Bleeding Hearts. Lindy Cameron
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"She was here to interview Dylan, not you Bree," Angela said, while Kit now gave her actual attention to the little starlet. "That's why she wasn't interested in you."
"So!" Bree sulked. "She didn't have to ignore me."
"What do you mean 'came onto'?" Kit asked.
"Will you piss off, Bree," Dylan pleaded.
"What do you think I mean?" Bree said, ignoring Dylan and waggling her chin as only spoilt and self-centred young gals seem able to do.
"Do you care that she showed interest in Dylan?" Kit asked, wondering whether simple teenage jealousy lay behind the threats to Rebecca.
"Duh, no! Why should I? Dylan Thomas is an arse-wipe," Bree said, as if he wasn't standing right there to hear the insult.
"She wasn't coming onto me," Dylan said to Kit, without a trace of defensiveness or ego. "I wish she had," he added, with a smile.
"I cared that she ignored me, that's all," Bree was saying, as if she was the centre of attention.
"Which is exactly what Katherine is going to do as well," Angela stated. "We are walking away now, Bree honey."
"Don't you Bree-honey me, Angela," Bree complained, waggling her chin and her shoulders as she followed her anyway. "Just 'cause you're who you are, doesn't mean you can boss me round. And how come I never get these interview gigs?" she demanded.
Kit took a deep breath. "You have an excellent working relationship with your co-star, I see."
"She's a twit," Dylan laughed, running his hand through his super-blonde surfer-dude hair. "We have all, the whole cast, begged the producers and writers to kill her off before one of us commits actual murder."
"Does she have a thing for you? I mean was all that a love-hate scenario, or what?" Kit asked.
"God, I hope not," Dylan exclaimed. "Um, let's take a seat," he added, motioning towards a park bench that was part of the set. "Bree and I had one date, two years ago, when I first joined the show. She only went out with me, I discovered the next day, to make her rock singer boyfriend jealous."
"Two years ago?" Kit said. "How old is she?"
"Twenty-four," Dylan smiled, "going on twelve."
Forget the 'teenage' aspect of the jealous of Rebecca theory, Kit thought. "I thought she was about sixteen," she said.
"Tell me about it," Dylan threw up his hands. "On second thoughts, don't. Let's talk about the gorgeous Rebecca Jones instead. Not that I can tell you much; I only met her the once."
Kit smiled. "Do you have a thing for older women?" she asked.
"No, not specifically," Dylan grinned. "But Rebecca is an icon, isn't she? That makes her different from your usual older woman. That, and the fact that she's dead sexy and smart and nice. God that's a wimpy word. What I mean is, in person she's as cool, objective and informed as her image shapes her to be. She seems genuinely interested in who she's interviewing. It doesn't seem like a put on job. Oh-boy," Dylan pressed his hand to his mouth. "Is it okay to say stuff like that - like sexy and smart? I wouldn't want to sound patronising or anything."
Kit cocked her head. "Or anything like what?"
"Or anything like, you know, sexist." Dylan said earnestly.
"Is that because you don't want to sound sexist, or because you're not?"
Dylan narrowed his eyes and then smiled. "Because I'd like to think I'm not, so I wouldn't want to come across that way through a bad choice of words."
Kit laughed. "Well, that was a good choice of words," she said. "And given the context of our conversation, of course it's okay to call her sexy and smart."
"You stupid bloody bitch!"
Kit and Dylan looked at each other in surprise before glancing around to find out who had spoken. The entire area of the street-corner set, which moments before had been bustling with people, was now completely deserted. The only people in sight were two guys queuing at the catering van, which was a good fifty metres away to Kit's right.
Kit turned back to Dylan who was frowning. "There's no one here but us," he noted. "So who the hell said that?"
Thwunk! The sound of something fleshy hitting something metal coincided with the sudden appearance, about ten metres behind Dylan, of a middle-aged man wearing blue tracky dacks, a white singlet and a very disgruntled expression.
Thwunk! This time Kit saw the guy punch the forklift he was standing beside. It didn't look like a stunt; besides, there were no cameras around.
"Who's the bloke?" Kit asked.
Dylan swivelled around to take a look. "Oh no! I thought she'd gotten rid of him."
"Who is he?" Kit repeated, realising there was someone else standing behind the forklift.
"It's Angela's ex-husband. The guy is a complete loser. He's dangerous, and dense as shit."
"Does that mean that it's Angela he's abusing?" Kit asked, standing up.
Angela herself answered the question by stepping into view; her hands on her hips. The ex-husband, and his threatening body language, then crowded her up against a dumpster.
"God, what a prick!" Dylan observed.
"What a prick?" Kit repeated, staring down at Dylan in amazement. "Is that it?"
"Is that it, what?"
"You said he's dangerous, Dylan," Kit explained. "Do you think she might need some help?"
They both glanced back at Angela who seemed to be standing her ground successfully but the ex also seemed to be getting more aggro by the second.
"Um, yeah, probably," Dylan said hesitantly. "I'll go get Security," he offered.
"Dylan," Kit said, giving him a kindly smile, "I think Angela needs assistance now, not when the cavalry arrives. But if I promise to help you deal with your gallantry issues later, will you stroll over there with me, now, to see if we can help sort things out?"
"Are you kidding? What if he hits me in the face?"
"Okay," Kit said accommodatingly. "How about I try and sort things, and you back me up with one of those," she said, pointing at a pile of scaffolding. "You can poke him with it if you don't want to get too close."
"Good idea," Dylan agreed. He chose a very long pole and then gave her the thumbs up.
Kit suffered a depressing but gone-in-a-flash fear for the future of humanity. Actually, it was more like a passing groan over the youth of today; or maybe just heartburn from the hot dog. Whatever! Bullies, pretty boys and fast food. It's life Jim, but not as we know it; and civilisation is doomed.
"Will you give it a rest, please Barry," Angela was saying as Kit and Dylan approached. "Just leave me alone; leave everything alone."
"Screw that, Angie," Barry the bully growled. "I want you to come home, where you belong."
"I don't belong there, Barry. And I'm sick of your crap. Go away, or I will call the cops."
Barry didn't agree with that, apparently. In fact Barry didn't like that idea one little bit. He backhanded Angela across the right side of her face. She stumbled but remained on her feet.
"Jesus! Shit! He hit her...he actually hit her," Dylan exclaimed.
"Hey! Don't..." Kit began.
"Yeah? And who the fuck are you?" Barry snarled at Kit, before catching sight of her reluctant sidekick with his five-foot pole. He snorted. "Sure thing, Dylan, you little shitface. What are you gunna do with that?"
It took Kit two whole seconds to make the choice between trying to reason with Barry or deciding to deal with him. No contest, she thought, and kicked him