In the mirror lining the wall, she checked out her face, which was free of makeup. The black jeans and white V-neck shirt were fine, but she’d feel bad about herself soon enough when they changed everything about the way she looked.
She came to a door with the magazine’s title inscribed in large gold letters. Ladies Weekly was the type of magazine Viv read and bitched about before passing it onto friends. It was packed with articles about Australian celebrities and the royal family.
Hannah’s manager Eric had pressed her to do this interview. As always, the goal was to shape a storyline about her, one that would make the public love her. It had the trickle-down effect of helping to secure endorsement deals. Besides, this piece wasn’t just about her. It was about the team. Didn’t she want to be a team player?
She introduced herself to another receptionist, a guy behind a glass-topped desk. A name tag said his name was Marcus.
“Oh great, you’re here. I think they’ve been waiting for you. I’ll buzz them. Yes, hello. Ms. Clark is here.”
Marcus peered at her, his eyes kind behind heavy-framed glasses. “I have to tell you, I’m a geek for swimming, and I’m such a big fan of yours. I hope you take home some gold.”
“Thank you so much,” Hannah replied. It was always obvious when the well wishes of strangers were genuine.
A woman’s heels clicked across the marble floor as she came toward them. Her rail-thin figure made Hannah wonder if she moonlighted as a model.
“Hi there, I’m Dominique. I’ll be taking care of you today. Please come with me.”
Dominique escorted her to a room with a bare cement floor and high ceiling. The warehouse-like space had the feel of wanting to imitate somewhere hipper and more real. People clustered around lights on stands, and the black umbrellas to shade them. Some of the members of the chattering group stopped to look at her as she passed by with Dominique.
When they entered the next room, Hannah stopped before walking forward. Angie sat with her eyes closed. A purple-haired makeup artist applied smoky color to Angie’s eyelid, only glancing over when Hannah spoke.
“Oh. Hey,” Hannah said, sliding into a black vinyl chair.
“Hannah? Is that you?” Angie asked.
“Yep, it’s me.”
“How are you? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s just going to be the two of us now. I only found out when I got here, or I would have called your manager to make sure he knew. You know how it is. They change these things all the time. Working on a different angle or whatnot. They’re doing a story about washed-up old me and the hot favorite to take out the two hundred meters.”
She gripped the armrests of her chair. Another makeup artist with dreadlocks stood behind her, her willowy figure draped in a flowing black dress.
“What do you mean? I thought Rachel and a few of the other girls were going to be here?”
“Hey, Hannah. I’m Rachelle. I’m going to be working on you today. I’ve been given instructions by the stylist, but is there anything you want to tell me before I start?”
“Huh? Oh no. I don’t care. Angie, when did all this happen?”
Her brow furrowed as she met Hannah’s gaze in the mirror. Her eyes stood out under the heavy makeup. “I don’t know. They just told me when I got here like I told you. I honestly had nothing to do with it. Do you not want to do this? We can talk to them if you want, I’ll back you up on it if it’s that important to you to decline, we can…”
Hannah eyed one makeup artist and then the other. Each of them fiddled with their tools, pretending they weren’t listening. “No, of course not. It’s fine.”
Rachelle used a finger to tilt Hannah’s face toward her, and she gritted her teeth.
After their faces were painted and their hair was done, Dominique took them into yet another room, gesturing to the red chaise lounge. It was the only piece of furniture save for the black armchair across from it, and a coffee table with three plastic water bottles on the surface.
“The interview will happen in here, and then I’ll take you to wardrobe to pick out some clothes before the shoot happens. Can I get either of you anything? Coffee?” Dominique asked.
“No thank you,” Angie and Hannah replied together.
Dominique exited, leaving them alone. The silence lengthened while Hannah grabbed a water bottle and unscrewed the lid.
Angie leaned toward her. “Bet you didn’t miss all of this, huh?”
“You’d win that bet. They made me look like a painted clown,” she said. When she wore makeup at all, she preferred a natural look. As Rachelle layered colors on her, she’d watched herself disappear.
“I always said you didn’t need makeup. Still, I think you look gorgeous,” Angie said, from close beside her on the lounge.
“You don’t have to say that, but thanks.”
“I mean it,” Angie replied, her green-eyed stare dropping to Hannah’s lips.
“You look…nice too,” Hannah said, cutting her eyes away from Angie’s bow-shaped mouth and high cheekbones.
Hannah had almost called her beautiful.
The journalist strode in, her slick black hair cut into a bob with bangs, her lips rimmed with bright red lipstick. The determination on her face made Hannah sure that she was going to be hard work.
“Hello ladies,” she said, shaking each of their hands. “I’m Veronica. It’s lovely to meet you both.”
On the edge of the black armchair, Veronica crossed her legs before resting a black dictation machine on the coffee table. With a long finger, Veronica showily pressed the button to record.
The questions were predictable, following the comeback template. At first, the interrogation focused solely on Hannah. Can you describe your training regime? Your diet? How do you balance your personal and professional lives? Do you think you’re going to add a gold medal to your achievements? Take me through the decision-making process that led to your return to swimming?
Though the questions were boring, it was easy to give canned answers while Angie sat quietly beside her. It wasn’t as embarrassing as Hannah had feared, and at least Angie might be able to see that she’d developed more confidence with this stuff.
“Given your status as former rivals in the pool, how do the two of you get along now?” Veronica asked.
Hannah and Angie looked at one another for a beat. It was intended to throw them off balance and she wasn’t going to bite. She crossed her arms, and Angie cleared her throat.
“I have only respect for Hannah. She’s a fantastic swimmer, and though we haven’t started working together much yet, it will be an honor when we do.”
“I agree,” Hannah replied.
“It’s certainly a strange situation, to have you in this role, Angie. An American assisting with coaching the Aussies. There has always been such a fierce professional rivalry between the two countries,” Veronica said.
“I’m sorry, is there a question in there somewhere?” Hannah asked.
Her faux-syrupy tone mirrored Veronica’s, making Angie burst into giggles beside her. Veronica’s face turned to stone.
“Well, how has the professional rivalry impacted you now?”
“I think we just answered that, didn’t we?” Angie replied.
Veronica’s eyebrows flicked up. “Okay. Well, those are all the questions I have. I’ll get Dom for you. She can take you to the wardrobe department.”
Veronica shook hands with them again, more brusquely this time. Scooping up the recording device, she left without turning it off.
“Was there a question in there somewhere? That was too good,” Angie said.
“Sorry, she asked me so many questions. I don’t know why they bothered to ask us for a joint interview if she was going to do that. Guess we didn’t give them the catfight they wanted.”
When Hannah met Angie’s eye, Angie gently squeezed her knee. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s not your fault. I’m happy to be here, anyway.”
Hannah started t
o reply, but Dominique flung the door open. She crooked a beckoning finger. “Time to change. Come with me, please.”
“Why does it always sound so ominous when they give directions?” Angie whispered, and Hannah smirked. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s pick the most ridiculous outfits we can find in there. But we’ll act as if we like them. It’ll be fun. What do you think?”
“Hey, I’m in. Anything to make this even a tiny bit less horrible.”
They checked out the outfits the stylist had put together, which were all dresses. Hannah screwed up her nose at the plunging necklines and metal accents. She would never wear this stuff, not even for a photo shoot.
Angie turned to the stylist, Max, and shook her head emphatically. He threw a hand up in the air.
“What’s the problem?” Max asked.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think any of this stuff represents the right look for us. Can we see other choices please?” Angie asked sweetly.
“All right. You can go to wardrobe. Whatever.”
Dominique guided Angie and Hannah to a room filled with clothing and headless mannequins. They rifled through racks of garments, whispering with their heads bent together.
“I can’t believe they let us loose in here,” Hannah said. “What do you think this is supposed to be? A dress or a shirt?” She held the sheer item against her chest, tilting her head to the side and vamping.
Angie covered her mouth. “I don’t know, but it’s awful! You have to pick that one.”
“No way. I don’t mind looking stupid, but that’s way too short. Not to mention see-through. Oh my god, look at this! What is this supposed to be, a jumpsuit? A romper?”
“A pantsuit? A joined together pantsuit,” Angie said, running her fingers over the fabric, which was dangerously close to being polyester.
Hannah touched the long line of buttons on the front of the suit. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this, but this is the one for me.”
“Perfect. Just perfect. It looks like it’ll fit you just right too. What do you think about this for me?” Angie asked, holding up a blue dress with shoulder pads and a vinyl sash.
“I can’t believe we’re already throwing back to the eighties, but yes, I think you must.”
They changed in adjoining dressing rooms, giggling behind the black curtains.
“I’m starting to have misgivings about this,” Hannah said, biting her lip as she stared at herself in the floor-length mirror. The red and white suit made her look like a praying mantis, all broad shoulders and long limbs. “This is even more ridiculous than it looked on the hanger. I’ll never live it down.”
Angie threw the curtain open, her mouth hanging open as she looked Hannah up and down. “Oh my god! I can’t believe it, but that looks kind of good on you. You’re going to start a trend of weird jumpsuits!”
Hannah stepped toward Angie. “Hey, likewise. That color is lovely.”
Angie placed her hand on her shoulder, looking up at her. They stood in silence, brown eyes looking into green.
“This is so much more fun with you, you know? It always was,” Angie said. She smoothed her hands over Hannah’s shoulders, then straightened the jumpsuit’s collar.
Hannah’s hands rested at her sides. They wanted to betray her, itching to curl around Angie’s body. The sash accentuated her lovely hourglass shape.
They looked to the door at the sound of Max’s voice. He was watching them, calculating the damage. After a moment, he clicked his fingers.
“Not what I would have chosen, but you don’t look half bad. Come on. I’m going to introduce you to the photographer.”
Hannah and Angie exchanged a knowing look when they met Zen, the long-haired photographer with a manicured goatee. Of course, his name was Zen. He surveyed each of them with his mouth downturned.
They mugged for the camera, Angie winking at Hannah as she sucked in her cheeks with an exaggerated smolder.
“Closer,” Zen said in a monotone from behind the camera. “And closer again.”
Hannah rolled her eyes, then pulled Angie toward her. They stood arm in arm, Angie’s head resting in the crook of her neck, her honey-scented shampoo bringing a rush of sense memory. Was it possible that Angie still used the same shampoo all these years later?
Finally, Zen called an end to the shoot and Dominique shepherded them back to the wardrobe department to change. Hannah unbuttoned the jumpsuit, peeling it down her waist and wondering what Marie’s face would look like when she saw the pictures. They’d be laughing about this for years.
“So, how long are you down here in Melbourne? Did you come down just for this fabulous media opportunity, or do you have other business?” Hannah asked.
“I’m here through the weekend, the work part is all done for now. I did have other meetings, but I’m done with all my commitments, which is nice. I don’t fly back until Sunday, so I was planning to have a look around, see the sights a bit. This is such a beautiful country, so I’m trying to see as much of it as I can. I haven’t been here since…not for a long time…”
Hannah stared at the wall that divided them. She could be an adult about this. As Angie said, it had been a long time, and they were getting along fine. Barely any weirdness at all today. “Do you have dinner plans? We can go somewhere. I mean, if you want to.”
It took so long for Angie to answer that Hannah wondered if she’d heard. Then there was the sound of the curtain rings scraping along the rod as she exited her cubicle.
“I’d love that, Hannah. I really would.”
Chapter Ten
Hannah leaned over to get closer to her reflection, widening her eyes and brushing mascara along her lashes. “Shit,” she said when she stabbed the wand into her lid. She used a cotton ball to wipe the black smudge away.
On the basin’s edge, Marie’s voice blared from the cordless phone. “I can’t believe you’re going on a date with her. This is crazy. After all this time, you’re still into her, and she’s still into you. I know you hate it when I get into your business but should I be worried about you?”
Hannah glared at the phone, then lifted it to her mouth and pressed the button that switched it over from speaker. “Why would you think this is a date? That’s not what I said. We’re going out to dinner because she’s in town. I’m just being nice.”
When there was no answer, she shifted the phone to her other ear, frowning. “Hello? You still there?”
“Sure. Sorry, my bad. So, what are you wearing?”
She shrugged even though Marie couldn’t see her. “Nothing fancy. Jeans and that sleeveless black top I got when we went shopping at McCullers. Remember?”
“I do. It’s very nice on you. And where are you going?”
“She wants to see Lygon Street. I thought I’d take her to Francesco’s.”
“Okay, well, have a good night. Call me tomorrow and tell me how it went?”
“Sure.”
She gripped the edges of the sink, looking at herself and taking a deep breath. She hadn’t meant for the dinner suggestion to be read as a come-on. What if she’d given that impression to Angie too? Her reflection shook her head back at her, and together they agreed it was too late to back out now.
They’d agreed to meet on a Lygon Street corner, Melbourne’s Little Italy. She walked the short block from her tram stop and watched Angie from a few paces back. She was finger-combing her hair, searching the street. Her black winter coat hung open so that Hannah could see the emerald-coloured dress underneath. Hannah didn’t have to see her up close to know she looked gorgeous.
“Hey Angie,” Hannah said as she walked up, her heart jumping at the look on Angie’s face when Hannah appeared.
“Hey there. You look so lovely.”
“Oh…thanks. So do you.”
“Thanks. So, this seems nice. Where’s good here?”
“There’s a place just down the street that’s my favorite.”
They strode together past tables cluttering the st
reet, where people drank red wine and ate their pasta on checked tablecloths.
A man in a white apron stood in front of the door to a restaurant they passed, holding out a menu toward them. “Hey beautiful ladies, you looking for dinner? You want to try the best gnocchi on the street?”
Hannah waved and shook her head. Angie looked back and asked, “What’s the deal?”
“Oh, this is just how they roll along here. Everyone tries to get you to come into their place. Here we are.”
“Hello! My favorite customer. How are you, Ms. Clark?”
Abdul had been working there for almost as long as Hannah had been coming, and she always enjoyed talking to him. His dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, a gold hoop in one ear.
“I’m well, thanks, Abdul. Can we get a table inside?”
“Of course, of course. And I’ll instruct the chef to make your dinner extra special—we all like knowing that we’re giving you fuel to race. You come here to carb load, right?” he asked, winking at her as he pulled out a chair. He did the same for Angie, then handed them red leather-bound menus.
“You know it,” Hannah replied.
“This is lovely,” Angie said, looking around at the warm brick walls, the dark green tablecloths that matched the heavy drapes. Between them, a white candle dripped wax onto the side of a wine bottle acting as a holder. Hannah watched the flame guttering for a moment. No wonder Marie had reacted the way she had when they talked earlier.
“Sorry if it looks kind of cheesy. A lot of places along here have candles and all that stuff,” Hannah said. “The food’s good though, I promise.”
“I’m sure I’ll like it,” Angie said, picking up the menu eagerly. She scanned the list before closing it and waving her hand. “You know what? I’m happy for you to order for us. You already know this place, and I bet you know what all the best dishes are anyway. And I like everything; I’m not fussy at all. Can we share?”
“Oh, I…”
“I’m happy to eat vegetarian dishes. If you still don’t eat meat, I mean…” Her hands clasped in front of her on the table, her back straight as she looked across at Hannah.
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