Getting Real

He left the room, walked out to the balcony and looked out across the city. He knew himself to be in ov

er his head with this woman. Knew he might never get it right for her and never get over it.

40. Other People’s Mothers

Somewhere between Glen and Tim accusing each other’s teams of incompetence, Jake’s phone rang. He let the practised insults fly and answered it, but his, “Hi Mum,” managed to arrest the attention of every man at the table. No mean feat given the honour at stake.

There was an echo of, “Hi Mum” and a chorus of, “Hi Mrs Reedy”.

Jake said, “Yes Mum, I’m at work,” and there was laughter when he added, “Yes Mum. The boys say hi,” followed by, “Yes Mum. They’re all listening, and yes I am embarrassed.”

Then he said, “No Mum. I’m not inviting any of the friggin’ bastards to dinner,” finishing with, “Sorry about the language, Mum. I’ll call you later.”

He put the phone down on the trestle table, looked up to see a dozen faces staring at him expectantly. “What?”

Glen said, “Reedy, maybe your mum could come and run our production meetings. She’d probably do a better job than you. She got everyone’s attention.”

“Mrs Reedy rocks,” said Bodge.

And Tef said, “Yeah and if there wasn’t already a Mr Reedy, you’d be angling to be little Jakey’s new daddy.”

Along with half the table, Jake groaned and Bodge coloured. They all knew Bodge had a thing for Jake’s mum.

“How many Mrs Bodges would that make?” said Lizard.

“Shut it Liz, or I’ll make you a Mrs with me boot,” said Bodge.

This was their last production meeting for the tour. Sydney, the last city, four shows in two days time. For most of the road crew Sydney was home so there were also distractions; family and friends to see, other jobs to line up. Keeping everyone focussed was a challenge.

When the meeting broke up, Jake called Mum, then he called Rielle. She was with Rand and Harry doing a studio shoot for the doco. He got voicemail and hesitated, unsure if a message was the right way to go, then said, “Hey Rie, if you get a chance, call me,” and left it at that.

Half an hour later she called. “Have you got all those black shirts in line?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Got something to ask you.”

“Okay. Now you’ve got me worried; you’re asking me if you can ask me something.”

Jake laughed again. “Pathetic huh.”

“You said it.”

“My mum has asked you to dinner tonight.”

There was silence and then Rielle said, “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“She knows about me, about us?”

“She knows you’re a singer and you’re in the show and we’ve been hanging out.” Rielle groaned and Jake felt embarrassed like he was still a teenager asking a girl home to meet his family for the first time. “She does not know about sex acts in hotel rooms or public gymnasiums. She will never see our porn tape. I’m sad to say I destroyed it.”

Rielle laughed. “God, Jake. I don’t do people’s mothers.”

An unexpected sense of disappointment played catch with his embarrassment. “Hey, that’s cool. I’ll see you back at the hotel later tonight. I’ll bring you some of Mum’s famous dessert.”

Jake ended the call, slid his phone back into the pocket of his jeans and looked about for somewhere to channel the irrational frustration he felt. It was such a dumb idea thinking Rie would want to meet his family, even dumber—the dumbest—to tell his mum she was in his life. Now he was in for the inquisition; the who, the when, the how, the what, and he deserved it. He was not cut out for casual romances with rock stars. Dickhead. Suddenly the idea of a home cooked meal felt like a trial instead of a pleasure.

Rand was doodling notes on a paper napkin and ignoring his ringing phone when Rielle rejoined him. They were waiting for Harry to set up for an interview segment.