Lisa Heidke by Lucy (mobi) (rosie project .TXT) 📕

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‘So what’s happening with Lothario?’ Gloria asks when she comes over at the end of the day, laden with antipasto delicacies from my favourite deli.

‘He wants to come back. God knows why. He says he loves me, but he doesn’t mean it.’

‘Serious?’

‘Yeah. He said the bombings in Bali were an epiphany for him, that he’s come to his senses, that his family means everything.’ I close my eyes and inhale.

‘Did you ask him why the hell he was with a teenager in the first place?’

‘Mid-life crisis, apparently. But, Gloria, I can’t afford to take him back. He’ll only rip out my heart again and I can’t cope with any more emotional stuff. He might mean what he’s saying now for a day, a week, maybe even a year, but eventually he’ll go back to his womanising ways. He can’t help himself. He’s like a dog permanently on heat.’

‘Yeah, asking Max to stop chasing women is like asking Paris Hilton to leave her house without a camera crew in tow.’

‘You’d know. Anyway, I’ve had my own epiphany. It’s over. I won’t have him back under any circumstances.’

‘What about cancer?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘If he was dying of cancer?’

‘Gloria!’

‘I’m just asking. What about Rock? He’s a bit of fun and good for the ego, right?’

‘Enough with the twenty questions.’

‘Dom, then?’

‘Dom’s a friend, nothing more. God, he broke my heart all those years ago, I don’t want a repeat performance. Especially not after everything I’ve been through with Max. I don’t have the stamina.’

The Balinese tragedy is never far from my mind. Every night, like tonight, while I’m tossing and turning in bed, I keep asking myself, ‘Is this really how I want to live my life?’ - knowing that at any moment my life could suddenly end as a result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Even though I’m not religious, seeing the devastation in Bali was like God tapping me on the shoulder and saying, ‘Luce, if you don’t make something of yourself down there, there’s plenty of room for you up here.’

And that ‘something’ that I do has to be for Bella, Sam and me. Not for anyone else.

Day 53

First thing in the morning, Sandy knocks on my bedroom door. I shove my head further under the doona in a feeble attempt to ignore her. But the knocking persists and, finally, I stagger out of bed and open the door.

‘Could you glide down the ladder in a bikini?’ she asks. ‘You know, like you’re about to go for a swim.’

‘It’s seven in the morning and six degrees outside,’ I say, feeling mangy and wiping the sleep from my eyes.

‘The viewers don’t know that,’ says Sandy, who, might I add, is wearing super-skinny black Tsubi zip jeans, a heavy-knit crimson jumper and black woollen scarf.

‘It’s the middle of winter. Besides, I haven’t worn a bikini for ten years.’

Looking me up and down, she exhales stridently and says, ‘All right, I have another shot of you in mind. Really short mini, high heels and singlet, braless, carrying a tray of cocktails in your hand, like you’re about to welcome friends over for cocktail hour.’

‘It’s seven in the morning,’ I say again. Christ, she’s thick - although a dirty martini wouldn’t go astray about now.

‘The audience doesn’t care what time it is. They want to see Lucy Springer the celebrity living her glamorous life.’

‘But I’m not living a glamorous life. It’s dull and boring and I have washing and grocery shopping to do.’

Sandy glares at me. ‘This isn’t working. We need to get Gloria on the phone.’

‘What’s Gloria going to do?’

‘Talk some sense into you.’ Sandy goes to walk away, then turns back. ‘Look, I didn’t want you, I wanted Tania Zaetta, but she’s in India playing Miss Bollywood. My second choice was Melissa Tkautz, but she doesn’t own a house at the moment.’

Did I just hear right? Melissa Tkautz. Sure she had a hit with ‘Read My Lips’ years ago, but then she was the face for an ad campaign for erectile dysfunction. This is the calibre of actress I’m competing with? A woman who promotes products for men with sexual problems?

‘So I ended up with you - and I need to try as many different angles as I can to get the audience to see you in a less mummy-like light,’ says Sandy. ‘I know you survived the bombing -’

‘I was nowhere near the explosions.’

She ignores me. ‘But we can only push that angle for so long. A week tops, then you gotta show some flesh or have an affair or something.’

I’m annoyed, exasperated, pissed off. I can’t believe I let Gloria talk me into this.

And there’s still mess everywhere, I notice, when I walk into my laundry/kitchen/family room. Mind you, it is cleaner now. I have Rock, the neat freak, to thank for that. He won’t touch anything or walk anywhere until Joel has gone ahead of him and cleaned up. And I thought Bella had issues. My daughter’s got nothing on Rock. I’m surprised Joel panders to him but he seems amused by the whole procedure.

From where I’m standing at the laundry sink, I can see Joel outside, still sporting his safety glasses, his dreadlocks piled high on his head like some overgrown shrubbery. He’s talking to Patch, who’s wearing another pair of brand-new beige overalls. Inside, I can hear Sandy and Rock arguing.

‘You talk to her. She’s your friend,’ Sandy’s saying.

Rock’s not listening. ‘Can we get rid of this sawdust and the paint fumes?’ he asks. ‘They’re really affecting my nasal cavity and voice, even though I change masks every couple of hours. If I lose my voice, I have nothing. So . . . if I’m not required this morning . . .’

‘Listen! You’re supposed to be doing a piece to camera with Lucy, but she won’t wear a bikini, won’t wear a freakin’ mini, she probably won’t even talk for fuck’s