A Pretty Mess

by Carla Caruso

  At the Laminex-topped breakfast bar, she listlessly flipped the pages of the Astonvale Press. It was too hot out for her usual Saturday routine of housework, tennis, and seeing what Mitchell was up to. Although having things to do was probably better than sitting around moaning about the temperature—

  Her page-flipping suddenly halted, her breath catching in her throat. Staring back at her from page nine was a big, smiling picture of Imogen Karmel in some bizarre, ultra-trendy outfit, all dark blonde hair, hazel eyes and honeyed tan. It was next to a story about Imogen being the paper’s new ‘design queen’ columnist.

  Celeste felt even sicker in her stomach. If they were playing a game of one-upmanship, Imogen had just won. Celeste had had one measly article printed in the local rag while Imogen was now set to have a weekly column. In the well-read weekend paper. Which would only help the interior designer secure more work, which she’d promptly delegate to her staff. It was so unfair.

  Tired of the paper, Celeste got to her feet and moved to place her empty coffee mug in the sink. Through the opened window, she could hear the splash of a neighbour diving into their pool. Probably the one with the sad dog that seemed to have been trained not to bark and was always desperate for pats from passers-by.

  All the pool-boys around Astonvale must have had a bumper start to their season.

  Her phone beeped on the breakfast bar. A belated birthday message? Or a text from Mitchell wanting to make plans after tennis? Well, she’d been right about Mitchell.

  Celeste, I meant 2 tlk 2 u about this last night but didnt get a chance. Imogen has asked 2 pair up with me as tennis partners this season & I think it wd b good for the club 2 show we’re willing 2 help a new member. Hope u understand x

  Celeste dropped the phone like it was radioactive. The queasiness from her hangover had just gone off the Richter scale. It was too much Imogen-related news for one morning. Far, far too much. Why didn’t the interior designer just go away, especially when she already had so much? Why did she also have to try to steal what little Celeste had, too? Because becoming tennis partners was how Mitchell had first gotten to Celeste in a romantic sense. And what wasn’t clear was whether he was just quitting being Celeste’s tennis partner or quitting ‘them’ altogether — whatever the nature of their relationship might be.

  Although, did she really need to ask? He and Imogen would be a perfect match. Both had the wealthy family backing, that elite school ‘glow’, and didn’t give a damn about hurting other people’s feelings. Nup, obviously Celeste was as good as last season’s tennis shoes to Mitchell now. He’d come to scoff the free food and drink at her party last night, then as good as dumped her via text. Well, she hoped Imogen got fat on Craven Biscuits, courtesy of her ex-sort-of-boyfriend.

  There was no way she was going to the tennis club that day, if ever again. She only hoped the duo’s sneaker soles would melt on the tennis court in the heat. Celeste wrote a missive back to Mitchell before she could cool her heels. All very unlike her, but, gee, it felt good.

  Hope Imogen & ur groin r very happy 2gether. I won’t be coming 2 the club 2day. PS. Hot tip: Tennis balls are a cruddy birthday present, for future reference.

  Okay, now that the text was out there in the ether, Celeste felt a little foolish. Jumpy, too, should a hateful response beep through any second. It wasn’t like having an argument with someone in person where body language gave everything away, no matter the words. Besides, maybe she had read too much into things when it had all been quite innocent, making herself look like a right jealous cow. Theirs wasn’t meant to be that kind of relationship.

  Seconds later, her phone beeped again. Her heart raced as she snatched it up and scanned the message. U looked pretty chummy with that tradie guy last nite. Maybe he could be ur new tennis partner.

  Celeste unleashed a groan that could have been heard from her dad’s place in the northeast. So she hadn’t been imagining things, and Mitchell was going to try to pin it on her, was he? Twist things, while trying to make Lenny sound all blue-collar to boot? Make up stories about her and Lenny being more than just work acquaintances? As nice as Lenny had been when she’d gotten teary at her mother’s trunk, it was clear that their relationship was purely professional. Well, Mitchell could stick it where the sun don’t shine. As could Imogen. She wasn’t going to dignify Mitchell’s message with another response.

  It took her a speedy ten minutes to slick on some lip gloss, throw on a headband, and chuck on some fitness gear. Stuff the heat. She was going out. Power-walking somewhere, likely coupled with window-shopping. Despite the heat, it was still early enough to be bearable, she figured. Pounding the footpath would be just the ticket to get over her anger and hangover.

  She wrenched open the front door with force, her keys in the zipper compartment of her wrist sweatband, and nearly barrelled into … her dad? Sucking in a breath, Celeste stepped back. ‘Dad, I wasn’t expecting you!’

  ‘Clearly.’ He grinned, twisting a khaki-coloured sunhat in his hand. ‘Or you wouldn’t have almost walked into my fist. I was about to knock.’

  ‘It’s nice, uh, to see you again — so soon. Did you leave something behind at the party last night?’

  Generally, her father only left his neck of the woods for weddings, parties and funerals, so it was a little unnerving.

  ‘No, actually, I’m afraid the air-conditioner on the bus is on the blink. The repair man has to wait for a few parts to arrive before he can fix it. Which won’t be before this heatwave winds up, unfortunately — I’ve just been past the shop. I’d attempt repairing it myself but my eyesight isn’t what it used to be. I was, uh …’ He coughed and started again. ‘I was wondering if it would be okay if I stayed here, just for a day or two. I wouldn’t normally ask, but this weather’s pretty unbearable. I’d sleep outside but the bugs would eat me alive.’

  It was the very last thing Celeste needed after things had gone south with Mitchell, but she put on a brave face, like a dutiful daughter, kill her as it did. ‘No, no, you can’t sleep outside. Of course you’re welcome here.’ She stood back, gesturing for him to come inside, but her dad stayed rooted to the spot.

  ‘Are you sure it’s okay? I know it’s been a long time since we resided under the same roof. And you’re probably not used to having a man around the house — well, a man’s quirks and all, I should say.’

  Even if his words had come out a little wrong, it was true. She wasn’t used to having a man around the house, father or otherwise. And just the thought of the mess her dad would leave in his wake made her want to grind her teeth, but she held it in. At least Betty-Lou had made sure everyone chipped in with the party clean-up last night, meaning one less job for Celeste.

  ‘Don’t be silly. You’re very welcome. Come in, come in.’ As her father ambled forwards, she added, ‘Need a drink? It is hot out. Juice, water, tea?’

  More hat-twisting. ‘Please don’t feel you need to wait on me all weekend. I’m happy to make myself at home. I can find the fridge. Besides, it looks like you were in a hurry to go somewhere, so please go. I read in the TV guide there’s an Agatha Christie movie on the box, that’ll do me fine.’

  Celeste tried not to think about the biscuit crumbs winding up down the back of her couch and the coffee rings marking the table, despite the coasters within easy reach. Betty-Lou had known Celeste well by guiding last night’s partying outdoors.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure …’

  ‘I’m sure,’ her dad said, already heading for the lounge. As purposefully as Lenny had the other night.

  Now more than ever Celeste needed a power-walk. And some retail therapy.

  Talk about coincidence. Lenny was just looking out the window of Natalia’s new fitness studio — yes, he was working Saturdays to meet the mounting deadlines — when he saw a familiar figure cross the street. Celeste. Her image was a welcome change from the shopping strip’s usual passing parade of women who brunched and had Botox at lunch, and designer mums with equally de
signer babies named Harry and Hermione.

  It was almost as though he’d dreamed Celeste into life, because he’d just been thinking about her. Not in that way. Though, of course, he had in the past. Even if the stars weren’t aligned for them as a couple, still, he was a red-blooded male. But this time, he’d actually been thinking about how vulnerable she’d looked the night before when talking about her late mother. And how good it had been to see her relax over the course of the evening in the company of her family, friends and, well, him. It was kind of … touching. Like he’d borne witness to another side of her.

  And today had revealed yet another Celeste — a workout version of her, in which her lithe frame was clad in an orange singlet and black sports tights, which left little to the imagination, and, donning dark shades, offering an air of mystery. She looked like she was in a hurry, but that was nothing new. Suddenly, he had an idea, which might loosen her up a bit again.

  As she swept past the opened glass door, her arms swinging, he reached for her elbow and pulled her inside. She let out a deafening scream, directed straight at his right eardrum. Which was probably fair. Turning, she clocked his face and, all of a sudden, launched at him, pummelling his chest. Her fists hurt less than being thwacked by a rubber band. As her feet danced, the plastic sheeting, covering the wood floor, squeaked. He caught her fists. Unfortunately, she still had her shades on, so he couldn’t see her eyes flashing, but he could hear it in her words.

  ‘You scared me half to death!’

  Death. There was that subject again. Not that Celeste seemed to make the correlation, thankfully. Despite a workman painting the ceiling trim in white nearby, Celeste’s nearness meant Lenny could still detect her signature lavender scent.

  Reluctantly, he released his grip — getting up-close and personal with her was always fun. ‘I just couldn’t resist when I saw you charging past like that. Where’s the fire?’

  She stepped back, rubbing her wrists, although he hadn’t applied any real pressure. Perhaps it was more symbolic of giving him the brush-off. ‘I was trying to outrun this heatwave and find somewhere cooler to go. It’s like a furnace out there. It can’t really be spring.’ She blew her fringe upwards and for the first time swung her head around the worksite. ‘So this is Natalia’s new studio? I didn’t realise it was here exactly. In this old bank building.’

  ‘Yep, it’s here and there’s still plenty to do, which is why I’m working weekends.’ Two of his workmen came through carrying the wooden ballet barre they were about to install. ‘Hey, watch the mirrors,’ he called out. The plastic covering wouldn’t be much help. The pair took a wider path. Lenny turned back to Celeste. ‘Want me to show you around while you’re here?’

  ‘I guess I might as well see what I’m in for next. Natalia wants me to help organise the office and staff room here.’

  ‘Then I’ll take you up to the mezzanine floor, where they’ll be. It’ll give you a good view of this place.’

  The mezzanine was a mess of dust, bits of plastic, and discarded tools — a dumping ground for his workmen until it was the office’s turn for refurbishment. He stood at the metal railing with Celeste, noticing that said men had since left for smoko. Sometimes it’d be nice to be the employee rather than the employer.

  ‘Okay, so, see where the mirrors and ballet barre are? Well, that’s where her dance-fitness classes will be held. And over there is the lobby and reception area, naturally, with a bit of a retail space for customers to walk through. Then the change rooms and toilets are over there.’

  Celeste nodded. ‘I get it. Nice.’

  ‘It’s certainly come a long way since we first gutted the place. It can be a bit like fitting together the pieces of a jigsaw, trying to fulfil a customer’s vision.’

  ‘It feels the same way for me — on a different scale.’

  Lenny turned to Celeste and felt a little kick, from out of nowhere, in his stomach at the sight of her fresh-faced beauty up-close. She’d since removed the shades and her grey-blue eyes looked large and luminous. Then again, he’d always had a bit of penchant for women in their fitness gear. Perhaps it reminded him of where else they might get hot and sweaty.

  ‘Well, I’m probably holding you up. You looked like you were in a hurry to be somewhere.’

  Celeste tapped her fingers on the metal railing, her gaze flicking downwards again. ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Please don’t tell me you’re meeting up with Mitchell — power-walking somewhere in matching outfits,’ he teased. ‘It’d be too nauseating to bear and I still have to have lunch.’

  She didn’t even rise to the bait. ‘No, no, nothing like that. My dad’s crashed at my place. His air-con’s not working. So I was just out doing some errands, getting some fresh air — well, stiflingly fresh — but I should head back soon.’

  He paused for a beat and whistled. ‘Your dad’s staying over? That should be fun. Not that he’s not a great guy — we had a good chat last night. But past a certain age, sharing the same space as your parents never works well.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Celeste muttered.

  The creak of the front door drew both their gazes to the entrance, temporarily halting their conversation. For once, it seemed, his men hadn’t dragged out their smoko breaks. Hang on. The tall bloke entering — that wasn’t one of his crew. It was Natalia’s fiancé, Mike, with his gold-coloured mobile pressed to his ear. A flash of yellow through the glass hinted at Mike’s Corvette Stingray being illegally parked out the front, too.

  Celeste shot Lenny a wide-eyed look, then almost in unison they dived onto their stomachs on the dusty mezzanine floor. Just watching. And listening. Thankfully, there was plenty of rubbish to hide behind. The sound of Celeste’s soft breaths — her warmth — beside him was a little unsettling. It wasn’t quite how Lenny imagined finding himself horizontal with her for the first time.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be back in Kalgoorlie in a couple of days,’ Mike could be heard saying loudly into his phone, the naked-girl tattoo on his bulging upper arm staring up at them. ‘Should be sweet.’

  ‘Kalgoorlie?’ Celeste mouthed at Lenny, an indent forming between her thin eyebrows.

  ‘Shh,’ he mimed, turning his attention back to ground-level.

  Mike continued, ‘Yeah, should be a goldmine this time of year …’ A guffaw echoed off the walls. ‘Nah, Natalia will be too busy with her “dancing” to come, too …’ He put air quotes around the term, which seemed a little rude in speaking about his fiancée. Mike lowered his voice. ‘Don’t worry — you’ll get your money. I’ll be there soon to help. Anyway, I’d better go. I thought Natalia might be at her studio, but she’s not here …’

  And just as promptly as he’d arrived, Mike loped towards the front door again, leaving it to bang shut behind him, the glass shuddering.

  Celeste turned to gape at Lenny, pushing herself up onto her elbows. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

  ‘That Mike seems a tad shady? That the blackmailer could even be closer to home than we thought?’

  Celeste nodded viciously. ‘What was all that stuff about Kalgoorlie, of all places? And money, and Natalia’s dancing?’

  Lenny shook his head slowly. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  Celeste got to her feet, dusting herself down. Lenny followed her lead. ‘You know, I feel a bit sorry for Natalia. In fact, a lot sorry for her. You can just see how people would crawl out of the woodwork when you become a person of her position. I wouldn’t trust that Mike as far as I could throw him. Someone should tell her.’

  ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions. We don’t know anything for sure. Best to just stay on the alert for now. If we can help, we will.’

  He wouldn’t want any harm coming to Natalia if she was, indeed, a good person. But that would then be when matters would need to go to the police — not up to them to solve. And it would be Natalia’s call to do so.

  ‘Yeah,’ Celeste said solemnly, her mouth twisting as she headed for the silvery s
piral staircase. She turned back for a moment, catching him staring after her — he hadn’t yet moved. ‘Oh, and by the way, you don’t have to bother making any more gibes about Mitchell. We’re finished. We never really got into gear to be honest. Talk about opportunists — Imogen’s his new tennis partner as of today.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lenny hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his cargo pants. ‘I figured she was a nasty piece of work. But you should be celebrating. You’re too good for the likes of Mitchell. Onwards and upwards.’

  She offered him a small smile. ‘Thanks.’ Then she turned and disappeared down the stairs, the trail of lavender perfume left behind the only clue she’d been there and not just a figment of his imagination.

  Celeste’s dad was still on the couch when she arrived home, carrying shopping bags bursting with healthy fare like soy and linseed bread and free-range chicken. She figured she may as well ensure he was eating right while in her company, even if she couldn’t account for the rest of the time.

  The TV was now tuned to some documentary about voluntary euthanasia, which seemed rather grim. Noticing her in the doorway, her dad promptly changed the channel and turned her way with an almost guilty expression. He had a piece of cheese stuck to his blue polo top. It was like having a mouse in the house.

  She tried to avoid looking at the lemon-yellow mug, sans coaster, on her coffee table. Custard was perched beside her dad, even though the cat knew he wasn’t meant to sit up there, taunting Celeste to do something about it with his startling blue eyes.

  Her dad’s gaze returned to the screen again. ‘Oh, look, it’s The Seven Year Itch. Haven’t seen the movie in years. It’s meant to be hot in the flick, too.’

  ‘Very appropriate,’ Celeste murmured.

  They both stared as Marilyn Monroe, amid changing outfits, announced she kept cool by putting her underwear in her icebox. Perhaps that wasn’t a bad idea.