Chapter 18 #2
Then Celeste herself appeared in the green room, trailing production assistants, and Rolf made a beeline for her.
Michelle watched him being rebuffed; Celeste did it with such slick efficiency, flashing her teeth, pressing his hands, doling out pamphlets, that Michelle would have been impressed if she hadn’t been so distraught.
But she soon forgot about her father. Filippo’s not coming.
Filippo’s not coming. The ad break ended and Michelle gripped the sofa as Rod Tomic reappeared on screen in his navy suit, tanned and bland, his brown hair almost certainly dyed and his face almost certainly botoxed.
Though he must have been a few years older than Michelle, he was trying to pull off a mid-thirties vibe.
‘This morning, we all woke up to a scandalous celebrity liaison involving a mystery woman named Katrina Webb,’ he began, his unblinking eyes on the camera, and Michelle’s heart seemed to do a backflip.
‘Well, this evening we have Katrina herself in the studio, ready to tell her own side of the story. Katrina – thanks so much for coming on the show!’
Rod swivelled and the camera pulled out, and there was Katrina in her green suit, looking beautiful, well groomed and as panicked as Rolf looked whenever Michelle asked him to program the microwave.
‘Hi, Rod,’ Katrina said with a desperate smile, her voice cracking on a high note, ‘and thank you for giving me the chance to explain what’s going on here. Because it’s not what everyone seems to think. The company I work for – Dreamwives? It’s not an escort service and never was.’
Michelle groaned inwardly. Katrina wasn’t going to be able to pull this off – and there wouldn’t be any Filippo to back her up, because he wasn’t coming. Bianca had dangled Filippo, then snatched him away.
‘Right. So can you tell me what Dreamwives does?’ Rod probed.
Katrina licked her lips and tried to laugh. It was a pitiful attempt. ‘Rod, what do wives traditionally do? They change a soulless house into a home. They cook, arrange flowers, make things cosy.’
Katrina had memorised these lines and Michelle was relieved that she hadn’t stumbled.
In fact, she seemed to be gaining confidence, adding briskly, ‘What do we all want, when we get home after a hard day’s work?
We want to sit down over dinner to debrief and unload.
We want to feel supported and special. We want to be plunged into utter comfort. Isn’t that what you want, Rod?’
Good work. On the front foot. Michelle caught the faintest flicker of something in Rod’s eyes. Surprise? Approval? Discomfort? It was impossible to say, because his face snapped back to its usual inoffensive expression. ‘I guess we all do,’ he said.
‘That’s right! Those desires are gender neutral, and our clients are both male and female. Because everyone needs a wife – or at least, a Dreamwife.’
Michelle blinked. Had Katrina made that up on the spot? They should have put it on their website.
‘At Dreamwives, we’re fully focused on our clients.
We know what they’re expecting, whether it’s pre-dinner antipasti or a fight over whose turn it is to load the dishwasher.
Every Dreamwife on our roster provides a tailored, supportive experience – an experience that often proves to be very therapeutic. ’
Rod wore a distant yet captivated look, as if swept away by some internal vision of a fireside Cluedo game. Then he snapped out of his domestic dream. ‘But there’s something else wives do, isn’t there, Katrina?’ he asked with a suggestively raised eyebrow.
Michelle started gnawing at her thumbnail.
‘Oh, Rod.’ Katrina’s coy smile was almost convincing. ‘At Dreamwives, we don’t engage with that side of things, because let’s face it . . .’ twinkle, twinkle ‘. . . wives don’t, do they? Not after the honeymoon phase!’
Rod obliged with a chortle; Michelle barely noticed her dad dropping onto the couch beside her.
‘We respect the escort industry, of course, but that’s not our area of expertise,’ Katrina continued.
‘Our job is to lighten our clients’ mental load, so they can be their best selves.
We bolster, listen, soothe, comfort, praise and inspire in both traditional and non-traditional partnership roles.
We don’t enable violence or coercion, of course. No unhealthy dynamics like that.’
‘And may I ask how you became involved in Dreamwives, Katrina?’
‘Of course! It’s very simple. I was married for so many years that when my husband left me, the only skills I had weren’t marketable – or so I thought.’
Katrina’s slightly melancholy air drew a solemn head-tilt from Rod and an inner cheer from Michelle, who knew how Katrina had dreaded even raising the subject of her marriage breakdown.
‘Now I know there’s a big demand out there for what I and many other women have to offer,’ Katrina concluded, her voice deepening and gaining intensity. ‘I was a good wife, Rod.’
‘I’m sure you were.’ He paused, then redirected the conversation. ‘So those pictures we’ve seen of you at different houses, on different nights – those houses belonged to Dreamwives clients?’
Katrina nodded. ‘Exactly.’
‘Ordinary people wanting ordinary evenings in front of the TV, talking about their electricity bills and doctors’ appointments?’ Rod sounded faintly sceptical and Michelle felt a pang of unease. Where was he going with this?
‘Rod, you’ve hit the nail on the head!’ Katrina exclaimed. ‘It’s uncanny! Have you experienced the magic of a Dreamwife appointment?’
‘I haven’t,’ Rod replied, ‘but a member of the public has submitted CCTV footage here of someone who has and, frankly, this looks a little more intimate than a friendly domestic evening.’ He turned his head and flicked his chin, and then every screen in the green room was showing video of a suburban front door, taken from a slightly elevated position.
Standing on the doorstep was a ginger-haired man wearing only shoes and trousers, a shirt draped over one shoulder.
Leaning towards him was Katrina, clad in a lacy, form-fitting black sheath and high heels.
Michelle covered her mouth. What the hell?
‘Well, Katrina?’ Rod’s tone was bland as the show cut back to Katrina, looking stunned. ‘It’s not been particularly warm, so why was this man, your client, half-naked and why were you being so intimate with him?’
Michelle groaned. She knew who the client was, now. It was Mole Check Guy.
And he was going to be the end of them.