Living the Dream (Take Two)
Maddie brushed the sand off her knees, adjusted her beach towel, and leaned back on one arm. The stop-start, low rumble of traffic on Campbell Parade at Bondi faded away behind her, as she took in the curling sweep of blue water and about a hundred tanning sunbathers. Seagulls swooped overhead and skidded along the sand, eager for discarded bread crusts or chips.
“They only had Coke Zero,” Simon said, appearing behind her and plopping the soda can into her lap. “I couldn’t be buggered going next door, so you’ll have to live.”
“Thanks.” She cracked the tab, enjoying the satisfying hiss, and scrunched its bottom firmly in the soft white sand.
Simon placed a fat parcel between them and dropped beside her. His long legs stretched out in front of him, toes sticking out from the brown leather of what Maddie liked to call his “Dad” sandals. He unwrapped the paper to expose a glorious tangle of fish and chips.
Maddie swooned at the fish smell mingled with sea salt. “Oh yum! God, I’ve missed this. All of it.” She waved at the scene in front of her. “You know, I had no idea I was such a beach bunny until I was deprived of it.”
“Really?” Simon plucked out a fat chip. “So is Bondi how you remember it? Or Sydney?” He squirted some tomato sauce onto the edge of the paper in a loud blurp.
“Yep.” She dunked her chip in the sauce puddle. “I feel at peace here. Which is dumb when you think about how loud and busy Sydney is. I mean, temperature aside, it’s not that different from New York. But it feels like home.”
“Mm.” Simon chewed slowly. “I loved New York. Something’s always happening. But you’re not a something-always-happening kinda girl, so I get it.”
“Nope. But that’s not why. It’s just that it was like everything in New York was about ten degrees off kilter to what I’m used to. It felt just enough like here to fool me. I mean a city’s a city, right? But I was tense the whole time. I think my subconscious knew I was out of place, and it never let me forget it.”
“I figured you were in a funk. You slept too much. No one can like being unconscious that much.”
“Oh.” Maddie reached for another chip. “Well, I sleep fine now. So do you miss it?”
“Of course I miss it. But I’ve got a new reason to stay here now.”
“Ah yes, the infamous Caroline. A workplace romance.” Maddie elbowed him in the ribs. “You move fast. Is it serious?”
“Not a clue. Playing it by ear. Although, I can’t wait for Mondays now. Seeing her again. It’s like reverse Mondayitis.” He broke off a chunk of fish and tossed it in his mouth. He chewed for a moment, then regarded her. “What about you? You going to get back with Rachel? She’s been sniffing around, you know, trying to find out when you’re going to be hanging with our old group again.”
Maddie sighed. “Rachel and I had nothing in common but being gay and our journalism course. She also plans to be in the closet until the day every last member of her family is dead. And her family is huge. I’m not sure why we stuck it out as long as we did. She didn’t even write me over there.”
“Huh.” Simon shrugged. “Okay, scratch the Rach. But we need to hook you up. You’ve been in the dumps for too long. Who do you like? What about your boss?”
“My…what? Elena?”
“Yeah, speaking of hot office romances, you and the tiger shark. Why not?”
“She is a married woman! And straight!”
“I notice you didn’t deny liking her. So, what’s the deal? Have I hit a nerve? You’re drooling over her now?”
Maddie dug her next chip viciously into the sauce. “I do not drool over her.” She glared. “She fired my sorry ass, remember? There is no drooling.”
He laughed. “You have the hottest boss in the history of bosses, but there is no drooling. Got it. Oh hey, let’s do the patented Simon Itani test.” He waggled a chip at her. “So, when you think about going into work next week and starting your new job, what’s it feel like not having seen her since New York? First reaction—go!”
Maddie studied the crispy crumbs of the fish and prodded them with her finger. How does it feel? Like a soft fire. Like churning. Nerves and excitement. Like missing out on something close enough to taste. Honey and spices and temptation and… She frowned.
“I feel pissed off,” Maddie lied. She didn’t meet his gaze. Simon was far too good at reading her. “It’s a reminder of how overqualified I am. Like my uni degree is withering away, turning to dust, while I’ll be fetching coffees and page proofs. I’m looking for another job, of course, but journo jobs are hard to come by. Fairfax and News Corp are both having another round of redundancies.”
“Yeah?” He squinted at her. “Well, that sucks. Sorry, Mads. Geez, this topic’s a downer. Hey, wanna hear about my footy training? We’ve got a new player with the Penrith Roos. He’s a total joker. He took a bottle of Gatorade, a box of rubber bands, a pair of stockings, and…”
Maddie let his voice fade out. Her mind drifted back to his question. Excitement rose up again. It was like a sick, thrilling tension. She’d always assumed it was nerves. New workplace and all. At the thought of Elena, her stomach clenched again, as if a nest of butterflies were partying in it. How long until they were in the same room again?
She glanced at her watch and caught herself. Oh God. I really am counting down the hours until I see her again.
* * *
Day one of her new job as personal assistant, and Maddie was a mess. She’d tried on half a dozen outfits, not entirely sure what was required of her or how much she should change her look to accommodate the role. She was half tempted to rock up in her graveyard-shift outfit of jeans and a grunge T-shirt, but she was fairly sure Elena’s scathing rebuke wouldn’t be worth it.
It was a little unsettling to realise how much Elena’s opinion mattered.
She finally settled on wearing the uptight emo-librarian look Felicity favoured. That seemed like a safe bet.
Induction from HR had been painless, and before long she’d settled into a desk side-on to and outside a glass office that bore Elena’s name.
After getting her bearings, introducing herself to people, and trying not to wonder where Elena was, she’d made a mental list. Three simple, achievable goals.
First, she would become the perfect, professional assistant, one for whom New York had never happened and who did not engage in banter or share personal stories with a woman who had no heart. A woman whose opinion, Maddie decided, she should not care about one way or another.
Second, she would prove to Elena that she was a journalist.
And third, she would convince herself that seeing hints of Elena with her guard down no longer excited her. Because it would be Maddie’s undoing, seeing these glimpses. Signs Elena might be human after all.
No, she absolutely wasn’t going to think about their almost friendship ever again. Because, as per point one, perfect, professional PAs did not do that.
How hard could it really be to stick to that? Her destiny was in her own hands, after all. She could do this.
Her best-laid plans were sorely tested the moment she glanced over at Elena’s open office door. She could smell her. Her perfume, mixed with the sharp scent of ink from proofs and a hint of chai tea. Elena wasn’t even in her office, but it felt as if she was just there. Watching her. Like always.
Maddie frowned and distracted herself by sorting out her own desk, sliding pens into drawers, rattling a tray of paperclips.
“What is this?”
Maddie looked up to be met by Elena’s long, hard stare.
“Who are you supposed to be?” Elena came around Maddie’s desk for a better look before pointing at the mid-thigh, grey skirt.
“Your personal assistant.” Maddie hated the words the moment she said them. “It’s what Felicity wears.”
“I see.” Elena’s lips pursed. “Well, if you must be a clone, try to at least emulate a professional whose look you actually like.”
She stalked off. That became the sum total of all she’d said to Maddie all day. Any assignments for her arrived via email. The pings of the incoming messages were constant.
Elena, ensconced in her office, looking as regal as a queen, never glanced up, never made eye contact, never said her name in that beautiful French way she used to, with the last e of Madeleine turned into an a.
It was ridiculous, this no-talking thing, because her boss was sitting right there. Within easy earshot. Instead, Elena gave Maddie a wall of silence.
Her wardrobe critique, both mocking and cool, remained in Maddie’s ears for the rest of the day.
Emulate a professional whose look you actually like? Fine.
The following day Maddie sauntered into work wearing her own version of an H.G. Wells vest. Plus chunky boots. She’d given the fob watch a miss, because she wasn’t that derivative, but her message was clear.
All morning she waited for a reaction. No new work decrees pinged from Elena, who had been in and out of the office without a word or look, so Maddie was bored. She adjusted the photo of her family on the desk, along with one of her goofing around with Simon. She spun around on her chair a few times when no one was looking. Rummaged around her desk. Dug up something called The PA’s Unofficial Handbook with a note on the front to read this VERY carefully. A few folded papers were wedged inside. They contained a list of names of some sort. Weird. And where did she know the name Frank Harkness from, anyway? She noticed some notes in the margin. She started in dismay when she realised what the list meant. Just then, the outer door banged open.
Elena came striding in, so Maddie thrust the handbook and its hidden list back in her drawer to study later. She sat up straighter, hoping she wasn’t looking too eager, as she waited for a comment on her outfit. How would Elena take her clear imitation? She waited. And waited.
Elena passed her, glanced at her, and didn’t say a word.
Three hours later, Elena stopped at her desk and studied her new look properly. Finally, she nodded. “Where are my budget reports from the Kensington Group? I should have had them on my desk an hour ago.”
And that was that.
* * *
Over the next few months, little changed. Maddie fetched cups of tea, made calls, took notes at meetings, picked up samples, memorised the unofficial handbook and its sobering details, and traded witticisms with Perry. She even picked up a little about how fashion worked. It was entirely unintentional, but she couldn’t unknow it now.
Maddie had tried to work on her second vow, but she spent so much effort being the consummate PA that she’d had no time to write anything beyond scribbled memos and food orders. Some nights, she sat at home, staring at the wall, trying to write but too exhausted to tap out anything beyond her name. She told herself she was looking for a new job, a real job, even though she had made no effort to do so.
She didn’t even have the creative outlet of her Aliens of New York blog anymore. Jason, the single dad who’d loved it, had taken over for her. That seemed fair, since he was actually in New York. But it meant Maddie often stared at the walls, robbed of words, wondering what had happened to her writing dreams.
Her thoughts drifted to where they usually did. She tried very hard to forget the woman she’d once known. It helped in some ways that Elena was direct, cool, boss-like, and shared nothing. Well, almost nothing. Because no one was an empty void. And Maddie always noticed the small, subtle things most people missed. As hard as she tried not to see, she saw them. It made keeping her last vow more taxing than ever. Maddie didn’t like to dwell on what it meant. It shouldn’t be this hard to ignore a boss who had gutted her old paper and fired everyone. It shouldn’t be this hard to pretend she wasn’t human.
But the struggle was getting worse. For instance, she tried hard not to notice whenever she heard a low, deep laugh from a certain corner office.
She also knew she definitely shouldn’t notice whenever Elena wore her H.G. outfit. Maddie shouldn’t be mesmerised by the way the black pants stretched across the woman’s tight, shapely ass, the pull of the vest at her waist and breasts, the crisp, white shirt that was always opened three buttons, revealing a hint of cleavage, not to mention the jaunty boots and the swing in her hips as she moved.
Noticing things like this wasn’t an isolated incident. But it didn’t mean a thing. How could it? Because Maddie was the consummate professional, and her boss barely even acknowledged her existence.
* * *
Simon dropped by on the weekend, looking about as smitten as a man could get. Caroline had seemingly moved from “playing it by ear” to “can’t take my eyes off her”.
“I wonder when it changed?” He looked puzzled. “How did Caro go from regular girl to most fascinating girl in human history in five minutes? How does that even work?”
Maddie didn’t have an answer but spent the next two hours patiently feeding him pizza and beer while he listed the woman’s many virtues, some considerably more shallow than others. His puzzled comment stuck with her, though. When had it changed for her?
After three sleepless nights in a row, Maddie decided she blamed the red dress. Garnet dress. The one that had stopped time when Elena tried it on for Perry in her New York office. That had been the moment. Ground zero. Ever since then, she had been hyperaware of everything about Elena. The way she ran her fingers through her hair when she was tired, the way she tapped a pen against her lips. Maddie had dismissed it as a simple attraction at the time. Chemistry. Her boss was stunning; Maddie had eyes. So what? It meant nothing.
But now she was aware of her and aware of her own awareness. Elena was all she could think about. She worked close to the woman, all day, every day. With the barest movement of her head, she could look right at her. So, she took advantage of this, often. Far too often. Maddie had finally come to an unfortunate conclusion—she wanted her boss.
The worst part was that it wasn’t just chemistry. Try as she might, she couldn’t crush the kernel inside her that cared for Elena. She wanted her to be happy. She wanted to connect with her again the way they used to. Wanted to see her throw back her head in laughter. Or in ecstasy. That thought thrilled her. It was a fantasy that sent shivers through Maddie. God, how she wanted her in every way imaginable.
It was insane, feeling this way, even knowing what Elena really was like. Driven and focused, she only cared about her business. And, at the moment, business meant her baby, Style Sydney. A fashion magazine that careless executives had somehow allowed to dive in circulation.
The first meeting with Style Sydney’s management team after Elena touched down was seared in Maddie’s brain. Elena had laid down the law with a pointed, furious speech about how the glossy mag had drifted from its passionate, core base of fashion readers into more mainstream topics that the now fired editor-in-chief had more interest in. But as pretty as luxury cars and Sydney Harbour real estate could be, and despite the expensive, $50,000, full-page ads they brought in, the topics had led their audience to abandon them for a more fashion-focused magazine.
This, apparently, was the reason for most of Elena’s wrath. Because the nearest rival the readers were bailing to was CQ, the same magazine Elena had left under a mysterious cloud.
So far, all Maddie had found out about that, while getting to know Perry, was that Elena had been groomed to be editor of CQ. Instead, Emmanuelle Lecoq had won the top role and become the most famous name in fashion-editing circles.
And now, in Sydney at least, the magazine that Elena had set up to crush CQ was losing readers to it by the thousands. The war drums were being pounded. Elena was in battle mode. And in spite of every feeble, internal protest, Maddie found it a thrilling sight. Her boss could stride in and own a room like no one else.
Australian Fashion Week was coming up, and Elena had demanded a splash so big that the world, not just Sydney, would notice that her pet publication was a premium fashion magazine.
“Madeleine,” Elena called softly.
“Yes, Elena?” She dashed into the office, with a notebook and pen poised.
“She’s coming. It’s confirmed.” Elena’s eyes were bright, and she was almost vibrating with energy.
“Oh-kay.”
“Véronique Duchamp,” Elena said, sounding impatient, “has confirmed as the headline designer, opening for Australian Fashion Week. So this is it.” She rapped a fingernail on her desk. “We need her. This is the answer to our sales slide. Style Sydney needs an exclusive interview with her.”
“Okay.” That didn’t sound so hard. She could call Lucy in Editorial and tell her to…
“Madeleine!”
She stopped scribbling and looked up.
Elena shook her head as though she were dim-witted. “Véronique is a prickly designer who has granted no one an interview in thirty years. Thirty. Years. And yet her fashion has been world leading for almost all that time.”
Maddie frowned. This was far more than a little problem to solve.
“Such an interview would be a game changer for us.” Elena tapped her chin with her index finger. “We need to get her attention. We need to stand out from the rivals. CQ will also be trying every trick in the book to get their own exclusive. They’ve been desperate for an interview for decades. That must not happen.” She grimaced. “Lecoq will be coming for Australian Fashion Week this year, now that Véronique’s confirmed she’ll be here.”
“Oh.” Maddie wrote furiously, a little surprised Elena had even said the woman’s name. She usually avoided it. “How do you propose we…?”
“Flowers. She loves them. Send so many that even Véronique can’t ignore them. Something expensive—send them to her home in Paris. Martine will know the address.” She waved her hand. “Make it happen.”
Maddie scurried off, musing over the odd look in Elena’s eyes. Funnily enough, it constituted the happiest she had ever seen her boss. Her killer instinct was being stoked. It was…irritatingly attractive.
After returning to her desk, Maddie emailed Martine for Véronique’s address and then called up the site of the French floral boutique that Bartell Corp had an account with. A soft ping announced Martine’s reply. Maddie opened the incoming email and copied out the address. She flicked back to her online cart and pasted in the address, as she remembered how thrilled Elena looked. Post-orgasmic even. The thought made her swallow.
She caught herself. This was so bad. Maddie was crushing on her boss. A boss who treated her like every other PA she’d ever had. To Elena, Maddie was clearly just a pair of arms for fetching tea or proofs. Sighing, she stabbed, over and over, the nine button on the Nombre nécessaire box on her flower order.
Despite how pathetic she felt about her secret desires, Maddie hadn’t been able to tear her eyes off her boss. Since Elena had fired Style Sydney’s editor-in-chief, Jana Macy, she was now filling in, doing Macy’s job herself on top of everything else. It was fascinating to watch her shift in focus to fashion—as well as trying to save something, rather than shutting it down. Perry was right. Elena was born for fashion. The corporate raiding and empire building was just a numbers game she liked to win. But here, in the cut and thrust of a style magazine, actually running it, hands on, Elena Bartell came alive.
There seemed to be nothing Elena didn’t know about the process. From the designers to the layouts, she was across all of it, and the staff at Style Sydney knew it. They snapped to attention when she lifted the bar with her incisive demands. There was no faking her expertise. Among her Style staff she was a goddess.
When they gushed about her, her ideas, her genius, Maddie would say nothing. What did she know about fashion? She spent a lot of time nodding. Every now and then, Elena would enter the room and catch her glazed expression while the staff was discussing “peplum inspiration” or “material viscosity”. Elena’s look always contained equal parts of amusement and mockery.
It was hard to let go of that nagging voice telling Maddie that maybe all of this was Elena toying with her, and she was playing a long game Maddie hadn’t yet figured out. And yet, just when her distrust had reached its peak of paranoia, she found two emails while cleaning out and sorting Elena’s secondary email account.
Dear Ms/Mr E.B., Your donation of $10,000 is making a difference. Campaign: Ramel Brooks Lawyer Fund. Thank you.
The next email, issued less than two minutes later, announced that the Ramel Brooks Lawyer Fund had reached, and exceeded, its target amount. It was dated the day Elena had fired Maddie. She stared at the email for a good five minutes. Gratitude washed over her. Her boss had transformed the young man’s life. Any quality lawyer could crush the prosecution’s feeble case, so Ramel would be off to college as planned. He’d even have plenty of money left over for textbooks.
Yet no one would ever know who did this.
That donation wasn’t a unique event, either. Maddie had so far stumbled across paperwork for anonymous donations to a women’s shelter, a Polish inner-city community centre and its youth basketball team, and a receipt for bail money to free a group of transgender activists in North Carolina who’d been arrested protesting prohibitive bathroom laws.
If that wasn’t unexpected enough, there was the incident last week. On Maddie’s birthday, a cupcake was sitting on her desk when she arrived at work. Red velvet. No card. No note. Just that. It looked eerily familiar. She sniffed it. Oh. No wonder. She smiled and made a call.
“Hi, Mum, I just wanted to thank—”
“Darling! Happy birthday! I was just going to call to check you’re still coming over tonight. Simon will be here and your brother, too. I’ll be cooking that Moroccan dish you love. And my famous sponge for your cake. Yes?”
“Definitely.” Maddie was drooling all over her desk. “I mean if I get out of work on time.”
“Pssh, don’t worry about that. You will.”
Maddie stared at her phone in confusion. Then she remembered her reason for calling. “Thanks for the cupcake. Red velvet—my fave! Looks as delicious as ever.”
“Don’t thank me, I just took the order.”
“What?”
“Of course we don’t normally take orders for a single cupcake, but when she said who it was for, well, you’re a special case. Your brother dropped it off on the way through. Chris had to go into the city anyway.”
“Um, she who?” Maddie felt baffled by the entire conversation. “Who ordered it?”
“Your boss, of course. Didn’t she say? She rang to find out your preferred cake and order it for your birthday.”
Maddie was definitely hearing things. “Elena? Elena Bartell ordered this? For me, personally? And she knows it’s my birthday? I never told her.”
“Oh yes. And she knew—wouldn’t it be in your file or something? Anyway, she obviously appreciates you, and she sounded lovely. We talked a little bit. Bonded over dogs, of all things. You know how I love rare breeds. She has a Cirneco dell’Etna, did you know that? I’d love to see it one day.”
“Dogs.”
“Anyway, I explained tonight’s plans for you, and she promised not to keep you. She said she’d make sure you’d be free. So, seven?”
“Free.”
“Maddie, focus, darling. Seven? I hate to rush, but I have the Fredericks luncheon to prep for.”
“Sure.” She’d felt light-headed. “Seven.”
“All right, then. Until tonight. Bye, honey.” Click.
Maddie looked at her phone, the cupcake, and then over at Elena. She scrambled shakily to her feet and walked to Elena’s desk until she was staring at the impassive face of her boss.
Elena didn’t look up. “Problem?”
“No. I just… I wanted to say…for the cupcake. Thanks!”
“Mm. Consider it payback.”
“Payback?”
“I did appreciate many of your evening offerings.” Elena glanced up, her gaze half-lidded. She nudged a pile of folders across her desk. “These need filing.”
Maddie returned to her desk, arms overflowing, trying to understand what had just happened. Had Elena actually made mention of their time together in New York? That was a first. She hadn’t been any closer to figuring out what it all meant when, at six on the dot, Elena called her in.
“Go home,” she said, sounding annoyed. “You’re chewing the lid of your pen too loudly, and it’s ruining my concentration. So go. Now.”
Maddie hadn’t been using her pen.
Which was in her drawer.
And had no lid.
Such discoveries were both endearing and maddening. One moment Elena was a shark who shredded whole companies; the next she was the wry, smart, occasionally thoughtful woman Maddie had caught glimpses of in New York. Elena Bartell defied definition. She was impossible to pin down.
A blush warmed Maddie’s cheeks, as she imagined pinning the woman down in a very different way. She shook her head in annoyance and forced herself to focus on the work at hand. This, this…crush…would soon pass, and she could get on with life.
She hit Enter on her order for flowers and then winced at how high the total cost was. Oh well, Elena had wanted that Duchamp woman’s attention. She’d certainly get it for that price.