Armani Angels (28 page)

Gemma looked around at the packed party space. ‘We did it,' she said and beamed broadly at Chantelle. Gemma's gold duchess satin gown fell to the floor and on its way caressed her every curve causing much head-turning. While Chantelle was stunning in a Thierry Mugler dress featuring a miniskirt made of hundreds of royal-blue chiffon petals that bloomed from her little waist.

‘We sure did, babe!' The women chinked their glasses.

The room was draped in white with hot-pink uplights on the walls and along the white bar. The bar staff also wore white with pink bow ties. Aphrodisiac-themed nibblies – deep-fried oysters and meatballs – were offered to the guests.

‘Is it my imagination or is everyone twelve?' Gemma asked Chantelle who was sipping an Orgasm.

‘No, they're not twelve; you're just approaching forty.' Chantelle grinned and reached out for an oyster, which she popped into her mouth. ‘Anyway, what can you expect? You targeted the young 'uns by using that particular style of marketing, the whole digital thing. Not to mention sex and chocolate.' Gemma glanced over at her security team checking IDs before the guests entered. Anybody without valid ID wasn't eligible for the drinking age wristband.

‘Anyway, it's late. That's why the young ones are spilling in now. Have you been inside? I bet the thirty-plus set were here on time and have taken all the good seats.'

‘You're right,' Gemma said, ‘let's go back in.'

The heavy bronze hessian had muted the boom of the doof-doof until the ladies parted the curtain and entered the enormous space.

The chocolate statues rose above the frenzied movement of the room. The subtle movements of the living statues had created a buzz as people worked out that they were human beings and not inanimate objects and a small audience surrounded each one. Real breasts were a lot more interesting than their chocolate counterparts.

The multi-level dance floor was four separate stages crammed with bouncing sweaty bodies. The circular bar tables spread about the room were crowded with groups of revellers enjoying the constant service from the waiting staff.

‘It's incredible, Gemma, well done,' Chantelle shouted.

Gemma yelled back, ‘Well done to you too. I can't believe we've pulled it off after yesterday's drama.'

‘Did you hear the gossip we actually had booked Tom Jones?' Chantelle said.

Gemma laughed, ‘Often it's the rumour mill that gives us the best PR.'

The two women sauntered over to Bethany who had her laptop and camera attached to a tripod at the edge of the dance floor. They waved at each other. Bethany indicated silently that Gemma should do an impromptu speech to the webcam, Gemma shook her head no, and Bethany did a hands-together plead. Gemma shrugged, grabbed the lavalier mic being proffered by Bethany, clipped it onto her neckline and walked to the front of the camera. ‘Hey there, party peeps.' The microphone was unidirectional so it captured mostly her voice and completely dampened down the music. ‘Here we are at the Mal-Teaser, raising much-needed funds for UP-Kids. If you're enjoying the beats, donate now by clicking on the link at the bottom right of your screen. Thanks for your support.'

Bethany gave Gemma the thumbs up and Chantelle and Gemma moved over to the bar. ‘Was it this loud back when we were clubbing?' Gemma asked.

‘What?' Chantelle moved her ear close to Gemma's mouth.

‘I said, was it this loud when we were clubbing?' Gemma shouted.

Chantelle, looking blankly at her, smiled and just nodded. ‘Sure, whatever you say, Gemma.'

Gemma laughed and stood with her friend, drinking in the brilliance of the night. What a great team. What a great night. There's no way Dame Frances's ball was going this well.

The foyer of the Grand Royal Hotel glittered like a precious jewel. Julian's team of stylists had created a scene so ornate and shimmering that the guests gasped as they walked through the front entrance.

Swathes of cloth covered scaffolding upon which rested treasure, jewellery and silverware. A pirate skeleton, front and centre, leaned against a faux rock and was draped in torn velvet, clasping a jewel-encrusted sword in its bony grip.

Treasure chests spilled doubloons, strings of pearls and jewels, while pots of gold dust trailed onto the floor.

Fifty minutes into the Rum Ball's opening and it had already been declared a huge success by the present media and guests.

‘Julian, this is a disaster!' Dame Frances hissed over her shoulder to her assistant as he stood behind her in the doorway to the drawing room.

‘What is it, Dame Frances?' he whispered back then waited while she greeted her next guest.

‘The Merchants just told me the Travers table isn't coming. Maureen Travers had given it to her grandchildren and they all got free Flip cameras, or some such nonsense, to use at Gemma's dashed party. Now that means the table is going to sit empty all night.'

The Dame stood at the door to the drawing room, leaning on her cane, holding her chin high, looking regal. She shook hands, accepted waves of gushing compliments and air-kissed cheeks as the guests entered and were presented with their pre-dinner drink. She resumed glaring at Julian.

‘I'm on it, Dame Frances,' he said and whisked away into the Grand Ballroom. He glanced at his watch. He had seven minutes before the staff were scheduled to fling open the doors.

He had to admit, as he hurried through to the centre of the room, the Dame was right: with the lights dimmed and the candlelit tables decorated in their pirate finery the room looked very theatrical and glamorous. You'd have to really look hard to notice the shabbiness. Even the worn patches on the timber floor were barely noticeable.

‘Quick, I need help,' Julian called over two waiters. ‘You, please go and grab me four more serving staff. And you . . .' he squinted at the name tag, ‘Alton, come here, please, we have to fix a problem.'

Alton followed Julian to the Travers table. ‘We need to disappear this table. Magic it right out of here in five minutes. Then shift the surrounding tables to fill in the space.'

‘But we're about to open the doors,' Alton protested. It would seem filling water glasses for the evening was the limit of Alton's capabilities.

Julian looked at the slack-jawed mouth-breather and fought the urge to slap him.

‘Go and fetch two large serving trays, please, Alton.' Julian needed action, not excuses.

While Alton meandered over to the waiters' station, three staff rushed over. Julian explained the situation. The female waiter stacked up all the china and sped from the room with it. She returned with a tray and Alton. Alton stood there while the others piled glasses onto his tray. Julian held his breath as the young man picked his way across the room to the kitchen to unload.

Meanwhile the remaining staff members scooped up the cutlery and floral centrepiece and whipped away the tablecloth. One man, with deft skill, rolled the tabletop to the service entrance the stagehand had used the day before. Another waiter, with admirable rippling back muscles, Julian noted, hoisted the metal table base over his head and followed.

Julian, Alton and the waitress carefully repositioned three of the tables to fill in the yawning hole. The reception's babble grew thunderous and Julian looked up to see the wide double doors had been concertinaed back and the guests spilled into the room, exclaiming and gasping at its beauty.

Julian looked above the heads to see Dame Frances craning her neck in search of him. He raised a thumb up and she smiled.
Thank you
, she mouthed.

‘Just going to get a drink. Do you want anything?' Chantelle yelled at Gemma.

‘No, thanks,' Gemma yelled back. She stood alone for a glorious moment. For a brief moment no one squawked on her headpiece, no one rushed up with a drama; it was just her and her production and she analysed every detail, weighing it up, assessing and making mental notes for next time.

‘Hi, Mum.'

Gemma spun around and beamed. ‘Tyler, you made it, that's wonderful. You got a taxi okay?'

‘Yeah, no worries. I want you to meet someone – this is Amy.'

Amy smiled up at Gemma. She had long straight dark blonde hair with a diagonal fluffy fringe that hid one eye. She wore a tank top and a bubble skirt pulled up to finish under the bustline. Her skirt was teal, her bag was bright yellow and her shoes aqua.

Gemma smiled back. ‘Hello, Amy. It's a pleasure to meet you.'

‘Great party, Mrs Bristol,' Amy said.

‘Oh, call me Gemma. I am so glad you could make it.'

‘I was so happy that Tyler invited me.' She looked up at her date and sighed in clear admiration.

Gemma felt both a warmth and a sadness surge deep within. She was so pleased that he'd found someone, but a little sad as she knew this was the first of many future steps away from her.

Amy reached up and brushed a fleck from her date's navy blue shirt with her long blue nails. Silver fireworks decorated each one.

Gemma smiled as she remembered what Tyler had said about her fingernails. ‘I like your nails, Amy,' she said.

Tyler gushed, ‘Yeah, they're great, aren't they? And guess what – they're not fake.'

‘Nope,' Amy said, twiddling her fingers, ‘they're the real deal.'

‘So,' Gemma didn't want to be too nosy but was desperate to know as much as she could, ‘how did you guys meet?'

‘Oh, Tyler's been helping me with geography. He's so good at it,' Amy gushed, looking up at him.

‘Is he?' Gemma asked, looking at her son. A quizzical smile played on her lips.

‘Yeah, my teacher at my school's crap and Tyler's teacher sounds really good. At least Tyler makes geography really interesting anyway.'

‘Well, that's just wonderful,' Gemma said.

The DJ mashed the Black Eyed Peas' ‘Boom Boom Pow' into Beyoncé's ‘Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)'. ‘I love this song, it's so old school,' Amy said, then asked, ‘do you want to dance, Tyler?'

Gemma held her breath. Tyler hated dancing; it embarrassed him.

He put an arm around his new girlfriend. ‘Try and stop me,' he said and guided Amy onto the dance floor.

Well, well, well, a whole new Tyler to get to know. Gemma stood and watched them laughing and enjoying each other on the dance floor. The tears threatened but this time it wasn't the inexplicable sudden flood she'd been experiencing lately, but a mother's pride in her beautiful man-child. He was growing up so quickly. Wasn't it just yesterday she was applying a Bandaid to a scraped knee? And now here he is, tall, handsome – nearly pimple-free, fingers crossed – on his first date. Next he would finish school, get a job and go out into the world. Tyler gently pushed a lock of hair from Amy's eyes. The tender action nearly broke Gemma's heart in two.

‘Hello, Aussie girl. I've been looking everywhere for you.'

Gemma's chest and throat clamped tight as she recognised the accent immediately.

‘Peter?' She spun around. ‘Peter!' Gemma threw her arms around his neck. His arms went around to the small of her back, his face buried into her neck. ‘Oh, God, you smell so good,' he said.

They drew apart. She beamed. ‘I can't believe you came; I simply can't believe you flew all the way across the world to go to a party. Wow, talk about lifestyles of the rich and famous.'

‘Well, I'd love to give you that compliment, but I have to be honest, it's combined with work.' He looked around the room. ‘This is incredible, Gemma, just amazing. You actually pulled it off. Is it a sellout?'

‘Yes! It was remarkable. Within two weeks of the tickets going on sale. Lucky you bought your batch so early.'

In a show of confidence Peter had had the New York office purchase the first one hundred tickets, which he then distributed to the Melbourne team so that they could all go. A little thankyou for all their hard work.

‘It was a great gift, Peter. Of course, we couldn't offer any freebies because there were so many sponsors, friends and volunteers involved. No one minded at all, well, almost no one.' She thought of Mercedes's reaction to the news which hadn't been pretty. ‘But one hundred dollars was a bit steep for some of the junior staff members and they would have missed it.'

‘My pleasure, it's a great cause. Hey, can we move away from the doof-doof?' Peter shouted into her ear. ‘I have to talk to you.'

‘Work? Now? Come on, loosen up, shake your booty.' She put her hands on his hips and he did a little gyration, laughing at what a goof he looked.

‘Just a quick word, please?' Peter said as he grabbed her hands in his.

‘Oh, you're a workaholic,' she grumbled. ‘Let's go to the chill-out room.'

The chill-out room was on the mezzanine level. It was draped in tawny silk and red sheer curtains. The cushions were fluffy lamb's wool flokati and the couches deep and lush. Gemma's brief had been to make it look like a high-class hooker's boudoir and the red and mocha colourway and luxe textures achieved just that.