Famous (25 page)

‘There will be no running, no sudden twitchy movements, and absolutely no talking to the paparazzi,’ instructed Mands. ‘Am I understood?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, meekly.

‘Right then,’ said Mands, clapping her hands.

‘Are we taking my car?’ I ventured.

‘You’re not,’ she replied.

‘Really?’

This was bad news. If I was going to be doing a runner then I at least wanted to be doing it in my lovely new car.

She looked at my face. ‘Don’t cry. You’ll get it back at some stage.’

Puzzled, I watched as Lizzie stripped off her clothes. Surely this wasn’t the best time to be getting naked? I thought.

But then for some reason she pulled on my black gym leggings and my sweatshirt, before reaching for my white cap and enormous glasses.

‘What’re you doing?’ I asked.

‘Dressing like you,’ she replied.

‘Here, put these on,’ instructed Mands, handing me the long cream coat, blue jeans and high-heeled black boots Lizzie had been wearing.

‘Okay,’ I said, deciding it best to follow her orders.

Luckily Lizzie and I were exactly the same height and build. There’s no way I would have fitted into Mands’ size six jeans. At size nine Lizzie’s boots were half a size too big for me, but I decided to let that one slide. Lizzie brushed my hair down, which was the same shoulder-length as hers. Then she handed me her sunglasses and black beret.

‘Now,’ said Mands to me. ‘Here’s what’s happening. You’re coming with me, in my car, and Lizzie is driving off to the gym in yours.’

The gym? She’d better make sure she didn’t go on the leg-extension machine.

‘Okay,’ I replied, finally beginning to fathom what was going on.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

‘To the airport.’

‘Yay! Where are we flying to?’

‘Nowhere.’

‘Oh.’

This was disappointing.

‘We’re off to meet your father.’

I had no idea why we were meeting my father at the airport, or what on earth he was doing there, but according to the Little General we had to get a wriggle on.

We got to my front door and Lizzie gave me a big hug.

‘Bye sweets,’ she said. ‘See you on the other side. Love ya.’

‘You too,’ I replied, hugging her back steadfastly, not sure when I would see her again.

‘Hustle girls!’ instructed Mands. Clearly there was no time in the schedule for soppy farewells. I was officially on the escape from Alcatraz.

‘Well, here’s hoping this part works,’ said Mands, driving us out through my gates and onto the road.

This signaled high excitement for the vultures, who had been staring at nothing but my front door for the past week. Lizzie drove out behind us in my car and then headed in the opposite direction down the street, giving us a toot and a wave. I waved back. The locusts promptly clambered into their vehicles and onto their motorbikes and, thankfully, most of them followed Lizzie in the other direction. I gathered this was also part of the plan. All except two that is, both on motorbikes, who were now closely following behind Mands and I.

‘Okay,’ said Mands, glancing in the rear-view mirror. ‘That wasn’t too bad.’

Instead of driving erratically and at excessive speed in an attempt to fob them off, as I did, she drove at a constant and controlled pace, steadfastly ignoring them.

‘Why are we going to the airport?’ I ventured.

‘Pretending to catch a plane. Changing vehicles.’

She appeared to have developed some sort of SAS speech pattern.

‘Will you be coming with me?’

‘Not initially.’

‘Will someone.’

‘Affirmative.’

She was a woman on a mission and not about to give anything away, even to me. Half an hour and very little communication later, we arrived at the international terminal, the two motorbikes still in hot pursuit. We parked the car, retrieved one suitcase from the boot (which I silently and desperately hoped was filled with my clothes) and walked inside the terminal, the two paparazzi walking swiftly behind us.

‘Hey Samantha!’ called out one of them. As I was supposed to be Lizzie, I chose to ignore him.

‘Keep walking,’ instructed Mands. ‘Make it natural.’

‘Trying,’ I replied.

‘You’re doing well,’ she encouraged.

This was the most she’d said to me in the past hour.

With the suitcase in tow we walked into the terminal, along past the check-in counters, up the escalator, and straight into the Qantas Lounge.

‘Hi Amanda,’ said the woman on the front desk. ‘Take a left. You’ll find Charlie at the first table.’

Charlie?

‘Thanks Cheryl,’ replied Mands.

She knew her name?

I heard one of the paparazzi call out ‘Samantha!’ one last time, as we walked on and they were left standing on the wrong side of the glass partition. It appeared we were finally leaving them behind.

‘Hi,’ greeted Charlie, who was sitting at a coffee table by himself, pretending to read the newspaper. (It was upside down, I noted.)

Mands’ assistant, Charlie, had been hired primarily because he was a fine specimen of young eye candy (it is acceptable for women to do this). And, as Mands had said, ‘if I have to pay someone then I’m going to bloody well get my money’s worth.’ But unfortunately Mands’ gaydar must have been out of order at the interview because it was plainly obvious to Lizzie and I, upon our first glimpse of Charlie, that he was gay. Which he was. He was immaculately dressed, groomed, tanned, hilarious, affectionate and riddled with product. Admittedly he was perched on the straighter end of the gay scale, but gay nonetheless. Mands briefly contemplated firing him for misrepresentation. Only the fact that he was completely lovable and a fabulous assistant stopped her.

‘They’re outside the door at the moment,’ Mands said to him. ‘Keep them there.’

‘Aye aye captain,’ said Charlie. ‘Good luck.’

‘Walking,’ instructed Mands to me, as she led me by my elbow. ‘This way.’

I followed her to the other end of the lounge where we came upon a woman standing beside a single door, which clearly said in big red lettering Staff Only.

‘Hi Amanda,’ greeted the woman. ‘Come on through,’ she gestured, opening the door for us.

It appeared Mands was to the international airport what Norm was to Cheers. She’d have a lot of explaining to do when this was all over, I thought to myself.

‘Thanks Nancy,’ replied Mands.

I stared blankly at Nancy as I walked through, lost for words. I felt like a special guest star on the X Files.

We walked through the door, down a long corridor, down some stairs, down another long corridor, past what looked like a staff lunchroom and some offices, and then into what appeared to be the staff toilets. And there, sitting on a changing bench was my sister, Susie.

‘Hi Sam,’ she said, giving me a big hug.

‘Hi,’ I replied, wondering why on earth we had walked all that way just to wind up in a block of toilets with my little sister.

‘Pit stop,’ said Mands. ‘Change over.’

I had no idea what she was talking about.

‘Time for you to take your clothes off,’ Susie enlightened me. ‘You’ve got to put these on,’ she said, indicating at a pair of faded blue jeans, a hooded navy sweatshirt and some sneakers.

It wasn’t really my style, but somehow I didn’t think I was in any position to protest.

‘Okay,’ I replied meekly, and began to get changed.

Whenever I took off an item of clothing, Susie, who was now standing in her underwear, put it on. She appeared to be pulling a Lizzie on me.

‘Hair down,’ instructed Mands, brushing Susie’s hair and handing her the beret.

She also had the same shoulder-length light brown hair as me, and was virtually the same build and height. From the back we would have looked identical.

I stood in my new attire of jeans, hooded sweatshirt and sneakers.

‘And these,’ said Mands, handing me a pair of black wraparound sunglasses, and a short-haired black wig.

I glanced in the mirror. I looked like a prepubescent male skateboarder, lost on his way to the bowl.

‘Moving,’ instructed Mands.

‘Bye,’ said Susie, giving me another quick hug. ‘See you soon.’

Obviously she wasn’t coming with us.

I followed Mands out of the rest room and down to the end of yet another corridor, where we came to a security checkpoint.

‘Hi Amanda,’ greeted the security guard.

‘Hi Barry. We all okay?’

‘Vehicle’s ready and waiting,’ replied Barry. ‘Good luck.’

Dear God, I thought to myself, staring at Barry. This was all just a bit too surreal for words. We walked outside into a small covered car park and there, waiting in the driver’s seat of a vehicle I had never seen before, was my very own father.

‘Hiya love,’ he said. ‘Jump in.’

‘Hi,’ I replied, no longer entirely surprised by each new face that popped into my path. I looked at Mands, who was putting the suitcase into the boot, unsure whether she was coming in the car too.

‘Bye dolls,’ she said, giving me a big hug. ‘You did great. See you real soon.’

Obviously she wasn’t coming.

‘There’s some hair dye in the suitcase,’ she added. ‘Be sure to use it as soon as you get there.’

I looked at her blankly.

‘So you’re not recognised,’ she explained.

Oh.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked Dad, climbing into the passenger seat.

‘For a little drive in the country,’ he replied, clearly relishing his chance to talk cryptically.

The country? This sounded ominous.

‘Anyone else coming?’ I asked.

‘Just us. But we’ll be meeting up with your mother.’

This day just got weirder and weirder.

We pulled out of the car park and away from the airport.

When we were well clear of the terminal Dad’s mobile rang. I didn’t even know he had a mobile phone.

‘Yes,’ he answered, obviously aware of who was calling him. ‘Roger. Affirmative. All clear to go.’

Lord above! My father had suddenly transformed into an air-traffic controller.

‘Who was that?’ I asked.

‘The captain,’ he replied.

I looked at him, searchingly.

‘Mands,’ he explained.

We drove onto the motorway and headed south of the city. The further away from the city we got, the more relaxed I became, as did Dad. There appeared to be no one following us, which was a good sign.

‘Can I take the wig off now?’ I asked, when half an hour had passed. ‘It’s a bit itchy.’

‘I guess so,’ he replied. ‘So long as you pop your hood on.’

‘Are you driving me to Floodgate?’ I asked.

‘No,’ he replied.

An hour and a half later, and in the middle of the green countryside, we pulled into a deserted rest area. And there, waiting in my Mini Cooper and having a day off from protesting, was my mother. I had no idea how my little car had made it to the middle of nowhere, and without Lizzie in it, but I gathered there were some parts of the plan I just wasn’t privy to.

‘Hello Samantha,’ she said, giving me a hug.

‘Hi Elizabeth.’

‘Good to see you made it.’

‘Apparently,’ I replied.

I wasn’t prepared to believe I had made it to home base just yet. Surely there were going to be more strange and familiar faces to meet and greet me?

‘On the passenger seat you’ll find a map to Floodgate,’ she said. ‘And instructions on how to find the cabin and keys.’

‘Guess you’re on your own now, love,’ said Dad, who had just transported the mystery suitcase into my car. ‘Keep the hood and glasses on until you get there will you? And good luck,’ he said, giving me a big hug. ‘Thatta girl. You’ll be fine.’

‘Yes you will,’ confirmed Mum, giving me another hug.

And with that they drove off in the strange vehicle and left me standing in the rest area beside my little car. It was now 3 p.m. and I was officially On My Own. Completely alone (I checked inside my car, just to be sure). After what was without a doubt the oddest day of my life thus far. Sitting on the back seat of the car was a large box of supplies, food and drink. I also spotted a few bottles of wine in the midst. There was even a Tupperware container filled with homemade sandwiches and fruit slice. The only person who I hadn’t seen on my voyage was Vicky. Obviously she was responsible for the supplies. No doubt she’d been up all night baking in my honour.

Bless her, I thought, tucking into a sandwich. And then another, suddenly realising how ravenous I was. I didn’t dawdle for long though, I was still a fair way from Floodgate and the notion of trying to find a strange cabin in the woods, in the pitch black, was less than appealing.

Three hours later I drove into Floodgate and was careful not to blink, lest I drive straight on through it. I stared at the one main street in horror. It was positively microscopic.

What the hell is this? I thought in dismay. It was like some sort of cardboard cutout of a town. A deserted village in a Western movie, but without the dusty street or horses tied up outside. The place was smaller than my apartment building.

And what in God’s name was I supposed to eat? I wondered aloud, as I drove along.

There were no restaurants, no gourmet takeaway shops, and no sushi bars. Just one shabby café, a pub, a post office, a fish and chip shop, a butcher, a 4-Square and a hardware store. I was going to die of starvation and that was all there was to it, unless I went to the supermarket and cooked for myself.