The Wrong Girl (5 page)

Lily's veins pulsed and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end –
you did
not
think of that, it was
my
idea!
She shot a look to Sasha to see if the boss would give her some kind of reassuring, ‘Relax, I know it was your idea' nod, but it was fruitless. Lily crossed her arms and sat back in her chair, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. Razor-sharp thoughts of quitting pierced her brain, as they did each time Eliza frustrated her, or her work went unappreciated or uncredited. There was zero chance she was sticking around if she didn't get promoted this year, she confirmed. Nada.

‘We wanted someone for the audience to
really
bond with, and form a relationship with. Someone with impressive chops, as it were' – tinkly laugh – ‘and the kind of obvious charm our audience goes really
wild
for. So, without further ah-
dyoo
, let me introduce you to the man who will fulfil all of these requirements and many more. Jack Winters!' She gestured towards him with a flourish.

‘Wow, what an introduction,' he said, smiling shyly. ‘Thanks, Eliza. I'm looking forward to working with you guys, and trying this TV thing, and getting to know the city – all of it,' he said, with a pure country-boy grin. Oh, give me a break, Lily thought. All that's missing is the goddamn straw between his teeth.

‘This is Lily, your segment producer, and this is the assistant producer, Dale. You'll be working with them closely day to day,' Eliza said, as an afterthought.

Jack threw one of his enormous, tanned arms across the table towards Dale, ready to shake. Dale actually flinched.

‘Hi Dale, nice to meet you.'

Dale pulled his arm up to the table and tentatively shook the great walloping hand thrust before him, muttering a ‘Nice to meet you' as he did so.

Jack pulled his arm back and slowly turned his gaze to Lily, all deep-sea blue eyes and long black lashes.

‘Lily, is it? Pleased to meet you.'

Lily's eyes moved up to meet his, her chin still down in defiance. Why didn't she deserve a handshake?

‘Yes, Lily. Nice to meet you too.' She knew she sounded pissed off, and half-hated herself for it, but she wanted him to know she wasn't some pushover who would forgive his rudeness just because she had ovaries.

‘Thanks,' he said. ‘I look forward to working with you.'

‘Well! Now that we're all “besties”' – Eliza made the bunny ears as she spoke – ‘let's get cooking!' More tinkly laughter. Lily sighed quietly and opened up her notebook.

An hour later, Sasha's PA interrupted the meeting to remind her of an appointment. ‘It's going to be a magnificent year, I can just feel it,' Sasha said before leaving.

‘O
kay
then,' Eliza said, smiling widely. ‘Lily will email everyone the updated schedule this afternoon, and we'll regroup tomorrow for rehearsal, okay? This segment is going be just
awesome
, you guys. I know it.' She stood up, straightening her now creased, too-tight pants, and seemed disappointed that Jack didn't immediately mirror her move so they could walk and talk their way down the hall together. But Jack was busy writing down note upon note. Lily was annoyed to realise she was impressed; most of the chefs she'd dealt with were either extremely experienced and borderline savant-like in their ability to ‘get' what they would be doing on set, or so blisteringly arrogant they made it up as they went, causing hell for her and Dale, not to mention the camera and floor crew.

Sensing Jack would be a while, Eliza clutched her notebook to her chest and began scrolling down her BlackBerry fast and with importance, making her move towards the door at the rate of an injured sloth. Getting nothing after another minute, she gave up and walked out of the room. Well,
someone
had a crush, Lily thought, smiling. She didn't blame her, her boyfriend Kirk was about as charming as a mosquito, and equally as annoying.

Dale and Lily finished their notes and stood up. Dale scurried out of the room immediately, as though there were a fire alarm that only he could hear, leaving just Lily to pack up her many press releases and papers, and Jack scribbling away like a crazed fool.

Suddenly, Jack looked up, directly at Lily, straight into her eyes.

‘I stole your kettle, didn't I.' It wasn't a question. He looked at her intently, as though studying her.

Lily nodded. It was probably too much to openly scowl, she thought. ‘Yeah. Twice actually.'

He smiled ever so faintly.

‘Sorry. The one in the test kitchen is broken and no one's replaced it yet. I'm just going to bring my one from home tomorrow.'

‘You need to talk to Lionel. He's the one who gets stuff done around here. Small guy, beer gut, Sydney Swans hat, inappropriate . . . You'll see him around.'

Jack continued to peer up at Lily, his head cocked to one side. Another small smile – amused? thoughtful? – crossed his face. It was disconcerting, and Lily wanted to get out of his tractor beam. Not because he was disarmingly good-looking and his quizzical staring made him even more handsome, but because Lily had work to do.

‘So, do you cook, Lily?'

‘Not even nearly,' she said honestly.

‘But you enjoy doing the cooking segment? Wouldn't you need to cook to produce a cooking segment?'

‘Not at all. I love
food
, though, and I love my segment. Sleazy, self-important chefs aside.' As she spoke she realised how offensive it was, but it was too late.

His face relaxed and he broke into a chuckle. It was ridiculous: the way his eyes crinkled at the edges, and that perfect smile pushed into his cheeks, causing a couple of lines either side . . . She wondered how old he was; maybe thirty, maybe thirty-five? She couldn't tell; he was in that age bracket that lacked clear delineation. There was a small gap between his front teeth, she noticed. Huh. Not so perfect after all.

‘I'll try not to fall into that category,' he said, finally taking his eyes off her.

Lily nodded as a full stop to the conversation, if you could call it that, and walked out of the boardroom shaking her head. He was odd, she confirmed. A real oddball.

Lily was feeling anxious. They went live Monday morning, and if this rehearsal were anything to go by, it would be a nuclear mess. Rob and Mel, hosts of
The Daily,
were still so utterly wedged into holiday mode that they may as well have had a margarita in one hand and a frisbee in the other; the set was incomplete, and Eliza was running on double-shot mochas and unwarranted hysteria, which annoyed the crew and made all the producers unnecessarily anxious. The general mood was akin to a crowded beach after a shark alarm. Lily decided to stop watching rehearsal and focus on her segment and set instead. She could at least make sure
that
was decent, Jack's as yet untested on-air skill notwithstanding.

Lily pulled the pre-chopped herbs and fish from the fridge and placed them next to the stove, while Tim, the lighting guy, stood on a ladder messing about with the lights, which Sasha said looked too ‘train station toilets'. Jack stood at the bench, straight-armed leaning on his hands, reading his script. He was wearing a simple light-blue shirt – the memo must have reached him about no checks in front of camera – and black jeans with black trainers. Sasha had wanted him to look friendly but sexy; the Curtis Stone effect, she called it. Like one of your older brother's good-looking mates. All that was missing was his white
The Daily
apron, which no one had been able to locate.

Lily took a moment to assess her set. Lighting aside, she was happy with the final product, having worked with the set designer and fitter last year to make absolutely sure there was none of the shiny, glossy chintz usually associated with TV-set kitchens. The look was a bit cool, a bit industrial, complete with second-hand wooden beams overhead, low-hanging naked globes and exposed brick behind the cooking bench. Of course, Eliza had immediately had two shelves of spices and oils and products installed onto the wall to keep advertisers happy, which annoyed Lily, but there was nothing she could do. Eliza might have the nous of a twig, but she knew how to keep the sponsors smiling. The fridge was concealed in a wooden cupboard and there was a line of unmatched antique jars acting as the holders for Jack's utensils along the bench. It would all look horribly outdated in a year or two, but for now, it was pretty cool for a network morning show. The sink wasn't actually functional – well, it could last the show, but it was the equivalent of a camping rig, and needing refilling and emptying before and after filming, and sometimes even during ad breaks. Ah, the glamour of live TV.

Jack was on set
way
too early for his segment – the talent generally rocked up five minutes before go time – but Lily was impressed that he wanted to be around and soak it all in. Not that there was much for him to do until the cameras were on him – the rehearsal recipe was a breeze. He'd chosen it himself: grilled salmon with a fennel and mandarin salad, and as with every show, Dale had chopped, prepped and laid out all the ingredients and utensils.

Jack, Lily, Dale and Eliza had at least done a brief run-through earlier, sorting out timings, and ingredient placement, where Jack would stand in relation to Rob, which camera he would be addressing, and making sure Jack remembered to ‘talk to the camera, not the food', but Lily could feel Jack's nerves vibrating through the floor; he was clearly terrified. She'd written his script directly from his recipe, and made it as simple as possible so that he understood that all he had to do was cook the meal, and explain how he was doing it in a friendly way to Rob, and his new best friend, the camera.

Suddenly, Jack looked up.

‘Hey, the salmon will take a little while to cook, and I reckon I might run out of things to say. What was I supposed to do if that happens?' Not even the fact that he was whispering could mask his nerves.

‘That's when you switch to the salad.'

‘Oh yeah, right.'

He went back to his script and made a note.

Lily smiled at him, feeling oddly fond of this new, vulnerable version of Jack. Much nicer than the abrupt kettle-stealing one. Feeling generous, she went on.

‘If you ever feel like you're running out of things to say, just talk us through an ingredient. Tell us its history, what else it's great in, any surprising facts about it. Anything. Works every time.'

‘Thanks.' He didn't even look up. Lily tried not to feel embarrassed.

The voice of Terry ‘Grimmo' Grimstead, the floor manager, boomed through the set. ‘One twenty seconds until food. Kitchen set?'

‘Kitchen is set,' Lily hollered, quickly tidying the bowls and wooden spoons before leaving the set to watch offside with Dale. Normally she'd ask if Jack was okay, if he needed anything, but his vibe was one of leave-me-alone, so she did.

One of the sound guys ran over and quickly attached a mic to Jack – way too late in the piece, in Lily's opinion – and Rob sauntered over to the set, ready for action. Jack and Rob seemed to get along well, which was good, and Lily hoped some of Rob's confidence and playfulness would rub off on her nervy new chef. She wanted Jack to do well, she realised. She needed him to.

‘Ten seconds!' Grimmo began to bark the countdown.

And it was on. Rob was his usual fun self, and was genuinely trying to make Jack feel as comfortable as possible under those harsh lights. Jack stuttered and messed up his words when he was introducing the dish, and constantly blocked the overhead cameras from showing the food, but after a couple of minutes he loosened up and the segment and chitchat started to flow more easily. Jack was definitely behind in his timings, but that was why rehearsal was so crucial. They would finetune it later. He also forgot to turn the fish, Lily noticed, and watching him slice up his mandarin while he talked down to the chopping board, it was obvious he wasn't TV-trained. She tried not to panic about her amateur new charge, and rather, see it in a positive light. After all . . . there was something refreshing and adorable about that innocence,
right
? He wasn't over-explaining everything and coaching the viewer to the point of being patronising, which so many chefs did. You really did feel like this nice, handsome, nervous stranger was just teaching you how to cook some salmon.

Sensing Jack's errors would not be going unnoticed, Lily looked over at Eliza, who was chewing her thumbnail as though she hadn't eaten in weeks. She had forgotten how much was riding on this for Eliza – Jack was her choice, after all. Lily threw her a faint smile and Eliza did her best impression of one back.

Grimmo was signalling five seconds to go, and Jack, running behind, had frantically grabbed his vinaigrette to pour on the salad, only he knocked over the small jug in his haste, and dressing spilled over the white bench and onto the floor. He looked up at the camera like a deer in the headlights, while Rob – rather unfairly, Lily thought – laughed uproariously.

‘240 until news,' Grimmo yelled.

Rob patted Jack on the shoulder and told him not to worry, a shitty rehearsal ensured a perfect live show, then vanished out the fire exit for a cigarette. Jack, clearly rattled by his accident, and the pace and energy of live TV in general, wiped the sweat off his furrowed brow and set to work cleaning up his mess. Lily couldn't help but feel bad for him. And herself: they had a
lot
of work to do before Monday.

Lily took a look at Simone's outfit and physically clamped her teeth onto her tongue to stop herself from saying anything. Her flatmate was wearing denim shorts that were masquerading as underpants and while they were attempting to cover her bum, they seemed more interested in sneaking up towards her rib cage. She'd teamed them with a white cropped singlet that exposed the top of her toned belly, and heavy black boots. The shorts were forgivable at, say, a music festival or in the year 1983, the top was better suited to a gym class, and the shoes were far too heavy for the look.

But this was Simone, and Simone was not one to be told. Plus, to be fair, with her body and hair, no one was really looking at the boots.

‘Where you off to?' Lily asked lazily from her position on the sofa, where she was reading a book written for thirteen year olds, but which Team Adult had greedily snatched for themselves and quickly made into a bestseller.

‘The Royal for a drink with Grace and Skye. They have DJs tonight, it'll be fun, plus the weather is so yummy, the beer garden will be pumping . . . You should come!'

Lily's eyes sailed back down to her book. She'd worked so late last night, and all week, she was buggered. She didn't have the energy to go out.

‘Nah, you go ahead.'

‘Okay, Lil? You need to stop being such a nanna. You're young and cute and it's summer and we can help each other swat away all the boys who fall in love with us, because we're not interested in them
anyway
.'

Lily peered up at Simone, who, in the interest of understatement, was adding huge silver hoop earrings to her outfit.

‘You saying you need my guard because you're a chance to falter?'

Simone turned around quickly.

‘
Ha
. As if. I'm smashing this, babe. Have had, like, three guys try their best on me this week; even that Dylan guy from the races last year who I actually could genuinely like – did I tell you he imports those amazing spongy yoga mats I love? I had no problem whatsoever knocking them back.'

‘Yeah, me too. They're banging down the door but I just heroically shoo them off.' Lily went back to her book, shaking her head.

‘Hun, you can read your books on a Saturday night when you're seventy. But now? At this age? You should go out. Plus, it's what this thing is all about – enhanced womanhood, baby! Feeling the feminine power! A girls' night out is perfect for that. So, go get dressed. Come on.'

Lily couldn't say why she really didn't want to go, which was that Sim and her friends would be off their faces in a few hours, and not that fun at all. Plus, going out with models required a certain level of sartorial confidence that Lily simply didn't possess. She looked down at her old black shorts and singlet for proof, and then back up at her friend, standing there with her hands on her hips, all earnest and righteous, and sighed.

‘Wear something of mine if you like, because you're not wearing that,' Simone said.

Lily closed her eyes and her book. ‘Okay, okay, just for
one
drink.'

‘Yippee!' Simone clapped, jumping up and down so that Lily was treated to the sight of her lacy bra. ‘There's a
gorge
white dress on the back of my door that would look so hot on you. Go try it on while I pour us a cheeky rosé.'

The Royal was filthy with summer-loving flesh-barers. All the beautiful people seemed to have agreed to come out for a drink at once, and finding a chair, let alone a genetically imperfect specimen, was impossible. Lily was used to feeling invisible next to Simone, but add her model mates Grace and Skye, and she may as well have been one of the empty glass collectors. As she waited at the bar for a drink, she looked down at the tiny white dress she'd borrowed and felt pleasantly relieved she'd at least done that much. Her hair was needing a wash and therefore suitably scruffy and just-woken-uppy for this cool-kids crowd, and the simple smudge of eyeliner on the outer corners of her almond eyes did a decent enough job of giving the impression she'd made some effort. Couldn't go as far as heels, though, and seeing everyone else in sandals and thongs, Lily was pleased with her decision.

Simone was on a mission: after two glasses of wine at home, she was now sharing jugs of margaritas with the girls, and her volume was increasing in direct proportion to her sipping pace. Lily knew how this night would end; when Simone went out, she went
all
out. She quite often didn't return til the next evening, having enjoyed a bender with the girls, or a new beau, or whoever was in town and up for some fun and a five-star hotel room. But Lily tried not to judge; Simone was twenty-six and successful and gorgeous and enjoying her life. Good for her. Plus, she evened it all out by being a virtuous chia-seed crunching, meditating monk through the week.

Lily was not averse to going out every now and then, but was more likely to get sloppy on a good red with her mother at a restaurant, or to hit a dingy pub with Alice and drink beer and play pool all night. She was an extremely messy drunk, and it served her well to remember it, and more crucially, contain it. Simone, on the other hand, could return home after twelve hours of partying – ready for a Xanax and a cup of tea – and still look sensational.

‘Lily!
'

Lily closed her eyes, knowing that when she opened them, Pete would be beside her. She thought she'd feel a rush of anxiety, seeing him for the first time since their falling-out, but she felt a strange sense of calm. She opened her eyes and, sure enough, he'd pushed his way through the loud mesh of people and was standing to her right.

‘
Thought
it was you! But then I thought, Lily don't wear dresses . . . Anyway, what's up?'

He'd started his sentence babbling excitedly, but by the last word he'd slipped into a serious, soft voice that was barely audible amid the boozy ruckus, and, quite frankly, it was stomach-churning to Lily. Seeing him in the flesh, eyes glazed, hair a mess, breath thick with alcohol, it was absolutely clear she'd made the right decision to cut him.

‘I'm great, Pete. Really good. You?'

‘Oh, lah-di-dah! I'm
well,
thank you, Mrs Over Polite,' he said in a mock-fancy voice. ‘How ever do
you
do?' He laughed and took a sip of his beer, his pinky poking out in an aristocratic fashion.

Lily said nothing, and looked over his shoulder as a signal she was ready to move on.

‘Saw Sim in the beer garden, thass'why I went looking for you. Geez, she's got her pissypants on tonight, hasn' she? Good thing, I s'pose, since she forgot to wear
actual
pants.'

Ordinarily Lily would've joined in for a gentle teasing, but tonight she prickled, and felt defensive. SHE was allowed to pay out on Sim, but who was he to? He
wished
he could get a girl like Simone, or a glance or even a look of disgust from a girl like Simone.

‘Yeah, well, we're celebrating.' Lily said, not entirely sure why. She didn't need to justify anything to Pete.

‘Oh yeah? She marrying one of those rich fuckwits?'

He said it jokingly, conspiratorially, but everything that fell from Pete's mouth was intensely irritating to Lily. Perhaps her PMS had arrived early, but she felt unusually compelled to punch him. Or maybe she had finally come to terms with the fact he was a jerk, after having experienced the extent of his jerkiness firsthand, and now all she could see when she looked at him was the word ‘jerk' floating above his head, like an unfortunate halo. She squinted at him in disgust.

‘That's nine-fifty, please.' The busy and distracted bartender slapped her glass of white wine on the bar and held out his hand to snatch Lily's ten-dollar note.

‘That's fine, thanks,' she said to him, picking up her drink and turning around, nudging her way carefully through the dense wall of people in line for a drink.

‘Heyheyhey, what's the Geoffrey Rush?' Pete exclaimed as he scrambled to keep up with Lily.

She faced him as soon as there was some space and a bit more quiet.

‘Pete, I don't really want to talk to you, okay?' The frustration Lily had successfully concealed on her face was screaming through at 100 decibels in her tone.

‘You're still pissed at me? Jesus! Lil, so we slept together, big deal, I would never have gone there if I'd known you were gonna be such a sook about it.'

‘
Oh, go fuck yourself!' she hissed bitterly.

Pete visibly recoiled, then, only seconds later, true to Pete form, his face rearranged into an indignant mask.

‘Okay, you know what, Lil? I've apologised and apologised but honestly you are
overreacting
. Chill
out
for once in your simple little life.'

‘Okay, YOU know what? Don't
ever
talk to me again,' Lily said, eyes blazing.

Pete looked at Lily, shocked and wounded. No one ever spoke to him like this – he was the world's best conversational cowboy; there was nothing he couldn't charm his way out of.

With one final look at her ‘friend', Lily turned and walked away.

She could feel adrenalin whooshing through her body; her hands were shaking. She wasn't quite sure where that had come from, but it felt right. Now she had closure on Pete. And, if she allowed herself some flattery, she'd given him a serve that was long overdue, and maybe, just maybe it would inspire some kind of change in him. But more likely he would fuck himself up on drugs, drink too much and wear his misery and fury proudly, like a ratty old biker jacket. Lily inhaled deeply, and whistled her breath out through her lips. She took a long sip of her wine and began patiently navigating the pushy maze to Sim and the girls.

A bottle of Moët had somehow manifested in front of the three girls when Lily arrived back at their spot, as had four flutes – three being put to good use.

‘On the house! Don't you
love
it?' Sim said, as she messily, rapidly poured a glass of champagne for Lily.

‘What she means,' said Grace, a tall, lithe brunette who had the deepest, richest, most breathtaking olive skin, and the lightest green-blue eyes Lily had ever seen, ‘is that Ed, the guy who runs the joint, is totally smits with Skye, and he'll be sending over bubbly all night so she'll finally blow him.'

Lily nodded, shooting a knowing smile to Skye, who was grinning with a ‘What can you do?' expression on her gorgeous little pixie face.

As the four girls laughed, and Grace smoked, and Skye and Simone bopped to the house music that dominated the venue, Lily could imagine how it might feel hanging backstage at a Victoria's Secret show, only with a pub full of men's lascivious glances and outright stares added to the mix. She'd be a reporter, or dressing-gown hanger-uperer, obviously.

She could hold her own with these girls, Lily thought, puffing up her chest ever so slightly and painting a huge smile on her face. She might not be a model, but she looked okay in her little dress. And anyway, she wasn't looking for male attention, she reminded herself. She was just here to have fun and, as Simone said, be young and cute and single.