Page 19 of Lights, Camera, Love

Once I’ve relocated my brain and we’ve reached the absurdly overpriced grocery store, I do a few laps of the outdoor carpark until I find a spot that’s reasonably close to the entrance.

There, I spy a couple of bored-looking photographers lounging on the low-brick wall beside the doors, long-lens cameras dangling from their necks.

I expected more than two snappers to turn up, but I guess Austin hasn’t had his name plastered to the front page of anything for several years now. Time to change that.

Austin sluggishly gets out of the car, and I jump out to pull open Evie’s door. Her thumbnail remains caught between her teeth as she watches the photographers from the back seat.

‘We don’t have to do this,’ I remind her.

‘I’m good,’ she says with a nervous smile, reaching out a hand.

Even though I shouldn’t—it will make us look like the couple—I gently clasp her fingers and help her out of the car.

As if it has a mind of its own, my thumb traces a line over the back of her hand, and her soft fingers curl into my skin before I have time to regret it.

Austin snatches hold of Evie’s wrist, and our hands detach. He tugs her to his side.

I turn away, rubbing the spot of pressure in my chest. This is the best thing for everyone , I remind myself, including me .

The photographers are now on the approach, clicking their cameras. Once I’m within their earshot, I say to the pretend couple, ‘You two lovebirds go and get whatever you need for your date tonight. I’ll wait out here.’

Austin and Evie take off for the store entrance, arm in arm. The paparazzi chase after them, calling out questions about their relationship and asking for the name of Austin’s ‘mystery woman’.

Time to change that, too.

I grab my phone from the car and tap out an email to the PR agency I hired to make this happen, emphasising that they need to leak the name Evie Scott and as many behind-the-scenes details about Moving as they can manage to the media.

Of course, I say nothing about Gabriel Dean, even though that would guarantee a front cover.

Austin is right to fear what his ex-wife might do when this story comes out, and my next move is to sit back in the car with the door hanging open and type out a statement that he can use if Nadia reposts those incriminating texts from years ago.

She took the screencaps down after he called her last week, but she could re-upload them at any time, along with that stupid video of him wanking to his own reflection.

Trying to keep a straight face when Austin first told me about this footage was one of the toughest challenges of my life, and it’s not like those have been in short supply for me.

The statement takes twice as long to write as it should; my gaze keeps drifting to the grocery store’s automatic doors.

The photographers took off right after Austin and Evie disappeared inside, having got what they needed, so why haven’t those two come back out yet?

Are they picking out some French brie, serrano ham and Sicilian olives to go with a bottle of Cristal champagne, planning to turn this pretend date into a real one?

I kick the car door further open to let in some more air.

Twelve more minutes pass before the glass doors of the entrance finally glide open, and Austin and Evie emerge with bulging grocery bags hooked over their wrists. On their way back to the car, he says something to her that makes her burst out laughing.

I look away and suck in a man-the-hell-up breath.

Austin’s face suddenly appears in the front windshield, like a movie jump-scare. ‘How’d we do, chief?’ he asks with a grin as he steps around to the passenger door.

I clear my throat. ‘Good, man. Looked legit.’

‘Sweet. We’re faking it ’til we make it, right, Evie?’ he says as she climbs into the back seat.

Instead of replying, she looks at me. ‘When do you think the story will come out?’

‘It’s supposed to be Thursday,’ I say.

Austin clicks in his seatbelt, and the plane of his forearm grazes mine as he rests his arm on the console. I move my arm away.

He coughs and turns to grin at Evie. ‘Time for the world to see that Austin Reynolds can still pull a hot chick, eh?’

I glance at Evie through the rear-vision mirror. Her brow furrows slightly as she offers him an uncertain smile.

‘I don’t think that came out the way you hoped,’ I mutter to Austin.

‘Huh?’ he squints at me.

‘Forget it.’

He slumps against the seat, emptying his lungs with a long breath. Once more, he looks utterly drained without having done much at all.

JAMIE

I’m sorry I hurt you, Constance. I was wrong to speak to you like that.

CONSTANCE

It’s okay. I was wrong, too. I didn’t mean what I said.

JAMIE

(Steps towards her) Well, you know what they say about two wrongs …

CONSTANCE

They make a right.

I scratch my head at the muddled about-face in the script I’m holding. Are Jamie and Constance making serious apologies or trying to be cute? What the hell is the point of this moment?

Agata, the most capable production assistant on Moving , slaps a rolled-up magazine onto my script.

I mouth her a ‘thank you’ and carefully set my disposable coffee cup on Austin’s canvas chair.

I would’ve gladly escaped this morning’s shoot to go and buy the mag myself, but chaos had broken out on set.

Buzz had decided to film the argument scene between Jamie and Constance from the tops of their heads, using a monopod and a boom pole.

The bird’s-eye-view shot might’ve made sense if the characters were lying on their backs, gazing up at the stars, but the scene takes place while they’re standing in Jamie’s kitchen.

Austin had been arguing with Buzz over this absurd angle when Finn, the runner, tripped over a cable and knocked down a studio light, smashing it to pieces. Honestly, that kid could throw himself at the ground and still miss.

Austin and Evie are now back on set, and Buzz is mercifully trying out a different camera angle, so I have a chance to quietly flip through the magazine.

Irritatingly, there’s no mention of Austin and Evie on the front page.

When I find the article about halfway through, my eyes narrow at the headline.

‘Austin Reynolds in Love! But Who’s the Lucky Lady? (Or Lad?)’

‘ Or lad ?’ I hiss.

Louis, the boom operator, who almost put me to sleep yesterday by telling me a longwinded story about his mother’s spice rack, has the gall to ‘shush’ me. I repress the urge to prise the boom pole from his hands and shove it down his windpipe.

My pulse begins to race as I scan the article.

Australian heartthrob Austin Reynolds, the leading star of the Tate Hunter film franchise, was spotted in Sydney this week with a special someone on his arm, who sources claim is his new co-star—the beautiful unknown actress Evie Scott.

Reynolds and Scott are playing love interests in the upcoming dance film Moving, which is currently filming at Village Pictures studios and is being directed by Brian Winter (yes, he’s Harold Winter’s nephew!).

While the co-stars make a cute couple, we can’t help but notice another special someone who’s been seen with Reynolds on multiple occasions since he arrived back in his home city.

Rumour has it that the handsome mystery man is also sharing a beachside apartment with Reynolds.

So, we’re left with one question: Is Evie Scott a cover for the real romance blossoming here?

‘Holy fucking hell.’

With my heart pushing against my ribs, I scan the rest of the glossy page.

Beneath a large image of Austin and Evie in the grocery store carpark are two smaller, grainier photographs.

One is of Austin and me walking through the Village Pictures carpark after the script read-through, when that woman with the baby took pictures of us.

The second photo shows the two of us strolling along the beachfront boulevard near our apartment.

We’re clutching matching green smoothies, and Austin’s face is tilted to mine, his smile stretched into a dopey grin. Jesus. Fuck.

At least Evie’s father isn’t mentioned in this joke of an article. Where did this journalist learn how to do their job—from a YouTube tutorial?

After finding my way through the studio’s rabbit warren of corridors and getting out onto the noisy street, I pull out my phone and call Jenna, my contact at the PR agency.

‘Don’t worry, we’ll fix it,’ are the first words out of her mouth.

‘You know that I’m his manager. This article is completely inaccurate.’

‘It’s a tabloid,’ Jenna sighs. ‘Of course it’s inaccurate.

But they were the only rag we could get for this first plant.

I have to say, their reporter is a crafty one.

That was a pretty left-of-field call … ’ She pauses, and I can hear the wheels turning in her head.

‘You know, if we can get this story to build, maybe the newspapers will come on board in a massive—’

‘ No . Not a chance. The only story here is that Austin is dating his co-star, and the “mystery man” is his personal manager, Kye Evans.’

‘Yes, okay. We’ll get it corrected, but some new photos would help because these carpark ones are officially old news. Something with Austin and Evie looking even more coupley would be gold.’

‘Coupley?’

‘We need them kissing. And not a peck—I’m talking about some full-blown face-sucking. Set something up and text me the time and place?’ Jenna pauses before adding, ‘And the sooner, the better, Kye. If you want this other story to go away.’

I gulp back the rock wedged in my throat. ‘Consider it done.’