by Carla Caruso
‘I saw it,’ Natalia cut her off, flicking non-existent dust off her dress.
‘You-you saw it?’
‘I did. And it’s fine. What do they say? There’s no such thing as bad publicity. I’m happy to be aligned with your brand. It’s a good sort of way to introduce me to the neighbourhood. Show the local ladies I’m here to stay and that I support home-grown businesses.’
‘Oh … well, that’s great. A relief actually. I wasn’t sure how you’d take it …’
Celeste herself was reeling. Natalia Samphire thought being aligned with POPink was a positive thing? Somehow even figured Celeste to be a bona fide Astonvalean? Looked like Celeste would have to get back to all those potential clients who’d left phone messages after all. Her heart sang. Perhaps POPink could even be a success — a two-fingered salute to the Imogen Karmels of the world.
Natalia slid from her seat to standing. ‘We’d better make a move. I’ve just got to grab a few things, but will you be okay to follow behind me in the Tesla? I have an, um, errand to run afterwards.’
‘Done and done.’
Exciting as it was being at a real-life television studio, there wasn’t much for Celeste to do. Earlier she’d ensured Natalia’s makeup bag and her notes folder were in order and that the guru had enough dark choc acai berries — pronounced ah-sigh-ee — and seaweed-smelling spirulina juice on hand in the green room.
But now that Natalia was on-air, all Celeste had to do was sit back and watch the show as part of the live audience. Which really wasn’t a bad day’s work considering, and certainly the last place she expected to find herself that morning. Flip had been so bummed that she couldn’t come along, too. Somehow Celeste now actually trusted Flip to do the finishing touches to the bedroom.
Celeste went between watching the panellists chatting in the flesh onstage to observing them on the giant TV screen. There, she could see all the things the viewers saw at home, too, like the banner of tweets rolling across the bottom.
In between that, she tried to avoid being elbowed in the ribs — again — by the largish woman on her right, who didn’t much care about personal boundaries. And not think too hard about the elevated seating, which really was quite narrow — and steep.
The camera zoomed in on Natalia’s face as she laughed at a joke the bespectacled male panellist cracked about hipsters riding fixies. The guru’s teeth looked even more blindingly white in the TV lighting. Her healthy glow and natural beauty were made for the small screen. It was hard to take your eyes off her, as Natalia sat centre-stage, the four regular panellists dotted either side of her.
Amid a report on swimming and water safety, the woman beside Celeste coughed ultra-loudly, giving Celeste a fright. Probably she was choking on a Twistie — yes, she’d brought a crinkly bag along with her, even though they were meant to be as quiet as mice in the audience. The male panellist squinted into the crowd and shot Celeste the evil eye. Great. She shrank down in her seat, horrified he’d thought she was to blame. There went asking for an autograph later.
It was a full two minutes before Celeste felt okay to fully look up again. While the camera was trained on the panellist with the blonde pixie-cut having her say, Celeste turned to check on what Natalia was up to. Just in case she was shooting Celeste a dirty look for supposedly disturbing proceedings, too.
Oh. Natalia was staring at the monitor, her face frozen, as though she’d done one too many facial yoga exercises. Surely she couldn’t be that disturbed by the drowning statistics, scary as they were.
Celeste swivelled her head back towards the screen, turned to the audience, wondering if Natalia’s shocked look had been caught on camera. It hadn’t, but a live tweet running across the bottom caught Celeste’s eye and made her stomach lurch. Tick tock, N. I still know who u really r.
It had to be the person behind the blackmail note. Their Twitter name was even @eyeseverywhere, like the term used in the letter, making the whole blackmail thing more real than ever. Less than a hundred and forty characters, but it was enough to leave Celeste in a spin. The blink-and-you’ll-miss-it message vanished from the screen. Celeste’s gaze raked the panel. No one else appeared to have noticed what had gone on.
The lead panellist — a blonde ex-newsreader — mentioned some upcoming stories, then cut to an ad break. Natalia quickly got to her feet, fanning herself. ‘Sorry, I just need some air quickly, if okay. The lights …’
The blonde shrugged, only faintly raising her eyebrows. ‘Sure thing — so long as you’re back in two.’ A makeup artist and hairstylist swiftly stepped in to touch up the faces of those still seated.
Celeste felt glued to her own seat as Natalia disappeared, conversations among the audience of housewives and pensioners whirling around her, as though nothing was amiss in the world.
Should she go check on Natalia? Was it her place to? Would she then have to admit she’d seen the blackmail letter, which might make it look as though she’d been fossicking through Natalia’s bins? Would Natalia even want Celeste to know she was hiding something, if she was as private as she was and clearly distressed — whatever the ‘I know who you really are’ comment meant?
A snap of metal and the fizzing of bubbles cut through the air. Oh dear. The woman on her right was now swigging a Passiona soft drink. Celeste didn’t even realise they still made the drink. It was a wonder the woman hadn’t been thrown out yet. She looked quite at home now — and probably wouldn’t react too kindly at having to stand to let Celeste pass. Maybe she’d wait until the lady had finished her drink. Celeste bit down on her lip. The chugging seemed to go on endlessly. Gruesomely, there was spillage out the sides of the woman’s mouth.
But a glance back at the stage revealed she was too late anyway. Natalia, with a smile on her dial again and not a hair out of place, had slid back into her seat. Obviously she took ‘the show must go on’ adage seriously — enemies stalking her every move or no.
Suddenly all the messages left on Celeste’s phone by potential clients no longer had her on cloud nine. Because what was certain was that things were not right with her celebrity client. In fact, things looked to be quite a mess. Scoring Natalia Samphire as her first client really had been too good to be true. Because if everything went downhill for Natalia — if she were exposed as being some kind of phoney, from her ‘herbal’ cigarettes to her burgers to her chocolate drawer and whatever else beyond — then this would likely have a domino effect on any future customers Celeste was holding out hope for. She’d also be tarred as guilty by association. A questionable character. Which meant she could be back knocking on Imogen’s door — if the interior designer would even take her.
Lenny paused in the doorway to Natalia’s bedroom and whistled in appreciation. ‘Looking good!’
Celeste, who had her back turned to him, spun around, somehow caught her foot on an edge of the silky bedspread, and went toppling backwards onto the bed. The mattress wobbled beneath her — it must be a waterbed.
He couldn’t help but grin, seeing the frustration in her eyes as she scrambled to a sitting position. ‘I was referring to the work you’ve done with Natalia’s room, but, hey, you look good, too.’
‘I was expecting Flip,’ Celeste lobbed back, her cheeks blazing. ‘I sent her off to get more boxes. You just surprised me. As is your tendency to do. I didn’t realise you were back working here.’
‘Well, I am.’ Lenny glanced around the room, themed in lilac, taupe and white, which, on closer inspection, had hidden storage everywhere, from the daybed with lower drawers under the window to the linen trunk near the foot of the bed that doubled as a leather seat. A job well done.
‘Did you come up here for a reason or just to scare me witless?’
‘I was looking for Natalia actually. I’m having some issues downstairs.’ He didn’t miss the faint raising of an eyebrow by Celeste. ‘Well, not downstairs downstairs. That’s never been a problem.’ He grinned. ‘You know what I mean.’
Celeste picked at a
loose thread on the bedspread. ‘I went with her to a TV studio in the city this morning. She was a guest on a panel show, but she took off straight after. I haven’t seen her since. Minka’s off sick, too.’
He reached up to knead the side of his neck with his hand. ‘Guess it’ll have to wait until tomorrow then.’ Which meant another deadline would be pushed back. Darn. ‘Well, nice seeing you again. And pity you didn’t keep that hairstyle from last night. I quite liked it.’
He expected an eye-roll, but instead her expression, all of a sudden, looked a million miles away. Like she hadn’t even heard a word he’d said. He was almost at the door when she suddenly yelped ‘Lenny’, ran ahead of him, and banged it shut. Right in his face. The force belying her slender frame. This time, he was the one taken by surprise. She was so close that when he turned he could see her chest heaving under her grey-and-white striped shirt.
He shot her a lazy grin in an attempt to lighten the mood, because, let’s face it, she was scaring him a little. ‘Well, I guess you’ve got me where you want me now. Though I’d really pictured rose petals and candlelight for our first time.’
She looked like she wanted to slap him across his face — and, fair enough — but she just sucked in a breath and ignored the comment. Then her words flowed forth like a torrent — their suspicions had been right, what with the tweet at the TV station, Kim-Ly’s threat, the cigarette, the newspaper article, and with it the prospective new clients, and how if Natalia was a phoney then her business was doomed, too … ‘And I really don’t know what to d—’
Lenny pressed a finger to her surprisingly soft lips, stemming the flow of words. ‘Take a breath.’ Even more surprisingly, she did as suggested for once. He watched her lungs fill up with air and took his finger away just as it was expelled again. ‘Now, can you repeat the part about my being right this time?’
Celeste’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘I said we were both right. Remember, I was the one who first hid on the balcony and found the blackmail note.’
‘Perhaps we shouldn’t really be quibbling about who was the first to notice we’d jumped aboard this sinking ship. It’s kind of pointless …’
Celeste’s shoulders slumped. ‘True.’ Her grey-blue eyes rested on his face again. ‘So what do we do? Do we confront her? I mean, I don’t mean to say Natalia’s a phoney exactly. She’s always been quite lovely to me, even if she does have some weird celebrity tendencies. But she’s obviously not quite how her brand portrays her. And she could be in real trouble. Which could also spell trouble for us — financially and professionally.’
The air between them was tinged with that faint hint of lavender again. Maybe Celeste dotted all her erogenous zones with the perfume …
‘I suggest we say nothing for the moment and just keep our eyes peeled and each other posted,’ Lenny decided firmly. ‘There is definitely something weird going on, but we don’t have any concrete proof. And Natalia hasn’t seemed too fazed for the most part.’
Celeste cut in, ‘Well, that could be an act, too.’
‘If there’s any whiff of us not getting paid, then all bets are off. Until then, let’s try to keep our heads down and our mouths shut and get to the finish line — fully paid up. I’ve received my first progress payment at least.’
‘Oka—’
A loud knocking on the door made them both freeze. Could Natalia be back already? Could she even have heard everything they’d said?
‘Celeste, open up, I’ve got the boxes!’ a familiar female voice chirruped from the other side. ‘Why’s the door shut? Not trying on that naughty-cop outfit, are you?’
It was just Filippa. Any relief on Celeste’s face was short-lived. ‘I’m opening it!’
Lenny glanced at Celeste as she twisted the doorknob. ‘Naughty-cop outfit? Sounds like you’re keeping a few secrets of your own. Although, for the record, my sister didn’t think you looked like a hussy last night.’
‘Your sister?’
‘My sister. You didn’t think—’
Cue Celeste’s signature eye-roll. ‘Save it, Leonardu.’ Then she threw open the door.
12.
Celeste had left work early on Friday to pick up some supplies for Natalia’s latest project: organising her home gym, where the guru was to apparently host the occasional (no doubt high-paying) one-on-one fitness client. Natalia, who had flitted in and out of the mansion all day, had seemed back to her normal self, the whole TV studio thing now feeling a bit surreal.
She had also left work early because it was her birthday. Her thirtieth. Not that anyone she knew seemed to care too much. And she wasn’t the type to make a fuss herself. Okay, so she’d gotten a cheery call from her father that morning and a text from Mitchell, albeit less animated than the automated one from the dental practice she used to go to five years ago, offering her a birthday discount. But Mitchell wasn’t much of a texter, and obviously he’d been too busy at work to call. Just because he worked for the family business didn’t mean he got it completely easy. And, well, it wasn’t like they were serious. At least he’d said he’d catch her at tennis the next day. Flip had fashioned her a card from old birthday cards, which was interesting. And Betty-Lou, the queen of birthday festivities, had appeared to have forgotten Celeste’s milestone entirely since last week.
Perhaps it was just as well, because, in the scheme of things, leaving behind her twenties was just another day. Except for feeling like she should have gotten her life sorted by now. And she hadn’t really thought about marking it in any particular way; she’d kind of hoped someone else might have come up with a plan she could go along with.
Elsewhere, things were looking up, though. Thanks to the newspaper article by Ursula — whom Celeste should really thank in the end — she’d booked in a client for after Natalia. A woman who’d just set up her own dance-fitness room at home, including having a ballet barre and stripper pole installed, and wanted it to look ‘Ballet-Tastic tidy’. Celeste had also sent out a few quotes and even had a request to do a library talk the very next week, slotting in the place of another speaker who’d pulled out. Not a bad start for a newbie businesswoman. Okay, so there was also one lass who’d rung, wanting her home spring-cleaned top to bottom, but Celeste had gently directed her to the ‘cleaning services’ section of the Yellow Pages.
She swept a hand over a kettle-bell rack at the fitness store she was currently perusing and nodded to herself. Yes, Natalia’s rainbow of ball-shaped weights would look fantastic on display, rather than hidden away in a box. Plus, it would mean the useful devices were within easy reach. She loved it when she found a storage ‘home’ for things, which could also double as cool décor—
‘Celeste! I wouldn’t have picked you as the fitness type.’
Who else would be encroaching on her space but Cousin Dolores? Her ears should have pricked up at the familiar click-clack of the brassy blonde’s OTT heels, complemented with a pink Ballet-Tastic T-shirt, of all things, and hibiscus-print bike pants. Oh gosh. She also had her blue Indian Ringneck parakeet on her shoulder, which Celeste had almost mistaken for some kind of weird, oversized brooch. She’d probably tell shop security it was an assistance animal.
Celeste forced a smile. ‘I’m shopping for a client.’
‘Wonderful! I’m on the hunt for a new exercise ball and stretch-band.’ Dolores winked, showing off various clumps of mascara. ‘I like to make sure my pelvic region isn’t too tight. Just because I’m sixty-plus doesn’t mean I’m idle in the bedroom.’
Bile rose in Celeste’s throat. She was saved from making any sort of return comment, though, by Dolores’s parakeet unleashing a loud squawk. This was followed up by it rather impressively saying ‘Hello, pretty’.
‘Well, I shouldn’t keep you if you’re still technically at work, but happy birthday at any rate. And welcome to the dirty thirties. Don’t work too hard!’
‘Oh … thanks.’
Celeste hadn’t expected Dolores to even know it was her birthday. Then agai
n, Dolores had probably been past her dad’s place again.
‘See you later on.’
‘Uh, yeah. See you.’ Celeste hoped later rather than sooner, as the pint-sized divorcée beetled away.
As Celeste was checking out a medicine-ball rack — which admittedly took her a while to work out what it was — her phone shrilled in her tote. It was a little less screechy than the parakeet. The screen told her it was Betty-Lou, and Celeste felt happiness bubble in her stomach. Her friend hadn’t forgotten her on her day of days. Enjoying a slice (or more) of homemade birthday cake and a glass of wine with her bestie would be the perfect way to cap off the evening.
‘Celeste, I need your help!’
‘My … help?’
In devouring said cake, she fervently hoped.
‘The local cake decorators’ association is holding an emergency meeting tonight. I won’t bore you with the finer details, but let’s just say there’s been some argy-bargy between a few committee members, things have turned dire, and I really need to get to the meeting tonight to help sort things out. Only thing is Peta’s had a conference call run late and is stuck in traffic and her husband’s out playing twilight golf.’ Betty-Lou paused for a breath, her voice rising in pitch. ‘Would there be any chance you could babysit the triplets for, like, half an hour? You know I wouldn’t normally ask, but I’m desperate. I’ve told Peta, just in case you could, and she said she’d be okay with it.’
It felt as though the Earth had stopped rotating about its axis. ‘You want me … to babysit?’
‘Well, that’s what I was hoping, yes.’
‘It’s just I’m not really a child-minding kind of person, unlike you. I figured you knew that.’
Especially not three kids at once. Triple the lot of sticky fingers.
‘Pretty please, Ms Pretty! If you could see me now, I’m down begging on my knees. Do you think you could do it? Only for your bestest friend?’
