Making Headlines (11 page)

She drew a sharp breath. ‘Of course. What's happening? Is he okay?'

‘Yes, he's coping. Seems your story helped the family raise the funds they need to go to the U.S. They're going to talk about plans for the trip and how this may save him. A feel-good number, this one.'

Her shoulders relaxed. ‘That's great. Media conference or separate interviews?'

‘Well the funny thing is, they've decided to limit the interviews because of Liam's health. Only one TV, one radio and one newspaper. They've chosen you. Actually, Liam chose you. Your footage will get sent out to the other networks, but it gives us the advantage, having you there.'

‘Oh.' She didn't know what to say. ‘Um . . . that's great, I guess.'

Rob brushed her away. ‘You can head off after the last update.'

Shit, the nine o'clock update. She had to get the latest Wimbledon scores from the sports department. Brent Garrison was in his office, he could help. Hopefully quickly. She rushed to the sports department, but he was on the phone. She waved. ‘Brent? Excuse me, can I just—'

He spun around and glared at her, putting one hand over the receiver. ‘Jesus Christ, can't you see I'm on the phone?'

‘I'm sorry, but I have an update. I need the latest—'

‘This is urgent,' he hissed.

‘But the update? It's live to air.'

‘Fuck the update.' He turned his back on her.

‘Fine, no Wimbledon updates today. You can answer any complaints.' She spun on her heel and marched back to her desk. Rude pig.

Just as she finished the script with only minutes to go, a hand tapped her on the shoulder. It was Brent.

‘Look Rach, I have the scores now—'

‘Sorry, too late. I'm due at the desk right this second. If Rob asks questions, I'll know what to tell him.'

‘Don't be stupid.' Brent shook his head in disbelief. ‘Put in the scores now and you'll be fine.'

‘It would take a total rewrite. Not possible. What did you say? Fuck the update?'

She walked quickly to the news desk and sat down, breathing heavily while attaching her microphone and earpiece.

Patrick's voice piped through the sound box. ‘All good, Rachel? Three minutes.'

All was not good. She needed to get rid of the churning anger in her stomach. The words came gushing out and she couldn't stop. ‘All good, thanks, Patrick, apart from a very rude sports reporter, whose name might be Brent, who's extremely unprofessional when it comes to helping with updates. Men like that exist in their own bubble of self-importance when in fact they're just angry little ants with the pea-size brains.'

‘Rachel, did you know that anyone in the building with a TV monitor in their office — and that's just about everyone — can see and hear what you're saying?'

‘Oh.' Rachel froze. She could hear Patrick trying not to laugh. She was aware that a couple of monitors in news control relayed vision of news presenters at the desk before an update or bulletin, but she didn't know
all
the monitors in the building could be seen by everyone. Until now. Too late. She may as well continue.

‘Oh, well that's fine.' She beamed directly down the camera. ‘Everyone at Network Six already knows about Brent's manners and out-of-control ego.'

‘Oh my God, that's hilarious,' gasped Patrick. ‘But get yourself together. Now it
is
time for the news — the real news, Rachel. Ten, nine, eight . . .'

The update ended. Rachel wasn't sure what she had read, but thought she'd made it through without a mistake. She was stepping off the podium as Brent burst out from the sports office, his face puffed up like a stonefish.

‘So you think I've got a big ego, do you? You can't even write a decent update, you stupid moll. And to think I asked you out. I'd rather date a beached whale. You—'

‘Righto, that's enough, Brent.' Rob sprang from the COS desk to step between them. ‘Back in your box, boy. Whatever Rachel said, and yes, we all heard it, will be dealt with.' He turned to Rachel, his voice hard, but his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Rachel, you have an interview, I believe?'

Thank God. Rachel grabbed her notebook and fled to the door, tumbling into a news car. Her cameraman was Charlie, who'd filmed the first story on Liam. His driving was frightening, but a less scary prospect than a right hook from Brent Garrison.

***

Kath greeted Rachel and Charlie at the door, taking them through to the lounge room. Liam's doctor, Colin, sat in the background, a reassuring presence, nodding as they entered the room. Liam was weaker, his skin more translucent, his frame thinner and his hair more sparse. But a huge grin shone across his sunken face.

‘Rachel!' He tried to lift himself up from the couch.

‘Hey, Liam. No, you stay put. We want you there for our chat.'

‘Okay then.' He eased back into the cushions. ‘I'll be much better on the TV now I've had practice from the last time.' He grinned confidently.

‘You were great last time. Better than great. I told you then — you're a star.' Rachel pulled up a chair next to Liam and squeezed his hand. She saw blue veins beneath his skin. Rob had warned her not to become emotionally involved. That was impossible.

Liam wrinkled his nose. ‘Nah . . . it's not like I was singing or anything. But the kids at school thought it was cool. And Mum was pretty happy.'

He looked up at his mother with a smile so full, it left Rachel empty. Kath nodded back, her hands fluttering like a moth's wings.

‘Well, the rest of Australia must have thought you were a star, because you raised all that money.' Rachel patted him on the knee then checked Charlie had finished setting up the camera. ‘So how are you feeling, Liam? Are you okay if we start the interview?'

‘Sure. I'm ready. Can my mum sit next to me, so she can be on the TV too?'

‘Great idea. I was going to interview your mum, but that would be lovely if you sat next to each other.'

Rachel motioned to Kath who came over to the couch. Liam held her hand, squeezing as if to reassure her.

‘So, Liam, you're off to America,' Rachel began. ‘You must be excited?'

‘You bet! I just wish I could go to Disneyland. But we have to do the treatments first. Mum says when I get better we can go back to Disneyland another time.'

‘What have the doctors told you about the treatments?'

‘They say it will take about three weeks. It won't be much fun and I might feel sick some of the time, but when it's all over I'm going to get better. I can't wait!'

‘Has it been hard, being at school when you're sick?'

‘Yeah, it's no good. The worst bit is feeling different to the others. I just want to be like everyone else. When I'm better I'll be able to play sport again with the other kids.'

‘What's your favourite sport?'

‘Football. I go for Carlton. I'm going to train really, really hard and then I'm going to play for Carlton one day.'

‘I'm sure you will. You have a lot of determination, Liam. You need a lot of patience too, going through the treatments?'

‘Hmm, but I don't mind if it means getting better. I hate feeling tired all the time. And sick. And it gets really bad when my head hurts. Sometimes it makes me cry but I try not to, 'cos that upsets Mum.'

His mother's eyes held a fragile light that reflected something between pain and hope. Rachel drew a sharp breath. She felt the bond between mother and son as strong as a tide. ‘Kath, this has obviously been a difficult time for you. Has news of the money raised made it any easier?'

Biting her bottom lip, Kath started, ‘It has been tough . . .' She squeezed Liam's fingers. ‘But I'm just so grateful to everyone who donated. It's given us new hope. New hope for our precious boy.' She turned to Liam, hugging him. ‘He's been so brave and we know it's going to be hard for him going through these treatments. He'll be on drips for days. We're just trying to stay strong and be positive.'

She paused, stroking Liam's hair. A new resolve seemed to ripple through her. She sat up straighter. ‘I really believe this will be the turning point. They've made amazing progress with this treatment in the U.S. and I think this will be the miracle we've been looking for. Our little boy will be back to his old self, getting up to all his usual tricks.'

Kath smiled. Rachel could see she was trying to convince herself. She wanted to be convinced too.

‘So what's the success rate so far with these treatments?' she asked.

‘Well, that's something we don't really . . . know.' Kath looked at Rachel pointedly, tilting her head to Liam.

Rachel cringed inside. ‘Of course. I'm sure it will all work out just fine.' She turned to Liam. ‘So, Liam, what do you think of . . .' She stopped. Liam's head was lolling to the side, eyes closing. ‘Oh God, Kath, is he okay?'

Kath turned and held Liam by the shoulders. ‘Quick, Colin!'

Liam's eyelids closed, his body a rag doll. The doctor grabbed a syringe from his kit and injected Liam's arm. His reaction was almost instant. Eyelids fluttering, he began to murmur. Kath stroked his hair then leaned forward touching Rachel's knee.

‘Don't use this in the story. Please. He's okay. It just happens every now and then.' Her eyes were intense, pleading.

‘Of course,' said Rachel. ‘It's fine. I wouldn't do that.' She looked at Liam — so fragile, so pure. She would do anything to help.

***

Rachel wanted to get her story on Liam together as soon as possible, but the sprawling pile of mail on her desk caught her attention. Top of the stack was a letter with the familiar old-fashioned lettering on the envelope. Her Devoted Admirer X. She grabbed it and threw it in the bin. The last few had been increasingly crude with explicit descriptions of what he wanted to do to her sexually. All she needed to focus on now was Liam. Ignore the nutcases of the world and concentrate on those who mattered.

The story went to air that night and Rachel was happy with the end result. She'd managed to persuade Dan to edit out the footage of Liam's collapse, so that no other networks could use it either. Now all she could hope for was a positive follow-up piece when Liam returned from the U.S.

She was packing up her desk when Mitch approached.

‘Hey, Rach. Mind if I have a word?' He gestured towards the edit suites, his face serious. She shrugged and followed him, wondering what he wanted.

She sat opposite him in a swivel chair, waiting, twisting her fingers. His eyes were shadowed with disappointment that cut her to the quick. She wanted the eyes that had asked her for a drink and the hand that had held hers at Julia's party.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Look,' he said, ‘it might not be my place to say this, but if I don't, no one else will. That scene today — you talking about Brent on the update desk — really not cool. Your career is just starting to take off. You should know by now that you never say anything when wearing a microphone that you—'

‘Don't want anyone else to hear,' she finished for him. ‘Oh my God, you think I don't know that? I said it in the heat of the moment. Maybe it was wrong, but you're right — it's not your place to be telling me off. You're not the news director, for Christ's sake.' Her face was burning. It was infuriating that she could find him so attractive even when he was admonishing her.

‘No, I'm not telling you off, I'm just trying to help. I mean, it was a pretty immature rant. And you don't want to get on the wrong side of Brent. He has a lot of influence, you know.'

‘Immature? Jesus, better than being insincere. How about you — one minute flirting with me and the next you're cracking on to that producer. Look at yourself before passing judgment.' She stood up.

He followed suit, clasping her arms, his face softening. ‘No, Rach, you're taking this the wrong way. I do care very much about what . . .'

She didn't hear the rest. She walked out and grabbed her car keys to head home. Mitch was right and she was mortified. She was just too embarrassed to stick around to hear any more.

On the surface, everything was coming together seamlessly. Rachel was wearing a new Marc Jacobs dress, she'd lost half a kilo and even her hair was behaving itself. A week ago she would have been feeling on top of the world.

Rachel tried to pick up the pace as she applied her makeup, but it was hard to get excited. For so long she'd pined for Tim. Then, after Julia's engagement party, her feelings had changed. When she'd seen him beside Mitch, the deeper attraction was for the charismatic editor. And then she'd been stupid enough to ask Tim to the Rock Rap party because Mitch had been flirting with Natasha.

She ran the straightening iron through her hair quickly. She was due to be picked up in ten minutes. A wet towel and bathmat were tossed into a corner and her bathrobe cushioned a hairdryer, strewn across the tiles. She'd tidy up tomorrow.

The front door shut with a bang. Lou and her family were back late from working on their renovation. Lou's face appeared next to hers in the mirror, tight and hard. ‘Can you at least try and remember to lock the back door when you go out? It was wide open when we came back this afternoon for lunch.'

‘I did lock it!'

‘Well, I don't think we had a break-in because nothing's taken and the door wasn't forced. So it had to be someone with a key?' Lou stared at Rachel accusingly.

‘Lou, I know I locked up.'

She rolled her eyes and walked off. Rachel shook her head and looked for her favourite lipstick — a matte pale apricot — among the mess. Scrambling through the brushes and crayons, it was nowhere to be found. Damn, it was brand new.

‘Lou!' she called out. ‘You borrow my new lipstick?'

‘No!' came the answer.

She must have left it at work. Opting for a pink shade, she applied the final touches and went to wait for Tim on the front porch. The sooner she was out of Lou's warpath the better.

***

Rachel held onto Tim's arm as they walked up the red carpet. Daylight saving had begun so it was still light; the air humid even though it was after seven. Her stockings felt hot
and clammy on her legs and she wished she had enough of a suntan to go without. She blinked in the glare of flashing cameras as they approached the wall of photographers.

The entrance to Network Six had been transformed. A temporary archway, topped with a brightly lit sign flashed
Rock Rap
in the old Hollywood style of single light bulbs. Music industry types, actors, musicians and celebrities swarmed through.

Rachel walked behind Julia and Derek, sensing Tim's hesitation. Only the promise of some decent bands and a good party with friends had convinced him to come.

‘All this for a TV show?' he whispered.

‘Shh . . . Just keep smiling.' She shot him a warning look while keeping a fixed grin in place. Ahead of her, Derek and Julia posed awkwardly for the cameras. This wasn't Derek's scene either, but at least he had dressed the part. Smiling proudly at Julia, he draped his arm protectively around her waist. Rachel suddenly felt less shiny. She'd been disappointed when Tim arrived in an old Kaiser Chiefs T-shirt and black jeans, but didn't say anything.

‘Rachel!'

A female voice sprang from the pack of photographers behind a red rope. Rachel looked over; it was Jeannie Friedrich, the gossip columnist for the
Sunday Sentinel
. She hadn't met Jeannie, but she recognised her from the banner photo featured in her weekly spread.

‘Rachel!' Jeannie called out again, waving to her. ‘Come closer. We need a shot of you two. What's your partner's name?'

Rachel held Tim's hand and gently pulled him along. ‘Ah, hi. This is Tim. Tim Lucas.'

Jeannie scribbled his name on her notepad. ‘Great, thanks. See you guys inside.'

Tim grunted as they moved on. ‘Shouldn't give those people the time of day, Rach. Parasites, they are.'

‘It's what she does for a living. She's a journo. Give her a break.' She rolled her eyes.

They passed through the entrance and continued down a corridor lined with posters of rock stars. As they neared the studio a thumping beat grew louder. They walked in, swamped by the waves of sound from the band on stage. A large video screen hung on the wall behind them, showcasing
Rock Rap
's lightning-bolt title. The crowd was separating into smaller groups around tall cocktail tables scattered throughout the room. A warm breeze wafted through an opening between studio doors at the back of
the room. Waiters dressed in punk rock gear with brightly sprayed Mohawks served coloured cocktails and canapés. Julia and Rachel reached for a blue concoction and leaned against a bar table. Tim looked around. ‘I'd kill for a beer. Derek?'

Derek nodded and the pair walked away.

‘So, off to a flying start?' Julia turned to Rachel, keeping her voice low.

‘You noticed, huh?'

‘He does seem a little uptight.'

‘Oh my God. Crap!' Rachel burst out, staring over Julia's shoulder.

‘What the . . . ?' Julia pulled back with a start.

‘Sorry. Just saw someone I wasn't expecting.'

Julia turned to follow her gaze. ‘That's Damien Wilde, isn't it? You know him?'

‘Yep. I had no idea he'd be here. I don't get it, he's with Channel Eight.' She sucked in her cheeks, watching, as he sashayed through the crowd, greeting other guests with charm and ease. His tall girlfriend followed in his wake, wearing a green sequined mini-dress and a bored expression. Damien's tight-fitted white T-shirt under a sharp grey suit gave him an air of understated elegance. ‘At least he dresses well.'

‘As opposed to Tim, you mean?' Julia gave her a sympathetic smile.

‘Well, I was hoping he'd make a little bit more of an effort. His way of reminding me that he's not keen on this type of event.'

‘You know what they say, you can't change the leaves on a tree, Rach.'

‘Leaves fall in the right season. Maybe he'll ditch the T-shirt look next autumn.'

‘Not happy with my
look
, Rach?' Tim had come up from behind.

She swung around hoping the dim lighting hid the flush sweeping her face. ‘Oh no, it's fine, really. I mean, it is the launch of a music show, after all.'

‘Hence the Kaiser Chiefs. But you want the T-shirt in the bin.' Tim kept his voice even, but she could see a tightening around his eyes.

Derek stepped in. ‘So, what bands are playing tonight?'

‘Not sure. It's supposed to be a surprise. I think it's just one band — well, apart from this one playing. They come on after the speeches.'

Tim was straining his neck, peering into the crowd behind her. Had he seen Damien? A shot of nerves jarred her stomach.

Derek's face relaxed into a smile. ‘There's a couple of my news mates. Tim, come say hi.'

Tim nodded at Rachel and walked off with Derek.

‘Shit. How did he manage to sneak up behind me like that?' She gulped half her cocktail.

‘Don't worry. Once you guys start dancing, he'll forget about it,' said Julia.

‘Sure.' She looked about, frowning. A woman was approaching, smiling broadly, arms outstretched.

‘Rachel, darling! Lovely to see you on the red carpet tonight. Thought I'd come over and formally introduce myself. Jeannie Friedrich with the
Sunday Sentinel
.' Jeannie clasped her hand tightly. Her large smile caused furrows to form in her heavy foundation, and her red lipstick was just a shade too bright.

‘Yes, of course. Good to meet you, Jeannie. This is my friend, Julia.'

They exchanged pleasantries, while at the same time Jeannie managed to summon a waiter and organise cocktails for them all. Julia excused herself to find Derek.

Patting her arm Jeannie moved in closer. ‘So Rachel, your career at Six seems to be progressing well. Reading more and more updates, I notice? Won't be long before you're reading a main bulletin, I guess?'

‘Well, I don't know about that. I'm still finding my feet, but maybe one day?'

‘I'm sure it will happen sooner than you think. And your new boss, Helmut Becker. How's he settling in?'

‘Great,' said Rachel warily. ‘He's a big personality.' It was okay to say that, wasn't it?

‘Well, I hope he recognises your talent, dear. You're doing a wonderful job. Hopefully we'll be seeing more of you at these functions. That young man, Tim, with you earlier, he's your boyfriend?'

Ouch. Tricky question. ‘Well, we used to live together, but I'm minding my mother's house at the moment while she's overseas, so we're kind of back to dating, I guess . . . and working through a few issues.' She hadn't meant to say that. The words had blurted out of her mouth without warning.

‘Oh? Right. So maybe it would be best if I didn't write anything about your relationship status at the moment?'

‘That would be much appreciated.' She smiled at Jeannie warmly. Gossip columnists weren't such hideous creatures after all.

‘Don't feel embarrassed, dear. Your situation is nothing compared with the rest of the crowd. The stories I could tell you! Now look over there. See that aging rock star? Happily married with three kids and two mistresses. Oh, and look at pretty little Helena
Watson. You might have bumped into her in the canteen? I love the job she does on that kiddie cartoon show, but she should settle down. Getting quite a name for herself about town with her busy behaviour, if you know what I mean? Ah, and there's Damien Wilde. Now what's that relationship about? His girlfriend Lisa is so sour and he's such a charmer. He should trade her in.'

Jeannie looked pointedly at Rachel. She cringed. God, surely she hadn't heard anything?

Tim joined them. ‘Ladies, any gossip I need to know?'

‘Nothing you
need
to know, but plenty that would keep you amused. Hello there, you're Tim Lucas, aren't you?' Jeannie put out a hand.

‘That's right. The guy renowned for his sartorial elegance,' he said dryly, pulling at his T-shirt and looking at Jeannie, as if daring her to disagree.

Before she had a chance to respond, a loud voice boomed from speakers around the room. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the official launch of
Rock Rap
is about to get underway. Please put your hands together for the General Manager of Network Six, Mr Steven Cohen.'

Saved just in time. The night was turning into a string of awkward situations. Lou was right. She and Tim really were too different to make their relationship work. She loved social occasions. He didn't. She enjoyed meeting new people in the TV industry. He had a preconceived notion they were all shallow, ego-driven and publicity hungry.

The general manager took to the stage. Tall and broad-shouldered with a shock of silver hair, Steven Cohen had a commanding presence, yet still the crowd continued to chatter. Rachel peered around the room and froze as her eyes landed on Damien and he waved cheekily. She fluttered her fingers without moving her arm, hoping Tim wasn't looking.

Steven's speech was building to an announcement. The crowd grew quieter as he continued. ‘. . . which is why we know
Rock Rap
is going to be such a resounding success. So this is the moment you've been waiting for, to find out who will host our stunning new show. It may come as a surprise to some, but he's with us here tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for . . . Damien Wilde!'

The crowd burst into raucous applause as Damien ran up to the stage to join Steven, shaking hands and grinning broadly. ‘Thank you! I hope you're all suitably shocked. I know I am. This has all happened very quickly, but I am thrilled to be the
host of this fabulously innovative show,
Rock Rap
. As you know, I was with Channel Eight when this amazing offer came through from Network Six, which knocked me for a six — so here I am! I'm particularly happy to be part of the Network Six family. There's a few people here I'm already quite close to and it feels like a great place to be.'

Rachel felt his gaze rake over her. Tim stood beside her, stiff and silent.

Damien continued. ‘And to celebrate the launch of
Rock Rap
, a very special band is joining us tonight. Please show them our overwhelming gratitude. Here they are — Crush!'

The lights dimmed as the band made their way on stage, then burst into a blaze of colour as they started to play. The audience whooped with delight and poured onto the dance floor. Rachel and Tim stood still, saying nothing. Julia and Derek rushed past them.

‘Come on, guys. This is brilliant!' called Julia, as Derek swept her into a mock ballroom dance pose.

‘Actually I'm rather thirsty. Think I'll get a top up.' Tim nodded curtly at Rachel and stalked off.

‘Tim . . .'

He kept walking. She followed. ‘Tim, you must know I had no idea this was going to happen. I didn't even know Damien was coming to the party.'

He turned to face her. ‘Rachel, it may all be a shitty coincidence, but right now, I'm not sure of anything. I just need a drink and some space.'

He walked away and she stood still, not daring to follow.

A hand touched her arm. ‘You okay?'

It was Mitch, looking concerned.

‘Not really,' she said flatly. ‘This night's proving a disaster.'

‘A disaster is a tsunami or an earthquake,' he said, one side of his mouth turning up in a half smile. ‘Maybe a dance would take your mind off things?'

‘It might, but I don't think it's a great idea right now.' She eyed him wistfully. Right now she needed Tim to calm down and for them to leave.

***

Rachel was sharing a drink with Julia and Derek when Tim finally returned.

He flung an arm around Derek's shoulders. ‘Hey, buddy, enjoying the party? Found any good sorts for future interviews?'

‘Ha. No, mate, not working tonight. Happy to play Julia's handbag and enjoy the music.'