The Ex Factor (12 page)

‘How was he?’

‘I can’t tell you stuff like that, Frankie!’

‘Uh, yeah you can. And you’d better. Like, right now.’

‘It was . . .’ I try to find words that won’t sound as if they’ve been lifted from the pages of a Danielle Steel novel. ‘It was un-freaking-believable.’

Frankie gives a low whistle. ‘High praise indeed.’

‘The highest.’

‘So where to now then?’

‘Funny you should ask. Los Angeles, as it happens. Mitchell’s asked me to go back with him when he finishes up on
Solitaire
.’

Now it’s my sister’s turn to look aghast. ‘Like, for a holiday?’

‘No. Permanently.’ At least, I
think
that’s what Mitchell meant. Who knows how long ‘permanent’ will be when you’re chasing a man you’ve known five days halfway around the world?

‘That’s pretty huge, Kitty. Are you sure it’s the best decision? I mean, the media intrusion has been incessant for the last week and that’s just here in little ol’ Sydney. What do you think it’s going to be like on Mitchell’s home turf?’

‘Couldn’t you have turned over your new, sensible leaf
after
I decided to shack up with a virtual stranger in a foreign land?’ I say with a wry smile.

‘I’m sorry, it’s just that —’

‘It’s okay. You’re a hundred per cent right – it’s not sensible or logical and it could all end in disaster,’ I say. ‘But I don’t care. I want to try. And I’d really like to know that my little sister is on my side.’

Frankie’s brow furrows. ‘I’m always on your side, Kitty. You know that.’ She purses her lips and I know she wants to say more.

‘Go on, let’s hear it.’

‘Does he love you?’

I blink at the candidness of her question.
Does
Mitchell love me? He hasn’t said so, but his actions in the past few days certainly seem to suggest he’s smitten. And his, uh,
performance
last night was more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. I shiver at the memory of his frantic kisses, his whispered words, the way his gaze seared into mine as he made love to me.

I mean, you just don’t buy a vintage car for a woman, make her moan in ecstasy and ask her to pick up and move across the planet with you if you’re not head over heels, right?

Or maybe you
do
when you’re one of the most famous men in the world. ‘Let me be a movie-star boyfriend,’ Mitchell had said a couple of days before. Maybe buying expensive cars and shacking up in a heartbeat are the same in Tinseltown as buying a bunch of flowers or booking a weekend away in Sydney.

‘I . . . I don’t know,’ I tell Frankie honestly. ‘It’s all so new. We haven’t got to that stage yet.’

She raises her eyebrows and I know what she’s thinking:
You haven’t got to the ‘I love you’ stage, but you
have
got to the ‘Sure, I’ll abandon my life and scurry along after you’ stage.

‘It’s not that I doubt that Mitchell has strong feelings for you,’ Frankie says carefully, ‘but you’ve got to admit this is all happening very quickly. A few days ago he was just some famous guy whose picture you used to mop up Bananarama’s pee.’

‘Frankie, don’t you think I’ve gone over all of this in my head already? It
is
fast. It’s so fast I practically have whiplash. But it just feels right.’

‘But have you stopped to wonder why Mitchell wants to move so quickly? I mean, he just came out of a five-year relationship with a woman who humiliated him so thoroughly that he publicly swore off love. Why is he ready to put his heart on the line again so soon? Surely the man has trust issues.’

‘Wait, let me see if I understand you,’ I say, trying to process Frankie’s worries. ‘So your problem with all of this is
not
that I’m going to go live in America. It’s not that he hasn’t said he loves me. It’s not that I’m going to be hounded by the paparazzi on a daily basis. It’s not even that you doubt that Mitchell is genuine. You’re telling me your biggest issue with the whole scenario is that Mitchell
isn’t
some baggage-laden, commitment-phobic ball of neuroses? You’re worried he’s too
normal
? Frankie, I think most women in their right minds would agree that’s a good thing.’

And yet I find myself thinking about how Mitchell needed me to reassure him of my feelings for him before we slept together yesterday. Does he see my acceptance of his crazy ‘move to Hollywood’ proposal as proof that I won’t be as cavalier with his feelings as Vida was? Maybe Frankie has a point – perhaps, despite his assurances that he wants to make a go of things, he
is
wary of being hurt again.

Still, my answer seems to have satisfied Frankie and her frown gives way to a smile at last. ‘Well, when you put it like
that
,’ she says. ‘Of course I’ll be your cheerleader. I’ll help you however I can. I mean, it’s not like having a megastar for a brother-in-law is going to be too horrible for me.’

‘Brother-in-law?! How about we just take this one step at a time?’

With a wink, Frankie gets to her feet. ‘Fair enough. The first thing we need to do is toast your impetuous, foolhardy and possibly catastrophic quest for love.’ She disappears into the kitchen and I hear glasses clinking.

‘Um, Frankie? It’s nine in the morning. A little early for booze perhaps?’

‘Fine,’ she calls out. ‘Coffee then. But seriously, Kitty, you’re definitely going to need a substance-abuse problem if you’re going to succeed in Hollywood.’

The next ten days pass in a blur of organising and preparation for my big move. With trembling hands, I call Danica and tell her that I can’t accept her job after all. She’s disappointed, but remarkably understanding. She even books me to train the four-legged stars of the first two pet-food ads her company is making, which are shooting before I go. I’m secretly grateful for the work and the unexpected cash injection – it turns out moving countries is really expensive.

I’ve shown Frankie where all the household paperwork is filed – not that I expect my organised system to last long once I’ve left – and set up half-a-dozen direct debits for the monthly bill payments. I’ll be paying my share of the expenses out of my inheritance to begin with, until I manage to line up some work in Los Angeles. Another perk of having a movie-star boyfriend: his team of outrageously expensive lawyers was able to secure a working visa for me in no time flat. I feel a bit bad about queue-jumping, but hey, a girl’s got to earn a living. Although Mitchell has made it clear he’s happy for me not to work at all. ‘Take some time to find your feet,’ he’d said. But I know I’ll go stir-crazy without something tangible to occupy my time.

I’ve booked an international removals company to ship six enormous cartons of my stuff to California, but I’m leaving all of my furniture and most of my clothes and other possessions behind. Scribbling Mitchell’s – soon to be
my – 
Hollywood Hills address on the labels is definitely one of the more pinch-worthy moments of my life.

Even the dogs are good to go. I’d been worried they’d have to spend months in quarantine once they get to America, but because they’re coming from a rabies-free country, I can pick them up right at LAX and whisk them off to their new home. And if MTV’s
Cribs
is anything to go by, I predict even laidback Carl is going to be impressed by his new abode.

When I’m not packing, I seem to be perpetually coiled around Mitchell in his bed or mine. Discovering who we are and how we fit together in the bigger sense may be a slow process, but we’ve shared a crash course in learning every curve, plane and touch-me-there spot of each other’s bodies.

Mitchell hasn’t mentioned the email from Vida and, through sheer force of will, I haven’t asked.

‘Hey, have you seen this?’ says Frankie, wandering into my bedroom as I touch up my makeup in front of the mirror. ‘Ooh, you look nice. Another hot date with Mitchell?’

‘Actually no, I’m having dinner with Adam.’ I twist my hair, still damp from the shower, into a haphazard bun.

‘Oh, that’s right. I forgot that was tonight,’ she says absently, staring at the iPhone clutched in her palm.

‘Seen what?’

‘Huh?’ She looks up, confused.

‘You came in and said, “Have you seen this?” Seen what?’

‘Oh. This.’ She holds out the phone.

I glance over, my mouth full of bobby pins, and see a gaudy gossip website displayed on the screen. It’s open to a story with a typically understated headline:
Vida’s war of words with Mitchell’s new squeeze hots up!

I groan.
What now?
‘Why don’t you précis it for me,’ I say.

‘Apparently Vida’s been on her Twitter account all “Who the hell are you?” because you said you have no idea who she is.’

‘What? I never said that.’ How could I possibly fail to know who Vida is after having her existence constantly shoved down my throat the past couple of weeks? ‘Let me see.’ I grab Frankie’s phone and scan the story.

Looks like there’s no love lost between
Solitaire
star Mitchell Pyke’s former love, model Vida Torres, and his new flame Kitty Hayden.

Just days after her split from hubby Ellis Chevalier, Vida’s taking aim at the Aussie sheila, who made a pointed dig at her love rival last week. Kitty told local media she’s ‘never met’ Vida and has nothing to say about ‘that woman’ – and Vida’s not impressed. Taking to Twitter, the Brazilian glamazon wrote:
‘Never met me? Maybe because I’m shooting an Elle cover in Bora Bora while you pick up dog poop. LOL.’

An hour later, Vida fired again:
‘“That woman” is the one he said he’d never get over. You might want to think about that #onetruelove.’

There’s been no word from Kitty on Vida’s barbs but her—

I look up at Frankie with fire in my eyes. Through gritted teeth, I read the rest of the story aloud. ‘“But her loyal younger sister, Frances, hit back on her own Twitter feed, saying, ‘Move on, girlfriend. Desperation is so not a good look for a supermodel’.”’

Frankie offers a hopeful smile. ‘Well, it’s not,’ she says meekly.

I throw her phone onto my bed with more force than I’d intended. ‘I appreciate you defending my honour, Frankie, but you shouldn’t engage with this . . . this
crap
. It just adds fuel to the fire and helps them sell more of their hideous magazines. Vida probably didn’t really say any of that stuff.’

‘Oh, she definitely did,’ Frankie says vehemently. ‘I follow her on Twitter and she’s been making cryptic comments about you and Mitchell since day one. It’s amazing I managed to hold back for this long.’

I cast a sidelong glance at my sister. I hate myself a little for what I’m about to ask her, but I have to know. ‘Cryptic comments? What else has she been saying?’

‘Well,’ says Frankie, perching on the end of my bed. Why do I get the feeling she’s enjoying this? ‘First she posted all these quotes about lost love and not knowing what you’ve got til you lose it.’

‘Deep,’ I say, rolling my eyes.

‘Right? Then there were the read-between-the-lines ones implying Mitchell drove her into the arms of his best mate.’

‘Such as?’

Frankie scrolls through her Twitter feed with her index finger. ‘“Some people could use a reminder that it takes two to tango. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone #youllbeback.”’

‘I wonder if she actually speaks in clichés, or it’s just her tweets?’

Frankie stifles a smile. ‘But lately she seems to have moved on to phase three, which mostly seems to involve sticking the boot into you as often as she can without ever actually mentioning you by name. Like this: “They say never work with children or animals. What kind of masochist would want a job that requires both?” Masochist is spelled wrong, by the way. Oh, and this one is a particular favourite: “Wonder if the drapes match the carpet, haha”.’

‘Ew! How juvenile is this woman?’

‘Stupidly good-looking people are always wildly insecure,’ Frankie says knowledgeably. ‘It’s a cross we must bear.’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘I don’t know about insecure, but she sounds positively unhinged. You might think she’d be more concerned about saving her failing marriage than having a go at someone as insignificant as me.’

‘But you’re not insignificant, Kitty,’ my sister says, her tone suddenly serious. ‘You’ve got Mitchell and it sounds like she’s not quite ready to give him up, husband or no husband. Hashtag: nutjob.’

There’s a knock at the front door. ‘That’ll be Adam. I’m not quite ready. Would you mind letting him in?’

‘Sure,’ Frankie says, and just about bounds into the hall.

I go through the motions of tucking in flyaway strands of coppery hair – known to Vida’s million-plus Twitter followers as my ‘drapes’ – and applying a slick of lip gloss. But I can’t shake the feeling of disquietude that now claws at me. I’m sure Frankie’s right and Vida is just bitter and sad about the public breakdown of her marriage to Ellis. But what if she really does want Mitchell back? It was my first instinct when I saw that email pop up in Mitchell’s hotel suite and it’s been bugging me ever since. Vida knows him much better than I do – does she really think she can win his heart again?

When I venture into the living room minutes later, I’m surprised to see Adam and Frankie sitting side by side on the sofa, laughing quietly.

‘Ready to go?’ I interrupt their cosy chat, maybe a little bluntly.

Adam looks up with a start. Bananarama is curled up on his lap, snoring.

‘Kitty! You are a rose in bloom as always. I’m a fortunate man to have the pleasure of your radiant company for an entire evening.’

I’m surprised to feel my heart give a little aching throb at his verbose greeting. I’m going to miss Adam so much. Who knows how long it will be before I make a friend like him in America – if I ever do.

‘Shall we go?’ I say, moving toward the door.

‘But of course.’ He picks up Rama and passes her gently across to Frankie, who cradles the still-sleeping dog on her lap. Now I really have seen everything.

‘Bye, Frank,’ I say as I head out. But my sister isn’t looking at me; she’s looking at Adam.

‘Has Bananarama lost weight since I saw her last?’ Adam asks as we walk to his car.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘She’s looking a little frail to me. I wouldn’t mind checking her over. Can you bring her into the clinic this week?’ His voice is grave and anxiety suddenly twists in my belly.

‘Of course. Do you think she could be sick?’

Ever the gentleman, Adam opens the passenger door of his car and I slide in. He closes it behind me and strides around to the driver’s side.

‘It’s possible. There are a number of serious conditions associated with sudden weight loss,’ he says as he gets in.

‘Jesus, Adam, don’t sugar-coat it or anything, will you?’ I try to sound teasing, but he instantly detects the note of fear in my voice.

‘I’m sorry, Kitty. Chances are Rama is absolutely fine. Weight loss can also be a symptom of simple old age. I’ll just run some tests on the old girl to be on the safe side.’ He reaches across and gives my hand a squeeze as he pulls the car away from the kerb.

Neither of us says much as Adam drives us to a cute little Greek restaurant in nearby Manly. I guess he’s mentally running through the litany of hideous things that could be wrong with Rama. Meanwhile, I’m thinking about how I’m going to tell him about my imminent journey across the Pacific. I didn’t just want to blurt out the news to my best friend over the phone. Adam deserves better than that. I even swore Frankie to secrecy, which was a weird proposition. Until recently, it never would have occurred to me that my sister might see or speak to Adam independently of me, but they seem to be practically bosom buddies now.

‘So, how are you, my lovely?’ Adam asks once we’re seated at an outdoor table. ‘How goes the torrid liaison with the matinee idol?’

‘If you’re asking how I am and how things are going with Mitchell, the answers are great and really well,’ I reply, making a face. ‘Seriously, Adam, is it even possible for you to ask a question without sounding like you’ve swallowed a thesaurus?’

‘Well,
excuse me
for attempting to preserve some semblance of the Queen’s English. Would madam prefer I grunt and beat my chest like the rest of the gorillas?’

He tries to look offended, but I see a hint of a smile playing across his lips and I feel another pang in my chest. How am I going to cope when there’s twelve thousand kilometres between me and this eccentric, adorable man? Really.
How?

‘Go on, then,’ Adam continues, grinning now. ‘Tell me all about Mr Wonderful. I can promise you precisely two minutes of my rapt attention before I throw up.’

I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. ‘Things with Mitchell are . . . they’re really great,’ I begin slowly. ‘In fact, he’s asked me to go to Los Angeles with him when he’s done shooting the movie.’

Adam lets out a hoot of laughter. ‘These Hollywood types! Forever shacking up and getting hitched at warp speed. Have they no respect for the gentle art of courting? It’s no wonder their relationships last an average of forty-five minutes.’

My mind wanders to the many recent nights Mitchell and I have spent exploring each other. There’s been nothing ‘gentle’ about it. I shiver at some of the more debauched memories.

‘So how did he take it?’

‘Take what?’

‘The rejection. When you explained to him that “regular folks”’ – he says this in his best approximation of an American hillbilly accent –’tend to prefer candlelit dinners and actual conversation before upping sticks and moving halfway across the globe?’

I lower my gaze to my plate. ‘Well, see, that’s the thing. I didn’t reject the idea.’

‘You’re actually
thinking
about it? Kitty, you’re pulling my leg!’ The incredulity in Adam’s voice is like fingernails on a blackboard. I’m not used to being so quickly and harshly judged by my best friend.

‘I’m not just thinking about it, Adam.’ I look up and meet his eyes. ‘I’m going. I’ve told Mitchell I’ll go to LA with him. I leave in a month.’

The expression that contorts Adam’s delicate features then is one I’ve never seen before – at least, not directed at me. It’s unadulterated contempt, and it takes my breath away. He covers it quickly with a look of bemused surprise, but it’s too late. I’ve seen what he really thinks of Mitchell, of me, written all over his face.

‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ he says, so quietly it’s unnerving. ‘You barely know this man.’

Like I need reminding of that fact. ‘Are you and Frankie in cahoots or something?’ I say, trying to keep my tone light. ‘She went all “stern schoolmarm” on me as well. Come on, Adam. Where’s your sense of adventure?’ I give his forearm a playful squeeze.

And he flinches.

‘Where’s your sense of not acting like a hormonal adolescent?’ he spits. ‘Does he even love you?’

I bristle at his tone; it’s as if he thinks the very idea of Mitchell falling for me is laughable. And I notice neither Adam nor Frankie has ever asked whether
I
love Mitchell. Why aren’t
my
feelings as important a part of the equation as his?

‘You can’t possibly believe this . . . 
relationship
has a future,’ Adam continues bitterly.

‘Well, I can see that you don’t. But I do, as it happens. I’m not sure it’s something I can properly explain to you, Adam. I can hardly even explain it to myself. What Mitchell and I have is . . . it’s
unearthly
.’

He rolls his eyes, a very un-Adam gesture. ‘Oh, please. Kitty, you’re just dazzled by the money and the fame. There’s nothing unearthly about that. In fact, it’s
so
earthly it’s utterly prosaic.’