Strictly Confidential

by Roxy Jacenko

  Let me explain. Kitchen Divas was reality TV meets foodie heaven. This all-girl cook-off was a weekly television ratings winner. In the city where your barista is more intimate with your preferences than your significant other could ever hope to be, Kitchen Divas guaranteed success. And not just success for the show itself but also for those lucky enough to be close enough to bask in the warmth of its kitchen blowtorch glow.

  Which was why I’d invited Belle Single along to our birthday bash tonight.

  Single, Shire high priestess and aspiring actress, also happened to be an upcoming contestant on the new season of Kitchen Divas. I didn’t have high hopes for Belle in the kitchen. Hell, she’d probably never cooked a meal in her life. What I was counting on was this blonde being a firm favourite with Kitchen Divas fans. And when she was? Well, Belle would need representation. Who else would make sure her acting career bubbled along nicely while she took time out to promote her new cookbook and flog her stainless-steel saucepan range?

  Naturally, when I’d heard that Belle Single had recently sacked her publicist, I’d taken the liberty of approaching her and talking her through exactly what it was that Queen Bee could do to publicise her upwardly mobile career. And she’d certainly sounded interested in that. Interested enough to come along to our first birthday soirée. Now all that was left for me to do was to convince Belle to sign on the dotted line of a binding contract making Queen Bee PR her exclusive public relations agency of choice. And when better to do that than at a party celebrating our success in the Sydney scene? In one swift move I would provide Belle with a publicity team just in time for the new season of Kitchen Divas and at the same time guarantee Queen Bee’s survival for at least another year to come.

  If only Diane Wilderstein were here to chew on this, I thought smugly.

  My phone buzzed in my hand.

  ‘Lulu?’ I answered.

  ‘Jazzy Lou, the first of our guests have arrived so I’ve sent them straight up to the terrace,’ she replied.

  I checked my watch. ‘Who the hell has arrived so unfashionably on time?’ I asked as the terrace door sprung open behind me.

  ‘Jasmine,’ came an all-too-familiar voice. A voice dripping with money and malice.

  ‘Diane!’ I gasped.

  Her skinny silhouette joined her voice on the rooftop. ‘How delightful to be the first to your little party,’ she sneered.

  My mind was spinning as I raced to catch up. Diane was here? At Queen Bee PR? To celebrate the success of my first year in business? This didn’t make any sense. I steadied myself on an oversized candy cane.

  ‘I do hope more people show up, don’t you?’ she asked, faux concern dripping from her faux lips.

  I stammered a reply. ‘Of course more people will show up,’ I hissed. ‘People such as invited guests.’

  As if to prove my point, Belle Single chose this moment to step out onto the terrace.

  ‘Belle Single!’ I gushed, racing over to the stylish blonde. ‘So glad you could make it!’ I shot Diane a pointed look.

  Belle air-kissed both my cheeks. ‘Jasmine!’ she said. ‘This place is amaze!’ She looked around the rooftop with admiration. ‘It looks like Willy Wonka’s visited up here!’

  ‘It looks like Willy Wonka’s vomited up here,’ Diane corrected.

  I considered stabbing her with the nearest candy cane.

  ‘It really is very Ken Done of your decorator,’ Diane added evilly as I steered Belle away from the Ice Queen and over to the ice luge, where newly arrived guests were beginning to gather to get a drink.

  ‘Vodka?’ I asked Belle, pressing a glass of the sickly-sweet alcohol into her hand.

  She nodded by way of reply.

  ‘Now, don’t worry about Diane,’ I assured her. ‘She just doesn’t appreciate a food theme like we do here at Queen Bee.’

  The Kitchen Diva smiled cryptically as more people spilled out onto the terrace around us.

  ‘In fact, we often create amazing events for our clients based solely around the catering.’

  ‘We can theme product launches around food from particular regions or eras or to match fashion trends or moods,’ I went on, attempting to appeal to her (very) inner foodie and show her Queen Bee was just the right fit for her new foray into the kitchen. ‘And recently,’ I added, ‘we organised a fab vampire-themed launch where all the food was black. Not burned,’ I hurried on as she appeared to stifle a laugh. ‘Just black. Gothic. It’s amazing what you can do with food colouring and a little . . .’ My voice trailed off.

  Belle sipped lazily from her glass and was now gazing round the growing party in search of a distraction.

  I made one last stab. ‘Belle, have the producers of Kitchen Divas started talking product placement with you yet? I could sit in on some of the meetings and give my thoughts if you’re looking for support.’

  Belle simply offered a smile.

  ‘Thanks, Jasmine,’ she said at last. ‘We’ll see,’ she added half-heartedly before turning and heading into the crowd, leaving me alone next to the vodka flow with only a sinking feeling for company.

  Thank fuck Luke and Shelley chose this moment to make their appearance and join the rapidly growing throng of revellers.

  ‘Mazel tov, dah-ling!’ Shelley called, waving wildly as she and Luke made their way through the madding crowd and met me at the ice sculpture in the middle of the terrace. ‘Fabulous do,’ she added as she bypassed the dainty cocktail glasses on offer and instead picked up a large water glass and thrust it in the stream of vodka.

  ‘Totes!’ agreed Luke, chewing as he spoke, his mouth already stuffed full of sugar. ‘This is incred, Jazzy Lou!’

  I smiled in gratitude and tried to push my worries about Belle Single to the back of my mind. ‘Thanks, loves,’ I said. ‘Did you see the edible gingerbread house in the corner? Only don’t taste it – it cost me a bloody fortune.’

  Luke pointed to his mouth as if to indicate there wasn’t a whole lot of room in there right now, anyway.

  ‘Nice styling,’ Shelley commented, referring to my LV ensemble that was on loan from her. Naturally the two-piece was totally new season but it wouldn’t matter if Shell had owned it for ten years, she never would have fitted into it. (Although I’d never point that out to her.)

  ‘Ta babe,’ I said instead. ‘And likewise.’ I was referring to the glam Roberto Cavalli silk-chiffon maxi she was wearing.

  ‘And moi?’ said Luke, holding the side panels of his Dolce & Gabbana coat open to reveal the bright red plaid inside.

  ‘You look beyond,’ I assured him. ‘Good enough to eat. Speaking of – where’s Reuben?’ Luke’s squeeze was a pastry chef and would have loved tonight’s foodie theme.

  Luke looked glum. ‘Working,’ he said.

  ‘Shame,’ I replied, keeping one eye firmly on what was happening around us as I spoke.

  ‘That’s okay. I can be your beau for this evening. That is, of course, unless you’ve got someone special here tonight already? No Mr Jazzy Lou you’d like to introduce us to?’ he asked, giving Shelley a nudge.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Not that I’ve received the memo about,’ I said. ‘And that’s about the only way I’ll ever have time to meet a boy – if he comes to me on an office memo.’

  Shelley groaned and refilled her already empty glass. ‘Babe, you need to work less and bonk more already. Have you even seen anyone since you humiliated yourself in front of Will at Raw Bar last year?’

  I grimaced at the memory. ‘Uh, kinda,’ I stalled, thinking of my brief liaison with the real estate agent who had found me the Queen Bee office space. Nothing like mixing a little business with pleasure, I say. Not that I have much choice. When your entire life is dedicated to business you squeeze in the pleasure where you can.

  ‘Kinda?’ Shelley echoed, obviously not s
atisfied.

  ‘Yeah, kinda. I – OMFG! Is that Lillian Richard talking to Diane?!’ I interrupted myself, ending all further investigation into my life between the sheets.

  ‘Diane?!’ Luke shrieked, hearing only the key word in that sentence. ‘What the hell is she doing here?’

  ‘I have no idea!’ I matched his shriek and several people looked in our direction. ‘But I intend to find out! Right before I throw her out.’

  Shelley and Luke exchanged worried glances. ‘Er, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Jazzy Lou,’ Shelley started.

  Luke jumped in. ‘It’s not, Jazz. Sure, Diane’s not here to help you blow out the candles on your anniversary cake, but chucking her out will only cause a scene. A scene you’ll read about in tomorrow’s paper.’

  I glanced at him quickly for signs of his notepad. Not that it mattered. Even if Luke managed to convince his editor it wasn’t worth running, any public altercation I had with Diane at my anniversary event was sure to earn ink elsewhere. It was a fast fall from sweet success to bad taste, after all.

  I took a deep breath before conceding to myself that they were right. ‘Fine,’ I huffed. ‘But I can still find out why she’s here. That and prevent her from poaching my press contacts.’ And with that I stomped off in Diane and Lillian’s direction.

  When I approached Diane that evening she was deep in conversation with magazine deity Lillian Richard.

  ‘Lillian!’ I interrupted, barging in on their cosy chat and bumping Diane into an oversized lollipop nearby. ‘Good to see you could squeeze us into your schedule for tonight.’

  Diane scowled at me. I flashed a saccharine smile in response.

  Lillian stuck out her hand in her usual businesslike manner, her wild-woman hair bobbing around her face like a mane. ‘Good to be here, Jasmine,’ she said. ‘Queen Bee certainly knows how to throw a party.’

  I threw Diane a triumphant look. She looked like she wanted to throw me off the edge of the terrace.

  ‘Thank you, Lillian,’ I replied graciously, raising my champagne flute in reply. ‘After twelve months of hard slog getting the business up and running, we thought a party was well deserved. Especially for our friends in the industry who have helped us along the way.’

  ‘Quite,’ Lillian agreed and took a sip of pink champagne. ‘There’s nothing like the feeling of letting your hair down after all that hard work.’

  I hoped Lillian didn’t plan to let that hair down. There simply wasn’t space on the terrace.

  ‘Exactly!’ I said pointedly. ‘Tonight is all about celebrating hard work that’s done and dusted. Only, you’re not here on new business tonight, are you, Diane?’ I wheeled around to clock her reaction but the she-devil didn’t flinch.

  ‘Quite the opposite,’ she beamed falsely. ‘Lillian and I were just arranging a dinner party at her home for next weekend.’

  I choked on my pink champagne. ‘Dinner party? How lovely,’ I managed through gritted teeth. ‘I had no idea you two were close friends?’

  ‘Very,’ said Diane emphatically. ‘You’d just never guess who’s connected to who in this industry.’

  Now it was my turn to scowl. What the hell was that supposed to mean? I took a gulp of my drink before replying, ‘You just never would, would you?’

  At the mere mention of industry connections, gossip queen Pamela Stone appeared by my side, as if somehow summoned by Diane’s cryptic comment and the promise of a juicy story behind it. I swear that woman could smell gossip. I only hoped her sixth sense would be put off tonight by the sickly smell of artificial additives filling the air. That way, she wouldn’t detect my deepening suspicions about why Diane was here. A scandal of that type at my anniversary party was one gossip column I didn’t care to see in print.

  ‘Gals!’ Pamela addressed us collectively, despite the good twenty years separating me from Diane and Lillian. ‘Have you tasted this divine fairy floss? It looks like the naughtiest thing, dolls, but the inside? Just air!’

  I smiled at Pamela, grateful for the distraction. Much as I tried to remind myself tonight was a celebration, I couldn’t help stewing on Diane’s undoubtedly evil plans. I only had to consider for a fleeting moment the possibility that Belle Single’s lucrative account might be slipping through my fingers and I felt sick to my stomach.

  ‘Now, dolls,’ Pamela said to Diane and me between multicoloured mouthfuls, ‘what do you make of Belle Single being sans spin doctor? Such an opportunity, isn’t it? Will either of you be stepping up to the publicity plate to represent her?’

  I groaned inwardly as Pamela outed the elephant in the room. In one fell swoop this boss of goss had ruined any plans I had for a quiet takeover of Belle’s account by discussing it in front of the very last person in the world I wanted her to: Diane.

  For the millionth time tonight I wished the ground would open up and swallow Diane Wilderstein, taking her far, far away from my party and my plans for Kitchen Divas world domination.

  Turned out I was not the only one. As Pamela’s question hung unanswered in the air and I turned expectantly to face Diane, I caught sight of the very last thing in the world I had ever expected to see: Diane blushing. She was actually blushing. And while it was hardly a shade to rival the popping-pink of Pamela’s fairy floss, the colour of embarrassment was undeniably spreading across Diane’s face.

  Sprung.

  Pamela, not one to miss a story, saw it too. ‘OMG, Diane,’ she exclaimed triumphantly, ‘don’t tell me you’ve already snapped up the beautiful Belle Single? Can I confirm that? What about a quote from you? And let’s line up a pic of you with Belle, shall we?’

  As Pamela raved and I reeled, Diane looked on, any signs of embarrassment replaced by smug delight. In fact, if Pamela and Lillian hadn’t been there to witness the fleeting blush, I’m not sure I would really have believed Diane had expressed such a human emotion.

  ‘Well, Diane, you’ve really blown me away with this scoop,’ continued Pamela as she scrounged through her handbag for a notepad and pen.

  Yeah, you and the competition, I thought desperately.

  Fuck.

  No wonder Belle Single had struggled to keep a straight face when I’d pitched my heart out to her earlier. She was already in bed with Diane and the two of them were having a good old laugh at my attempts at a ménage à trois.

  Fuck.

  Belle and Diane must have been planning this for weeks. All that time I’d been killing myself coming up Queen Bee’s publicity campaign for her career, she’d probably been feeding my proposals straight to Diane.

  Fuck.

  And tonight – my first-year anniversary of all nights – was when they planned to reveal their alliance. Why else would Belle agree to come if she had no intention of signing with Queen Bee? And what other excuse could Diane have for crashing our birthday bash? None. She just wanted to maximise my suffering.

  Fuck.

  Belle Single was to be the biggest signing of Queen Bee’s short existence. Without her, our future looked far less rosy. Sure, we still had plenty of other clients, enough to keep the debtors from the door for the next few months at least. But signing Belle Single at her Kitchen Divas zenith was a recipe for a whole new level of PR success. Success we might never taste now.

  The rest of the evening passed in a sickly-sweet blur. Celebs floated by, drunk on vodka and E-numbers, as I struggled to keep one eye fixed firmly on Diane and her accomplice. I was standing beside a flock of fashionistas who were posing by giant-sized lollipops that probably weighed more than they did, when Emma approached, schedule in hand.

  ‘Jazzy Lou, it’s nearly time to cut the cake,’ she read from the running order I’d put together for this evening, which divided the event into seven-minute increments.

  ‘Already?’ I replied distractedly, even though I’d checked the sched
ule myself only moments earlier. I scanned the rooftop again for signs of sabotage from Diane.

  ‘Totes,’ Em confirmed. ‘Speech then cake then directions for gift-bag pick-up for guests. All in the next twenty-three and a half minutes, according to your timeline.’

  I sighed and gave up on Diane for a moment. ‘Twenty-three and a half minutes?’ I echoed. ‘We’d better get cracking then.’ I snapped into the work mode. ‘Is the cake on a platter and ready to go? I’ll assemble the photogs now if you get the cake to the terrace. And tell Lulu and Alice to do a final check of the gift bags, while Anya should start rounding up the crowd for the cake. Got it?’

  Em nodded, then buzzed off to find the other Bees, her clipboard still firmly in hand.

  Twelve and a half minutes later, in accordance with the schedule, I signalled for the DJ to kill the music and took my place centre stage in front of the brightest and most beautiful Sydney’s fashion and PR industries had to offer. A giant first-anniversary cake by my side. Standing all around me were the faces of those I loved (or, at least, loved to work with). Luke and Shelley, Pamela and Lillian, the Bees, clients, media and industry types. Then there was Diane, standing in front of Hansel and Gretel’s gingerbread house like the wicked witch. I instinctively reached for the cake knife.

  The DJ hit mute and the candles on the cake were lit. Emma, who was standing directly in my line of sight as a prompt in case I needed it, subtly raised her clipboard and tapped one manicured fingernail against the running order tacked on there; 9.17 pm: Speech from Queen Bee, her fingernail indicated. I nodded and willed myself to look at the assembled crowd and not to be distracted by Diane.

  ‘Family and friends of Queen Bee PR,’ I began, ‘we’re buzzed you could join us for an evening of decadence, debauchery and, quite possibly, diabetes as we celebrate our first anniversary.’ The assembled throng laughed. Easy crowd. I pressed on. ‘Of course, each and every one of you here tonight has helped us enormously over the past twelve months, whether that be through media coverage or engaging our services or . . .’