‘Brooke!’ she shrieks, and I dial down the volume on my phone. ‘You got the offer!’
Crap. I was about to beg her to find me another romcom, or a soap, or, hell – a set of commercials – anything but more Stan, as long as it’s filmed locally. I don’t want to talk about Paper Oceans today. Last week, I hinted at the fact that I’d most likely ask her to turn it down, and she cried. I have never heard Janelle cry, and Christ on a cracker, I hope I never do again.
Not to mention the fact that I really do want that role.
After today, I’d like to tell Stan to take his beach-bunny role and stuff it back up his ass.
‘I’m driving,’ I say.
‘Ohmygod! You know how I feel about talking and driving!’
Yes. Yes, I do.
‘Then don’t leave me a hundred messages while I’m filming – I thought someone died. I’ll call you later.’
‘That doesn’t sound like a promising reaction. Brooke. Please. Do. Not. Turn. This. Down.’
‘Getting on the freeway!’ Total lie.
‘Okay, okay – call me tonight.’
Shit.
I’m meeting my personal paparazza at my new place in about an hour. Despite Reid’s reluctance to use Rowena to introduce River to the world, I have faith in her – to a point, of course, restricted to her job. She’s always shown me in the light in which I wanted to be seen. She’s never sold a pic I hated. She’s even been handy a couple of times dispelling rumours I didn’t want to spread.
Even so, we’ve never met at my place before. My home has always been totally off-limits to the media – including Rowena. My new condo is situated inside a walled, guarded community. Ins and outs are filmed, and all non-residents are stopped by a security guard at the big iron gate at the front. Unauthorized visitors are sent packing.
The doorbell signals her arrival.
‘Hello, Rowena.’ She’s wary, like a wild animal being lured into a trap, but too hungry not to follow the smell of food. I shake her hand, which I guess I’ve never done before, because her hand is tiny. I knew she was skinny almost to the point of malnourishment, but up close, she looks like she’s got all the might of a parakeet. I can’t imagine how she heaves that camera equipment around.
‘Ms Cameron,’ she nods, entering haltingly. It’s like she expects to encounter a tripwire and be impaled on my wall any second. I’ve asked her to call me Brooke a dozen times before, but I realized a while back she was never going to, and I gave up.
She’s brought her gear, but it’s all zipped inside a tattered black bag. Glancing around surreptitiously, her desire to fish out her camera is unmistakable. We sit on my new sofas, skirting easily around the rounded corners of the reclaimed wood coffee table. There’s a pink-tipped ivy plant of some sort in the centre of it, an indoor potted tree by the window and several hanging and potted plants on my top-floor patio.
I hired a plant person. Seriously.
‘I’ve got a proposition for you. It involves top-secret information, and of course a story I want told – photographically – in a certain light.’
‘I’m listening,’ she nods. Her ambitious eyes give me pause.
‘What I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room. Ever.’
Her eyes widen slightly. I’ve trusted Rowena with a lot over the past few years, but I’ve never prefaced anything like this.
‘You’ve always been more than fair, Ms Cameron. I’ll of course agree not to share any information you entrust me with.’
I take a deep breath and keep my eyes directly on hers. ‘I’m adopting a son.’
She blinks twice, stunned. ‘Congratulations.’ Whatever she expected, this isn’t it.
‘Thank you – but it’s more complicated than that sounds, which is why I need you. There’s no ringing biological clock, no philanthropic statement. This isn’t a foreign adoption. I’m adopting my own child, a baby I gave up when he was born four and a half years ago.’ Her eyes bulge. I’ve never seen this much emotion on Rowena’s face. ‘I assume you’ve made the leap everyone else will make – the question of who’s the daddy. Well, you’re in luck. If you agree to take photos of the three of us that he and I will approve prior to release, we’ll give you an exclusive.’
I don’t have to tell her that once this comes out, it will be huge. If she times this right, and gets ahead of everyone else, she’ll make a freaking fortune.
‘Oh, my God,’ she says. And then she does something I never, ever expected to see Rowena do. She bursts into tears.
Brooke: Rowena is all set.
Reid: K. What’s the plan?
Brooke: I was thinking we could go somewhere semi-public and have her photograph us ‘candidly’ – like we arranged to happen with you and Emma last May, outside the airport.
Reid: Shit. How did she ever forgive me?
Brooke: You told her the truth when it counted, even if it made you look bad. For what it’s worth, I admired you for that. Hated the shit out of you at the time, but admired you. You were a better man than me.
Reid: Haha.
Brooke: So, one of the hiking spots in the Hills, really early on a weekday? OH – I know – let’s do it the day he transfers from me to you. The kid swap. Like divorced couples.
Reid: Yeah – perfect. That will answer the ‘are they a couple?’ question too.
Brooke: Ok, cool. Rowena is on this. She was stunned that you stepped up, btw. I think you’ve gained a new fan. She’s a single mom, apparently. She said her guy used to knock her around. She left the day he hit her kid.