The Hollywood Effect (14 page)

“Oh,” I said, taken aback. I’d heard of people getting randomly upgraded, but I never thought it would happen to me, and definitely not from economy to first class! Maybe economy to premium economy… “Uh. Thanks? That’s awesome,” I finally managed to splutter out.
 

“There is no reason to thank me. It was a paid upgrade. Not an airline upgrade.”
 

“Oh…” I blinked a few times. I had a pretty good idea who it was I had to thank. I silently cursed him. It would take me ages to pay him back.
 

“It would appear that you have a generous friend,” the lady said with a kind smile. After a moment she added, “your ticket entitles you access to the First Class lounge. Make the most of it.” Was that a wink I just saw?
 

“Right. Yeah, thanks. Um. Have a good day.”
 

“You too, Ma’am.”
 

I was reeling. First class? What was he thinking? He’d spoil me for all future flights. I shook my head, and realised I probably looked like a crazy person, walking along shaking my head and muttering to myself. I’d never flown better than Premium Economy before. Mum had been upgraded to Business Class once before and had said it was wonderful. I wondered just how much better first class would be. I guess I’d find out soon enough. I glanced down at my watch. I still had awhile until I needed to board. I didn’t even know where the First Class lounge was. We’d always just hung out at the cafe when we’d drop Steph off at the airport.
 

I felt very under dressed and out of place when I glanced around the lounge. A waitress greeted me with a large, bright white smile and offered me an option of sparkling water, orange juice or glass of champagne. She was polite enough not to look me up and down and refuse me service for being out of place, like I half feared she might.
 

“Thank you,” I said, and reached for the champagne. I thought it might help calm my nerves.
 

I had dressed for comfort, not style. My oldest, comfiest pair of jeans. A loose fitting t-shirt and sneakers that had definitely seen better days. I was surrounded by well-dressed people in suits, business attire, designer labels, with manicures and hair cuts that had definitely cost more than $25.
 

I pulled my phone out of my bag and started tapping away.
 

Me:
Dude. What the actual fuck?? First Class? Are you crazy?
 

Liam:
Relax. It’s not a big deal. You deserve it, anyway. You’re doing me a huge favour.
 

Me:
Not a big deal? Not to you maybe. What did it cost? $20,000???
 

Liam:
Ha ha ha. No. Not even close. Don’t worry. I got a good deal :) It’s my thank you gift. Enjoy it, you idiot!!

Me:
If you insist.
 

Liam:
I do. Have a great flight. See you on the other side :)
 

I half scowled at my phone. Relax, I told myself. Enjoy this. It would probably be the only time in my life that I’d be flying First Class, that’s for sure!
 

LA, here I come
, I thought.
 

I walked straight past him in the end. He could barely contain his laughter as he wrapped an arm casually around my shoulders from behind, grabbed my suitcase with his other hand and started leading me away from the terminal. I jumped a mile, thinking some stranger was trying to molest me, and punched him slightly harder than friendly when I realised it was my famous friend, in a very strange disguise.
 

I looked him up and down. He had an old, ratty cap on that looked like it was on top of a disgusting bleach blond mullet, huge hipster glasses that hid half his face, and I squinted my eyes. I was pretty sure that wasn’t his normal nose.
 

“Nice mullet. Did you get a nose job?”
 

He laughed and pulled me out past a flock of bored and tired looking photographers who didn’t even glance twice at us.
 

“It worked!” he exclaimed gleefully. “And no, I did not get a nose job.”
 

“Please do not try and tell me that’s natural. I’ve known you since you were born.”
 

He laughed again. “Nah, my friend Raquel is a make-up artist. I let her have a bit of fun with some prosthetics.”
 

An unwelcome stab of jealousy hit me at the name Raquel. I shook myself. Where did that come from?
Stop it,
I told myself rather sternly.
 

“
And this mullet? You look a bit like Steph’s horrible ex-boyfriend.”
 

“It’s attached to the cap.”
 

“Ah, the old mullet in a cap trick. I should have known.” I tried my best Maxwell Smart impersonation.
 

“Something like that,” Liam said with a faint grin. “C’mon, the car’s over here somewhere. Oh, there it is.”
 

I looked at the car he gestured to. “I would have expected more from a movie star who doesn’t blink twice at flying First Class. What happened to your old car?” It was a decidedly suburban hatch-back. Something like my teacher-friends would drive. Last time I’d visited, he’d been driving a nice fancy car that I had no idea of the name, but Evan had been very impressed.
 

“That was Holly’s car. And I left my Ferrari at home,” Liam laughed.
 

“Oh,” I mumbled.
 

“I’m kidding. I don’t have a fucking Ferrari. This is it, for now. Well, this and the bike.”
 

“You have a motorbike?” I could feel my eyes bulge slightly. I’d lost count of how many accidents my Uncle Kevin had had on his motorbike. I think he was at least three quarters metal these days.
 

Liam actually blushed. “Um. Nope. Just a regular old push bike.”

“You… you actually ride a push bike to the shops?” I couldn’t help it, I let out a little laugh. A mental image of Liam cruising along on his bike, followed by a pack of paparazzi also on push bikes popped into my mind.
 

“Well, yeah. Need to keep fit. And anyway, I like cycling. Plus, people never think anyone halfway famous would be caught dead on a bike. They always just think I’m a look-a-like if they recognise me at all. It’s great!” He waggled his eyebrows at me, full of glee. “If they start talking to me, I can do a pretty killer Southern accent. Then they really don’t think it’s me.”
 

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re great, you know that?”
 

“I tried British one time, but they didn’t seem to know the difference between Aussie and British…”
 

“Or maybe your British accent is just really shit,” I laughed.
 

Liam shrugged. “Entirely possible. So, how was First Class?” he asked, turning to smirk at me.
 

I looked up and scowled at him. “It was bloody brilliant, and I hate you for it.”
 

He snorted. “And why is that?”

I opened the passenger side door while he wrestled my suitcase into the back, then shut it again when I realised it was the drivers side. Stupid Americans and their driving on the wrong side of the road thing.
 

I waited until Liam came around and sat in the drivers seat, which to my eyes looked very wrong - I had a strong urge to readjust the rearview mirror, because I felt like I was in the driver’s seat.

“Well, now I’m going to be miserable every time I fly now because of you. I’ll know how good I could be having it up the pointy end of the plane.”
 

He just smirked at me. “Stop smirking,” I complained. “It’s easy for you.”

“Actually I’ve only flown First a few times, mainly just to see what it’s like. I usually fly Business, or Premium Economy. I don’t want to be a pretentious dick, but if I don’t have to sit in economy, I won’t.”

“I don’t blame you, my friend. Last time I flew I was surrounded by six screaming babies. Six! Thank goodness I was only going to Sydney.”
 

“I had a screaming baby in First once. That was fun.”

“What? Really?”

Liam nodded. “Actually it wasn’t that bad. Those noise cancelling headphones are pretty ace. They should give them out all over the plane.” He started the car. “All right. So, my idea is to take you back to my new place and give you the grand tour, and let you shower and whatever, and then you can sleep… how jet lagged are you?”
 

“I actually feel pretty good, surprisingly. Those beds on the plane were surprisingly comfortable.”
 

“All right then. Well, see how you feel. When you’re good, I’ll show you around. There’s a few people I want you to meet.”
 

“Okay.”
 

I spent the first ten or so minutes of the drive staring at Liam more than anything else. It was eery, seeing him dressed up like that. He didn’t look like him at all. Liam eventually diverted my attention by pointing out sites and famous peoples houses. I hadn’t even heard of half of them. He drove me through some very nice neighbourhoods. I gawked at all the beautiful houses and manicured gardens. It was completely different from what I was used to in Melbourne or Tarang or any of the towns and cities in between. The parts of Melbourne I hung out in were full of terrace houses from the 19
th
century and cute little cottages, and hideous blocks of flats built in the 70’s. Tarang was all weatherboard houses or brick veneer on half acre blocks and a Holden Commodore parked out the front.
 

Liam slowed down and pulled into a driveway. The glimpse of the house I could see looked rather impressive, although not as crazy fancy as some of the ones we’d passed. He pressed some contraption and the gate opened. “Nice. I remember always having to get out of the tractor or ute at your grandparents farm and opening the gates ourselves.”
 

“Yep. I’ve come up in the world,” Liam said dryly. “Automatic gates. And not a cow to be seen. Although one of my neighbours does have a pig…”
 

I tried to take it all in as Liam drove slowly up the driveway. He must have pressed another button on the contraption, because the garage door slowly opened as well.
 

“I don’t even know where the key to my garage is,” I complained.
 

“I can give Uncle Barry a hard time if you like,” Liam laughed.
 

“I’m sure it’s not his fault,” I sighed. “I don’t even know if a key would work… it’s pretty rusty.”
 

Liam just shook his head softly and concentrated on parking the car. Lo and behold, there was a bicycle in the garage. Maybe he was still as down to earth as he claimed to be.
 

“Alright! Welcome to my humble abode.”
 

I snorted. “Yeah, super humble.”
 

Liam ignored my comment.
 

“I’ll grab your bag. Oh… I have to warn you. I have a roommate at the moment.”

“That’s fine,” I said, although I was slightly downcast. I’d kind of anticipated just the two of us here alone, with none of his Hollywood cronies around.
 

“He’s cool. A bit different. You’ll like him. Just give him a chance… and uh… don’t be too surprised if he walks around in his underwear…”
 

I made a face at Liam. He just shrugged in response, as if to say ‘
I can’t help it!’
 

Liam led me from the garage to inside.
 

“Wow,” I breathed. I stepped past the threshold and stood, almost stunned, in the entrance. Liam’s house was beautiful. It probably helped that the morning light was streaming through the large bay windows, draping everything in a lovely golden glow, but I felt like I was standing on the precipice of a picture from a real estate magazine. The room was at least twice as large as my lounge room back home, maybe even three times. A collection of guitars that I’m sure were very impressive if you knew anything about guitars, were lined up against one of the walls, and there was a giant television dominating another wall, along with a collection of different gaming modules. I’d had no idea they even made televisions that big. The couch and armchairs looked comfy and cozy and a huge upgrade from the old futon he’d had that I’d been ginger to sit on at his first place. There was even a bunch of flowers sitting in a vase on a bench. It was also very different from the place he’d shared with Holly. I’d only been there once, but it had been dominated by trendy white furniture. It had been very nice as well, but it wasn’t exactly homey. This was homey, despite the luxury. Or maybe because of it? I wasn’t quite sure.
 

“You like it?” Liam asked quietly, coming up behind me, and leaning his arm on the top of my head in the reverse of how we often used to stand as kids. He’d been rather gleeful when he’d first been able to do that to me sometime around his 16
th
birthday. I’d been the taller one of us for most of our childhood, and then there were a couple of years when we were about the same height. Then I went off to France for a six-month exchange and he’s shot up six inches, lost his baby fat and somehow morphed from my pudgy kid neighbour to a damn heart-throb.
 

“Like it? I love it. You have seen the house I call home, haven’t you?”
 

Liam laughed. “Hey, your house is nice. It’s got character.”
 

“Thanks for saying that… no, this is lovely, Burnsy. Good choice. Much nicer than that share-house you had when you first came over.” I decided not to mention Holly for the time being. “Who picked your furniture? And the flowers?” I asked, recalling with vivid clarity Liam’s favourite, disgusting futon from years past that had been his pride and joy in his old share house and the shrivelled potted plant that had stayed in the same spot for three years. I’d had a hard time dodging the empty beer bottles when I’d briefly visited him there on my way to spend some time in Canada with my sister, Steph.