The hemsworth effect, p.23
The Hemsworth Effect, page 23
Aimee squinted at the flickering screen. ‘Did we get one?’
‘Heaps. Always need options.’ Freya scrolled through a few of the frames as a tech guy from the crew appeared next to them. ‘I gotta go get some other people.’ Freya planted a kiss on Aimee’s cheek and bounced off. ‘And thank you again!’ she called back, leaving the cameraman with her aunt.
Aimee looked around the garden – mainly to avoid eye contact with the cameraman and the tech guy, who’d already started running a cord down the back of her shirt and connecting the black power pack to the waistband of her jeans. At night, you couldn’t tell the sprawling property was still under construction or that, at the bottom of the slope, a kilometres-long lake was in the process of being excavated. She felt a nudge on her shoulder. Tim: holding a beer in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. He was wearing an outfit that matched the decor.
He held out the flute and smirked. ‘You look like you need it.’
‘And you look like you got the Pinterest link.’ She reached out to take the drink and glimpsed his hand. On his finger was a silver ring with a round piece of turquoise on top. Tim wasn’t the kind of guy who wore jewellery. In fact, he used to make it quite clear how much he hated it. In the 2000s, when they were teenagers and it became cool for guys to wear those white puka shell necklaces and silver metal dog tags, Tim resisted. No rings or adornments of any kind were allowed as gifts for any birthdays or Christmases or anniversaries when they were dating.
‘Did you have lunch at your mum’s?’ Aimee asked.
‘Yeah, the usual: Relatives. Mum’s alternative therapy mates. It was fine. Only, this year I couldn’t piss off at the end of the day and go home to our place.’ He laughed.
Aimee squinted. ‘Am I an asshole for saying I’m glad I got to miss it this year?’
Tim pursed his lips and shrugged. ‘Am I an asshole for saying I’m jealous?’
A breeze picked up and Aimee turned into it, clocking the hovering camera and cringing to herself. She’d forgotten it was there. A series of short sharp buzzes vibrated in the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled out her phone and glanced at the screen. A text from Jules. ‘Sorry.’ She flicked her eyes up at Tim.
‘No, no,’ he rushed to say. ‘Do what you need to do.’ He looked around the yard and waited for Aimee to finish.
Happy Christmas. Can’t wait to see you again x
Then another message appeared DJ your way to an orgasm, it read, and there was a link to a Spotify playlist Jules had made: AIMEE’S LEVIBE JAMS. A quick scroll revealed it was a jumbled mix of tacky hyper-sexual novelty rap. She let out a delighted burst of laughter that immediately drew the attention of her fiancé – the look on his face was almost confused, like he hadn’t heard that noise come out of her before. She calmly locked her phone before he could ask any questions. All the candles and cane lanterns were making the air hotter than it already was. She adjusted a shoulder strap on her white tank top and looked at the turquoise ring on her fiancé’s finger again. Her stare lingered.
Tim followed her eyeline, flicking his gaze to the jewellery. He got embarrassed and swapped his beer to the opposite hand so he could slide the bejewelled finger into the pocket of his jeans. ‘It was a gift. From today. I felt like I had to put it on.’
Aimee had to try hard not to ask who it was from – even though she already knew. She recognised it from the Lola online store. Of course she’d stalked the website as soon as she got home after meeting Bree at the dinner. Then she caught herself making a face. She always thought she was good at hiding her reactions, but she wasn’t. She attempted to defuse it. ‘It’s nice. It matches the turquoise pendant necklace I’m gonna buy you,’ she joked.
Tim groaned and resisted a smile.
‘It also matches the fedora.’ Aimee nodded at his head before looking out across the yard. She noticed the rest of the TV crew, dressed in all-black outfits and doing their best to be everywhere while also not being noticed. They were paying particular attention to one table. Aimee squinted. Brooke flurried past, as if she was on her way to deal with some kind of grazing platter emergency. Aimee stuck a hand out to get her attention. ‘Is that Meredith?’
Brooke stopped. ‘The hippy? Yes! I met her last night when we were at the pub. Told her she should come and do readings at the party.’ Then she tapped Aimee’s wrist and altered her tone, as if she were about to divulge a secret no one knew. ‘She’s Isla Fisher’s psychic.’ A moment later, she’d grabbed Aimee and Tim by the hands and was dragging them across the lawn. ‘Oh, Aimee, Tim told me you have a bunch of old antiques you’re trying to get rid of.’
‘Um… well, I was thinking of selling them, but…’
‘How much do you want for the lot?’
‘But you haven’t seen them.’
‘I’ll buy the lot, take what I need, then dump the rest. You’ll get paid anyway.’
‘I’m just… not really wanting to sell them anymore.’
‘Fine, what pieces do you wanna get rid of?’
Tim looked over at Aimee. ‘Just show her some of the pics you took at the market stall.’
Aimee didn’t know how to respond.
Tim gave her a look like she was being rude. ‘Just show her the pics. You don’t need to keep everything.’
Aimee pulled her phone out of her back pocket and scrolled through the photo gallery.
Brooke leant over and glimpsed an image of some big green enamel factory dome light shades and grabbed the phone to look. ‘Now they are something I’d buy. How many?’
Aimee closed her eyes and tried to remember. ‘A dozen. About a dozen. Maybe.’ She exhaled.
Brooke clicked her long acrylic nail on the screen. ‘We could use them for the lights in the barn.’
Aimee looked up and saw Meredith in her element, holding court. She glanced up from her deck of tarot cards. ‘Oh, hey Byron Karen.’ The camos and soundies edged back to widen the circle.
‘Aimee next!’ Brooke insisted, shoving her down in a chair at the table.
‘Yes! Aimee next!’ another voice cheered. It was familiar. Aimee glanced around and saw who it was: Bree. Meredith was just wrapping up with her. Crystals were being rearranged. Cards were being shuffled. Tim pulled a chair over and sat down.
‘Let’s do aura readings!’ Brooke clapped. ‘I got told I’m orange: creative and passionate.’
‘I got yellow,’ Bree said. ‘Positive, optimistic.’
Of course you are, Aimee thought. It’s easy to be positive and optimistic when you’re twenty-five. Then her mind flashed back to when she was twenty-five. Was she ever positive and optimistic? At twenty-five, she’d owned the store for the better part of a decade and was just getting acclimated with small business debt. She couldn’t remember ever being positive and optimistic. Surly and pessimistic, though, were more than familiar feelings.
Bree looked up and teased Tim about his potential aura reading. ‘I think your colour will be… black.’ She scrunched her nose up and looked at Aimee to share the laugh.
Cameramen bustled. One crouched down. Another stood. A boom mic hovered.
Aimee raised an eyebrow at Meredith. ‘Weren’t you protesting this reality show?’
‘Yep. But then that crazy rich lady paid me to come here and be on it.’ Meredith nodded over at Brooke. She sat back and used one of the tiny knives to scoop a hunk of brie onto a cracker, followed by a mountain of quince paste. ‘Alright. A reminder: these are just snap readings. I can complete your reading if you book a full session – simply go to MystiqueMeredith.com and confirm an appointment through the online portal. Or you can DM me on Instagram or TikTok.’ She sat back, locked her eyes on Tim for several minutes and mindlessly picked nuts off the grazing platter. ‘Blue. You’re clouded with blue. It’s like someone dipped a big paintbrush in blue watercolours and splashed it all around you. Dripping. You’re dripping in blue. Blue means you’re an empath. Emotionally sensitive. Care a lot about others.’
Aimee caught herself making a face again – the same face she usually reserved for green-flavoured Clinkers. Then she felt guilty. Of course Tim was emotionally sensitive. Sometimes. Maybe. When he wasn’t busy leaving all the kitchen cupboards open for no reason. Was it bad she was so disgusted by someone pointing out a nice quality in her fiancé? Or maybe that was a natural reaction to have – especially when you’ve reached that stage in your relationship where, instead of buying romantic Christmas gifts, you just go halfsies on a Roomba. Aimee got so distracted trying not to make her green Clinker face that she didn’t realise Tim’s aura reading had ended and Meredith had moved on to studying her. She exhaled and used both hands to push her hair back.
‘Wooft.’ Meredith sighed. ‘Murky. Like a swamp. A murky swamp colour. Greys and browns. You’re anchored by negativity.’
‘Well—’ Aimee stumbled but Meredith powered on.
‘Pessimistic. Glass half-empty. Kinda selfish. It’s blocking your energy flow.’
Aimee looked around. ‘Maybe it’s just the lack of lighting out here.’
‘It’s not the lighting. There aren’t enough selenite crystals in the world to cleanse that filthy aura.’
Aimee blinked and resisted the overwhelming urge to pick up the tiny silver cheese knife and use it as a weapon. People who call you negative are the worst because the moment you scrunch up your face and deny it, they point and say, ‘See! You’re being negative!’ What a trap.
Meredith wrapped up a wedge of blue vein cheese in one of Brooke’s rustic linen napkins and threw it in the Coles reusable shopping tote she used as a handbag. ‘Oh, also. You’ve had sex.’
Brooke and Bree guffawed. Cameramen moved swiftly to capture Aimee’s humiliation from multiple angles. Aimee closed her eyes and shook her head fast, like a cartoon character who’d just been whacked with a giant mallet.
Tim jolted. ‘You’ve had sex?’
Meredith popped a grape in her mouth. ‘She’s had sex.’
Aimee picked her jaw up off the lawn. ‘Well, I think you need to cleanse your crystals, because… it seems you’re a little bit misguided tonight. On a lot of things.’
Meredith sighed. ‘There’s that trademark pessimism again. And my crystals are fine. You’ve had sex.’
Brooke trotted over and hugged Aimee from behind while cheering.
‘Would you please stop saying that?’ Aimee squeezed out of the embrace.
Meredith shrugged. ‘If you keep having sex, your aura might change to a nicer colour.’
A rowdy table nearby started calling for Brooke to bring Meredith over. They wanted to experience the joyful enlightenment Aimee had just bathed in. ‘We’re coming!’ Brooke helped Meredith up from her seat.
Aimee excused herself to find the bathroom.
Porta-a-loos were not something Brooke would ever install on her property. And allowing the guests of a moderate-sized outdoor party to use the bathrooms inside her home was also something that would never happen. Brooke’s solution? She had a Guest Rest Centre built. That was its official name. There was a carved wooden sign and everything. It was basically a public toilet block but with marble tiles and bronze faucets and Aesop products and enclosed rooms instead of stalls. Of course, it was built out of sight – away from the party – at the end of a pathway and behind a canopy of jasmine. Thousands of the white buds had burst open like little stars and the warm night coaxed out their sweetness. Aimee stopped for a moment and inhaled – a moment of peace, away from the TV crew who didn’t notice her escape and who’d probably be annoyed to find out she’d unplugged her microphone cord from the power pack on her waistband. She noticed the weatherboard barn nearby – newly built, painted white with navy trim, lights on. The one she’d spotted when Brooke was giving her the tour of the property. ‘Where dreams go to die,’ Brooke had sighed when the golf cart whizzed past it. The one Brooke was now wanting to put Aimee’s green vintage factory lamps in.
Aimee followed the path towards it and heard the sound of cricket playing on a TV. She was a little curious, but mostly just looking for any excuse to delay her return to the party. The big timber doors were rolled open. She kept walking inside and suddenly became aware of the echoes being made from her boots on the cement floor. The jasmine perfume had been replaced by the stink of marijuana. Brooke’s husband Rich was sitting on a tan leather couch and smoking a joint in front of the big plasma screen that was mounted to the wall. He turned around, sucked back on the white rolled-up paper and held it up, offering Aimee a puff.
She shook her head.
He looked her up and down and blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘You didn’t get the Pinterest link.’
Aimee looked at the slob in front of her. ‘Neither did you.’
‘You’re Freya’s mum?’
Aimee looked around. ‘What’s with the vending machines?’ There were twelve – organised in two rows along one wall.
‘My empire.’ Rich started to laugh. ‘DVD rental vending machines. Open twenty-four hours, seven days a week. The 7-Eleven of movies.’ Inhale. ‘Then Netflix came to Australia.’ Exhale. ‘And fucked me.’ He swigged his beer. ‘You know how much one DVD vending machine costs?’
Aimee didn’t answer.
‘Twenty grand. And I bought twenty of ’em.’ He burst into a fit of giggles. ‘Half… a million… dollars.’
Aimee’s eyes were getting dry from the smoke and Rich was clearly stoned. ‘Well, I’m gonna go—’
‘We had to move back in with Brooke’s parents. Sold off whatever machines we could for a couple grand. Brooke took the cash and started making her tututhings.’ He flicked the butt on the ground. His tone had turned distinctly bitter. ‘Millions of people wanna buy some fuckin’ ugly dress for their baby from a stranger on the internet just because some celebrities told them to? Who knew.’ He burped, then looked over to Aimee. ‘Brooke told me about you and your boyfriend.’
‘Fiancé.’
‘And… Bree.’ Another burst of giggles bubbled up from his chest. He reined it in. ‘That’s fucked up.’ He kicked back on the couch again. ‘You shouldn’t worry,’ he dismissed. ‘Bree’s an entitled little brat.’
Aimee pursed her lips and turned to walk out.
‘That Christmas decoration Brooke gave you?’ Rich’s voice echoed around the barn.
Aimee stopped.
‘It’s not from France. It’s from Target.’
* * *
Aimee walked back into the Donna Hay wonderland. Charlie and Rob scurried out of the house, through the folding glass doors and over to Aimee.
‘Did you get it?’ Charlie asked Aimee.
Aimee furrowed her brow and took a step back to assess her friends. ‘What is that?’
Charlie and Rob were both holding the really big Starbucks cups that Brooke always carried.
Rob cackled. ‘We went through her kitchen and found a whole drawer full of them. The woman buys the empty cups and then fills them with her own coffee! She drinks fake Starbucks!’
Aimee shushed them.
‘Here, we got you one, too.’ Rob held out one of the cardboard cups. ‘We filled them with champagne.’
Charlie nudged Rob. ‘The other thing,’ he said out of the corner of his mouth.
‘Oh yeah. Did you get it?’
‘Get what?’ Aimee was becoming frustrated.
‘The text. Charlie sent you a video.’
Aimee reached behind to slide her phone out of her back pocket but it wasn’t there. Then she remembered. ‘Brooke has my phone. She was looking at pictures of the antiques earlier.’
‘Eek.’ Charlie’s face dropped.
‘Fuck.’ The colour drained from Rob’s.
A microphone screeched. ‘Guess Who, Don’t Sue,’ Brooke’s voice boomed through the yard over a speaker.
‘Where the hell did she get a microphone?’ Charlie said.
Everyone looked around and saw Brooke standing on a chair near the jacaranda. The TV crew moved like undercover army operatives around the yard to secure the best positions to film what was about to happen. Brooke’s lookalike friends gathered. Aimee, Rob and Charlie hung back and watched on.
‘This is a fun game I learned at Music Club last night,’ Brooke began. ‘I give you hints on a rumour and you speculate who it’s about.’
Laughs and murmurs came from the crowd. Aimee tried to spot Freya but couldn’t.
‘Which Brats of Byron Bay co-star is involved in a cheating scandal?’ Brooke smirked, leaving a pause for guesses that never came. ‘It’s a hard one,’ she teased.
Aimee shot Charlie a look and leaned in close. ‘Is this about you hooking up with Luna’s boyfriend? That… van guy?’ she whispered hastily.
‘I really wish it was,’ Charlie winced.
Brooke’s voice interrupted. ‘Maybe this next clue will be easier: Which Brats of Byron Bay co-star has been dubbed a dud root?’
Murmur, murmur.
Cough.
‘Another hint?’ Brooke asked the crowd. She was having fun, toying with the pin on the grenade she was about to hurl.
Rob grabbed Aimee’s arm. ‘We should probably leave now.’
‘Which bogan hairdresser secretly fucked my husband?’ Brooke tapped her phone screen.
The photos being projected onto the big white sheet switched to video footage. It was the clip of Rob kissing the weird dad in the beige polo shirt at Music Club.
Rob leant closer to Aimee. ‘Remember how you thought there was something familiar about Rich?’
Everyone at the party turned to look at the trio. Cameras swung around and zoned in.
Aimee, Rob and Charlie stood still. Holding their really big Starbucks cups.
