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She was going to broadcast her most private pain and hope into lounge rooms and kitchens all over the country for the sake of entertainment and advertising.
She was going to curl up and die.
Loud swung the car into the parking lot of the studio. Merrit and Alan were waiting. Her phone rang and rang. Darcy pushed open the door, leaned out of the still moving car and lost her breakfast.
All the men moved at once. Loud braked. Russ swung his door open, and jumped out. Merrit appeared at her side, and put his arm around her shoulder, and Alan said, “Better out than in.”
An hour later, scrubbed, brushed and polished, wearing a different outfit—a dress, pretty and soft, not like the business suits they usually had her in—Darcy faced Liarne in a hastily put together studio interview setting that was meant to look like a family room, a place where women traded secrets.
She knew the station was already promo-ing the story using the line, “Channel Five’s Darcy Campbell talks about her love for Australian’s richest man, Will Parker”.
She’d tried to get hold of Peter again, but his phone was perpetually busy. She was on her own.
While the techs were fussing with lighting, moving a bunch of flowers on a coffee table, left and right, then back to where it started, Darcy collected her thoughts. She could give them a story with all the elements of soap opera: sex, betrayal, love, fear, pain, devastation and hope. She could paint herself the heroine, and Will the hero of an unparalleled mating of truth and dare, wealth and power, corruption and justice. She could play coy, and avoid saying anything specific, making certain the trigger fingers of remote-hoggers nationwide got itchy, and swapped channels, or she could use the opportunity fix the damage she’d inflicted on Will’s reputation.
There was a lot she could say about meeting and falling in love with Will Parker, but she was not going to say anything to hurt him or compromise herself.
Her body was in the room, but her head was seeing Will, his confusion and agitation. She missed what Liarne said. She took a sip of water then turned her head so makeup could check her lipstick and teeth. “Sorry, say that again, Liarne.”
“We’re opening with the edit from this morning, where he says—what did he say, ah yeah, ‘Well enough to know I’d go through hell and back...’”
“I know what he said.”
“Right.”
“I’ll ask you how you met, what he’s like, so handsome, Darce. What was he like in bed?”
“Liarne.”
“Sorry, I know. Later, tell me later. I’ll ask you about the photo that started it all, how you felt when he was kidnapped, how you discovered his innocence, a bit of blah, blah about the riot. Then I’ll ask if you love him, if he knows you love him, and what’s next for the two of you lovebirds. Right?”
Liarne could ask whatever she wanted. This was live television.
A sound tech did a final adjustment to Darcy’s mic, and the floor manager started the countdown, going with fingers held aloft for five, four, three, two, one.
“Good evening and welcome to this special edition of News Tonight. I’m Liarne Bennet. Tonight we’re turning the tables to interview our own Darcy Campbell about her relationship with the enigmatic Australian businessman, Will Parker.”
Intro over, the program identification tape rolling, Liarne tapped Darcy on the knee. “You should tear up, the viewers like it when we seem more human.”
The red light on camera two flashed. Liarne said, “Earlier today a group of Sydney journalists covering the story about the tragic consequences of mixing prescription drugs and alcohol for Bulldog’s Player, Todd Dubscheck, were surprised by the appearance of reclusive billionaire businessman, Will Parker.
“You might remember the media shy Parker was photographed for the first time recently berating a man in a Shanghai hotel.” Liarne paused as the vision switched from her face to a grainy shot of Will standing over Robert. “Parker was later kidnapped, held for ransom, accused of murder, jailed, and allegedly beaten in a prison riot. He was subsequently cleared of the murder charge, but then disappeared from the public eye again. Now he’s back, and declaring his love for Darcy.”
Liarne took a breath and Nadia nicked onto the set and gave the back of her jacket a tug, as an edited version of the morning’s events played. On the floor manager’s signal, Liarne said, “Darcy how does it feel to have Australia’s richest man declare his love for you in front of the whole country?”
Darcy hesitated. She’d expected the ‘how did you meet’ question Liarne had said she’d lead with. But she hadn’t interviewed spokespeople media trained to within an inch of their pay packets in the art of not answering the question for years—to be caught out.
She smiled benignly at Liarne. “I thought I’d answer that by telling you how we met.”
Out of shot, Liarne gave an eye-roll, acknowledging the dodge.
“I was sent to Shanghai to interview Will Parker, but when I arrived I discovered there was an irregularity with my visa. Another Australian helped me out with the issue, even made sure I got to my hotel safely. We never exchanged names, but I discovered later my saviour was Will Parker.”
“So romantic,” Liarne cut in.
“Unfortunately Will was called away and I wasn’t able to interview him.”
“But you did take those very incriminating photos of him.” Darcy knew the photos would be on TV screens again.
