The Brutal Truth

by Lee Winter

  No kidding. Maddie had been there for God’s sake. Véronique hadn’t even sent an acknowledgement. Maddie thought she knew why. Flowers were the only thing everyone knew that the mysterious designer liked. So, Elena had joined a queue of every other hopeful wellwisher, from Vogue and Elle to CQ, using floral tributes to vie for favour with her.

  Elena glanced back, catching Maddie mid-thought. Her shapely eyebrow lifted. “Something to add? You have some contrary thought in that fevered brain of yours?”

  “What?” Maddie said, startled. Her boss’s mood had degenerated from irritated to full-on bitch mode.

  “Your face.” Elena waved her hand. “It speaks volumes. What is it?”

  “I…Nothing.”

  “Nothing,” Elena parroted back at her and gave her a sharp look. She’d been doing that a lot lately. “Could you actually be less honest? Is truthfulness too hard? Am I asking the universe?”

  Truthfulness? People didn’t want the truth. She told Elena as much.

  Elena gave her a contemplative look. “The world would run much more smoothly if people were able to give and receive the brutal truth. Without omission. Without guile or bright, fake smiles.”

  Maddie gave her boss a sceptical look. Yeah, sure. Where had the brutal truth been at the Lancôme gala two nights ago when Elena had patted Richard’s arm and suggested they should “give the drinks a miss tonight” because Elena wanted to cut down? Maddie had known what Elena really meant the moment she’d overheard the whispered words. She wanted him to cut down.

  “So quiet.” Elena’s look was challenging. “I remember a time when you were more than keen to share your passing thoughts with me. There was a time you’d feed me homemade goods and tell me your secrets without a lick of self-censorship.”

  There was an edge to her voice—both speculative and dangerous. She had not mentioned New York since Maddie’s birthday. This was new. Maddie eyed her. Had the goal posts just shifted?

  “You told me those days were over.” Maddie’s tone was cautious. “Back when I took this job.”

  Elena said nothing and tapped her fingers on her desk. She gave her a cool look. “Out with it. Véronique? You had a contrary viewpoint. So share.”

  So they weren’t touching that topic. Maddie sighed. “The flowers. They were a bad idea. We just became one of the rest, clamouring for her attention. We didn’t stand out. We needed to not be one of the other ‘cockroaches’ begging to be seen.”

  “And you, of course, would have known how to stand out? I suppose when one wears garage-band club gear, it is hard not to be noticed.”

  Maddie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Elena brought up her old look so often that Maddie wondered if she missed it. “I didn’t say that I would have known, but yes, I think I could have gotten her attention way better than five thousand euros worth of flowers did.” There.

  “Is that so?”

  Maddie ignored the mocking tone and nodded.

  “You are aware, no one in the world has yet won an interview with her?” Elena’s voice dropped to a challenge.

  Maddie hesitated for a second. “Yes.”

  “Yet you, my personal assistant, with limited journalism experience and zero fashion sense, believes she could get Véronique Duchamp’s attention better than Style Sydney’s team of experts? Better than CQ or Vogue? Better even than me, who has tried for two decades?”

  “Yes. I could get Véronique’s attention.” Squelching her brain’s plea for sanity, she added, “I’d bet on it.”

  Elena eyed her with keen interest. “You’d bet on it?”

  Maddie gulped. The intrigued, predatory gleam in Elena’s eye was doing funny things to her insides. She licked her lips nervously. Well she’d committed to insanity already, might as well go all in. “Okay. Yes. Sure.”

  “You. Would. Lose,” Elena said with absolute certainty.

  Maddie’s eyes widened, as she realised her boss might actually be considering this.

  “If I win,” Elena began, “and I will, I want something from you that you seem incapable of doing anymore.”

  “What?” Maddie was mystified as to what she could possibly have that Elena would want.

  “Honesty. An entire day of complete honesty. Every question asked, you answer truthfully. None of your perfectly safe answers that tell me nothing. None of your boring, Stepford-wife blandness I’ve endured of late.” Elena’s eyes were sharp and bright now. “The whole truth to me. On everything. Well? You may surrender now.” Her gaze flicked back to her layouts, and without looking up, she added, “I will not be shocked.”

  Maddie stared at her. What sort of a crazy-assed bet was this? Elena wanted to hear all the times in a day that she was pissing her off? All the times Maddie admired her ass and wanted to push her against her desk and… Oh. She coloured as she realised the full horror of what Elena’s terms would entail.

  Elena’s cool eyes flicked back up and seemed to be dancing with mischief.

  Did she know? How could she? Maddie’s brain was in freefall.

  “Still here?” Elena said with a lazy drawl. “Please capitulate, then exit. Some of us have work to do.”

  The mockery set Maddie’s teeth on edge. It was just so…Elena. This presumption of victory. Of thinking she knew people so well. Like when she told Maddie she wasn’t a journalist.

  “I’ll do it,” Maddie said. “And if I win, you have to do the same. The brutal truth to everyone for a day.”

  Elena leaned back in her chair. “I do that anyway. Not much of a prize. But suit yourself.” She gave a tiny shrug.

  Seriously? Elena thought she didn’t lie? Everyone lied. “Fine. A whole week if you lose, given you seem to think it’s so easy.”

  “Since there is no chance of you winning, you have a bet.” Elena’s expression was smug. “You have from the time Véronique arrives here ahead of Australian Fashion Week, till the end of the month, when she leaves. Would that be sufficient for you to pull off the impossible? Or should I say, the delusional?”

  Maddie glanced at the desk calendar beside Elena. Three weeks? She was insane to agree. This was complete madness.

  In spite of herself, she found herself nodding. She stuck out her hand.

  Elena took it, her warm, soft skin sending a pleasant shock through Maddie’s fingers. She shook it and oh so slowly released Maddie’s hand as she smiled. It was a smile that established who was the shark and who was the foolish piece of plankton.

  “Good. We’re done.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The Game is Afoot

  Maddie hit newspapers, the internet, magazines, and gossip columns. The secret to reaching Véronique had nothing to do with the designer. Elena had said it herself. Succession plans. The daughter would be the key. She’d have her mother’s ear at the very least. And, by the sound of things, she’d also been overlooked by a media pushing past her to get to her mother.

  So, Natalii Duchamp (two i’s, she assiduously noted) became Maddie’s sole focus for the next week, as she read everything about her she could get her hands on. Thanks to Natalii’s small but public, social media presence, Maddie discovered her interests (abstract art, rap, photography), education (a tiny French school, then an elite design college), and goals (to have her own fashion line)—if Maddie’s basic French was accurate.

  It was interesting, that last point. How would having a world-famous mother cramp Natalii’s fashion design dreams? Was she resentful? Driven to better her? Or did she just ignore it?

  She called up Sydney gossip site Glam Slam. The Duchamps’ arrival at Sydney Airport, four days ago, had caused a mini sensation. A tall, thin man pushed a trolley piled high with luxury suitcases. Véronique was beside him, impeccably dressed, barking instructions in French at the stoic-faced man, while lighting a cigarette. Natalii hung back, looking bored. She was about thirty, pale, and with slicked-back, midnight-black hair. Her clothes comprised a distressed indigo denim and T-shirt ensemble that was definitely not part of he
r mother’s range.

  So. Rebellious, then. Maddie made some notes and hit Play on the now infamous scene of an airport security guard ordering Véronique to put out her cigarette. Véronique did so—on the man’s polished boot. Only the excited throng of photographers had prevented that from escalating into something much worse. While all eyes in the video were on the indignant Frenchwoman and the enraged guard, Maddie studied Natalii.

  The woman had taken a step back and had turned away from the scene, her face tight and closed. Her body language screamed, I’m not with them. Her arms were folded across her chest, revealing biceps that were extremely well toned. Maddie added another note—gym junkie.

  She switched to the series of Sydney Confidential photos taken the previous day of Véronique. Thick sunglasses and a stylish, floral dress with an outlandish silver cape. The designer was stepping out of The Pierre at Double Bay, using her closed umbrella to jab at the paparazzi, shooing the cafards away. Maddie noted the hotel’s name, did a quick Paris-to-Sydney time conversion, factored in a day for jet lag, and grinned. She set the alarm on her phone.

  * * *

  At six the next morning, Maddie stopped in at work, fired off a few emails, and grabbed the gym bag she’d brought with her. Just as she turned to leave, Elena strode into the office. What on earth was she doing in at this time?

  “Going somewhere?” Elena asked, expression curious.

  Grip tightening on her gym bag, Maddie said, “I have a lead on Véronique. I thought I should jump on it now if you want me to have a chance at getting that interview.”

  Bet or no bet, Maddie knew her boss would give her entire impressive wardrobe for an exclusive with Véronique.

  Elena studied her, incredulity clearly warring with interest. “Go,” she said, “but make your abject humiliation swift. I need you back at noon for the department heads’ meeting.”

  “Yes, Elena. On the staff meeting, I mean. My abject humiliation is yet to be seen,” she added, shooting her a grin.

  At her boss’s sceptical look, Maddie laughed and hurried out of the office.

  * * *

  Maddie glanced at her watch. Half past six. Good. She’d bet Natalii was still on Paris time, making it eight-thirty at night in her world and a pretty ideal workout time, given the Duchamps had a ball they were expected to attend in the evening.

  Praying her hunch was right, Maddie adjusted her gym bag on her shoulder and headed to The Pierre’s elevator. As luck would have it, several residents were heading to the amenities floor, too, and swiped their access cards. She followed, slipping in behind them.

  The small but elegant gym was nearly empty. There were no French design heiresses in sight. She slid onto an exercise bike with a good view of the door and began to pedal.

  Twenty minutes later, the room had completely emptied out, and all Maddie had accomplished was a sweat.

  Suddenly, irritable French spoken in rapid fire shattered the quiet whirring of her exercise bike. Maddie snapped her head around to see Natalii Duchamp stomping through the door, loudly berating someone on her phone. She looked wrung out, wearing the sort of bone-weary tiredness of someone who wasn’t on local time yet. Their eyes met, and the Frenchwoman immediately muttered “au revoir” and hung up.

  “Désolée,” she murmured and dumped her towel beside a bike two along from Maddie’s.

  Maddie rifled through her rudimentary French and plucked out the definition. Sorry. She shot her a smile. “Ce n’est rien,” she replied, hoping it meant “that’s fine”.

  Natalii paused and cocked her head. “Your French is awful.”

  Maddie reddened. Oh crap.

  “But finding even one person in your insular little country making any effort at the second language is rare.” Natalii studied her and sniffed. “So, mademoiselle, I appreciate you for the effort you make.”

  “Thanks. Um. Merci.” This time she mangled it on purpose and grinned.

  Natalii winced but then laughed and waggled her finger. “Ha. Terrible. I am Natalii.”

  “Maddie.”

  “Mad-dee?”

  “It’s short for Madeleine. My mother used to love the French books as a girl. I mean, different spelling but still. She was a huge fan.”

  “Ah, Madeleine.”

  Maddie stared. She’d pronounced her name exactly the same way as Elena did.

  Natalii moved closer and slid onto the exercise bike beside Maddie’s. The LCD screen lit up as she punched up the incline. “So,” Natalii continued, “you are visiting Sydney, too?”

  “No. Visiting this gym, though, yes.”

  Natalii nodded and began to pick up her speed. She was fast, really fast. Maddie began to lift her own pace.

  “What about you?” Maddie asked. “Staying here long?”

  “My mère is here for the fashion week. I am here for her.”

  “But not for you? You don’t like fashion?”

  “I like it well enough. I like my fashion. I like young people’s fashion. Maman designs for, how do you say? The power-suit femmes.”

  “Ah,” Maddie said. It was true. Everyone who was anyone wore a Véronique. But it wasn’t anyone aged under twenty-five.

  “What is your job, Madeleine? Do you like fashion also?”

  “Not exactly.” She started to puff now that she was reaching for the speeds Natalii was at. “I work as an assistant to someone working in the industry at the moment. My boss is good with fashion, like freakishly good, but I can take it or leave it.”

  Natalii’s expression was intrigued. “So you have a boring job in fashion? How is this possible?”

  “I guess it’s not for everyone.”

  “Then why is it that you stay?” She tilted her head. “Is it your boss? Your eyes, Madeleine, when you talk of her, they take on a look.”

  “A look?” Maddie panicked. Was she that transparent? “N-no! That’s crazy. I don’t! There’s no look. I’m totally look free! What are you talking about?”

  Natalii blinked at her. “I merely meant you perhaps admire her. What did you think I meant? Why do you react this way?”

  Maddie wobbled on her bike at her mistake, causing Natalii to smirk. “Ah,” the Frenchwoman said. She tapped her nose. “Oui. Now I see.”

  “You see nothing! I mean my boss is a woman for one thing!” Maddie said, desperate for her secret not to be so damned obvious. “So whatever you’re thinking is wrong.”

  Natalii ceased to laugh…and pedal. “Wrong?” She glared. “What is bad with this? I see nothing wrong with embracing the love of a beautiful woman.” Her expression dared Maddie to disagree.

  She almost fell off her bike a second time, realising what Natalii had just revealed.

  “I’m… I mean… No… That is… I’m not opposed. There’s nothing wrong with… Of course not. I mean I’m very…but obviously not with… I mean with her never. She’s straight. And married. And did I mention straight? So it’s impossible. And she doesn’t like me even a little. Not like that. Not even in any other way, either. Well, actually I’m not sure…because there was this one birthday cupcake.” Maddie blew out a breath, beyond embarrassed. Really, what did Elena think of her? She wished the question didn’t torture her as often as it did.

  “Ahhh.” Natalii resumed pedalling. “The forbidden love?” She looked thoughtful. “Well. This is a problem.”

  “Not love!” Did she have to completely ignore Maddie’s protests? “I never said that. It’s not that, okay?”

  “What is her name? Your love that you cannot have?”

  Maddie scowled. Was she being deliberately obtuse? “I can’t say. You’ll recognise it. She’s famous.”

  “So?”

  “So, I don’t want any part of this conversation ever getting back to her. It’s embarrassing, okay?”

  “Ah. You feel I, some anonymous stranger, could somehow risk your heart? This is it?”

  There was no way to answer any part of that question without lying. Natalii was not some str
anger. And maybe it was true Maddie’s heart was involved, at least a little—whether she wanted to admit it or not. She debated how to answer. Maddie really didn’t lie well, and Natalii was far too astute.

  “You’re not an anonymous stranger,” she admitted. “I recognised you when you came in. I know who your mother is too. And she doesn’t like my boss much at all. She called her a cafard.”

  Natalii gaped at her. “Merde! You work for the insane flower lady? The Bartell woman? There were blooms all over Maman’s house. The smell! I cannot believe this. Your boss is the infamous cockroach!” She gave a wheezing sound that could have been a laugh or something much worse.

  “God, I’m so sorry! I really didn’t think.”

  “Wait, you didn’t think? You did this?”

  “Yes, I’m her assistant, like I said. I’m really sorry. Don’t blame Elena. She left all the flower ordering to me.”

  “You must feel very much for her to take the blame for this. Your amour—it is this powerful?”

  Maddie shook her head in frustration. “I never said anything about love.”

  “You wish to have her, though, yes?” Natalii’s tone was teasing. “I’ve seen this Bartell’s picture. She is very beautiful. I would wish to have her, too, if I worked with her.”

  Maddie scowled.

  Natalii laughed heartily.

  “I apologise to you, poor Madeleine. I was seeing how green with jealousy you are. I have no interest in your insane flower lady. I have my own Adèle back home, and she keeps me well satisfied. But now that we are bonded over our mutual lady loves, we will go out tonight. You will take me to the club for the gays, oui? Girls with the girls? I wish to see the, how is it called? The Sydney scene. Then, if you do this, I will forgive you making Maman’s house smell of blooms.”

  “But…I mean…I…”

  “No, no.” Natalii waggled her finger. “It is fine. We will look at the beauties but not touch. We must be virtuous for our ladies who have our hearts. Oui? Meet me out the front of this hotel tonight at nine.” She climbed off her bike. “I have some things to do now I should not put off if I am to be so engaged tonight.”