The Brutal Truth

by Lee Winter

  There was a ragged intake of breath. Felicity’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Are there more? Show me!”

  Perry flicked through the photos, and Maddie laughed, as Felicity’s eyes grew wider and wider.

  “How?” She snapped her head around. “Hell, did you sleep with that Duchamp daughter for a story? Is that it? You cheeky, little slu…”

  “Felicity!”

  The sharp whip of fury short-circuited whatever crude suggestion Felicity was about to make, and all heads whirled to face Elena stalking into the room.

  Maddie, who’d been seconds away from lashing Felicity for implying she’d slept with someone to get a story, couldn’t have been more stunned at the anger on the media mogul’s face.

  “Felicity,” Elena repeated, her voice low. “Do you know what is the only thing more foolish than deliberately insulting the writer who has an exclusive that the entire publishing world is desperate to run?”

  Felicity shook her head mutely.

  “Deliberately insulting the writer of an exclusive that I want to run,” Elena snapped.

  A red hue crept up Felicity’s neck to her cheeks.

  “You will apologise for your baseless, gutter insinuations,” Elena said, tone icy. “Now.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Felicity said, her words a contrite mumble. “I didn’t mean it. Of course I don’t think you… I mean…ah…I just got such a shock.”

  Elena gave a disbelieving sneer. “And every time someone gives you a shock, do you accuse them of prostituting themselves?”

  Felicity turned scarlet.

  “Why don’t you take Oscar for a walk, while you contemplate how your future in my employ is linked to any further idiocy that might leave your mouth. About an hour should do it. He hasn’t been properly walked since yesterday morning. And do dress him warmly.”

  Maddie, Perry, and Felicity all glanced at the windows. It was blowing a frigid gale.

  “Now, Felicity.”

  Felicity scrambled up and left the room, shooting a mortified glance back at Maddie, as she went to track down the dog.

  Mask back on, Elena turned to her, expression neutral once more. “I have a typist ready to begin transcribing your interview.”

  Maddie had a hard time following the sudden mood shift. “Sorry, what? Why? I can…”

  “Unless you can type up a four-hour interview faster than 200 words a minute, it makes sense to outsource it to Sydney’s fastest available typist,” Elena said, tone brisk.

  Perry pointed to his laptop and told Elena. “The interview’s on there. On the desktop.”

  Elena nodded. “Good. Give it to Ingrid to type up. She’s in the study. Then go over the cover work with Jonas, whenever our illustrious graphic designer deigns to show up.”

  Perry left, and Elena slid onto his vacated stool. She studied Maddie for a moment, then sighed. “They will say this about you, you know.”

  Maddie’s brow creased in confusion.

  “What Felicity suggested. Because of the gossip-column photo and now your world exclusive, that will be the first accusation you get. You will need to be prepared for it.”

  Maddie thought about that. Damn. She’s right.

  “And they will be even less kind than Felicity was. Trust me, I know what they’re capable of. It’s vile.”

  Maddie suddenly understood the source of Elena’s anger. For years, when Elena had started out, gossip writers, under the safety of anonymity, had implied she’d slept with all sorts of investors and board members to make her way so far in the business world. They couldn’t get their heads around the fact that a woman had come out of nowhere, without a rich family, a background in the business, or a sugar daddy, and become a self-made multi-millionaire. So, they’d made assumptions.

  “It’s the price successful and prominent women pay,” Elena added with a sour look, “and what’s worse is, you will find other women can be your worst enemies. We don’t need fists to injure. Oh no, we are far more brutal than that.”

  Maddie digested her words. “I appreciate the warning. I also really don’t think Felicity meant what she said.”

  “Then she should not say something if she didn’t mean it.” Elena paused. “I think this is where we came in,” she added with a rueful look. “Was I not lamenting how hard it is for people to speak the truth, not so long ago?”

  “True. God, so much has happened since we had that innocent little conversation before our bet.”

  Elena gave her a long look. Her lips twitched. “That conversation was many things, Madeleine, but innocent was not one of them. And I believe you know it.”

  Surprise rippled through Maddie. What was she saying? That she was well aware Maddie had a crush on her? Or worse than a crush? Fear and embarrassment wrestled inside her. Was she that obvious?

  Maddie desperately sought the answers on Elena’s face. There were none. The woman’s smile merely widened.

  Maddening.

  “Now come on,” Elena said, straightening. “I believe I promised you a day of hell.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Filleting a Fish

  Elena hadn’t been kidding. The day was a wash of chaos and pressure, stress and anxiety. In the eye of the hurricane swirling all around her, Maddie wrote like a demon.

  At times, people would appear at her side. Felicity, looking windblown after her excursion with Oscar, had slid a glazed doughnut onto the table beside her without saying a word. Her version of an apology, Maddie supposed. Being within the mere orbit of all those carbs was probably giving Felicity vapours.

  Victor would appear whenever she had a question about magazine style. The man was like a walking bible of grammar and spelling.

  Perry would breeze in and out, mutter something with the word “Maddie” in it, but after the first half-dozen interruptions, she’d just tuned him out as she focused.

  Writing, writing, writing.

  Her wrists were aching from typing, her shoulders groaned, and everything felt as if it was taking too damned long. The clock ticked on, food appeared and disappeared—she wasn’t entirely sure whether it had come from Rosetta and whether she’d been the one to eat it—she never looked up. The words were starting to look ready, but now she had a flow problem. Her story jumped around too much, from subject to subject. If she could just concentrate long enough…to…there was a din from people talking just out of her zone of concentration…she had to think and…for God’s sake, it was getting louder…

  “Would you all please just shut up!” she cried out, as the hubbub near her working space rose to a dull roar.

  She half expected a “sorry, Maddie,” followed by Perry dashing off to bother someone else. Instead, she got eerie silence and a weird prickling sensation. She turned slowly to see Elena’s astonished look, three feet away, a phone frozen in her hand, as someone on the speaker called from it, “Hello? Ms Bartell are you still there?” and Felicity’s you-did-not-just-do-that wide-eyed expression.

  Maddie gestured at her computer screen with a helpless look.

  Elena’s lips thinned. She turned. “Benjamin, I will call you back.” She stabbed the phone off and stared at Maddie.

  No one spoke. Maddie’s pulse thudded like a jackhammer.

  “Quite correct, Madeleine, we will steer clear of your working area.” She turned to Felicity. “See that no one bothers her again.” The steel was back in her voice, as Elena bowed out of the room.

  With sweating hands, Maddie returned to her work. Her thoughts wandered, though.

  Holy hell. That did not just happen.

  For the first time in her life, Maddie understood what having power meant. Another thought struck her.

  Is this what it’s like all the time to be Elena?

  * * *

  Hours later, a sharp rap sounded, and Elena entered the room.

  Blearily, Maddie lifted her head from her computer and realised it was almost five in the afternoon.

  “Well?” Elena perched o
n a chair facing her, all elegance and regal coolness despite having endured just as intense a day as Maddie. “I trust I am not interrupting your tenuous concentration this time?” She slid up a challenging eyebrow.

  Maddie caught a faint glint of humour in those blue eyes.

  “First draft is done,” she reported. “I emailed it to Victor forty minutes ago. I was just figuring out an approach for the second story, the life and times of Véronique. What do you think about starting it with the anecdote of her milking the cows? You know, setting the scene in the barn, and here’s the world’s top fashion designer perched on a rustic, old stool squeezing cow teats?”

  Elena’s mouth performed some amused contortions. “By all means, Madeleine, Véronique Duchamp and cow teats it is.” This time the humour in her eyes was anything but faint.

  Maddie grinned. She moved her laptop to one side and shook her wrists. “Less of a mad rush on the second story, right? I mean, that one runs next month.”

  Elena nodded. “Yes. But I will need it by next Wednesday. I don’t wish to give the editorial teams worldwide two heart attacks over deadlines in back-to-back issues. Now, while Victor is editing your story, the pages have been laid out waiting for the words. The photos are chosen. Have a break and come take a look at what the artist has done.”

  Maddie stood. Every locked muscle in her body protested. “Ow.”

  Elena laughed as she exited the room.

  * * *

  The spread was incredible. Maddie ran her gaze across the pages, admiring the way the text drew the attention and flowed, begging you to stop and dive in. Long columns of copy were broken up with strategic, giant quotes from her story.

  It was surreal to see the words that Véronique had spoken with a cavalier wave of her hand a day ago, now in bold, black Theano Didot font. The photos had been tweaked in some subtle way that Maddie couldn’t quite work out. The greys had been softened in places, the contrast enhanced, and the balance of shades now popped from the pages.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered, her eyes tracing the design across the run of pages. Every picture told a story and each was chosen and positioned for maximum impact. Her photos looked gorgeous. She stared in awe. “Wow! You’ve made the pics look incredible.”

  Pride flickered across Elena’s face. “You took the photos, Madeleine; we worked with what you gave us. But, yes, Jonas and Perry have done a fine job. I suppose, knowing the whole world would be studying their finished product provided some inducement for them to lift their game.”

  Maddie laughed at her joke. “Oh yeah, that must be it.”

  Elena scrolled back to the beginning. “I think you missed something on your first pass.”

  Maddie studied the first page. Her headshot was staring back. The words World Exclusive—Maddie Grey in huge letters sat underneath it.

  She stared at the photo, unsure where it had come from. She finally recognised the hint of neckline visible. Some Sydney charity luncheon she’d had to attend with Elena. She’d been snapped standing beside her on the hotel steps and, thanks to a Perry Marks’ intervention before the event, she was looking almost glamorous.

  Her eye returned to her name. Maddie Grey. Somehow, Elena had resisted the urge to spell it out in full. It was nice that she’d respected Maddie’s preference. “This is real,” she said in wonder, looking at those two small words. “I mean, really real.”

  “It’s real, Madeleine. You’re in for one bumpy roller-coaster ride.”

  Maddie glanced up at her. “So are you. Right?”

  “How so?”

  “A Bartell Corporation publication is running this world exclusive.”

  “Ah.” Elena smiled. “It’s not my first, but it is my favourite. I would give rather a lot to see Emmanuelle’s face when this comes out. She did so desperately want Véronique. Her pursuit of her has been an industry punchline for years. She tried far more often than even I did.”

  Maddie grinned. “Happy to help.”

  Elena gave her a curious look. “Did you actually seriously consider selling your story to her?”

  Maddie hesitated. “I would be a fool not to consider all options. You taught me that, Elena.”

  Elena pursed her lips but didn’t disagree.

  “What would you have done if I had I sold it to her, though?”

  Elena’s eyes narrowed. “You should be glad you’ll never find out.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Very.”

  “So you’d have blacklisted me? Just for taking a more competitive offer?” A surge of hurt and anger flooded her.

  “Madeleine, I didn’t say that.” Elena shook her head. “This is business. I’m not nearly as petty as you clearly believe me to be. But I would have remembered where your loyalty lay, and that might sway my decisions at a later time. Do you understand?”

  Maddie considered the vague threat of thwarted future opportunities. “I understand that you’re a valuable ally to have.”

  “Then we understand each other perfectly.” Elena gleamed with satisfaction.

  “But,” Maddie added, “that cuts both ways.”

  Surprise crossed Elena’s face. “Oh?”

  “At this hypothetical later date, I want you to remember who I chose to give this story to. I am also a valuable ally to have. Maybe not right at this moment, but we both know that’s about to change.”

  A feline smile curled Elena’s mouth. “Well now, look who’s learned a few things.”

  Maddie’s irritation rose. She was not some child to be mocked.

  “No.” Elena offered an aggrieved sigh. “Whatever insult you took from that was unintended. I agree, we might be useful to each other in the future. Now, shall we move on? Can we tell Jonas that you approve his layout? Or do you have changes you wish to make?”

  “No changes,” Maddie said, chastened. “It looks amazing.”

  “Good.” Elena looked up. “I see Victor wants us to come over. Let’s find out what his evil, red editor’s pen has found in your copy. A word of warning about this process, thin skins are for fish only.”

  Maddie gulped.

  * * *

  Hours later, Maddie felt like a filleted and processed sea bass. Every line, every word had been scrutinised to within an inch of its existence. And Elena’s insistence on fact-checking everything Véronique had said against what was known about her, to make sure dates and places lined up, was exhausting.

  It turned out the fastidious designer was equally fastidious with her retelling, because there were no apparent errors or discrepancies. Nonetheless, come ten that evening, Maddie was worn out—an exhausted, sprawled lump of ex-assistant poured onto Elena’s fancy, white sofa, while the media juggernaut powered on around her.

  Maddie had learned the hard way that evening that the definition of a professional writer was nothing to do with being the best or most skilled wordsmith. It was the person who could take criticism on the chin, learn from it, and move on. Defensiveness and plaintive pleas to reconsider a change were greeted with an incredulous glance—and that was just from Victor. Elena would give her a cool look and tell her to stop being precious, that the writer’s ego was irrelevant.

  “You have to be willing to kill your babies,” Victor said kindly, after Elena and her withering commentary left the room. “Those great snippets in a story that we writers think are genius? Sometimes, you must take a leap of faith that there’s a reason why the expert is changing your words. You have to just be a pro and accept it. Let go.”

  So, Maddie let it go. She’d learned a lot. The experience was invaluable. But right now, she was thoroughly wrung out.

  Her contribution to any part of the process had long finished. Copy editors in the next room were just checking for final typos now, while Elena was stalking the house, barking down the phone about overtime agreements for printing-plant workers at Style’s presses. She’d even threatened the plant manager with a lawsuit if he left early, buck’s night or not.

  Maddie
suspected he was one best man who’d be missing his bachelor party, given the way Elena’s eyes glowed with satisfaction when she ended the call.

  Elena turned to Maddie in the lounge, where she lay flopped, semi-comatose, her brain nine-tenths mush, and her socked feet curled up under her.

  “Honestly,” Elena said with a smirk, “he made it sound like a night of ritualistic debauchery was somehow important. As though people don’t get married all the time.” Her eyes tightened, and the amusement fell away.

  Maddie, so tired she could not see straight, let alone remember how to censor her words, said, “He never deserved you.”

  Elena froze. “Excuse me?”

  Maddie stared up at her and saw veiled anger along with exhaustion. She felt immediate regret. Now was not the time. The media mogul had been up half the night drowning her sorrows, on top of handling the adrenaline of the exclusive. She’d have to be down to emotional vapours herself. Maddie shouldn’t be going anywhere near her sore points right now.

  “Sorry,” she said with as much sincerity as she could muster and closed her eyes, hoping Elena would take the opportunity to end the conversation.

  “So am I,” Elena said. “About a lot of things. But that’s what I have lawyers and certain other people of questionable standing to correct for me.”

  “Ah.” Maddie flickered her drooping eyes back open. She wondered idly just how spectacularly Elena was going to screw over her slimy ex-to-be.

  “Mm. By the way, it’s done,” Elena said.

  “What is?”

  “Your story. Style’s Australian Fashion Week issue. The first comprehensive Véronique Duchamp interview the world has ever seen. It was put to bed five minutes ago. It’ll be on the presses within the hour.”

  As the reality of the words hit her, Maddie sat up.

  Elena smiled. “Congratulations, Madeleine. You’re about to be a legend in this town.”

  Maddie swallowed.

  “And every other town.”

  “Thank you.” Maddie injected every ounce of sincerity into her gaze.