Now I was just the sister who was never there.
“Early lunch break!” John shouted, snapping me out of the past and making my stomach rumble painfully.
He murmured something to his assistant, who then disappeared from my field of vision. I hoped he wasn’t getting fast food. If I had to stand there for another hour while breathing in the smell of fried fish and hot chips, I was going to smash John’s camera against the wall.
“Hold that glare,” he ordered swiftly.
I froze.
“Yap! Yap!”
A white streak of fluff blurred across the floor behind John. The rapid dash ripped a cord from the wall and all eyes went wide with horror as one of the lighting stands began to topple in slow motion.
“Mitsy! Godammit, Grace!” Jemima yelled and I winced. Her bright purple hair fell in her eyes as she made a grab for it, catching the expensive equipment before it smashed to the floor. John’s second assistant rushed over to help and together they both righted the stand while Mitsy made his great escape.
Click. Click. Click.
John continued working, ignoring the chaos around him while I stood there praying for a swift end to a lousy day.
“Oh gross.”
My eyes flicked left at the comment. Mitsy was now humping the shagpile cushion on John’s studio couch. His doggy hips pumped like an aerobics instructor on crack. I cringed, seeing his little unneutered balls slapping madly as he made the cushion his bitch.
John paused, before muttering, “Oh for fuck’s sake.” He made a sound of disgust, calling to one of his team to burn the molested cushion. It was dragged from underneath Mitsy with a thumb and forefinger and taken away. Jemima rushed forward and clicked a leash on Mitsy’s collar. He resisted, snapping and snarling as my beleaguered assistant dragged him away.
John sighed heavily and refocused his camera. “Why are you looking after the douchebag’s dog, Grace?”
“You’re too old to use the word douchebag anymore, John. It reflects poorly on your growth as a decent human being,” I replied.
“My growth? Your birthday dinner last month. You paid for his food and drinks, and by drinks, I mean he cleaned out the bar,” he reminded me in the stern, patient tone my father used to use.
I hated that tone. It reminded me of when I used to be a pain in the ass as a child. It made me wish I’d made my mother’s life easier. I’d done my best to lose the attitude before she died, but it was a case of too little, too late. Now the thought of letting down someone I loved made me want to puke.
“He forgot his wallet.”
“That’s because he’s a penniless douchebag,” John retorted. “If he wasn’t such a dick on set, people would hire him.”
My eyes narrowed sharply. “Who told you that?”
John gave me his back, putting down one camera and picking up another that to me, looked exactly the same. If I hadn’t been watching him carefully, I would’ve missed the casual shrug. “You hear things in this industry. You know that.”
Why did it feel like I was missing something?
I opened my mouth, but the cockney twang of Lily Allen singing Fuck You interrupted me.
John put his camera down and turned around. “Answer your phone, Grace. It’s a wrap here anyway.”
With a shrug, I strode off set and towards Jemima who had Mitsy by the leash in one hand, and my phone in the other. “It’s your brother.”
My brows flew up in surprise as I took the phone. I put it to my ear as I entered the dressing room. “Henry?”
“Grace? I’m so glad I caught you.”
My heart leaped to my throat at his panicked tone. “What’s wrong?”
“Hang on.” I heard the sound of a muffled argument. Sitting down in front of the mirror, I grabbed a makeup wipe, ready to strip off the layer of must have cosmetics on my face when he came back on the line. I paused to listen. “You probably don’t know, but we’re playing a song at the annual Australian TV Awards tonight.” I knew, but he kept talking, so I didn’t interrupt him. I had a date planned with my television and a less than exciting bowl of fruit tonight so I could watch them play. “The thing is, our bass guitarist, Frog, was in a car accident this morning. He’s okay, but his left arm is broken. We need a replacement fast. Someone we can trust. You remember when we were young and you used to play bass to my lead guitar? You were so damn good at it. You—”
Panic fluttered in my chest at where the conversation was leading. I cut him off. “I haven’t picked up a guitar since you moved to Sydney years ago, Henry. I don’t know how to play your songs. I’ll fuck it up. Don’t ask me to fuck this up for you!”
“Gracie Bean,” he said softly, using my childhood nickname. “I need you. Please?”
“Henry Bear,” I whispered with a sigh. Henry never knew the real reason why I dropped out of school and slowly disappeared from my family’s life. He simply made the assumption that a modelling career was something I wanted and I didn’t correct him. Why would I? He would’ve pulled the big brother card, and who knew where he’d be today if he’d done that?
I mentally reviewed my schedule, knowing there was no free time in there for a side trip to Sydney, but something unfurled in my chest, and with Henry needing an answer, there was no time to pinpoint what it was. All I knew was that he needed me, and just like back then, I wasn’t going to let him down. “Of course I’ll do it.”
“Thank God,” he replied.
“Only God? What about me?”
Henry laughed and my lips curved at the sound.
“We’ll pay you,” he added.
“You know I don’t need the money. Just … tell Frog he owes me dinner or something, okay?”
“Frog is not taking you to dinner. You need to treat him like he has leprosy, or the black plague. Wait! Are they the same thing? I suck at historic diseases. You—”
“Henry!” I heard his band manager, Mac, shout.
“Hang on,” he muttered again. Another muffled conversation followed before he was back. “We don’t play until nine tonight, but if we can you get on a flight this afternoon, that’ll give us time for you to learn the song we’re lined up to play.”
“I can do that.”
“Thanks, Gracie Bean. You know …” Henry hesitated.
“What?” I prompted.
“Well, Frog is going to be out of action for a while. We’d love to have you stay and play for us for a few weeks if there was some way you could manage it.”
“A few weeks?”
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t a good idea. John would be pissed. But getting away was starting to sound really appealing. “Okay. Let me see what I can do.”
After arranging the details, I hung up, startled when I caught John standing just inside the door, his arms folded. I met his brown eyes in the mirror, seeing anger burning in their dark depths. “Did you hear?”
He nodded wordlessly.
“John.”
“It’s a bad time with the shit you’ve got going on. I don’t think you should go.”
I closed my eyes against the censure in his voice. John’s arms wrapped around me from behind and squeezed. I could feel the rapid thumping of his heart where his chest pressed up against my back.
“Grace—”
“I’m going, John. Henry needs me.”
His arms fell away abruptly and my eyes flew open. “Goddammit!” he growled loudly. “You know what? You never listen to me anyway, so just go!”
I flinched when he turned around and punched the wall, leaving a dent in the plaster. Paint flaked off, fluttering harmlessly to the pale timber floor. After drawing a deep breath, he muttered something that sounded like, “stubborn bitch,” before he turned and left the dressing room.
That right there, was the fourth clue that my day sucked donkey’s balls. Surely it couldn’t get worse, right?
With no time to change or take off the thick layer of makeup, I stood up, calling out, “Jemima!” as I left the d
ressing room.
She was at the small table by the window where everyone was now eating lunch, pulling all our things together between grabbing at food. Mitsy was by her side, chewing through the thick leather leash that tied him to the chair.
Shit. Mitsy.
“Jemima, I have to fly to Sydney. It’s likely I could be gone for a few weeks.”
Not pausing her packing, she replied, “I know. Your flight details just came through on email.” She looked at me then. “And no.”
“No? You don’t even know what I was going to ask you.”
“I’m not looking after Mitsy.”
Dammit.
I looked at John. He sat at the table with a bottle of water, not eating. He reclined back in his chair and folded his arms. The tension was palpable as everyone eyeballed us, obviously having heard our brief argument just moments ago.
“John,” I began. Feeling desperate, I started towards him.
He held up a hand and I paused. “You know I would,” he said, and we both knew he was lying because no one would take Mitsy, not on a dare, or the knowledge of an impending tsunami, or even on the promise of cold, hard cash. “But I’ve got that job up north in three days, and then I’m going to be out of the country for the next couple of weeks.”
“Are you sure?”
Still pissed, he nodded.
Half an hour later, I was on the curb of Chapel Street, waving goodbye to Jemima. She tried to look sympathetic for my sake, but the spring in her step exposed her inner jubilation at seeing the back of Mitsy and the prospect of a few weeks off.
John blew her a kiss before hailing me a cab. When it pulled up in front of us, he opened the door and shoved me in. The sudden jostling made Mitsy turn and bare his teeth in my face. I returned the sentiment until I saw the driver eyeing us through his rearview mirror. John hopped in beside me. Shutting the car door, he offered the man directions before I could say anything.
“What are you doing?” I asked as we zoomed into lunchtime traffic.
“I’m helping you pack, then I’ll go with you to the airport. I still don’t think you should leave, Grace. Are you going to tell Henry what’s going on?”
“Are you kidding?” The very thought had my toes curling in horror. “No way.”
John shook his head but let it go for now. “I wish I could come with you.”
“Me too,” I mumbled and my eyes burned. I averted my face to look out the car window. Thank God John could never stay pissed off for long, even when I was too stubborn to admit he was right. I had some bad shit going on. Leaving would only make it worse.
I reached blindly for his hand and he linked our fingers. That’s how the drive to my apartment went—me staring out the window not seeing anything, John holding my hand in silent support, and Mitsy baring his teeth at the world.
Two hours later I waved goodbye to John and boarded the plane. The flight from Melbourne to Sydney only took an hour. For that I was relieved because Mitsy was travelling in style courtesy of Qantas Airlines cargo hold. Knowing his aversion to moving vehicles, I could only imagine his beef with an aeroplane. The only other option was to leave him on his own. As tempting as that was, animal abandonment wasn’t an extra curricular activity of mine.
The elderly lady in the window seat next to mine eyed the colourful tattoos covering my arm and shoulder as I lifted my bag into the overhead compartment. I fought a sigh at her expression of distaste and tried for a smile but someone bumped me from behind. I stumbled forward and my bag fell, spewing its contents all over the floor.
“Seriously?” I griped.
“Sorry,” a male voice mumbled. I glanced at his retreating back as he continued down the aisle of the plane without stopping to help. Had common courtesy gone to the dogs? The other passengers averted their eyes, clearly going for the “if I can’t see it, it isn’t happening” approach.
“Excuse me?” I called out loudly.
The guy looked over his shoulder, running his eyes over my legs before shrugging and continuing on. Cursing under my breath, I carelessly shoved everything back in my bag, feeling the elderly lady watching my every move like a hawk. Who did she think she was, an undercover air marshal?
“Is everything okay, ma’am?”
The flight attendant hovered as I put my bag away, no doubt waiting for me to cause a scene. The urge to yell and throw things held enormous appeal, especially knowing I had Mitsy to look forward to at the end of my flight, but I hadn’t been that scrappy, trouble-causing kid for a long time, so I held onto my calm composure and replied, “Everything’s fine, thank you.”
The flight was quick. It felt like we’d only hit cruising altitude when we began making our descent into Sydney. Rather than get caught in the pushing and shoving of everyone trying to be first off the plane, I waited. When the aisle cleared, I removed my bag from above, slung my guitar case over my back, and left the plane.
Retrieving my phone, I switched it on as I walked. Henry sent me a message before I left letting me know his two friends, Travis and Casey, would be collecting me. From what I knew, the two were partners in Jamieson and Valentine Consulting, a firm that took care of the band’s security. The message included a photo so I knew who to look for. I went to check the photo when another message flashed up on screen.
Flicking it open, I faltered and stopped suddenly. The carry-on bag in my hand fell at my feet. Someone swore as they nearly ran into me, keeping up their rant as they bypassed me and continued on. I ignored it all as I focused on my phone with disbelief.
It was a photo of Dalton in a compromising position, and by compromising, I meant clothing was optional. The girl wrapped around him, Selena, was a British model slash acquaintance slash tartmonkey, who had done the Italy job with us. She was also the one who sent the photo. There was no message attached. It wasn’t necessary. A picture spoke a thousand words, and this one said, “Grace. You are a dumb chump. You are so chumpy, I have to send you photo evidence to rub this in your face because you’re too blind to see it for yourself.”
Suddenly John’s overly enthusiastic character assassination of Dalton this morning became crystal clear.
He knew. He damn well knew and didn’t say anything.
Hurt welled in my chest. Dalton might have been a douche, but John wasn’t. I trusted him. He was the only friend I could be myself with, tell anything to, and know that he had my back without question. Why hadn’t he had my back with this?
Anger built inside me like a tornado, overtaking the hurt and obliterating the calm composure I was so damn famous for.
There was only one thing to do.
Setting my jaw, I rage-dialled.
“Grace,” John answered, his voice all warm and light as though he actually cared.
Asshole!
“Don’t you Grace me, you bastard!” I shouted into the phone. This had been the biggest donkey’s balls day ever, and damn if I wasn’t going ram my wrath down his lying, two-faced throat.
“Ah hell,” I heard him mutter.
Realising I was attracting an audience, airport security in particular, I lowered my voice and hissed, “How long have you known?”
He hesitated. Either he didn’t want to say, or my sudden, uncharacteristic outburst had rendered him speechless. “A couple of days.”
“You hesitated,” I growled.
I heard him take a deep breath through the phone. “A couple of weeks.”
“Two weeks!” I shrieked.
Airport security started towards me, obviously becoming aware of my emotional instability. Could they arrest you for that? One thing I knew for sure—I wasn’t planning on finding out. With my guitar still slung over my back, I grabbed my bag off the floor and hustled towards the nearest restroom. Finding a vacant stall, I wedged my way inside and locked the door, breathing heavy from the sudden exertion.
“… you needed to know.”
“What?” John had been talking the entire time I was making my escape and I’d missed
his entire explanation.
“Your voice sounds tinny. Where are you?”
I set my guitar down against the wall and hung my bag on the hook of the door. “I’m barricaded in the airport toilet.”
Oh God.
I was barricaded inside an airport toilet while my life collapsed around me like a house of cards and all I could feel was relief.
Amidst the odour of urine and lavender-scented deodoriser, I realised I wasn’t even angry at Dalton. Knowing he’d cheated wasn’t a burning hot poker to the heart. Okay. Scratch that. I wanted to rip his philandering dick off. But it was anger at myself that overshadowed the need to start tearing appendage’s from Dalton’s perfectly muscled, lying, cheating body.
I wasn’t the person I wanted to be, and this wasn’t the life I wanted, so why was I still living it?
I paused. Was it really that easy?
If so, why hadn’t I done this earlier? I needed to get with program. I also needed to boot Dalton from my life. Modelling was something I’d never wanted to do. Living out of suitcases and different cities was lonely. I couldn’t even comfort my loneliness with excessive booze or chocolate, because gaining a pound meant getting fired.
Being able to leave all that behind to play a guitar was like some … some unforeseen liberation. The opportunity to become emancipated from everything that made me who I was had just been served up on a silver platter and I wanted it.
“What?” John barked in my ear. “You’re barricaded in an airport toilet? Why?”
I want to be the girl I was supposed to be. I want to live life like my mother did. I want to… to…
“I want to eat,” I hissed into the phone.
“You’re barricaded in the airport toilet because you want to eat?”
I rolled my eyes. “Now’s not the time to be ridiculous, John. This is serious. And I’m trapped in here because airport security was giving me funny looks.”