Versace Sisters

by Cate Kendall

  'Oh, that's right, the old guy with the kids,' she muttered, falling into the cab. 'You're lovely,' she called as the cab pulled away from the kerb. 'Call me.'

  'Good-night,' he called.

  'You are lovely,' came a deep voice and Sam turned to see one of the trannies leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette and giving him a slow, long-lashed wink.

  *

  When he got home, Sam leaned heavily against his front door. That was utterly exhausting. What was wrong with him? He had a beautiful woman practically throwing herself at him and he just couldn't get into her at all. It had been two years since Grace died, but maybe he just wasn't ready. Maybe Grace was his one true love and he shouldn't try to replicate that. Maybe he was meant to be alone.

  He walked into the kitchen for a glass of juice, catching his reflection in the window. He hadn't changed that much since his mid-twenties. He was still wiry, still had his thick black hair – probably dressed a bit old-fashioned nowadays. But he was the same guy. He thought back to his single days, before Grace. He'd been attractive to women, but dating seemed easier in those days.

  His mobile beeped. He checked the in-box to see a new text. It was from Phoebe.

  I <3d 2nite

  4u A3

  @teotd ur2gtbt

  TMB

  P

  What in the hell did that mean?

  He saw the 2nite obviously referred to that evening, but the rest might as well have been Latin. He painstakingly sent back a message, hoping for the best.

  Thank you for a lovely evening.

  Sam.

  The return message came almost the nano-second after he hit send.

  AYSOS

  He'd have to get Mallory to decipher that, he decided, turning off his phone with a sigh.

  He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. He remembered what it was he loved about finding a partner. It was chemistry. He was addicted to chemistry. It might have taken months of celibacy but when he would find the woman whose lips made him ignite, whose walk made him weak and whose voice made him sigh, then he knew it was going to be a remarkable relationship. Those special occasions hadn't happened often but when they did it was like having a catherine wheel in your guts. It had happened with Grace. It certainly hadn't happened with Phoebe.

  *

  When Sam awoke the next morning, gritty-eyed and furry-tongued, the memory of last night splintered into his mind. Oh, jeez, that bloody woman! As his consciousness crawled further into the new day he became aware of a small foot pushed against the side of his head. He tried to stretch his legs but a weight was pinning him down. He looked down and saw his two girls starfished across the doona.

  Sleep-tousled hair awry, their bodies leaden, there was little point trying to move them and it was almost time to get up anyway. He grabbed Ol' Blue, his favourite weather-worn pale-blue hoodie, dragged it on and, gently closing the bedroom door, headed into the kitchen. As he put the kettle on he noticed a tear in the cuff seam. Damn, he loved this jumper. He tugged at the hole, wondering how to fix it.

  He had bought it with Grace on a camping trip to the Hawkesbury River just after they'd met. He remembered it clearly; the startling blue skies, and Grace's excitement at her first camping trip. He'd teased that she was a princess who had never had to rough it, but he'd been so keen to impress her that he'd spent a fortune in Aussie Disposals buying every camping gadget he could find.

  He'd remembered everything except his own bag, and by the time night fell on the first day he was shivering in his boardies and T-shirt. Grace had warmed him through the night, and as he lay in her sleeping arms, listening to a tawny frog-mouth seducing the nearby frogs, he thanked the sweep of stars above for sending him this amazing woman.

  The next morning, with Sam looking ridiculous in Grace's small pink tracksuit top, they'd driven into town and giggled at the meagre wares at the General Store. He'd settled for the blue hoodie that proudly boasted the name of the town.

  As the kettle boiled, he looked down and read the words on his jumper again. Pitt Town. Pitt Town; how he ached to go back.

  ~ 25 ~

  Joan knew there was no one home next door, but just to be sure she tapped on the back door before entering using the emergency key Sera kept for Jacqueline. Joan stared at the immaculate kitchen, which looked as if it had been prepared for a Vogue Living shoot.

  She glanced into the museum-like living room and tutted. Personally she'd prefer to live with Sera's relaxed housekeeping than in this cold, perfect world. Each objet d'art was painstakingly positioned and even the cast-iron fire tools were spotless – Joan could have rubbed them on the peach silk couch and not made a mark. Magazines were fanned at precise angles on the antique coffee table.

  Joan's gaze lingered on the drawer of the antique lady's writing desk, noticing the highly polished inlaid mother-of-pearl handle.

  *

  For goodness' sake, thought Jacqueline as she steered her classic Mercedes Benz towards home. How would she cater for twenty sweaty soccer players tomorrow night? Daniel shouldn't have invited the whole team back at such short notice.

  Oh well, she thought, brightening, she could make it a Hawaiian theme and ask Thomas to do a barbecue. That should cheer up this dreary wintery week. She'd make a smorgasbord of pineapple-based side-dishes. As she pulled into the garage she wondered if the boys would like to wear floral leis to set it all off.

  *

  Joan wandered back to the kitchen and studied the timber drawers with their crystal knobs. She slid one open.

  The drawer was full to overflowing. The poor woman, Joan sighed. She sorted through novelty clothes pegs, long-handled parfait spoons and dozens of other items, until she found what she was looking for.

  At the sound of the Jacqueline's car, Joan slid her Charles and Diana teaspoon into her cardigan pocket, slipped out the back door and hurried down the path.

  *

  Jacqueline lugged her shopping bags out of the boot. The last shivers of excitement from her shopping trip ran through her as she pushed the key into the front door lock. Inside, she dumped her shopping onto the kitchen table and looked around at her sparkling kitchen with pleasure. Then she noticed that her drawer, her special drawer, was open. Her stomach lurched.

  ~ 26 ~

  Although winter's rains were lashing down, the renovations had begun. With a determined charge, the bobcat knocked down another wall and Harry screamed in delight. 'Whoah, Mum,' he yelled, 'you shoulda seed that one!' He jumped up and down on the kitchen chair as he watched the backyard devastation.

  Sera bustled in with school bags hanging from the crook of her elbow, a hairbrush in one hand and a kinder notice in the other. She smiled at Harry. 'Exciting isn't it?'

  'Yeah, Mum, look, they're wrecking it, they're smashing it!' Harry had watched the machine's progress with glee since it had lumbered noisily into the backyard at eight that morning.

  Sera couldn't believe her hard-fought battle for the kitchen renovation had finally been won. She'd soothed Tony's concerns about increasing the mortgage, and dealt with Joan's unexpected and vehement opposition to the destruction of the daggy little patio.

  The woman had only given in because she could never say no to Tony, but Sera had thought she'd heard her crying in her room this morning and worried that her mother-in-law might be showing signs of Alzheimer's.

  But finally, the project was under way. Tony was in the backyard briefing the driver before he had to rush off to his new Potts Point job and Sera was planning to spend part of the day researching tiles and benchtops.

  At the end of the week the builders would start. The first step was pulling off the entire back wall, then gutting the kitchen before building started. It would all take about six months.

  Sera knew Tony was worried about the cost of the project, but she was sure it would all be fine. They'd get everything at trade prices because of his job and to save on labour, the two of them would work on the house during the weekends. She loved this
idea; envisaging herself in a pair of worker's overalls, her hair up in an Aunt-Jemima-style kerchief and an endearing smudge of plaster dust on her nose.

  She didn't need a flashy expensive house, just some space to spread out.

  Of course they would need new furniture – they couldn't watch TV on the floor, could they? And obviously a new TV, a lovely big plasma screen. The kids would be thrilled.

  She'd tried to tell all this to Tony: that she could do it on a budget and that Laminex would be fine. He'd patiently explained to her that given its location the property couldn't be under-capitalised. It was Paddington. Future buyers would expect a certain standard. They couldn't just slap up a pre-fab extension. It needed to blend with the house, it had to have a matching high ceiling, the exterior had to be seamless, the windows needed to be of a high quality.

  Sera was frustrated by this logic. She was trying to save money while he was insisting they spend up big. They had eventually agreed on a budget and she was determined to stick to it, so they could both get what they wanted.

  She looked at the microwave clock. Cripes, time to get in the car. She popped in on Joan on her way out, and found her sitting on her bed, staring miserably out of the window. What an old stick in the mud, Sera thought. It was such an exciting day. Joan should be happy they were improving the house.

  'You right there, Joan?' she asked.

  Joan turned her red and swollen eyes toward her.

  'Do you care?' She sniffed sadly.

  'Of course I care, Joan. What's wrong?'

  Joan sighed. 'This is my family home – the home I came to as a bride – and I can't bear the thought of it being hacked into like this.'

  'Oh, Joan,' Sera said, 'I'm so sorry you feel that way. But it's for the best. There are five of us who live here now, and we want it to be comfortable.'

  'There's a lot of history here, Sera, a lot you don't know about.'

  'What history, why don't you tell me?' Sera enquired gently.

  Joan looked long and hard at her and Sera felt like she was being assessed, as if Joan was deciding if she could be trusted.

  'You don't understand and you never will,' Joan finally said and turned back to the window.

  Sera gave up, gratefully closing the door on Joan and her misery.

  ~ 27 ~

  The spacious change room in the rear of D'Accord was as well appointed as Oprah's walk-in wardrobe. The wall of mirrors reflected the silk-upholstered wingback armchairs and the cedar coffee table offered a refreshment of chilled herbal tea and dried fig morsels.

  The evening gown Bella was trying on was proving to be quite problematic. She didn't know how she'd ended up in the midst of a flurry of chiffon, considering she'd popped in to buy a simple shift dress. It was the power of the Rodeo Drive sales staff. These women were pedicured killer bees, furiously attacking any potential customer as soon as they walked in the store. They could sniff out a person's financial worth with a subtle inspection of bag, sunglasses and shoes. And the drones immediately presented anyone wearing this season's Valentino, as Bella stupidly was, to the Queen Bee – the Store Manager, or in LA terms, the Vice President of Procurement Motivation. This incredibly persuasive woman had Bella ensconced in the carpeted cavernous space before she could say 'liposuction'.

  The bodice of the empire waistline dress seemed to stop at her underarms and the seam cut right across the middle of her breasts. The dress's shoestring straps indicated that it was definitely a no-bra frock but the flimsy cups of the gown offered no support at all. As Bella was carefully picking up her right boob for the third time to convince it to stay in the top of the dress, the Queen Bee stuck her head through the heavy taffeta curtains.

  'Need any help?' she smiled brightly.

  'Umm, well, the dress seems to be an odd shape,' Bella said. 'The bodice is too high for my bust.'

  'Oh, let me see. I just saw it on a girl with a much bigger bust than you and it fitted perfectly. It might need adjusting.' In a modesty-free manner usually reserved for one's mammogram technician, the woman grabbed Bella's breast and shoved it in place. It dropped down heavily a full ten centimetres again.

  'Oh, my dear, it's not the dress that's an odd shape. It's your breasts. Who on earth did them?' The saleswoman looked sympathetically at Bella in the mirror.

  'Did them? No one did them, they're originals.' Never having breast-fed, Bella considered her B-cups reasonably pert considering forty years of gravity.

  'Really? Oh, dear. Original breasts.' The woman made a show of pursing her lips. 'I'm so sorry, madam, but I don't think we have anything in this store that will fit you.'

  Bella looked at her in amazement. 'Nothing? Nothing at all in your entire shop will fit a woman without breast augmentation?'

  'Well, we cater for the majority, you see. I might be able to help you with one line in pants, though.'

  'Pants? Is that all?' Bella started tearing the dress off and pulling on her street clothes.

  'Yes, unless . . . have you had buttock implants?'

  'No!' Bella said.

  'Hmmm, well we do have one style that we reserve for our au naturel customers.'

  'Don't worry about it,' Bella said. 'Thank you anyway.'

  The woman retreated, allowing Bella privacy to finish getting dressed. Bella zipped up her boots and sat back in the armchair. She took a sip of the tea. She could guarantee it was fat, caffeine, lactose and sugar free.

  How did she end up living in such a bizarre and crazy world? A place where she actually walked voluntarily into shops that catered only to plastic people. A world where she indulged the spoilt and pampered as they winged their way to places of further pampering and spoiling.

  She hadn't planned on this strange life of floating in a global bubble. She remembered back to when she started flying. How she thought she was helping her marriage, being productive, earning an independent income.

  Now she was so thoroughly entrenched in independence she had cut herself off from everyone. She didn't even have a houseplant that depended on her.

  And then had come the thrill of her Sera joining her at the airline. She got to show her the ropes. Naively, she told Sera at the time that it was all about world travel, expanding her horizons, learning about other cultures. Turned out it was just about shoe shops and hotel amenities. Where did that all go wrong?

  It had been a great day when Sera had arrived in Sydney. Of course she'd brought all her usual drama with her and unpacked that before her toiletries bag, but that's what Bella was there for.

  'What do you mean you didn't tell them?' Bella remembered standing in the kitchen of her and Curtis's small apartment with her hands on her hips. Seventeen-year-old Sera had been there for three days.

  'Dunno, just didn't. They won't notice.' Sera had been sprawled on the couch watching music videos.

  'Sera, you're their daughter; they'll be worried sick about you. And sit up straight when I'm talking to you.' Bella walked over and pushed the off button on the remote control. 'If you're going to cavort off to another city two states away, you have to start taking responsibility for your actions. Get on the phone and ring Mum now.'

  'Do I have to?' Sera whined.

  'Yes! They'll have the police scouring Hobart for you.'

  Sera picked up the phone and rang her parents' number. She let it ring twice then tossed the phone down. 'No answer.'

  'Give it here,' Bella said crossly and pressed re-dial.

  'Hi, Mum,' she said. 'It's me. Sera's here with me . . . oh, did you? How did you know . . . oh, right. Yes, I see . . . yes, that makes sense. No problem. Speak to you later.'

  'See, she wasn't worried, was she?' Sera said. 'So they don't care.'

  'Well, no, she wasn't worried, She overheard you on the phone booking the flight so she thought you'd be here. She said that you must have had your reasons for not saying good-bye. They do care, Sera, they're just different, you know. It doesn't mean they don't love you. You must have really hurt them taking off like that.
'

  'They'll get over it. What's for dinner?'

  It hadn't taken long for the two girls to break open a bottle of sauvignon blanc and sit down to a meal that went long into the night. They'd laughed and talked, made plans and reminisced. As Bella cleaned the kitchen at one o'clock in the morning, she looked at her baby sister asleep on the couch and was so happy that she'd come. Her little Sera was finally back under Bella's wing where she belonged.

  *

  Bella sipped the last of the tea and stood, swinging her bag over her shoulder. She shouldn't have been so overprotective with Sera. She should have encouraged her to stand on her own two feet more often. But she hadn't, she'd let the guilt take over and had babied her from day dot. When they'd caught up several weeks ago at the Four in Hand, Sera had been wonderful, but her kid sister was reverting to her old ways and a tangible, growing resentment between them was the result. They really needed to have a talk.

  As Bella left D'Accord that sunny afternoon she made a promise never to go back.

  ~ 28 ~

  'Sally, you're pulling my arm out of its socket!' Chantrea scolded gently. 'I'm coming, I'm coming.'

  'But, Mummy, it's my favourite shop in the world. Hurry up.'

  The family's outing to Bookley Books in Newtown was Chantrea's way of offering an olive branch to her mother without actually admitting defeat. Dara Kim was just relieved that life was calm in her family again.

  As usual King Street was abuzz with energy and eclectic locals. Bohemians philosophised over soy lattes, uni students in Doc Martens combed vintage shops for treasures and young families in tie-dye and dreadlocks shopped for organic groceries. Blonde daytrippers from the North Shore toted stacks of shopping bags and exclaimed, loudly and in well-rounded vowels, how 'unique' and 'interesting' Newtown was.

  Chantrea asked Sally and her mum to wait as she checked on the price of a Dior handbag in the window display of Play It Again, Sam. As they waited, a small girl and her grandmother stopped nearby to cross the road.