Gucci Mamas

by Cate Kendall

  ‘Charley.’

  ‘Aaahh, of course, your eldest is called James after his father, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, we call him Jack for short.’

  ‘Darling, I hate to intrude but aren’t you concerned about the …’ Beatrice lowered her voice and mouthed in a loud whisper: ‘psychological ramifications of the … well … thumb issue?’ She gestured meaningfully at Charley. ‘Not to mention the hideous dental implications you’ll be facing. What a shame for you, darling. Of course, my son’s an orthodontic surgeon when the time comes.’ Without waiting for a response she continued, ‘He’s a bit S. H. Y., is he, poor love. He might have felt more comfortable in a costume like all the other children, rather than those,’ she paused for effect, ‘soiled clothes.’

  ‘Oh no, no, I had it all planned …’ Mim began.

  ‘Of course you did,’ Tiffany interrupted as she re-joined them. ‘It’s okay, Charley, I provided extra costumes for just this reason. They’re hanging on a rack in the hall. Now, there’s a circus in the garden, Star Wars in the home theatre, food in the dining room and a quiet reflection space in the morning room if you feel the need for downtime.’

  Beatrice sauntered off to find a little man to refill her brandy and water, and Mim breathed a sigh of relief, feeling rather battered from the social onslaught. She looked over at Tiffany, who was settling Charley by showing him a first-edition copy of Tintin. It was easy to believe that she swanned around town as a typical Toorak housewife, enjoying a life of bridge mornings, manicures and cocktail parties. But Mim sensed some sadness lay beneath Tiffany’s bubbly over-privileged exterior; she knew her friend’s life wasn’t all diamonds and roses.

  Mim wandered into the domed function room where a nervous looking balloonologist was struggling to make the more-and-more-elaborate creations the assembled children were demanding.

  ‘I wanna replica of the Titanic,’ Digby Symes whined, grabbing the balloon man’s elbow.

  The poor man twisted and bent his balloons into a ship-like shape and handed it to the child, who immediately screeched in horror and exploded the rubber work of art between his pudgy hands. ‘You moron,’ he shouted at the ship’s hapless creator. ‘Don’t you know the Titanic had four funnels?’

  Felicity Symes teetered inside from the garden, bits of turf dangling like ornaments from her Manolo Blahniks. ‘Possum, what’s all the noise about?’ she enquired of her now hysterical son.

  ‘He stuffed up the Titanic, he got it wrong. I hate him,’ Digby screeched.

  ‘Now, treasure, what have I told you before?’ Felicity scolded lightly. ‘Not everyone has had the educational advantages you’ve had, my sweet. We must learn to make allowances.’

  With that she steered him outside to heckle the clowns.

  Mim saw Ellie in the corner of the room trying to re-attach Paris’s tailfeathers. ‘Well, what did you expect you silly girl, this is not a costume you can SIT in,’ Ellie reprimanded.

  Looking stunning after her day at the stylist, Ellie’s hair was sleek, highlighted with a fourth colour, blow-waved and straightened. The down-lights positively bounced off it. Her chiffon black Alannah Hill top, off one shoulder, contrasted perfectly with the wide-leg white Merivale and Mr John pants. Black closed-toe mules with a kitten heel completed her elegant ensemble.

  Pushing Paris back into the party, sans tail feathers, Ellie caught Mim’s eye and moved over to her. ‘Darling, thank God, you’re here. What a nightmare.’

  Grabbing glasses of sparkling burgundy from a passing waiter they appraised the scene.

  ‘Did you see Tiff?’

  ‘Yes, when we arrived.’

  ‘Gorgeous.’

  ‘I know … she’s divine.’

  ‘So sweet.’

  ‘Sweet, just so gorgeous. Love ’er.’

  ‘LOVE!’

  ‘What a do!’

  ‘Ohmigod, so OTT. But, they can afford it, I suppose.’

  ‘She’s paying back Cliff for being in Tokyo for the past three weeks; he only got back yesterday.’

  ‘Another pharmaceutical junket?’

  ‘With geishas laid on, no doubt.’

  ‘Apparently he’s flying in today for the party.’

  ‘God, he’s cutting it fine.’

  ‘I know. Tiffany’s furious, she’s had to supervise the entire management of this event by herself!’

  ‘No thanks,’ the girls said in unison to the waiter offering a tray of arancini.

  ‘Liz coming?’ Ellie asked, scanning the room to assess the standard of attendees.

  ‘No, she’s got something on as usual,’ Mim said, following Ellie’s gaze. ‘She wouldn’t say what of course, she never lets on much, does she?’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Ellie, staring wide-eyed at her party ally, ‘what’s going on? I mean, I love her, absolutely adore her, she’s so elegant and obviously very well-connected, but we’re her closest friends and we don’t even know what she does with her days.’

  ‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ offered Mim, desperately trying to avoid the tacky habit of bitching about a friend. ‘She can be distant.’

  ‘Distant! Hah! That’s a polite way of putting it,’ finished Ellie, smoothing a polished finger over an equally pristine eyebrow.

  A flustered Fairy Fanny flew into the room and rushed up to Tiffany, who’d been about to join Mim and Ellie.

  ‘Fairy sorry I’m late, fairy mummy, but my fairy car’s fairy engine wouldn’t fairy start.’

  ‘Well you can kiss ten per cent of your fairy cheque away,’ Tiffany muttered as she ushered the fairy out to the big top.

  Mim wandered around the mansion to check on her kids. The boys were busily engaged in a pinball tournament, but Chloe was nowhere to be seen. Heading upstairs, Mim heard giggling coming from a bedroom and found Chloe and little Willow Arbour playing with Sophie’s elaborate doll’s house. The house, an exact replica of the family home, was a gift for Sophie from her maternal grandparents. The little girls were in heaven playing ladies and gentlemen. They were in the middle of reconstructing a dinner party when Mim spoke.

  ‘Hi, girls, what a beautiful dinner party.’ She sat cross-legged on the floor, for once not caring about her white pants, to admire their little scene.

  ‘I show you, Mummy. This is Mrs Lady and this is Mr Lady and they run this house, except for Mr Lady who goes to work all the time. And this is Mrs Lady’s friends and they are all here for a dinner party and they’re having, ummm … some meat and vegetables – but not Brussels sprouts – and lots of strawberries and they’re drinking champagne …’

  As Chloe prattled on in her sweet little-girl voice, Mim gazed at her pink chubby cheeks and remembered the baby girl she had so recently been. Although Mim had long since accepted the foibles of her own mother’s parenting skills she didn’t want to be that kind of mother, coolly detached and distant. Soon there would be a day when Chloe wouldn’t let her sit on the floor and join in her games.

  Mim leaned forward and released a blonde curl that was stuck to Chloe’s cheek with a red sugary stickiness. She was filled with love for this little person and vowed to spend more quality time with all her kids, listening to them and playing games with them for as long as they’d have her.

  ‘The banquet is served,’ intoned the deep voice of the head waiter from downstairs.

  The girls shot out of the room, leaving Mim to tidy up the mess they had left in their wake. Maybe we won’t do interpretive dance next term and I could schedule time to play with Chloe while the boys are at soccer, she considered as she headed back downstairs.

  ‘Where’s my princess?’ a booming voice suddenly filled the entire house.

  ‘Daddy’s home!’

  Sophie, flanked by hordes of partygoers, flew down the hall and into the huge arms of Cliff Mason-Jackson, his face ruddy from exertion, his thinning hair dishevelled.

  ‘Daddy!!! What’d you get me, what’d you get me?’

  Cliff stood back proudly from
the doorway to reveal a toy silver convertible Mercedes Benz parked beside Tiffany’s in the driveway.

  ‘See, it’s just like Mummy’s, and it’s electric so you can really drive it.’

  ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, I love it, you are the best daddy in the whole world.’

  Cliff, puffed up with self-importance over his winning present, never doubted for a moment that he was, indeed, the world’s best father. He caught Tiffany’s eye and gave her a leery wink.

  Tiffany shook her head and stalked back into the party.

  An hour later the food had been pawed at, spilt and thrown around the room – a small amount had even been eaten, but it didn’t really count because most had come back up again in the garden and on the front steps, in vibrant pools of artificial colour.

  It was almost time to go. Mim hunted around the back garden for Chloe’s fairy wand and Jack’s whip. Passing the scullery she spied Fairy Fanny bent over to pack up her fairy handbag and fairy parka. She was about to stop and commiserate with the poor girl over what had been a horror afternoon when she heard a deep voice from behind the scullery door.

  ‘Well, hello there, Fairy Fanny, tell me … what’s at the bottom of your garden!’ Cliff’s massive paw grabbed at the girl’s dainty rear.

  Embarrassed and shocked, Mim quickly moved away and moments later saw Cliff stumble past nursing a red cheek.

  ‘You go, girl,’ Mim thought with satisfaction. But poor Tiff, no wonder she’s so highly strung. She must have a rotten life behind the scenes.

  After bee-sting kisses and promises of ‘must-do-lunch’ all round, they finally headed home. The kids were overwired and overtired. Their costumes were bedraggled and torn – except for Charley, who had grabbed a cowboy outfit, complete with noisy guns, from the Mason-Jacksons’ rack five minutes before they left. In his miniature Stetson and kerchief he re-enacted shoot-out scenes from his favourite westerns.

  Mim fantasised about adopting him out.

  It was a challenge to calm the children down. Even the ylang-ylang/lavender combo in the oil burner was fighting a losing battle. They finally succumbed to sleep after several guided meditations and some whale music.

  At 9 p.m. the house was finally quiet. Mim was exhausted; too tired even to sink into the hot, essential-oil bath she’d been promising herself all day. Instead she slipped into her favourite man-style silk pyjamas, crawled between the Egyptian cotton sheets and let out a groan of relief. ‘Please let them all sleep through the night,’ she muttered as she leaned over to turn out the lamp.

  Damn, forgot to phone James, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.

  ‘I deserve a bloody medal,’ Mim thought with satisfaction as she glanced around her immaculate home. There were still five minutes to spare before the Mothers’ Group girls arrived and everything was in order.

  They’d all met in the exclusive birthing suite at the private Toorak Hospital eight years ago. Of course, there were a couple of duds that the girls had soon ditched, but this core group of five had remained close friends ever since.

  Mim had immediately recognised a soul-mate in Ellie. She’d seen through her languid, lazy, rich-girl-about-town act and identified her as a woman of substance. She also enjoyed Tiffany’s bright company, Monique’s dry wit and Liz’s sensible, conservative manner, which kept them all grounded when they started to get a bit silly.

  Of course they were still very competitive; vying for smartest, best-dressed kid or most elaborate party – but they were also a genuine support team. On the journey from acquaintances to best friends the ladies had helped each other in times of need. In fact, they were really a refreshing and well-dressed take on the tribal society. Because they all had children of similar ages they had an innate sense of each other’s needs. Each woman knew that they could call on each other over anybody else in times of crisis. More than once, Mim had whipped around two litres of milk for Tiffany during a migraine episode; Liz had taken Mim’s children to the park during a last-minute work emergency; and Ellie, well Ellie was pretty useless really, but great at tolerating a long phone whinge while offering the appropriate platitudes.

  Mim had groaned out of bed at 6 a.m. to bring the house up to Open-for-Inspection standards. Yesterday her cleaner had washed the windows and floors till they sparkled and put huge triangular vases of lilies and grasses on the altar table and flanking the fireplace. She’d polished Mim’s precious mirrors to enhance the positive chi, and had the bathrooms glistening with hygienic cleanliness. The gardener had come in to rake out the fire and re-set it for today, and ensured the stainless-steel water features were algae free. Then Mim had carefully arranged her favourite Sheridan ecru Egyptian-cotton hand towels beside the glass basin in the upstairs bathroom and the sable Country Road towels beside the Porcher Vallo basin in the powder room. She’d spent an hour in Plane Tree Farm choosing organic soaps, and then another hour at Aura selecting new aromatherapy oils for each bathroom.

  She’d managed to get the children to school early, giving her time to pop into the chic little French patisserie to buy morning tea. Of course, none of the girls would so much as inhale the dangerous, calorie-laden aroma of the dainty pastries she had bought – such behaviour could lead to a nasty outbreak of bingeing – but it was important to offer them all the same.

  With everything done, Mim took time to enjoy some cleansing breaths and spend a few seconds in her happy place. As she opened her eyes she caught sight of her new Saeco Espresso machine. Such a satisfying purchase at the time, she reflected, moving to fill the stainless-steel jugs with skim and soy milks.

  The espresso machine more than justified its $1400 expense, Mim felt. It ground the beans to just the right consistency, made an excellent crema and frothed the milk itself. The result was a café-quality latte or espresso. It used to make her feel so happy when she looked at the machine, so full of smug consumer satisfaction. It was the latest model, everyone else had one, but not the top-of-the-line one like theirs. But now she just stared at it blankly. Where had the thrill gone? The high of ownership? Hmm, she pondered, maybe she’d better go out and buy the internet fridge she’d had her eye on. Something that high-tech would be bound to give her that elusive buzz.

  She smoothed down her stone, straight-leg pants with satisfaction. She knew she was looking good today. She had felt a tad crampy this morning so she’d carefully factored in comfort along with style and triumphed beautifully with the pants, a black Eugenie cashmere turtleneck and her favourite comfy black Gucci loafers. She felt chic, yet cosy.

  She didn’t have to open the front door to know that it was Liz who had rung the bell.

  ‘Hello, Mim, you look fabulous as always. Am I the first one?’ she said, handing Mim a bakery box. The smell of freshly baked banana bread filled the hall.

  ‘As always! Come on in.’

  Liz strode into the house with the usual long-legged elegance to her step. Her whippet physique was clad in chic workout gear as she’d just come from a spin class. Her glowing cheeks further enhanced her youthful complexion. Her blonde long hair was in a pony-tail for once, a break from her usual French knot.

  ‘House looks great, Mim,’ commented Liz, casting an appraising glance around the hall and into the formal living room.

  Mim followed her gaze with a critical designer’s eye. Yes, she thought, it did look great. But it would be better as soon as they could put the media room cabinetry in the front living room. Perhaps that was what was missing – that would definitely cheer her up.

  The two friends made their way into the open-plan kitchen. Mim shifted the Alessi fruit bowl and Philippe Starck ‘Salif’ citrus juicer to make way for Liz’s offering on the mink limestone breakfast bench.

  Liz perched on the edge of the white leather stool as Mim busied herself with the Saeco.

  ‘Latte?’

  ‘Loooove one. Haven’t had the caffeine fix yet this morning. So, how’s work?’

  ‘The usual frantic pace. I swear, as a working mother,
I do more in three days than I ever did in five – and a lunch break, what’s that? Working from home is so tricky, but I just have to keep my hand in, keep the CV up-to-date,’ – and make a bit of extra cash, she added silently. ‘Work keeps me sane, you know, it makes me feel like I have some worth in the real world.’

  Liz nodded, fully aware of the difficult reality of being a working mum.

  Mim realised she was going on too much about work. ‘And how are the boys?’

  ‘Fantastic! Roman entered his first inter-school chess tournament the other day and won four out of the seven matches.’

  ‘What a smart cookie,’ Mim said dutifully. ‘And how’s Hubert? Still practising that violin?’

  ‘He is – we’re absolutely amazed with his dedication. Ever since he fell in love with the Violin Classics CD he got from Santa he has genuinely been intent on mastering the instrument. His violin teacher can’t believe the ability he is displaying for such a young age. We’re so chuffed!’

  ‘Good on him! Looks like we’ve got a child prodigy on our hands then?’

  ‘Oh, I doubt that, he’ll probably just toss it away and go back to the Dungeons & Dragons again next week. And how about you, Mim? Are you well?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, I’m just a bit frazzled. I suspect I’m overdoing it a tad.’

  Liz put her hand on Mim’s arm and said, ‘Well, if you need any help with the kids at all you will let me know, won’t you?’

  ‘Thanks, Liz, you’re a real friend.’

  The doorbell rang again and then Monique let herself in. Her blonde Suzi Quatro hipster haircut suited her cutting edge dress sense. So on top of the fashion trends she was usually two years ahead of the other girls. Today she was wearing unbelievably gorgeous boots.

  ‘Monique, they are unbelievably gorgeous boots,’ Mim squealed.

  ‘You’re such the fashion-guru, I swear it’s in your blood,’ Liz said with a smile.

  ‘Well, after ten years as a fashion buyer it should be,’ Monique laughed, dropping her Prada sac on the breakfast bench and twirling around to show off her new footwear. ‘The trouble is that these days I have to use my own money. It was so much more fun when I was spending someone else’s,’ she lamented. ‘But I’m getting such a buzz out of setting up the shop. High Street is such a to-die-for location and can you believe it’s only two weeks until we open – ohmigod, I’ll never be ready on time!’ She paused for a moment, lost in thought, then said, ‘Anyway, how are you, Liz?’ while skimming her lips over Liz’s cheek.