Hello from the Gillespies by Monica McInerney Read Free Book Online Page B

you mean a.m. or p.m.? I’m trying to book our onward flights to Adelaide.’
    ‘P.m. 1800 hours. Mum will pick us up in Adelaide, won’t she?’
    ‘She’d better. I’m not sure I can handle four hours of Lindy’s wailing. And apparently Dad is shackled to the computer these days and never leaves the station. Thanks, I’ll book the flights today. Who was the man last night? Is he a possible?’
    ‘No, gay as can be, but I’d marry him anyway. He was so much fun. You know those people who laugh so hard at your jokes that you want to be as funny as possible just to keep them going? He was like that. “You are hysterical, Genevieve. Tell me another one, Genevieve.”’
    ‘Was that supposed to be an American accent?’
    ‘I’ll have you know, people often think I
am
an American.’
    ‘An American who got lost in the Australian desert for twenty years, maybe.’
    Genevieve’s phone buzzed again. ‘Another missed call. I better go.’
    ‘No, wait. What are you working on this week? I can’t keep up with your showbiz life.’
    Genevieve named the TV series and the lead actress.
    ‘Ooh, what’s she like?’ Victoria said.
    Genevieve couldn’t help herself. ‘You know I’m sworn to secrecy and can’t divulge anything about my work.’ She waited a beat. ‘She’s the most selfish, ill-mannered, foul-mouthed cow
ever
. She’s also having affairs with the director
and
her co-star, one of whom is male, one female. Both married. She constantly talks about them while I’m doing her hair. She also constantly and openly smokes dope, and the reason she looks
so
convincingly out of it on screen is because she
is
out of it. And now I really,
really
have to go! Farewell, Victoria.’
    ‘Farewell, Genevieve.’
    Genevieve hung up, glanced at her watch and grimaced. She wasn’t just late, she was very late. Only by five minutes, but timekeeping was essential in her industry. It would never do if actors arrived in the trailer to have their hair done and found themselves waiting for the hairdresser or make-up artist. The other way round, sure. That was often the case. But this TV series was already overbudget, and the pressure was on, for cast and crew. The director had made that clear via his latest all-crew email yesterday.
    If only she hadn’t had that final drink last night. She didn’t just have a headache. She was nauseous too. But it had been such good fun, and such a treat to have someone listening so intently. Be so amused by her. He’d even given her his number: ‘Ring me any time. You’re fun.’
    She hailed a cab. Once she was in the seat, her bags in a jumble at her feet, she took out her work phone again. Ten missed calls. What was happening? She pressed a button to listen to her voicemail. All the callers were asking the same question. Had she seen the
New York Post
that morning? She brought up the online edition on her phone and scrolled down until she saw it for herself. The gossip page.
    The photo by-line leapt out at her first. It was the man she’d spent last night talking and laughing with. The fun gay guy who worked as a graphic designer at the
Post
, he’d told her. Who hadn’t wanted to talk about himself. Unusual enough in this city. Perhaps he really was a graphic designer. But he was also the gossip columnist. The gossip columnist with either a perfect memory or a recording device that he took everywhere with him, including to noisy night clubs.
    Word for word, everything she’d told him the previous night was there. The inside story on the actress. The two affairs she was having. The drugs. The misbehaviour. All the information supplied by what he called ‘an insider on the set’.
    Genevieve’s stomach lurched. She rang one of the callers, Megan, her best friend on the set, the show’s make-up artist. As she waited for an answer, she tried to stay calm. The columnist hadn’t named her. No one she knew from the industry had been in the club last night. No one on the show would