Love is the New Black Read online

  ‘He does that sometimes,’ Piper said. Without thinking, she did an imitation of Bruno snorting.

  Kara’s smile grew. She held out her hands and Piper passed Bruno to her.

  ‘So, what is this, pet therapy?’ Kara asked, scratching a contented Bruno behind the ears.

  Piper smiled back. ‘Just wait until I bring the hamsters out.’

  And this time, Kara actually laughed. She may have even snorted a bit. She tucked up her legs so there was room for Piper to sit on the couch. As she sat, Piper felt something small and hard behind her. She reached back and pulled out a mini vodka bottle. Fishing around in the crevices of the couch, she found a half -sized bottle of red. A half-sized bottle of white. Unzipping a bulging cushion cover, she discovered two mini scotches and a half-sized bottle of champagne. All empty. Kara stared at her as she placed each bottle on the floor in front of them.

  ‘And that was just for breakfast,’ Kara said, her eyes rolling back in her head.

  Piper grimaced. Even though Kara’s speech was pretty good, that sort of eye-rolling made it clear she was still far from sober. It was the hazy, out-of-control look Dylan would get sometimes when he got too stoned. She would be trying to talk to him about something. Friends, plans, anything. He’d be fine for a while. Then his responses would become agonisingly slow. Occasionally, he’d snap back to attention like Kara seemed to do when Bruno snorted, but then he’d sink back. Then the eye-rolling.

  As soon as the eye-rolling happened, Piper knew there was no point trying to have a conversation with him. The few times Piper had smoked with him, she hadn’t enjoyed her disjointed thoughts and that feeling of losing touch with reality, but Dylan often seemed hell-bent on going to La La Land. Piper would try to bring him back with cold face washers and iced water drinks, or she’d let him sleep it off.

  But she didn’t think Vivian would be overly impressed with the sleep-it-off approach, so she decided on the former.

  She walked from the lounge room to the bedroom and found the spacious marble bathroom. It was full of fluffy white towels and face washers. Piper wet some and took them back to the couch. She lay the washer over Kara’s forehead and the towel over her chest. Kara relaxed for a moment, and then she sat up.

  ‘If you have to report back, that’s okay,’ she said slowly. Piper had the sense that she was trying hard to speak clearly. To sound more sober than she was. There was such a big gap between Kara’s words that Piper had to think hard to string them together.

  ‘But make sure you tell them,’ Kara continued, ‘that Larry diden… din’t … did not know anything about it. I told him the bar fridge was empty and he believed me. I did most of the drinking before he even got here. Then when he got here, I poured the booze in … into my teacup.’

  Piper tilted her head. ‘I can’t believe you can even talk,’ she said, feeling a bit guilty at the image of a very out-of-it Dylan coming into her mind. ‘God, are you okay?’

  Kara drew her legs to her chest and tucked her arms around them. ‘Experience, I guess. I’m piss fit. Another thing to be proud of, don’t you think?’

  Piper shrugged. Obviously, it wasn’t ideal to be in the process of sobering up before midday. And being piss fit, as Kara called it, seemed to suggest that her problems with alcohol were bigger than a one-off breakfast binge. But Piper wasn’t going to judge her. Kara was doing enough of that without her help.

  Piper sighed. ‘I’ll just grab you a big glass of water and we can –’

  ‘I bet you think I’m a self-obsessed, self-indulgent twat,’ Kara interrupted her, still talking slowly, but with determination. ‘Most people prob’ly think that when I get wasted … poor little rich girl. The supermodel who has everything and it’s not enough. Is that what you think?’

  The gaps between her words were closing up a bit, as though she was actually getting more sober now and not play-acting at being sober.

  ‘Well,’ Piper said, collecting her thoughts. She knew that people tended to get more upset about stuff when they were drunk; things got blown out of proportion. Still, whichever way she looked at it, Kara seemed to be really down on herself. Piper searched her mind for something to say. ‘I kind of feel that if you’re judging yourself as self-indulgent and self-obsessed,’ she said, thinking the gap-between-words-thing must have been contagious because Piper was doing it herself now, trying to pick the right words, ‘then it’s probably not the case. Since you can obviously stand outside yourself for long enough to consider how other people may see you. And your concern about dumping Larry in it also suggests that your level of twattiness could be much lower than you think.’

  Kara covered her mouth with both hands. For a terrible moment, Piper thought she was about to cry. But Kara wasn’t crying. In fact, she was biting down on a smile, even though her eyes still glistened from leftover tears.

  ‘Twattiness, hey?’ she said. ‘That’s pretty original. For a self-helpy rant.’

  Piper smiled back. ‘Ah well, it was off the cuff. If I had more time to prepare, it would be awesome.’

  ‘I’ll never drink again,’ Kara joked. ‘Want to have a water or two with me?’

  ‘I haven’t seen you at Aspire before,’ Kara said suddenly. Quite a few glasses of water later, they were sitting on the plush Persian carpet in the middle of the lounge room, chatting and playing with Bruno.

  ‘No, well … today is kind of my first day,’ admitted Piper.

  Kara looked surprised. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. I just moved here from Mission Beach,’ Piper offered. ‘I’ve lived there all my life. I just came to Melbourne for this job.’

  ‘Where’s Mission Beach?’

  ‘It’s up north. Near Cairns.’

  ‘Yes!’ Kara cried, snapping her fingers. ‘I did a shoot up there once. It was so relaxed and friendly. Everyone in the town knew everyone else.’

  ‘Yes, that’s pretty much it.’

  ‘I came from a country town, too,’ Kara said. ‘But I moved away when I was “discovered” at fourteen, and I’ve been working ever since. Modelling is it, for me. It’s all I’ve ever known.’

  ‘Living the dream, hey?’ Piper said teasingly.

  Kara blew out a breath. ‘Yeah, right,’ she said. ‘Or surviving the nightmare. I’ve given everything to get where I am. And I’m starting to think it’s too much.’ She pointed to the tabloid that was still on the couch. ‘It’s not just stuff like that,’ she said softly. ‘It’s more like…’ she paused, as though looking for the right words. ‘You can’t be real in this industry. I’ve got to hide the parts of myself that don’t fit in with the Kara Kingston Marketing Machine.’

  Piper nodded, but she wasn’t exactly sure what Kara meant about hiding parts of herself. Maybe the partying had something to do with it.

  Or maybe Kara is just in a bad place because her boyfriend is an arrogant know-it-all? Piper mused. Maybe she needed to break up with Mason, if he was causing her so much pain. Whatever it was, Kara looked totally exhausted.

  ‘Do you want me to get a blanket?’ Larry asked, coming back into the suite.

  Piper nodded. It was weird to be the one giving directions.

  Kara leaned over and pulled the tabloid towards her. ‘I need them,’ she said, looking at the picture. ‘I need them both.’

  Piper frowned. She had no idea what Kara was talking about now. She needed the alcohol? The alcohol and Mason? What she probably needs, Piper thought, is to tell Mason to stop treating her like shit.

  Larry handed Piper a soft, cream cashmere blanket, which she drew over Kara.

  ‘How about another cup of tea, love?’ Larry asked.

  When Kara’s agent, Anita Barnes, strode into the room an hour or so later, the atmosphere shifted.

  The woman was so botoxed that not a wrinkle remained on her face, even though it was obvious that she was well into her fifties. But she must have been due for a collagen shot in her lips, which were thin, with heavy lipliner drawn way outside the boundari
es of her actual mouth. Her hair fell around her waxy face in thick stripes of black and silver. Cruella Deville, Piper thought to herself.

  ‘Jesus, Larry. What the fuck kind of army were you in? The bloody boy scouts?’ Anita demanded. Without waiting for an answer, she strode over and ripped the blanket off Kara. ‘And what are you doing here?’ she spat at Piper.

  Piper got up from the floor. ‘I’m from Aspire,’ she said, trying to sound confident. ‘I’m helping.’

  ‘Then help,’ Anita barked. ‘Run the shower. Cold water. Now.’

  ‘Kara’s okay now. She’s just resting,’ Larry said falteringly. ‘She’s had a bit of a hard morning.’

  ‘Well, it just got harder,’ Anita snapped, pulling a dozy Kara up to stand. Piper noticed that, despite the fact that she was speaking okay, Kara was definitely still wobbly on her feet. ‘Larry, get her in the shower. Make sure it’s cold.’

  Piper saw Larry’s grimace. Anita must have picked up on it too. ‘Hair and make-up will be here in half an hour, and we have to at least give them something hygienic to work with.’ She turned an accusing look at Kara.

  ‘You look like shit,’ she said. ‘Go fix yourself up.’ She turned back to Larry. ‘Jesus, Larry, she’ll need some support.’ She gave Piper a dismissive glance. ‘As in, more support than this chihuahua could give her. And it’s not like Kara has anything the world hasn’t seen already.’

  Larry walked over. He placed his arm around Kara’s shoulder and under her arm to steady her. ‘Okay love, let’s walk,’ he said, his kindness all the more noticeable after Anita’s tirade.

  Piper went ahead and ran the shower. At the last moment, she added a bit of hot water, hoping no-one would notice.

  Kara submitted meekly, with Larry holding her. As she disrobed, Piper almost gasped. God, her body was impossible. Her breasts were round and full. Her waist was narrow, and her legs seemed to go forever. She was a freak of nature.

  Although Kara didn’t seem to care that she was naked in front of him, Larry turned the other way.

  Piper sighed. She couldn’t believe this was Kara Kingston, who had it all. Kara Kingston, who was rich and beautiful, was clearly in pain. Despite the fact that Kara was a few years older, a few heads taller and about a thousand times more successful, Piper felt protective of her.

  ‘Girl!’ Anita’s voice bulleted its way into the bathroom. Piper, assuming the girl was her, checked with Larry that Kara was okay to be left in the shower and walked back into the lounge room. Anita was on the phone. She paused, putting a hand over the phone. ‘Did she say anything?’

  ‘Um,’ Piper said, ‘I think she was a bit upset about the article in the paper.’

  Anita grabbed the paper from the couch, took it into the kitchen and stuffed it into the bin. In ten seconds, she was back. She narrowed her eyes and stared at Piper through the slits. ‘Anything else?’

  Piper felt like she was being interrogated. She had no idea what Anita was getting at but even if Piper knew something, she wasn’t sure she’d tell this woman.

  ‘Not a thing,’ she said.

  Anita nodded. ‘Good.’ Her face relaxed as much as it could, given the botox. ‘All right. I’ve got her now. You can go. And take that animal with you,’ she said, nodding at Bruno, who was lying in the middle of the floor snoring contentedly.

  Piper woke Bruno and put him into her bag. As she walked out the door, she heard Anita on the phone.

  ‘No, Mason. I really think it’s the right thing.’

  There was a pause. Piper lingered in the doorway, wanting to hear what they were talking about. Hasn’t Mason already done enough damage? she thought to herself.

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ Anita continued. ‘I’ve managed her career for seven years now. I’ve got her to the top. That’s where she’s going to stay, Mason.’ There was another pause. ‘You and her, it’s imperative …’

  Just then, Anita looked up. She gave Piper a glare from hell, and Piper shot out into the foyer, shutting the door behind her.

  On the way back to the office, Piper spotted an ice-cream shop, and decided she deserved a little pick-me-up after dealing with Kara and Anita all afternoon. A cheeky double cone that she could eat on the sunny riverbank was just the thing.

  Coffee. Mason needed coffee. Of course, he could have sent someone to go and fetch a double-shot latte for him, but it wouldn’t have been enough. What he needed was a coffee break.

  He kept looking straight ahead as he walked down the boulevard. There was always the chance of running into someone from the office, and he desperately wanted to minimise that risk.

  Mason detoured to give Cafe Condor a wide berth. Ducking down a narrow lane, he already felt himself breathing easier. Passing Cafe Condor was a major danger. People who wanted to be seen spent copious amounts of time there. People who would suck up to Mason’s dad, Patrick Wakefield, like he was the second coming, just to get an in with the mag. In the absence of his father, Mason would be their target. Mason had grown up with all that bullshit. That was one of the reasons why he’d escaped.

  O’Dwyer’s was one of the few good things about having to come back to Melbourne. It was a bar more than a cafe, but it opened mid-morning and the coffee was great. Mason liked the pool table with the green lampshades hanging overhead, the dark wooden bar stools, the music – usually Sinatra, Etta James or Billie Holiday – playing softly.

  As soon as Mason took a seat on a bar stool, the owner, Sam, set to work making Mason’s usual double-shot latte.

  ‘How are you?’ asked Sam, a slinging a checked tea towel over his shoulder.

  ‘I’m –’ Mason didn’t even get to the second word of his sentence before his phone buzzed. Caller ID told him it was Rufus Ellington, chairman of the board. As much as he needed a break, he knew he had to answer the call.

  ‘Are you prepared for the board meeting on Thursday?’ Typical Rufus Ellington: no pleasantries. ‘We’ll need to see Aspire’s financial situation clearly. If the numbers don’t add up, we’re not going to be able to get that loan. Got it?’

  ‘I’ve got it, Rufus,’ Mason replied. Christ, there would be hours of work in getting that all ready. Mason could kiss sleep goodbye for the next few nights.

  ‘Mason,’ Rufus added gruffly, ‘things can’t continue as they were under your father. As well as the internal changes you’re implementing, we’d like to see a new direction for the magazine. The circulation figures are a disgrace.’

  Mason exhaled loudly as he hung up. A new direction. Jesus. He knew his father and Rose had been discussing some changes and analysing possible market responses to different ideas before his dad went off the rails. While he was in the States he’d had several emails from his father, musing on the best ways to change things around. Several ideas had been floated between Rose and Patrick, ranging from expanding Aspire’s online presence to seeking out freelance feature writers and having in-house writers change their approach to developing articles.

  But from where Mason stood, it all seemed risky. At a time when mag sales were getting tougher and tougher, the last thing they needed to do was alienate their existing readers. It was a difficult call to make. Especially for an acting CEO. And Mason certainly felt like he’d been acting since he’d been pulled into Aspire. He practically deserved an Oscar.

  His phone buzzed again, interrupting his thoughts. This time it was a blocked number. He’d learned not to answer those calls out of the office. It was never good news.

  Sam put the coffee down on the bar in front of Mason as the phone went on buzzing between them.

  ‘Sorry, what was your question, Sam?’ asked Mason.

  ‘Well, it was going to be a simple how are you,’ Sam joked. ‘But I think I’ll pass on the answer.’ He wiped the bar with his tea towel. ‘All work, no play and all that,’ Sam advised.

  Mason shook his head. ‘Pot, kettle and all that,’ he fired back.

  Sam flicked the tea towel at him.

  ‘I guess it’s
just the way it is, Sam,’ Mason said. ‘Until Dad comes back, at least.’

  ‘How is he?’ Sam asked.

  Mason took a sip of his coffee. ‘He’s not good. He spends most of his time lying on the couch.’

  ‘What’s the latest on his ex-wife?’

  Mason felt his hackles rising at the mention of Abigail, who had walked into Patrick’s life six years ago. She’d always been on the nose. For starters, she was only a few years older than Mason and he had seen the dollar signs in her eyes from the get-go. Patrick had been smitten, though, for the first time since Mason’s mum had died, eight years earlier. Mason could see that.

  But at the time, Mason had been desperate to go to New York. Desperate to start a life out from under the shadow of his media-mogul father. Before he’d left for Harvard, the only thing he’d asked of Patrick was that he get a pre-nup before marrying Abigail. The request had created a rift between Mason and Patrick, who refused to believe Abigail was only interested in his money.

  But now, Abigail had manoeuvred her way into a new relationship with another older man. Coincidentally one who’d made it onto Forbes’ rich list. Without a pre-nup, Patrick stood to lose a lot.

  ‘The court date is set for next month,’ Mason said. ‘I just hope Dad’s better by then. Between that and the magazine going backwards …’ he trailed off.

  Sam leant towards him. ‘You’re doing a good thing,’ he said. ‘Just out of Harvard, with your MBA and the world at your feet. It’s a big thing for you to pause for your dad’s sake. But you’re young, you’ve got lots of time. And sometimes, life’s detours take you somewhere special.’

  Mason attempted a smile. Sam might have been right about some of life’s detours. But not this one. Taking over at Aspire had never been on his radar. He wanted to make it alone; he didn’t want to follow in his dad’s footsteps. He’d even had a job offer in Silicon Valley after finishing his MBA. It had been an amazing opportunity, but one he couldn’t accept.