The Brutal Truth

by Lee Winter

  Elena straightened and shot her an amused look and said, “We’re done.” She turned and disappeared back up the stairs.

  Maddie stared after her, tingles shooting through her.

  CHAPTER 30

  Green

  The difference between writing for Style Sydney and Vanity Fair was as stark as day and night. Maddie spent every spare moment on her upcoming exposé piece. She was on her own this time, with no crack team to back her up, and she felt it.

  Maddie had set out to prove to everyone she was not a one-hit wonder and, to one person in particular, that she could write hard news. She was a real journalist.

  Her story was about whether the dreams of New York lived up to the experience of young hopefuls in the fashion field who had set out from all parts of the world. She focused on the fashion industry because that’s where her contacts were, thanks to her first scoop. People knew who she was now. Her exclusive had opened fashion doors as if she were royalty. She had respect. And she had Perry, who hooked her up with some of his industry friends and contacts in New York.

  The story had become a perfect distraction, so she didn’t have to think about the word Elena had whispered in her ear. Impossible.

  She’d come to hate that word. Maddie heard it over and over at night, and it never felt less painful. So she’d thrown herself into her work, pitched her story, won a green light, then caught a plane back to New York. She had to be here anyway, for the next ball in six weeks’ time, so it worked out well.

  For the lost-dreams aspects of her story, she’d found several young designers and models who’d been lured into drugs and prostitution by a sleazy magazine editor supposedly looking for the next big thing. Then there was the photographer with breathtaking talent, whose dreams had been realised at the cost of losing his family. Success mattered more—and he couldn’t see a way to have both. Not in New York. The worst part of it was, he knew he was losing them but couldn’t see a way out of it. So he’d chosen. Every day he went to work, took astonishing photos, went home to an empty, swanky apartment, and drank to forget the addictive dream.

  After much internal debate, Maddie decided to include the sexual harassment rife within the industry. She worked her way down the assistants’ secret list. She’d made a copy of it the first day she’d found it, so she could take it home to read. Armed with the list, she’d tracked down and spoken to half a dozen of Elena’s former assistants. The worst part was when she’d asked them about what it had been like when their boss’s husband was among those making sexual demands on them.

  Maddie used aliases for the assistants, but she knew Elena would be well aware of which company, which boss, and which husband these unidentified women were talking about. The wider world would be none the wiser, but the insiders—well, they’d definitely speculate.

  It had been a difficult decision. Maddie had stayed up night after night, doubt crippling her and giving her butterflies. She wanted to shed a light on the issue, but she didn’t want Elena to suffer for it. In the end, she decided the issue was too important not to be honest about. Besides, wasn’t Elena famous for doing what was necessary, not what was easy?

  Maddie hoped she would understand her decision. But if she didn’t? Well… there was little she could do about that. Maddie was determined to give the victims their voices.

  She found the solitude of the assignment strange. She’d never worked alone before and missed the human interactions. Even Felicity’s dramatic huffs and acerbic commentary had made her feel part of a team. Working alone also gave Maddie dwelling time, and that was not good.

  Her thoughts kept drifting back to that last ball together and Elena shutting down any suggestion of them for good. It had been confusing. Hadn’t Elena been flirting with her? In the dressing room at Véronique’s show in Sydney? Those fingers trailing across her back? Called her beautiful? What was all that?

  As the days began to bleed together, she wondered if she’d just imagined it all. Or maybe it had happened, but it was just Elena’s way of expressing her interest in beautiful things, be they newspapers or former assistants. Was Maddie little more than “art” to Elena? Or perhaps a game? Someone she pulled in to see if she could, and then pushed away?

  Maddie sighed. No good would come of this line of thought. She flicked to her diary. She had two days before her Vanity Fair deadline and five days until she saw Elena again. The Foreign Correspondents’ ball. She was looking forward to hearing the highly respected war correspondent Trent Dalton, who was the guest of honour. Maddie had been reading his work behind the lines of trouble spots in the Middle East. She appreciated that he often made the local people the story, not the military objectives.

  Thoughts of the ball brought up her next problem: What to wear. She had rejected every suggestion Perry had emailed her. Her cheeks still burned in humiliation at Elena’s softly worded suggestion. Dress for yourself, not someone else. That was rich, since Elena was the one who’d come up with the shortlist of dresses for her last time.

  There was a sharp rap on her door. She frowned. Who would visit her? Only Simon and her parents knew the address of the Airbnb apartment she was staying at in Manhattan. Maddie scrambled to her feet and opened the door.

  “Ah. Good, you are here.” Natalii brushed past her in a rustle of packages. “Okay. I am ready. We must work with what we have, oui?”

  “Um…what?” Maddie closed and locked the door behind her.

  “It is no time to lose.” Natalii wagged her finger. “Fear not! I have it right here!” She held up a garment bag.

  Maddie stared at her. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you again, but when I emailed you for advice on what to wear for the ball, I didn’t mean for you to turn up. And why aren’t you back in Paris, making wedding plans?”

  “I was already here for business. I have been on the Facebook talking with your Simon. He explained everything. Now my mère and I, we have the solution. Oui? A way for you to be unforgettable for your woman.”

  Maddie sank into her sofa. “My woman?” She shook her head. “Okay, I’m afraid you’re going to have to back it up a bit. Can we go back to the beginning? What did Simon say?”

  Natalii laid the garment bag across the kitchen bench and eyed her imperiously. “He informed me of this disaster of your Legends ball in Sydney.”

  “Disaster.” Maddie’s stomach plummeted at the reminder. “One word for it. So what exactly did he say?”

  “He sent me the photos from the newspaper,” Natalii said. “Of you in the magnifique dress. He said you were too, what is the word, self-consciousness, to enjoy yourself. And that your Elena did not care when an oaf in her employ forced you into dancing. And he says you think that she did not care for you at all. Your dress, it was the cause for this state of affairs, for you could not be you. Well!” Natalii waved towards the garment bag and then sat on a sofa cushion beside Maddie. “What is the use of knowing the greatest designer on the planet if you cannot use her? Mm? Do not worry, I asked Maman to help me a little, too!”

  Natalii grinned at her own joke. “Anyway, this time, you will be you, and your lady will gasp and swoon.” She nodded as though this was a certainty.

  “Natalii.” Maddie’s mind was reeling. “It’s really sweet you thought to do this, but it’s useless. Elena made it clear she is not interested.”

  “Oh? And how did she do this?” Natalii gave her an arch look. “You forget I have seen you two together. The chemistry? It explodes!” Her hands flew apart like a bomb blast.

  “She told me she was getting a divorce, being watched by the world for cracks, and couldn’t afford to make mistakes. That it was impossible for someone in her position.”

  “And when did she say this? Before or after the dancing oaf?”

  “After. I’d gone outside to leave, and she followed and said all that.”

  “Ahhh,” Natalii said. “Let us review—your boss, the one who does not care, the one who has such indifference, runs after you to tell you the
se things. Your Elena, she does not do this often, am I right?”

  Maddie was shocked the thought had never occurred to her. “I guess not.”

  “Oui.” Natalii nodded, satisfied. “And she told you she is to be divorced so mistakes cannot be made.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So if she is not interested, why tell you about this divorce? Hmm? Why not say, ‘Go away! I do not like you that way and never will? Be gone!’”

  “Um, because she didn’t want to be mean?”

  Natalii laughed and slapped Maddie’s thigh. “Your Elena loves to be mean. I see her; it amuses her sometimes. It is a game. Non. That is not it. Divorces, they are temporary. She is telling you there must be patience. She says not now, not yet. She does not say non.”

  “She said it was impossible.”

  “Because she is still married. Oui?”

  “Um.” Maddie was suddenly a lot less sure of what Elena’s words had meant. But she knew, absolutely knew, she shouldn’t dare to believe. Even so, the swell of hope in her chest was breathtaking. “Oh…” She exhaled again.

  Natalii beamed. “So, here I am. Here to make you happy, the way you make me and mon Adèle blissful.” She rose, unzipped the garment bag, and carefully lifted the outfit.

  Maddie stared. “Holy…Oh!” She leapt up and rushed to the outfit and trailed her fingers over the material. Then she hugged Natalii, who laughed in her ear.

  “I take this to mean un succès?”

  “Oui!” Maddie was in awe. “Holy shit! Your mother could do a whole new line with this. You know that, right?”

  “Oh, I do. But it is my design, and I am already doing a whole new line with it. This is the first piece in my own label, Natalii. You shall be my model for the evening. Make sure you tell them all who made it when the photographers go snap, snap, snap. Okay?”

  “I will,” Maddie said. “Oh my God. I think Elena’s brain will explode when she sees this design.”

  Natalii frowned. “That is a good thing?”

  “Oh yeah. Really good. A new Duchamp design? Except the twist is it’s the daughter now? Wow, she’ll…that is…” She faded out as a thought hit. “I mean if she’s still speaking to me.”

  “Oh? Why would she not be?”

  Maddie winced. “Just before the ball, a big magazine article I wrote will come out. It exposes a really touchy subject of hers. And it’s a bit too close to home. Like, really close.”

  “It sounds an important thing, this subject?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then if your lady is worth anything at all, she will not mind. She will know you did not do this to hurt her. That it is worthy.”

  Maddie didn’t say anything. She truly didn’t know which way Elena would go on this. It was different when she had chosen her assistants over her husband. Everything had been out of the public eye. Punishments delivered in secret. Soon, though, people in Elena’s industry, people she worked with every day, would figure out the truth. She would feel humiliated. Maddie’s heart thudded painfully at the thought. She never wanted to hurt her, but she could see no way around it.

  * * *

  Vanity Fair splashed her story on its cover. It showed a picture of an artfully posed assistant-type woman with black gaffer tape over her mouth and a haunted look in her eyes. A broken camera, next to a pair of glittery heels, lay smashed on the floor. The headline read: Fear and Clothing in New York: The Truth About Shattered Fashion Dreams.

  The story went viral the moment it hit the internet. Her article was linked to by every major fashion blog, and sparked conversation and debate about what fashion hopefuls went through to get ahead. Her phone went insane again, with congratulations from everyone. The only name that had not appeared was Elena’s. Maddie didn’t hear a single, curt syllable out of her.

  Well, not until the day of the ball.

  * * *

  I’ll be coming from the other side of town. You will have to make your own way there. E.

  That text pinged six hours before they were due to meet and sounded way too pissy to be safe. Maddie immediately called Perry, who was based at Style New York again along with his mercurial boss.

  “On a scale of minor meltdown to thermonuclear, how pissed off is Elena at me?” Maddie asked as soon as he answered.

  He laughed. “Ah, Maddie, I wondered when you’d stick your head above the parapet and call. You have a mammoth set of ovaries, I’ll give you that.”

  Maddie chewed her nail anxiously.

  At her silence, Perry said, “Look, she’s not talking about it at all. She went quiet and fired a few minions for incompetence, and that was it. She looks ready to explode, though, and everyone’s keeping their distance. Felicity is threatening to throttle you on sight, yet again, for upsetting her goddess. So, you may wish to practice your duck and cover.”

  Maddie winced. “Did the fired minions deserve it at least?”

  “Of course. I’m sure even you know the saying, ‘Blue and green should never be seen, unless there’s a colour in between’. Well, they didn’t. They were walking eyesores at Style’s accessories department and should know better. Speaking of, when are you coming in to pick out a dress? I’ve stashed a few from up-and-coming designers who want to be noticed. I can see you at…hmmm…two today. It’s cutting it mighty fine, but still…”

  “I’m not coming in. I’ve found my own outfit.”

  “Maddie! Are you cheating on me?”

  She laughed at his shocked tone. “And how. Wait till you see.”

  “Please, tell me you’re not cruising Target. I would have to disown you if you embraced the perils of polyblend. I have limits.”

  “No. A certain Duchamp lady has provided me with something. It’s Natalii’s new line. Reserve judgment until then.”

  “Natalii’s?” Perry gave an intrigued half snort, which Maddie took as approval, and said goodbye.

  * * *

  The Plaza Hotel on Fifth Avenue was thumping with upbeat music and a crush of people when Maddie arrived. Her nerves were channelled into one thing, coping with the impending arrival of Elena. Would her former boss publicly flay her alive or take her into a side room for the inevitable?

  “Here, over here! Miss?” A flashbulb went off, and she turned to see a few photographers snapping in her direction and several fashion bloggers holding microphones.

  “Who are you wearing?” asked the closest one, standing next to a tripod-mounted camera. “I don’t recognise it.”

  Maddie thought she knew her from a blog site, Daring to Dazzle? Dazzle-something anyway.

  “Natalii. Two i’s.”

  “Two i’s? As in Duchamp? As in daughter of Véronique?”

  “Yes. One and the same.”

  The woman’s expression transformed. “Oh my God,” she breathed, and hyperventilation seemed a real possibility. “Is this the world’s first look at it?”

  “Yes.”

  “When does the collection drop? Why you? What do the other pieces look like? How many are there? What do you know? I have so many questions!”

  “All details are on her new website, nataliiduchamp.com.” Maddie caught sight of an elegantly suited, dark-skinned man in the distance.

  Perry stopped dead as he glanced towards Maddie. He pointed at her outfit, then fluttered his hand over his heart in approval. He pointed inside the building and then turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  She smiled. “Sorry, I have to catch up with some people.”

  “Okay, sure. Any time. And thanks!”

  As she moved off, out of the corner of her eye, Maddie saw the blogger tapping furiously on her phone, doubtlessly alerting the world of another Duchamp breaking into the fashion world. She threw back her shoulders and entered the ballroom with a confidence she truly felt this time.

  “Maddie Grey, isn’t it?” asked a woman approaching with a genial smile. She was blonde, attractive, with keen eyes and a slow, easy stride.

  “That’s me.”

 
“Theresa Hunter from Time Magazine. I saw your piece on broken fashion dreams in New York. That was sensational stuff.”

  “Thanks.” Maddie brightened.

  “So who was the business executive? The one with the groping husband? We all want to know.”

  Maddie’s enthusiasm faltered. “I’m not saying.”

  “It’s all anyone’s talking about. How about a hint?” Theresa grinned. “I’ll take an initial. Can I buy a vowel?”

  “No. If I told you the name, then that would help identify the victims.”

  “Good point. Well, if I can’t buy a vowel, can I buy you a drink?” She threw in a cheeky smile, proving she meant it exactly the way it sounded.

  “Drinks are free,” Maddie said, unimpressed anyone in the media would suggest she put victims at risk. “Sorry. Right now I have some friends to catch up with.”

  “A shame. I was going to introduce you to mine. Trent Dalton and Alan Kadinsky. We’ve all just come back from the Middle East. I’m a war photographer.” Her cocky smirk fell over the wrong side of the line on arrogant.

  Maddie hesitated. She would really like to meet Dalton. “Maybe later. I want to talk to my friends first.”

  “Sure,” Theresa said, and gave her arm a playful pat. “Later it is.”

  Maddie turned to find herself caught in the laser-sharp focus of Elena Bartell, watching from across the room. Her pulse leaped as she saw Elena’s dress—a sleek, white gown, with a slit at the front up to her knees, the exact length of the plunge of her cleavage. Symmetry and style. Wow. She headed towards her.

  As she closed in, a man stepped into her line of sight. “Maddie!” Perry gasped, grabbing both her arms and pulling them out wide. “Let me look at you! So this is it? Natalii’s dramatic leap from the nest?”

  He studied her closely, turning her. As he did so, Maddie felt a hole being burnt into her as Elena looked at them. She glanced down at her outfit, wondering what her former boss thought of it.

  Black. Sheer. Feminine. A suit. Over the wide-legged palazzo pants lay the finest black mesh, filmy and floating, so from some angles it looked as if she was wearing a flowing, elegant skirt. Her jet-black jacket was formal, like a tux, with plunging lapels all the way down. The bottom of the jacket flared out at a forty-five-degree angle, which was matched by the parallel slash of cream-trimmed pockets at the hip and chest. Underneath, she wore an intricate, cream, brocaded waistcoat, like something out of the Palace of Versailles, with tiny gold-thread-embroidered buttons. A silk scarf, in matching cream and gold, was loosely knotted, giving her the effect of a rakish gentlewoman. There was no shirt underneath the vest, so Maddie’s smooth, pale skin provided the final counterpoint. It was formal but daring; risqué yet covered everything.