Gucci Mamas

by Cate Kendall

  ‘Well, yes, he is a surgeon, and it is a bit of a tragedy. Look at what he’s wearing.’

  ‘It’s just a suit, big deal! I don’t get it.’

  ‘He would much rather be playing the Russian princess, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Way, darling, way!’ Ellie smirked over the top of her glass.

  ‘I always thought he was a bit lecherous, the way he looked women up and down, but maybe he … oh … I see …’

  ‘That’s right, sweet, he’s coveting their frocks!’

  ‘Oh dear.’ In the past such a juicy snippet of gossip would have been readily shared with the nearest circle, but now Mim and Ellie swallowed their giggles and instead simply shared a knowing look.

  Suddenly Ellie cried, ‘Darlings, over here!’ From her statuesque six foot vantage point, she was able to spot the other women arriving. Liz and Monique entered the room armin-arm with their husbands trailing obediently behind them.

  Then it happened. The big moment; planned for just that precise second. Ellie saw it first. She grabbed Mim’s arm.

  ‘Ohmigod! Check it out!’

  Tiffany, solo, stood grandly at the entrance, handing her wrap to an eager attendant. She smiled graciously around the room until her gaze caught her girlfriends. Ellie, Monique, Liz and Mim stared in amazement.

  The Mothers Superior, in their pearls and stoles, stopped judging for a minute to stare. The CPM stopped smoking and looked in wonder. The Triple Ds took a break from eyeing up the dads as all eyes rested on the new arrival.

  Tiffany looked unbelievable in a figure-hugging, full-length (size eight at least, Jennifer Gowrie-Smith thought crossly) Oscar de la Renta sequined silver gown. Her hair was coloured golden and cut in a shaggy, layered crop – à la Sharon Stone. Stepping into the room, her elfin face beaming with excitement, everyone noticed that she suddenly looked a good fifteen years younger. The crow’s feet were gone; the jowls were gone; her eyes were enormous and unhooded; a plane could land on her cheekbones. Her forehead was completely wrinkle-free and the weird little frown mark in the centre of her forehead had disappeared. Every ageing mark, line and sag in Tiffany’s face had been erased.

  She stood in front of her friends and gave a languid catwalk-model turn. The paunch – gone! The bottom – gone! The tricep-bags; the eye-bags; the saddle-bags – gone, gone, gone.

  Goodbye old Tiffany. Hello silicone-collagen-botox-enhanced Tiffany!

  ‘OH … MY … GOD!’ Ellie and Mim squealed in unison, grabbing Tiffany in a group hug – feeling for themselves just how firm her new butt was.

  ‘You look amazing! You shifty little operator, is this where you’ve been for the last six weeks?’ Ellie demanded.

  ‘Yep, I’ve just notched up a cool $100,000 worth of bod-mods! And boy, did I deserve it. The sleazy bastard is so racked with guilt he won’t say a word when the bills hit him. When he leaves me I’ll happily take this little number for a spin,’ she said, launching her new body into a sexy shimmy.

  ‘Tiffany, you are the modern face of women’s lib,’ Ellie cried. ‘You should give talks in all the girls’ schools. You’re my hero. And where is the sleazy bastard, anyway?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t see him come in with you.’

  Tiffany picked at imaginary fluff on her gown.

  ‘He’s probably in the dining room,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘I volunteered him for the decorating committee; hopefully he’s swinging off a chandelier as we speak. Oh, and by the way, I hired a private detective. I know who the other woman is.’

  ‘No way … Who?’

  Mim and the girls held their breath and squeezed each other’s hands as they waited for the next bit of juicy gossip to be revealed. This was a great night.

  ‘You know Keith Crabtree, our accountant? Well …’ she paused for effect. ‘It’s his daughter, Clarissa.’

  ‘Holy shit.’

  ‘Holy fuck.’

  It was better than the girls could have hoped for.

  ‘How old is she?’ Mim asked.

  ‘Twenty-seven,’ Liz replied coolly.

  ‘Holy shit.’

  At that moment a set of large doors slid open to reveal a glittering dining room. Each place boasted five silver settings of cutlery: one for each course. Monogrammed china, gold presentation plates, five different wine glasses – again, one per course. Each table groaned under the weight of crystal and silver condiment sets, gravy boats, salt cellars, pepper grinders, every culinary whim of the guests was pre-empted. White lilies reached for the ceiling, and violets crept across the crisp linen. Waiters stood at each table to seat the guests on chairs that were better dressed than any debutante – in flouncy white skirts with silver bows cinching in their little chair waists.

  The decoration committee was putting the finishing touches on the stage. Cliff was heading towards the entry as his wife entered, flanked by her support team. His eyes narrowed as they fell on Tiffany as though he was trying to place a familiar face. Then they widened; then widened further.

  ‘Jesus, is that you, Tiff? What have you done to yourself? You look … well, you look friggin’ gorgeous! Christ, that Portsea air’s done you wonders. Have you just got back today? You look ten years younger.’

  ‘Really, isn’t it amazing what six weeks’ break will do for a girl,’ Tiffany said breezily as she sailed past. ‘Oh, and Cliff?’

  Cliff nodded eagerly.

  ‘Your fly’s undone.’

  The Mothers’ Group girls could barely control their chortles as they made their way to their table.

  Mim flounced out her napkin and laid it on her lap. ‘Wow, this is an incredible development. You’re handling it very well,’ she said with concern to Tiffany. ‘Are you sure you’re okay about it?’

  ‘Well, of course I’m not okay,’ admitted Tiffany. ‘I was really floored when I found out. But the one redeeming thought I keep having is that I can’t wait to see what Keith Crabtree does when he discovers who’s been sleeping with his daughter.’

  ‘Slow down, Mim,’ puffed Tiffany as her little legs struggled to keep pace with Mim’s long strides. Albert Park Lake was a mirror and there were hundreds of other joggers, power-walkers and pram-pushers out enjoying the bright autumn day.

  ‘Sorry, sweet.’ Mim slowed her pace fractionally.

  The hangovers from last night’s Winter Soiree were waning in the fresh air, and Mim was keen to pump Tiffany for information now that she had her to herself.

  ‘So,’ said Mim, ‘what’s the update?’

  Tiffany’s new body looked svelte and sexy in her navy Adidas flared-leg tracksuit pants, and Guess red, white and blue windcheater. Since her emotional night with Mim she had fluctuated between feeling miserable and used, to feeling vengeful and powerful. She had been thorough in her research and, with the help of a private-eye, all evidence pointed to the fact that Cliff was indeed having an affair.

  The detective had followed his paper trail down a sordid path. It led to restaurants (when Cliff had told Tiff he was at business meetings), to hotels (instead of the office), and in one case a Gold Coast resort (not the bemoaned conference in Sydney).

  The email trail was the most obvious, though. He was so stupid if he thought his password was going to stop her from accessing his laptop. It had taken one guess. Tiffany typed ‘BIGMAN’ and was in. Sure enough, as per Mim’s advice, there were the emails in the deleted folder; a long list of them dating back to October of last year. And all of them signed ‘Clary’.

  Tiffany found it difficult reading the emails. Some were almost pornographic, as she’d expected, and quite intimate, so she was almost embarrassed to be reading this personal correspondence – until she shook herself and remembered that she was married to the recipient.

  ‘Well,’ said Tiffany, ‘I told you about this “Clary” woman, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yep, Keith Crabtree’s daughter?’ Mim said.

  ‘The very one. I read all their emails. It would seem they got together
last October at the Awards function. Sophie had the flu that night and I had to cancel at the last minute. I remember Cliff was annoyed because he thought he’d look like a loser sitting at a table with an empty chair next to him.

  ‘Then the emails started. She seemed, initially, like a bit of a stalker, which surprised me because I thought Cliff would hate that kind of thing. But he got right into it and there are lots of references to meeting at romantic locations. The prick even took her to the same restaurant he took me to on our first date.’

  ‘Ohmigod, has he no shame?’

  ‘No, apparently not, but I think we knew that.’ Tiffany shot Mim a sidelong glance. She sighed deeply and continued, ‘Then there were the weekends away, once even at the beach-house. I remember that weekend. God, I can’t believe I was so STUPID! I had picked the kids up from school on a Friday afternoon and decided on the spur of the moment to head off to Portsea for the weekend. I thought Cliff had a golf day on so I wouldn’t be seeing him at the beach-house till late that night.

  ‘We arrived at Portsea and there was Cliff’s car in the driveway. I wasn’t even the slightest bit suss! We went in and he came walking down the stairs with a huge smile on his big, ugly mug. When I asked what he was doing there he told me that the golf day had been at Moonah Links and he had popped in for a shower and change before heading out to meet the lads at the nineteenth hole. It all seemed so feasible at the time! He seemed happy to see us and said “great minds think alike”. Then we had the most wonderful family weekend away together. You know, on my way down, I probably drove past the little slut on the freeway.’

  Then Tiffany filled Mim in on the rest. Another realisation that she had had, through her traumatic journey of discovery, was that Cliff was probably planning on leaving her. At least the momentous decision to break up the marriage had been taken off her shoulders, she reflected ruefully.

  So now Tiffany had to decide on the best way to protect herself and her children. Obviously the assets would need to be liquidated and split up; the Mason-Jackson family home, the cliff-top beach-house in Portsea and the chalet at Falls Creek. But before a single thing was said or done she’d shouted herself a cosmetic fling on Cliff’s tab – it was the least the bastard could do.

  Next on the list was a divorce attorney – she was going to screw every last cent out of him.

  Stopping at the exercise station, both women pushed their way through fifty gruelling sit-ups and some leg-presses – Tiffany, somewhat gingerly, given her delicate state.

  Mim threw one of her long pins up on the stretching bar and released the strain in her calves.

  ‘Oooooh, that’s better,’ she groaned.

  They wandered down to a bench at the water’s edge and sat, watching the ducks flapping about in excitement as a child fed them popcorn.

  Mim looked at Tiffany as she stared out over Albert Park Lake. The fine scars from the recent surgery glowed pink around her hair line. She wondered how long Tiff’s makeover would satisfy her; Mim knew her well enough to know that she always felt just one more beauty treatment away from happiness. That’s how I’ve been too, she thought regretfully, but God it’s exhausting, and I never want to go as far as Tiff has. I wish I was brave enough just to let it all go; all the facials, manicures and hair appointments. She turned her attention back to Tiff.

  ‘So?’ asked Mim. ‘What next?’

  ‘Well,’ Tiffany stared at a peacock preening its feathers on the other side of the lake. She ran a fingernail along her newly defined jaw. ‘Look out world!’

  That night, post-cleansing, Mim stared in the mirror at her naked, nearly forty-year-old face and saw a time capsule. There were the laugh lines from screeching at Monique’s great sense of fun, the crow’s feet from years of smiling at the children playing at the beach, the freckles across her nose (aka facial age spots) from her sailing days. And the frown lines? They were the most valuable of all her age marks. Only a mother had frown lines like that.

  She was pleased to see her history on her face, not erased by chemicals and misguided vanity.

  She rubbed her hands over her eyes and face and looked once more in the mirror. This time she looked into her own eyes. Hello? Is anyone in there? Who are you? I don’t recognise you. You’re no longer the idealistic uni student hoping to save the world, you’re not the adventurous spirit ready to fly off to the Galapagos Islands and be amazed by a giant tortoise, or the awestruck new mum, euphoric and dedicated.

  Where did those women go and who’s left behind? She had no answers.

  Mim decided it was time for an emergency cigarette. She looked at her watch yet again. Almost midnight. She’d tried James’s mobile numerous times but it just rang out. At what point should she start ringing the hospitals? Her fatigued mind started to wander and before she knew it she’d imagined everything from the police arriving at the door to choosing her outfit for the funeral.

  Then the garage door sounded. Thank God he’s safe, she thought. Now I’m going to kill him. She remained seated in the armchair in the living room and waited for him to enter. James was heading into his study with another overloaded briefcase when she startled him by speaking.

  ‘Long day at the office, honey?’ she said without a smile.

  ‘Oh, Mim, you startled me,’ said James as he turned to face her. ‘Yeah, I had to get this report finished for a client meeting first thing.’

  ‘Did it occur to you to ring me?’ Mim asked.

  ‘Well, I did try at around seven but it went to Messagebank, then I kinda got distracted and kept on working. You should have called if you were worried.’

  ‘I tried your mobile and it rang out and I tried your direct line and you didn’t answer,’ said Mim, getting up to follow James who had walked into his office.

  ‘Oh, sorry darling, we were working in the conference room. I must have left my mobile on my desk,’ said James as he started unpacking his briefcase.

  ‘We?’ enquired Mim.

  ‘Lauren, our new account executive, and I. We were going over the PowerPoint presentation.’

  With Tiffany’s recent drama fresh in her mind, Mim was overcome with paranoia. She put her hand up to her throat to settle the stronghold.

  ‘Lauren? I don’t remember you mentioning her?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I? She’s new to Melbourne, we must have her and her husband over for lunch one weekend – their three are the same ages as ours.’

  Her paranoia momentarily settled, Mim moved on. ‘James, I have been worried sick. I was about to call the hospitals,’ she began.

  ‘Mim, you really do overreact sometimes. You know I am hellishly busy at the moment, where else would I be? When have I ever just gone out and played up? I am either here or at the office.’

  ‘Tuesday.’

  ‘Hmm?’ he was distracted again.

  ‘Last Tuesday, remember? The business lunch that went until 1 a.m. and you didn’t call me.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, that. Well that was a one-off, wasn’t it – we all had to blow off some steam after working so hard to win that automotive client.’

  ‘Fair enough, James, but I am sick of the excuses. I am so over these ridiculously long hours. I am sick of being a single mother and I am sick of explaining to the children every night that they probably won’t be seeing Daddy before bedtime.’ Mim stood with her arms crossed and her pale grey silk and cashmere robe wrapped tight to her neck.

  ‘Now look here, Mim,’ said James, finally paying full attention. He pointed a finger at her. ‘Do you think it’s easy for me? I am working my balls off to keep up at the moment, and all I get when I walk in the door is another screaming match! I am sick of your attitude, I swear to God it’s always about you!’

  Mim spluttered in indignation. ‘Me? My God, James, it’s about us! Don’t you see where this marriage is headed, don’t you see that it’s falling apart and that we’re both too busy to even realise? I’d much rather have a husband at home being a hands-on father and support team than this ridic
ulous show of wealth.’

  ‘Then why don’t you fucking well take your little tail out there and get one of those magnificent husbands,’ he said nastily, and headed off to the kitchen.

  James was pouring himself a double scotch by the time Mim flew angrily into the kitchen and stood opposite him, the limestone bench a barrier between them.

  She was furious. Blood pounded in her ears as she forced herself to calm down.

  ‘How dare you!’ was her strangled cry.

  ‘How dare I what?’ he retorted, playing the innocent, a familiar fight strategy that drove her crazy.

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ she screeched at him. ‘I am genuinely worried, James. I am constantly juggling funds, I am sick of being broke. I lie in bed at night doing the maths and it scares the shit out of me.’

  ‘Me too! I’m working as hard as I can to make the money!’ said James, taking a gulp of his drink. ‘How about you stop spending it all?! For chrissakes, I make a friggin’ fortune.’

  ‘That’d be right, blame me,’ she countered, ‘but it was you and me together as a team that made these decisions. We spend more than a friggin’ fortune just keeping up, and now we’re in a hole. How do you suggest we pay the $20,000 we owe in school fees? The $10,000 land tax? God knows what else we owe the tax department, then there’s $25,000 in credit-card bills. The bloody mortgage payment has just been wrenched from the bank account which barely leaves me enough for staff and groceries. And we owe so much on this place that I can’t see when we’ll ever pay it off.’

  ‘Yes, we did decide on this life together,’ snapped James, ‘but it means I’m the one who has to work to afford it. And then you get pissed off when I’m never home. Look, I’ve got a new client biting at the moment – I know, I know, it’ll mean more travel, but think of the commission. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘IT’LL BE FINE!?!’ Mim spat out. ‘FINE! How on earth can you say that? Aren’t you even a little bit worried? Don’t you care? Don’t you even miss us? You’re so wrapped up in your own grand high-flying world you don’t even seem to notice the children. You miss the big events, you don’t even ring them!’