Gucci Mamas (5 page)

‘Mmmm, it is such a dilemma, darling. How did the psychological assessment go?’

‘She had her second last month and it’s still off-target, so we’ve booked at a new centre for this Thursday.’

‘Oh I know, it’s so tough to get someone who knows what they’re doing. We had to take Rupert to six before we found a psychologist who truly understood him and gave us a result we were happy with. You have to work at these things.’

‘We’ve got an interview next week at Barlyn. I’ve made a PowerPoint résumé for Chloe, but I worry that we haven’t provided enough educational opportunities for her. Her list
of extracurricular activities is a bit thin – just conversational French, interpretive dance, swimming, choral enrichment and violin. I wish I’d stuck with the Essential Breath Meditation class, but it clashed awkwardly with Jack’s Testosterone Time – you know how important it is for the boys to generate a healthy testosterone level in a structured environment. Can you imagine if I let them self-express physically at home – my
objets
would be under constant threat!’

‘Sweetie, Chloe’s résumé will be fine, there’s always time to add a few enrichment classes before she starts primary school. You know what Prue Watson did? Remember her: she was a Thornbury – old money? Anyway, they hired a feature film director – just an Australian – to put together a really stylish DVD of their daughter, Lillianna (they call her Lola – like Madonna’s girl) – anyhoo … that’s what you need to do, everyone’s doing it. Lola was gorgeous, they had her singing – she has a beautiful voice – doing her ballet, some jujitsu, babbling away
en Français
, and just interacting within her environment – you know? Playing? And the highlights in her hair came up a treat under the studio lighting. Anyway, she was accepted straight into the three-year-old room at Milton, no questions asked, which was a really lovely coincidence given that it’s part of the new Thornbury wing.

‘Oh, and remember Prue’s sister? What was her name, Melita … no … Melina, that’s right, I knew it rhymed with ballerina, which is a hoot, because she is in fact a ballerina, or she used to be,’ Ellie lowered her voice and leaned towards Mim. ‘Weight issues,’ she whispered. ‘Couldn’t get bulimia, no matter how hard she tried; no gag reflex, poor love.’

Mim nodded sympathetically and steered the conversation back to the school issue. ‘I haven’t got time to get a DVD together before next week. Do you think our PowerPoint presentation will be okay?’

BC (Before Children), Mim had been a graphic designer at a busy advertising agency and now kept her hand in by doing occasional freelance work from home. She’d pulled together all her skills to produce the slick PowerPoint résumé for her five-year-old.

She suspected she was being a tad too over-the-top about the whole school thing, but nevertheless she’d hired a tutor to prepare Chloe for the Barlyn College prep entrance exam. What choice did she have when all the other mothers were doing it? She had to give Chloe every opportunity to excel, and Barlyn was one of the best girls’ schools in the state – although that sort of excellence didn’t come cheap. The junior school fees were up to $20,000 a year and then there were the extras: a mandatory laptop, two camps a year and a $450 blazer for starters.

The boys’ fees were already exorbitant and increased at each year level. Then there were music lessons, sports uniforms, cadets, excursions and incursions. Sometimes she scared herself by adding all the numbers together and then her chest got so tight with fear that she couldn’t breathe.

Sometimes Mim woke in the middle of the night with the feeling that her life was spiralling out of control. Maintaining the lifestyle was overwhelming. They were just scraping by on James’s IT income as it was. It was so important for the children to have the best start in life and every opportunity money could buy, but somehow it was all unravelling and after last night’s fight, things seemed to be getting worse.

Ellie interrupted her thoughts again. ‘Where are you, sweetie? You seem miles away today.’

Caught out, Mim blushed slightly, reluctant to relive the whole scene with James. She felt exhausted just thinking about it.

‘Oh,’ she sighed deeply, ‘James and I had a bit of a stoush
last night. It was pretty ugly and now he’s gone off to London for the week.’

‘Oh love, that’s awful,’ Ellie sympathised. ‘Things have been a bit tense for a while, haven’t they?’

‘I guess so. I suppose I just thought it was always that he was tired, or I was premenstrual or whatever, but actually I think it’s more that we’re just not connecting any more.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m really frightened about our marriage, Ellie.’

‘Sweetheart,’ Ellie reached across the table to take Mim’s hand. ‘You guys are such lovebirds, I’m sure it will be okay. You just have a lot of pressures with the kids, and your jobs, and James being away all the time – does he have to take so many business trips?’

‘Well the stupid thing is I encouraged him to change roles to the international department because it meant more money – and with Chloe at school next year God knows we’ll need it. I thought it would be best for the family. The trouble is we’re never actually a family any more because he’s always away.’ She wiped her eyes carefully on her napkin and gave herself a small shake, pulling her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. ‘Anyway darling,’ she managed a smile, ‘we’ll be fine, you know how these things seem so dreadful at the time and you think divorce is on the cards and then the next day he brings you flowers and it’s all forgotten – this will all blow over soon enough.’

‘You’re probably right, sweetie,’ Ellie soothed. ‘But it would be nice if he was home a bit more. Anyway, my love, I must away. You sure you’re okay?’ she questioned, fishing in her Prada sac for her Porsche keys.

‘Absolutely, darling, thanks for listening,’ Mim replied.

‘Well then,
ciao, bella
,’ Ellie called as she swept out.

On her own, Mim was seized by a wicked desire to order the Chocolate Orgasm Cake and lose herself in the
passion of the moment. Shaking her mind back to reality she allowed herself a tiny nibble at the edge of her fat-free, low-cholesterol, high-fibre biscotti. That would do for breakfast.

It was a sparkly pink princess doll, dressed in shiny satin and lace, with happy blue eyes and a smiling rosebud mouth. She was named Bettina and her smile held the promise of a special secret that she would whisper quietly to only the little girl who took her home to love and treasure her.

Mim wanted her badly, she wanted to cuddle the doll’s squishy body to her and hear those secrets again, the secrets she had heard as a little girl and had truly believed existed just beyond her own life – in a world of uncomplicated froth and prettiness.

She seemed a long way from those days now. Everything had become so complicated and confusing. She rubbed distractedly at her forehead again, her headache by now an expected companion.

Mim smoothed Bettina’s shiny acrylic hair and stroked her soft synthetic body lovingly. She was so perfect, so soft and pretty. Something inside Mim yearned so strongly for the doll that she was halfway to the counter before she realised what she was doing.

‘Oh good gracious,’ Mim breathed out loud, attracting looks from several other DJs shoppers. Reddening, she placed the doll carefully back on the shelf. ‘I almost bought a mass-produced, foreign-made toy for a very discerning little miss,’ Mim said with a brittle laugh to those around her.

She shook her head as she returned the doll to the shelf. Yes, it was a crappy made-in-China piece of rubbish, complete with hideous cheap scratchy lace and horrible butter-wouldn’t-melt expression on its over-painted, over-cute face. But who was she buying the gift for, for heaven’s sake. This was the kind of glitzy, pink and frothy shit that little girls absolutely loved. The more tizz, the better! It takes a lot of growing up to appreciate the beauty of beige. But in the meantime, little girls only have eyes for the tacky spectrum. Sophie would love this present; she should get it, but it just wasn’t worth the weird looks Mim would get from the other mothers at unwrapping time.

So far the trip had been a failure, not a single unique piece to be found, and certainly nothing that would compete with the European Babushkas, the Hong Kong electronics and the artisan-crafted timber educational toys Sophie would unwrap this afternoon. She would have to go to Malvern Road now, and it was already 1 p.m. – there was no time to even fit in a Pellegrino at the food court. There were still the children’s costumes to find, as well as the present – and all before the 3.30 p.m. school pick-up.

Mim power-walked through the store, pressing her palm to her chest as a cold wave of panic surged through her. What if she couldn’t find the right gift in time? How would it look to turn up at the party without a gift and with inappropriately dressed children?

She stopped in front of Estée Lauder and allowed herself to breathe in the comforting air of tranquil beauty that
radiated from the pink cosmetics. She caught her harried reflection in a make up mirror and quickly whipped out her Chanel Rouge Noir and lightly bruised her lips with it. Better, she smiled to her reflection.

She looked over to see Deidre Munroe, a school mum, admiring her own reflection at MAC Cosmetics. Deidre was in a wrappy, drapey shawl thing over a long-swing crushed-velour skirt and long boots that suited the successful film and television actress persona that she desperately tried to display.

‘Hello, Mim!’ Deidre said excitedly at seeing Mim standing there. ‘Kiss kiss, sweetie,’ she effused. ‘So, I suppose you’re here preparing for Saturday night too?’

‘Saturday night?’ Mim muttered vaguely.

‘The Production!’ squealed Deidre. ‘It’s opening night in two weeks!’

Mim’s heart knocked wildly in her chest. Christ, how could she have forgotten? She still had costumes to make for the annual production and neither of the boys had learned their lines yet.

‘… so I explained, as patiently as I could, to Mrs Forbes …’ Mim tuned back in to Deidre, who had yet to take a breath. ‘… Samuel is a trained performer, he has a voice coach. I have been working with him since Prep to ensure he was prepared for a lead this year, and to pass him over like that, well, I was mortified. And the pathetic reason they gave me is that he’s too short for Father Time’s costume. I mean, really, what kind of production is this anyway?’

‘Well, absolutely,’ Mim said refreshed by Deidre’s approach. ‘After all, it is just a primary school play, isn’t it?’

Deidre looked at Mim strangely, then threw her head back and pealed with theatrical, diaphragm-assisted laughter.

‘Oh, yes, it’s just a …’ she made air-quotes with her
heavily jewelled fingers, ‘“primary school play”. You’re so funny, Mim. Of course we all know it’s soooo much more than that. One of the prep parents is a NIDA director, can you believe? I just know he would have noticed Samuel’s incredible luminosity and stage presence if only he’d been given his rightful chance to shine. I’m sure he will be scouting for future talent.’

I’m sure he’ll be bored shitless like the rest of us, Mim thought.

‘Any idea what you’re wearing yet? I’ve been searching for a month. It’s worse than Spring Carnival, don’t you think? The whole thing will be splashed all over the social pages … so generous of LJ to organise Philby’s time to do the PR for the school. My goodness she’s a go-getter, isn’t she? Have you seen her lately?’

‘Yes, last night at the Dan Dandrews exhibition – she looks well.’

‘Of course she does, she’s been chasing the sun around the Bermudas, such fun! You know how LJ likes an authentic tan all year round, not a cheap shop-bought spray-on.’

I know that LJ should not be crossed no matter what her pigment, Mim thought to herself. But a non-committal ‘Mmmm,’ was all she said out loud. Despite her vicious streak, LJ had a lot of friends among the Langholme mothers.

‘Excuse me,’ came an ancient voice at Deidre’s elbow.

Deidre beamed and rolled her eyes at Mim indicating the challenges she faced as a star, and she turned to the older woman.

‘Did you want an autograph, love?’ Deidre groped in her bag for a pen and projected her voice in the way many people reserve for the elderly.

‘No, I just need to know where the lift is,’ the woman said.

‘Over near the back wall,’ Deidre spat at her. And the woman moved on, throwing Deidre a strange look.

‘All the old ducks pick on me,’ she said conspiratorially to Mim, who was fighting to keep a straight face. ‘Just because I’m a celeb they think I’ll know everything. Honestly, I wonder if it was worth doing that SBS series now. My life is just not my own any more.’

‘Oh, was it shown again recently?’

‘No darling, but you’d be amazed – even after four years people feel as if they own a piece of me.’ Deidre shuddered, pulling her throw tighter around her bony shoulders.

‘So, where are the twins, Deidre?’

‘Oh, they’re right here,’ she said, glancing into the two empty seats of her McLaren double stroller. ‘Oh bugger it.’ Deidre glanced about wildly then leapt over to the Clinique counter where her ADHD twins were scooping expensive samples from the eyeshadow display and painting their faces in a rainbow of colour.

‘Othello! Leopold! Look at your faces, we’ll have to go home and get washed and changed before your headshots this afternoon.
Adios
, Mim, see you at pick-up, oh, and you look gorgeous!’ Deidre tossed over her shoulder as she steered the stroller madly toward the car park.

Mim made her way back to the car, cursing Deidre for holding her up and still racking her brains for a suitable gift idea.

‘Thank you, parking angels,’ Mim said out loud as she pulled up in a killer parking spot right in the middle of Malvern Road. She swung her legs out of the car (two feet at once, then standing up, just like Princess Di), pulled up her hipsters, tugged her sweater’s waistband down and bipped the locking system on the Mercedes 4WD.

Moving quickly through the shop door, she knocked her
head on the jangling bells hanging inside the Fairyland Costumery and was confronted by a sour-looking woman dressed as a somewhat faded elf princess.

‘Was there something you were looking for?’ the princess asked in a monotone, scratching at her wig vaguely.

Twenty years ago the shop’s vendor had been the pretty and enthusiastic Princess Evelyn, delighting in sprinkling fairy magic and glitter on her beloved customers, but she had seen too many fights over fairy dresses between too many pretentious parents to care much any more. To add to her malaise, Princess Evelyn had gotten high the night before and had another savage argument with Kevin, her ex, so today what little interest she might have had for fairy mummies had dissipated.

‘I’d like costumes for my children for a Carnivale party tonight.’

‘What, the Mason-Jackson party? Left it a bit late, haven’t you? I doubt we’ll have anything left, all the good costumes have already been snapped up.’ The princess wound her acrylic hair around her finger and stared at Mim as if daring her to push the point.

Fabulous, thought Mim. She had no choice but to persevere with this jaded fairy. ‘Perhaps you could just point me towards the fairy dresses, please,’ she asked, peering into the half-lit gloom of the fairy grotto. The mist of smoke at the back seemed a nice touch, except it smelt more like a public bar than a woodland grove.

‘If you must,’ sighed the tarnished princess. ‘There’s a rack out the back, but like I said, all the good stuff has gone.’

Mim poked around in the half-light and easily found the perfect rainbow fairy dress with a matching purple sequined cardigan and the sweetest little rose-coloured glitter slippers. She couldn’t wait to see Chloe dressed up like a little doll. After a bit more digging she found a fabulous jester’s
costume for Charley and a lion tamer’s outfit for Jack. This was too easy.

‘Well, maybe there is magic after all,’ Evelyn scoffed as Mim placed her items on the counter. ‘Sure, the whole world is just one big ball of glitter,’ she laughed hollowly, her laugh quickly turning to a hacking cough that went on for some minutes and finally subsided in a heavy wheeze. ‘All that magic for just $397,’ she announced still wiping her eyes and breathing raspingly.

Mim pretended not to hear the amount, otherwise the income from the freelance work she had squeezed in for a few hours yesterday would have silently gurgled down the drain and she really didn’t want to be a witness to that.

Out on the street, Mim began wildly scouring the boutique windows for the bloody gift.

An Esprit outfit – no, too ordinary. A hand-sewn patchwork quilt – too babyish. A charm bracelet – too personal.

The thump of her racing heart was by now competing for attention with the throbbing in her head as Mim strode from one shop to the next. Then, thank the designer gods above, she found it – an object that achieved all criteria: it was tasteful, brand conscious, original and très, très elegant. It was even educational – if you counted fashion nous as education – and of course everyone did.

It was a teeny Gucci handbag – the same one as Sophie’s mother, Tiff, had. Mim felt faint as she surrendered her credit card yet again, but what price social acceptance, she thought in a bubble of relief at having scored such a winning gift. She didn’t even blink when she was charged $20 extra for voluminous pink wrapping. It was worth it for the time saved, and a bonus to have the store’s exclusive label stuck to the ribbon.

She swung her shopping bags gaily as she headed back
to the Mercedes. Everything would be all right after all. She was a good mother, with impeccable taste, beautifully attired children and a gift that would be the envy of all the other mothers.

Life was sweet.