Making Headlines, page 18
As Julia and Mitch grabbed another drink, Evie hissed in Rachel’s ear. ‘You didn’t tell me he was a total hottie.’
‘Who?’
‘Mitch, you idiot,’ said Evie.
‘Oh, right. Really? I guess I just see him as a friend.’ Even as she said the words, Rachel didn’t believe them. It was becoming increasingly harder to fight her attraction to him.
‘You need glasses.’
Rachel ignored her and turned to Julia. ‘So what’s Derek working on that’s so important? Something we can follow up on?’
‘Nah,’ said Julia, ‘just a boring profile on a computer geek.’
‘Rachel!’ It was Jeannie Friedrich, dripping in fake pearls and bursting out of a peacock-green satin dress.
‘Congratulations, darling. On your promotion, that is.’ She leaned forward to kiss Rachel on both cheeks, overwhelming her with heavy musk perfume. ‘What did I tell you? I knew you were a star on the rise. I’m running a piece on you in tomorrow’s column. You must meet my friend, Adam Montague. He’s a lawyer. If you haven’t negotiated your new contract yet, he might be just the person you need. He specialises in media law.’
‘He just might be.’ It was perfect timing. Her mother had suggested a lawyer, but Adam came with a good recommendation and looked sharp.
Rachel smiled and shook hands as Jeannie made the introductions. Adam was charming but her mind kept turning to Mitch and she wondered where he’d gone. She craned her head over Adam’s shoulder to look through the buzzing crowd. Jeannie turned away to seize a Neighbours actress for a chat. She couldn’t spy Mitch but Tim and Helena were moving closer by the minute. As Rachel went to make her excuses to leave, Adam touched her arm.
‘Hang on a minute, Rachel. Take my business card. Just in case you need some legal help.’ He slipped a card out of his jacket and she took it, nodding her thanks.
Grabbing Evie, they moved through a battle-zone of lethal stilettos, precariously held champagne flutes, and frazzled waiters juggling canapés and cocktails.
‘What’s the rush?’ Evie said.
‘Had to get away. Tim’s here with that Helena tramp. They were getting dangerously close.’ Rachel looked about as they walked.
‘Oh, no!’ said Evie. ‘I hope he doesn’t cause any dramas.’
‘There aren’t going to be any dramas. Come on, grab another drink.’ Rachel swept two cocktails off a tray, handing one to Evie and downing hers in a single gulp.
‘Well, you won’t know about them if you keep drinking at that rate.’ Evie was wide-eyed.
‘Just a bit of Dutch courage in case.’ She punched Evie lightly on the arm, who pointed to someone behind Rachel just as she felt a clamp-like grip around the most ticklish part of her waist. ‘Eek!’ she screeched, turning around.
Damien Wilde.
‘Rachel!’ He hugged her enthusiastically. ‘At last!’ She could tell from his breath he was also enjoying the cocktails. ‘You haven’t returned my messages. We’re well overdue for that date, you know.’ He kept his hands locked about her hips.
‘I was away on holidays and not really taking calls. Sorry.’ She tried to move one of his hands, but he clutched at her fingers, pulling her hand to his cheek and kissing the palm.
‘And you look all the better for having a break. In fact, you look amazing. There’s something different about you. Can’t put my finger on it, but you look gorgeous.’
Evie leaned forward. ‘Hi, Damien, we’ve met in makeup. I’m Rachel’s date tonight.’ She put out her hand.
‘Of course. How are you . . . Elizabeth?’ They shook hands.
‘It’s Evie, actually. But that’s okay. I guess you must meet a lot of people.’
‘Ah yes, Evie, of course. And yes, I do meet a lot of people. Many riveting people. But none quite as fascinating as the beautiful Rachel Bentley.’ He smiled slowly, moving closer to Rachel and placing his arm around her waist again.
‘Ah, look, grab that waiter behind you,’ she exclaimed, desperate to distract him.
He seized more cocktails. Rachel looked around for Mitch, wondering who he was talking to. She swigged at her drink, a floaty feeling taking hold. The music grew louder. People began to dance. Evie and Damien chatted animatedly and Rachel mingled with the crowd, watching faces blur, a sense of time fading.
And then those blue eyes came out of the haze, crinkling at the edges, delighted to find her. Mitch. ‘There you are!’ She went to embrace him and stumbled, falling into his arms.
‘Whoa, there,’ he said, setting her upright. ‘Is that a shoe malfunction or the cocktails taking you for a ride?’
‘Ah, you’re funny!’ She reached up to touch his face. ‘And talented. Your card was so lovely. Thank you for that. Really lovely . . .’
‘You already thanked me earlier, Rach.’ He reached for her cocktail. ‘So what’s this one like?’ He downed it in one gulp, shaking his head. ‘Too delicious. Reckon you could wait here while I get us both some water? Could be what we need right now.’
‘Good idea. So sensible. Sensible Mitchy.’ She smiled and waved at him while he mouthed the words, ‘Stay there’ and disappeared.
Turning back to look at the crowd, she came face to face with Tim and Helena. Helena clutched Tim’s arm. The shock instantly restored a sense of clarity.
‘Hello, Rachel,’ Tim said cautiously.
‘Why, hello there. Fancy seeing you at a fashion parade?’ She chided herself for descending to sarcasm.
‘Such a darling, ishn’t he?’ said Helena, kissing Tim noisily on the cheek. ‘I made him come.’
She grabbed another cocktail from a passing waiter. ‘I’m sure you do, Helena. Often. Cheers.’ Rachel raised her glass and walked off, feeling a little stupid after her tacky comeback. She knocked back her cocktail and went looking for Mitch and that water.
She wasn’t really sure, but it must have been half an hour later when she found herself on the dance floor with Damien and Evie. They were next to the elevated catwalk, and Damien had put their drinks on a step so they could dance more freely. Mitch was still nowhere to be seen.
Turning to Evie, Damien yelled, ‘Doesn’t Rachel looks fabulous tonight? I think she gets more and more beautiful every day.’
‘Absolutely. More and more beautiful.’ Evie nodded in time with the beat.
‘In fact, Evie, I think Rachel is so beautiful, she should have been up on the catwalk with those models tonight.’
‘Absolutely should have been up on the catwalk tonight.’
At this point Rachel knew Evie would have agreed with anything Damien said.
‘She should show everyone here how beautiful she is.’ Damien moved closer. ‘Let’s show them, Rachel. Up we go, let’s strut our stuff!’ He seized her around the waist and lifted her onto the platform, jumping up himself and taking her by the elbow. She wobbled, trying to get her balance. The glare of the lights and a befuddled head made her dizzy.
‘No, I don’t want to be up here.’
Damien propelled her down the catwalk. Faces turned. Damien adopted a mock version of a male model’s strut and Rachel decided it was better to follow suit than risk an embarrassing scene. A blinding flash of light came out of nowhere as a photographer captured the moment.
‘Damien, we have to get down,’ she hissed.
He stopped in the middle of the catwalk and turned her to him. Smiling slowly, he drew her closer, holding her gaze.
‘Yes, there is something different about you. It’s your mouth.’ He raised a finger to her lips and traced the edges.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Mitch standing there with two glasses of water, looking like he’d swallowed a dose of foul medicine. A sense of panic surged. Damien’s face loomed closer.
‘Yes, the lips,’ he said.
He kissed her. A deep, passionate kiss that took her back to the hotel room in Sydney. The headiness of his aftershave was familiar and she relaxed, enjoying the sensation as his arms brought her closer. For a moment nothing else mattered. Then an image of Mitch’s face swam before her and she pulled away.
But not before a glaring flash from a camera recorded their embrace.
***
Rachel arrived at work the next day with a cloudy head and bloodshot eyes. She’d worn her red shoes in a bid to harness some energy, but Dorothy’s feet were not dancing today. She walked past her colleagues’ desks, adorned with photos of smiling family and partners. Her own desk showcased books and a small ceramic koala, holding a sign with the words, ‘Ability may get you to the top but it takes character to keep you there.’ A gift from her mother. She wondered what pashing a celebrity on a catwalk meant about her character.
The disgrace of her behaviour and Mitch’s disapproval sat heavily. She’d been holding back from trying to start something between the two of them for so long, and just when she felt it might be the right time to let down her guard, she’d probably gone and ruined everything. She kept seeing his eyes watching her on the catwalk. At least she’d refused Damien’s pleas to go back to his apartment.
Opening the Morning Herald on her desk, she flipped through the day’s news, her heart skipping a beat at the Confidential column. There it was. A feature photo of her and Damien kissing fervently on the catwalk. With a sharp intake of breath, her hand flew to her mouth. She looked around, wondering if everyone was talking about her. Mitch was heading to her desk.
‘Quite a performance last night,’ he said sharply, stabbing a finger at the photo in the paper. ‘You must be so proud.’ He glared and walked off. Her face flushed. She wanted to explain herself, but he was gone.
Rob Kingsbury barked her name, summoning her to the COS desk. She stood up and walked steadily, though her heart was limping. He handed her details about a man appearing in court charged over the illegal importation of fifty rare lizards. It was a minor story but Rachel didn’t care. It was hard to focus on Rob’s words with her mind in overdrive, fearing Helmut’s reaction. Especially after Helmet had warned her to watch her image in public.
Numbly, she followed the camera crew to the news car and went through the motions of filming the story and conducting interviews. At Customs, she gazed at the reptiles in their glass enclosure, thinking they looked lost. One moved to the window, pushing his nose at the invisible wall. Rachel stroked a finger against the glass silently offering a gesture of comfort. The customs officer looked at her suspiciously.
Gary interrupted her reverie to let her know Rob wanted them to head to the Clubroom — the Channel Six city office where the camera crews based themselves between stories. Andy, the assistant, wanted to stop on the way to pick up some lunch. Rachel still had to report back to Rob, but there was no hurry. She’d probably get a cab back to work from the Clubroom, finish her story early and head home for a quiet night.
She waved hello to the crews splayed out on couches. They barely acknowledged her, transfixed by an action DVD. Funny how so many had nothing to do. Must be a slow news day.
After the hurly burly of the night before, everything moved at half-pace. Especially her brain. She sat at the desk by the window and took her phone from her handbag, staring at the screen. Maybe she could call Mitch. Try and explain what happened at the party. Then she remembered. Time to call Rob and get clearance to head back to the newsroom. She could hear herself breathe, a finger poised over a number —
The floor shuddered beneath her feet and a heavy tremor shook the walls. A window shattered next to her. Rachel felt her body rocking forwards, and then a deep gravelly roar ripped through the room. It was a noise greater than anything she’d heard before. ‘Fuck!’ She jumped to her feet. Shards of glass rained down, narrowly missing her. Cold air blew in through the window frame.
Horror froze the cameramen’s faces for a split second before they grabbed their gear and raced for the door, shouting about bombs and explosions. Rachel grabbed the chair to steady herself.
‘Quick, Rach, with us!’ Gary urged her to follow them.
A second blast, more deafening than the first, thundered through the air. The floor rippled and she gripped the chair to stay upright. The cameramen stopped and stared at each other. Rachel’s chest tightened and her breath quickened, but she couldn’t move.
‘Fuck, this is serious, let’s go!’ Gary ran out the door with Andy.
Another piece of glass spiked the floor next to her foot. She didn’t want to be left alone. On autopilot, she chased Gary out to the street, struggling to catch up.
Two cars burned fiercely outside the British Consulate-General, and acrid smoke filled the air. People ran in every direction, some leaving their cars in the street as the mayhem forced traffic to a standstill. Screaming and sirens shot through the city street. Glass plummeted to the road and blood spattered the footpaths. People sat in gutters, clutching open wounds. Fire trucks roared closer. Police called out to stay away from parked cars. Another might explode at any moment.
Rachel followed Gary to the middle of Collins Street, closer to the inferno, with two camera crews ahead of them, completely absorbed getting the shots that mattered. Rachel didn’t want to get closer. Piercing cries came from those blazing cars. She glimpsed what might have been a hand straining through the flames and looked away. Firefighters struggled to help but they would be too late. Now helicopters whirred overhead, muffling the noise on the ground. She held her breath until her lungs felt they would burst.
Gary’s pager beeped. He swore, but kept walking, reading the message. ‘Rob wants other crews covering this. We have to head to the hospitals to cover the victims’ stories. Shit!’
A man ran towards them, gesturing at them to move back. ‘A man’s been killed,’ he shouted. ‘They think it’s a security guard. Maybe others too. Stay away, run!’
More reporters and crews from other networks converged on the scene. Gary was reluctant to leave.
‘What the fuck? We need as many crews here as possible. What if another car goes off?’ He kept filming. His phone rang again. He ripped it out of his shirt.
‘Yeah, yeah, alright, alright. I got it, okay? We’ll head off now.’ He hung up, turning to them, running a hand through his hair.
‘Shit. Okay, Rach, Andy, we really have to go. They can’t get any more crews into the city ’cos the roads are blocked off. Rob says ambulances will be here soon and he wants us at the hospitals to cover the injured as they arrive. We can’t take the news car, so we’re going to have to run.’
Rachel nodded, light-headed, glad they were being sent away.
‘Andy, you can take the sound equipment, and Rach, we’ll need you to carry the tripod.’ Gary paced quickly. Rachel and Andy worked hard to keep up.
It was about two kilometres to the Royal Melbourne Hospital. Rachel stumbled under the weight of the tripod, trying to balance in high heels. Knives jabbed at her feet with every step, but there was too much glass on the ground to rip off her shoes just yet.
They made it to Emergency just in time. Rachel stood at a distance while Gary and Andy went to work filming as one victim was wheeled in after another. People arrived, faces distorted with worry, to learn the extent of loved ones’ injuries. A medic approached a pacing woman and spoke to her quietly, hands on her shoulders. She knelt to the ground, screaming. ‘No, no, no!’ Rachel cringed as Gary filmed her grief. The wounded lay on stretchers, waiting to be ferried to operating theatres, their features contorted in pain, despite drugs administered by the paramedics. A moaning, wailing sound replayed like a stuck record. One young man was louder than most. A large slice of metal jutted from his shin like a bad prop in a movie. But this wasn’t a movie. This was reality being filmed by her crew for the evening news.
After an hour the mayhem subsided. Rachel asked a nurse if anyone was fit to be interviewed. Yes, the nurse thought she could help. There were three victims who had suffered minor cuts from falling glass, and they’d be okay for interviews after she’d cleared it with the hospital’s media unit. No others. Ten had suffered serious injuries and another six were in a critical condition.
Two victims didn’t even make it to hospital.
***
The nurse showed Rachel to a patient’s bedside. Irene had been on her way to the embassy to sort out a visa. Falling glass had grazed her face, but her right arm had suffered a direct hit. A larger shard had sliced through her thin cotton shirt, cutting the skin deeply from shoulder to armpit. She’d already been stitched and bandaged. Her lined face was pale and fragile, her hair streaked with grey.
‘Are you sure you’re okay to have a quick chat with us on camera?’
‘That’s fine, love.’ Irene turned to look at Rachel more directly. She had an English accent. ‘I might have expected this if I were back home, but not ’ere in Australia.’
Rachel nodded at Gary to begin filming. ‘Can you tell us what you saw?’
‘It’s hard to remember, it ’appened so quickly. I was on me way to extend me visa, because me son’s unwell, and I was just enjoying the walk, you know, in your lovely weather, when there was this roaring in me ears. So loud, it was. So loud. Bang! Shook me to me bones, it did. And the smell, oh my Lord, the smell . . .’ She closed her eyes, as if she was drifting off.
‘Did you see the actual explosion?’
She opened her eyes. ‘Yes, a fiery burst it was. Up in the distance. Then there was another one. Another car, I think, and suddenly all this glass was falling on the streets like hail. People running everywhere and the screaming got louder. I ran too, until I was hit. Such a shock, it was. Such a lot of blood.’ She lay back on her pillow and closed her eyes.
The nurse looked pointedly at Rachel, tapping her watch. Rachel nodded to Gary to turn off the camera. ‘Thank you, Irene,’ she said, placing her hand over the woman’s. ‘I hope you make a speedy recovery.’
Irene nodded, smiling faintly. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she whispered.
