Heller's Girlfriend (30 page)

“Why? What’s the point,” sniped
Wanda. “You never eat anything.”

“We’re not going to a
restaurant,” I vetoed, hopefully averting yet another squabble
between them. “We’re going back to the hotel where we’ll all be
safe.”

“Who put you in charge?” Yoni
demanded angrily.

“Heller did.”

“Oh, him. Okay,” she acquiesced
unexpectedly, obviously remembering Heller’s enormous attractions
(and she hadn’t even yet personally experienced just how enormous
they really were). “He’s visiting me on Friday night, isn’t
he?”

“That’s what he said,” I
replied, hoping that it would be true. With Heller there for Yoni,
I would be free to clock off and visit Will.

“Good,” she said sweetly and
opened another piccolo.

“Take it easy. You have media
interviews all afternoon,” Wanda told her flatly.

“Bitch! Why don’t you tell me
about these things?” Yoni ranted.

For no reason, she suddenly
threw her champagne all over Wanda’s chest. Wanda didn’t react
except for a disparaging rolling of her eyes and I guess that this
wasn’t the first time Yoni had done that. I reached for the napkins
and handed Wanda a bunch. And that left the three of us stinking of
champagne now, but only one of us actually having had the pleasure
of drinking any.

The limo pulled up outside the
hotel and we made a mad dash back safely inside, where we returned
to the suite for lunch. The men would make their own arrangements
for lunch, back on duty again when Yoni started her media
interviews later in the afternoon.

Wanda ordered us room service
and Yoni took her small undressed salad into her bedroom to eat,
leaving Wanda and I to enjoy our chicken salads together. Yoni
wasn’t in her room for long before she locked herself in the second
bedroom. Seemed like it was time for another outfit change.

A timid knock drew me to the
suite’s door and after cautiously checking through the peephole, I
opened it. A woman carting a rolling suitcase told me she was there
to style Yoni for her interviews. I scrutinised her credentials
thoroughly as the poor woman squirmed in front of me, afraid that
she wasn’t going to make the cut. Then with a friendly smile to
dispel her anxiety, I waved her through to the second bedroom.

Wanda went to Yoni’s bedroom to
bring out the remains of her lunch. It didn’t appear to me that she
had touched much of it. I couldn’t imagine how she managed to
survive on the meagre amount that she ate each day in her quest to
remain thin. I was infinitely glad that I’d dropped out (or more
accurately, been dropped out) of a career that demanded such
sacrifice from women. I loved food far too much to starve myself
for a job. Even for millions of dollars and adulation. Actually,
considering the throng of scary fans outside, even the adulation
was losing its sheen for me, and I’d never really been interested
in the money.

After an hour or so, and another
polite reminder from Rumbles about the time, the stylist left. Yoni
emerged from the second bedroom and hurried to her own, before she
seemed ready to suffer through the ten or so interviews that had
been lined up for her. She now looked much more serious, but still
glamorous, knowing that she would be on TV. She wore a plain, but
very flattering, dark blue silk skirt suit with a simple white
singlet top underneath. It hinted at her curves, but maintained her
slenderness. Her jewellery was simple but breathtakingly expensive,
and her hair had been pulled into a casual messy bun that left
gorgeous tendrils drifting softly around her discreetly made up
face. She was every inch the professional actor, ready to discuss
how her new role was groundbreaking for women in Hollywood and how
it had permanently changed her life. This was despite the fact that
the character was virtually identical to those in her last three
movies, none of which I’d seen. And that made me realise that
perhaps I wasn’t as much of a fan as I’d originally thought.

Again, her performance that
afternoon was astounding, even though every interviewer asked the
same tired questions about the movie. She revealed that her
character was a nuclear physicist who falls in love with, and
eventually wins the affection of, a hot government agent assigned
to protect her after she and her sexy but thick assistant witness a
murder. And although initially attracted to the assistant, the hot
agent is eventually beguiled by the nuclear physicist’s brave
sweetness and they all live happily ever after. Except the
assistant, of course. It sounded like a terrible plot to me.

In one interview, she laughed
self-deprecatingly about the fact that she certainly wasn’t brainy
enough to be a nuclear physicist in real life. In another she
argued that it wasn’t at all degrading to women for Hollywood to
always show female scientists as frigid, beautiful, vulnerable and
secretly sexy. She refused to confirm though that her character did
wear glasses and a white coat with her hair tightly pulled into a
bun during the first half of the movie, but by the second half her
hair was loose, her eyesight miraculously restored and the white
coat ditched for a low cut, tight shirt and short skirt. She
wrapped up that particular interview more quickly than the
interviewer wanted, and I had to step in to ensure that the woman
left the room as requested.

I resumed my spot standing near
the door, arms crossed, my hardarsed look firmly plastered on my
face. I’d been practicing it in the mirror for months and was
confident I’d nailed it. The next interviewer was Trent Dawson, the
host of a current affairs program,
People’s Pulse
, which
aired each work evening. It purported to discuss the major news
items of the day, but in reality it provided an endless stream of
stories about fad diets, push-up bras, cosmetic surgery, bad
neighbours and celebrity gossip. Unbeknown to him, I’d featured in
one of his stories a while ago, although incognito.

He was handsome enough in a
sleazy kind of way, famous for his antagonistic and aggressive
interview style and his disreputable private life.

Trent spared no charm today
though, flattering Yoni so shamelessly that she giggled all the way
through the interview. There was unmistakable chemistry between
them and it soon became obvious that they were no strangers to each
other. After the cameras cut, he stood up and leaned over to her,
whispering in her ear. She burst out with a gale of laughter and
agreed to whatever he’d just proposed. I imagined that meant we’d
be seeing him again later in the evening.

As he left the room, a huge
smile on his face, he cut me a curious glance. His eyes swung back
for a second glance, swiftly checking me out, wide with
interest.

“Hello, who are you?” he asked
me in a low voice, looking over his shoulder to see if Yoni was
watching. She wasn’t, preoccupied in fixing her makeup between
interviews.

“Just a drone,” I replied in a
friendly voice, pleased to be acknowledged for once, especially by
someone famous.

“You look familiar. Have I met
you before?”

“Nope,” I said hastily. “I’d
remember if I met you before, Mr Dawson.”

He studied me for a moment as if
still trying to place me. “Are you looking after Yoni?”

I didn’t comment.

“Is she expecting some trouble?
Anything in particular?”

I remained silent, staring at
him steadily. He laughed good-naturedly in defeat. “What’s your
name?”

“Tilly Chalmers.”

He shook my hand, staring boldly
into my eyes. “Tilly Chalmers, I might see you around some
time.”

I smiled noncommittedly and he
smiled back before leaving.

The rest of the afternoon passed
very slowly, and we were all glad when it was finally over and we
were free to retreat upstairs. Wanda went straight to her room, I
hit the shower in the second bedroom and Yoni retreated to her
bedroom, probably to make use of her secret bar fridge. I changed
into some jeans and a t-shirt, remaining barefoot with my hair
loose, and planted myself in front of the telly, not planning on
leaving the suite for rest of the evening. Wanda came over, also
casual in ill-fitting, baggy jeans and t-shirt. We ordered dinner
and another bottle of wine, and chatted while we ate. Yoni stayed
in her room.

We were halfway through our
meals when there was a knock on the door and I answered cautiously
again. I greeted the visitor.

“Well, hello again, Tilly
Chalmers. I didn’t imagine for a moment that we’d meet again so
soon. Are you staying with her?” I nodded briefly and let Trent
Dawson into the suite. He’d also changed into more casual clothes,
which only confirmed that Yoni would definitely not be leaving the
suite again tonight. That saved everyone a lot of bother.

“Her room’s that one,” I said
helpfully, pointing to Yoni’s bedroom. He smiled back at me as he
knocked gently on the door, before opening it and disappearing
inside.

“Ooh, the hag has some
competition,” Wanda observed with diabolical delight.

“No way,” I protested,
embarrassed.

“He was definitely interested,”
she insisted.

“Don’t be silly. Anyway, even if
he was, I’m not. I have a boyfriend, remember.”

“You’re so boringly loyal,
Tilly.”

“It’s hard sometimes, I can tell
you,” I sighed, and an image of Heller flashed into my mind,
quickly followed by one of Bick, then Farrell. Whoa! My mind
skidded to a screeching halt. Where the hell did
that
come
from?
Farrell?
Never, ever! Not even in my nightmares!

“Are you okay?” Wanda asked with
concern, noticing my expression.

“Yeah. Just gave myself a
fright,” I laughed uncertainly.

Thinking of Heller made me check
my phone. Text messages from Dixie, Daniel and Niq, but nothing
from Heller or from Will. I swallowed my bitter disappointment.
Maybe I should just run off with another man? That might prompt the
pair into actually remembering that I existed.

Wanda and I spent the evening
watching a rerun of
Speed
on telly, mutually agreeing that
there were much worse ways of filling a couple of hours than
watching Keanu Reeves save the city. For example, I could have been
talking to Yoni. Or Heller. After the movie finished, Wanda stood
up, yawning.

“What’s happening tomorrow?” I
remembered to ask.

“Let’s see. A photo shoot with a
women’s magazine in the morning. In the afternoon she’s presenting
an award at a performing arts college, and in the evening she has a
live interview. We’ll have to go to the studio for that. Busy
day.”

“Sounds like it. I’d better let
our security manager know.”

She waved goodbye while I rang
Clive and explained Yoni’s itinerary for the next day. He grunted
when I’d finished and hung up.

I trundled out my bed and set it
up, before changing into my usual pyjamas of boxer shorts and
singlet top. I was about to climb into bed when Yoni’s bedroom door
opened and Trent came out, dressed only in Yoni’s flimsy, beautiful
silk bathrobe.

“Nice look,” I teased. His smile
was sheepish.

“Couldn’t be bothered putting my
gear back on just to grab some water,” he explained, giving a
little twirl in the robe, before heading to the bar, opening a
bottle of spring water and gulping down half the bottle. He flopped
down on the sofa, sitting in that casual way men have. I was
presented with the experience of seeing much more of Trent Dawson
than I’d ever expected or wanted.

“Mr Dawson! Put them away!
Please!” I screeched in revulsion, clapping a hand over my eyes. He
looked down, then quickly crossed his legs and adjusted his
bathrobe, blushing in mortification.

“Sorry,” he apologised
immediately. “I forgot I wasn’t wearing anything else. God, I’m so
sorry. How embarrassing.”

“Lucky you weren’t on camera,” I
joked, trying to make light of the situation.

“Might get me better ratings,”
he joked back, recovering quickly, an appealing twinkle in his eye.
He really was a very attractive man. I couldn’t remember now why he
had such a notorious reputation.

“Might make your ratings worse
too,” I said cheekily. He grinned at me and noticed my
rollaway.

“You sleep out here? On that?
Isn’t there another bedroom?”

I didn’t want to complain about
my client, so remained silent.

He laughed, shaking his head.
“You are a hard nut to crack, Tilly. Oh, sorry, that’s probably a
bad analogy after what you just saw.”

I giggled at his stupid joke. He
was about to say something else when Yoni poked her head out of her
room.

“Trent!” she screamed shrilly.
“I need you. Now!”

He raised his eyebrows and
half-smiled. “Guess I better return.”

“Guess so.”

“Night, Tilly.”

“Night, Mr Dawson.”

He smiled. “Call me Trent.”

I smiled back, but didn’t take
him up on his offer, watching as he entered Yoni’s room again.

I was grumbling to myself,
trying to make myself comfortable on the lumpy rollaway when my
phone rang. It was Heller.

“I thought you’d forgotten about
me,” I mock-sulked.

“Matilda.” He sounded stressed.
“Not you too? Please.”

“Sorry Heller, I was just
joking. Have you had a bad day?”

“I don’t want to talk about
it.”

“Well, why did you ring me then?
Because that’s what I do – I talk about things.”

He laughed reluctantly. “I
wanted to make sure that everything is okay. Clive told me
tomorrow’s a big day.”

“We had a bit of hassle with the
paparazzi today, but we managed.” I paused a beat. “I saw a TV
host’s wedding tackle tonight.”

Silence. “That doesn’t surprise
me in the slightest with you, to be honest. Did you let this
‘tackle’ anywhere near you?”

It was my turn to laugh. “No
way! I told him to put it away.”