A Pretty Mess

by Carla Caruso

  The fitness guru herself cut in: ‘It’s your official invite to my launch party this Saturday night. I hope it’s not too short notice. Setting a date has been difficult with things so … so up in the air lately, what with the building work and everything. But we’ve decided to bring it forward so we don’t clash with any upcoming social events.’ She offered Celeste a small smile. ‘There’s only so often in a week the ladies of Astonvale will get their pearls out.’

  Celeste grinned in return as Natalia pushed on. ‘Of course, the press and VIP clients were alerted earlier, but I wanted to give this to you personally. While I had the chance. I have an invite for Filippa, too.’

  Celeste felt touched that the fitness guru had even thought of her and Flip at such a time. Natalia hadn’t been wrong about things being so up in the air. ‘Thank you. And, of course, we’ll be there.’

  More footloose and fancy-free than ever, Celeste didn’t have weekend plans. Actually, she vaguely remembered promising Mitchell she’d take him to the launch party if she ever got an invite. And Celeste had never been one to go back on her word. For a nanosecond, she wondered who Lenny might take. Undoubtedly, he’d be there. And undoubtedly his date would be more beautiful than Celeste and make her feel like a major Plain Jane.

  Celeste bit her lip. ‘So I guess you won’t be needing my services much longer then, now the launch is officially looming?’

  ‘You’re right, I’m afraid.’ Natalia sombrely nodded. ‘Although, I wouldn’t mind you running your eye over things at the new ballroom before the party, if that’s okay, but then yes, that’ll be all. Sorry not to have kept you abreast earlier. Things have been a little … busy.’ She touched Celeste’s arm. ‘But I want you to know, I’ve been very impressed with your work and I’ll be recommending you to all of my contacts.’

  ‘That means the world. Thank you.’

  Celeste’s time with Ballet-Tastic was nearly coming to an end, although she hadn’t quite escaped attempting a class. Fifteen minutes later, before the session was due to start, Celeste learned that Ursula’s wasn’t the only familiar face in the crowd. Araminta was also there, setting up on the gym floor in the row in front; Ursula, Celeste had yet to spot.

  While Celeste was dressed as colourfully as a gelato stand in true Ballet-Tastic style, Araminta had bucked the trend by donning all-black.

  Cross-legged on a turquoise gym mat, safely at the back, Celeste leaned towards her hairstylist friend. ‘Psst! What are you doing here?’

  Araminta turned back with a grin. ‘Oh, hello, you! Natalia’s assistant invited me — Minka, I think her name is. She came into the salon and I told her I’d signed up for the Ballet-Tastic thirty-day lunge challenge at the prompting of a client. She mentioned this class and I had a free hour, so I thought why not?’

  The small world-ness of Astonvale had reared its ugly head again. ‘I didn’t know Minka was a customer of yours.’

  ‘Well, she’s a new one. She booked in on Monday night, a bit last-minute. She said she’d kept hearing fantastic things about the salon — knew we attracted the odd celebrity client and all that.’ Araminta lowered her voice, crossing her eyes. ‘Pity that the haircut Minka asked for was as dreary as her outfit, but, hey, she paid in cash — and she had wads of it — so who was I to argue? Natalia, I gather, must be paying you by the bucket-load, too.’

  ‘I haven’t seen anything yet,’ Celeste hedged.

  A nasally voice interrupted the pair’s chatter, from beside Celeste. ‘Is that gym mat taken?’

  Urgh-sula Zink. Great. Now she was going to be stuck next to the nosy reporter for the next forty-five minutes. Why couldn’t she be a better liar when needed?

  ‘It’s all yours,’ Celeste replied tightly.

  Her old schoolmate had the decency to go slightly pink, after the feature piece she’d written, as she clocked Celeste’s face. ‘Celeste, hi!’

  It was obvious Ursula had sculled a hot chocolate before class, because she had cocoa powder on the front of her cream-coloured T-shirt. Well, it might have been white once. Still, Ursula’s move to Astonvale had obviously had some influence — she also sported a black ribbon in her ponytail.

  Celeste decided to let bygones be bygones for the moment as Ursula sat down. After all, she hadn’t done too badly out of the article. ‘How’s the new job going?’

  ‘Yeah, good, good. Well, okay really.’ Ursula rubbed a scuffmark on her sneaker. ‘Making contacts for stories has been a bit harder than I thought. They can be a tough bunch to break into around here — unless your dad’s dad went to the same college and that type of thing.’

  Celeste could well sympathise. ‘That can be true.’

  Ursula shrugged. ‘But I guess it’s early days. I’ll get used to the way they do things. Though it’s definitely not like the city. So …’ She leaned forward, waggling a pair of eyebrows that a pair of tweezers might get lost in. ‘Got any dirt to share on Natalia?’

  ‘What?’ Celeste exclaimed. To think that for a second she’d almost felt sorry for the girl. Celeste was saved by Natalia herself making her way to the front of the class.

  After welcoming everyone, Natalia went into a little of her own history, including how she’d attended the Boîte à Trésor dance school in Paris before hitting on the idea of the Ballet-Tastic fitness classes. Natalia seemed back in her element in instructor mode, any tiredness or nerves well-hidden.

  Then the music started and it was just like Celeste was back in dance class at school. No wonder she and Ursula used to spend so much time in the library together. The stumbling and crashing into one another was particularly bad when the back row became the front for a few moves. Obviously the skills Celeste had built up on the tennis court hadn’t translated to co-ordination on the gym floor. At the end of the class, Araminta, who’d taken to Ballet-Tastic like a duck to water, half her luck, shot Celeste a sympathetic look. Celeste grimaced in return.

  Her only solace was that Lenny hadn’t been around to see her disgrace herself this time. She could just imagine his smile.

  Lenny held up the two bits of plastic that had caught the light in the mini-skip at the back of Natalia’s property. He didn’t know what had made him reach for the first piece, but its twin hadn’t been hard to find. They were two halves of an old driver’s licence, which its owner had recently taken to with the scissors. Not that they’d done a very good job of hiding the plastic among the debris. The pieces had been right on the top.

  Depicted in the photo was a young girl with straight, red hair, heavily-lined dark eyes, and freckly skin. The name read Gertie Natalie Samson, and the address was in Kalgoorlie. If it weren’t for the familiar-sounding last two names and where he’d found the licence, he might not have noticed the resemblance.

  Pocketing the licence halves, he strode towards the gazebo for privacy and dialled Celeste’s number. He could hear street noise as she picked up, which made sense as he knew she was working at the studio. She must have ducked out to take his call.

  ‘Lenny, hi.’

  A strange sensation rippled through his stomach when he heard her voice. Almost like a homecoming. That or he shouldn’t order from the snack bar around the corner again.

  ‘Celeste, I found something I thought you might be interested in.’

  ‘Oh and I thought you just couldn’t go a day without talking to me.’ The comment was glib, but her voice jangled with nerves. The whole blackmail thing had her on edge, too, it seemed. ‘What is it?’ she pressed.

  He checked around him before answering. Aside from a palm frond waving, he was all alone out back, thankfully. Still, he lowered his voice. ‘I found an old driver’s licence, cut in half, in the rubbish. Looks like you’re not the only one busy doing clean-outs. Its owner is a Gertie Natalie Samson from Kalgoorlie. I think it’s Natalia, her real name.’

  He could hear Celeste gulp at the other end of the line. ‘Wow, so Natalia’s really a mining-town girl with an ordinary-sounding name, even though she’s all about
being “big city” and Paris-trained. Who would have thought it? It explains why her fiancé’s car has Western Australian numberplates and why she keeps their relationship on the down-low. And also why I found a gift bag from an Arlene Minson speaking event in Kalgoorlie in Natalia’s home office. Although a lot of celebrities glamorise their names and pasts, so what’s the big deal really? It wouldn’t be enough to blackmail a person over.’

  ‘You have to see the photo, Celeste. She looks pretty different — she’s changed a few things. Obviously she’s hiding something more than just a small-town past.’

  Celeste’s voice was quiet. ‘I find it hard to imagine Natalia as some sort of bad girl. Aside from the occasional celebrity moment, she’s only ever been nice to me. When you’re famous, any slight could tarnish you reputation, crumble everything you’ve built up.’ A gasp echoed down the line. ‘I remember the blackmailer writing something about having to ruin Natalia’s party if things didn’t go “according to plan”. Did-did you get your invite?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Then I’ll see you there then, if not at work before. Fingers crossed the launch goes off without a hitch.’

  He didn’t say it before he hung up, but the thought dangled in the air: next week could be their last real excuse for having anything to do with one another.

  Not long after Celeste was off the phone to Lenny, she rang Betty-Lou. Curiosity had taken over her and she wanted to do some digging about Natalia’s past herself, to see if she could put together some of the jigsaw pieces and see where they led. She hated things being such a mess.

  For some reason, the name of the dance school Natalia had mentioned had stuck in Celeste’s mind, but she’d had no luck doing an online search for the place on her phone — or guessing its proper spelling. Her fumbling fingers as she’d tried hurrying hadn’t helped either.

  She’d seen the school’s name once before in a business information kit Minka had flicked Celeste on email. But, as was habit, she’d since cleaned up her inbox folders, so that was no use. At least she knew Betty-Lou spoke a little French, courtesy of trying to teach the triplets.

  ‘Betty-Lou, I have a French question for you,’ Celeste said into her phone’s mouthpiece, covering her ear with her other hand. It sounded as noisy at the triplets’ place as it was on the shopping strip she was currently standing on. From the footpath, she spotted a red-brick archway leading to automatic glass sliding-doors. She ducked inside, falling into a quiet, little shopping centre, mostly made up of women’s boutiques, with twinkling cream flooring and mild air-conditioning.

  ‘Well, bonjour to you, too,’ her friend replied.

  ‘Sorry to be short — it’s just I’m on my lunchbreak. I’m trying to find out a bit more about the dance school Natalia went to. I can’t really explain why now, but I thought you might be able to help.’

  ‘Okay,’ Betty-Lou said slowly. ‘Sounds intriguing. My French is not all that good, but I’ll see if I can translate.’

  ‘All right. The school’s name sounds something like “bwuta trezor”.’

  ‘Bwuta trezor? That sounds more like Swahili to me … Oh, unless you mean, boîte à trésor?’

  Celeste nodded, although Betty-Lou couldn’t see her. ‘That sounds about right.’

  ‘Easy then. It means “treasure box”. I know because I read a French picturebook involving pirates to the triplets the other day. Unfortunately, they were too busy with their iPods to really listen. I can text you the spelling, if you like.’

  ‘That’d be great.’

  ‘Any other French terms you need help with? I charge by the minute,’ Betty-Lou teased.

  ‘Nope, I’m all good. And thank you.’

  ‘What about how to say “French kissing”? Then you could ask your builder friend if he’d like to partake in such an activity in the language of love.’

  ‘You’re hilarious.’

  Betty-Lou’s tone softened. ‘Seriously, was Flip right about there being a vibe between you and Lenny? Because I thought you’d share something like that with me if it was true.’

  Celeste let out a breath, her ear warm from having the phone pressed so hard against it. ‘No, nothing’s going on.’ Not anymore, she didn’t add. ‘But I guess he and I have become closer as … as associates. Remember the heatwave and the night of your blind date? I never told you but I stayed at Lenny’s house that night after catching Dad in a tryst with Flip’s grandma — a whole other story. Lenny’s showed me another side of himself, even sending tradesmen to do repairs at my dad’s place. Pretty unbelievable when you consider my father.’

  If only Lenny had a different viewpoint in matters of the heart, things could have been perfect. There was a banging sound, then an uncharacteristic silence echoed down the line. Not even the triplets could be heard making a peep.

  ‘Betty-Lou, are you there?’

  A sudden rustling could be heard and Betty-Lou’s breathless voice returned. ‘Sorry, I just dropped the phone! Goodness, a lot can happen in a week. You never said anything at the furniture store ’do about any of this.’

  ‘I know and I’m sorry. It just didn’t seem like the right place or time, and … things have been a little hectic.’

  ‘Understandably. Look, I’ll let you go as I know you’re in a rush, but we need to have a proper catch-up about all this. First, though, I just want to know one thing: at Lenny’s place, was it really a sleepover or a wakeover?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A wakeover — that’s what we call it when the triplets stay at a friend’s house with the intention of staying awake the entire time. As in, there’s not much sleeping going on.’

  ‘A sleepover then,’ Celeste said uncertainly. Well, there had been a little shut-eye. And the intention.

  One day soon, when she and Betty-Lou were face-to-face, as planned, she’d tell her friend the whole story.

  Betty-Lou seemed to accept her response. ‘Okay. And let’s do a coffee-and-cake catch-up sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Or you could always join me at the Pink Run this Saturday,’ Celeste teased, a smidgeon of hopefulness in her voice.

  ‘Not on your life.’

  As she hung up the phone, Celeste checked the clock on the screen — she really needed to get back to work. A text beeped through, though, stopping her from moving. She checked it. As good as her word, Betty-Lou had texted the spelling of the French dance school. Quickly, Celeste typed ‘Boîte à Trésor’, ‘ballet’ and ‘Paris’ into Google. No official site came up, just Natalia’s own promotional garb or articles surrounding her. On a whim, Celeste also tried ‘boîte à trésor’ and ‘Kalgoorlie’. Still nothing. Perhaps the Parisian dance school had just been shut down since and had its heyday before the internet era — that would explain things — which meant Celeste was chasing ghosts.

  In another flash of inspiration, Celeste searched for Ursula’s business card in her purse. Madly, she punched in a text. Hiya, I hv a favour 2 ask as an old schoolmate — a bit of an unusual 1. I wanted 2 do a background check on a potential client & I know the paper u work 4 is run by a large media company. Could you possibly do a search 4 me in the archives — maybe the rural papers — & see if anything comes up on a Gertie Samson from Kalgoorlie? I wd happily help u with a few story contacts if u find anything.

  Hey, when it came to contacts, Celeste had a vague connection to the triplets’ mum, who headed up the makeup brand Toffed Up, and Araminta, an occasional hairstylist to the stars, as she’d said so herself. Ursula didn’t need to know she’d actually shared a gym class with the hair queen that very day.

  Celeste might have been clutching at straws, but she figured it worth a shot. And with that, she threw her phone into her tote and headed back towards the fitness studio. She still had much paid work to do ahead of her.

  23.

  ‘Any questions?’

  Celeste stared out at the immaculately dressed crowd at the tail-end of her library talk. At first, she’d been daunted by the
sparkling European cars parked out the front boasting stickers for élite schools on their back windows like badges of honour. And a little intimidated even by the space-age library building itself — a nod to Astonvale’s exxy council rates.

  But then, once she got up the front, she’d just let forth with everything she’d read, studied and knew about professional organising — how lives could be transformed with less mess — and it had all come out in a stream of words, actually sounding half-intelligent. In this particular case, it seemed that less preparation was better, leaving her passion to shine through.

  A designer mum, whom Celeste had heard earlier waxing lyrical to her neighbour about a duck confit ravioli she’d bought at a fine foods store, put up her hand.

  Celeste nodded at her in encouragement. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hello, I was just curious to hear more about your work with Natalia Samphire. I’d love to know how she keeps her kitchen organised. Where she stores her juicer, how she keeps her organic fruit and veg fresh, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Oh, well, I didn’t actually do anything in her kitchen, plus I can’t talk about clients anyway, because of privacy …’

  Even so, that didn’t stop the mums gathered from hammering Celeste with more questions about Natalia. The fitness guru was obviously quite the star in their eyes. If only they knew Natalia wasn’t everything she proclaimed to be — not that Celeste exactly knew who the real Natalia was.

  Celeste hadn’t been able to see if Ursula had found anything out yet. The journalist had texted back to say she was willing to help, but that she’d gone straight from the Ballet-Tastic class to another assignment and had Thursday off because she was working late Saturday to cover Natalia’s party. Which meant she wouldn’t be back in the office until tomorrow.

  After dodging all the Natalia-related questions, it was almost a relief to see a familiar face at the back of the crowd. One Celeste didn’t think she’d be all that pleased about seeing. Dolores. It would have almost seemed sweet that she’d turned up, if she hadn’t missed the entire workshop and her face didn’t look unusually worried.