Heller's Girlfriend (28 page)

“See you in a week, Heller. Look
after Niq and Daniel for me.”

“I will. You look after you for
me.”

I smiled reluctantly. “That
doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does to me.”

And then they were gone.

Chapter 20

Yoni stood for a minute staring
at the closed door in reverie. Then she roused herself, turning
around and noticing me for the first time.

“Who are you?” she asked in
surprise.

I stifled my huge pissed off
sigh. “My name’s Tilly Chalmers. Heller just explained that I’ll be
staying with you twenty-four hours a day for the next week.”

She looked bemused. “You’re
going to stay here with me?”

“That’s what you asked for,
wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know. My assistant
organised it all.” She paused, twirling her hair in her fingers.
“There’s no room for you here. It’s only a two-bedroom suite. And I
need the second room for my clothes.”

“Where does your assistant
sleep?”

“In another room. I don’t want
her with me all the time!
Jesus!
Have you seen her? She’s
uglier than a bucket full of assholes.”

“But where will I sleep?”

“I don’t care. Find a hole
somewhere.” And she stalked off to her bedroom without another
word, slamming the door behind her.

I watched her leave, devastated,
my image of her popped in an instant. She’d been a huge idol of
mine during my acting years – a local girl who’d made it big in
Hollywood while keeping all of her downtown charm and humility. She
specialised in rom com adventure movies and her roles were always
the same – resilient, intelligent, sweet women who never threw in
the towel despite many misfortunes, winning over the leading man in
the end despite his initial attraction to the hot, shallow and dumb
babe who was her friend/sister/co-worker. Yoni’s self-deprecating
humour shone in interviews and she often expressed her undying love
for her home country. I’d never imagined for a second that she’d
turn out to be such a bitch.

The rest of the day passed
slowly and I was bored. Yoni didn’t appear again, though I could
hear her muffled voice from her room, talking emphatically on the
phone for hours. I’d been left with no instructions, no welcome to
be there, and nowhere to sleep.

The suite door opened and Yoni’s
assistant poked her head in, her expression anxious.

“She’s not on a rampage yet?”
she enquired cautiously, scanning the room.

“Haven’t heard a peep from her
for hours. I’ve been bored out of my brain, to be honest.”

“Don’t expect
her
to
provide you with entertainment. She keeps that strictly for the
paying punters,” she advised sarcastically.

I held out my hand, sensing a
potential ally. “Tilly Chalmers.”

She shook my hand warmly. “Wanda
Wendell.”

I took an instant liking to her.
She wasn’t ugly at all as Yoni insisted, but had one of those plain
faces that became beautiful with every smile. A lot of her
plainness came from her unattractive haircut and unflattering baggy
clothing. They detracted from her clear skin, nice figure,
well-shaped features and bright greenish-brown eyes that sparkled
with promising mischief.

“I better go and check on her,”
she sighed, knocking deferentially on Yoni’s bedroom door before
quietly entering the room.

While they were occupied, I rang
housekeeping and arranged for a rollaway bed to be brought to the
suite. There was no way I was going to sleep on the lounge for a
week. When it arrived I told the porter to charge it to Yoni’s
account and to give himself a generous tip on top, and he left with
a huge smile on his face.

I pushed the bed out of the way
into the second bedroom, mightily annoyed when I saw the bed I
should have been using piled untidily high with carelessly
discarded designer garments. She’d only been in the suite since the
morning, so I couldn’t believe the mess she’d made already. She
must have tried on every outfit before deciding on the one she wore
today. I wasn’t being paid to clean, so I shut the door firmly on
the mess.

Wanda hastily exited Yoni’s
bedroom, followed by a loud crash against the wall. I turned
towards her on alert, but relaxed when she smiled guiltily at
me.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“The usual evening tantrum. She
threw her shoe at me.”

I frowned. “You shouldn’t have
to put up with that.”

“I enjoy riling her. It’s one of
my few pleasures in life.”

“But she might injure you.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m
perfectly safe. She has a terrible aim! Probably cause she’s
completely drunk.”

I shook my head. “I haven’t seen
her come out for a drink. She hasn’t touched the bar.”

“She’s drinking in her bedroom.
She has a mini-fridge full of vodka that’s disguised as a piece of
luggage. She takes it with her everywhere so she always has a
supply without anyone knowing. Frankly, it’s about her only
interest in life. Besides herself, of course.”

Oh great!
A drunken
client. That was all I needed. I bet Heller didn’t know about
that.

“Why did she become so angry
with you?”

“I told her I was going to order
her some dinner.”

I was confused. “What’s wrong
with that?”

“She never eats in the evening.
She just drinks. So I told her she was an old soak who would never
find another husband.”

I chuckled. “Ouch! No wonder she
threw something at you. I would have too!”

Wanda snortled. “She’s been like
this since her husband left her. You probably saw that video on
YouTube.”

“Me and the rest of the world! I
have to admit that it was bloody funny.”

“Wasn’t it? I peed myself
laughing,” she said with a huge and heartless grin.

“Still, it seems sad that she’s
taking her marriage breakup so hard.”

Wanda blew a raspberry. “She got
what she deserved. She’d been screwing every man in sight for
years. Even the pool man. She’s so predictably . . . trite.”

I raised my eyebrows,
desperately wanting to hear more gossip but not wanting to seem
overly eager or unprofessional.

Wanda continued. “There’s even a
rumour she screwed the best man during her own wedding
reception.”

“No!” I said, delightfully
scandalised. “So, I should feel sorry for her husband then?”

“God no! He’s a self-centred
arrogant prick. It was never going to last. Too much ego for one
household.”

“Don’t they have a kid?”

“Yeah, an orphan they adopted
from some African country about two years ago amidst a great deal
of publicity. She didn’t want to spoil her figure by popping out
her own kid.” She shook her head. “Poor kid. The novelty lasted
about two weeks before he was permanently dumped with the
nanny.”

“That’s terrible!” I was
genuinely shocked. Kids shouldn’t be treated as a commodity or an
accessory.

She shrugged. “That’s Hollywood.
He still gets dragged out in public if she thinks it will make her
look good. Neither of them can barely remember his name most of the
time, but you just watch them both fight over custody of him. It
will be ugly. The gossip magazines and TV shows are going to have a
field day.”

“I don’t know how you put up
with it all.”

“It’s a living,” she shrugged
again. “Anyway, enough talk about the old hag, let’s order some
dinner.” I chose the poached salmon and salad and she ordered the
marinated pork belly as well as a very expensive bottle of wine.
“Might as well do it in style, hey? Her royal hagness is paying for
it all.”

I couldn’t argue with that and
we enjoyed a pleasant meal together. Then over the last glass of
wine, she filled me in on the planned activities for the next day.
Yoni was scheduled to attend a charity event at a local children’s
hospital in the morning, followed by an afternoon full of media
interviews to be held in one of the hotel’s small reception
rooms.

“The media pack is a problem,” I
said.

“Well, they’re not going away
anytime soon. We’ll have to work around them. It’s always like this
when she comes back here. She’s a fading star in Hollywood, but
she’s worshipped like a goddess over here. Over in the States, the
paps are barely interested in her any more, unless she’s doing
something incredibly stupid. But they’re feral over here. That old
hometown girl returning to her roots crap reels them in every time.
I mean she lived here for about three minutes after she was born
before her parents moved to the States! How does that make her one
of you?”

“We love claiming celebrities as
one of our own. It’s a national pride thing. And I think she lived
here a few more years than that.”

“I wouldn’t know. Everything
about her bores me. But anyway, make sure you’re careful about who
comes to the suite. Those paps are the craftiest assholes you’ll
ever meet. And they have absolutely no shame or scruples. They’d
take photos of her using the bathroom if they could.”

And with those cheery words, she
left me for the night with the invisible, and presumably fast
asleep, Yoni. I pulled out the rollaway, some pillows and a doona
from the second bedroom and set up in the lounge room. I used the
bathroom of the second bedroom to take a quick shower. I watched TV
for a while, sent some text messages, had a brief phone
conversation with Heller, who sounded preoccupied, and curled up on
the uncomfortable bed.

I eventually drifted off to
sleep, but was woken suddenly in the early hours by a loud crash,
followed by some very fruity language. I sat up, not knowing where
I was for a few beats before gaining my bearings. I followed the
cursing to Yoni’s bedroom, where I found her lying on the floor,
entangled in a floor lamp that she’d knocked over. I separated her
from the lamp, pulled her to her feet with some difficulty and
righted the lamp, which fortunately didn’t appear to have been
damaged by the collision.

“Who put that fucking lamp in my
way?” she demanded in a slurred, tired voice.

“It was in the corner of the
room,” I pointed out and perhaps I could have been a tad more
tactful.

She staggered around and peered
at me with bleary eyes. “Who the fuck are you?”

I sighed. “I’m Tilly Chalmers.
Remember? I’m security. Here to look after you for the next
week.”

“Well, get me some champagne
then.”

“I think you need to get some
sleep, Ms Lemere. You have a charity event tomorrow morning.”

“Fuck! Why didn’t that ugly
bitch tell me? Will the media be there?”

“I don’t know. It’s at a
children’s hospital.”

“Those assholes never give me a
break.” Taking in my words, she groaned. “Oh shit, a kids’
hospital? They’re not dying, are they? I hate that. It’s
so
depressing.”

“I don’t know. I’m not your
assistant,” I said, not successfully hiding the repugnance in my
voice. Without another word to me she stumbled into her bathroom. I
was about to return to the rollaway when she yelled out.

“You! Bitch! Whatever your name
is. Come here. Now!”

I flipped her the finger before
entering her bathroom, my helpful face on. She was throwing things
haphazardly out of a giant toiletry bag.

“I need the stuff. Help me find
it.”

“What stuff?”

“It’s in a green bottle with a
black lid. Find it for me,” she ordered and parked her butt on the
toilet seat to watch. I methodically looked through her bag,
shocked by the array of pharmaceuticals it held. I didn’t care to
examine any of the labels too closely, but finally found the bottle
she wanted buried at the bottom. I handed it over to her, and she
grabbed it rudely, drinking directly from the bottle.

“Shouldn’t you measure that out
properly?” I asked with concern.

She ignored me, and slammed the
bottle precariously onto the counter, wiping her mouth with the
back of her hand. I rescued the bottle and put the lid back on.
After a minute she started looking extremely unwell and began to
dry heave. She sprang off the toilet and opened the lid, bending
over to vomit copiously into the bowl. I wasn’t sure what to do and
whether she even wanted me to do anything. Eventually she finished
puking and leaned back on the wall, her eyes closed, breathing
heavily.

I found a glass and filled it
with tap water for her. She snatched it and gulped greedily,
handing it out for a refill. I obliged. She took some little red
pills from the toiletry bag and swallowed them with the water. She
swilled the water in her mouth, spat, then brushed her teeth,
seeming immeasurably more sober.

“Get lost,” she said to me,
looking at me in the mirror. “I need to sleep.”

“Are you going to be all right?”
I wasn’t sure if I should call an ambulance or not. I’d never
witnessed anyone sucking down drugs with such abandon as she just
had.

“Of course I fucking am! I do
this all the time. What are you waiting for? I told you to get
lost.” So I went back to my lumpy squeaky bed for a few final hours
of sleep, secretly hoping she would choke on some more vomit during
the night.

I woke up early the next day and
did a workout utilising nothing but my own muscles and some
resistance bands I’d packed. I took another quick shower and
dressed in my
Heller’s
uniform, tying my hair back tightly.
I ordered breakfast for both of us, guessing that she would be a
fruit and dry toast kind of gal. I’d scoffed my poached egg and
fruit and gulped two cups of coffee before she deigned to appear
for the day, wearing a glorious multi-coloured silk bathrobe and
1950s-style high-heeled morning slippers. She looked unbelievably
gorgeous, not even a hint showing of her nocturnal excesses and
sickness. I envied her natural beauty, well aware of how terrifying
I would look in the same circumstances.