by Rowan Hanlon
BEAUTY HURTS
ALSO BY ROWAN HANLON
The House in the Hills
BEAUTY HURTS
Rowan Hanlon
REVERBERATOR BOOKS
Beauty Hurts. Copyright © 2018 by Rowan Hanlon.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher. For more information, email [email protected].
Published by Reverberator Books.
eBook ISBN–13: 978-1-938107-72-6
eBook ISBN–10: 1-938107-72-1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS
Total Black
A Few Days Earlier
The Engagement Party
The Stick
The Obelisk
But Is It Worth the Trouble?
The Perpetual Fan
The Country House
Happy Wife, Happy Life
I Was Prettier When I Walked in Here
What Celeste Lost
Total Black
Have you ever despised someone so much that the very thought of a person saying something nice about them revolted you? Celeste did. In fact, the word despise was a little mild for the way she felt about her younger co-worker, Kael. She was filled with so much disdain that it swept through her body until it showed on her face. The corners of her mouth drooped and made her beautiful face take on a pinched, unattractive look. Her deep blue eyes stayed on Kael and would not leave the young woman, whose demeanor matched that of Celeste’s. The animosity was palpable. No, the two women did not like each other at all. Nevertheless, that didn’t change the fact that they had to work together.
They were in the offices of Haute Woman, a high-fashion magazine dedicated to the lives of stylish women. The sleek office was filled with beautiful modern furniture that was extremely uncomfortable to sit on. However, the furniture was more for show than a place for someone to relax. The furniture showed the world that the offices, and the magazine itself, of Haute Woman was the best and the people that worked for and read the magazine not only expected the best but were the best, as well.
There was a continuous hubbub of activity in the offices and the staff who worked there were constantly going from room to room, office to office, up and down the elevator and in and out of the skyscraper doing whatever it took to get the latest magazine out to the women of the world. The harried pace never ceased. Even at night there were a few late birds that stayed on to inspect designer clothes, write the feature articles and scrutinize the photographs of the world’s top models and celebrities. The work never ceased because even before an issue hit the newsstands, another one had to spring to life. However, this consistent hum of toil was now being interrupted by the enormous fight that had sprung up between Celeste and Kael.
The two women couldn’t have been more different. Kael was in her mid-twenties and Celeste… Well, no one really knew her age and no one had the nerve to ask. But it could be estimated that she was between ten to twenty years older than Kael, though she looked much younger. Celeste looked the part of editor-in-chief of the magazine with her sleek, designer clothes that fit her figure perfectly, showing the world that while she might be aging, she still had the body—and face—of someone much, much younger. In fact, her face had no visible wrinkles on it and was as perfect as the gold tank watch she wore each day. In a word, Celeste was impeccable not only in appearance but in attitude. She rarely got rattled and she rarely raised her voice. The woman was in total control of herself, her staff and her surroundings.
Kael, on the other hand, was more relaxed. She took risks with her clothes, going a little edgier than the norm. And yet her outfits always looked fabulous, even if they looked like something more suited to a young, female rocker than an up and coming editor of one of the world’s most recognized—and lauded—magazines. Her hair told the world that she was independent with its chopped locks and platinum tint. Kael looked like the girl every girl wanted as a best friend because not only was she cool to hang out with, but that she was also someone who would allow you to borrow things from her closet. She was the girl who could swig a beer with you at a dive bar and then introduce you to your latest boyfriend at a Michelin starred restaurant. She was loud, Southern and fun.
Celeste was not. She was not loud. She was not Southern. And she was not fun. Celeste was all about business and she was in the business of getting it done. Right now, Kael was something that had to get done. She had become a problem that needed to be fixed. She didn’t like the girl’s crass attitude and she certainly did not like her clothes. She hated the fact that she sometimes wore Doc Martins to work with a little skirt and tights. She hated the fact that the girl thought she knew something about high fashion when it was apparent she did not. She hated Kael. And it showed.
Unfortunately for Celeste, Kael now had the upper hand. The words she’d just spoken were responded to with a series of gasps from all the women who’d come out of their offices, or paused on their way to grab a coffee at the newsstand downstairs, to gape at the enormous fight between the two very different women. They couldn’t believe someone was talking that way to Celeste. But if someone was going to do it, they didn’t have a hard time believing it would be Kael. The girl did not hesitate to stand up for herself.
But the argument was now over. Kael had won. Celeste had not. Appearing to feel confident in her victory, Kael gave Celeste one last smirk, turned on her heel and walked off, heading towards her office just down the hall, where she paused to quickly grab her bag and coat, then headed onwards to the elevator at the end of the hall. Everyone watched her go, mouths agape, then barely noticed that Celeste had slipped after her.
And what was the argument about? What could make two very civilized—not to mention sophisticated—women come to blows? It was, as most arguments go, simple transference. Celeste had a problem and she wanted to take it out on someone. Kael had just gotten in the way. Unfortunately for Celeste, Kael—the girl from the South, the girl who didn’t hesitate to stand up for herself, the girl everyone liked—didn’t bow before the queen. And if you didn’t bow before the queen, the queen got pissed. And the queen turned on you.
But that was only one reason why Celeste began to really, really hate Kael. Only one reason of many reasons that Celeste began to build a case against the young woman. Only one reason that was a part of many other reasons that, in the end, had absolutely nothing to do with Kael. But Celeste didn’t look at it like that. She just fixated on her and felt much spite and much hatred for this young, independent and promising woman. That’s why the very thought of someone liking her enough to make a nice comment about her set her teeth on edge. She was so furious at Kael she didn’t just see red, she saw black, total black. The girl was a bitch, a climber and a nuisance. And she had to go.
And Celeste was going after her.
A Few Days Earlier
Most situations don’t just turn on a dime. Not all feelings are born from one incident. Sometimes, it takes time to build up a resistance to pain and disappointment. Celeste was not about to give up the fight. She was not going to give in. She was going to get what she wanted, even if it killed her. And it just might.
“Just a few more seconds, Celeste,” Dr. Abrams told her.
And in just a few seconds, he was finished with her in vitro. His head had just popped out from between her legs and she felt the familiar pain of the procedure, mostly the discomfort. She glanced at the nurse, who’d been hovering around the doctor, giv
ing him tools and assistance as needed.
As soon as she knew that it was almost over, she closed her eyes and began to pray, “Please, God, please God, please let it work this time.” She prayed this until she heard the clatter of the speculum being tossed into a metal dish. Her eyes opened and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. She prayed she’d never have to do this again.
Celeste started to sit up just as the doctor was finished throwing his gloves into a haz-mat container.
“No, no, no,” he said and gently pushed her back down. “You have to sit still.”
She knew this, of course. This wasn’t her first rodeo, as they say. She took a deep breath and sighed, then asked, “Can I at least have my phone?”
He shook his head and grinned. “Still hard at work even when you’re trying to conceive a child?”
Celeste nodded and then made a joke, “You should have been there when I was trying to do it the natural way. My husband was not happy.”
Dr. Abrams and the nurse both cracked up. While Celeste could be very serious, she did, at times, have a wicked sense of humor.
Celeste let them laugh for a moment before saying, “My phone? May I have my phone? Would that be alright?”
“It’s fine,” the doctor said, then turned to the nurse. “Can you get it for her?”
The nurse nodded and retrieved her phone from her ultra expensive, high-end designer black bag. She gave Celeste a nice smile as she handed it to her. Celeste nodded and said, “Thank you,” before taking it, turning it on and then retrieving her messages. The phone had been off less than an hour and she already had sixty-eight new messages. Yes, sixty-eight. She didn’t complain. It came with being editor-in-chief. But, sometimes, it would be nice to have a break. However, that was never going to happen.
Dr. Abrams watched her with a bit of curiosity for a moment before asking, “So, how is work going, Celeste?”
“Great,” she replied without looking up from her phone. Then she paused and asked, “So, when will I know if I’m pregnant?”
“Oh,” the nurse said and gave her a knowing look. “You’ll know.”
Celeste wasn’t so sure. She gave the doctor a small smile as they chuckled at the nurse’s comment. She felt almost as if she were missing out on the joke. While she got it, she didn’t get it. And that scared her a little. She thought, Oh, God, what if I never get pregnant? She immediately shook the thought from her head and focused back on her phone. She would get pregnant. This would be the last try. Soon, she and her husband would have the baby they’d always wanted. Well, the one they had wanted for the last five years. She didn’t think about all the time and effort and money they’d put into this, nor did she think about the strain on her marriage it had caused. She didn’t think about the arguments that turned into silences. She had to have a baby. She was wealthy, she was an important person; she was someone people wanted to know and be associated with. She was Celeste. A baby was just the next step in her life. It was going to happen. It had to.
Dr. Abrams crossed over to her and patted her shoulder gently. “Give it a day Celeste.”
“A day?” she asked, feeling alarmed at the thought of having to wait any time on the results.
He noticed her look and said quickly, “Yes, you can take the test in a day, but the results might not be conclusive. Best to come back to the office and we’ll find out for certain.”
“But would it hurt to at least try one?” she asked.
He stared at her and the look on his face told her that he already knew she was getting her hopes up too high, as she usually did. They had been through this a few times and with always the same result. But then his face suddenly softened and Celeste believed he hoped this time was different. She took that as a sign and that made her happy.
Even so, the doctor shrugged and said, “Sure. Try a test tomorrow. Why not?”
She smiled at him and nodded. “Can I go back to work today?”
“I don’t see why not,” he said. “Is there any chance that you’re not going to?”
“Uh, no,” she said and laughed a little.
He nodded. “That’s fine. You can go back to work. Just take it easy, though, okay? Sit down and don’t get too excited. Tomorrow morning, get up early and take your test. And let me know how it turns out, okay?”
“Will do,” Celeste said and began to tingle with excitement, thinking about having a baby growing inside of her. “Oh, God, I hope this works!”
“Me, too, Celeste,” he replied. “Me, too.”
* * * * *
A few hours later, Celeste entered the offices of Haute Woman. As soon as she stepped off the elevator, every staff member in the vicinity seemed to straighten up in almost military precision as if they were being called to attention by a commanding officer. Assistants, contributing editors, stylists, everyone on the floor almost instinctively knew she had returned from her “errand” and that meant the slightly relaxed feel the office got when she was away evaporated into memory. Celeste didn’t just command respect. She enforced it.
Celeste liked it like that, too. She liked knowing these little peons couldn’t function if she wasn’t around to tell them exactly what to do and when to do it. To say she ran the magazine with an iron fist was an understatement. While she didn’t consider herself to be fascist in the office, she definitely didn’t tolerate anyone who didn’t do as she said.
Unfortunately, there was one person who just didn’t get this and that was Kael, who just happened to be walking by the elevators as soon as Celeste stepped off. Celeste eyed her with mild disdain and knew the young woman didn’t give her the due respect she deserved. She noticed that Kael ever so slightly rolled her eyes at her as soon as she saw her. She didn’t even blink at the gesture and instead almost smiled because she was walking the mile-long corridor laden down with heavy files, which she was struggling with. But her attitude was apparent. She obviously thought that Celeste had just returned from some fabulous luncheon. She didn’t know where Celeste had been and, it was apparent, she didn’t care. She was one of those girls with attitude who believed—and told anyone who would listen—that it was the people beneath Celeste who really ran Haute Woman and, if ever given the chance, she would pounce at the chance to tell her that to her face. However, Kael just wasn’t high enough on that corporate totem pole for Celeste to look down and give her the time of day. Kael wasn’t even on Celeste’s radar. She was just a girl with connections who had floated into the office one day to work and, as soon as she married her high-powered fiancé, she would float right out. She’d seen it happen a dozen or more times before. It didn’t bother her in the least.
The two women passed each other without acknowledgement and Celeste headed towards her office. As she did so, her assistant, Amy, fell in step with her.
“How did it go, Celeste?” Amy whispered.
“Fingers crossed, Amy,” she replied, then stared at the folders in Amy’s arms. “Give me the low-down.”
“Not much happening but that new Jacob Anvil collection did come in. Liza is thinking about using it for the cover of the September issue.”
Celeste stopped in her tracks. “Is she insane? You can’t use an up and coming designer for that issue! We need a big fashion house and…” She trailed off, getting angrier at Liza’s obvious lack of good common sense. The woman always wanted to do something different; she always wanted to push the boundaries or do something unusual to razzle-dazzle things up and that would just not do. She shook her head in annoyance.
“I told her you probably wouldn’t go for it,” Amy said.
“Get her in my office.”
Just then, they entered Celeste’s office. It was a typical editor-in-chief space with a sleek, custom-made extra-long white desk and an Eames executive chair. The room was all white, even the rug and flowers. Celeste threw her bag down and sat in her chair, turned to her computer and immediately started to work.
Amy sat in on
e of the two Parsons chairs in front of the desk and dialed a number on her phone. Celeste ignored her as she said, “Yeah, she needs to see you.” She hung up and turned to Celeste. “Oh, I just wanted to confirm you for the Givens’ party at eight.”
“Cancel that,” Celeste told her and ran through the emails she hadn’t gotten to at the doctor’s office, getting annoyed at the volume. How many were there? Everyone wanted something from her and it was getting old. The work never ceased. Of course, that was just the way it was. While she accepted it as such, it did annoy her sometimes.
Amy stared at her and said, “But you said—”
“Cancel it!” she snapped then looked up to see her senior style editor, Liza, enter. Liza was quite a few years older than Celeste and was today dressed in a trendier fashion which was, in Celeste’s opinion, very unstylish. She looked like, as they say, a hot mess. She had on a bias-cut black skirt, an oversized white fisherman’s sweater and vintage designer chunky heels that were worth a small fortune. Her hair was in a sloppy bun and her makeup a little thick. Celeste had tried for many years to get her to dress in a way more befitting of her job, suggesting she “refine” her look a bit, but Liza refused, telling her she “took chances” and “made trends” with what she was wearing. She was completely delusional, though. No one wanted to dress like Liza. After a while Celeste gave up trying to change her, mainly because one time she angered Liza so much she threatened to quit. Celeste couldn’t risk losing her. She was too vital to the magazine. The woman knew the magazine, and the fashion industry itself, inside and out. She had unbelievable contacts and was friends with most all the top designers. Everyone liked her and everyone respected her. And no one in the business was as good as Liza. Therefore, Celeste knew when to pick her battles. If Liza wanted to look like a fashion victim, then so be it.