by Carla Caruso
Swallowing down some liquid courage, Celeste decided to face the Imogen-shaped elephant in the room. No more skirting around the issue with idle chatter. ‘I-I guess we should discuss your new tennis partner and our … our little text argument.’
Mitchell sat forward, his eyes earnest. ‘You know, I have to say, she … well … she looks the part, but she doesn’t have the experience you’ve built up on the court.’ Of course, he stopped short of saying Celeste was actually good, pushing on. ‘It was a good thing the games wound up earlier in the heat.’
‘I thought it was all about showing a new member the ropes?’ Celeste shot back, although she was amused to discover she actually no longer cared what Imogen and Mitchell had gotten up to — on the court or off. In fact, she couldn’t give two hoots. Funny what a little time-out could do.
‘Well, yes, it was about that, but I thought she’d at least have some skills having gone to Astonvale College, which is big on tennis. But she didn’t appear to have even picked up a racquet before. I think she thought it was all about standing around looking pretty in a tennis skirt and that she’d just master it somehow once on the court. Although … this weekend hasn’t just been about her.’ Mitchell ducked his head, looking up at Celeste from beneath his floppy fringe. ‘It wasn’t the same without you there yesterday.’
Celeste fiddled with the stem of her wineglass, the taste of lemon chicken lingering in her mouth. ‘Well, I’m glad you missed my presence a little bit. I’ve played enough games with you now.’
‘You have. And, to be honest, the whole tennis partner thing … well, I think I jumped at Imogen’s suggestion only because I was kind of jealous of how friendly you’ve been getting with that builder fellow. I can imagine a woman would find a rough-and-tumble sort like him attractive. I guess it was my way of getting my own back.’
‘Lenny?’ Celeste willed herself from turning red. Rough-and-tumble? She couldn’t help wondering what Lenny would think of that description. ‘There’s nothing going on there. Don’t worry about that.’
It wasn’t a total lie. There was nothing going on between her and Lenny anymore. And probably never had been in Lenny’s mind. It was just a night of passion to him. But Mitchell didn’t need to know any of that. Theirs wasn’t that kind of relationship.
‘I’m glad,’ Mitchell said shyly, standing up and pacing. He turned back to face Celeste. ‘Do you … do you think you might want to be my tennis partner again? I’m sure Imogen would understand that we … well, we just weren’t the right match on the court. I don’t think she’ll have a problem finding another partner.’
The glow of car headlights washed over Mitchell’s face through the window for a moment. Likely someone attempting a three-point turn in her driveway as usual, confusing the numbers on her street. Celeste dragged in a breath.
‘To be honest, I think I might take a hiatus from tennis, so it was good timing. With my new business kicking into gear and all, I really need to focus.’ Good grief. She sounded just like Lenny. Celeste pushed on, trying to stamp the builder from her mind — his manly scent, his deep voice, his teasing eyes. ‘And I think you should stick it out with Imogen. I’m sure she’ll pick things up before long. She’s a fast learner when it comes to figuring out how things operate.’
Mitchell smirked. ‘I can imagine she’d be quite the game-player in some areas.’
Celeste laughed along with Mitchell, although for a brief second she almost felt a sense of sisterhood for Imogen. Perhaps the interior designer was just trying to survive in the big, scary world like Celeste was, using whatever resources she had at her disposal. Astonvale and the design industry could be cut-throat.
Plus, who knew if Mitchell had made advances on Imogen and she’d rejected him — and that was the reason he was crawling back to Celeste? Maybe the truth would come out on the tennis grapevine, not that it would really matter to Celeste either way. Her mind was made up when it came to him. The glow of headlights washed over Mitchell’s face again, signalling the car leaving, as Celeste had imagined it would.
She clutched her wineglass’s stem harder as Mitchell returned to her side on the couch. ‘I also think perhaps we should leave things where they are with us, if that’s okay with you. I’ve had a bit of time to think this weekend — maybe the blackout helped to clear my head — but I’ve realised I actually want a bit more from a relationship. This— This sort of arrangement no longer works for me, I’m afraid.’
And it was true. One thing that had come out of hooking up with Lenny was that she no longer wanted to sell herself short. She wanted a full-on, passionate love affair or nothing at all. She didn’t want to be afraid anymore, no matter what the future might or might not hold. Seeing Mitchell slouched on her doorstep earlier on had rammed that message home.
‘Oh … okay,’ Mitchell said quietly, scratching at a tiny stain on his shorts, looking more doleful than she’d expected. ‘I thought you were happy with the way things were.’
‘I was. But I— I’ve changed my mind. I know it sounds clichéd, but I’m hoping we can still be friends. I do enjoy your company.’
Mitchell looked like he was trying hard to remain jolly. Maybe he’d even had more feelings for her than she’d given him credit for. ‘Of course, we can still be friends. Great friends.’ He leaned to nudge Celeste in the side. Custard lifted his head to sceptically look between them before flopping back down again. ‘Although, I will miss your quirky, little habits post-bedroom.’
Celeste felt her eyebrows disappear into her hairline. ‘My quirky, little habits?’
‘Yeah, like always having to visit the ladies and brush your teeth after, well, you know.’
He was too preppy to even say the word. Sex. She felt like screaming it at him. She imagined Lenny wouldn’t be so shy. Although, somehow, with Lenny that weekend, she’d forgotten to give into her usual ‘quirks’, too caught up as she was in the moment.
She didn’t want to tell Mitchell the teeth-brushing was because she knew how many germs could be transmitted via kissing, and that weeing after going between the sheets could reduce the risk of developing a UTI — à la poor Custard. She wouldn’t enlighten Mitchell, either, that she also liked to have a hot shower once home, so she felt clean and fresh before she slid beneath her doona. Okay, so she might have had a tiny issue with germs …
Celeste grinned. She could give as good as she got. ‘What about how you like to look at your stupid tennis trophies while doing the deed? You’d think you could move them off the shelf above your bed for a minute.’
Mitchell looked even more sheepish. ‘I like to think I take a little longer than that …’
They both stared at each other and then broke into grins, followed by hearty laughter. Mitchell wasn’t half as bad as Betty-Lou painted him, even if he wasn’t quite the right guy for Celeste. Not the new and improved version of her anyway. It had been the nicest semi-break-up ever. And her heartache over Lenny had been good for something at least: taking stock of her life rather than leaving much of it up in the air.
She began clearing away the empty takeaway containers. ‘Well, I feel a bit bad about you coming here and bringing takeaway after … everything.’
‘Nah.’ Mitchell got to his feet, not bothering to pick up his empty wineglass and take it to the sink, as usual. ‘I made sure I got more prawns in my fried rice anyway, so I got my money’s worth. Plus, I couldn’t have eaten it all by myself — I had to find someone to share it with.’
‘Right.’
18.
The weather was back to spring-fabulous for the start of the new working week — the sky was a turquoise blue, offsetting the purple jacaranda flowers clinging to the trees in Natalia’s street despite the recent windstorm.
Celeste might even have been skipping, after climbing out of her Astra, if she didn’t face the prospect of seeing Lenny again. Or Natalia’s scary fiancé, Mike.
Focusing on the job at hand, without jumping at every creak and shadow, was goi
ng to be difficult. Still, having just picked up a hefty electricity bill from her post-office box, she knew she had to maintain a sense of professionalism. She still needed to get paid — no matter what she thought of particular men coming and going from the property.
At one of the retirement village units across from Natalia’s, a seventy-something woman was soaking her rose bushes with a bright pink watering can. Her property neighboured Mr Milesio’s. Celeste waved at the white-haired woman, who in turn peered back at Celeste from behind oversized geometric-style glasses.
‘Hello, dear,’ the woman greeted Celeste, her lipstick matching her watering can.
‘Hi. Nice day for gardening,’ Celeste replied, feeling unusually chatty for once. Okay, so maybe she was trying to delay the inevitable. Namely, bumping into Lenny.
The old woman frowned, cupping a hand around her ear. ‘Sorry? You’ll have to speak up, love. I’m a little hard of hearing.’
‘Oh, no worries.’ Halting at the woman’s gate, Celeste loudly repeated what she’d just said.
This time, the woman nodded energetically. ‘It is, indeed. It’s perfect. Much better than it was over the weekend.’
‘I agree.’ Celeste glanced over at Mr Milesio’s unit, frowning as she noticed that his stripey canvas awnings were pulled down and there were two newspapers, still in plastic, on his front lawn. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember seeing him on his porch lately, either. And she wouldn’t have minded asking him a few discreet questions about Natalia and what else he thought of her.
A sudden thought hit her. He couldn’t have died, could he? She knew that sort of thing would be a regular occurrence at retirement villages, but … how awful.
How to address the subject tactfully with another elderly person?
She cleared her throat, nodding at the neighbouring property. ‘Er, has Mr Milesio slept in, or is he off on holidays?’
It was all Celeste could come up with on the fly.
‘Mr Milesio?’ The old woman’s forehead furrowed as she squinted in the direction of his unit. ‘I don’t know. He didn’t say anything to me about going anywhere. Although, those wild pigeons he feeds haven’t been as much of a nuisance lately, so perhaps he is off holidaying. Let’s hope it’s a long trip. I’m also not a fan of the horrible news stories he insists on reading out from the paper over the fence every other day. I turn off my hearing-aid half the time.’
Obviously there was no love lost between Mrs White Hair and Mr Milesio.
‘That’s, er, understandable. Well, enjoy your gardening.’ Celeste waved, continuing on her way again. Perhaps the woman was right, even if she hadn’t been so nice about it. There probably was a simple explanation for Mr Milesio’s absence — even a small hospital visit, if not an actual holiday. Like in that ’eighties film The ’Burbs, where a neighbour goes missing and the rest of the street is suspicious, until they discover he’s actually just staying with family after a heart attack and has recovered fine.
Mr Milesio was old.
So why couldn’t she shake the creepy feeling she had? As though something untoward could even have happened to him, due to his inquisitiveness and his legal mind? No! Celeste picked up the pace. She was just on edge because of the weekend she’d had. Tying herself up in knots for no good reason. This was real-life, not some ’eighties movie.
The first person she faced at the mansion — once back up in Natalia’s home gym for more organising — wasn’t one she’d properly thought about facing again, though was equally as scary. Flip. The twenty-something was early and even had the storage rack Celeste had texted her to pick up. Could she know about Celeste’s dad and Dolores?
Celeste edged into the gym, resting her tote near a mirror-lined wall. ‘Hi, Flip,’ she said as casually as she could muster. ‘Survive the heatwave okay?’
‘Oh, it was ace. I love the hot weather!’ Flip held out even more bronzed arms. ‘I could have worked some more on my tan in my lunchbreak if Astonvale wasn’t so annoyingly shady and tree-lined.’
Perhaps working on her tan was also why Flip’s denim overalls were so minuscule that day — less tan lines. Celeste really needed to talk to Flip about some sort of uniform when she was in the right frame of mind. But at least Flip seemed none the wiser about Dolores’s dalliance with Celeste’s dad. And Celeste wasn’t about to fill her in. It could be Dolores’s grandmotherly duty. Ugh.
For the next few hours, they worked uninterrupted. Celeste even tuned out the banging and hammering that was a constant hum in the background again — and thinking about who might be behind it.
Uninterrupted, that was, until Natalia threw open the door, talking to someone behind her, sounding as perky as ever despite currently being blackmailed. ‘… And this is the home gym, which the ladies from POPink are busy working on at the moment.’
Celeste whizzed around, with the last kettle-bell to go on the storage rack in hand. And her smile instantly wobbled. Cripes. It was Kim-Ly, the nail technician from Lucky Fingers.
Kim-Ly actually looked less demure herself this time in a blue mini-dress that’d rival Flip’s hemlines, and heels so spiky they could be classed as a weapon. She wasn’t alone either. Hovering behind the beautician was Minka, holding a bunch of mail as was the norm, and … oh dear … Mike. Just the kind of audience Celeste didn’t want.
‘Hi,’ Celeste squeaked at the gang, her heart thumping. Quickly, she turned back to the storage rack, pretending the kettle-bell colours desperately needed swapping around. Unfortunately, Kim-Ly was unperturbed.
Striding forwards, she stuck out her strong hand. Her nail art matched her dress: Tiffany-blue with diamantes. Thankfully, she hadn’t seemed to recognise Celeste — yet. ‘Hey, I’m Kim-Ly, a friend of Natalia’s. Looks like you’ve done a brilliant job around this place already. Natalia never was the tidiest cat in town.’
Huh.
Celeste got the feeling that Kim-Ly was more than just Natalia’s favourite beautician. Possibly they’d even been housemates once. Which could be why Natalia didn’t mind going to a humble sort of salon as Lucky Fingers. Kim-Ly was also right about the untidy thing — the home gym had looked like the back room of a school gymnasium before she and Flip had set to work.
Celeste shook the proffered hand, averting her gaze as best she could. Avoiding looking into Kim-Ly’s truth-seeking eyes. ‘With such beautiful objects and surrounds, it’s not hard for my work to look good. That and Natalia’s a dream to work for.’
‘The cheque’s in the mail,’ Natalia joked from behind them.
Unfortunately, Kim-Ly still hadn’t let go of Celeste’s hand. Celeste tried to stop her fingers clawing at the memory of being crushed in the woman’s grip once before. The manicurist tilted her head to one side. ‘You know, you actually look kind of familiar.’
‘Really?’ Celeste asked, still doing her best impersonation of Princess Diana’s lowered, soft-eyed gaze. ‘Nah, I would definitely remember you. I actually hear that a lot. I must have a pretty common sort of look.’ Her laugh sounded as unnatural as Kim-Ly’s nails were.
‘No.’ The beautician still hadn’t let go of Celeste’s hand. ‘I’m sure we’ve met before. In fact, I’m positive. I never forget a face, not in my line of work.’
Fudge. If Celeste had thought nothing could be worse than the weekend just gone, she’d never been more wrong. Her stomach felt like it was about to drop through the grey-and-silver-flecked carpet. And her hand, in Kim-Ly’s, was sweating like a pubescent boy in PE class.
Natalia suddenly sashayed forwards, resting a hand on Kim-Ly’s shoulder, gazing intently at Celeste. ‘I know where you’ve seen her before.’
Cripes. This was it. Where Celeste’s new business came crashing down around her knees. It was all over. Well, at least she could say she’d given things a shot. Maybe Imogen would still take her back if she begged …
‘It must be the Astonvale Press. They did a huge spread on Celeste being a celebrity professional organiser the other week. I
t was wonderful promotion for her and well-deserved.’
Kim-Ly’s brow was still furrowed, but she — finally — let go of Celeste’s hand. Celeste promptly did a few surreptitious wrist circles.
‘Maybe that was it,’ the beautician conceded, sounding unconvinced. It was enough, though, for Natalia to be able to swivel Kim-Ly around and keep her moving. ‘Come, let me show you my bedroom next and the magic the girls have done in there.’
Relief plunged through Celeste. Although a last stony-eyed look from Mike lessened the feeling a bit. Then again, she might have just imagined the hardened expression, being as jittery as she was. Perhaps she needed to take a little of what Custard was having before the job killed her.
‘Well, that was all a bit strange,’ Flip said once the door had closed. The brunette had been kneeling in the safety of one far corner, sorting out the gym mats.
‘Shh,’ Celeste hissed. ‘They’ll hear you. You never know who could be lurking behind the doors.’
Flip shrugged. ‘Can I have one of those Ballet-Tastic ancient grains-and-banana smoothie thingies from the bar fridge over there? I’m thirsty as. You’ve been working me hard.’
‘No. Definitely not. That would be considered stealing from a client.’
Flip folded her arms across her bra-lifted chest. ‘So I’ll die of thirst?’
Celeste reached for her tote, rummaged inside and chucked Flip her water bottle. ‘Have some of that.’
Flip caught the bottle, but screwed up her face. ‘Backwash is not really my style.’
Which made Celeste think of kissing disease. And whose lips she wouldn’t mind puckering up to one more time, if Lenny weren’t such a bloody commitment-phobe, right when she was willing to take a chance on something more serious.
‘Then bring your own bottle next time,’ Celeste said firmly as Flip took a glug anyway, her own gaze suddenly pulled to the left by a cream envelope resting on the otherwise immaculate carpet. Hopefully, Natalia hadn’t noticed the slight … unless she’d been the one to drop it?