...”

I block her voice as I kneel down in front of Mikey. “Hello Mike. My name is Lyndsay.” He’s dirty. His face is marked with traces of what can only be tomato sauce and chocolate. And he smells. This child has been sorely neglected.

His eyes don’t move. He keeps staring down at his shoes.

“I like your blanket,” I say. He still keeps staring down. I move off my knees and sit down on my bottom. “Does your blanket have a name?”

He looks up at me then. His eyes are so dark brown they are almost black. The whites of his eyes are red and he has dark circles under his eyes. His lips are pale, he has no colour to his cheeks.

This kid is sad and it’s obvious he’s not going to talk. I don’t push the issue. I smile at him. “I’m really looking forward to spending some time with you. Maybe, we can go to the zoo together one day. Would you like that?”

He blinks once and looks back down at his shoes.

“Well that’s something,” Liane says. “You’re the first person he’s looked at in two weeks.”

I stand up and smile. “When do I start?”

“Tomorrow, if you can. Tonight would be even better. The boys start the tour the night after tomorrow. They’ve got some publicity to do in the meantime.”

“I’ll be here first thing tomorrow morning.”

Before I leave, Liane hands me a black book. It’s a notebook, and in it are pages upon pages of information about Mikey; including all the important information such as his date of birth and his Medicare number. Included is an example of a typical day.

7.00am – Wakes up.

7.30am – Breakfast.

8.00am – Creative Time.

10.00am – Morning Snack.

12.00pm – Lunch.

12.30pm – Outside Play Time.

3.00pm – Afternoon Snack.

3.30pm – Quiet Time.

5.30pm – Dinner.

6.00pm – Bath or Shower.

6.30pm – Bedtime Story.

7.00pm – Bedtime.

The following pages give examples of what ‘creative time’, ‘outside play time’, and ‘quiet time’ might entail. There are lists of his favourite foods to eat and his favourite toys and books.

From what I can gather, Mikey’s mother put this together. The time and effort put into it tells me she loves him. So why isn’t she here?

I call Meredith as soon as I get home. “I should call Child Protection Services,” I say.

“Why?”

“That poor child is being neglected, that’s why.”

“Lynd’s, I don’t know what you saw, but do you honestly think that putting him into a foster home would do him any better?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Think about it Lyndsay. He’ll get shipped from one home to another, he’ll never have any security, any friends, or any family. He could be abused or...worse.”

“That doesn’t happen Meredith. You read too many books.”

“It does happen and you know it.” Meredith sighs. “You’re taking the job, right?”

“Of course I am. Someone has to help that poor child.”

“So, this is what you do. For the next six weeks, you take care of Mike Junior. If, after the six weeks you feel like you need to call Child Protection Services, you do it then. But give them time to adjust to this situation.” She pauses. “Will you do that, Lyndsay?”

My brain is screaming ‘no!!’ but my mind is listening to Meredith’s reasoning. I slowly nod my head. Mikey will be cared for for the next few weeks. “I’ll give it six weeks, but I have to see a dramatic improvement in that time, Meredith.”

But I feel that to see what I really need to see will take a miracle.

4.

I’ve never been an extravagant person. I live in a small house. I drive a small, economic car. I have enough clothes to get me through a five day washing cycle. I don’t wear jewellery. I only own three pairs of shoes. I have one hand bag. I have a backpack and I have one very small suitcase.

With all the travel I’ve done over the last year with Meredith and Levi, I learned to travel light. And although this job will not entail anywhere near as much travel, I’m still packing only the bare essentials.

Aunty Beatrice drives me into town, because I will not need my car. In the hasty conversation I had with Liane on my way out of the hotel yesterday, she told me that if I needed transport, Wayne, the security guy, would be able to arrange something for me. I figured while I was in the city, I could rely on public transport if and when I needed it.

I’m anxious about Mikey. He seems so sad. And I hate to see children sad. Childhoods should be filled with love and laughter and brightness. While I know nothing about his life with his mother, I can only imagine that what he’s seen during the two weeks he’s spent with his father has probably scarred him for life. I’ll be lucky to escape the next six weeks without some scarring myself, even with all I’ve experienced in my past life.

For the second time in twenty four hours, I walk through the lobby of The Towers. I give my name and immediately the receptionist smiles and knows who I’m with.

“Mr Greene has reserved a room for you on the twentieth floor.” She hands me a key pass and directs me to the lifts.

When I get to the room, Mike is waiting outside my room. He doesn’t smile when he sees me approach. He keeps his arms crossed over his chest and watches me walk.

“Hello Mike,” I say. I stop just short of my room door and look at him.

“Mikey is inside waiting for you.”

I frown. He couldn’t even wait inside the room with his child. “Thank you.” I take hold of my pass and swipe it through the lock.

“Lyndsay,” Mike says as I open the door.

“Yes Mike.” I turn my head to look at him.

His eyes hold my gaze. The foggy eyes from yesterday’s meeting are gone and I can see a depth to him. There is something going on inside him, but I’ll be damned if I know what it is. He shakes his head and walks away.

Great. A moody artist, just what I need.

Mikey is sitting on one of the two double beds. He’s eating chocolate and drinking cola.

I sigh but force a smile. “Hello Mike.”

He doesn’t look away from the TV. He puts another piece of chocolate into his mouth.

“Is that your breakfast?” I ask. It’s just after nine o’clock in the morning.

Mike still doesn’t look away from the TV.

There is a knock on the door and a piece of paper slides under it. Picking it up, I read that it’s a schedule of Blue Saturn’s appearances and concerts. “Wow,’ I breathe. They’re going to be very busy. But there are seven days with stars and allocated time slots with a note on the bottom which says, ‘Lyndsay’s Time Off.’

My first “day” off, in eight days from now, has been given an allocation from 9.00am – 2.00pm. I remember what Liane told me about everything being booked well in advance and try to be grateful that I’ve been given what I have.

My other free time allotments are similar, a few hours a day. There is one full day allotment but that’s not until we get to Brisbane. A day in sunny Brisbane. That hope will get me through the next few weeks.

I ask Mikey if he’d like to come for a walk with me to look at the trams. He doesn’t move. I ask him if he’d like to go to the swimming pool. He doesn’t move. I order up some lunch, sandwiches and fruit. He doesn’t eat it. And he doesn’t move. I ask him if he’d like to draw or read a story. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t look at me. When I hold out a piece of apple to him, he strikes out and scratches my cheek.

I’m at a loss. I move off the bed and sit at the desk. There’s a sheet of paper in the large black folder and without any real conscious thought, I start folding it.

I love origami. It’s something I do when I need to keep my hands busy and my mind still. I started doing it when I was about sixteen, just after my mother died. It kept me calm on those days when I thought my mind was going to explode with all the angst.

I make a crane. It’s the first thing I ever learnt to fold. I pull the tail, which makes the wings move and I place it on the edge of the desk and reach for another piece of paper. As I fold the sheet in half, Mikey gets up from the bed and comes toward the desk. He takes the bird and returns with it to his place on the bed.

A wave of relief goes through my body as I continue on my next piece. I make a boat. It doesn’t have any moving parts, but almost as soon as I put it down on the desk, Mikey gets up and takes it.

“Would you like me to show you how to make an elephant?” I ask.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t look at me. He looks down.

Time. I’m going to have to give him time.

I spend an hour all together folding sheets of paper into animals and objects. He keeps going back to the crane, but I’m sure I almost get a smile out of him when he sees my leaping frog.

I need coloured paper. All going well, tomorrow I’ll take Mikey to a craft store and buy coloured paper. I’ll spend all day folding things, if it means I’ll get any sort of reaction from him.

The black book mentioned that Mikey likes to read “Thomas the Tank” books and that his favourite toy is a car carrying truck. In amongst his small supply of clothes and shoes, I’ve yet to see any toys or books.

It’s getting toward dinner time. I’ve ordered up dinner to our room. Chicken nuggets and chips for Mikey and I’m going to try the club sandwich.

I try to get reception to put me through to Mike’s room, Mike’s room, but the receptionist says that there is no guest here by that name.

“Great,” I sigh. He’s used a fake name and now the person responsible for his son can’t even get through to him.

“Come on Mike,” I say to Mikey. “We’re going for a little walk.” I hold out my hand to him. He looks at it, doesn’t take it, but surprisingly enough, gets off the bed.

We get out of the elevator and walk toward the suite door. I knock three times and wait.

“It’s a girl,” I hear a female voice say from the other side of the door and I know she’s looking at me through the peep-hole. “No. Brown hair. She’s dressed in jeans. She has a little boy with her.”

I roll my eyes. “Can you get Mike for me, please?” I say.

“She wants you Mike,” the voice sounds.

I wait another minute before the door opens.

“What do you want?” Mike slurs. He’s drunk. He’s not wearing a shirt and his jeans are open at the zip. Thank goodness he’s wearing underwear. “I said to keep that kid away from me.”

“I just need to ask you a question. The black book mentioned...”

Mike steps out into the corridor. “What part of ‘I don’t want to hear your questions’ didn’t you understand?”

“Where are his toys and books?”

“Did you just ask me a question? You have got to be the dumbest person I’ve ever met. I don’t give a shit where his toys or books are. I’m working. I’m on tour. I’m entertaining guests. I don’t have time for your little problems.” He goes into his suite and slams the door shut behind him.

“He’s a real charmer, huh?”

I turn around to see the man with the bright red hair standing down the corridor.

“He sure is.” I start to walk toward the lifts.

“There are no toys or books.” He smiles at me. “I’m Gavin. I’m the bass guitarist.”

I smile at Gavin. “I’m Lyndsay, the Nanny.”

“Tough gig,” he says, smiling.

“Sure is.”

Gavin rests his palms on his knees and lowers himself down closer to Mikey. “Hey little man. How you doing?”

Mikey doesn’t answer. He keeps sucking his thumb.

“You know,” Gavin says, as he straightens up. “There’s a book store, not far from here. I could get someone to grab some books for the little man.”

That’s the nicest thing any one of these people has said to me since I arrived. “Thank you Gavin. I’m thinking I might go shopping tomorrow. Get out of the hotel room for a few hours.”

“Make sure you keep the receipts for any expenses. Give them to Liane. She’ll make sure you’re reimbursed.”

“Thanks Gavin.”

He looks at my cheek. “What happened there?” he asks.

“Mike scratched me.”

“Which Mike are you referring to?” He looks to the suite door.

“Mikey. I was trying to get him to eat.”

Gavin frowns and looks down at Mike. “Hey man. You never hit out at a woman. That’s not cool.”

Mikey takes a step backwards and hides behind my legs.

Gavin looks back at me. “Don’t give up on Mike. He’s really not as bad as you think.”

“Which Mike are you referring to?” I ask.

Gavin laughs. “The big one. And the little one. It’s been a bit of a shock for both of them.”

I’m about to ask for more information when the lift opens and two guys stumble out.

“Here they are,” Gavin says. “Where have you guys been? You missed the radio interview. Liane is pissed.”

The guy with the long blonde hair answers. I recognise him. He’s Blue Saturn’s lead guitarist. “I have no idea where we’ve been but I think I want to go back there.” Then he looks at me. “Who’s this?”

“This is Lyndsay. She’s looking after Mike’s kid.”

“Ah, the babysitter.” He steps toward me. “I’m Paul. I have a thing for babysitters.”

Gavin grabs his shoulder and pulls him away from me. “Not this one, you don’t. Go sleep it off.” He pushes Paul away.

The other guy, the drummer, I assume, is trying to get his room door open. He’s cursing and swearing and eventually, he sits down on the floor and falls backwards.

“That’s our drummer,” Gavin says. “One of the best in the world.”

I scratch my head in wonderment. “I’m going to get going. It was nice meeting you Gavin.”

“Was it nice meeting me too?” Paul asks.

I don’t answer. I get into the waiting elevator with Mikey and push the button for level 20.

Mikey eats three chips and one chicken nugget before he pushes his plate away. He has tomato sauce all over his fingers and face. It never ceases to amaze me that kids can be so messy when they’re eating.

“Shall we run you a bath?” I ask. “Or would you prefer a shower?”

Mikey doesn’t answer. He doesn’t move. He looks at the empty space in front of him.

He has neither a bath nor a shower. I manage to wipe him down quickly before I change him into his pyjamas. He is uncooperative and refuses to put on his pyjama pants, so I leave him to wear his underwear to bed.

Our hotel room is big, but is one room. There are two beds, side by side, and a large window behind the desk and small sofa’s. At the opposite end to the window is the bathroom and wardrobe.

It’s only seven o’clock. I’m trying to get Mikey to sleep, but he keeps getting out of bed and sitting on the sofas. Then he goes to the cupboard under the TV and pulls out a packet of chips.

“No Mike, you can’t eat chips now. It’s time for bed.”

He throws the packet onto the floor and stomps down on them, breaking open the bag and sending potato crisps shooting out across the carpeted floor.

“Mike, don’t do that,” I say.

He climbs back into bed. I ignore him while I clean up the mess as best I can without a vacuum cleaner and when I look up at the bed, Mikey is asleep, sucking his thumb.

“Thank god,” I whisper.

I sit on my bed and make a small shopping list for tomorrow and try not to think about how on earth I’m going to survive six weeks of this. Six weeks of a silent little boy, who doesn’t eat, but seems to sleep well. Six weeks of drunk and obnoxious musicians who seem to think they have the most important job in the world. Excluding Gavin, of course; he seemed genuinely nice, and sober.

I turn my head to look at Mikey. I wonder what sort of life he’s going to have. Once I leave, he’ll go back to sitting in corners eating junk, being ignored and entirely neglected. No child deserves that.

I shower and put on my pyjamas. I slide into the bed next to Mike’s. It’s only early, just gone nine-thirty at night, but I’m exhausted. My eyes are heavy and tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I need to get an early night.

I’ve had the worse night sleep ever. Mike woke up seven times during the night, crying, screaming and generally irritable. He spent a good two hours between two and four in the morning pacing the length of the hotel room. It reminded me of a caged tiger. He eventually climbed onto the sofa and fell asleep, and I’m assuming that’s where he spent the rest of the night. I was too afraid to move him back to bed in case he woke up.

He has turned the TV on. It’s five minutes after seven.

“Good morning Mike,” I say through a yawn.