Chapter 12 #2
Shaking that off with an internal shudder, Katrina gestured at the table.
‘You’ve gone to such an effort, I think we should have a friendly meal together, don’t you?
’ Then, as he reached out to stroke her arm, she dodged him nimbly, frowning.
‘I said friendly. Now, would you like me to serve the food?’
He nodded.
Dinner was a minefield. While Nick stared moodily at her, Katrina asked him if he’d put out the bins or made his dentist’s appointment.
When he turned up the music, Katrina rhapsodised about mariachi and klezmer music, trying to ignore Prince moaning away in the background.
Finally, after they’d eaten through the prawn pappardelle with beurre blanc and she’d watched Nick, with nigella seeds in his teeth, demolish both their blood orange crème br?lées, it was time to leave.
As the elevator doors slid closed and Nick, who was waving from his front door, disappeared from view, Katrina leaned against the mirrored wall. By the time she reached her car, she was already on the phone to Michelle.
‘It’s a mess, Michelle. Nick doesn’t want to use Dreamwives anymore – he thinks he’s in love with me. I can’t take money off him if he’s hoping we’ll get together. It isn’t right.’ She pinched the bridge of her nose. What a way to lose a client.
‘He’s just made another appointment for Monday,’ Michelle said.
Katrina groaned. She’d barely left! ‘I can’t see him again, it’s cruel and unethical. What’ll we do?’
Michelle fell silent, then heaved a sigh and said, ‘I guess I’ll take his Monday appointment . . .’
* * *
Pulling up outside Katrina’s house two days later, Michelle immediately noticed a change.
The last time she’d been here, the morning after the Colville gala, everything had looked spick and span.
Now the box hedges were growing out, the windows were dirty and the front lawn had the kind of mangy haircut that suggested Katrina had fired her gardener and strong-armed her teenage son into mowing it.
Or was Katrina trying to deter prospective buyers by giving the place an air of neglect?
Michelle reached for the garbage bags on the back seat.
They were full of clothes – practically her whole wardrobe – because she had no idea what to wear for her appointment with Nick Jasinski.
She also had no idea what to do or say. She needed Katrina’s input before she walked into Nick’s apartment, knowing he wouldn’t be pleased to see Michelle when the person he really wanted was Katrina.
‘All Nick needs is a sympathetic ear,’ Katrina had said when Michelle had offered to take the appointment. ‘He’s harmless really. Just a lonely guy who’s blurred the boundaries between the personal and the professional.’
Michelle flushed when she remembered those words.
They described her own situation with Filippo.
She’d have to nip that in the bud before she ruined a lucrative Dreamwives gig.
Get real, she told herself for the hundredth time, as she hauled her overstuffed bags up Katrina’s front path.
She pushed the doorbell and waited, feeling embarrassed.
What must she look like, standing on the steps with her pile of garbage bags?
Soon heavy footsteps sounded behind the door, which swung open to reveal a tall, skinny, drooping figure in a Colville uniform.
‘Hi. Are you Justin?’ she said. ‘I’m Michelle.’
‘Oh. Hi.’ Though he had Katrina’s long legs, blue eyes and high cheekbones, Justin hadn’t inherited his mum’s sparkling social skills. He turned on his heel and retreated towards the rear of the house, yelling, ‘Mum! Michelle’s here!’
Michelle wrestled her bags through the door and followed him.
She noted that the living room wasn’t as spotless as before: the couch cushions were dented and tumbled, a hoodie was draped over a chair, an empty cup stood on a coffee table.
In the kitchen, there was more chaos: dirty plates, food scraps, tangles of pens and cables and things that Michelle couldn’t even identify.
Katrina was whirring around in the middle of all this, slamming drawers and stirring pots on the stove. Steam and sweat had plastered her hair to her forehead. She wore an apron, but it was inside out.
‘Michelle, hello! Please don’t judge me for the appalling mess!’
‘Hi, Katrina.’ Michelle felt bad about intruding, and didn’t quite know what to say in front of Katrina’s son. ‘I brought those clothes I was talking about.’
‘Great, let’s take a look. I’m sure you’ll have something.’ Katrina’s eyes were on Justin, who’d flopped onto a nearby couch, as she put down her wooden spoon and wiped her hands on a grubby tea towel. ‘Jus? Can you come here and stir the sauce? I need to pop upstairs with Michelle.’
No reply. Justin was frowning at his iPad.
‘Justin!’ Katrina said, more sharply. ‘Over here, please!’
‘Wh-a-a-at?’ He managed to drag the word out until it was six syllables long.
‘Please, Jus, I need you to stir the sauce or it’ll burn, and there won’t be any dinner.’
‘O-kay.’ Heaving himself up, Justin sloped into the kitchen as if he had lead weights tied to his feet. He was passing Michelle when he stopped. ‘Have you brought stuff for an event?’ he asked her.
‘What? Oh – yes.’
‘Which event is it?’
‘The award ceremony in Millers Point,’ Katrina said quickly.
‘The one tomorrow night I told you about.’ She grabbed two bags of Michelle’s clothes and charged upstairs ahead of Michelle, who finally caught up outside the master bedroom.
Katrina shut the door behind them and dragged her fingers through her hair.
‘I hate lying to Justin. He knows something’s wrong and he’s acting out. Did you see the way he was acting out?’
Michelle nodded sympathetically, though she’d never met a teenage boy who didn’t grunt and glower. Were they all ‘acting out’?
‘And Craig keeps pestering Justin to visit and that’s making the poor boy even more stressed.
And Hamish seems so distant. I mean, he’s always hard to catch but now he seems to be avoiding me on purpose.
’ Katrina emptied one of the garbage bags onto her king-sized bed, which was piled with enough cushions to break a stuntman’s fall.
‘Anyway, let’s have a look at this. What did Nick ask for in his questionnaire? ’
‘The latest one?’ Michelle checked her phone. ‘He said, “loungewear”.’
Katrina sighed as she dumped another bag-load onto her bed. ‘He’s probably hoping for a silk slip.’
‘What about this?’ Michelle reached into the drift of fabric and pulled out a grey T-shirt.
‘It’s just . . . No, sorry.’ Sorting through bag after bag, Katrina tossed each garment into a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ pile. ‘No . . . no . . . no . . . He’s not getting another clingy tank top like this one, not after last time.’
‘Are you okay?’ It struck Michelle that Katrina wasn’t herself. ‘You seem . . .’
‘Upset? Yes, I had that lawyer’s meeting with Craig today.’
‘Oh.’ Michelle had forgotten. ‘Did it not go well?’
‘Not particularly,’ said Katrina. She picked up a pair of flowered leggings, considered them with her head on one side, then tossed them into the ‘no’ pile.
‘Craig blames me because Justin’s not talking to him right now.
Craig wants fifty–fifty custody, but the lawyers told him Jus has a say in it because he’s almost fifteen.
Then Craig started going on about “parental alienation”, and threatened to take me to court over child and spousal support.
Ilse’s lawyer is excellent, by the way, but she’s expensive and I can’t afford a court case – Oh! This might work.’
Michelle was hit in the face by a long-sleeved jersey T-shirt with horizontal blue-and-white stripes. She’d never thought it did much for her, but she tucked it under her arm obediently. ‘Anything else?’
‘This? Or how about this?’
Another shower of clothes, which Michelle had to peel off her head and shoulders.
‘Jeggings, Michelle? Very 2010. Although I read they might be coming back. Still, I don’t think so.’
‘But—’
‘Anyway, they’re too revealing, they’ll only encourage him.’ Katrina added them to the ‘no’ pile, then started shoving clothes back into a plastic bag. ‘See what works. You can use the bathroom if you want.’
Michelle did want. She’d never been a strut-around-in-your-underwear type of person, and she was keen to visit Katrina’s ensuite, which lay just beyond the walk-in wardrobe.
As expected, the wardrobe was well appointed, with drawers and shoe shelves and a safe.
But the bathroom wasn’t as impressive – very small, with limited storage, though it had nice tiles and a heated towel rail.
‘Oh dear,’ Katrina said, as Michelle emerged from the bathroom in a long skirt.
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Next came some overalls (‘Whoops! Take them off!’), then a pair of grey sweat pants.
‘Acceptable,’ was Katrina’s half-hearted assessment.
‘Honestly, why don’t you make the most of what you’ve got? You’re gorgeous. You should own it.’
‘And the sneakers?’
‘They’ll work. Anyway, a good running shoe might be exactly what you need with Nick.
’ Katrina sounded morose as she followed Michelle back into the bedroom, where the skirt and overalls were reunited with the rest of Michelle’s discarded clothes.
‘You’re lucky it’s this simple. I still can’t work out what to wear tonight for this football fanatic.
He wants me decked out in team colours, but I have no yellow-and-brown anything.
And tomorrow’s client is even worse. What does a woman with five kids wear, for heaven’s sake? ’
‘A straitjacket?’
Katrina laughed.