Gucci Mamas (13 page)

Mim printed out the final mock-up for Taylor’s Tarts new bakery brochure with a sigh of relief. It was 3.10 p.m.; she’d finished just in time for school pick-up.

Taylor’s Tarts was her biggest client, but also the most disorganised. This morning they had decided to set up snap meetings with all their sales reps and rang Mim for more than a dozen different pieces of print material, asap. After she’d returned from visiting her new little friend, Prewitt, in hospital, she’d spent the remainder of her day at the keyboard, fielding email briefs, whipping up mock-ups and trying to get Taylor’s to decide on a design direction. At last they were happy.

She hurriedly changed from her work clothes of wide-legged hipster tracky daks, Bonds singlet and her secret ugg boots that were so comfortable but too embarrassing to be caught dead in, into a caramel suede A-line skirt, matching suede boots and Marc Jacobs western-style shirt in teal and caramel.

After pick-up she ran Charley to his orthodontist
appointment – he needed a new retainer, $1500 – Chloe to her violin lesson – she was ready for a larger instrument, $750 – and Jack to swimming.

‘He’s showing great promise,’ his instructor said as Mim groaned inwardly. Compliments like that only ever meant one thing – more money.

Sure enough: ‘So we’d like him to come an extra afternoon a week and receive some specialised one-on-one training from our pro. Of course it’s pricey, but you can’t deny talent, can you, love, eh?’

Biting her tongue, Mim smiled and practically threw her credit card at the pretty blonde receptionist. ‘That will be $50 extra weekly, but we only accept six-monthly block payments, so is that what you’d like to do?’ she breathed in a little-girl voice.

‘No,’ said Mim, just to be difficult, ‘it’s not what I’d like to do.’

‘Oh,’ the girl blinked blankly, ‘but, that’s the only payment plan we accept.’

‘So why did you ask me if I wanted to do it then?’

‘Ummm … should I get the manager?’ The blonde now looked close to tears.

‘No, I’m sorry.’ Mim was shocked at her own rudeness. ‘Here, just charge the six months,’ she said, picking up a pen to sign the charge and trying hard to ignore the tension building in her head.

A few thousand dollars later they were home. The children quickly demolished their tabbouleh and crudités snack, and parked themselves in front of the television (ABC only in the afternoons).

Mim was left clearing up the detritus they left behind. Chloe had upended the sugar bowl during her baby-cino construction and grains crunched under Mim’s feet as she moved around the designer kitchen.

She loved this house, she thought as she paused, Enjo mitt in hand, staring out at the open-plan design. They’d snapped it up five years ago, moving in just before Chloe was born. With her design flair and eclectic taste for interiors, Mim had seen the potential of the grey-brick 1970s flat-roofed home.

She’d wasted no time renovating, getting the builders in on settlement day. They’d knocked out arches, opened up walls and stripped off the flocked wallpaper (to be replaced with more fashionable and up-to-date retro flocked wallpaper). She had spent hours scouring op shops and groovy vintage stores to find the perfect accents. She’d discovered a genuine Eames chair that looked stunning down-lit with a Nelson pendant light in the corner of the sunken living room.

The house was a testament to minimalism: lots of stainless-steel beams, floor-to-ceiling windows and white-painted floors, which had seemed a great idea at the time, but were quite challenging to maintain with three children attacking them on a daily basis. White painted floors and roller blades weren’t exactly best friends.

As Mim reached for her Dyson to vac the sugar up, she heard the garage door open. She stood up, her heart beating quickly. James’s unexpected arrival instilled the same young-girl-in-love anticipation she’d always felt, even though their marriage was into its tenth year.

The children, also attuned to the sound of Daddy’s arrival, came barrelling out of various rooms of the house.

Mim quickly prepared her greeting, smoothing her hair and checking her outfit. Too often within seconds of his arrival their banter deteriorated into sniping and subtle one-upmanship. But she hoped that tonight would be different.

As usual, Mim was the last to reach James. She planted a
broad smile on her face as she watched the children squealing and climbing over him.

‘Monkey bars, monkey bars, Daddy,’ squealed a beribboned and tu-tued Chloe, begging her beloved father to turn her upside-down in their traditional muck-about greeting.

‘Sure, sweetie,’ he said, and threw her upside-down – too roughly, Mim thought anxiously.

‘Dad, check it out,’ interrupted big-boy Jack, ‘my new watch has a stopwatch on it.’

‘Cool,’ responded James dutifully, trying unsuccessfully to rumple Jack’s carefully gelled and styled hair.

‘Dad, Dad, look at me, look at me,’ Charley insisted, but all he could muster was a weird face and a clumsy dance.

Mim waited patiently for her turn, but after the children had run away to play, James simply bent to pick up his briefcase and headed towards the kitchen, already mid-conversation.

Mim’s smile faded as she followed him.

‘We clinched the deal quicker than we thought, so I thought I’d ditch the rest of the afternoon,’ James explained.

Mim looked at him standing in the kitchen, her tall, handsome husband in his crumpled Hugo Boss suit. She perched on the kitchen stool as he went through the familiar motions of removing his tie and jacket, revealing his powerful frame.

They’d met twelve years ago, when Mim was a crew member on a yacht that sailed out of the Sandringham Yacht Club. During the once-a-week training and all-day Saturday sailing, Mim revelled in the freedom of being at one with the sea, flying through the bay, slicing through the chop.

A crew of six manned the Farr 50, a sailing boat owned by a friend of Mim’s father. The moment James stepped
onto the deck to join the crew, Mim was transfixed. His boyish freckled face, sandy tousled hair and ready smile had Mim smitten from day one.

James quickly became a popular crewmember, with his easygoing personality and willingness to muck in. It wasn’t long before he had fallen for Mim’s refreshingly relaxed and open manner, but he hid his feelings for months before asking her out.

After years of dating Barbie-doll women, James was blown away by Mim’s carefree sailor persona. With her relaxed ponytail and no make-up, she didn’t give a damn about waves drenching her or ruining her manicure. Her ready laugh made him smile every time he heard it. She was a good sport, a good mate and drop-dead gorgeous.

It hadn’t taken long for them to find many common interests. They loved going to the races, the MCC and trying crazy cheap-and-cheerful restaurants, like the mad Senegalese eatery in Brunswick Street. Mim smiled at the memory of James attempting to order in his year-ten French.

Their romantic scuba-diving holiday in Sulawesi was one of her favourite memories. They’d spent hours exploring coral beds and ocean wrecks together. On their last day Mim had caught the sparkle of the diamond engagement ring James had placed on top of an enormous clam-shell, weighting it with a chunk of coral. She’d almost drowned laughing and smiling through her regulator while madly nodding ‘yes’ to James.

She’d love to rediscover their passion for sailing, Mim thought wistfully, now that the children were old enough, but there never seemed to be enough time.

‘Well it’s fantastic you’re home early,’ she said, dragging her thoughts back to the present. ‘So you’ll still be able to get off early for the school production tomorrow night as well?’

James looked sheepish, his deep green eyes downcast. ‘Uh, unfortunately not. I’ve got a meeting.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ Mim said in a stunned voice. ‘You promised the kids.’

‘I know, I know, it’s not ideal. Hey kids,’ he called, ‘wait till I show you what I brought you guys home.’ The kids came rushing through and their smiles were easily bought with the promotional writing kits he told them were waiting in his briefcase. They raced after James squealing with pleasure as he headed upstairs.

Mim paced the flokati rug, fighting the urge to chew at her French-polished nails. James’s early day could have provided the opportunity for them to connect but it wasn’t the relief she had been hoping for. Instead he just seemed to bring more problems and disappointment.

It took almost two hours before the kids calmed down enough to go to bed. Of course, James revved them up until Chloe almost vomited and the boys were out of control. But now they were finally asleep and she and James could talk.

As he came downstairs from his shower, Mim noticed how tired and grey her husband looked. He was ageing, she realised with a start.

‘So how did the day go?’ she asked.

‘Usual. Yours?’ he responded by rote.

‘Oh, fine. Got that client brochure off this morning.’

‘Mmmm,’ he said, unbuckling his briefcase on his desk.

‘Honey, we need to talk.’

‘Oh, Jesus, Mim, do we have to?’ He turned to look at her. ‘I’m absolutely knackered, the kids have done me in, and I’ve still got these papers to go through. Plus I have to prepare for tomorrow night’s presentation.’ His fingers swept his fringe back till it stuck up straight, then he sighed and came over to her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

‘I’m so sorry, darling, it’s just that I’m really under the
gun at work at the moment …’ he gave her a brief squeeze before stepping back and looking into her eyes. ‘Now, what’s for dinner?’

Bloody hell, thought Mim. Dinner. She’d been so preoccupied lately that food hadn’t even crossed her mind. In fact, she thought a few minutes later, as she tossed a piece of eye fillet onto the Gaggenau steak grill, the last thing I ate today was some tofu for breakfast. She opened a pre-prepared Caesar salad and threw it onto a plate, squeezing dressing out of a sachet. James came in and opened a bottle of red, pouring them both a glass. When she presented him with the meal, he muttered sarcastically, ‘How do you do it, whip up a gourmet meal like this? Been slaving over a hot stove all day again, have you, love?’

Mim gave a fake smile. ‘Very funny.’ She pulled out a dining chair and sat opposite him. ‘Seriously though, James, we do need to talk about the situation we’re in.’

‘And what situation’s that, honey?’ he said distractedly as he flipped through a
BRW
as he ate.

He glanced up, ‘Aren’t you eating?’

‘I ate with the kids,’ Mim lied, moving on quickly. ‘It’s the money situation, James. When are we going to get that bonus of yours?’

‘Oh, yeah, that.’ She’d finally got his attention.

He slid his eyes down to the floor. ‘Today we were told that the company didn’t make budget this year so we aren’t getting the bonus.’

‘What!!’ Mim’s face was aghast. ‘But James, we’ve budgeted on that bonus! It was for the Land Tax bill, and we’ve got the rates due, not to mention overdue school fees – and every one of our credit cards is over the limit.’ Mim’s throat tightened as she gulped for air. ‘James …’ she grabbed her husband’s tanned forearm. ‘What are we going to do?’ Her vision swam unsteadily before her.

‘Oh relax, Mim, for chrissakes. I know money has been a complete stress but it’ll be fine. I’m working on a new client at the moment, the one from Tokyo. The commission is big bickies, it’ll be fine. Honestly, it will all be fine.’

But his demeanour told a completely different story. She now realised why he’d been deliberately avoiding her since he’d arrived. She knew him so well. He bloody does this all the time, she thought. I know he’s just as freaked out about money as I am, but his ego won’t let him admit that he might be failing as provider and protector of his family unit. If only he’d communicate with me rationally and calmly about the situation instead of just slinging accusations around. She slumped against the breakfast bench, her eyes closing in weariness.

James went back to his eye fillet and
BRW
and, realising that she’d been excused, Mim picked up her nearly empty glass of red and refilled it. She grabbed two Panadol from the cupboard and downed them with a big swig.

Topping up her glass again, she moved through the hallway and climbed heavily up the stairs then drew a hot bath with several drops of relaxing bergamot and neroli. Leaning back in the steam she went into a trance staring at the flickering reflection of the Jo Malone candles.

Something, she thought to herself, has got to change.

Mim stepped out of the water and plucked a charcoal Supima cotton bath sheet off the heated rack. It was toasty warm and luxuriously thick. She wound another towel around her hair, slipped her feet into marabou-lined slippers and reached for her La Prairie body moisturiser. She was massaging the cream liberally into her elbows and arms when James’s voice came booming out of the house phone.

‘Mim,’ he shouted through the intercom. ‘Phone.’

‘For God’s sake, James, the point of an intercom is that you don’t have to bellow across the house,’ Mim reprimanded him. She reached to pick up the cordless beside her bed.

‘Mim Woolcott,’ she said, towelling her hair gently to avoid follicular breakage.

‘Mim, oh God, I don’t know what to do! Everything’s such a mess. I really need to talk, can I come over?’ a frantic voice implored.

‘Tiff, sweetie, it’s okay. Calm down so I can understand you. Are you okay?’ Mim asked.

‘Yes. I mean, no!’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’ll talk to you when I get there. Can I come now?’

‘Of course, darling, I’ll be waiting for you. Drive carefully, though.’

Mim combed out her hair, troubled by the desperate tone in Tiffany’s voice. After the rumours she’d heard about Cliff she expected the worst.

She tied her hair back into a ponytail. Now she’d have to re-wash it and style it properly tomorrow morning, but some things were more important than grooming. She hastily pulled on her honey-coloured, hooded velour tracksuit and swapped her slippers for her backless, laceless runners. Then she jogged downstairs.

‘Is Tiffany okay? She sounded like she was crying,’ James called from the study.

‘She was,’ Mim answered. ‘Something’s happened, but I don’t know what it is.’ No point letting on to James just yet, she decided. ‘She’s a mess, though. She’s coming around to talk.’

‘Okay, well I’ll stay holed up in here,’ James said, hoping he wouldn’t be expected to offer any tea and sympathy.

‘That’s a good idea. I think she might want some privacy at first,’ Mim said, and James turned back to his laptop with relief – nothing like a crying woman to really wreck a night of paperwork.

Hearing Tiffany’s silver Lexus convertible on the drive, Mim went out to greet her friend, who was clearly distraught. Shaking and crying through swollen eyes, Tiffany was hidden under an ugly, shapeless coat that was obviously several seasons past being acceptable. Her face was pale and puffy, without a hint of make up. Mim noticed with surprise that she hadn’t even stopped for a quick lippy fix. This must be serious.

Mim immediately threw her arms around her friend and
ushering her inside the warm house asked: ‘Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Come in.’

‘I need a drink, Mim. Sorry, I didn’t bring anything. You look great, love the velour.’

Mim poured the last of the Brown Brothers merlot into a large glass for Tiffany, and opened up another bottle to give herself a refill. Tiffany held the glass tightly with two hands and downed it in several huge gulps. She banged it heavily on the table and Mim quickly moved to refill it for her.

‘Sweetie, have you got any ciggies?’ Tiffany asked.

Mim jumped up to search in the back of her Le Creuset cupboard. ‘Christ, I would have got in a carton if I knew it was going to be this kind of conversation,’ she said to lighten the mood, while rummaging behind the stockpots and skillets for her emergency nicotine stash. Of course, no one in Mim’s social set really smoked any more, but the odd one taken as needed for medicinal purposes didn’t count.

Mim found the packet and they headed for the sandstone paved rear courtyard. Tiffany’s trembling hands made lighting-up difficult, but finally she drew back in satisfaction and looked at Mim.

‘What’s happened, darling?’ Mim asked with concern.

Tiffany’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh God, Mim, I’m in such a mess. I think Cliff is having an affair!’

Shit
, thought Mim.

‘Oh no, Tiff, you poor love. What makes you think that?’

Tiffany drew deeply on the cigarette, glugged down some more wine and began her story.

‘We’d just finished dinner with the out-laws at their Camberwell house. Cliff finished early so he could be there, which was just lovely. We had a divine seafood banquet and they’d hired a magician for the children; so thoughtful. Anyway, the girls were to stay the night, so for once Cliff
and I had a night at home together. I was really looking forward to snuggling in front of the fire and maybe opening that gorgeous French cognac he got duty-free. I had a shower and put on my new Calvin Klein trakkies – ’

‘Which ones, the taupe ones with the hood?’ interrupted Mim.

‘No,’ corrected Tiffany, ‘the dusky pink ones without the hood. Anyway, then he went up to his bathroom to have a shower too.’ Tiffany leaned forward to butt out her cig and top up her glass. ‘He left his mobile on the kitchen bench, which is unlike him, and it beeped. I checked the text, because we’ve been expecting a yay or nay from our solicitor on a property issue and I thought that’s what it was. But boy was I wrong.’

‘What did it say?’ asked Mim, leaning forward in her chair.

Tiffany clutched her stomach, ‘Oh, Mim, I feel sick!’ she continued. ‘It said, “can’t wait to see you tonight x”.

‘Oh, Tiff. But could it have been a business thing?’ Mim trailed off doubtfully.

‘Well, I guess so. I mean the “x” bit could have been a typo, couldn’t it? Without the “x” bit it could have been a colleague or client or anyone, couldn’t it?’

‘Well, maybe. So what did Cliff say?’

‘I didn’t tell him. I deleted the message and put the phone back where it was. But then, he came downstairs in jeans and a shirt – I mean, Cliff in jeans – can you imagine? I’ve always thought he was probably born wearing a suit. Anyway, cool as anything he says he’s off to meet our solicitor for a drink to discuss the investment property.

‘I was so calm, but inside my head I was screaming. It was so obvious that he was up to something once I’d seen the text. And there was stupid me, not even realising it till that moment. What an idiot!’

‘You’re not an idiot, he’s a bastard, an out-and-out son-of-a-bitch bastard,’ Mim cried. She was shocked that Cliff would be so obvious. And the floozy he was seeing, whoever she was, was obviously stupid as well as a home-wrecker – who would text their
married
boyfriend?

‘So then he took off and I rang Barry – our solicitor – under the pretence of inviting them to that charity do next month. He didn’t mention meeting with Cliff at all. The prick was lying to me, and he’s probably been doing it for a while.’ Tiffany sighed and sniffed sadly. ‘Oh Mim, what should I do?’

‘Christ only knows,’ Mim answered. ‘What do you want to do? You could confront him – or maybe it would be best to get more evidence first, you know, go through his wallet and that sort of thing?’

‘Done that. I only had a quick glance but there were some charges I didn’t recognise. Dinners at trendy St Kilda restaurants and receipts from that new groovy bar in Inkerman Street. But it could just be client dinners.’

‘What about gifts or flowers?’

‘Nothing that I recognise. There was a charge from Botanical Flowers back in February, but he sent me Valentine’s flowers, so it could be that – not that I remember which florist they came from.’

‘I think you need to be really devious for the next week or so,’ Mim suggested. ‘Try to act normal around him if you can: best not to stab him at this stage, though I’m sure you’re desperate to inflict bodily harm,’ she laughed gently. ‘When he’s not around go through the phone bills and check every number. Same with the Visa, Amex and MasterCard. Keep your eyes open, check the incoming messages on his phone, and his emails. Don’t forget the deleted folder. That way when you do confront him you’ll have all the ammunition you need and he won’t be able to weasel his way out of it.’

Tiffany’s head was spinning with the same painful thought – he cheated, he cheated on
me
– but she could see the wisdom in Mim’s plan. ‘All right, I’ll do all that before I face him – but let me tell you, if this snooping confirms what I already suspect, I’m going to have the bastard’s balls in a friggin’ vice,’ Tiffany said, sloshing red wine on her Prada loafers.

‘Bugger, I love these bloody shoes,’ she cried, but before she could tear up again, Mim interrupted.

‘Sweetheart, you get his balls and I’ll bring the blow torch,’ Mim grinned, and was rewarded with a big smile from Tiffany.

They talked long into the night, drowning Tiffany’s pain in merlot and nicotine. By about midnight Mim thought it was safe to gently broach the Fairy Fanny issue.

‘Sonofabitch!’ shouted Tiffany, when Mim told her about Cliff’s lecherous advance. ‘I had to give him a friggin’ head job as a welcome-home present that night, and what did he give me? A friggin’ bottle of vodka – I have NEVER drunk VODKA in my LIFE. PIG!’

‘Shhh,’ said Mim, almost hysterical with laughter. ‘The kids.’

‘Sorry,’ Tiffany slurred with a very-Merlot giggle. ‘But when I think of how I’ve slaved over a goddamn running machine and stepper every day; how I’ve deprived myself of every known carb – even saying no to the communion wafers at church, and drunk enough bottled water to drown a friggin’ elephant – just to fight for some sort of figure so asshole Cliff could flaunt his trophy wife.’ She paused. ‘Not that it’s ever done me much good,’ she added with a sigh, slapping her J-Lo-esque butt. ‘I’m never going to be a size eight again, I’m afraid – not like Fairy friggin’ Fanny, obviously.’

‘Hey, don’t put yourself down,’ said Mim, serious again.
‘He doesn’t deserve you if he’s prepared to risk your marriage for some slutty stuff on the side.’

‘Actually, I’m surprised he can even manage it,’ Tiffany said with an evil grin. ‘It’s not like he’s got the goods under the sheets. And he’s too proud to go to the doctor for Viagra. Not that I’m that bothered. At least a quick BJ keeps him happy – it’s all over in a few minutes and it saves me the bother of having another shower.

‘So I can’t actually understand what this little tart even sees in him.’ Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘It’s not like he’s packing any serious equipment either,’ she giggled.

Mim choked on her mouthful of wine. ‘Christ, Tiffany, don’t tell me any more, I can’t stand the mental pictures,’ she pleaded, rocking with laughter, tears rolling down her face.

By 3 a.m. they were eventually sipping soothing cups of chamomile tea and were well into planning Tiffany’s revenge.

The stage was set for an execution!