Training Days (33 page)

“Miss Silverstone should be removed immediately and permanently from our screens,” he quoted a woman who hailed from the same area as Marge. “It’s the promotion of this type of perversity that is the root of all the problems in our society.”

“Stop it right here.” Maxwell held up his hand to Carlo. Then he waved it in the direction of the screen. “I think we’ve seen enough from the public. Obviously their views are skewed”—he peered at Morgan—“in your favor. But there are other issues at hand here.”

“What could be a bigger issue than the opinion of your viewers?” asked Michael.

Maxwell stared for a moment at Michael, a superior look on his face. He obviously thought it a stupid question. “There’s the small matter of our advertisers . . .”

Oh, hell
. Morgan inwardly cringed.
Here we go. Money.

Worse yet, Sophie was the director in charge of advertising and sponsorship. Morgan watched her rustle through the sheaf of papers that sat in front of her. And her hopes struck bottom with Sophie’s expression before she commenced on her report. It was smug and self-satisfied.

Things were no longer looking so good.

Ally was unable to sit still. She moved from the couch to her drafting table, wondering at the possibility of concentrating on some work, just to take her mind off this awful waiting.

It seemed forever since she’d received a call from Morgan advising her plane had landed.

“Good luck,” Ally had said softly, matching Morgan’s hushed tone.

“Thanks, baby,” Morgan replied. “I’ll speak to you as soon as my meeting finishes.”

That call had been over four hours ago. What on earth could they have to talk about for all this time?

Although, Ally thought as she moved away from her drafting table again, if they were picking through everything that had been written or said since the tabloid hit the newsstands, then they could be at it well into the night.

Ally sat at her dining table, where she’d strewn copies of every daily paper she’d found during her out-of-office excursion to buy a lunch of takeaway Japanese. Of these, at least half had made mention of the tabloid article. To what end, Ally wasn’t sure, since they had nothing new to report, except to say the network had issued a firm “no comment” and that the star herself was not available to confirm or deny the story, being on location “somewhere in Europe.”

At least she won’t get pounced on by the media when she arrives
, Ally had thought as she read the reports while picking at her box of sashimi.

Once home and flicking from channel to channel trying to catch every one of the evening television news reports, she realized her assumption had been premature. A news presenter announced, “Troubled star of
Bonnes Vacances
Morgan Silverstone is back on Australian soil this evening . . .” The image of the presenter disappeared to be replaced by footage shot at the airport. Morgan, wearing dark glasses and with her head down, was pushing silently through a mass of reporters, all sticking their microphones in her face, shouting questions at her.

Ally’s heart went out to her. She was already stressed enough as it was, without having to suffer a mob of rabid reporters. And how on earth did the media find out, not just that she was arriving early, but on which airline and at what time?

All the network channels—with the exception of Morgan’s own—made mention of her return to Australia. And all speculated over her “immediate future,” one even mentioning “the star, rumored to be next year’s presenter at the Logies” was also “rumored to be at threat of being dropped from her show.”

“Where do they get this stuff from?” Ally wondered out loud as she shifted her attention from television screen to computer screen, firing up her laptop and Googling “Morgan Silverstone.”

“My God,” she exclaimed as she started delving into the results. Kitty had not been exaggerating Morgan’s popularity. Whole sites were dedicated to her, created by fans who’d taken their Morgan-worship to the extreme. They had picture galleries and video clips, Morgan message boards and downloadable screensavers. Ally was currently most interested in the message boards. As expected, all were humming with new activity. The majority of the comments were highly positive, the participants declaring their continued devotion and announcing dire consequences for the network ratings if they dared pull Morgan from their TVs. Others had taken great umbrage at the possibility that their idol was a lesbian, with one particularly prolific messenger posting comment after comment about the evils of homosexuality. He or she made constant reference to an episode of
Bonnes Vacances
aired a few weeks prior, one that had featured family-friendly holidays. Morgan’s segment had focused on a five-star camping ground where she was filmed going down a kid-sized waterslide, the final person in a chain of laughing, excited children. “Those types of people should be kept as far away from our future generation as possible,” the post announced. Ally noted with satisfaction that the messenger was shot down in flames by others making subsequent posts, but still she was both surprised and saddened to discover that such rampant homophobia still existed.

That discovery prompted Ally to temporarily shift her attention from Morgan to herself. Were any of her friends, family or acquaintances homophobic, she wondered? And would their opinion of her change from one moment to the next because she announced herself as a lesbian? Offhand she couldn’t think of anyone who might be that narrow-minded, but maybe she was just being naïve.

“Too bad for them if they do,” Ally said resolutely as she rose from her computer. “If they can’t see I’m exactly the same person I was before they knew, then that’s their problem.”

Still, as she settled back in front of the television to see if the network had prematurely carried out their threat and pulled Morgan from this evening’s show, she began to feel worry niggling at the back of her mind. After all, she wasn’t
exactly
the same person anymore.

For one, she was rapidly turning into a liar.

She’d lied to Josh about the demise of her mobile phone; she’d lied to James on goodness knew how many occasions since she’d left the train from Kalgoorlie. And today she’d lied to the entire office, both about what she’d done on her last night in Barcelona (early dinner and an early night), as well as throughout the Morgan-related conversation when Kirsty announced at their staff meeting that a woman she hadn’t recognized at the time, but who turned out to be Morgan Silverstone (“you know—the one who’s all over the news at the moment”) had made an appointment to see Ally the following Monday. Ally’s surprise at the appointment was genuine, Morgan not having mentioned anything about it to her. But surprise soon turned to anguish when Josh subsequently brought up Ally’s purchase at auction and the newspaper photo showing her and Morgan together. Kirsty had already mentioned that Morgan made the appointment based on a friend’s recommendation, so Ally thought madly for an explanation to this apparent contradiction.

“Actually,” she said, smiling a little nervously. “I recommended myself when we met after the auction. When she discovered what I did for a living she mentioned she was looking to build and so I thought a little self-promotion wouldn’t hurt.” Ally shrugged and this time her smile was self-effacing. “Probably she decided not to advertise the fact I have a big head.”

Her lie worked a treat, everyone laughing and then commencing a debate on just how big Ally’s head had become since one of her houses had been featured in
Architectural Digest
. Ally relaxed, grateful she’d gotten away with it, but already thinking to her next lie—the one that would be needed to explain why Morgan wasn’t going to proceed with a new house after all.

Then again—Ally rolled her pencil between her fingers as the meeting progressed around her—designing a house for Morgan would provide a very good excuse for her to keep visiting the office. She could be a difficult client who demanded lots of design changes and lots of meetings. Ally entertained this fantasy for a couple of minutes before conceding that designing and building a house was a pretty extreme—and expensive—method of dating.

Stop being so ridiculous!
She chided herself angrily. She excused herself from the meeting and stomped to her office to gather what she needed for her site visit. Under normal circumstances, she would never entertain such outrageous thoughts. She wouldn’t normally lie to everyone who crossed her path either. Ally stomped back out of her office, plans in hand, and left for her site visit without saying another word to anyone.

To top off her day, her mum called not too long after she got home from work. “How are you, dear?” she asked.

I’m in love, Mum . . . with a woman. I’ve never been so happy and I can’t wait to introduce you to her because I just know you’ll love her too. But I’ve also never felt so frustrated because she’s in trouble at the moment and I can’t do anything to help her.

“I’m fine, Mum. How are you?”

Right toward the end of the conversation, Ally mentioned she’d split with James. “I realized he wasn’t the right one for me,” she told her. Apart from saying that she’d loved every minute she’d spent in Barcelona, that was the only complete truth she told in that conversation.

Lies, half-truths and evasions. Ally had hung up from her mum feeling strangely desolate.

The feeling returned now, as Ally recalled their conversation. Then, just as suddenly, her spirits leapt along with her heart. Her mobile was ringing. And it was Morgan.

“How did it go?” she asked without saying hello, desperate to know the outcome of her meeting.

“It was long . . . and difficult.” Morgan sounded drained. Ally was not at all surprised. Straight off a long-haul flight and straight into a marathon meeting. Nasty. “I’ve never been so glad to be home in my life.”

“You’re already home?” Ally frowned. Morgan had said she would call as soon as the meeting had finished.

“Mmm. Michael drove me home. I didn’t want to speak to you in front of him, so I waited until I got back.”

“He came to the meeting with you?”

“Yes. He sat in on it. And I’m glad he did since he’s much better at arguing the terms of my contract than I am. In fact, he’s just better at arguing than I am full-stop.”

Ally balked. They were talking contracts? That didn’t sound too promising. She wanted to be there, beside Morgan, if there was any bad news to impart. “Honey, don’t tell me over the phone. I’m all ready to go, so I can leave for your place straightaway.”

Morgan drew a long breath. “Baby,” she said gently, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Ally frowned.

“Did you see the news tonight, about the reporters at the airport?”

“Yes.”

“Well, some of them moved camp to outside my apartment building. Building security keeps moving them on, but they keep coming back. And even from a distance they can see anyone who comes or goes.”

“I don’t care!” Ally cried. “If they ask me anything I’ll just tell them I’m your friend. You are allowed to have
friends,
aren’t you?”

“It’s not that simple at the moment, baby. Any woman seen in my company is going to be the subject of
intense
public speculation. I don’t want that for you.”

“Or you don’t want it for
you
,” Ally blurted, suddenly blinded by tears and too upset to be the caring, supportive lover she’d promised to be. Anyway, how could she be loving and supportive? She wasn’t even allowed to be
there
. “This is bullshit!”

She clutched her mobile tightly then threw it across the room.

Morgan jerked her head in fright at the sudden crashing sound that came through her phone. It was over as quickly as it happened. She held her mobile in front of her, staring at it in stunned shock. She put it back to her ear. Nothing. Ally had hung up.

Tears sprang to Morgan’s eyes. She should have predicted the presence of reporters at her home from the moment they welcomed her at the airport. But she hadn’t, too intent on other, more immediate problems. Like the potential nightmare that was waiting for her at the network. So she’d kicked herself when Michael drew up to the entrance of her building and she’d stepped out of his car to the sound of pounding feet, of figures emerging from the shadows, of more shouted questions and blinding camera flashes. Had she predicted this, she would have insisted to Michael that she take a taxi home and then instructed the driver to go instead in the direction of Ally’s address in Croyden. But she hadn’t. And it was almost guaranteed she’d be followed if she was seen exiting her apartment building’s underground garage. So she couldn’t go to Ally and Ally couldn’t come to her. Either way she would be immediately targeted. Morgan didn’t want that. She wanted to protect Ally, keep her safe, keep her well out of the ruthless hands of the media. Much as she found the thought of not seeing Ally tonight both distressing and disappointing, she decided on it anyway, and she’d called her the moment she was safely inside her apartment.

Now, realizing what an error in judgment she had made, she tried calling Ally back.