Versace Sisters

by Cate Kendall

Sera nervously glanced around. Interested looks were coming their way; conversations halted.

  'Tony,' she said, as calmly as she could, 'let's go home and talk there.'

  'No, Sera, this is hopeless, you don't care about me. Taylah does, Taylah thinks I'm hot!'

  'Who is Taylah?' Sera's voice was ice.

  Taylah, witnessing the spectacle, took a step back and hid behind two security guards who were standing at the ready.

  'Doesn't matter, no one! What about this Sam character? You spend more time with him than you do with me.'

  'Tony, you're making no sense.' Sera was getting angry: this was not her idea of a night out. 'I'm going. Are you coming?'

  'No, I've had it, I'm sick of just being the service provider in that house. I'm staying with my mates, they care about me.'

  Sera looked around at the slack-jawed beer-guzzlers and the bright, speedy eyes of Freddy and George. 'Yeah great, Tony, have fun.'

  'I will, Sera, you better have a good hard think about us, because I'm jack of this shit!'

  She picked up her coat and headed for the door. She turned back to ask him once more to come home but he was at the bar ordering whiskey.

  ~ 44 ~

  Sera'd imagined the dress she'd wear, the death notice in the paper and even what music she would play at Tony's funeral. 'Oh, for God's sake!' she shouted out loud at her own macabre thoughts as she threw back the sheets and gave up any hope of sleep. Where in the hell was he?

  She crept into the laundry to make herself a decaf. And who in the bloody hell was Taylah? What had gotten into Tony tonight? It was the hundredth time she'd asked herself the same questions. She moved into the living room and looked out the front window at the black sky.

  She was waiting while the rest of the hemisphere slept. But waiting for what? For the cops to knock on the door and tell her about a terrible accident? For Tony to come back to say he was leaving her? For the sky to fall in? She didn't know what it was, but she was on the edge of her toes, ready to launch, ready to react when 'it' happened.

  She'd arrived home from the pub in a filthy mood and after slamming the kitchen door with little regard for sleeping children or Joan she'd poured herself a fishbowl of white wine. Tony was acting like such a dick. How dare he get drunk and throw accusations around like that? And who in the bloody hell was Taylah?

  Her fury was quickly replaced with worry, then usurped by self-blame. It was her fault. She flung herself into the family-worn sofa and stared at the purple glowing bars of the old electric heater. She had been so cold towards him lately. No, fuck it! It was his fault: how dare he stay out all night like this and worry her sick? She was going to kill him.

  She took a deep breath and tried to meditate. This roller-coaster of emotions would give her an ulcer if she wasn't careful. But she couldn't help it. There was so much going wrong in her life at the moment; everyone around her seemed to be losing the plot. Her mother was useless, she'd just sorted things out with her sister, and now her husband was acting like a complete bastard! What had she done to deserve so much misery?

  From above the fireplace a row of family photos smiled down: the kids; she and Tony on their wedding day, grinning like the madly-in-love couple they were; she and Bella at her sister's thirtieth, smiling at each other with affection. For a few minutes, Sera stared at the photos, remembering the moments, the people who made her life so rich. The stillness of the house hung heavy around her and tears began to slide down her cheeks. She was blessed; truly blessed. Her children, her husband, her sister, her friends – and yes, even her parents – loved her and cared about her. She'd been so caught up with her own petty nonsense that she'd lost sight of the important things in her life and now here she was blaming everyone around her for her own discontent. She felt a flush of hot, red embarrassment flood her cheeks. She was acting like a spoilt child in a toy shop.

  Poor Bella, she was just trying to break free of the shackles of motherhood that she had wrongly had to carry for so long. But Sera was scared: scared to let go, scared that she would have no one to turn to without Bella being there to tend to her every emotion.

  'God, I have to grow up,' Sera whispered to herself, suddenly shocked by the realisation of how she had behaved toward those closest to her. She inhaled deeply, her breath shuddering with taut emotion. It was time to behave like an adult and take some responsibility for her own life. Fear swept over her as she wondered whether it was too late to save her marriage.

  *

  Sera leapt up as she heard a car. But it just drove by. She flopped back down and picked up the phone again, but there was no point: it would just go to voice mail like it had all night. She tossed it back on the couch.

  A surge of fear swelled up from her gut and she almost burst into panicked tears. But the emotion was forced back down with anger as she remembered how cross she was at him making her so worried. She was so confused.

  She thought back to the events of that evening. When Tony had called and insisted she drop everything and come to the pub, she could have killed him. All day she'd been looking forward to an early night, tucked up in bed with her favourite show and a cuppa. And then he'd clicked his fingers and expected her to come running to his side because he felt like partying? Typical.

  After she'd hung up the phone, suddenly her night under the doona didn't seem so inviting. She'd felt terrible that he was asking her out and she'd rejected him. She considered how lucky she was that her husband was begging her to go out with him. How many husbands did that? Most probably loved the opportunity to be out without the ball and chain, yet there was her darling Tony on the phone pleading with her to come to the pub. She'd been rotten to him lately. She knew it, he knew it; she knew he knew it.

  But they were both pretending all was harmonious in their marriage. That was dangerous. That was just asking for relationship cancer. She needed to make more of an effort. She needed to show him she cared about him. The Royal was only around the corner.

  Darling, drunk Tony had been so happy to see her. The past month's tension had flown out of the window. It had been a warm and mutual embrace. She'd laughed with him as they stumbled around the dance floor reminiscing about their first date.

  And then he'd done the Jekyll and Hyde thing. She knew it was the alcohol talking, but often it worked like truth serum. He was right. The poor man, he was right. Turning up at the pub once wasn't about to right months of negligence.

  Sera's face dropped into her palms and this time tears of remorse flowed for the damage she'd caused to their marriage by being so selfish, so self-absorbed. She suddenly realised why she had done this to him. He was too amazing. Too good. She didn't deserve him. She wasn't good enough. He was so perfect and wonderful, supporting the family, backing her on all of her ideas, taking her side in the Joan war. She didn't deserve such a great man, so she'd shut him out.

  But seeing him tonight, drunk, aggressive, in all his imperfect glory, made her see that he was a man. Flawed, pissed, aggro and beautiful. He was struggling just like she was. Please let him just have stormed off in a tantrum and not be in some dreadful accident, Sera prayed. Please, please let me see him so I can tell him I love him and that I'm sorry.

  She stared again at the blackness outside. A couple of tentative bright birdcalls warned of the impending day. It was coming: the sunrise would be here soon. So she waited.

  *

  Tony staggered up the front steps, dead on his feet. He was experiencing the blissful few minutes between intoxication and hangover but was achingly aware of how brief this eye of the booze storm would be.

  He turned the key as quietly as he could and slipped into the house. Sera was going to freak. He'd never stayed out all night before. Now that the alcohol had cleared somewhat, he realised how crazy his actions had been: walking mindlessly until he'd arrived at Bondi, at the place where he had proposed to Sera so long ago. He wasn't angry anymore, just exhausted and very sad.

  He tiptoed into the lounge to crash on the sofa,
but jumped as a white figure stepped out from the shadows.

  'Sera, you startled me. I'm so sorry, really, I should have called –' His words were cut off by her soft lips as they kissed his. Okay, he was confused now.

  'No, I'm sorry, my beautiful husband,' she said. 'I can't tell you how much I love you.' She led him to the couch, laid him down and stroked his head for the twenty seconds it took for him to fall asleep.

  ~ 45 ~

  Jacqueline sighed deeply with contentment as she flipped through her precious cookbooks, scouring the well-worn pages for inspiration. She couldn't believe how much her life had changed in such a short time.

  Working with André and the rest of the team at Laurent Boulangerie had been the best decision she'd ever made. She'd become friends with the other members of staff, she enjoyed being recognised in the street by customers and she particularly enjoyed discovering her obvious talent for working in the service industry.

  Her self-esteem had blossomed as she'd flourished as a person. She was more confident and relaxed; quicker to laugh, slower to judge. Her own family were startled at the transformation but had embraced the new and improved Jacqueline. The boys were coming to her for advice rather than treating her like a mere domestic servant, and even Thomas had begun to discuss work issues with her.

  But the person she'd surprised the most was herself. She honestly hadn't thought she could be a valuable employee. She'd taken to her chosen occupation as smoothly as butter to hot toast. She served her customers with as much reverence as she served the food. André was thrilled with the care and precision she took with presentation. Her smoked salmon on rye had more finesse than if Neil Perry himself had stacked the capers, and her tomato-peel rosettes almost had her new boss swooning in admiration.

  It was such a thrill to be working with a sense of purpose; to have appreciation from the customers and other staff members. Jacqueline really felt that she was a valued team member, making a contribution, working towards a common goal. She got such a thrill when she cleared dishes that had been practically licked clean.

  But it had been a tough road getting to that first day. For a while there she believed she was going to have to phone André and quit before she'd even started, given the reaction at home.

  To her surprise, the opposition had been strongest from her boys, not from Thomas. She'd called them to the table for dinner two nights after accepting André's job offer and, instead of a casserole, she'd presented them with her new job prospect. The three faces had looked at her blankly, then in bewilderment.

  'But you can't,' Joshua had whined. 'You're supposed to be here when we get home from school. Who'll bring us our afternoon tea?'

  'You're both old enough to let yourselves into the house and make your own afternoon tea,' she said.

  'Yeah, sure, we might be old enough,' spat Damien in a sulky tone. 'Doesn't mean we want to.'

  'Yeah, you're supposed to do it. And how are you going to make dinner if you're working all day anyway? And do the other stuff like, I dunno, drop my sports bag off like today when I forgot it?' Joshua was hunched now, his bottom lip stuck out.

  'Dad.' Damien turned to his father with a voice-of-reason, man-to-man kind of tone. 'You're surely not on board with this idea. I mean, you can't both work. You bring home enough money, you work long hours. We need Mum here, don't we?'

  Thomas had been sitting silently, taking in the family conference. All faces had turned expectantly to him. As the man of the house, everybody knew his word was final. Jacqueline remembered how closed his face had been; how she'd thought her dream of a life of independence was finished before it even began.

  'All right,' he said. 'Let's look at this logically, men, let's list the pros and cons of your mother getting a job – from her position.'

  'Okay,' Daniel said, holding up his index finger. 'Con: she won't be able to bake for us if she's baking for other people. Con: she won't be able to pick us up from school as often. Con: she won't have time to get the housework done, and I really like my room tidied every day.'

  'And she won't be able to do tuck-shop duty and I always get free food when she's on tuck-shop,' Joshua piped in.

  'And pros?' their dad inquired with one arched eyebrow.

  'I dunno, more money for stuff for us, I guess,' Daniel said.

  'Okay, everything you've listed is one hundred per cent based on your own selfish needs. I asked for pros and cons from her position. What do you think she'd get out of it?'

  'Well,' Daniel started slowly, unaccustomed as he was to thinking of others. 'I suppose it'd get her out of the house.'

  'Good start,' Thomas said.

  'And it would broaden her CV, teach her some new skills.'

  'She could bring home some good food – for her to eat, of course,' Joshua said.

  'What about fun?' Thomas asked. 'Does anybody think Mum might have some fun and satisfaction in going out and working with people who have similar interests to her?'

  The trio had turned their heads to her, sitting in shock at the far end of the table. She'd been utterly gobsmacked by Thomas's support.

  'Mum?' Daniel asked. 'Would it be fun for you?'

  All she'd been able to do was nod and smile, her eyes pricking with tears. It was the first time her family had ever asked her that question.

  Then Thomas had delivered his verdict. 'Jacqueline, I do agree with the boys to a certain extent that the family always has and always will come first.'

  She'd nodded her agreement eagerly, sensing a win on the horizon.

  'You do a wonderful job maintaining our family, but now that the boys are old enough to start taking on more personal responsibility, and' – he glowered at his sons – 'especially in view of how selfishly they see your part in this household, I think it would be beneficial for you to have a little part-time job.'

  'Oh, that's wonderful!' she'd cried. She was just so thrilled to have their support, albeit tenuous. 'I may not be able to drop everything the minute you call, but I'll certainly always be here for you all,' she added.

  'It'll do them the world of good, Jacqueline, to learn to be a bit more self-sufficient.' Thomas was reassuring. 'Now, where's that delicious smell coming from?'

  *

  Jacqueline neatly jotted down some dessert ideas in a brand new diary and thought back to her first day of work. It had flown by in a flurry of flour, lattes, high tea and white paper bags brimming with delicacies. It had also coincided with payday, and an envelope of cash was waiting in her pigeonhole at the end of her shift. Sixty-seven dollars. Of her own. She'd earned it.

  She'd stepped out into the sunshine and patted the envelope. It felt like so much more than sixty-seven dollars. It felt like five thousand dollars. In the past, when handling her husband's money, one hundred dollars was like petty cash. But now her own earnings felt substantial, meaningful.

  She'd wandered down the footpath, glancing at, but not seeing, the wares displayed in the Knox Street boutiques. She strolled down Guilfoyle Avenue, happy the boys were off at their own activities that afternoon.

  The taupe serenity of Empire Homewares had called her in. She looked at the price of some candles, then stroked a toile quilt in admiration. A white china soap dish in the shape of a pineapple caught her eye. It was so sweet, such a delightful little piece. She'd turned it over to see the price. Sixty-seven dollars. What a coincidence, she'd thought.

  Then she'd felt the familiar prickle in her fingertips. Instinctively, she'd glanced back to see that the shopkeeper was deeply involved in re-merchandising the window display, then turned back to the soap dish. She'd really wanted it. It was ideal for the ensuite. Adrenalin started to ooze into her system, and she'd felt the familiar heat invade her cheeks.

  She'd earned sixty-seven dollars that day. At work. You could buy this if you wanted to, she'd whispered to herself. But it had taken hard work and time to earn that money. She put the soap dish back on the shelf. She'd think about it. As she walked out of the shop she bid the girl in
the window goodbye.

  *

  Jacqueline pushed the cookbooks to one side and picked up her shiny new calculator. Her fingers flew over the keys as she slid her plans around in her mind. After only a few weeks working at Laurent Boulangerie she'd become efficient in every aspect of the daily running of the business, and was even managing orders. It was as if something had lain dormant inside her and had been ignited into life. Suddenly she was hungry for bigger challenges.

  It had been such a short time, but nevertheless Jacqueline felt it was already time to move on. She'd only needed to get her feet wet in order to feel the urge to dive straight into her new life, she realised. Not that she'd let the Laurent team down – she'd keep her job, of course – but there was a new challenge for Jacqueline Bouvier on the horizon. She was going into business.

  She'd already informed Thomas, making it clear that she wasn't asking for his permission. She didn't need funding: she had her inheritance accruing interest nicely in a trust fund. Thomas had blustered for a few minutes about Jacqueline needing to ensure that the household would remain in order, but then admitted that she seemed happier than she had been in a long time, and had pledged his support again, much to her surprise.

  She'd scoured the internet, bought books on starting up a home business, spoken to local small business owners and now knew more about OH&S, BAS, GST, and ABNs than Kerry Packer ever had.

  Her company name registration had already arrived in the mail and The Cake Lady was in business. She had her eye on three prospective clients; local café owners, who had already tasted Jacqueline's wares at the school fete and had given her pavlova, fruit flan and carrot cake high praise. She could easily see a projected eighteen hundred dollars in turnover per week, she noted with pleasure, as she tapped away at the keys. And she'd found a mentor in André, who had been an enthusiastic adviser as long as she promised not to make any French desserts that competed directly with his business.

  That night, when Thomas arrived home with the boys, they were shocked to walk in and not smell the aroma of their evening meal warming in the oven. Although she'd been working hard for weeks, with precise time management she'd still always managed to have a hot meal on the table at the end of the day.