Sera
‘Welcome aboard, Ms DiMaggio, would you care for a juice or a water?’
Sera looked up at the beaming flight attendant and wondered who could be that happy this early in the morning. Sera was barely functioning and she wanted something a whole damn sight stronger than what she was being offered but at nine a.m., her only choices were juice or water.
She plastered on her best smile in return. ‘A water would be lovely, thanks.’
‘Certainly,’ the trolley dolly chirped as she elaborately placed what looked like a nondescript white serviette on the tray, then with a flourish of her wrist, she placed the glass of water on top. ‘Enjoy,’ she chirped once again before whisking the cart away. So much pomp and ceremony for a glass of water. If she’d been presenting Sera with a glass of Belvedere vodka, well, that would be understandable. But it was just a bloody glass of water.
‘Excuse me…’ Sera turned to see a middle-aged woman sitting across the aisle leaning over trying to get her attention. ‘I’m really sorry to bother you, but are you Sera DiMaggio?’
‘Yes, I am.’ Sera returned politely.
‘Oh, I thought so. I was saying to Gerald, my husband, that I thought it was you. I just love you on…’
Sera tuned out as the fellow passenger rambled. She’d heard it all a thousand times before. Fans gushing in admiration. Once she revelled in it, but now it was tiring. She was tired. She was old. She’d reached her use-by date, as her ex had so kindly put it when he told her he was leaving her for his twenty-year-old co-star who, apparently unlike Sera, was going places.
Starring in a soap opera and doing a handful of modelling gigs does not make you famous. You were almost famous…once. Now, you’re just…old.
Fuck Kyle. Thirty was not old and as for fame, she’d been solidly employed as an actor for almost fifteen years. So what if it was on the same soap opera. She was a stalwart.
Stalwart’s another name for old, Sera.
When Seraphina DiMaggio was five she proclaimed that when she grew up she was going to be famous. Her father had joked she was already halfway there with her famous name.
‘What do you mean, Daddy?’
‘Nonno’s brother was Joe DiMaggio and he was a famous baseball player.’
Sera believed this lie for years, despite the massive Swiss cheese holes in it. Like why if he had such a famous brother did Nonno Paolo never talk about him? And why was his brother American when Nonno was Italian? How did that all work? Even years later when she knew the truth, if someone asked her if she was related to Joe DiMaggio she said yes. It was easier and a whole lot more interesting than the truth. All it took was knowing a few key facts and she had people fooled into thinking her great-uncle had been Joe DiMaggio.
In fact, for a long as she could recall Sera had been fooling people about her life one way or another.
At fifteen she’d landed a role in the Australian soap opera Our House and the same year she’d won Teen Queen magazine’s modelling competition. Being in the public eye meant having a public image, but the real Sera was never seen. Instead, people saw her as Stella, the character she played on the soap, or the girl from the such and such ad. That was fine. The real Sera wasn’t interesting. The real Sera wasn’t anyone of importance, so why would she want to show anyone the real Sera?
‘Would you mind terribly if I could get your autograph?’
Sera blinked out of her own world to see the woman already pushing a piece of paper and pen towards her.
‘Sure.’ Sera took them and propped herself on the tray table. ‘Whom should I make it out to?’
‘Oh, if you could make it out to Karen, K A R E N, that would be wonderful.’
It was only as Sera started writing that she realised the scrap of paper was from the sick bag.
Well, that’s a first.
Sera had signed some bizarre items before, but she’d never signed a sick bag. She was handing her autograph back when a man dressed in a dark blue suit appeared and, out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he glanced at the vacant seat beside her, then to her, then to his boarding pass before he finally spoke.
‘Excuse me, I think you’re sitting in my seat.’
Sera automatically flicked into flirt mode.
‘Am I?’ she asked innocently, fully aware she was sitting in his seat. She’d been allocated the window, despite requesting the aisle seat. Sera hated the window. There was no need to be reminded how far up she was from solid ground. Ever.
‘Ah, yes,’ the suit replied, pointing to his boarding pass. ‘See here? My seat is 1B, and you’re…’ he tapped to the section next to the reading light that clearly indicated Sera was indeed sitting in his seat, ‘…sitting in my seat.’
The suit smiled at her and Sera noticed his eyes were a shade of grey she’d never seen before. Grey with flecks of gold; they were mesmerising. Sera blinked, realising she was staring. She never stared. People stared at her.
She shifted her body to face him, crossing her legs, straightening her back so her chest subtlety stood out. Then, with a carefully orchestrated flick of her hair, she flashed her trademark smile.
‘I really don’t like the window so if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay seated where I am.’ Sera waited for the magic to work. It always did.
With lips upturned he crouched down so he was at eye level with her. Normally she could read people’s expressions, see what they were thinking by watching their eyes, but grey eyes gave her nothing but mystery. He smelled nice and he was clean-shaven. She had to fight the urge to reach out and run her hand along his jaw line. Sera was a sucker for meticulous appearances; none of this rolled-out-of-bed scruffy look. No thanks. She liked her men the way she liked her coffee, smooth and aromatic, and this guy certainly fit the bill.
‘Hmmm, well, you see that’s not how it works. General aircraft procedure states all passengers are to be seated in their allocated seats for take-off and landing. Once we’ve reached cruising altitude and the captain has switched off the seatbelt sign, I’m more than happy to switch seats with you, but before that, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to scoot over.’
Sera was taken aback. Her technique was foolproof. It had never failed. Till now. She suddenly felt like a scolded child, but she wasn’t going to quit just yet.
‘Awww, come on,’ she cocked her head to the side and smiled, really widely, once again. ‘Who’s going to know?’ she whispered as she leant forward and locked her gaze with those grey eyes. Tiger eyes, that’s what they looked like. She stared straight at them, waiting for the smallest dilation of his pupils, any response from him, but…nothing. Instead, the response was from her. She felt a flutter in her stomach, a feeling that was uncharacteristic as she continued to stare, entranced.
Then. Finally. Something. It was so small that she almost missed it, but it was there. The slightest narrowing of his eyes as his grin widened.
‘They have a passenger list detailing everyone’s name and allocated seat. How else would they know your name, honey?’
Sera felt her smile dissipate and the flutter in her stomach turned into a punch in the guts.
Who the hell was this guy? The aircraft-seating police? More importantly, how could he not know who she was? Sera opened her mouth, fully intending to ask him that question, when Miss Chirpy returned.
‘I’m sorry, we need all passengers seated for take-off.’
Grey suit slated her with a look that said ‘shove love’ and like a sulking child, Sera obeyed, sliding into the window seat and promptly drawing down the window shade.
She was fuming. Never in her whole adult life had she felt so…so…patronised! This man obviously didn’t own a television. That much was clear. She didn’t care if his eyes were mesmerising and she really didn’t care that he smelt really nice. She didn’t like him. At all.
This was not the best start to her trip to see Juliette.
Bloody hell. Juliette.
When her childhood friend had called her the previous week, she’d kicked off their conversation with ‘Who’s dying or dead now?’ Never in a million years had she expected Juliette’s answer to be ‘me’.
Even now Sera cringed as she thought about how insensitive she’d sounded. In her defence, the last couple of times Juliette called had been when her grandmother passed and then again when her fiancée was killed, although Sera had known about Chris before Juliette had called. Everyone in Australia knew. His name had been announced along with three others as the Diggers who had been killed by a rogue soldier in Afghanistan. Sera remembered how her blood had ran cold when she’d heard Chris’s name then seen his face.
She remembered that summer when Chris and Juliette had first kissed. Sera recalled being slightly miffed when Chris Doran had rebuffed her attempts at flirting. It became clear very quickly that he only had eyes for Juliette, and if it had it been anyone but Juliette, Sera would not have let it slide. If it’d been Anna, there was no way she would’ve let that cow get a guy she wanted. But Jules was a sweetheart, the nicest person Sera had ever known, and she was the only person in the world that she would honour a stupid childhood promise for.
‘No matter where, no matter when, no matter what.’
Sera closed her eyes and let the chant of the pinky swear swirl through her mind.
‘Ms DiMaggio, you’re going to need to draw that window shade up for take-off.’
It was the bloody chirpy trolley dolly again.
‘DiMaggio?’ Grey eyes averted his gaze from the broadsheet he’d (thankfully) busied himself with. ‘With a name like that you’re almost famous.’
Sera looked out her window as the plane began taxiing down the runway and tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
‘Yeah, something like that.’
* * *
Patrick Shepherd had two pet hates. The first was overly friendly customer service managers, like the one bustling up and down the aisle right now, and the second was when women like the one sitting to his left used their looks to get what they wanted.
He’d seen the act before. The batting of the lashes, the come-hither smile. He was once married to it and her name was Catherine. The only good thing to come out of five years of their unholy union was his son, Levi. By the end of his marriage he’d seen every trick under the sun, so when the dark-haired beauty had turned on the charm his bullshit meter went off the scale.
She was gorgeous, but she could’ve done with a little less make-up. He often wondered why women did that; made themselves up, painted their lips so they could look better. Patrick was sure she was a beauty even without it. She was, hands down, one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen. Long dark locks that fell in waves down her back, olive skin that gave her a sun-kissed glow and hinted at either European or South American heritage; judging by her name, he could safely assume it to be Italian. But it was her eyes that were the piece de résistance. They were like pools of molten chocolate, coveted and forbidden. But it didn’t matter how stunning Ms DiMaggio was; he wasn’t going to be sucked in. Not again, not by any woman.
She had been miffed when he asked her to move into her seat and he’d pulled out the ‘it’s airline procedure card’. Honestly, he couldn’t give a rat’s arse where he sat. If she had simply said ‘sorry, my mistake’, he would’ve let her stay in his seat.
But he supposed it was better that he stuck to the rules anyway. As the mayor of the Ellesmere Shire Council he needed to set a good example and even though it was unlikely he was going to see Ms DiMaggio after they had arrived in Coffs, he couldn’t cherry-pick when and where he chose to abide by the rules.
Patrick knew that his reputation and integrity were more important now than ever before. He’d beaten Maurice Moody in popular vote, but only just, and in doing so, he became Ellesmere’s youngest mayor and denied old Maurice his tenth straight term. He knew Maurice was bitter about it. He’d wanted to hit a decade in power so he could go out on top, retire of his own accord. Patrick thought it more important that the town’s needs were met rather than the individual’s and it was a sore point for his fellow councillor. Maurice also had an issue with Patrick being the first mayor in Ellesmere’s history who hadn’t been born in town. Despite the fact that Patrick had been born in Coffs Harbour and had lived his whole life on the Coffs Coast, Maurice still called him an outsider.
Patrick loved Ellesmere, loved the town, the people, loved the way the place had a small-town feel but still had all the style and vibe of a larger city. It was why he’d chosen to settle there after his divorce. And the surf was awesome. Levi loved it too. Thinking of his son sent a barb through Patrick’s heart.
The moment Catherine had gotten wind of his mayoral ambitions she suddenly had a change of heart about their flexible parenting arrangements. It was bad enough she’d moved to Sydney and was now engaged to a plastic surgeon, but she was threatening to pull back on the amount of time Patrick was spending with Levi.
That’s why he’d been in Sydney. He’d been hoping to come home with some kind of fair agreement worked out. His Sydney-based solicitor hadn’t been any help, hinting he should stop fighting Catherine and accept her measly one weekend in the month visitation deal. The guy was a total jerk. No way he was going to settle for it.
‘Would you mind?’
Patrick looked up to see Ms DiMaggio glaring at him, her perfectly shaped right brow arching skyward.
‘Do I mind what?’ he asked innocently, not sure he really wanted to know what it was he’d done that could possibly have offended her. He’d purposely kept to himself and was reading the paper.
The brow arched higher. ‘Your elbow,’ she said pointedly, and he followed her downward gaze to find his elbow had made its way onto her armrest.
‘Sorry,’ Patrick apologised as he moved his elbows inward, ‘It’s a broadsheet newspaper,’ he added, unsure why he felt the need to explain himself.
‘When are they going to switch that over to tabloid size?’ she grumbled, picking up the inflight magazine from the seat pocket in front of her.
‘Next week I think.’
‘Thank god, they’ve been thinking of doing it for years,’ she said, aimlessly flicking through it.
Patrick wasn’t sure if he was more surprised that Ms DiMaggio could distinguish between a broadsheet and a tabloid newspaper or that she knew the Sydney Morning Herald had been debating the move to the smaller format. Maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Maybe there was more to her than met the eye.
‘Excuse me…’ She flagged down a passing flight attendant.
‘Could I get a sparkling mineral water?’
‘I’m sorry, Ms DiMaggio, we’ve just run out. I can offer you some soda water if you’d like?’
Patrick heard her click her tongue and sigh with disappointment as if it was the end of the world.
‘No, I’ll pass.’ She waved a hand to dismiss the attendant.
Or perhaps he’d been spot on and had her pegged correctly from the word go. Neither of them made any further attempt at conversation for the reminder of the short flight into Coffs Harbour and it suited him just fine. Once they’d landed he did show her some courtesy by stepping aside and allowing her to exit the aircraft before him. To her credit and his surprise she thanked him, and when she did it sounded genuine. But the biggest surprise by far was when the woman who had been sitting across the aisle from him grabbed his arm.
‘Weren’t you a lucky one, sitting next to a celebrity.’
His confusion must have been obvious because the woman continued on without prompting.
‘Sera DiMaggio? She plays Stella on Our House? You do know who Sera DiMaggio is, don’t you?’
Sera DiMaggio. Yeah, he knew who she was. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t recognised her, then again he wasn’t too fussed on celebrities and he certainly didn’t watch her show. He knew it was on early in the evening, though, right about Levi’s bath and story time, and when he didn’t have Levi, he was at work.
Sera DiMaggio. Small-screen actress, big-time pain. No, he hadn’t realised who she was, but it didn’t matter, it wasn’t as if he was going to see her again. Besides, he had more important things to worry about. Levi. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted Levi with him in Ellesmere permanently.
Then do something about it.
So he did. Pulling out his phone, he made two calls. The first was to his solicitor’s office in Sydney, notifying them of his decision to terminate their services, and the second was to Jack Harper.
‘Jack? Sorry to bother you, but I need to see you as soon as possible. I want to go for full custody of Levi and I need your help.’
* * *
Sera wheeled her luggage to the rental-car counter next to the baggage carousel and searched for any signs of life. None. Not even a bell to ring if the place was unattended. It was the same story with the one next door. Both well-known car-rental companies, both unattended on a Monday morning.
Great.
Drumming her fingernails on the counter, she looked around and spotted another three companies side by side on the other side of the terminal so she made her way towards them, noting the massive queues that had built up at each and every one of them.
Oh, this keeps getting better and better.
She scanned each of the lines and took a stab at the one that looked shortest. Despite being a celebrity, Sera didn’t often use her status to pull strings and she certainly wasn’t about to use it to cut to the front of the line, even if the wait looked like it was going to be a good half an hour.
She used the time to check her mail and respond to any outstanding emails. She tweeted and updated her Facebook status and was almost at the front of the queue when she noticed the couple in front of her walking away looking somewhat disgruntled.
‘Can I help you?’ A pimply-faced attendant greeted her without moving his eyes from the computer in front of him.
‘Yes, I need to hire a car, please.’
The attendant took his gaze off the screen and did nothing to hide his displeasure at being at work. ‘Do you have a booking?’
‘Well, no…’ she began when he started to shake his head.
‘Nope. Nothing is available, unless you have a booking.’ The attendant, who according to his name tag, was called Korey, had already turned back to the computer and was obviously waiting for her to leave. His fingers were tapping, clicking and clacking against the keyboard which such speed and ferocity that Sera had to wonder – if there were no cars and he wasn’t assisting her in looking for one, what on earth was he doing?
Sera blinked. ‘Nothing? At all?’
Korey paused and looked at her condescendingly. Was that because she’d asked a question or because she’d interrupted his Facebook or Twitter session? It had to be either one of those because it was clear the kid wasn’t working.
‘Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zip. Unless you have a booking. It’s the start of the school holidays, Sera DiMaggio.’
He might as well have added moron because that’s the tone he was using with her. Sera looked at him, her hackles rising. ‘Well, Korey, if you can’t help me, maybe I’ll just go next door to your competition. I need to get to Ellesmere and I need a car.’ Her voice was stern, but she stopped short of being rude, even if Korey more than deserved it. He called her by name so he’d recognised her and the last thing she needed was some social media junkie tweeting something along the lines of OMG! @SeraDiMaggio is totes a DIVA! She totally blew up @Korey93 for no reason!
Or something equally misconstrued. Yes – she had a temper. It was something that she wasn’t proud of and early on in her career it had dropped her in trouble, earning her a reputation that she was difficult to work with. It had taken her years to shake the tag. Now, with the internet and social media at everyone’s fingertips, Sera had learnt how to carefully tread the line between politely showing discontentment and using slightly stronger language to convey her displeasure with service staff of any industry. One unfavourable Facebook status update or tweet about her and she could find herself back on the infamous diva list. She used social media to promote projects and as a way of keeping in touch with fans.
‘Yeah, good luck with that,’ Korey said acidly and Sera had to restrain herself from leaning over the counter and punching his acne-infested face. ‘Everyone’s booked solid, unless you have a booking you have no hope. Catch a taxi or the bus.’
If she heard him say unless you have a booking one more time she was going to scream. And a taxi or bus wasn’t going to cut it. Yes, it would get her to Ellesmere, but she needed a car to get around and it wasn’t as if she could borrow Juliette’s car because Juliette didn’t have a car. She was one of those freaks who refused to own a car and rode a bike everywhere.
Shit. What was she going to do?
‘Excuse me, Miss DiMaggio? Did you say you need to get to Ellesmere?’ Sera felt a light tap on her shoulder and turned to see a ruddy-faced man with a white beard and rather large midriff looking at her. Did Santa Claus have a workshop on the Coffs Coast? Sera found herself staring at him instead of answering him.
‘I…ah, yes, I do. Do you have a car I can borrow?’ She wasn’t sure why she asked Santa, maybe she was expecting him to fashion a car out of thin air.
He shook his head and gave a belly laugh and Sera swore it sounded like ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’
‘No, sorry, my love. I’m off to Brindabella myself, was just walking by when I heard you wanting to get to Ellesmere, but I do have a way for you to get there quick that doesn’t involve a taxi or bus.’
You really are Santa, aren’t you? Sera wanted to hug the ruddy man. ‘How?’ she asked eagerly.
‘The mayor’s just landed from Sydney. He should still be around, I’m sure he’d be more than happy for you to hitch a ride with him.’ Santa looked behind her, presumably scanning the terminal for the mayor.
Sera tried to rack her brain for anyone on her flight that might have fitted the bill. She imagined an older gentleman, maybe in his sixties.
‘Ah, there he is. Mayor Shepherd! Over here!’ Santa flailed his arms.
Sera turned and squinted, her eyes searching out a man in his sixties.
Shepherd. Why was that name familiar? And why couldn’t she see the man Santa was calling to? All she could see was—
Oh shit, no!
She suddenly realised why the name Shepherd was familiar. Because it belonged to the man walking towards them, the man who had sat next to her on the plane. The man with tiger eyes.