The Boys' Club (12 page)

Rosie felt like she had just watched a televangelist deliver a sermon
from the pulpit, so powerful was Alicia's conviction. Problem was
she, like everyone else in the room, still had no idea exactly what
Alicia was talking about.

'Bravo, lovely,' Rosie exclaimed, aware that no one else was going
to say anything. 'Any more hints as to what it's actually about?'

'All shall be revealed next week when I present my concept teaser
reel. It won't feature the actual cast, as that is yet to be finalised, but it'll
be a taste of what's to come, to whet advertisers' appetites, so to speak.
I do wish Keith was here to see it, though. He and Simon have been so
very kind putting their trust in me to come up with the goods.'

Rosie looked at Simon Nash and saw a flash of panic.
Just what has
he allowed to happen here?
Rosie wondered.
Does Simon really have
no idea what Alicia is up to either?
Rosie's thoughts suddenly turned
to the letter from Portia. If anyone had a real inkling about this
drama it would be her 2IC. Then again, the only thing Portia had
mentioned to Rosie was that the lead was a lesbian.

This could be scary.

'I know I've been a secret squirrel about this but, believe me, all
will be revealed,' Alicia trilled, 'and when it is, Australian drama and
Network Six will never be the same again!'

Rosie had a feeling Alicia might be right – but for all the wrong
reasons.

The rest of the crisis meeting was relatively straightforward:
the Sports Hall of Fame Dinner in Adelaide would go ahead as
previously planned, as would the live telecast. Rosie would fly down
with six hand-picked journalists and Nash, Johnno and Russ would
all attend.

On Monday, she would be given a list of the new cast of the reality
renovation show,
Makeover This Mess
, which had been a huge hit
for the network last season, meaning the massive press push she'd
planned could finally begin.

The last topic of discussion was the unveiling of the new network
promo, the annual clip featuring all the talent from various programs
looking like they were part of a warm, happy family called Six. As
Graham Hunt was to be the star of this year's promo, the entire fiasco
had to be re-shot to focus on light entertainment rather than news,
as was originally planned. This was exactly what The Darkness, as
the head of entertainment, had wanted all along. It made sense for
Johnno as well, as he desperately needed help across all timeslots
rather than just focusing on six pm.

The two men had already shot the promo, and were ready to unveil
the result. They were obviously chuffed with what they had come up
with, so much so they decided that, if Keith was well enough, they
would take a copy to show him.

Rosie had already had complaints from some of the talent – mainly
women – that they were uncomfortable with both the wardrobe and
the angle of the promo, but this was par for the course whenever
the network's female talent were featured together. Rosie knew
this only too well, as wardrobe issues had plagued her since she
arrived, with Keith deeming her the person to sort them out – her
being 'a sheila' and all. Having dealt with the issue of gowns for
last year's Kennedy Awards – and with this year's bun fight now in
progress – Rosie knew that pieces of expensive fabric could bring
out the worst even in stars who were normally complacent. It was
like she had thirty-five-odd bridezillas at once and, as such, was
keeping her powder dry in the promo battle in preparation for the
Kennedys stoush ahead.

As Nash, Johnno and Adam Short were keen to play a round of
golf and continue their bonding and bum-sniffing, Rosie found
herself with some rare free time. All those earlier plans she had of
buying organic vegies suddenly seemed far less fun than a catch-up
with Lou, so she called her friend, let the phone ring twice, then
redialled.

Lou answered immediately.

'Rosie! Hello, honey. Where the hell are you?'

'Hold on, this is going to rock you, but guess what? I have two
hours before I have to pick up my boy.'

'Bull and shit!'

'I know, hard to believe but . . .'

'What will we do?'

'You don't feel like having a quick look for Kennedys dresses with
me, do you?'

'Hell yeah! What a hoot. Where do you want to go? Prada?
Gucci?'

'Er, Lou, I'm not sure if I can afford—'

'Don't be ridiculous. You have to look drop-dead gorgeous on the
night, I insist. Stick it up those mean bastards you work with. How
are they all, by the way? Hovering over Keith like buzzards ready to
pick at the carcass, I bet.'

'You put it well. That's exactly what they're like.'

'I don't know how you stop yourself from just going in there in a
black trench coat armed to the hilt and taking them all out. It would
be a bloody public service, if you ask me.'

'I know, but unfortunately I hear that's illegal.'

'So, where do we start then?'

'Lou, I'm not up for anything too posh. How about we check out
that new shop in Paddington. You know, the one with the European
imports?'

'I thought that was for blokes.'

'No, it's both. One side is women, one side men.'

'Sounds good to me. Say fifteen?'

'Yay! See you there.'

As usual, Rosie noticed Lou before Lou noticed her. It was hard
not to. Her friend had a presence about her, a star factor that
transcended her dressed-down demeanour. Rosie smiled to herself
as she noted what Lou was wearing to go shopping at the type of
store Rosie was normally too intimidated even to enter: a pair of
leggings, two long singlets – probably Stephen's – layered on top
of each other, and scuffed ballet flats on her feet. Her honey blonde
hair, unwashed and certainly a stranger to a brush, was tucked
into a crocheted beanie and her face was stripped of any semblance
of make-up.

Despite this, Lou looked incredible, like a supermodel arriving
backstage at a fashion show or an Olsen twin stumbling out
of a trendy Lower East Side nightclub in Manhattan. Which all
contradicted her aim: to look as average as possible.
Bless.

'Lou!' Rosie hollered as she neared.

'Girlfriend!' Lou replied, her face lighting up.

The two friends embraced, holding their hug and squeezing each
other that bit tighter and longer to stress their mutual happiness.

'Honey, you look amazing as per usual – dammit,' Rosie said,
taking stock of Lou. As she looked into her friend's eyes, she noticed
something was different, almost unnerving.

Lou saw Rosie's quizzical stare and decided to put her out of her
misery.

'I'm not stoned!' she cried, laughing at how silly her comment
actually was.

'Lord above, so you're not! I knew there was something weird
about you.'

'Ask me why, go on!'

'Okay, why aren't you stoned?'

As the words left Rosie's lips she thought of a possible reason but
didn't want to offer it up just in case she was wrong.

But please let it be what I'm thinking . . .

'Honey, I'm knocked up!'

Rosie screamed at the top of her voice and jumped up and down
on the spot like a madwoman before picking Lou up and attempting
to swing her around in a circle in the middle of the footpath. By the
time she had calmed down enough to remember her friend's delicate
condition and stop her ecstatic hugging frenzy, she had tears of pure
joy streaming down her cheeks.

'Oh, honey!'

Lou took Rosie's hand and placed it on her belly.

'Your godchild is in there. Can you believe it? Well, it's probably
only a few cells at the moment. I only peed on the stick for the first
time a few days ago but two packets of tests each day since and it's
still positive!'

'I can't believe it! Stephen must be beside himself. This is the best
news ever!'

Rosie realised she was a puddle but didn't care. These were the only
happy tears she had shed in a long time.

'Take a look at you,' Lou said, putting an arm around her friend's
shoulder. 'You're happier than I am. Come on, stop your blubbering,
we've got shopping to do.'

* * *

As Rosie hid behind heavy silk velvet curtains trying to avoid the
reflection of her hips from behind and her heavy boobs which, since
breastfeeding, saw her puppy's noses point earthward rather than
skyward, Lou set about selecting gowns for her to try. One of the
things Rosie loved most about Lou was how oblivious she was to her
beauty, thinking everyone else was blessed with legs to their armpits,
flawless skin and arms like balsawood twigs – even Rosie!

First Lou picked out a bias-cut, emerald silk column for Rosie to try
on that stuck to her butt, the cellulite dents making her look like an
upturned broccoli flower. Then, after Rosie pointed out that she had
issues with her bottom, Lou chose an empire line gown that flowed
voluminously from a jewelled brooch at the base of her throat.

'I look like I'm wearing a freaking teepee,' Rosie cried, refusing
to come out from behind the curtain and show Lou. 'No, it's worse.
I look like a wizard hat. Actually, I look like a big black Christmas
tree, my pinhead being the ornament on top.'

'You couldn't,' Lou yelled back at her through the drapery. 'You're
gorgeous.'

'Thanks, honey, but I think you'd best remember you're the one
who's pregnant, not me. Honestly, I swear I could be hiding triplets
in here! And I've dropped a good eight kilos since I started at the
network!'

'It can't be that bad,' Lou giggled.

'It is, believe me,' Rosie countered. 'Next!'

'Okay, this may be a little out-there for you but I saw a picture of
J. Lo wearing a similar colour so it has to be fashionable.'

Rosie gritted her teeth to stop herself pointing out to her well-meaning
friend that she was not a Latina with golden skin and
sculpted abs but rather a misshapen Irish descendant with frizzy
strawberry hair and freckled skin so pale it was almost blue.

'Just try it. I think you'll like it.' This time, Lou handed Rosie a
garment that could only be described as puke bile yellow.

'Lou, I'll look like I have hepatitis! What are you doing to me? I
have to have sex sometime this century and you're dressing me like
I'm bloody Big Bird. I'll be the colour of Bart Simpson!'

Rosie heard Lou's unmistakable giggle and then some muffled
chatter with the sales attendant.

'No, wait, we've got it. Ignore the yellow. This is it. Come on, just
try it for me . . . pleeeeeease.'

Lou's arm appeared through the curtain once again, this time with
a cacophony of multicoloured swirling silk chiffon.

Not wanting to hurt her friend's feelings, Rosie decided she would
try on just one more dress and then make an excuse to put off
shopping for another time and grab a drink before picking up Leon.

'You need a degree to put this bloody thing on,' Rosie yelled
through the curtain, grappling with the gown's lace-up bodice. 'You
sure it's not a straitjacket? This isn't an intervention, is it?'

'Hurry up, I can't wait!' Lou yelled back. 'You're going to look
beautiful, I know it.'

Rosie wrestled herself into the layered swathes of material then
looked in the mirror and had to laugh. She looked so utterly ridiculous,
this time she had to share. 'Okay, here I come . . . are you ready?'

'Come on!' Lou said impatiently. 'Get your arse out here and show
me!'

Rosie sucked in her breath, struck a theatrical pose, pulled the
curtains aside with a flourish and yelled, '
Voilà!
'

Unfortunately, what had been an empty dressing-room area when
she'd entered the cubicle was now full, with every eye resting on her
dramatic unveiling.

Lou took one look at her friend and doubled over in hysterics.
'You look like a test pattern,' she said, between unladylike snorts of
laughter.

'I look like a bloody lava lamp,' Rosie replied, and completely lost
it herself.

'Is this where you turn it on?' Lou roared, pointing to Rosie's
exposed left nipple, which had managed to wriggle out of its bodiced
surrounds as if to say hi.

'Eeeeek!' Rosie cried, crossing her legs in case she wet herself from
laughter.

'I actually think you look quite beautiful, Rosie,' a man's voice
interjected through their cackling.

Rosie looked up to see it was none other than Snag Dad Daniel
from Little Darlings Daycare. And he looked good enough to eat.

Lou could only see Rosie's face mottled with a mixture of shock
and horror and turned to see who or what could have caused such a
violent reaction in her friend.

'Well, hello there,' she said upon sighting Daniel, composing
herself enough to reach a hand out to the attractive stranger. 'I'm
Lou. You obviously know Rosie, my friend the kaleidoscope.'

'Not as much as I'd like to, but yes, we're acquainted,' he replied.

Lou turned to face Rosie, giving her a look that Rosie knew meant
'Who the hell is this gorgeous man and why don't I know about him?'
Rosie was so embarrassed she could barely squeak. Lou, sensing her
friend's mortification, stepped in on her behalf. 'Um, we're shopping
for dresses,' she said, sounding a little nervous herself.

D'uh!
Rosie thought.
What else would we be doing? Fly-fishing?

'I can see that,' he replied, beaming a cheeky smile. 'My name is
Daniel Jones. My kid Elroy is friends with Leon.'

'Oh, Leon is my godchild,' Lou replied proudly. 'Genius child,
of course. Did you know he's going to be a rock star? That or prime
minister. I'm pushing more towards rock god.'

Lou, shut up. You're gibbering.

'He's a great kid, that's for sure. Elroy is currently having guitar
lessons. Maybe he can be in the band?'

Lou turned to Rosie again, this time to give her a 'this guy is
yummy' look. Rosie was too occupied covering her breasts to do
more than blush.

'Rosie, you might want to change,' Lou said to her mute friend.
'I'll be outside, chatting to . . . what was your name again?'

'Daniel.'

'Yes, that's right. I'll be getting to know Daniel. So, tell me, Daniel,
are you here with your wife?'

Without saying a word, Rosie slunk back behind the curtain, where
she could have happily remained forever more. After putting on her
daggy runners and jeans again, she sat on the gilt-legged dressing-room
stool and tried to compose herself. She couldn't understand
why she was so rattled – aside from the slipped nipple, of course.
Maybe she really liked Snag Dad after all?

You just haven't had sex for a long time, that's all
, she counselled
herself.
Although he does look very cute, and he did say he wanted to
know me better. Get yourself together, woman! You're thirty-five, not
fifteen!

After several deep yoga breaths and an application of lip gloss,
Rosie re-emerged, hoping – no, make that praying – that Snag Dad
had moved on. At first it looked as though that was the case, because
all she could see was Lou's back as she faced a rack of clothes. Then
she saw her friend's skinny torso shake with laughter and noticed a
pair of scuffed RM Williams boots peeking from under the rack.

He's still here!

Snag Dad must have indicated to Lou that Rosie was behind her,
as she suddenly turned and practically skipped over to her friend.
'Rosie, honey, Daniel is absolutely wonderful. He's funny, and clever,
and best of all – single! I've invited him for dinner tonight. At your
place! That way he can bring his boy to play with Leon. Oh, and I
think I'll ask Stephen because those two will get on like a house on
fire. Honestly, Rosie, Daniel is heaven. He's perfect! And I think he
really likes you!'

'Will you calm down, Lou! You've only known him five minutes,'
Rosie griped under her breath. 'And holy hell, honey, dinner at my
place? Are you trying to give me a stroke? I have nothing to eat, the
place is a disgrace . . .'

Rosie's scolding session was cut short when Snag Dad moved
closer, his green-grey eyes twinkling knowingly. 'Oh, Rosie, you've
changed. I thought you looked quite fetching in that last outfit,' he
said with a smile. 'Your friend Lou has kindly asked me to dinner,
but I just had a thought . . .'

Please cancel . . . Please!

'I went to the fish markets this morning and bought way too much
for my boy and myself, so why don't we go to my place instead? It'll
be a casual barbecue and I promise it won't be a late one.'

As Rosie searched frantically for a quick excuse, Lou chimed in.
'What a great idea! We'll be there, Daniel, and thanks so much,
that's very generous of you. Isn't it, Rosie?'

Rosie wasn't sure what she said in answer to Lou. All she knew was
that there was nothing she could do or say now to get out of tonight.
She was having dinner with Snag Dad Daniel Jones.