Be Careful What You Wish For

by Gemma Crisp

  ten

  When she walked into the Paper Scissors Rock Publishing (PSRP) building in North Sydney, Nina immediately felt like she’d belonged. This was more like it – clusters of people were brainstorming over hits of caffeine in the company’s on-site cafe, while fashion interns in strappy heels tottered down the endless hallways on their way back from the courier dock, loaded up with garment bags full of mouth-watering clothes. The breathtaking one-hundred-and-eighty-degree views of a sparkling Sydney Harbour from the reception area on the twenty-fifth floor of the award-winning building almost made Nina drop to her knees and kiss the glossy tiled floor. ‘Jeremy will die when I tell him the offices are in a Renzo Piano building,’ she thought, as she waited to be collected for her interview with the editor of Nineteen.

  She could thank her relationship with Jeremy for getting her through the first weeks at Modern Woman. She’d tried to grin and bear it, but she couldn’t keep a lid on how miserable she had been going to work every day. Not only did she not fit in, she’d quickly realised the magazine was almost on its last legs. Clarissa was obviously hanging on until she could cash in her long-service leave and the three other women clocked on and off without any enthusiasm or excitement for their jobs. Nina felt like she was losing her will to live – bored out of her brain, she’d spent her days writing long emails to Johan, checking Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest and her favourite blogs, then counting down the seconds until she could see her new boyfriend again – which was pretty much every night. They couldn’t stay away from each other.

  After overhearing one of the other editorial assistants in the WaPP mail room talk about a beauty writer role that was up for grabs at Nineteen, a popular fortnightly magazine for older teenagers and uni students, Nina was determined to make it hers. Squashing her guilt at betraying Christina and Charlotte, who had gone out of their way to help her onto the first rung of the Australian magazine ladder, she told herself they would have done exactly the same thing. As Johan always said, you had to look out for number one. And as Tess had reassured her, life was too short to be miserable. After all, if Charlotte had any idea what the Modern Woman job was actually like, she’d be the first one to tell her to get the hell out of there, stat. And that’s exactly what Nina planned to do.

  The interview went like a dream. Unlike Clarissa, Nineteen’s editor Kat couldn’t have been more than five years older than Nina. They clicked immediately, comparing notes on their favourite perfumes and Nina divulging her secret four-mascara strategy after Kat confessed she couldn’t let her leave without asking which brand she used. Nina had taken the liberty of fudging her CV slightly, so it looked like she’d been a beauty and features intern at Marie Claude – in reality, she’d been too intimidated to go anywhere near the immaculate, fragrant beauty department for the entire three months she’d been there. Lying on her CV was all kinds of wrong, but she was desperate. She knew she could do this job and, what’s more, do it bloody well. Luckily, Kat seemed to agree – the day after the interview, she called to offer Nina the job. Then all she had to do was break the news to Christina and Clarissa. Gulp.

  Unsurprisingly, Clarissa couldn’t have cared less, even though it meant she’d have to recruit another editorial assistant just three weeks after Nina had started. It was telling Christina that Nina was freaking out about – after all, she’d stuck her neck out for her as a favour for Charlotte, even keeping the job open for Nina until she’d arrived in Sydney. She didn’t want to be in Christina’s bad books – she’d already made one enemy in the publishing industry, albeit on the other side of the world, so she didn’t really want to add to her collection. But Christina just nodded silently when Nina told her she didn’t feel like she was the best person for the job at Modern Woman, and had accepted an offer at PSRP. And as she was still within her three months’ probation at WaPP, she would be finishing up at the end of the week. Given it was a Thursday, Nina thought it sounded better than ‘I’m leaving tomorrow’. If she’d learnt anything during her hospitality days, it was that it wasn’t what you said, it was how you delivered it.

  Every day since starting her new job, Nina thanked her lucky stars that she’d bitten the Modern Woman bullet. Working at Nineteen was so much fun, she sometimes couldn’t believe she got paid to do it. With the exception of Kat, the editorial team were all around Nina’s age; they lived and breathed celebrities, fashion, gossip and comparing hangover stories after the weekend. When it came to Nina’s job description, it was no secret that writing about the latest beauty trends and products wasn’t exactly rocket science, but what girl wouldn’t like being schmoozed by glamorous beauty publicists, lunching at the hottest restaurants as soon as they popped up on the Sydney scene, sipping French champagne at the unveiling of yet another lip gloss, or – Nina’s favourite moment so far – rocking out at the Rihanna concert in a private box with all the other beauty editors, courtesy of the cosmetic company the singer was a spokesmodel for? Then there was the staggering amount of products that landed on her desk every single day. Skincare, haircare, make-up, body products, perfume, brushes and scented candles, not to mention the offers of free treatments – eyelash extensions, haircuts and colour, massages, manicures and pedicures, facials, micro-dermabrasion, eyebrow shaping . . . Nina literally didn’t know where to start. The only thing she considered off-limits was Botox, despite eager publicists assuring her it was better to start as early as possible, and that ‘prevention is better than cure’.

  She knew her position was the envy of the Nineteen office, so decided in her first week to share the love by opening up the beauty cupboard every Friday afternoon to let the team choose a product they’d been lusting over, rather than making them wait for the quarterly beauty sales when they could buy the products she no longer needed with a massive discount. Nina hadn’t realised what a big deal it was until a beauty editor at another PSRP title had asked her about it at a breakfast launch at Bills in Darlinghurst.

  ‘Is it true you let the Nineteen team loose in your beauty cupboard every week, Nina?’ she’d demanded, flicking a balayaged hair extension over her shoulder.

  ‘I wouldn’t say I let them loose – they’re allowed to choose something they like at the end of each week. Products that haven’t hit the counters yet are off-limits, but otherwise they can help themselves,’ she’d replied innocently, unaware of all the other beauty editors listening intently. ‘We get sent so many products, no one could possibly use them all, so I figured sharing is caring.’

  ‘I really wish you wouldn’t,’ the other beauty editor had sighed. ‘One of the Nineteen girls told her friend who works at my magazine and now they all want to know why I don’t do the same thing. I mean, seriously, the last thing I want is their sticky paws all over my beauty cupboard. What if they took something I needed for a story?’

  Nina had been about to retort, ‘I guess you’d just contact the PR and ask her to send you another one – duh . . .’ but had held her tongue when she realised the rest of the beauty mafia were agreeing with the shrew who seemed to think the beauty loot sent to the magazine was for her and her alone.

  In her short time in Beauty World, Nina had already discovered there was a hierarchy among the beauty editors. The women working on the prestigious haute-fashion titles were perched at the pinnacle, their pearl-encrusted Chanel heels keeping the beauty editors of ‘lesser’ titles firmly in their place. Next in the pecking order were the girls who worked on the popular monthly women’s lifestyle glossies – they had their eye on the fashion title prize, but while they patiently waited for an opening to come up, they spent their time bitching about the beauty bloggers who also attended the product launches. Not that the bloggers cared – they were too busy feeling quietly superior because they were part of the brave new world of online – everyone knew print was dying a slow, painful death. Then there was the random mix of beauty editors from the weekly gossip magazines, teen mags and the cooking mags that had decided to include a couple of beauty pages
to attract the lucrative advertising dollars from the cashed-up global beauty companies. These poor girls weren’t considered worth talking to by the clique made up of the beauty mafia from haute-fashion and women’s lifestyle glossies. Nina fell somewhere in the middle – Nineteen was considered better than the teen and weekly trash mags, but because it was fortnightly, and therefore more disposable, she wasn’t granted the same status as the monthly glossies. Complicated? Yes. Ridiculous? Most definitely. That was just the way the beauty cookie crumbled.

  But Nina wasn’t about to let a few bitchy women burst her happiness balloon – she had scored a job where she got paid to road-test beauty products, she had a great inner-city apartment with chic cafes and quirky bars on her doorstep, and she had Jeremy, her big hunk of burning man love, as she’d jokingly referred to him once to Tess, who’d promptly made vomiting noises and had begged her never to call him that again in her presence. Nina had to admit that life in Sydney was pretty damn good.

  ‘So how many invitations to swanky launches landed on your desk today? Let me guess – nine? Ow!’ Jeremy yelped as Nina punched him on the arm. They were chilling out in front of the TV after he’d surprised her by turning up on her doorstep with a takeaway container of her favourite salted caramel and white chocolate gelati from Gelato Messina, the ice-cream mecca up the road.

  ‘It was three, actually,’ she corrected him, before flopping back down on the couch, practically on top of him. ‘One for a skincare launch, one for a new mascara and the other is for a razor. That one sounds pretty good actually – they’re flying us up to Whale Beach in a seaplane for lunch at Jonah’s.’

  ‘Are you serious? Just to promote a new razor that does exactly what every other razor on the market already does?’ Jeremy asked in disbelief, pulling her closer while switching TV channels.

  ‘Deadly serious,’ she replied, threading her fingers through his. ‘Hair removal companies seem to have bigger budgets than some small African countries. I’m not going to say no – I haven’t been to Jonah’s yet, but it’s supposed to be lush. Plus the razor brand advertises with Nineteen.’

  Three months after they’d first met, Nina and Jeremy had their feet planted firmly on the relationship accelerator. They’d become so used to spending every night together during Nina and Tess’s ten-day stay at the house of horrors, it’d seemed like a given for Jeremy to sleep over four or five times a week once the girls had moved into their own apartment in Potts Point. Nina had even convinced him to move out of the dump he had shared with Leo and into a new place, after his boss at his up-and-coming architectural firm had decided to give him a substantial promotion. Tess had tried to warn her that they’d gone from zero to one hundred in just a matter of days, but Nina was so ensconced in the love bubble, she didn’t care. Her relationship with Jeremy was so easy – there were no awkward silences, no bickering, no worrying about whether he was as into her as she was into him. With Jeremy, what you saw was what you got. He loathed game-playing and could see straight through her whenever she sneakily tried to manipulate him in order to get her own way. Which, admittedly, could be frustrating, but Nina couldn’t really complain – especially when he surprised her with her favourite ice-cream like tonight, or an impromptu foot rub when she limped through the door after standing in five-inch heels for two hours at yet another beauty launch. If this was the honeymoon period, Nina never wanted it to end.

  ‘Hey, guess what?’ Nina prodded Jeremy, trying to distract him from the episode of Game of Thrones he was engrossed in.

  ‘What?’ he asked, grabbing both her hands and trapping them in one of his so she couldn’t keep poking him.

  ‘Kat told me this morning about a rumour going around that WaPP had decided to close Modern Woman – and then our publicity department got a press release confirming it this afternoon. No wonder Christina didn’t seem pissed off when I handed in my notice; she probably knew it was on the cards back then.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Lucky escape for you, Miss Morey. Good thing you jumped to another magazine to work at the coalface of investigative beauty journalism,’ he joked, pinning her hands above her head while kissing her neck.

  Nina squirmed, pretending to hate the attention. ‘Shut up! I don’t see you complaining about the hair product I bring home for you, or the posh soap you use whenever you stay here!’

  They were getting busy on the couch when Nina heard the key in the front door. Shoving Jeremy aside, she quickly refastened her bra and pulled her top down just before Tess walked into the living room, looking absolutely knackered.

  ‘Hiya, how was your shift?’ Nina asked.

  ‘Fine,’ came the monotone reply.

  ‘Hi, Tess, feel like some gelato?’ Jeremy offered.

  ‘No thanks. Think I might just go to bed.’

  ‘Hey, I was just telling Jeremy that WaPP closed Modern Woman today, so that probably explains why Christina couldn’t have cared less when I resigned,’ Nina told her, expecting her cousin to pounce on the piece of gossip.

  ‘Oh. Yeah, I guess it does,’ Tess said listlessly, heading towards the bathroom.

  Jeremy looked at Nina, who shrugged. She wasn’t sure what was going on with Tess lately, but she figured it was probably just teething problems that came with a new job and moving to a new city. While Nina had hit the jackpot almost straight away, thanks to hooking up with Jeremy and her position at Nineteen, Tess had found herself a job as duty manager in a boutique hotel in The Rocks, dealing with the same shit from demanding guests who were under the impression that the bigger their credit card limit, the more they could treat the hotel staff like dirt. Leo had flown out to South America a couple of weeks earlier, so Tess was trying her hardest to make new friends at the hotel, but had quickly found that while the staff were nice enough at work, they had no interest in going for a drink with their manager after they knocked off. Nina had tried to make an effort to include Tess whenever she and Jeremy went to the movies or down the street to one of the hundreds of restaurants on the Potts Point/Kings Cross strip but, apart for a couple of times, Tess always politely declined. Nina knew she didn’t want to be a third wheel with her and Jeremy, but she worried about how much time Tess was spending alone, cooped up inside the apartment. ‘Then again, she’s a big girl who survived London by herself before I got there, so I’m probably just being paranoid and making a mountain out of a molehill or whatever that stupid saying is,’ Nina thought, as Tess emerged from the bathroom in her pyjamas.

  ‘Are you on a late or early tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘Neither; I have the next two days off,’ Tess said.

  ‘Any plans? The weather forecast is looking lush, I wish I had the next two days off,’ Nina moaned, wondering if she could convince Jeremy to chuck a sickie with her so they could hit the beach.

  ‘No plans, besides catching up on some sleep,’ Tess answered, before disappearing into her bedroom and shutting the door behind her. Nina stared after her, thinking all Tess seemed to do these days was sleep. Or spend her free time watching crap TV with the curtains closed, even when it was a stunningly sunny Sydney day outside. Something seemed to be sucking the life out of her, but Nina had no idea what it could be.

  ‘So . . . where were we?’ Jeremy whispered in her ear, as he slid one hand underneath her top and the other in between her thighs. Nina gave him her best sex-kitten smile as she slithered down the couch, pushed his legs wide open and kneeled between them. As she started to undo his belt buckle, while accidentally-on-purpose brushing her hand against his hard-on, her vague concerns about Tess took a back seat. ‘She’ll be fine,’ she reassured herself as her hand reached inside Jeremy’s favourite navy blue Calvin Klein boxers. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

  eleven

  When Nina got home from work the next day, she was surprised to find the curtains still closed from the night before. ‘Maybe Tess left in a hurry,’ she thought, looking guiltily at the couch, hoping her cousin had conked out
straight away and not heard what she and Jeremy had got up to last night. Pulling the curtains open to let the last remnants of sunshine into the apartment, she caught sight of her lacy coral bra poking out from underneath the TV where Jeremy had thrown it, and quickly grabbed it. ‘Thank God, Tess must not have seen it, otherwise she probably would have hung it on the front door just to taunt me,’ she thought, tossing it onto her bed. Heading back out to the living room, Nina stopped when she realised Tess’s bedroom door was still closed. They always left their doors open unless they were sleeping. ‘Surely she couldn’t have been so tired that she’s still in bed?’ Nina wondered. ‘It’s past six o’clock! Maybe her window’s open and the wind blew the door shut.’

  Nina was about to open the door to check if Tess was taking an afternoon nap when she heard a muffled sound. It was the distinct ringtone of Skype, which meant only one thing – Johan. Skidding into the living room, she rummaged through her bag till she found her iPad.

  ‘Darl!’ she cried. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Oh, you know how it is – I woke up this morning and realised it had been far too long since I’d spoken to my favourite Australian fluffball,’ Johan replied.

  ‘Er, in case you’ve forgotten, we spoke the other day,’ Nina reminded him. ‘Not that I’m complaining, of course. I miss you!’

  ‘Daddy misses you too,’ he said. Johan often referred to himself as ‘Daddy’ in the third person – a habit which Nina always found particularly gay-tastic. ‘But you won’t have to miss me much longer . . .’ he added.