Tash Ranger smiled as she focused the video camera. Her friends looked brilliant, exactly as specified. Colourful and cool, and without a scrap of Melbourne black, which was just as well. Not a lot of breeze found its way into the tiny backyard of her townhouse and the evening was a bit of a stinker. Black was the last thing anyone needed to be wearing.
Her soon-to-be ex-townhouse, she reminded herself. This time next week Tash would be gone. To fresh woods and pastures not new, as she liked to misquote Milton.
Her stomach did a slow nervous flop. This project would be a success. She would make it one. Eighteen months from now Tash would be looking back and laughing at her silly doubts.
‘Come on, Tash!’ yelled her shaggy-haired neighbour Thom, looking his usual casually hipsterish self in rolled-up drainpipe camel chinos, braces and a striped shirt that looked like something Tash’s pa would wear but was most likely an expensive designer label.
‘Just making sure you all look gorgeous!’
She inspected the screen again, then, checking no one was near, zoomed in on Brandon Seymour for a second. A long, indulgent second that made her heart beat too fast and her brain fizzle. Quickly, she zoomed back out before she combusted with lust. Or was caught.
That was the trouble with unrequited love, the risk of humiliation was huge, and while Tash was perfectly happy to make a goose of herself for the sake of her business, she wasn’t about to have her heart smashed in front of all her friends. Or worse, have them feel sorry for her because she’d been dumb enough to fall for a man so far beyond her reach he was practically interplanetary.
Well, maybe not interplanetary, but certainly intercontinental.
Ceci appeared at her shoulder and peered at the screen. She glanced up at the yard and back at the screen, and puckered her perfectly glossed pink lips. ‘How do you do that?’
Tash shrugged and made a final filter adjustment, before moving on to an auxiliary camera for a last-minute double check. There were three cameras in all, each set to capture different angles, although the second wasn’t as high quality and the third was her phone. Footage from the phone was mainly used for stills and mood shots, plus Tash had learned the hard way to have back-up. ‘Garden-variety talent, my darling friend. Garden-variety talent.’
Ceci shook her head. The sleek blonde bob she was currently sporting was so sharp it threatened to cut her off at the jaw. ‘There is nothing garden-variety about your talent.’ She grabbed Tash’s upper arm and squeezed tight. ‘I’m going to miss you so much.’
Tash blinked as her eyes suddenly prickled and her throat thickened. ‘I’m going to miss you, too.’ She gave her a get-over-it nudge that was more for herself than Ceci. The last thing she needed was puffy eyes and a snotty nose. ‘But it’s not forever. Only a year, eighteen months.’
‘It won’t be. People love that whole escape to the country thing. They won’t be able to resist. You’ll grow even more famous and never come home.’
It was weird to hear Ceci call Prahran home. No matter where Tash lived, the home of her soul would always be Castlereagh. Her parents’ farm near Emu Springs in the borderlands of far western Victoria was as much a part of her as the blood that flowed in her veins. ‘I doubt it. The country bliss thing is just another of those trends, like quinoa. Kale. Salted caramel.’ She screwed up her nose as she hunted for another trendy food.
‘Bottarga.’
Tash laughed. ‘Exactly. Like bottarga. People will get sick of it and move on. My job is to milk it for all it’s worth while I can.’ And secure herself a future as a professional food writer while she was at it.
Other food bloggers found fame and longevity thanks to television reality cooking shows that manipulated their images and took all their rights, raised them up and sometimes let them fall, which was fine. For others. Tash was made of different stuff. Her ambition was no smaller, but she was determined that any success would be on her own terms, or not at all.
She hooked her arm through Ceci’s. ‘Come on. Time to party for the camera.’
Eight of her closest Melbourne friends were here, crammed onto the terrace, their laughter loud and vibrant. The sky had the amazing colour wash of an almost-done sunset—peach, apricot, deep indigo. Strategically placed tea lights cast the area in a soft glow. Tash’s pot-plant garden, so carefully nurtured over the last few years and in full summer leaf and fruit, softened the hard edges of what was a stale, modern yard. Tomatoes rose high on their stakes, lush fruit heavy and shiny, while cucumbers, capsicums and eggplants dangled like baubles. Pots of herbs formed decorative clusters, and an espaliered lemon tree spread its branches like an anatomy sculpture.
But it was Tash’s friends who created the aspirational tableau she was after. A milling, laughing, drink-sipping crowd of glamorous twenty-somethings enjoying themselves and each other’s company. Follow The Urban Ranger, it said, and this could be yours too. And easily, as Tash had demonstrated in the videos and still shots she’d produced earlier that day of herself mixing up the retro punch her friends were sipping, and the canapés they’d soon be eating.
Depositing Ceci with Thom, Tash moved into position and poured herself a glass of punch from the bowl she’d set up on the Moroccan-inspired tile-and-wrought-iron garden table she’d picked up from a garage sale for next to nothing eight months earlier, and had filmed herself cleaning and repairing. She deliberately lifted the ladle high, pouring the punch so that the last of the sun caught the glittery stream and an attractive foam formed in the glass. Done, she set the spoon down, and with a broad smile and wink raised a toast to the camera, before turning to mingle.
Fifteen minutes later, Tash was back checking the footage, frowning as the perfectionist in her caught a few things that could have been done better. Not to worry. She could edit those out and it was too late for a retake. The light had gone and her friends were getting restless.
She clapped her hands to get their attention and spread her arms, smiling proudly. ‘You were all stars!’
‘Thank fuck for that,’ said Thom, downing his punch and heading to the kitchen for the esky full of icy beers Tash had organised for them. Ceci did the same, only it was a bottle of sauvignon blanc she was chasing.
Tash laughed as others followed suit. ‘It wasn’t that bad!’
‘It wasn’t,’ said Thom and took a slug of beer, his entire body sagging in a silent ‘ah’. ‘But even you have to admit it was a bit unmanly.’
Tash poked her tongue out.
Ceci paused to kiss her cheek, bottle neck clawed in a death grip. ‘It was lovely. But a girl cannot live on sunset punch alone.’
‘Philistine.’
Ceci poked her tongue out in return, then poured her wine and took it and an unlit cigarette back out onto the terrace.
‘Stay near the fence,’ yelled Tash after her. She hated it when smoke drifted into the house.
‘Yeah, yeah.’
Tash shook her head. Why someone as beautiful as Ceci would want to smoke was beyond her. Not only smoke, but drink to excess. Tash enjoyed a drink too, but her face wasn’t her business in the same way Ceci’s was. Sure, Tash had to look good, being on camera three times a week, but it was a part of her brand that she looked like an everyday girl people could relate to. Softly rounded, enormously cheerful, pink-cheeked and a little bit silly, but a whiz in the kitchen and garden, handy with tools, and slightly wondrous of the world. The country girl determined to live her values in the city.
And now Tash was going to take it back to where it began: Castlereagh.
She detached the main camera from its tripod and carted it to the lounge where she’d set up her makeshift office, then returned for the other camera and her phone. The townhouse was tiny, one bedroom with a main living area and kitchen cum laundry that opened onto a paved terrace. Anything bigger would have been beyond her budget, but it had been enough space to create her small but rapidly growing business.
Not that that had been deliberate. The Urban Ranger enterprise had been more accidental than anything—a media studies project that somehow had taken on a life of its own. Now, after three years, Tash still didn’t have a degree, but she certainly had a career. One she took very seriously, even more so now she had substantial sponsorship and a cookbook deal that would see her take her first steps offline and into the mainstream media.
Settling at her desk, Tash knuckled down to work, ear half-cocked towards her friends who were becoming more raucous by the minute. Fortunately, she’d become pals with her neighbours on either side from the moment she moved in. Ceci and Thom were both lively, glamorous in their own ways, and had proved invaluable in the success of her business. Thom lent his skills as a website designer and computer programmer. Ceci worked at an upmarket cosmetics counter and occasionally modelled, and had patiently taught Tash how to apply make-up so it appeared she wasn’t wearing any, along with how to pose to show herself at her best. Both also adored being featured as extras in her videos and happily played the role of on-screen tasters and testers of her creations.
She would miss both of them terribly and had been flattered by their pleas to stay, but Tash was also aware that behind the entreaties lurked other, more selfish agendas. Thom was generous and fun and thought his minor video stardom a huge lark, but Tash’s move would cost him access to Ceci, who he had a raging crush on. Thom was convinced that she wouldn’t look twice at a computer nerd like him, no matter how hipster cool. But Tash’s mutual friendship at least kept him in Ceci’s orbit, which was better than nothing.
Ceci, on the other hand, hungered for fame—hence the shortening of Cecilia to media-friendly, Euro-chic ‘Ceci’ in preparation. Tash might not yet be a household name but her celebrity was growing, and Ceci was happy to sashay on her coat-tails in the hope of being talent-spotted and catapulted into the stardom and riches of a young media darling. Once there, she would cement her hold through smarts, of which she had plenty.
With the stills uploaded and tagged, and the video backed up for editing in the morning, Tash leaned back and stretched. And caught the eye of the man who’d wandered into the room.
‘Hey,’ said Brandon.
Aware her top had probably ridden up and exposed an unflattering sliver of belly, Tash quickly dropped her arms. ‘Hi,’ she squeaked. Hi was pathetic. Squeaky was pathetic. She was pathetic.
Brandon took a languid suck of beer and Tash couldn’t help her gaze following his muscled arms and locking on his mouth. An almost painful ache squeezed her chest as she realised that with her move home any chance of her ever sampling that mouth was probably over.
‘All done?’ he asked.
She smiled brightly and stood, shuffling things around her desk unnecessarily. ‘Nearly.’
Tash stopped shuffling as he wandered closer, her mouth suddenly so dry she needed a drink. Her wretched heart was thumping, and all she wanted to do was ease up on tippy-toes and kiss that beer-flavoured mouth of his and then drag him off to bed and stuff everyone else.
Instead she swallowed and tried not to hyperventilate as Brandon slunk so close she could feel the heat off his arms brushing hers.
He traced fingers up and down the edge of her desk. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Uh huh.’ She swallowed again. ‘Yep, sure. Go for it.’
Oh, hell. Now she was babbling. Tash moved the video camera to a shelf, her phone to her pocket.
‘Do you think …’ He lifted his beautiful hazel eyes to hers. They were worried, almost sorrowful looking, as if he was terrified she would say no. Tash’s heart pounded as she held her breath. ‘… if I asked Ceci out she’d say yes?’
Her mouth had already been half forming her own yes when she realised it wasn’t her name he’d uttered. Disappointment floored her, but three years of living in Ceci’s perfect shadow had made her a pro at hiding her feelings. Brandon had no idea of her secret crush, or of how much he’d just hurt her with those words.
Tash took sanctuary in her laptop. Moving the curser, clicking mouse buttons. Already the party stills were attracting attention. Lots of thumbs-ups and comments. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
He ducked his head in that sheepish way she adored. ‘She hasn’t mentioned me at all?’
Tash kept clicking, counting the likes, shares and responses, anything to stop herself looking directly at Brandon. Or thumping him one. Not classy, but it might make her feel better. ‘Once or twice.’
He didn’t say anything for a moment, clearly hoping she’d elaborate. ‘Anything good?’
‘Look,’ said Tash, closing the laptop cover with more force than she should have. ‘I can’t tell you. It’s the girl-code. You want to know what she’ll say? Ask her.’
He stepped back, hands up. ‘Jeez, sorry. I didn’t think it was that big a deal. Just thought I’d try and get the low-down before I made an arse of myself.’
‘Yeah,’ said Tash, turning away to pick up a pen from the floor. ‘I’m sorry too.’
Sorry for dreaming things, for hoping she might be in with a chance. She placed the pen on her diary and stared at the closed laptop. She could feel Brandon frowning at her in confusion.
‘You okay?’
She nodded, too emotional to speak.
‘Right. I’ll …’ He lifted his thumb towards the door then did the smart thing and bolted.
For a long while Tash stayed bent over the desk as she kicked the toe of her sandal savagely into the carpet. In the virtual world she had hundreds of admirers, thousands of them. More. It was thanks to them she’d scored the book deal that would see her head home.
Yet the one thing she secretly craved beyond business success remained out of her reach. In the hands of the beautiful people.
Well, stiff. She was a beautiful person too. Maybe not outside, but where it really counted. If Brandon couldn’t see that then too bad. Someone else would one day. Until then, she’d have the time of her life.
Four hours later, Ceci said yes to Brandon’s offer to come home with him. Tash and Thom looked at each other, shrugged, then proceeded to get drunk together on leftover punch and sick on canapés that had been left out in the open too long.
As was the remit of The Urban Ranger, Tash live-filmed her state the morning after, laughing hoarsely at her stupidity and swearing ‘never agains’ to the camera while cheerily whipping up high-calorie hangover food in her pyjamas. Signing off with a breezy ‘See you in the country!’ she staggered back to bed and an equally hungover but thoroughly satisfied Thom, leaving the post to collect a frenzy of hits, likes and comments as Tash’s fans realised she’d prepared plates of Welsh rarebit for two.