Chapter 8
On Wednesday, Katrina got the chance to wander through one of her Happy Places – the mall. Here, the music was upbeat yet soothing, the scents of coffee and perfume hung in the air, and the shops were bursting with new-season clothes in whispering silks and crisp cottons.
Michelle had asked Katrina for Dreamwife advice, and Katrina had decided that Michelle couldn’t possibly get into character for her appointment without the right outfit.
In fact, Katrina had cleared her entire schedule to help, and was now bustling along beside Michelle, thrilled by the cheerful retail buzz.
So – no expensive blouse. Besides, she wasn’t shopping for herself. This was all about Michelle, if she would only stop glancing at her phone and really concentrate. What was her vision? What kind of wife did she think her client needed?
‘This client you’re going to see . . .’ Katrina fixed Michelle with an earnest look. ‘You said he specified “comfortable and casual”. What does “comfortable” mean to you?’
Michelle’s brow creased. ‘Trackies and no bra?’
Katrina couldn’t make it out. Why wasn’t Michelle more excited? Her business idea was taking off – and these clothes would be tax deductible! ‘I tell you what, let’s try over there.’ The jewel-coloured crew necks might interest her.
‘Couldn’t I just borrow something from you?’ Michelle asked for about the tenth time.
Katrina took a deep, calming breath. She was tall and busty, while Michelle was slight, with very few curves.
‘I’m afraid not. Your clothes have to fit you,’ she explained gently, then chose three pairs of jeans in different colours and cuts – slim-straight, high-waisted and cropped – and was draping them over her arm when her phone pinged.
Hamish wanted to know if they had any milk. She never heard from him until he wanted food.
She swiftly messaged back: Check fridge. There was a little milk left, but the house was a bit of a muddle. Baskets of laundry stacking up, sheets unchanged, filters filthy, and as for the towels . . .
No. Best shove the towels into the crawlspace in her mind where she squashed all the other things she didn’t want to think about – though there wasn’t much room left, what with her meagre bank balance and that revolting real-estate agent with the frosty hair who’d come to inspect the house yesterday.
Remembering that agent’s cool, pitying glance at the crumbs on the floor, Katrina swayed, then caught herself.
Shopping! They were shopping for Michelle.
‘Have you recovered from last night?’ Michelle asked. She must have noticed Katrina’s momentary wobble. ‘You handled yourself really well, I thought. It must have been hard.’
‘No worse than the Myer change rooms when the menswear sale is on.’ Katrina held up a linen cardigan. Hmm. Too droopy.
‘I realise you weren’t in the mood for a debrief afterwards, but what exactly did he do?’ Michelle’s tone was cautious. ‘I mean, I got the gist . . .’
Distracted by a dress with hideous cut-outs near the bust and crotch, Katrina had to collect her thoughts.
As promised, Nick had lavishly praised Dreamwives all over an online divorced men’s forum right after his Monday appointment.
He’d also provided a referral for one of his fellow group members – a mortgage broker who’d been startlingly keen to make an appointment.
He’d seemed quite shy, at first, but things had taken a turn after dinner.
‘He was sitting at the kitchen island while I cleaned and when I looked up, his shirt was off.’ Katrina rolled her eyes; what on earth had made him think she wanted to see that? ‘Before I could say anything, he asked for a mole check.’
Michelle grimaced. ‘It’s my fault,’ she said, then turned to a rack and started rifling.
Was she finally getting interested in the clothes? No – no sane person would be genuinely interested in acid-green culottes. It was simply a ploy to hide her embarrassment.
‘Nick vouched for him, and with a full security check . . .’ Michelle looked troubled. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Katrina waved that away. Really, Mole Check Guy’s striptease had been far less traumatic than that horrid real-estate agent poking around in her kitchen.
‘I ended up telling him to put his shirt back on and that I’d make him an appointment with the dermatologist.’ Even now, Katrina felt proud of herself.
An anxious moment had been transformed by the power of dull, domestic detail.
‘I just hope he wasn’t actually worried about his moles – he did keep on about them.
He even took off his shirt again, just as I was leaving. ’
‘He signed the nudity and touching clauses, so he knows he’s broken the contract,’ Michelle assured her. ‘And we got his payment and blacklisted him. You don’t have to worry.’
‘In the end, I felt sorry for him.’ Katrina plucked three different tops in plum, deep navy and clotted cream from the racks. ‘What really worries me is that I noticed a surf lifesaving rash shirt in his laundry. What if he’s a member of Craig’s surf club?’
Michelle pulled a sceptical face. ‘What are the odds? Besides, even if he was, he’d be too embarrassed to tell anyone he’d used our service. I wouldn’t worry about it.’
But Katrina couldn’t shake her uneasiness. Mole Check Guy might know Craig. And what if Nick’s daughter had spotted her on Monday night? There were so many risks involved; if Katrina wasn’t careful, she’d be exposed.
She rummaged in her handbag for her calming calendula facial mist and was spritzing liberally when her phone pinged again. Hamish wanted to know if there was any bread. Check freezer, Katrina texted back.
‘Hey, what do you think?’ Michelle lifted a pair of black polyester-viscose trousers from a sale rack. ‘I’d feel comfortable in these.’
Katrina tried not to flinch. ‘Yes, but right now we’re looking for European comfortable, not Australian comfortable,’ she said tactfully, then escorted Michelle to the fitting rooms, where they managed to grab the last vacant cubicle.
Once Michelle was safely parked inside, Katrina handed her the slim-straight jeans and the plum top with blouson sleeves.
It wasn’t until Michelle sidled out, awkwardly plucking at her sleeves, that Katrina had a sudden flash of insight. Michelle didn’t hate fashion; she simply didn’t believe she could pull any of this off. Not the blouse, not the jeans, not her first Dreamwives engagement.
Cool and competent Michelle Redlin-Wu was scared.
Well, Katrina could help with that. Whether it was a 100m freestyle, a blazer fitting or a Dreamwives booking, her job was essentially the same – to support and inspire confidence. And the quickest way to boost Michelle’s confidence was to get her outfit right.
‘Yes, I see what you mean. Those sleeves are overwhelming you – but I like the jeans.’ Katrina grabbed the back of Michelle’s waistband and tugged, making her yelp.
‘Sorry, just checking the fit. We need to size down. Hang on.’ Katrina beamed at the fitting room attendant, who hovered nearby.
‘Hi, could we please get this in a twenty-six waist? Thank you so much.’ When the woman had scurried off, Katrina turned back to Michelle.
‘What else did you learn from your client’s questionnaire? Apart from “casual and comfortable”.’
‘He said he’d do the cooking.’
‘Really?’ That was a surprise. ‘Perhaps he’s got dietary restrictions, like he’s vegan or gluten free?’
‘He didn’t specify that. He might be a control freak, though. Because he also said he didn’t want me to do any domestic tasks.’
Katrina raised her eyebrows as high as her injectables allowed. ‘Interesting. So what does he want you to do?’
Michelle pulled out her phone and started scrolling. ‘“Provide feedback to help me become a better long-term partner in relationships”,’ she read.
At that point, the sales assistant trotted back with the size 26 jeans and Katrina handed them to Michelle. ‘Try the cream silk crêpe tank with those. So he wants some kind of therapy session? You’re such a good listener, that might be fun.’
Michelle shrugged, then closed the door behind her. ‘If he can’t keep a long-term relationship going, he could be unbearable. It’s going to be hard enough talking to him like I’m his wife. Am I supposed to talk about – what? Jam-making? Darning?’
Katrina threw herself into the role of mentor. ‘You could have a line ready in case he asks about your day. You know, “I went to the gym, had coffee with Simone, then cleaned the kitchen cupboards.”’ She paused. ‘Are you done yet?’
‘No.’
‘If you ever need a break from a client, you could maybe go to the toilet? Or ask them to take out the garbage?’ Katrina reviewed the ideas she’d been brainstorming, dismissing the emergency paint-colour swatches, which weren’t very Michelle.
‘If the conversation stalls, you could bring up tradesmen, or the neighbour’s dog, or the electricity bill.
There’s no such thing as too boring for a wife.
Believe me, I know. Well? Ready or not?’
‘Ready. I guess . . .’
‘Show me.’
With the reluctance of a virgin on her wedding night, Michelle opened the door and stepped out.
Katrina sighed happily. The simple cream top made Michelle’s skin glow and the shape showed off her trim arms and shoulders.
The jeans were perfect for her petite figure and the waist was just high enough to lengthen her legs.
There was something supremely stylish in the simplicity of that outfit on Michelle, something effortlessly cool and sexy.
Even the attendant, who had ducked around the corner to see if they needed more help, blinked and stared.
‘You look stunning, Michelle.’ Katrina was brimming with pleasure and pride. ‘Gosh, you’re gorgeous. You need the right jewellery, perhaps a hint of mascara and lipstick, and a pair of simple flats to make the most of your lovely ankles.’