Versace Sisters

by Cate Kendall

  'I try and tell you this for years and you don't listen,' Dara Kim retorted and the three travellers turned to climb the terracotta stairs to the iconic powder-blue arched French doors.

  Chantrea looked down at Sally. 'Are you too tired for one more stop, sweetie? We've had a very busy day.'

  The solemn little eyes looked up. 'No, Mummy, I really want to see the elephants.'

  Chantrea laughed. 'You know they're not real elephants, don't you?'

  'Of course, Mum.' The little girl rolled her eyes in derision. 'They're paintings of elephants.'

  Sally's Cambodian adventure had officially started that morning when they'd awoken at their hotel on the Riverfront Promenade. The Tonle Sap river sparkled in front of them and the hydro traffic competed with the road traffic for chaos and drama.

  They'd tuk-tuked it to the Royal Palace, one of the few national treasures the Khmer Rouge had spared during its reign of terror, now home to the current royal family.

  Chantrea, infected by Sally's excitement for the fairytale princess palace, skipped with her daughter through the elaborate grounds and gasped in delight at the sculptures, small palaces and stupas, commemorating past royal family members.

  The Silver Pagoda was the little girl's clear favourite. When Sally first saw the silver floor tiles adorning the pagoda she instantly suggested they replace their floorboards at home with similar ones. 'What a splendid idea,' Chantrea had agreed immediately.

  The emerald Buddha, looking down in solemn beauty from his golden dais, subdued their excitement momentarily and they stared back in awe. However, the moment passed when Sally squealed at the sight of the statue of 'Buddha of the Future' resting in front of the Emerald Buddha. It was solid gold and covered in diamonds. 'Wow, he must be worth kazillions!' she'd exclaimed.

  The tour of the Royal Palace had taken the small group most of the day. Chantrea had been determined not to miss a single historical fact or bas relief.

  'You know your father and I were honoured guests at a banquet at the Royal Palace once,' Dara Kim boasted. 'I wore a long gown in shell pink. I looked like an orchid.'

  'Oh, Granny Yay, you must have been beautiful,' Sally sighed and she gazed in delight at the European dollhouse cuteness of the Napolean III Pavilion.

  Their feet ached in thanks when they finally sat down in the Elephant Bar. As they lounged in the wicker chairs awaiting their drinks, Chantrea looked at her travelling companions. 'Mum and Sally, thanks so much for suggesting this trip. I am having a great time. It's a beautiful country, you were right. So rich with culture and architecture and the French food is to die for. I finally understand what you mean: it's magnificent.'

  Dara Kim assessed the coloured elephantine motifs on the wall as the waiter deposited their Femme Fatales, for which the bar was legend, and Sally's Sprite.

  'Mmmm,' the older woman said with a shoulder shrug, 'yeah, sure, it's a nice place, but it's no Sydney – now there's a city!'

  *

  Jacqueline gazed out at the rolling pastureland. A distant moo reverberated around the undulating green hills. The backdrop of the Blue Mountains shimmered in its eucalyptus haze. She had been thrilled when Thomas had suggested a weekend farmhouse getaway.

  The boys were on holidays, Thomas's business was expanding into a second surgery and everybody had become very supportive of Jacqueline's burgeoning Cake Lady enterprise. She looked over at her husband sitting in the other white cane chair and smiled.

  'Wouldn't mind a Crown Lager, darling,' he murmured from behind his collector's edition of Teeth, Roots and Gums.

  'You know where the fridge is,' she replied and, closing her eyes, leant her head back onto the floral cushion to enjoy the late afternoon sun.

  'Oh, yes, right, of course,' he said and leapt to his feet.

  Within seconds the wine glass at her elbow was being topped up.

  'Thank you, darling,' she said.

  *

  Mallory stopped for a moment to recover. The last section of the Coastal Walk was a killer. The steps were so steep she didn't know how people actually jogged them. She stepped onto the grass to let yet another Eastern Suburbs Angel bounce by, all perky buttocks and velour tracksuit with a ponytail in a rainbow of blonde shades.

  She arrived at the tip of McKenzie's Point and entered the circular sandstone paved viewing station. As she breathed in deeply to try to catch her breath she looked out over the ocean. Bondi Beach lay behind her and the South Pacific Ocean stretched in front like a giant teal shag carpet, textured and deep.

  The waves churning at the sandstone cliffs below were the colour of raw glass – deceiving in their innocuous frothiness. The famous Bondi Coastal Walk was an inspiration at every turn. This morning's shower had caused impromptu waterfalls to skip down the dappled cliffs. The rivulets leapt over cantilevered rock shelves and ducked through ferns, turning the algae cover a bright emerald.

  Mallory turned around to take in the elongated new moon that was Bondi Beach. The structures that perched on the far point of the bay and crept into the beach town reminded her of the clifftop dwellings she'd once visited in Skiathos, each seemingly straining against the other to get the better view.

  She looked back at the variegations of the cliff's rugged face. The pockmarked bulging beast was humbling when she'd walked under its bulk a few minutes earlier. But from here it looked fragile in its pastel palette of oyster, rust and tan.

  Her fingers itched; she wanted to somehow own the beauty, to recreate it, to make it hers. She made a promise to bring her camera next time so at least she could capture it that way.

  She'd never noticed the beauty of the area in such detail before. Her tentative walking pace had forced her to slow down, giving her the time to look and really see her surroundings. In the past, she had simply counted the kilometres she'd conquered while measuring her pulse. But this time was different.

  The lead in her right hand tugged and she looked down at the white shaggy furball she and Tilly had christened Miffy, who was desperately pulling to get closer to the interesting smell embedded in the flowering gazania lining the path.

  Miffy's short shitzu legs were good for nothing more than digging and play, Mallory had quickly discovered, and the puppy preferred to be carried when the two went out on their daily walks. Mallory didn't mind at all: there was something very soothing about having the warm bundle of fluff tucked under her arm as she strolled around the eastern suburbs. But at every rest stop Miffy would scramble to get down and sniff around the immediate area to ensure all was well in her olfactory world.

  The Sculpture by the Sea exhibition was on display and woman and puppy stood for a while longer. Mallory took in a piece depicting sailboats laser-cut from red rusty Core Ten, while Miffy admired an impressively sized dog turd.

  The sailboat piece, titled 'All at Sea', by famous Melbourne artist Robert Delves, had a rustic, industrial quality that complemented the rugged brush landscape.

  Miffy started up her gutsy little yapping and Mallory turned to see what the commotion was about. The puppy was leaping up in the air, endeavouring to give a large friendly labrador what-for. The labrador simply smiled its big-jawed goofy smile and laid a lick on Miffy so powerful it toppled her onto her side. She leapt up, yipping at the indignity. Mallory smiled at the labrador's owner who was as muscular and blond as his pet, though with a much less goofy grin.

  'So funny,' he said. 'What kind of dog is it?'

  'She's a shitzu,' Mallory replied and scooped up the animation on legs. Miffy's legs drooped on either side of Mallory's forearm and only one black eye peeped out from the silky curtain of fringe.

  'She's adorable,' he said and scratched her behind the ear. Miffy's legs waggled in pleasure. 'Do you like the artwork?' he asked, indicating the sculpture.

  'Yes, it's beautiful, although I've only just started. I planned to walk to Tamarama and see a few more pieces.'

  'There's a stunning one three along, made from some kind of acrylic, it's transparent,'
he said. 'A fascinating take on the Emperor's new clothes. The artist uses it as a metaphor for Sydneysiders and their obsession with beauty.'

  'Really?' Mallory asked, intrigued to learn more, 'how cool.'

  'Yeah, very cool. I know the artist's work and I reckon this is the best I've seen. Although not as sophisticated as this Delves piece, of course. I'm Paul, by the way.'

  Mallory extended her small hand formally. 'Mallory,' she replied, smiling widely.

  As Mallory and Paul wound their way along the Sculpture Walk together she discovered that he owned a gallery in Darling Point that featured street art and industrial exhibitions. Boris, the labrador, and Miffy were getting along very well, now that Boris had learnt who was boss.

  Paul gave Mallory a crash course on sculpture and form as they wandered through the coastal artworks, her head spinning with new ideas and perspectives. The lesson was over too soon, as the couple and their dogs arrived at Tamarama Beach, or Glamourama as the locals called it because it was a favourite among the gorgeous young things that frequented the topless haven. Today an impromptu wet T-shirt competition with a twist was taking place on the water's edge. Buff young men stood in the shallows, their tight shirts clinging to their pecs, while equally beautiful young women in the adoring audience soaked up the sight.

  After a quick mango lassi together at the beach cafe, Paul invited Mallory to an exhibition opening that night at his gallery. They said their goodbyes and Mallory walked back to her car, excited about her future for the first time in months.

  *

  '. . . and Space Mountain, and Nemo Submarine and Pirates of the Caribbean –'

  'And the Mad Hatter's Tea Party,' Alexandra interrupted her sister's wish list of which ride to try first at Disneyland.

  'Yes, yes,' Sam laughed in joy at their enthusiasm. 'But we've only just walked in the gate. Any chance Bella and I can get a latte on Main Street first?'

  'NO!' The girls yelled and ran off as Pluto and his entourage rounded the corner.

  Sam wondered if he was allowed to be this happy. The bright Los Angeles sun bathed the fake dominion and enhanced the feeling of benevolence and wellbeing Disneyland was famous for. Chirpy music filtered through the hidden speakers.

  He gazed in wonder at the hordes of tourists who flooded into the theme park. The Japanese were buying every trademarked product from pencil toppers to ice-cream makers. The Europeans were taking photos and reading the history markers and the Americans were eating.

  The pristine streets were dust mote free, the walls unmarked by grime, and not one tiny pea light was blown in the strings of eleven thousand that draped the candy-coloured faux facades. It truly was a fantasyland.

  He looked at the beautiful woman standing by his side, smiling at his children, and wondered if she too was simply an illusion. Touching her gently on the arm he felt her warmth, her blood pumping. Her soft skin was silky under his fingers. She was very real. She turned to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her shoulder slotted perfectly under his arm as he returned the embrace.

  'This is brilliant, Bella,' he told her. 'Thanks so much for organising it.'

  'Hey, in my game, the world's your playground,' Bella said and watched as the girls jumped up and down, waiting their turn with the famous dog.

  'Well, it's good of you, darling, to sacrifice your precious holiday time and spend it at a theme park filled with children – and my children at that.'

  'Are you kidding? I love your girls. We had so much fun shopping yesterday.'

  'You spoil them rotten, Bella,' he said. 'You mustn't spend so much money on them.'

  'Oh, we're on holiday, I promise it will be back to wicked stepmother when we get home.'

  'Will you wear the cape and boots and brandish a sceptre?' he asked with a cheeky grin.

  'Only if you promise to be the fairest in the land,' she replied.

  Bella turned her face up to his and, with the Magic Castle looking down on them in the Happiest Place on Earth™, they kissed.

  ~ 61 ~

  The chilling, primal scream ripped through Vince's serenity. He'd been immersed in the sports pages while reclining on the armchair in the hospital room when Sharee's cry made him jump through the roof.

  'You right there, Sharee?' he asked, more in irritation than concern.

  He'd been rudely dragged from a deep sleep three hours ago when she'd thumped him unceremoniously and yelled, 'It's time! Move it!'

  Mallory would never have treated him like that. Sharee was proving to be more trouble than she was worth. Still, he was a man of honour: he'd knocked her up (with his super-swimmers, he reminded himself proudly), and he was going to stand by his new family. He owed them that much. Besides, it would be so brilliant to have a son. They'd go to the footy together; hang out; drink beer; go bush-bashing; sailing – it would be fan-fucking-tastic.

  Poor Mallory, though, he sometimes felt a twinge of guilt about dumping her. She was a good kid. They'd had some laughs, some good times. The thing is, he thought as he stared unseeing at his newspaper, I love her, but I'm just not in love with her. He deserved his happiness, and having this little guy would be great.

  And besides, Sharee was usually a top chick, a tiger in the sack (not that he'd been getting much action lately, but that'd change once the kid was born). Sharee was more like him, they had a real blast together – and wasn't that what life was all about? Having a good time? Still, it had been really hard breaking up with Mal, he'd felt lousy for literally days.

  Anyway, Mallory wouldn't take him back now anyway. Just after Christmas he'd gotten a bit sentimental and tried to reconcile with his missus. It was sheer brilliance on his part that he had the plan to dump Sharee after getting back with his wife in case it didn't work out with Mal.

  So when Mallory rejected him (amidst peals of highly unnecessary and slightly hysterical laughter) there was really no harm done. He'd always been one to keep his options open: 'Don't burn your bridges, son,' his old man used to say.

  So here he was, back at plan A. Not a barrel of laughs yet, he had to admit, but that would all change when he took his new family on a surprise boating holiday around the Whitsundays in six months' time.

  'Where's the fucking anaethetist?' Sharee demanded of the midwife. 'I need that epidural NOW!'

  'You're too far gone, love,' the midwife said in her most soothing manner. It was obvious she was accustomed to abusive, freaked-out, labouring women. 'You've reached ten centimetres, and very quickly too I might add, good job. You're about to have your baby. See if you can push on the next contraction.'

  'Where the fuck is my obstetrician?! I don't want some nurse delivering my baby. Especially since he's decided to come a bloody month early!'

  Vince sighed and hauled himself out of the chair; he figured it was time to get involved.

  'We've called your doctor, he's on his way, but the traffic is shocking out there apparently and who would have guessed you'd progress so quickly,' the midwife replied, smoothly ignoring the insult. 'Okay, the baby's crowning, oh, here it comes, try and push hard with the next contraction, dear, you're doing a great job. Oh, dear,' she said as she caught the first glimpse of the baby's head.

  'What is it?' Vince asked, 'is something wrong?'

  'Not at all, it's probably best if you don't come down to the business end of things; just stay up there and hold your partner's hand.'

  The other midwife bustled about the room preparing the cot, the heat lamp and the baby's first tiny outfit.

  The attending midwife glanced up at the monitor. 'Here we go, dear, here comes another contraction, now push as hard as you can, we have to get the head out.'

  'You think I don't know there's another one coming, you stupid cow, what am I –' Sharee's volley of abuse was cut short as the contraction tightened across her back and belly as if she were in the jaws of a crocodile. She screamed and crushed Vince's small hand.

  'Ow, that hurt,' Vince whinged and pulled his hand out of her grasp. 'You
can hold your own hand if that's how you're going to behave.' He tucked his tender appendage under his other arm and stuck out his bottom lip.

  With an almighty push, Sharee forced the tiny creature out into the world in one fast swoosh. The midwife caught the new little body before it hit the deck.

  'Oh, how beautiful, you've got yourselves a daughter,' she said as she hurriedly wrapped the child in warm blankets.

  'What the fuck?!' Vince demanded. 'You told me it was going to be a boy!'

  'I thought it was,' Sharee protested. 'I dunno, it looked like one on the ultrasound.'

  The midwife rolled her eyes. These two were a right royal treat. 'Be thankful she's healthy,' she said and turned to present the child to the proud parents. 'And she's such a beautiful colour!'

  Vince was staring out the window in a sulk when the new mother took hold of her infant for the first time. 'Uh oh,' Sharee said in a little voice.

  'What?' Vince demanded and turned to see what his girlfriend was talking about.

  He looked down at the tightly wrapped bundle as she turned her tiny head, her mouth pulling at the corners as it instinctively sought the nipple.

  The satin newborn skin was the colour of the darkest caramel and her wee head was capped with silky tight black curls.

  ~ 62 ~

  The Paddington house hadn't known such a flurry of excited activity since Tony and Sera's wedding day. Suitcases were bumping up and down the staircase, children were running in and out of bedrooms on futile errands designed to keep them busy and out of the way (but often resulting in the inverse effect), phones rang, Sera and Joan were discussing, deciding on and discarding outfits with lighting speed, while Tony checked and re-checked documents, secured the house and made last-minute arrangements with his building team.

  They were going to Italy.

  After the news of Tony's parentage had sunk in and the family had embraced their new Italian heritage with dinners of linguine amatriciana and stereo speakers bellowing Verdi, Puccini and Bellini, Tony and Sera had pressured Joan into calling Antonio.