Armani Angels (21 page)

‘Wow, I'm impressed.' Gemma gave her friend an impulsive hug. ‘It must be really difficult to make such a big change.'

‘Yeah, it was . . . and it wasn't, you know what I mean?' Laura said, stepping back as a large black Lexus sloshed through a puddle causing waves to cascade over the gutter and onto the footpath.

‘And as I said, it's just a start. But what I did first was to hold a Wii Sports night with two work buddies. They're top blokes, writers, dorky as all get out, but really nice guys. It didn't take long for Mathew to creep out of his cave like a scared animal tempted by food.

‘Before long it was on, and Mathew was accepting the trophy for highest score in Wii Bowling. He had a great night. He was laughing and joking with these guys and they were slapping him on the back, all macho-like. It was a real testosterone fest.'

‘Oh, Laura,' Gemma said, ‘you're a genius.'

‘Dunno about that. Then I found a youth camp that he went on for a week, boys only, and they did lots of male-bonding stuff, climbing, boating, spitting, whatever. So that was good too.'

‘That sounds brilliant. Can you email me the link?'

‘No probs. But finally there's been one development that I was very nervous about at first but it seems to be working well in all sorts of ways.'

‘What's that?'

Before she could answer, Laura grinned with eyes downcast. She looked up at Gemma. ‘I'm kind of seeing someone.'

‘No!' Gemma squealed.

‘Yeah. It's amazing what happens when you work on changing your attitude.'

‘Who?'

‘Oh, there's this guy; he owns the delicatessen cafe around the corner. I've been going there for years, actually. He's Italian and very hot. It was his parents' business and they've just retired. I guess I always had my life-let-me-down hat on every time I went in there and with this new-found campaign to find the world a more interesting place, especially in front of Mathew, I've been making more of an effort to be friendly towards Gino. And lo and behold, he bloody asked me out.

‘Of course Mathew's known him for years, they chat whenever we go there for breakfast. Mathew's always liked him and now that Gino's around all the time Mathew has just blossomed. He's got the respect of a male mentor and you can't beat that.'

Gemma shook her head in amazement. ‘You dark horse, I am so happy for you. Why haven't you told me?'

‘Well, it's all been so fast, and I didn't know where it was going. But it's pretty much official now.'

Gemma leaned in to give her friend a second hug. ‘This is wonderful news. You really are glowing. I noticed when you walked in, you looked so much happier, not as . . .'

‘Gloomy?' Laura laughed.

‘Yeah, something like that.' Gemma laughed too. ‘You've inspired me. Now you get, girl. Go home to your hunky Italian boyfriend.'

Gemma drove away, uplifted and joyous over her friend's burgeoning relationships, both romantic and mother–son. If it could happen for Laura, maybe there was hope for her too. She thought about Tyler with renewed optimism, but sighed as her thoughts turned once more to her marriage. Some things seemed too big to even think about.

Tyler was slumped in front of the TV. A packet of corn chips spilled onto the table. The salsa jar, half empty, sat next to its lid. His finger tapped the channel-up button on the remote every three seconds. He'd been through the forty channels twice and hadn't found anywhere to stop yet. MTV had a stupid Pet Shop Boys special on. They're so gay. The network programming was a series of shows featuring doofus losers tripping through the afterschool timeslot in embarrassing costumes and over-enunciating every syllable, surely numbing the brains of little kids.

The doorbell rang. He looked down the corridor to the closed study door. He could hear his dad's deep murmur; he must be on the phone. Tyler groaned. The effort to get up and walk to the door weighed him down.

He pulled open the door. Mercedes stood there. She glowered at him.

‘What are you doing here again?' he asked.

‘You know what I'm doing here. I'm planning that surprise party for your mum. I hope you're keeping it a secret.'

‘Yeah, right, a surprise party. What a crock,' Tyler said.

‘It
is
a surprise party your dad and I are working on. What are you doing here anyway? I thought you'd be with that creepy friend of yours.'

‘Nuh, he's got a new mate, Gino.'

‘Shame. Nice ink, by the way.' Mercedes pointed at Tyler's forearm as she walked past. A biro-ed image of an axe dripping blood took up the entire space. ‘Pity it's just a fakey.'

He glared after her as she sauntered down the hall and let herself into the den. ‘Darling!' he heard her exclaim and saw his dad embrace her as the door closed behind them. He hated Mercedes. He hated this house. He wished he were a bird, like a vulture or an eagle or something cool, so he'd be in control of his own life and he could fly away from this crap.

Mercedes didn't stay long. An hour after she left his mum came home. She came into the kitchen dragging bags of groceries. He heard her grunting with the effort and rolled off the couch to go and help her. He went into the garage and brought in the last few bags and dumped them on the bench.

‘Thank you, superstar,' Gemma said and beamed at him. ‘This is all for you guys to live off next week when I'm away. Look, it's such a gorgeous night after yesterday's rain and I don't feel like cooking, so how about you and I head down to the beach and get fish and chips together at that little place you like?'

‘Dad coming?'

‘Let's make it just us. Anyway, I think he's got a meeting tonight.'

‘Sounds good,' Tyler said and grabbed his oversized hoodie.

*

The traffic was reasonable. Gemma thought it would only take half an hour to get to Nimmo Street in Albert Park. Tyler spent the entire time flicking through radio stations. He barely stopped on one song for long before he changed. It was as irritating as hell but Gemma hesitated to poke the bear by complaining.

She knew better than to force the conversation. The best stuff flowed naturally when, and if, Tyler decided to talk. He was like a clam on a rock when it came to forcing an issue. Often the best way to try to get some conversation from him was to get him in the car, where he couldn't just walk away, where he didn't have to be confronted by sitting face to face, and just hope that he relaxed enough to actually talk to her.

Sure enough, halfway through the silent drive Tyler turned to her. ‘How long will you be away this time, Mum?'

‘Oh, just a few days. Back on Thursday.'

He looked back out of the window after punching the radio button again. A few minutes elapsed. Gemma desperately wanted to ask how he felt about her going away, whether he was happy, whether he even liked her anymore. She arched her back to relieve some of the tension she felt and clenched her teeth together. Questioning him would only make him retreat further. She stared determinedly ahead and resisted the urge to pepper him with a barrage of questions.

‘So, what's New York like?'

Gemma's heart filled with excitement and she exhaled with relief. This was a conversation. Don't wreck it, tread carefully. Make it about him.

‘Yeah, good,' she said lightly. ‘There's a fantastic skate park.'

‘Really?' he asked, pretending not to care.

‘Yep, in fact last time Tony Hawk was there. He was doing a demo.'

‘Really?' he said. Now he sounded impressed.

‘Uh-huh, he's great. I didn't see it live but I saw it on the telly in my room. Also, New York has good music.'

‘Yeah, some really good musicians come out of New York. And Seattle,' he said.

‘I saw Sting there in real life last time. He was in the same restaurant as me,' Gemma offered.

‘Who's Sting?' Tyler looked at her.

‘He was in The Police, you know, “Roxanne”? “Don't Stand So Close to Me”?'

‘Oh, right.'

‘And also I was shopping in a department store when Jon Bon Jovi walked in.'

‘That's pretty cool,' Tyler said. A few minutes crept by. Then Tyler said, ‘I saw Hamish and Andy in Bourke Street Mall last week.'

‘Did you? That's great. I love them. I love Hamish, he's hilarious.'

‘Yeah, Hamish is cool.'

They didn't speak again for the remainder of the journey but Gemma felt warm and reassured in the comfortable and easy silence.

Other walkers and joggers were also taking advantage of the unusually warm evening. They decided to stroll along the sand towards the fish and chip shop.

‘God, people are pigs,' Tyler said as he noticed a few cans and a plastic bag lying on the sand. He walked over and scooped the cans into the bag.

Gemma saw a beer bottle a little way up and jogged over to collect it. She dropped it into Tyler's bag. ‘It's disgusting, isn't it? Such a beautiful beach and they don't even care.'

They wandered on admiring the millpond stillness of the bay. They passed a man as he threw a ball into the water. A wet and excited labrador leaped after it, swimming into the depths to retrieve his prize.

Tyler scooped up another bit of rubbish. The wind had dropped and, apart from the occasional childish shout from a distance in the other direction and the hum of the Beach Road traffic, it was quiet.

‘You know Gavin? From school?'

‘Yep, his dad's a doctor,' Gemma said.

‘Yeah, that's the one,' Tyler said. ‘He was going out with this girl from St Catherine's, Amy.'

‘Oh, yes,' Gemma said.

‘Well, he two-timed her.'

‘Oh, that's no good,' Gemma said.

‘Yeah, I was hanging at the shops with Mathew the other week and saw her crying with her friends around her.'

‘Is this a girl you fancy?'

‘Amy?' he scoffed. ‘Nah, she's got fake nails.'

She let the conversation fritter to its natural halt. They walked on further, collecting rubbish as they went. The lights of the fish and chip shop on The Esplanade in the distance spilled onto the twilight sand.

‘I felt kinda sorry for her, but,' he eventually said. ‘It must have really hurt her.'

‘I guess so,' Gemma said. ‘It wasn't very nice of Gavin.'

‘Gavin's a prick.'

After they'd dropped the rubbish in the bin and shared hot battered fish and plump salty chips they headed back home. They spoke little as they ate dinner. Just about school and Mathew's mum's new friend, Gino. Tyler liked Gino but was a bit put out he didn't see Mathew as much.

During the car ride home the gentle silence wove its magic again.

‘There's this girl, Rosa,' Tyler started.

‘Oh yes,' Gemma said, trying to sound nonchalant.

‘I wasn't going out with her or anything, this is last year, right?'

‘Right.'

‘But we were kind of friends, kind of hanging out, you know, then she started going out with Jamie.'

‘How did that make you feel?' Gemma asked.

‘It hurt. I liked her.'

Gemma felt like someone had sliced her open. Her little boy's first broken heart.

‘It's no biggie or anything. It's just that the Gavin and Amy thing reminded me of it.'

Tyler didn't say anything more on the subject and Gemma sat quietly as the Audi purred along the busy Melbourne streets.

They pulled into their street when Tyler spoke again. ‘I feel sorry for Amy.'

Gemma turned off the living room lights, checked the doors were all locked and they made their way up the stairs to their rooms. At her bedroom door she turned to her son and gave him a big hug.

‘Thanks for tonight, my sweetie. That was great.'

‘Yeah, thanks for dinner.' He turned to walk down the hallway to his room then stopped and looked back. ‘Mum,' his voice was gruff.

She turned back towards him. ‘Yes?'

‘I'm going to miss you, when you go to New York.'

She smiled, tears prickling. ‘I'm going to miss you too.'

Gemma groaned as she walked through the arrivals hall. She scanned the scraps of paper that were being brandished by the many drivers in various livery and size. Her name wasn't there. Damn, she should have confirmed with IQPR's receptionist that the car had been ordered. Looks like she was cabbing it.

Exhausted by her twenty-two-hour flight, she wheeled her case down the ramp and towards the exit. Why was it always so hot inside in the US? She stripped off her autumn coat and unbuttoned her suit jacket. ‘Well, hey there, Aussie,' a familiar voice said.

‘Peter, what in the hell are you doing here?' God, he was just so tall and lovely. She had to restrain herself when they cheek-kissed hello for fear that she would just leap into those muscular arms. She felt he was restraining himself too as he held her shoulder longer than was necessary after their greeting had reached its natural conclusion.

‘I've come to collect you . . . because of the fact that you're not here long and we can get some work done in the car en route. Yeah, that's it.'

‘Oh,' she replied in an innocent voice, ‘so it's a work-related reason.'

‘Yeah, sure, good use of time and whatnot.' Peter handed her a bottle of water then picked up her bag.

‘Thanks. I'm parched,' she said. She couldn't believe he was so thoughtful.

‘There's the car.'

He pointed to a black-suited driver standing at an open boot. Peter handed the bag over and they slid into the expansive back seat.

‘So The Algonquin again?' he asked. Gemma's heartbeat accelerated somewhat as she remembered the potent sexual energy that had sparked between them last time. She smiled. ‘Yes, I really like it there.'

‘I thought as much. Are you up for dinner later? Or are you too tired?'

There was no way Gemma was going to miss out on dinner with Peter. She only had two nights here so every minute counted. Of course, she scolded herself, it was strictly business.

‘That would be fantastic,' she said.

‘I'll take you to Caviar Russe. Have you been there before?' he asked.

‘No, I haven't heard of it.'

‘It's over on Madison Avenue. Right near the office, actually. It's very good for business dinners. Loads of moving and shaking going on. It's quite amazing who you see. Donald Trump is often there. It's just a few blocks south of Trump Tower.'

‘Wow, I can't wait. I love caviar.'

‘I thought you might.' He grinned then pulled a sheaf of documents from his satchel. ‘Now, can I run these figures past you? I need your advice.'

Sitting side by side, thighs touching, they bowed their heads over the papers and talked shop for the rest of the trip.

The royal-blue doorway of Caviar Russe sat on Madison Avenue flanked by a bank on its north side and a clothing store on its south. The unassuming navy awning stated the restaurant's name in an elegant gold script. Entering the century-old building's small foyer, Peter and Gemma climbed the tight stairway, adding their own minute impression onto the bowed marble steps where hundreds of thousands of feet had passed before them.

Gemma ran her hand along the worn timber banister as she followed Peter's long legs to the first floor. The banister was curvaceous and warm to the touch.

The stairway led them to the entrance where a smiling, suited man appeared to have been awaiting their arrival. ‘Mr Blakely, how lovely to see you again.' The maître d' made a slight deferential bow with his head.

‘Armando, it's great to be back.'

‘I have your regular table ready, sir. Please, this way.' Armando led them to a table that perched on a window overlooking the galaxy of lights that was Madison Avenue.

‘What a great view,' Gemma said and slid into her seat. As Peter perused the wine list, Gemma gazed around the restaurant taking in the resplendent decor. Murano glass spheres dangled as modern chandeliers from royal-blue-painted ceiling panels that were in turn framed by ornate plaster mouldings. Murals depicting Russian fables took up the main wall while mirrors coated the other walls. The staff silently approached other tables with elaborate offerings featuring sushi, sashimi and, of course, caviar.

Gemma looked at the menu and gasped. ‘I could actually order a meal that costs US$2900,' she whispered. ‘That's ridiculous.'

Peter grinned. ‘Yes, well, don't. IQPR's doing well but not that well. Do you want me to order for you?'

‘You'd better. This is overwhelming,' she said, scanning the list of caviars.

Armando came back to the table and Peter ordered a bottle of Dom Pérignon, after checking that Gemma felt like champagne, and a tasting menu of several different types of sushi, with a caviar appetiser. ‘But no cilantro in the salad, please,' Peter said to the handsome young server. ‘My friend hates it.'

‘You remembered I don't like coriander,' she accused him after Armando had taken their order and vanished like a will-o'-the-wisp.

‘Of course I remembered, because it's completely idiotic.'

Once again she marvelled at his thoughtfulness. She thought of the many coriander-infused Vietnamese meals she'd had to endure because Stephen never remembered each time he brought home takeaway.

‘Have you ever wondered why the Yanks call their main meals “entrees”?' Gemma said. ‘After all, “entrée” is French for entry, and it doesn't make sense, really.'

Armando appeared with the chilled champagne and expertly poured it then left.

‘I hadn't thought about it, but I guess you're right,' Peter said. ‘Cheers, to us.' He raised his flute. ‘IQPR us, I mean.'

‘Of course, cheers, to IQPR's continued world domination.' Gemma clinked her flute against his.

‘So, how's life on the home front?' Peter asked, leaning on his elbows into the table.

‘Oh, it's getting there. Tyler and I had a lovely night out together the day before I left. I really think things are turning around. He's very worried about something, though. It sounded like girl troubles, but I don't think it's that exactly, it's something related. It's hard. I wish he knew he could open up and talk to me about anything, that I wouldn't judge him.'

‘Yes, I understand completely,' Peter said. ‘Emily was like that. It was as if I spoke a different language to her and she just couldn't be bothered. I am sure he'll come through it soon.'

‘I hope so,' Gemma sighed, ‘I really do. He's such a great kid. He's just so riddled with insecurities. If only they could see what we see, if only they knew how great they are. But teenagers are always comparing themselves with and looking up to some dickhead at school whose biggest claim to fame is being able to squirt milk from their tear ducts.'

‘Oh, how true that is,' Peter hooted with laughter. ‘And how goes it with your husband?'

‘Not good, I'm afraid. I'm completely torn in two. I just don't know what would be the best for Tyler: to keep wrestling with the relationship for the sake of maintaining the appearance of a united family, or to split, which would obviously be difficult initially but would certainly make for happier homes in the long run.'

‘It's interesting you say that,' Peter said, his chin in his hand as he listened to her.

‘Say what?'

‘Well, you said, “what's best for Tyler”. Sure it's his family, but it's your marriage. Why don't you consider what
you
really want? It would be best for your son if his mom just lived her own truth.'

‘Hmmm, you're right, of course. I have been so wound up about Tyler that I hadn't even considered that.'

Armando returned with two long plates featuring a central bowl on ice containing twenty-five grams of sevruga caviar. A mother-of-pearl spoon lay at its side. Tiny bowls filled with capers and chopped egg sat on a plate of blini, slices of boiled potato and toast points.

While Armando fussed over the presentation of the offering, Gemma thought about Peter's comment. It was true. What did she really want? Her eyes flashed up at Peter's face as he joked with the server. She admired the way his hair flicked out over his collar, how thick it was and barely salted in the black at the temples. He had a very strong jaw and full lips that sprung into a smile at a moment's notice.

Well, that might be the case, she might just want Peter Blakely, very badly in fact, but she would never be able to live with the guilt. She needed to have a talk with Stephen; she needed to find out what he wanted out of their relationship.

The cab pulled up out the front of The Algonquin just after midnight. The doorman in a forest-green coat and hat held the door open for her and thanked Peter for the tip he slipped into the handshake.

‘I'll be right back,' Peter said to the cab driver and walked Gemma into her lobby. They stood in silence as they waited for the elevator to arrive. The doors opened. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot,' Gemma said as she stepped inside the elevator and turned to face him, ‘the flowers in my room are wonderful. That's a tremendous policy of yours, to greet your senior management with an arrangement.' She pushed button number four.

‘You know, I don't really send flowers to all the visiting CEOs,' he said as the lift door closed. He grinned as he could just make out her words as the lift took off: ‘I know.'