Chanel Sweethearts (16 page)

Angus, with his face buried in a racing form, looked up distractedly. ‘What's that, darling? Yes, absolutely, as soon as this next case is over.'

‘So my darling sister-in-law will have that lovely Malvern home to herself all weekend, which surely beats some cramped little South Yarra rented apartment.'

Jessica wondered if it even mattered what she might want. But, she reasoned, Caro was just trying to be helpful, and besides, living with family did make sense – although she certainly intended to get her own place by the end of the year.

‘You won't want to be mollycoddled for too long in the big smoke, Jessica,' Jimmy interrupted. ‘You'll get yourself a trendy warehouse space in Richmond before too long and throw fabulous cocktail parties. You'll have a blast.'

Nick, after a couple of hours' absence, had returned from the tote and overheard Jimmy's comment. He glowered. ‘Jessica's not really the “trendy warehouse” type, Jimmy.' He practically spat the man's name out.

‘Course she is. Well maybe not today, but the city will weave its magic. You guys won't recognise her before long.' Jimmy ruffled Jess's hair playfully. ‘We'll get her all citified and she'll never want to come back. In fact–' he grinned at her – ‘she'll be far too good for all of you.'

‘Check out the next race, Shutyeruglymug is running,' Songbird said, looking at the racebook.

Jimmy was oblivious to the dig that had Nick and Rainbow in giggles.

Jessica stood to top up the drinks. ‘Well, let's just see how it goes, shall we? I'm sure I'll be comfortable wherever I am. In fact there's always Dad's place, isn't there Dad?'

‘Absolutely, Princess, whenever you like,' Richard said, smiling, holding out his glass for a refill.

‘You're always welcome for a visit,' Genevieve said.

‘I'm off,' Jimmy suddenly said, leaping to his feet. He picked up his shades, keys and hat and bid his goodbyes to the group. ‘Walk me to the car, Jess?' he said.

When they reached his convertible, Jimmy leaned inside and plucked out a bag with Kinky Gerlinki's unmistakable logo emblazoned on the side. ‘This is for you,' he said with a smile.

‘Oh wow! I love that shop,' Jess gasped.

‘I knew you would,' he said.

Jessica removed the enormous chartreuse bow and opened the bag to find a portfolio satchel covered in a vintage fabric of 1940s Parisian women. It looked like an oversized lunch box with a chunky Bessemer handle.

‘It's vintage,' he said.

‘Oh, Jimmy, I can see that. It's gorgeous, I love it.' She gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘It's wonderful. Just perfect.'

‘I take pride in knowing exactly what a lady likes. I know how much you love Chanel, but I thought I'd go for something different this time. It's a “welcome to the team” gift.' He leant in for another kiss, but she turned her head at the last second to ensure it remained on a professional level.

She waved the convertible off and returned to the party. She smiled fondly when she saw that Richard's hat was tipped over his face, his lean body stretched out in the captain's chair and gentle snores filling the air. Genevieve was at the car park two spaces over, chatting to some friends.

Caro stood and dragged Angus to his feet. ‘Your two hippie friends are floating over there somewhere near that ragbag of people,' she told Jess, flittering her manicure towards the rear of the racecourse. ‘I'm off to see if I can't get a decent decaf cap. Come, Angus, let's bond.'

Nick looked over at Jessica and smiled shyly. ‘Well, this is as good a time as any, I guess,' he said and rummaged under the checkered tablecloth.

He dragged out a large timber box and, rubbing his large, labour-roughened hands over it, he collected his thoughts. ‘Good luck, Jess,' he said. ‘I know I haven't been your most enthusiastic backer, but I really wish you well and all the best.' He handed the gift to her with an uncertain smile. ‘It's from your beach – just a memory,' he said.

She opened the lid and lifted the pink tissue that lay beneath. A collection of her favourite beach pieces lay inside: a piece of driftwood, a sea urchin – purple, the most rare – and a piece of sea glass – again in a rare purple.

‘I couldn't let you go without a goodbye present,' he said looking at the ground.

‘It's wonderful,' Jessica whispered. ‘Thank you, Nick.' She took his hand and gripped it tightly.

‘So I guess you'll be home most weekends?' he asked.

‘Well,' Jessica started awkwardly. ‘I don't think I'll be giving the move my best shot if I keep racing home every minute.' She saw hurt register on Nick's face. ‘But you could always come and visit?' she continued hurriedly.

‘Yeah, I guess.' Nick said unconvincingly. ‘What about this Jimmy character, will he be a part of your new life?'

‘Are you kidding?' Jess laughed a little too loudly. ‘Why would you even say that?'

‘Oh come on, Jess, you'd have to be thick not to see the bloke's keen on you,' Nick said roughly.

‘Okay, well, you're wrong.' Jessica stood to leave. ‘I have to go if I want to make the city before nightfall.'

‘I'll walk you to your car,' Nick offered.

En route, Songbird and Rainbow swept her up in a monstrous group hug and made her swear to keep in touch. ‘Keep it real,' Songbird said, holding Jessica's face in her two hands. ‘And pretty!' Rainbow said with a pirouette.

Tori threw herself into Jess's arms. ‘What will I do without you and your advice?'

‘Here's a tip,' Jessica said. ‘eBay: designer stuff at a fraction of the price.'

‘You rock, Jessica Wainwright,' she said and gave Jess another hug, ‘I can't wait to get a new computer so I can start saving!'

Jess shook her head and laughed with Nick. They continued on to the car and too quickly had reached the old Patrol. ‘Well, this is it!' Nick declared and opened his arms for a bear hug. She stepped hesitantly into his embrace, then awkwardly banged her head on his chin, and pulling back, stood on his foot.

‘Sorry,' she said.

‘No, my fault,' Nick answered, stepping forward to open the car door for her. He noticed the other gift sitting on the passenger seat. ‘What's this?'

Before she could object he was reading the gift tag. ‘ “Can't wait to work with you every single day. Jimmy.” '

Nick exploded with anger. ‘This ... this satchel is perfect for you. He knows you so well. I can't believe I thought you'd like this crappy thing ... this box of beach junk. Shit, I'm a moron.' He walked away without looking back.

‘Nick, don't go, please,' she called after him. But he kept walking. Fine, let him act like a fool. I'm going to the city, she thought defiantly, kicking her car tyre.

She watched the angry set of his shoulders as he disappeared into the distance.

It was too good to be true. Once this council nuffer got back on the line and confirmed the final information, they were in. It would be a goer. Fantastic! On paper it looked as if it the land was Rural Farming Zone or Rural Conservation Zone, given the annoying large wetlands bordering the property, but it turned out it wasn't protected at all. The property's rear border butted against land that had recently been rezoned as residential, and now this property was included in the new zoning – albeit as a Rural Living Zone, but that would be easy to circumvent. Excellent!

Of course it would cause controversy among the neighbours, but they'd get over it eventually.

Jess checked her reflection in Caro's guest suite mirror one more time. Her new Trelise Cooper dress was an ultra-feminine, mid-calf taupe chiffon frock with black-tipped ruffles around the bust and collar. She knew the French Provincial look of the dress suited the curls that escaped her loose ponytail to frame her face. She did a spin, admiring the way the lightweight fabric floated out around her knees. Black leather cage lace-up stilettos gave a chunky anchor to the look but were a shock after several years in Blundstones and riding boots.

‘Okay, world,' she said, turning away from the mirror, ‘here I come.'

A wall of hot January air hit her as she stepped onto the street. A zephyr whipped leaves and litter into tiny cyclones, stinging her bare legs as she walked to the tram stop.

She planned to buy her ticket on board and had crammed her purse with gold coins to make sure she had the right change. She had checked the tram timetable and knew she had to catch the eight a.m. to Church Street, which conveniently stopped at the bottom of Caro and Angus's street.

Swinging her new portfolio with pride, she felt buoyant as she walked past groups of schoolkids with overloaded backpacks and corporate workers in their tailored urban uniforms. It felt good to be on her way to the office on a Monday morning; part of the city's busy landscape. There was something exciting about the early morning buzz of traffic and the clang of trams, the office workers gulping from cups of take-away coffee or shouting into their mobiles as they dashed along the street.

The tram arrived just as she reached the stop. Jess picked her way carefully up the wooden steps in her unfamiliar shoes. She spotted the ticket machine and stood with her finger hovering over it as she calculated the zones and times, then rummaged in her purse for the correct coins. Her ticket shot out at her and she smiled happily at her city sophistication. Then the tram jolted forward and she almost sprawled into the lap of a harried businessman, who ignored her profuse apologies, but soon she was safely seated and enjoying the view of the city from her window.

Melbourne was gorgeous, she thought as the tram trundled towards the city. She smoothly changed from the number 5 to the number 78 tram at Windsor, again congratulating herself silently.

The tram lumbered to her stop in Church Street ten minutes later and Jess climbed down the steps confidently. Woo hoo, she thought, she was early; it was only 8.30. She had plenty of time to sit and gather her thoughts, deal with her nervous bladder and grab a coffee before she was expected at Still Life.

She stepped out from the tram stop, but immediately found that her first step couldn't be followed by a second. Panic filled her. She tried to lift her left foot and realised her heel was stuck in the tram line.

Cars whipped past her on one side and another tram was just a few stops off in the distance. She wriggled her foot desperately. It was stuck fast. Jess pulled her foot out of the shoe and bent down to pull it out of its tight spot between the asphalt and metal with her hands, but it wouldn't budge. The tram was rumbling close behind her and the hot wind pulled at her curls. She grabbed the shoe again and there was a sharp snap as the heel ripped off. She stood upright, staring incredulously at the broken shoe in her hand. ‘You cannot be serious,' she shouted, drawing a faint flicker of interest from two skinny men in ill-fitting polyester suits who were comparing iPhone apps as they waited for the tram.

Jess stared around her blankly, cradling the useless shoe in her hands. Her mind slowly ticked into action. A plan, she needed a plan. Her city girl smugness had evaporated in a fog of confusion.

‘Okay, okay, move forward, just walk,' she said out loud, but the skinny men had lost interest; after all, there were wacky people all over the city.

She pulled off her other shoe and walked barefoot from the tram stop to the footpath. Good start, she nodded to herself. Now what? She checked her watch; it was almost 8.45. She had fifteen minutes to find a shoe shop and get to work. Easy. Surely?

The concrete was warm beneath her bare feet as she rushed down the street passing coffee shops, florists and bakeries, but not a single shoe shop. She willed the hands on her watch to slow down as they crept towards nine a.m. Damn it, she thought, stopping in a doorway, she would have to ring Still Life and apologise for her lateness. She pressed her hand over her eyes as she dialled the number.

‘Still Life,' was the abrupt answer.

‘Oh good morning, this is Jessica Wainwright, I'm starting a new job there this morning...' Silence echoed down the phone line, so Jess hurried on. ‘I have a small issue, so I will be about ten minutes late. Could you please pass a message on to Mimsy Baxter for me?'

‘Whatever,' a bored voice answered. The phone went dead. Jess briefly wondered if maybe a work experience student was manning the phones. Maybe she should call back and speak to Jimmy. She stood tapping her phone with her nails for a second. No, she decided, she'd sort out her footwear issue and just hope the Still Life office was flexible about start times.

She looked at her phone again, flicked to her address book and stood staring at Nick's number. He'd let her vent the morning's frustration and offer some words of support. Her finger traced his name on the screen. No. She flipped her phone closed, shoved it in her bag and stuck her chin in the air. She rushed back to the street, carefully weaving around a smashed bottle on the footpath. Suddenly she saw a Salvation Army op shop ahead, and decided to try her luck there.

The tiled floor of the shop was cool and smooth after the roughness of the concrete footpath. The clothes smelt slightly stale and musty. She hurried to the racks of shoes at the back of the store. There were tired sneakers, a pair of cracked red vinyl zip-up boots, several pairs of chunky black school shoes, strappy stilettos in a range of colours and then finally, right in the far corner of the rack, was a gift from the vintage shoe gods.

Jessica gasped with relief as she fell upon a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo sixties red suede slingbacks with pointed toes. The shoes had a large rosette and tiny kitten heels and looked as if they'd hardly been worn. ‘Please, please fit,' she whispered under her breath as she bent to slip the shoes on her feet.

‘Yes, oh no, yes ... oh, well, sort of,' Jess muttered, squeezing her foot into the shoes. They were a tight fit. Her foot was too wide for the shoes' pointy toes and the slingback cut viciously into her heels, but they looked fabulous, and they weren't broken, she thought grimly, walking gingerly to the counter to pay.

The large clock on the wall behind the counter loudly ticked off the seconds, reminding Jess that she was almost fifteen minutes late.

‘Hello dear, found a little bargain, have you?' the Salvation Army volunteer asked as she peered over the counter to admire Jess's shoes.

‘Ah yes,' Jess tried not to stare at the clock as she handed over her money.

‘I had lots of shoes like that in my day,' the lady reminisced, oblivious to Jess's impatience. ‘Crippled me for life, dear. I can hardly walk for the bunions.'

‘Ah...' was all Jess could manage. She tried to nod in sympathy, or say something relevant, but inside her head she was screaming with frustration. She finally grabbed her change and hobbled out. She made her way painfully down the street, tempted to take the cruel shoes off until she reached Still Life, but she didn't want to waste the extra seconds that would take. The straps rubbed skin from her heels, and her toes began to go numb. But then she was there.

She took a breath to ease the block of tension in her chest and calm her frantic breathing. Her feet throbbed with heat and sweat shone on her forehead. This was not how she had planned to start her first day, Jess sighed, but now she could only make the best of it.

Still Life was situated in a heritage building with huge Gothic plate-glass display windows. Jess grasped one of the large brass doorknobs and pushed her way into her new life.

The reception area was cool and hushed, the gentle trickle of an unseen water feature mingled with classical music playing softly in the background. The walls were covered in metallic, glossy silver. Beaten metal panels provided a backing for glass shelving that showcased artworks.

‘Please tell me you're Jessica Wainwright,' drawled the receptionist installed behind a stainless steel desk in the centre of the room, gazing at Jess beneath hooded lids so heavily made up she could hardly lift them. ‘Late on your first day. Way to make a good impression.' She stared at Jess impassively.

Jess felt sick. ‘Oh, the trams...' she stammered, ‘and then my shoe broke...'

‘Oh, I'm sorry,' the receptionist said. ‘Did I do something to indicate I actually care?' She glared at Jessica. Her heavy black fringe skimmed her eyes. She wore a sleeveless black jacket nipped in at the waist, a miniskirt, also in black, and black ankle boots.

‘Er, no.'

‘You're from the country, aren't you?' the girl said. ‘No, wait, don't answer that, I don't care about that either.'

Jessica decided to try a fresh approach. ‘Hi,' she said brightly, ‘I'm Jessica.' She put out her hand.

‘We've established that.' The girl ignored Jess's hand and picked up her phone. ‘The new girl is here,' she droned. ‘They'll see you in a minute.' She turned her attention back to her Twitter account.

Jess nodded. She wondered what she'd done to make this girl so angry. Maybe she was just having a bad day, she mused, wandering over to get a better look at the artworks displayed in the enormous picture windows. There was no denying the grace of each piece. There were works in sticks, twigs and dried flora, and more industrial pieces in barbed wire with slender copper pipe and silver galvanised wire twisted elegantly around it. The work was elegant, structural and artistically very exciting. Jess felt the adrenalin of the morning surging back. This job was going to be amazing.

She tilted her head back to stare up at an enormous chandelier that hung from ceiling. The piece was immense – six feet across at least – and seemed to be made of granite or marble; thousands of tiny pieces joined together with silver links resulting in an elegant drapery of illumination. Jess had first admired it when she'd come in for her interview.

‘That is a truly amazing piece,' Jess said to the receptionist. ‘Is it marble? Or white glass?'

‘Styrofoam,' the girl said in a bored voice.

‘No, sorry, the chandelier, I mean,' Jess said, pointing up.

‘Sty-ro-foam,' the girl repeated with exaggerated enunciation. She turned her pale face towards the piece and blew. The sculpture fluttered like cherry blossom in a spring breeze. ‘It's Mimsy's pride and joy,' the girl said, coming dangerously close to being civil.

‘Awesome.' Jess was impressed.

A phone buzzed and the receptionist favoured her with a blank stare and flicked a finger lazily towards the stairs. ‘You're on,' she drawled.

‘Oh okay, thanks.'

Jessica skittered up the long thin stairwell at the rear of the foyer. She peeped into the open plan area at the top. Huge tubs of materials dotted the large space. Trestles stretched the length of the room and a team of designers was engrossed in discussing the merits of marble versus stone for a sculpture's base.

Jimmy was in a glass-walled office on the other side of the enormous studio, leaning back in his chair as he talked on the phone. He looked over at her and smiled slowly. Jessica took the chance to drink in her surroundings.

Eventually Jimmy hung up the phone and ambled over to her. His pushed his rectangular tortoiseshell glasses onto the top of his head where they acted like a headband restraining his wayward locks. His skinny jeans clung to his muscular legs, a charcoal T-shirt from New York Design Week 2008 was worn over a white polo shirt – the sleeves of both were rolled together. A cherry bandana encircled his wrist. He squeezed her arm. ‘Hi,' he said.

‘Hello, Jimmy, how are you? Sorry I'm late, great place,' Jessica stammered anxiously.

‘Shhh, shhh, shhh.' He raised a long finger to his pouting lips. ‘It's okay. We don't want your creative energy to short circuit with angst.'

It was just what Jessica needed to hear. She took a deep breath in, let it out, then smiled back at him.

‘That's better. Come and meet the team. This is La-Shea, Pandora, Jacques, Bruno, Shania, Petrice and Apsara.'

The five young women and two men flicked up their hands in a cursory greeting. They'd each coveted the position of head designer and were miffed that this inexperienced and unheard-of woman had waltzed in and stolen the job.

‘They'll love you,' Jimmy whispered as they turned away. ‘Now, Mimsy really wants to welcome you,' Jimmy said, steering her down the hall to Mimsy's large office.

‘Mimsy, our new design head is here,' he said as he waltzed into the enormous space with Jessica in tow.

Mimsy glared over the magazine she was reading. ‘Punctuality, Jessica: we thrive on it here,' Mimsy said.

‘I am so sorry,' Jess began, but Mimsy silenced her with a regal wave of her unusually small hand.

‘Art doesn't happen on a whim you know, my dear. It's a discipline; it's form, it's exact placement, one millimetre to the left, my darling, and the perspective is all wrong. You know this, don't you?'

‘Well I guess you're right, but I'm afraid I'm not as precise as that. I go more by instinct,' Jess said, twisting her hands behind her back.

‘Here you will learn to be precise and regimented in your work if you hope to succeed,' Mimsy said, waggling a stubby finger in the air. ‘As you know the design team will replicate the pieces you create; their productivity relies on your inspiration; that's not something we just cross our fingers and hope will appear out of thin air. We are a well-oiled machine here: we work to a schedule and there is no place for whimsy or sloppiness.'