Times Like These

by Laura Carter

  ‘I trust you, and the women in Saks.’

  * * *

  Hannah always thought Saks had a certain smell about it. As she walked in the main entrance, she inhaled deeply, being struck with rich, clean scents like sandalwood and lemongrass, which could be summed up neatly by the word money. Hannah sometimes enjoyed shopping for Andrea when she was busy. Other times, it reminded her of what she didn’t have.

  Once upon a time, Rod had been destined to be a professional footballer. He was one of the top three players in college. There were times Hannah would fantasise about what life would have been like for them if he hadn’t broken his back so early in his career – she would have walked into a place like Saks and picked out anything she wanted, paying a cursory glance to the price tag at best.

  Stopping briefly to indulge in squirts of new scents from the perfume counter girls, Hannah made her way to women’s wear. Andrea had closets packed full of shoes and bags, so she needn’t worry about picking a dress to match particular accessories. Hannah went right to the evening dress collections.

  Sir Presley John’s remembrance-cum-charity concert would be a star-studded event. The music industry would be out in force, not to mention the A-list movie stars that would turn up to an event like this, who had no doubt either never met, or had merely met in passing, Presley John. Any event that was big enough to take on Madison Square Gardens was always one of air-kisses, faux compliments and people blowing smoke up each other’s ass for no good reason.

  Still, Andrea would need to look incredible and suitably like the newly appointed CEO of the Stellar label. Many faces in the music industry would now be blowing smoke up her ass, following years of it being the other way around.

  Hannah came to a stop in the middle of the Escada concession and began her search for the perfect dress.

  There had always been something about Andrea, even at school, that made Hannah believe she would be a successful woman. Of course, back then, they both used to talk about being successful. But Andrea’s mom had once been beautiful and an incredible singer-songwriter. Her father had set up his own recording label. And Andrea was strong, sometimes too fierce, especially when it came to protecting her younger sister, Sofia.

  Hannah and Andrea had spent hours hanging out in New Jersey, talking about all the things they wanted to be when they grew up. Hannah had wanted to be a singer, an actress, a fashion designer and, at one time, an exotic dancer – before she understood that the profession was not very exotic at all. Andrea, though, she had always said she wanted to be able to stand on her own two feet. She never wanted to need anyone.

  Of course, she did need people. Everyone did. Andrea would never concede that but Hannah would always have her best friend’s back.

  She ran her fingers across the fine fabrics on display – silk, velour, satin – pushing hangers along the sparse rails to get a better look at the detail of the dresses.

  She was thinking black. Floor-length. Maybe…

  ‘Hannah?’

  She turned on the spot to see her friend, Rosalie. ‘Ros! I’m just looking for something for Andi to wear to the Presley John concert at MSG. What are you doing here?’

  They hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks. ‘Oh, just looking for a little pick-me-up.’

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  Rosalie wafted a hand flippantly. ‘Same old. George ditched me last week. Can you believe that? Another one bites the dust.’

  ‘Oh, Ros, I’m sorry. He seemed quite nice at the christening. Did you really like him?’

  Picking out a sequinned gold top and holding it against her chest, Rosalie twisted her face in a way that suggested she was either thinking or breaking wind. ‘You know, I thought I really liked him but I’m realising he was just… I don’t know, plugging a hole for a while.’

  Hannah started working through hanging dresses. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I think I need more in my life. I mean, I have my hobbies and family and friends, but sometimes I feel like all I do is shop and eat out or work out. I look at you, with the kids, and Andrea, with her own label now, and I think, I could do those things, you know?’

  Hannah chose in that moment to exercise a lesson she tried to teach her kids – when you don’t have anything nice to say…

  And in the same amount of time it took Hannah to restrain herself, Rosalie lost – or changed – her train of thought. ‘Say, we should grab lunch. Maybe a Bellini?’

  She couldn’t hold it any longer… Hannah bit down on her lip but couldn’t stop her laughter from escaping. ‘Ros, I love you.’

  It took a second for Rosalie’s moody pout to turn to a laugh too. ‘Okay, so I’m not saying it’s going to be an overnight transition or anything.’

  The sound of Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’ coming from Hannah’s purse stole her attention. For a fleeting moment, as it always did, it reminded her of the days when her long blonde hair flowed down her back, ten inches longer than it was now. When her blue eyes weren’t buried in black bags. Before she had wrinkles and cellulite and dry skin on her hands from domestic cleaning products.

  She fumbled in her bag, not able to find her cell. Still, it rang. ‘All right, all right. I hear ya. Where the hell is it?’

  She was about to dump her mom-bag on the ground when Rosalie’s perfectly manicured hands held it up. In that moment, with that small act, Hannah appreciated her friend more than ever.

  Thank you, she mouthed, as she finally located the cell.

  ‘Hello, Hannah speaking.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Washington, it’s Ms Hellisham here, from TJ’s nursery. I’m afraid he’s been vomiting and he needs to be collected.’

  It was one of those phone calls that Hannah could really do without every day but especially any day this week.

  When she got these phone calls with the first kid, she would panic. Her heart would race and her mind would immediately go into overdrive thinking about all the horrific scenarios she had read about online – brain tumours, stomach cancer, internal haemorrhage.

  With the second kid, she would have at least led with, Is he okay?

  But TJ was number three. She was a pro at this Mommy business now.

  ‘How much vomit are we talking about here? Does he have a temperature?’ she asked the very pretty, twenty-something-year-old with naturally pert boobs, Ms Hellisham.

  ‘He doesn’t have a temperature but he’s been sick three times. One was, well, projectile.’

  Hannah laughed. ‘Rod and I sometimes call him the exorcist. He has real bad acid reflux, Ms Hellisham. He’s fine.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Washington, but TJ can’t stay here today.’

  And there it was, her old friend, panic. She did not have time for this. She had a dress to pick out, documents to finalise, emails to send, talent agents to contend with.

  ‘This is ridiculous. I can assure you he’s fine.’

  ‘Nevertheless, he’s going to have to stay home for forty-eight hours. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Two days! Are you kidding me?’ Hannah checked her watch. There was no way she could end the day at this hour. ‘I can’t come back to Jersey, I’m at work.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll call my husband and see if he can do the pick-up.’

  She hung up the call and immediately called Rod. And called. And called.

  On the third attempt, he picked up.

  ‘Hey babe. What’s up? I’m kinda in the middle of somethin’.’

  ‘Well, me too, but TJ’s acid reflux is playing up. He’s been sick and we have to collect him from nursery.’

  ‘Yeah, okay. Let me know how he is later, babe.’

  ‘W-wait. Rod? Rod, I have too much on. You have to go.’

  ‘Babe, I can’t, I’m seeing a guy about another coaching job. I told you about this. Head coach, babe, more money.’

  Had he even told her about this? ‘Okay, so, what time can you get there?’

  ‘Babe, I’m in Queens. Oh, he’s here, gotta go.’

  ‘Ro
d? Rod? Are you there…?’ The line went dead.

  In her mind, she threw herself on the floor of Saks and screamed MOTHER FUCKER!!!

  In reality, Rosalie set a jacket she had been considering back on the hanging rack and said, ‘I could pick up TJ for you.’

  In that moment, Hannah wished she was in her bathroom at home because that was the only place she allowed herself to cry.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Rosalie shrugged and gave the kind of smile that suited her angelic soul. ‘Of course. I can pick him up and if he’s really not sick we can come back into the city and pick out a dress for Andi to wear to the concert, then you can get on with whatever else you need to do.’

  ‘Ros, I could kiss you,’ Hannah said, meaning every word.

  5

  Rosalie

  As it turned out, Hannah’s five-months-old son hadn’t been suffering from acid reflux when the nursery had called her yesterday and Rosalie had agreed to come to her friend’s rescue. Almost as soon as she had picked him up from daycare and got him safely buckled into the mind-puzzle that was his car seat, TJ had proceeded to throw up all over the back seat of Rosalie’s top-spec Porsche Cayenne.

  Her plans of heading back into the city and choosing a dress for Andrea to wear to the Presley John tribute concert had been thwarted by the thought of TJ potentially vomiting on Oscar de la Renta’s finest evening wear in Saks.

  So, she had tied up her long locks of glossy brown hair, rolled up the sleeves of her jacket and dropped her car at the nearest valet service. Then she had caught a cab to Hannah and Rod’s home in New Jersey.

  TJ slept most of the afternoon, which was incredibly dull. So dull, in fact, that once she had exhausted the two men’s fitness magazines that were lying around the modest lounge – the photography skills were excellent – and made herself a mug of coffee, she had decided to tidy a few things that looked out of place.

  Hannah and Rod’s place was nothing like Rosalie’s modern, on-trend-styled space in the city. They had an old town house with three bedrooms that they had spent years improving. Where Rosalie thought solid rose-wood floors would have been wonderful, they had a light grey rug that was getting worn from three kids wreaking havoc on the threads.

  Where Rosalie would have placed succulents on floating shelves around the walls, they had family pictures in mismatched frames. Their sofas had lost their shape from being jumped on and lain across. The soft furnishings were decorated with what looked like chocolate fingerprints.

  As TJ had started snoring – she hadn’t known kids snored – she had looked around the space and decided she could take it no more. Then she did something she never did… she found one of Rod’s hooded sweaters, pulled it over her own clothes, and cleaned and tidied Hannah’s home from top to bottom.

  She was pooped by the time the older kids had come home from school, barely keeping her eyes open as she snuggled TJ on the sofa. They had hardly registered her presence as they headed straight to the kitchen, banging and needlessly shouting as they raided the food cupboards, leaving boxes and wrappers on every surface that she had slaved away cleaning hours before.

  She had stayed in place of their usual sitter until Hannah and Rod had come home from work, having counted down the minutes until she could go back to her clean, noise-free life. She had done her good deed and was ready to leave the circus.

  Until Hannah walked through the door into the lounge and stood on one spot as she turned her head around the house, her jaw dropping loose.

  ‘Ros, you… you cleaned my house?’

  Maybe it was the tiredness or something but Rosalie looked at her friend’s full eyes and felt her own eyes cloud over as she nodded and gathered up TJ from the sofa, hugging him to her chest. ‘I hope you don’t mind. TJ has slept a lot and…’

  ‘Ros, we don’t mind at all. Man, you must have been at this all day,’ Rod said, hanging his thick, muscly arm around his wife’s shoulder.

  Rosalie shrugged, uncommonly bashful, and handed TJ to his mom. ‘I’ll get going. The valet guys returned my car not long ago.’

  In response to the questioning looks she received, Rosalie explained, ‘TJ threw up again.’

  Hannah covered her gasp with her hands. ‘Shit, I’m sorry, Ros. We’ll pay for the cleaning.’

  Rosalie waved off the offer. ‘I’m just glad I could help.’ And, she thought in her car as she drove back into the city, she really was grateful. She had achieved something good with her day. She hadn’t just lunched and shopped, she had made someone she cared about happy and that made her feel… fulfilled, in return.

  That thought had prompted her to call Hannah and tell her she would sit for TJ again today. Except she fully intended to have the day out with TJ today that she had hoped for yesterday.

  ‘How about the Plaza, TJ?’ Rosalie asked, watching the baby in his car seat as he chewed a rubber donut in the back of her Porsche.

  ‘I agree. The Plaza it is. Do you like babyccinos? I’ll bet you do.’

  * * *

  A short while and Manhattan’s traffic later, Rosalie pulled up outside the Plaza.

  ‘Well, aren’t you just adorable?’ the concierge asked as he helped Rosalie inside, taking the adaptable car seat harbouring TJ from her.

  As they headed inside the hotel valet climbed into the Porsche behind them and drove away.

  ‘Thank you,’ Rosalie replied to the concierge with pride.

  ‘Is he yours?’

  For a moment, Rosalie felt affronted – didn’t she look responsible enough to have a child?

  Then she realised, TJ had much darker skin than hers – somewhere between Hannah’s pasty white and Rod’s black – and he had Rod’s wide nose and Hannah’s bright blue eyes.

  ‘He’s my godson,’ she said with pride – Hannah clearly thought she was responsible.

  She tickled the baby’s tummy as he swung happily in his seat, which was hooked over the arm of the concierge. When he giggled, the sweetness of the sound made Rosalie’s heart swell in such a peculiar way it caused her to falter in her stride.

  What was that feeling?

  She swallowed to loosen her tightening throat and adjusted her leopard print wrap dress.

  They were settled at a table – TJ in a highchair, which Hannah had proudly informed Rosalie was very impressive at TJ’s age – under the rose-pink stained-glass roof of The Palm Court room and promptly served a latte, a babyccino and a plate of macarons. It was Rosalie’s favourite dining room at the hotel. The ornately decorated Venetian-style walls oozed opulence. The gold chairs with their fancy upholstery signified money. The bright green palm trees allowed diners to feel like they could have stepped off the bustling streets of Manhattan into a tropical paradise. There was controlled chatter throughout the room, everyone respectful enough of one another’s space. Music played at a low level in the background and, crucially, staff were always on hand, should one need anything particular.

  She nibbled a raspberry macaron, just enough to get the taste, then set it to the edge of her plate and dabbed her mouth with the linen napkin that a waiter had kindly laid across her lap.

  ‘So, Teej… Can I call you Teej? We’ll have our drinks and snacks, then we’ll go pick out a dress for aunty Andrea to wear to the commemoration concert for Sir Presley John on Thursday. Your mom was in the middle of doing that when you had your bout of puking yesterday.’

  Rosalie pulled a face that said Yucky, making TJ chuckle loudly. That alien feeling came back to her with the sound. Was it just that this kid’s cuteness factor was off the charts? No matter what she did, he was unconditionally happy with her.

  ‘You know how the whole aunty thing works, don’t you, baby boy? See, technically Andrea and me, we aren’t your actual aunties but we love you better than any blood relative anyway, right?’

  TJ gurgled, which Rosalie took as confirmation that he understood.

  ‘Has your mommy told you how we all met?’

  She paused to lift him
onto her lap and slipped the rubber teat of his bottled babyccino into his mouth. The warmth she felt holding him was more than just his body leaning into hers. It was mutual contentness. Rosalie was not simply sipping coffee and eating macarons today, she was babysitting. Suddenly, her standard shopping break had purpose. She made sure TJ was happily guzzling, then set about her story.

  ‘I suppose we’re unlikely friends, really. See, Andrea and your other god-mommy Sofia took over their daddy’s recording studio. Of course, Andrea made some great signings and with her production and management, those signings hit the charts. You won’t have heard of the band Leverage and their frontman, Tommy Dawson. Well, they’re huge now and it was aunty Andrea who found them. Successes like that are the reason aunty Andrea is at XM Music Group now. Anyway, because I seem incapable of finding the right man for me, I was dating a guy that Andrea was producing… what… maybe five years ago now. Gosh, time flies.’

  She looked down to TJ who was still happily attached to his bottle, propped up by her arm, milky saliva running from the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Dang, I should have put you in a bib, huh? Sorry, I’m learning. Have you had enough? Do you, like, need to burp or something?’

  She settled his near-empty bottle on the table in front of her and sipped her own drink.

  ‘So, Keith… that’s the name of the guy I was seeing… hardly a rock star name, if you ask me. I don’t know why Andrea didn’t encourage him to use a stage name. Well, there I was, dating the anti-rock star, and I used to go to the studio when he and his band were recording their first full-length album, which is how I first met your mommy, aunty Andrea and aunty Sofia. I saw them nearly every day for three, no, four weeks. I liked them, you know. They weren’t like my usual group of gossipy, bitchy friends. Daddy thought they’d be good for me too – diversifying, I think he called it. And I think your mommy and Andrea liked me being around, too. I always brought treats to the studio. It was nice to be able to help out, I suppose.’

  She laughed as a memory came to her. ‘One day, your mommy said to me, do you know why I love you, Ros? She said exactly these words: because your mom is a supermodel, your dad is a music industry giant, you are beautiful and you’re dating a budding rock star. You have every reason in the world to be fake but you’re real.