The Brutal Truth

by Lee Winter

  “I…um…okay.” Maddie gave up. Great. Of fucking course, she’d have to hit her first gay bar ever with the lesbianish daughter of the most reclusive designer in fashion history. A daughter who was supposed to be going to some high-profile ball tonight but was planning to blow it off. With Maddie. At a gay bar.

  She wished she hadn’t been such a quiet, book nerd in her uni days and had gone and done the whole gay nightclub thing at least once. She forced a smile, which turned into a nervous gulp. How the hell could she be anyone’s guide to something she’d never done?

  “That sounds like fun,” she mumbled.

  “Oh it will be! And bring all your gay amis!”

  Right. All her gay friends. “Uh, yeah. See you tonight.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Skyfire

  The only gay amis, well ami, Maddie could find on short notice was Simon. Who wasn’t even gay but metrosexual enough that he could at least pass as one for a night if she begged him. He wouldn’t care—he’d probably find it a good excuse to swap cocktail recipes with the bartender. The worst part was having to ask him because…well…it led to certain sticky questions. About who she drooled over, or didn’t, for instance.

  Simon knew all about Maddie’s girlfriends over the years. It’s just there weren’t that many. There’d been a secret thing with the closeted Rachel, a crazy month with crazier Monica. In New York there was a regrettable one-night stand with a fellow waitress after their staff Christmas party. After that, there’d been no one else.

  Then she’d met Elena. And Maddie sure as hell didn’t need Simon knowing about how her hormones sat up and purred around Elena. It was embarrassing enough admitting to herself how gone she was on her boss.

  Simon was looking at her funny. “Wait, so let me get this straight.” He tugged on his best eggplant jacket. “This gym chick, what’s her name, Natalii, that you just met has, out of nowhere, insisted you get all your gay mates together for a night out trawling the gay scene around Sydney?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So why’d she ask you of all people?” he asked. “Oh wait, you fancy this woman? You told her you’re gay? Shit, awesome! Say no more, Mads. Of course I’ll help. Haven’t I been saying for months you need to get back on the bike?”

  Maddie reddened. “No, I don’t fancy her! And I didn’t tell her I’m gay. She just assumed a local girl would know all the hottest spots and asked me to show her.”

  Simon gave her a long, doubtful look. “All the hottest gay spots. Can you join the dots for me, cos I’m lost. You don’t want to date her, but you do want to show a total stranger around gay Sydney. Since when does Ms Introvert Maddie Grey do things like that?”

  “Don’t look at me like that. Okay, it’s simple. I’m just trying to win a bet, and to do that, I have to get an interview with Natalii’s mother. That’s it.”

  “A bet?” His eyes lit up. “Who with?”

  Maddie sighed. “Elena.”

  “Colour me shocked.” Simon grinned. “Now it all makes perfect sense. The boss you’re fixated on.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Mads, not sure if you’re aware, but you talk about her all the time. Elena thinks this. Elena’s won that. Well, I think she’s really hot—as in a swallow-your-own-tongue, super-villain kinda way. So I get it. So the bet’s about impressing her. That’s cool.”

  God. This was the reason she hadn’t wanted to ask Simon for help. He knew her way too well. She gave him an aggrieved look. “You talk about Elena a lot too. It’s not just me.”

  “Of course I do. I studied her business model at uni, along with those of Rupert Murdoch, Bill Gates, and Steve Jobs. And now my best friend is her PA—come on, that’s amazing. But, Mads, you don’t talk about her the way I do.”

  Maddie gritted her teeth. This conversation was going nowhere safe. “Can we just focus? Look, the bottom line is, Natalii doesn’t know I want an interview with her mother. I’m being friendly and helpful, like showing her around wherever she wants to go tonight, and hoping to get in her good books and meet the mother later.”

  “Intrigue! Gotcha. I can do that.” He gave her a kind smile. “But you do look extra freaked out. Is this your first gay club or something?”

  She gave him a pained look.

  “Figured. Hey, it’s cool. I’ve been to a gay club before. Remember Mitch? From footy? He asked me to be his wingman one time, so no worries, okay? Been there, done that. I’ve got your back—unless of course some gorgeous chick makes eyes at me and then, bam, under the official wingman rules, all bets are off.”

  Maddie rolled her eyes. The odds of him being hit on by any woman at a gay bar were at sub-basement level. “Okay. Deal.”

  * * *

  It took Simon all of six minutes to be hit on by some cute woman and disappear from her side at Manscape on Oxford Street. How the hell did that even happen? Like, seriously. And how had that awful pick-up line even worked?—“Hey, I’m not gay or bi, but I am Lebanese!” followed by snorts of laughter.

  Clinging to her overpriced espresso martini and watching Simon’s retreating back in dismay, Maddie turned to find Natalii staring at her.

  “Why would you take us to a club for the hommes?” the Frenchwoman demanded. Natalii looked super hot tonight, in tight, black leggings, white T-shirt, and a slinky jacket of faux snake skin. At least Maddie hoped it was faux. “Do I look like I want to oogle-oogle at the boys?”

  Maddie gave her a feeble smile. “I’m really sorry. Simon said the place is usually mixed. Tonight’s some special thing.”

  “Oh oui, Simon! Your obviously not-gay ami. He flirted with me the moment we met.”

  “Um… Yeah, he does that. He’s incorrigible around pretty women. Sorry.”

  “Mm,” Natalii said, but she appeared mollified at having been called pretty. “And so where are the rest? Your other friends? The lesbiennes?”

  Maddie reddened and stared at her drink, hoping a nice sink hole would open up and swallow her. “Does a Lebanese friend count?” She gave a pained chuckle.

  “Terrible joke.” Natalii glared at her and folded her arms.

  “I don’t have any.” Maddie’s admission made her feel like the worst loser. “No gay amis.”

  “How is that possible? This is Sydney! Mardi Gras, Oxford Street! You work in fashion!”

  “I lost touch with my exes. And I worked a lot of night shifts.”

  Natalii studied her for a few moments before apparently deciding she was sincere in her loser status. “Okay.” She whipped out her phone. “I shall be the one to find us some fun.” She tapped a few buttons and made some swipes across her screen. “First, we go to Butch and Femmes.” A tap. “Then Lady Luck. Then Pinkheart.” Tap, tap. “Then Grrl Fantasy. Oui? They are all within walking distance. Your Oxford Street has much convenience.”

  * * *

  It was past three in the morning by the time Maddie crawled out of the last nightclub. Natalii and her exotic accent had been popular with the clientele, and even Maddie, to her embarrassment, had to dodge phone numbers waved her way. She hated being the centre of attention, but with Natalii next to her, it was hard to avoid.

  “Tsk, non,” Natalii had declared sternly at one woman who tried to practically hump Maddie’s leg on the dance floor. “Mon ami is off the table. She loves a scary woman who would drown you in masses of dead blooms. She is not for you. Go!”

  “I don’t lovvve her, Nat,” Maddie said, slurring and feeling more than a little merry for all the free drinks that had come their way. “I mean, I don’t think so. But thanks anyway.”

  “So you keep telling me. But there is too much of the protesting. Not just on your lips but in your eyes. And now it is time we go home. But first, I have something I must do.” She pulled out her cell phone and made a call, speaking in rapid French. “It is done.” She gave a taunting smile and eyed Maddie. “Outside now. We must wait for the ride and then…skyfire.”

  Skyfire? Maddie’s pleasantly bu
zzed brain turned that one upside down and all around, unable to fathom what it meant. She followed Natalii outside and shivered against the cold. Her jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt, and leather jacket were no defence against Sydney’s frigid, early morning air.

  Within fifteen minutes, a limousine turned up and, hot on its trail, a clutch of paparazzi on motorbikes and in cars.

  Véronique Duchamp slid out of the back seat and tottered over on skewer-thin stilettos, screeching at her daughter in French with a sprinkling of English. Maddie worked out only about two words in every ten. The gist was something about her daughter ditching the ball and asking if this was where she’d been all night. And then, in sharp English, who the gutter wench was beside her.

  Gutter wench?

  “And so it goes, ma chérie,” Natalii muttered to Maddie with an expression that was both amused and rueful. “Maman disapproves of me. And you. Of course she would hate you much worse if she knew your boss’s name. Worse still if she knew what it was you were really up to tonight, oui?”

  “Up to?” Maddie swallowed. “What do you mean?”

  Natalii whispered in her ear. “You think you are the first to try and get to my mère through me? Tsk, Madeleine, I thought you realised I was smarter than that. No one can use my hotel’s gym without actually staying there. So your motives? Already I knew. But you were also honest about knowing me. I could see you were so confused about your lady. Your eyes? They are so…what is the word…wistful when you speak of her. So I got a fun evening, and I think you got an education on what else there is out there. And now, I give you a gift of the skyfire.”

  With that, Natalii took her in her arms, dipped her, and kissed her thoroughly as the frenzied paparazzi snapped pictures. Flashes lit up the street. Out of the corner of her eye, Maddie was dimly aware of Véronique stabbing her finger towards Maddie as she shrieked at them.

  Natalii let her up and winked.

  Maddie stared back in a daze, at last understanding what skyfire meant. Fireworks.

  “To make your lady of the many flowers green.” Natalii grinned against her ear. “Something to make her think about what she is missing, yes? You are very welcome.” She cupped her cheek. “Au revoir.”

  And with that, she was gone, sliding inside the limousine after her mother, who was still berating her and being thoroughly ignored.

  “Hey, love. Dave Stevens, Daily Tele,” a masculine voice said near her ear. “Can we get your name? How long have you been on with Véronique’s kid? What’s she like in bed?”

  * * *

  SYDNEY CONFIDENTIAL

  French Connections

  It turns out the eccentric and elusive French designer Véronique Duchamp, in town for Australian Fashion Week, may not be one to party, but her daughter certainly is. Natalii Duchamp, 31, hotly tipped to be taking over her mother’s global design empire this year, was spotted romancing a mystery woman outside Grrl Fantasy. The Oxford Street nightclub, famous for plenty of celeb lesbian hook-ups, saw Ms Duchamp pucker up with the redhead, pictured above, while her mother offered a shrill, French and English running commentary that dented all eardrums and didn’t sound in the least bit flattering. (Unless “gutter wench” has a new meaning.) So who is this lucky lady being wooed by Ms Duchamp? Let us know. We’re all ears, dears!

  * * *

  “You are SO unbelievably dead!”

  Maddie groaned, pulling the phone away from her ear to better manage the chai latte, garment bag, and bulging folder of “highly urgent” proof sheets she was juggling, as she rushed down Elizabeth Street.

  “I mean it,” Felicity continued. “She’s on the war path. She fired two models at the Whale Beach shoot before seven—one for being too tall and one for being too too, whatever the hell that means—and I think Aleisha is about three seconds away from a nervous breakdown, because how’s she supposed to manage a shoot showcasing different swimwear body shapes with only one model? Perry’s trying to calm Elena down. So where the hell are you? Where’s her damn calming tea? And, oh yes—what on God’s green earth were you thinking!”

  “Hey,” Maddie said in protest, “Natalii kissed me! And I’m almost there.”

  “Do you think I care who braided whose hair? It was unprofessional! You let that French devil spawn try to swallow your tonsils in front of cameras, and Elena threw the Tele so hard across the room I think the headline is now imprinted on the glass.”

  “She what!”

  “Oh God! No! She’s just threatened to fire Perry. We’re all doomed. No one’s safe. Get your pathetic ass up those stairs in two minutes or so help me, I’ll kill you myself. Oh, and for the record, I’m not helping you clean out your desk. Because you brought this on yourself. You and your stupid wandering lips.”

  Maddie sighed. “But I didn’t…” She waved her pass at the security guard. Her call ended just as the elevator opened.

  She scurried into the steel box, pushed the button, and waited impatiently as it counted up the floors. Okay, so she might be about to be unemployed. Again. She needed a strategy. Something not involving catering. With her parents. She wouldn’t ever be that desperate.

  Her mind went blank.

  Crap.

  When the elevator opened, she raced out. The editorial staff milling around their desks stopped mid-conversation and averted their eyes. Great. So no chance they hadn’t spotted the twenty-seven news stories and forty-one blog references that had circled the globe about the Sapphic-smooching daughter of fashion’s most elusive family.

  Not that she was counting.

  That wasn’t even the half of it. Simon had been sending her text after text. “I left you alone for five minutes!” he’d bleated at her in the first message that seemed to gasp all on its own thanks to all his shocked emoticons. It was followed by, “Okay, five hours, give or take. But not the point! Mads, call me!”

  She had not. Nor had she returned the calls from her parents, her brother, or Lisa, the gossipy former Hudson Metro News secretary in New York. That one read:

  OH! So THATS why u didnt like Jake? :-) Whatevs floats ur boat. Call me!

  “Finally!” Felicity said in a hiss, as Maddie rounded the corner. The chief of staff snatched the tea out of her fingers. “She’s only asked for it, like, ten times.” Felicity scrambled into Elena’s office like a highly strung poodle, teetering on her nose-bleed-high Manolo Blahniks.

  Maddie put down the folder of proof sheets and hung the garment bag she’d picked up for her boss in the small closet outside Elena’s office. She plopped in her seat and turned on her computer.

  “Ms Grey…” a voice floated from the other room.

  Maddie’s head snapped up at the use of her surname. Uh-oh.

  Felicity exited Elena’s glass office with an I-told-you-so look.

  Maddie grabbed a notebook and headed inside.

  She saw Perry first, looking dashing in a lilac shirt, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark grey Armani jacket. His thumbs tapped the outside of them in a nervous beat. He turned fully to watch her enter, a curious look on his face.

  Relief coursed through her. He still seemed employed, so that was a start.

  “Yes, Elena?” She focused on her boss’s narrowed eyes, Maddie’s pen poised for notes.

  “Well, well, look what the gossip columnists dragged in.” She raked her gaze over Maddie. “You know, Ms Grey, when I predicted your abject humiliation, I had no idea you’d take me so literally.” Her voice dripped with ridicule.

  “I can explain!”

  Perry began to edge past them towards the door.

  Smart man.

  “Explain?” Elena plucked a worse-for-wear newspaper off her desk and held it up. It showed Véronique jabbing a finger towards Maddie while screaming in her face. A face that was covered in the soft lips of a certain sexy, young Frenchwoman. “While I did not expect you to win our bet, I never expected you to do the polar opposite. I don’t recall asking you to antagonise the world’s leading fashion designer i
nto an aneurysm.”

  Perry froze, and his head whipped around, intrigue lighting his eyes. “Bet? What bet?”

  “Our bet,” Elena said, teeth gritted, ignoring him, “was to acquire the attentions of the mother, not the daughter. And I wanted an interview, not a blood feud!”

  Perry looked from face to face and back to the article. “Wait…your bet was about whether Maddie could get Véronique Duchamp’s attention? The Véronique Duchamp? Who loathes and detests all media?” He gave a low whistle. “Okay.” He turned to his boss. “So what does she get now that she’s won?”

  Elena snapped her head around to glare at him at the same moment Maddie’s jaw fell open.

  “Won? Does this look like she’s won?” Elena pushed the paper right in front of his nose.

  Perry edged a finger to the top of it and pushed it down and out of his face. “Actually, yes, it does. If attention was the goal agreed upon, I’d say Véronique looks fixated on Maddie. No attention lapse there at all.”

  “I meant positive attention!” Elena said. “Madeleine knew exactly what I meant!” She turned to Maddie, who promptly nodded. “See!”

  “But that wasn’t the bet. Was it?” A naughty smirk spread across his face.

  Good God, does the man have a death wish?

  Elena’s expression looked like thunder.

  Perry smiled back, apparently unmoved. “Well, you both win, then. Or lose, if you prefer. Maddie did technically get attention from the designer. But not the attention you wanted. So what do you both get?”

  Maddie stared at Elena, who was sending daggers at her art director in a way which would make most men cup their gonads and mutter “mercy”.

  “Uh, honesty,” Maddie said, still in shock. “We each have to tell the whole truth. Me for a whole day. Elena for a week.”

  Perry rocked on his polished heels and looked incredibly impressed. “Bold move, Maddie.” He turned to Elena. “But how will that be any different for you?”

  Elena smiled and seemed to regain some of her equilibrium. “My point exactly.”