Armani Angels (29 page)

They found a quiet corner. The bartender hurried over with two cocktails. ‘Orgasm?' Gemma asked with a cheeky glint in her eye.

‘Don't mind if I do,' Peter said and accepted the drink from the young man. ‘Cheers.' They chinked glasses and leaned back against the love seat listening to the more subdued tunes and drinking in the quiet moment.

‘So, work stuff,' Peter started.

‘Groan,' said Gemma. ‘If this is about the position, I was going to call you on Monday with my answer.'

‘Yes, it is actually. What do you think? Have you come to a decision? I need to know.'

Gemma took in a big breath. She was about to do something she really didn't want to do and that was to disappoint him. He'd been her career champion for years now and she knew that she would seem to be a failure when she declined the role of CEO of the Melbourne office.

‘Peter, I've thought long and hard about this. You know I want it, you know I can do it, but I just can't accept. It's Tyler. He's just come out of a very black time of it and we've got this nasty divorce on our horizon and I just need to be more available during Tyler's final year of school. I have to say no, I'm afraid.'

She'd been toying with her glass as she said this but looked up now into his eyes. She was surprised to see him beaming.

‘Good,' he said.

‘Good? Why?' Why on earth would Peter think that was good? He'd been begging her to take on the job. With her refusal, she was putting the company all the way back to square one where they would have to start headhunting all over again.

‘As usual, my dear Aussie, I have pre-empted you, and with incredible skill I might say.' Peter had a smug look on his face.

‘What do you mean?' Her eyes narrowed. What was he up to?

‘I know you, Gemma; God, with the amount of skyping we've been doing lately, I ought to by now. I know what a difficult year this has been for you. I know there's a long way to go; believe me, I've been there – it's horrible.

‘And I also know you're an incredible mom. I had a feeling you would turn the job down. And it doesn't make you a failure, far from it. I admire your decision, I really do. Goddamn, if I'd been that strong and less career-hungry, I might still have my family today. Of course you were going to turn it down. You've got your priorities right, eh?'

Gemma smiled and gave him a one-armed hug. ‘Thank you so much, Peter, for understanding. I really appreciate it.' She took a sip of her cocktail. ‘But where does that leave IQPR? Who will we get for the position?'

‘I've got the perfect man for the job.' He grinned in a boyish fashion, like a kid with a trick deck of cards. ‘In fact, he's starting on Monday.'

‘Who?' Gemma asked, quite miffed that someone had been hired without waiting for her answer or even consulting her.

‘Me.'

She looked at him, her jaw dropped open. She was stunned.

‘But, Peter, why? It must be such a drop in salary, not to mention the commute to see your daughter.'

‘Well, I must admit that was a major hurdle. Then, out of the blue, Emily, as part of her medical training, decided to take on a year's work experience with your Flying Doctor Service. If that wasn't a sign from the gods, I don't know what is. As for the pay, it's only money, the cost of living is so much cheaper here, and it's worth it for . . .' he smiled at her ‘. . . the job satisfaction.'

She shoved his thigh in response to his double entendre. ‘Well, that's remarkable.' She was floored by this sudden incredible turn of events. ‘Oh, Peter, this is just amazing. I can't get my head around it.'

‘So you don't mind going back to your old role?'

‘Only if you don't mind that I'll be sleeping with the boss.' She looked up, eyes half-closed, a dirty smile playing on her lips.

‘Oh, that's okay . . . I don't mind at all, really,' he murmured and moved towards her, his soft lips meeting hers in a kiss so charged it made every square centimetre of her skin light up until she felt that she could have taken the place of the missing disco ball.

Charity Challenge Voters Say Bristol Emerges Queen

By Priscilla Simcoe

Priscilla's Socials,
The Age

The charity gals' fight of nights is over and a victor emerges from the fairy dust.
Priscilla Simcoe
has more.

Last night's Charity Challenge had most of Melbourne's partygoers frocked up, made-up and perked up as they trotted their way to either one of the two events that have had the town talking for months. Which event to attend? Dame Frances's Rum Ball or Gemma Bristol's Mal-Teaser event?

It wasn't such a decision after all; the blue-rinse monied class had chauffeur James tootle the Bentley over to visit the ageing Dame at the equally ageing Grand Royal Hotel's Grand Ballroom.

The upper classes paid through their cosmetically enhanced noses for their five-hundred-dollar tickets and then a further fifty dollars a ticket at the raffle.

Although this reporter wasn't invited, one guest, who chose to remain nameless, said it was a staid evening of cheap theatrics, shoddy decoration and a tired rendition of Opera Australia's
Pirates of Penzance
musical numbers.

The swing band had the oldies tapping their toes but the only ones able to trip the light fantastic on the dance floor seemed to be the athletic Mr Ron Barassi and his wife.

The sole item of note from the pirate function is that Dame Frances announced that she was jumping ship. She was resigning from UP-Kids effectively immediately. This news shocked the room but it's not surprising, as the old duck really has had her day and needs to be decommissioned.

Meanwhile a very different party was in full swing at the funky Docklands party venue, The Shed. Gemma Bristol, thanks to a powerful digital media campaign, sold all of her 3000 tickets. The hordes of glamour gals and guys arrived, eagerly skipping up the hot-pink carpet under the flashes of masses of media.

The event was Ustreamed with appearances from the legendary Ms Bristol herself. Vloggers and bloggers kept the huge membership fan base up to speed on the night's activities as they occurred. With modern-day technology the event was all over the world as it happened.

Dancing with the Stars
stars, Peta Fitzgerald and Damien Cameron, wowed the audience in skimpy gold costumes and the sexy number they performed with backup from the Danceramas kept the temperature turned well up.

The goody bags were overflowing with exciting treats including a love-heart necklace, fragrance, naughty bits and, of course, choccies. The food and cocktails were delicious, although perhaps this reporter indulged in a few too many of the latter.

The numbers aren't in yet, but considering both events were sold out it would appear that it's even stevens. However, purely based on fun factor, the vote has got to go to Gemma Bristol's Mal-Teaser. Melbourne has never been to such a wild party. Three thousand of Melbourne's PYTs might be nursing hangovers this morning but they were nursing Orgasms all night last night as they shook their booties to the wee hours. Cool beats stale, Dame Frances; put that in your Skype and blog it.

Gemma entered the elegant foyer of The Hotel Windsor. She smiled as she took in the refinement of yesteryear. The large wide circular timber table in the centre of the lobby proudly boasted an enormous English-style floral arrangement. Hydrangeas, carnations, chrysanthemums, arum lilies and gladioli burst in celebration of summer. The red and gold bow around the vase was the one concession to the Christmas season.

It was always a shame that the traditional flora of blue spruce, Douglas fir and birch looked so out of place in Australia at Christmas time and Gemma felt a shiver of excitement that she and Tyler were going to be spending their Christmas in Toronto with Peter and his family. It was just like a gingerbread village, he promised her. Colourful fairy lights reflecting from the season's first dusting of snow; wreaths, carolling, all the festivities from the movies.

Gemma had called Dame Frances as soon as she'd seen the awful article that Priscilla Simcoe had written about the two functions. She'd wanted to touch base and offer an olive branch. The Dame had agreed to meet here for high tea today.

The Dame had sounded dreadful on the phone. Her voice had quavered, she'd sounded as if she wasn't concentrating and Gemma had to repeat herself. It was as if the excitement of the final function had drained her completely of her energy.

Their high-tea date had arrived and when Gemma entered the elegant drawing room she took in the ornate detail that flooded the space. A pastel rainbow of armchairs and couches in chintz, toile and Regency stripes dotted the room, surrounding delicate claw-legged tables. Wedgwood china proudly served the finest range of Indian teas, while multi-tiered tea trays bowed under the delicacies of asparagus spears, mini crème brûlées, foie gras and a variety of other melt-in-your-mouth delights.

Dame Frances, dressed in navy pants, white shirt and a knee-length navy knit vest, sat staring out the window, fiddling with her long string of pearls.

‘Hello, Dame Frances,' Gemma said as she approached and put out her right hand.

‘Don't be so formal, dear,' the Dame said and offered her right cheek. Gemma kissed it lightly.

‘Tea?' she asked and flicked a finger for the waiter to come over.

‘Of course,' Gemma replied.

‘High tea for two,' the Dame ordered then turned back. ‘It was good of you to come,' she said.

‘I had to; I wanted you to know I was never out to hurt you. I got swept up in the excitement of the event and it became a whirlwind I just couldn't get out of.'

‘Well, you were right, all along, that must be a nice feeling. You were right about the technological age being the way of the future. I must have been blind; I'd always thought the internet was just a fad, a passing phase. But reading all the media on your event, well, it's just mind-blowing, all this blogging, skyping, webcam business and what in God's name is vlogging?'

‘It's a video blog,' Gemma said.

‘And what
is
a blog? No, don't answer, I honestly really don't care.' She smiled at Gemma; her eyes looked tired. The waiter brought their tea over and set the table. He eventually ceased his fussing.

‘So how much money did you make?' Dame Frances grinned. Gemma grinned back. The sly old fox could not be held back.

‘Four hundred and sixty thousand. How about you?' Gemma said.

Dame Frances screwed her hands into fists and did a double airpump. ‘Four hundred and eighty.' She threw her head back and laughed.

‘Congratulations, Dame Frances, you win.' Gemma smiled and shook her hand.

The Dame recovered from her spontaneous hooting. ‘I have never in my life raised anywhere near as much money at one event. Dear Lord, it very nearly killed me.'

‘You know, there were a lot of reviews about your function online,' Gemma said. ‘It wasn't just Priscilla's article. And they were all good. I printed them out for you. You actually got a number of rave reviews. The
Top Model
girls didn't end up coming to my function until yours was over at midnight. They couldn't stop talking about it; they said it was so much fun. I think they all met a millionaire each.'

‘Really?' Dame Frances said, reaching out for the sheaf of papers. ‘I got good reviews?'

‘Yes, Dame Frances, wonderful reviews, loads of tremendous press. Especially given that you announced your retirement – that sparked a great deal of interest.' She sat back and stared at the older woman. ‘Are you really going?'

The Dame was flicking through the dozens of pages Gemma had brought. ‘Hmmm? Oh, yes, I am. Today's my last day in Melbourne. I'm flying to Maroochydore tomorrow morning. My daughter and grandchildren are driving up and will meet me at the airport. I'm quite excited to see them. I haven't seen them in months.'

‘But, Dame Frances, you can't just disappear like this. What about a big farewell party acknowledging all your efforts over the years? Your friends will want to say goodbye. You simply must have a send-off.'

‘What do you think this is?' Dame Frances said, peering over her glasses. ‘Besides, after that dreadful article from Priscilla, all of my so-called friends have gone to ground, not wanting to be associated with such a failure. And there's the fact I'm leaving town. I'm no good to anyone in sunny Queensland, am I?'

‘So you're all packed then?' Gemma couldn't believe it. Melbourne town without Dame Frances Davenport at the social helm?

‘Oh, that's Julian's last job. Poor little mite, he can't see the packing tape for all the tears. I shall miss him.'

‘What on earth will Julian do? He'll be lost without you. Has he a job to go to?'

‘No, not yet. I've given him glowing references, of course. He'll be fine.'

The high tea was served and Gemma listened and snickered at Dame Frances's satirical commentary about some of the other guests in the room.

Eventually Gemma looked at her watch. She had to get to Tyler's taekwondo grading.

‘Dame Frances, I'm sorry, but I have to be somewhere,' Gemma stood and picked up her small Miu Miu bag and slung it over her body.

‘Why do you girls wear your handbags like that? You look like a tram conductor.'

Gemma smiled; dear old Dame Frances still had a bit of spice and colour in her yet.

Gemma leaned over and embraced the Dame who hugged her strongly back. ‘Can I come and visit?' Gemma asked.

‘Of course, I'd be delighted to have you.'

Gemma walked to the door overwhelmed with melancholy at being witness to the demise of such an institution. She turned at the doorway to wave goodbye and saw Dame Frances reading the printouts. A broad smile shifted the wrinkled skin upwards and years fell from the Dame's visage. She got to a part that must have particularly amused her and laughed out loud.

As Gemma watched a woman from a nearby table stand and approach the Dame, words were exchanged and obviously a compliment given because the Dame smiled her thanks and shook the woman's hand. Gemma left feeling a little less troubled. The Dame was always going to do okay.

On the way back to the car she texted Peter.

Julian packed up the last box and looked around the empty apartment. He had a pocket full of soggy Kleenex. He couldn't believe it was the end of an era. His darling Dame Frances was leaving Melbourne, leaving society, and leaving him to fend for himself. He didn't know whom he felt more sorry for: the Dame, himself or his cat, who was now going to have an unemployed mummy. He shut the door and walked to the lift.

Leaning against the wall, Julian could feel his misery welling up again deep inside. No, he would be strong. He stopped at the Dame's letterbox and, as per her instructions, he dropped the key to her penthouse inside. It landed with a metallic chink. He didn't get to work in a penthouse anymore, it wasn't fair. Tears were threatening to develop into a full-blown flood any second. Luckily his mobile phone rang at that moment to save him from the embarrassment of sobbing uncontrollably in the lobby of a luxury apartment building.

‘Hello,' he sniffed and rubbed his eyes.

‘Is this Julian Goodstead?' the voice at the other end of the line asked in a strong North American accent.

‘Yes, it is,' Julian said, quelling the quaver in his throat.

‘Julian, this is Peter Blakely. I'm a friend of Gemma Bristol's. I've just started work here in Melbourne and I'm looking for an assistant.'