by Foster, Zoe
He was right about CashCard: The girls had been extremely busy with their new client who, like most clients with a lot of money and little interest in reality, wanted the prettiest girls every single gig, of which there were three a weekend, and because they paid more than any other client the girls always wanted to work for them. That Sabrina had met her now-boyfriend – handsome, clean-cut, wealthy Formula One race car driver, Alex Lanbery – while working for CashCard, had poured through the ranks of Allure like spilled tea onto a keyboard, and now every Allure girl wanted to work the CashCard gigs. Some had even requested their photos be changed on the Allure site to better reflect their looks, and some had told the CashCard regulars to call them if they ever couldn’t make it, even at the last minute. It was sickening, but as Rob pointed out, it was lucrative.
‘Well, I’ve gotta get going, Abby: I’m off to an accounting convention.’
‘That’s bound to keep you on the edge of your sleep.’
Rob laughed. ‘Was there anything else you needed for now?’
Abby smiled tightly, wondering if this would be the moment she’d look back on as the chance she had to tell Rob about her suspicions of Charlie, and potentially save her business from being completely ruined or extorted.
‘Nah, I’m good. Have fun with your number nerds.’
‘I will, trust me,’ he smiled, and then walked quickly out of the café.
Abby remained at the café, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her back and the flavours of her coffee, and composed an email to Chelsea, imploring her to physically go to Mads’s home and sort things out. Abby had met Mads for Japanese last night, and as was now customary when the topic of Chelsea was brought up, Mads had gone mute, and refused to engage. Abby had never seen her friend so bitter, so angry; so interested in drinking vodka on the rocks. Both girls needed each other’s support; this stand off was starting to become farcical. And Abby didn’t have the energy to play desperate mediator any longer.
At 11.30 a.m. Abby walked into her home to hear Charlie talking animatedly on the phone. Abby walked past the office and into the lounge room to dump her bag, and saw a bouquet of David Austin roses perched in the centre of the coffee table. Obviously a make-good present from Charlie. How funny she’d chosen the exact flowers Abby loved; Abby couldn’t recall ever having told her they were her favourite. Back in the office, Charlie was wearing a bright red jumper over a white Peter Pan collar, a black leather skirt and black patent brogues.
‘Hey,’ Abby greeted Charlie absently once Charlie had hung up the call. She hadn’t been able to get through to Diane yet, and unearth whatever it was that Charlie had done, so until then things would remain civil.
‘Morning!’ A triple-sized smile from Charlie.
‘And check this.’ Charlie produced twenty-five stunning little headpieces made of flowers for the girls to wear at that evening’s event.
‘Wow … They’re pretty spectacular,’ Abby said, standing up to look at them.
‘Thanks; stayed up watching Girls Just Wanna Have Fun making them. Craft and eighties movies: Stereotypes 101. Oh, hey I just got off the phone from this girl called Jean I met out last week, she’s this cute jewellery designer with some football hero boyfriend whose team plays at Southfield stadium. She reckons we can easily get the contract for the VIP box, because the girls they use now are atomic skanks.’
‘Must be the one club CashCard don’t sponsor. Do we need to do anything?’
‘I’m sending her links of some appropriate girls now. Holly will do it. So will Kate, if we up the hourly a little. And if they ever work out how to use the website.’
Was that a dig at the website or the girls? Abby wondered.
Suddenly, Charlie shook her head and covered her eyes with her hands. ‘Oh fuck it, I’m rubbish at keeping things from you!’
Finally, Abby thought! She was going to reveal everything about Diane and Tag.
‘I didn’t even know whether to tell you this, and it’s probably not even useful information, but I thou—’
Jesus. So dramatic, Abby thought.
‘Come on, spit it out.’ Abby smiled in what she hoped was a warm fashion.
Charlie exhaled. ‘I saw Marcus last week.’
‘Oh.’ Abby’s voice was as calm as a poker player’s, but her heart was performing the kind of flips Russian gymnasts could only dream of. Just his name made her skittish. If Charlie had seen him last week, why was she only telling her now? They’d even talked about him yesterday. Charlie was fast losing her glimmer.
‘Do you want to hear stuff about him? Be honest. Think before you answer. You’re doing SO GREAT. And sometimes when you hear stuff it can set you —’
‘Pssshhh. It was ages ago. We’ve both moved on. Ohhhh, he’s moved on, moved on …’
‘Well, I don’t know. I mean, okay, well he was with a woman, and they were having breakfast … thing was, she was, um, a bit older than him.’
‘Typical,’ Abby snorted. ‘So, were they together-together? Were they touching hands? Was she feeding him his hard-boiled egg soldiers?’
‘I didn’t pay enough attention. I just saw him sitting at a table with a woman. I’m sorry, Abs.’ She gave Abby a wincing, apologetic look. It served to only further irritate Abby.
Abby crossed her arms. Fuck him.
‘… Should I have spoken to him?’
‘No, no, of course not.’
‘For what it’s worth, they weren’t making out or anything.’
‘It’s fine, he’s moved on. If he’d wanted to get in touch with me, he’s had ages to do it. Every day, there are twenty-four hours, and in any one of those he could’ve taken three minutes to send a text or email, but he chose not to. So she was definitely older? Like, my age older? Or, you know, in her forties?’
‘I would say … maybe mid-forties? She was quite fit-looking so it’s hard to say.’
Abby sighed and slumped back onto her stool. She was irritated that Charlie had not revealed anything about Tag Heuer. And now she was annoyed at how much this Marcus information had affected her. She secretly thanked the Gods for Alessandro, who was the perfect diversion and pep up when she hit the occasional Single-Girl lows.
‘The Italian will keep you distracted,’ Charlie said, as if reading Abby’s mind.
Abby gave a weak smile.
As Charlie walked out into the hallway, Abby took a moment to think about what she’d just learned. Marcus could jam it. Real men made contact. He was a kid. And this was over. Gone. He could enjoy his life chasing mid-life-crisis tail. Abby picked up her mobile and deleted his number once and for all. It felt tremendous. Then she searched for ‘DIANE GROVE’ and grabbed her handbag and keys.
‘Just going to get coffee, you want?’ Abby bellowed up the hallway.
‘I’m sweet, but thanks!’ Charlie hollered back from the bathroom.
And Abby set off to find out what exactly cute-as-a-kitten Charlie had been up to.
39
‘Charlie’s a saboteur? What, did she thieve the nuclear bomb you keep hidden in your underground lair?’
Mads was simultaneously alarmed and delighted. The Charlie stuff was exactly the kind of salacious distraction she needed. Mads and Abby were the only customers at Ricky’s, a cosy café with shitty local art on the walls, deep second-hand sofas and incredible coffee and baklava. Abby had decided to mastermind a surprise Mads and Chels catch up. The war had gone on long enough. It was time to make things right.
Abby sadly noted that Mads still wasn’t wearing any of her crystals around her neck. She had stopped wearing them after the blow-up with Chelsea, Dylan had said, because they were bullshit; the universe was as flawed and arbitrary as everyone had always told her it was. Hearing that had broken Abby’s heart, but seeing the lack of colourful stone had been worse: Mads was giving up hope. Or already had.
‘I think she is, yes. She’s somehow taking Allure down while making it look like she’s helping the business. I need a PI. I’m pret
ty sure she is stealing my clients. Sh—’
‘But she’s so charming and has such snappy dress sense! Although I suppose in accordance with popular spy cinema, most super-villains are extremely well-dressed …’
Abby was thrilled to hear Mads’s effervescence and sense of mischief returning. Since Chelseagate Mads had hit an all-time low.
‘I spoke to two of the clients she’d told me had moved on and neither said they knew anything about it, but that they had been told to deal directly with Charlie from now on, and Charlie only. Why would she do that? It makes no sense, unless she is secretly one day going to reveal to them all she has her OWN AGENCY and they should all stay with her, and not Allure.’
Mads’s eyes were wide in disbelief.
‘I also think she’s stealing my girls,’ Abby said as she sipped her tea. ‘She said we had no admissions the whole time I was in Italy, which is total nonsense, we’d been getting almost two dozen a week when I left. But because she has access to the back end of the site, I think she was going in and erasing their applications – after taking down all their details, of course – before I even had a chance to see them. Now not only do I have no idea how to tell her I know what she’s been up to, but I’ve just lost my only employee. A really fuckin’ good one, too. Well, sabotage aside.’
Mads leaned over her ankles and adjusted the buckle on her Mary Jane heels as she spoke.
‘Get what you just told me in writing from one of those clients and forward it to her. Make the subject line: You’re fired. Easy. As for staff, hire a temp. Find someone from an agency and let her look after all the admin rubbish while you do the Big Girl stuff.’ She flicked back up, her face flushed red, a problem-solved expression on her face.
Mads had a point, two of them in fact. Abby wondered what Charlie would do once she’d been busted. Decapitated possums on the doorstep, perhaps. Abby looked at her phone nervously: 4.13. Chelsea was already thirteen minutes late, and Abby knew Mads had to leave soon. Abby peered towards the front of the café, and was amazed and terrified to see Chelsea pushing the door open at that exact second; scanning for Abby.
With deep strides and her signature hip-wiggling strut, she saw Abby and smiled as she got closer.
Then she saw Mads.
And Mads saw Chelsea.
Abby quickly stood up, hands palm down to both sides as a sign of peace and everyone relax and please, no scratching or biting.
Chelsea stopped dead, clutching her enormous snakeskin handbag in tight to her stomach, her eyes flitting between Abby and Mads wildly, trying to figure out if she should be flighty or fighty.
But it was Mads who decided for her; she stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder, glaring at Abby as she did so.
‘This was a shitty plan, and you are a shitty friend,’ Mads said to Abby, a look of disappointment on her face.
Chelsea immediately responded: ‘Don’t worry, I’ll go.’ As she turned on her heel to go, Abby’s voice rang out shrilly through the café.
‘Guys! Please, don’t leave. You can’t leave … Just, Chels, come on, sit down. COME ON. Sit. There.’ Abby pointed to the seat next to her, which was directly opposite Mads.
Abby could see Mads’s chest rise and fall as she quickly tried to calculate her next move.
‘Mads, you too. Please. Please?’
‘She won’t stay,’ Chels said, nodding her head told-you-so-ishly towards Mads. ‘Hates me.’
Mads said nothing, her mouth was scrunched tightly, her head shaking rapidly, multiple exhales filing from her mouth.
‘PLEASE, you two,’ Abby pleaded, surprised to feel tears prickle in her eyes. ‘Come on. Just five minutes is all I ask.’
Sensing Abby’s desperation, Chels finally moved, walking haughtily towards Abby’s couch.
‘Well, I’ll stay,’ Chelsea said to Abby, nodding slowly. She looked directly at Mads. ‘Because I want to fix this.’
She collapsed onto the sofa, sighing. A small bump was visible under her tight dress, which Abby hoped Mads wouldn’t see straightaway. After sixty seconds of the kind of will-she-won’t-she tension reality TV shows were built on, Mads gave in.
‘Abby Vaughn, you are a treacherous witch,’ Mads hissed, as she sat back on her sofa and crossed her arms and legs defensively.
‘Thank you. I’m doing this because I love you both. And you can huff and puff all you want, but you two need to talk. You need to get through this. I’m sorry to deceive you into talki— Well, actually, no I’m not. Extreme measures for extreme circumstances.’
Abby looked at the two women, and was delighted to see Chelsea looking authentically engaged in what was going on – there was no BlackBerry in sight, just a serious, solemn woman sitting on a sofa looking as though she was preparing for a particularly intense chess game. Mads looked less involved, and much more fidgety. But at least she was still seated and present.
‘I’m going to order you two some tea and then I’m leaving,’ Abby said, as she picked up her bag. ‘You will give all our years of friendship the respect it deserves by getting everything you need to out, okay? We all love and support each other, remember? We have to. You need each other right now. We all need each other, always. Especially when times get shitty.’
Chelsea was still staring at Mads, but now Mads was looking down, picking her deep plum nail polish off.
‘Alright, alright, Pol Pot,’ Mads uttered. ‘We get it.’
Chelsea looked at Abby and rolled her eyes. ‘Abs, we get it.’
‘Okay, well, good luck. Bitch about me in my absence if it gets things moving.’
‘Can’t you stay, Abs? Despite your grotesque subterfuge, I want you here.’ Mads looked up at her friend wistfully.
‘I can’t. I have to find out if Charlie’s stabbing me in the business back.’
‘Wha—?’ Chelsea asked, frowning up at Abby.
‘Long story, Mads can fill you in once you’ve kissed and made up. Okay, I will call you later. Please be nice to each other.’
Impressed with pulling off her dramatic coup, Abby turned and rushed out, mentally crossing her fingers that Mads and Chelsea would be at least civil to each other. Once she had walked the three thousand blocks to her car, her phone chimed with a text. If it were Mads or Chelsea saying they’d left, she’d be stomping straight back there to slap faces.
Abby I know you wont believe this, but I am just landed in your city. Can I see you? A.
Oh, this HAD to be a joke.
It wasn’t happening.
Couldn’t be.
Not today.
Once, just once, Abby wanted to know what it felt like to have all of her balls up in the air at the same time without something fucking up or causing disruption and making the balls thud to the floor.
Abby re-read the text and the name attached to it. Just as Mads, Chelsea and even Charlie had predicted he might, Alessandro had done it, he had flown out to surprise her. Abby sat with the engine off in the driver’s seat, one hand still held her phone, the other generously offering up a selection of fingernails to anxiously nibble. A woman pulled up aggressively beside her, using sign language and eyebrows to ask if Abby planned on leaving any time soon. Abby shook her head no, then quickly typed out a text.
Alessandro! Are you joking? Are you really in Sydney!?
Abby stared at her phone as though it were about to reveal the winning lotto numbers. It chimed. Abby inhaled and read her screen.
I arrive last nite to the 4 seasons. Can I take you to dinner tonite? 8 p.m.?
Abby’s free hand flew up and slapped on top of her eyes. She was speechless, her head shaking like a small dog on the rear dash of a car. She did want to see him, but her almost heart-attack knowing he was in the same city seemed to suggest otherwise. It was a holiday fling! And holiday brain operates at around one-fifth of regular brain; holiday flings are senseless hook-ups, in the true meaning of the word.
To be fair, she had probably given him more of a signal of interest than
she should’ve over Skype lately. But she liked the attention! And she was a bit lonely. Abby certainly didn’t expect he would get on a bloody plane and fly out here to see her. No, Alessandro was obviously just here for work, or to visit his cousin, Abby confirmed to herself as she started the engine and pulled out.
At the next set of traffic lights Abby quickly punched out a text.
Of course Alessandro. I would love that. x
She looked at the time on her dash: 5.03. She wondered how the girls were going back at the café… She desperately wanted to tell them about Alessandro being here. She would have to wait till the three of them were all normal again: this freeze-out was so frustrating.
Abby didn’t have time to further investigate Charlie now, either.
And had dirty hair, hairy legs and a distressing bikini line.
‘Fuck,’ she said, summing it all up perfectly.
Despite usually requiring a month-ahead booking, Alessandro’s concierge had secured them a late sitting at Bonsai. It might have been because it was a Tuesday; it might have been because Alessandro tipped like a homeless man with an imaginary hat, either way, the two of them now sat facing each other in the city’s most exclusive restaurant.
Abby had met Alessandro at his hotel bar earlier, wearing a short, tight black dress that suggested she might take payment for sex, and a pair of heels that she’d always felt were too high until this very moment. She wasn’t sure why she felt the dress code was ‘Hot Twenty-one Year Old,’ but evidently she was out to impress. Abby was loathe to admit it as she waited, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Marcus seeing her with Alessandro. It was ridiculous and embarrassing to confess, even to her internal monologue. But Marcus would immediately assume that it was her boyfriend, and they were together. Like when Charlie told her about seeing Marcus with his cougar at breakfast, presumably after a night of over-the-top sex, fat-free whipped cream and episodes of Mad About You. Gross.
Alessandro had stood waiting for Abby in the lobby, looking astonishingly handsome. He’d cut his hair very short and had a short, sexy smattering of facial hair. He looked very, very good, in a Handsome Man In A Luxury Leather Goods Advertisement kind of way: dark charcoal pants and a black shirt. Abby’s nerves skittered through her body when she saw him. She felt lucky that he was waiting for her. Smug even.