Armani Angels (30 page)

Three months later

Gemma climbed the stairs to the tight six-roomed office. Jolene, a large-boned woman, took up most of the space behind the front desk. She'd been working at the UP-Kids office for thirty-odd years and ruled the office. ‘You're late,' she grumbled at Gemma's entrance.

‘Yes, that might be so, but I brought you a coffee,' Gemma smiled and presented her with a paper cup.

‘You'll keep,' Jolene's raspy smoker's voice replied in thanks.

Gemma had been offered the position of official fundraising manager at UP-Kids shortly after the success of the Mal-Teaser Ball. Jeremy, the general manager, had been apologetic about the offer. He'd said that he knew it was a huge pay cut but they really needed a dedicated fundraiser now that the Dame had retired and moved to Noosa.

Gemma had barely had to think about it. It just felt right, especially now that her direct boss at IQPR was her boyfriend. But more importantly, it allowed her to get in touch with the charity at the grassroots level, something she'd never had a chance to do before with so much on her plate.

At her desk, Gemma flicked through the paper to see what press their UP-Kids weekend fun run had received. Her eye, out of habit, scanned the social pages. Priscilla Simcoe had seemingly never recovered from her social snub at the Dame's Fashion Luncheon the year prior and had included a small snippet at the bottom of her column. ‘And has-been Dame Frances Davenport was spotted lately in Hastings Street, Noosa, looking less than groomed in headscarf and trackpants. How the mighty fall.'

Gemma smacked the paper. How dare she? What a vindictive bitch. What's the point of doing that? The Dame had quietly retired. She hadn't even thrown herself a send-off. Gemma had felt badly as she'd wanted to do something but the Dame had insisted on bowing out gracefully without, as she termed it, a hullabaloo.

Gemma ripped the piece out and threw it into the rubbish. Stupid cow. That was it. Priscilla Simcoe was off her media list. Even though it was potentially damaging to exclude such an influential voice, Gemma had her standards. You didn't diss one of Gemma Bristol's friends and get away with it.

Gemma tied up all the post-event loose ends, sent out thankyous to the media who'd covered the fun run and looked at her watch. Goodness, she was going to be late. She had a quick minute to call Peter before she left for her lunch with the girls.

‘Hello, Aussie,' came his reply after one ring.

‘Hello, Aussie, yourself.' She grinned. She loved his voice. It was so deep and gravelly, like a boulder. He sounded like a large rock. A large, hard rock. That got her thinking about their evening in bed together last night. She shuddered. How was she going to wait all day until they met up at his place tonight?

‘Just calling to say I love you,' she said.

‘Isn't that a song?' he asked.

‘Yes, it is. Stevie Wonder, I think. So, what time at your place tonight?'

‘There's an IQPR management meeting; we're introducing the new Sydney team to the Melbourne team.'

‘How's the Sydney office coming along?' she asked.

‘Still an infant, but we're getting there, which reminds me, I have to go up there next week for a few days.'

‘Oh, no.' Gemma felt like something was trying to separate her arm from her body. ‘That's terrible. How will I cope without you?'

‘You could come with me on the Friday night. We could make love overlooking the Opera House. Would that help you cope?'

‘Oh, God, yes, that would be brilliant,' Gemma whispered.

‘See you soon,' he whispered back. She hung the phone up and sat in a lover's trance, the ghost of his voice wrapping itself around her body.

‘Hey, lover-girl, line two,' Jolene's rough voice from the outer office cut through her daydreaming.

She jumped. ‘Oh, right.' She dealt with the call then hightailed it to her girls' lunch.

Gemma raced into the hip-and-happening Monroes on Fitzroy Street. She looked around to find her friends. The pumpkin and hot pink of the interior lifted her spirits even further. It was such a happy place with its raspberry upholstered white plastic retro chairs and striped bulkheads. And the food was to die for.

She spotted the girls sitting on the leather banquette against the far wall.

‘Sorry I'm late,' she said after the round of embraces.

‘That's okay,' Chantelle said. ‘So how is it going at UP-Kids?'

‘Fantastic,' Gemma said with a deep smile that showed how satisfied she was. ‘The team of volunteers are so dedicated. They've really opened my eyes to how it is possible to make a difference.'

‘Are you doing much volunteer work, on top of your job?' Laura asked.

‘Oh, God yes,' Gemma said, ‘you have to, you don't have a choice. I mean, of course I have a choice. But on a personal level I don't have any option. On the many occasions that they're short-staffed I join them when they visit the families in need. It's so satisfying to know that you can really help change people's lives, even just a small amount. And I'm also pleased to be able to get their fundraising up to where it was before Dame Frances left. Of course we don't have the same types of functions but IQPR is being wonderful about their ongoing support so I can continue to access all my old resources.'

‘You must be totally in with someone at the top,' Chantelle said, and they laughed.

‘So how is your “septic tank” going anyway?' Laura asked.

‘He's not a Yank, he's Canadian,' Gemma said.

‘Same diff. How's your maple-swilling lumberjack mountie going then?'

‘Mountie? Are Canadians like, you know, famous for mounting?' Chantelle asked wide-eyed. ‘I've never heard of that.'

Laura and Gemma burst out laughing. ‘No, you goose. The mounted police. It's a Canadian thing,' Gemma said. ‘And, in answer to your question, he's great.' The dopey grin of only one truly in love crept across her face, and her eyes drooped.

‘Oh, God, she's gone,' Laura said. ‘Snap out of it. You'll get Hallmark on your shirt if you keep drooling like that. Tell me, how's Tyler coping with life?'

‘Amazingly. He has totally got stuck into his final-year studies. And did you hear he's joined Gino's martial arts class with Mathew and they're really enjoying it?

‘The blokes all heading out together doing bloke stuff, it's fantastic. And he's actually quite keen about the weekends he spends with his dad. Stephen makes sure that Mercedes is never there – it doesn't sound like they're getting on – and Tyler and his dad just hang out. They're going to the Grand Prix in Queensland next year.'

‘So Stephen's come through,' Laura said. ‘Good on him.'

Gemma nodded. ‘Yes, but he has always been a good dad. Without me in the picture it allows him to focus all his efforts on his son. They're even talking about skiing in Japan.'

‘Lucky bugger,' Chantelle said.

‘And what about you, Chantelle? How's the dating smorgasbord going for you?' Gemma asked.

Chantelle also grinned in the telltale dopey way. ‘She's gone too!' the other two squealed.

‘Tell all,' Gemma demanded. Chantelle waited while the waiter topped up their glasses and moved away.

‘How many houses, boats, fancy cars?' Laura asked in a good-natured way.

‘None. He's not wealthy, you know? He's just regular.His name's Ben,' Chantelle said.

‘What does he do?' Gemma asked.

Chantelle looked sheepish. ‘He's my personal trainer.'

‘Way to go,' Gemma laughed. ‘He'll be cut then.'

‘Ooh, yah, he's cut all right. Should see his abs. We run The Tan together every morning. And he has a pad in Brunswick. It's not big, it's cool, but. And he drives a Volksy. I don't mind about all that superficial stuff. I just really like him.'

‘Well, Chantelle, that's brilliant. Well done for you,' Gemma said. They sat back while the waiter presented their meals. Gemma had the Spanish pizza with hot chorizo, Laura the chicken club and Chantelle was dwarfed behind the enormous famous Monroes' burger.

‘Oh, Ben would kill me, he would – look at all that fat,' she said in glee.

‘What does he look like?' Gemma said and stole one of Chantelle's chips.

‘He's got longish hair and really cool tatts around the top of his arms – them Maori rings, you know? He's real tanned and all, he dresses great, he always looks nice, and best of all he treats me nice.'

‘I am so pleased for you,' Laura said. ‘That's fantastic that you've found someone.'

Gemma turned to Laura. ‘By the way, while I think of it, how are you going with the exhibition? We're hoping to make huge bucks off your stuff for the kids.'

Laura had been shooting photographs of street kids to present in a compelling exhibition at Fed Square later that month. The best thing is, it came with the type of credibility that had gained her a promotion at the paper, and now she worked for the Features section. Priscilla Simcoe and her shallow world was finally a thing of the past.

‘I am well aware it's around the corner,' Laura glared at Gemma with what could only be nerves, ‘it's in every bit of media I look at. I've been invited to join my own Facebook fan page twenty times, I swear.'

‘Go, Bethany,' Gemma grinned, ‘you'll be the rock star of the photographic world by the time she finishes with you.'

‘Yeah, well, the pressure's killing me. I've actually almost completed the work. I have some truly heartbreaking stuff. It shows the resilience of these young people. And I've decided to put a bio next to the faces – you never know, they might get work out of it. Anything could come out of it, really; it's all highly experimental.'

‘Well, the function's all go. We've got catering, entertainment, guest pieces from other street artists around the world and your hero, Eric Mathieson, is guest speaker. It will be great,' Gemma reassured her.

‘I hope so. I'm very nervous. I'm just glad to be away from Prissy Priscilla.'

‘Don't like her,' Gemma said to her slice of pizza, and she went on to tell them about the piece in today's paper.

The women hugged each other as they took their leave out on Fitzroy Street with promises of not letting so much time elapse before they treated themselves to lunch again.

Just as she was about to go, Gemma turned and said to Chantelle, ‘So, how old is your new boyfriend Ben, Chantelle?'

Chantelle grinned. ‘He's perfect. He's fifty-three, and that's just how I like it.'

Gemma grinned in return and hugged her little friend. ‘I am so pleased you're happy.'

*

Later that night, as Gemma was driving home to pick up a few things before heading over to Peter's place, her phone rang. She clicked it onto the speaker phone. A female voice floated into the Audi. ‘Hello, Gemma. It's Nicole Bartholomew here, I'm one of the producers of
Australian Story
and we'd like to do a story on you, Gemma. We're impressed with how much you do for UP-Kids and we wanted to showcase the charity and highlight your work.'

Gemma couldn't believe it.
Australian Story
? About her? That was ridiculous. She worked at UP-Kids, on a salary no less. She wasn't worthy of having an
Australian Story
piece done about her.

‘Oh, Nicole, I hardly think I'm the person you want. Surely someone's saving the pandas or curing cancer – I don't think you need me.'

She drove down into the underground car park of her new apartment building and pulled over before she lost signal.

‘It's more about the underprivileged children that you're working with, Gemma. You're so hands-on; you really get it.'

Gemma thought for a moment then reached her conclusion. ‘Well, Nicole, thank you for the honour,' she said, ‘I would love to help you out with your piece but on one condition. Can we please have a meeting to discuss this?'

‘Hello, I'm Caroline Jones and welcome to a new season of
Australian Story
.

‘For the past fifty years one Melbourne woman has given tirelessly of herself to help those in need. Her charitable works have known no bounds. She has not only raised funds for a very important charity but, unknown to many, she's actually worked hands-on with the people most in need.

‘In 1993 this woman was knighted by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II in acknowledgement for her fundraising efforts to support the underprivileged children of Melbourne. At that point the funds raised were in excess of five million dollars. To date over six point five million dollars have been raised by this Melbourne icon and her team. Tonight, on
Australian Story
, we honour the self-sacrificing and charitable work of Dame Frances Davenport. This is her story . . .'