RICHVIEW SHOPS COMPRISED ONE multi-storey centre with a whole lot of ground-level boutiques and cafes sprinkled around the outside of it. The exclusive shopping area was bordered by the railway line on one side and the highway on the other. In summer, the ‘Rich’ centre was packed with people taking advantage of the airconditioning, but the rest of the year most shoppers liked to use the alfresco eateries around the outside. Mostly the boutiques were mortgage-your-house expensive, but a couple of factory-direct stores had survived from the early days – a bit like Euccy Grove’s welfare housing.
The factory directs were on the very top level where the architect and builders had had a communication breakdown and forgotten to put in windows. The owners had tried to sue, but in the end it was easier to drop the rent. The Jam Factory had been there as long as I could remember – give or take a few name and radical decor changes. These days it was techno-punk and minimalist.
‘T!’ a tiny figure barrelled into me and latched around my waist.
I patted the silky, Orica-styled hair with affection. When we were younger it had been wild and messy. Just like her. ‘Hi Smitty.’
She let go and stepped back to give me a quick appraisal. ‘What’s wrong? Your eyelid is twitching again. Last time that happened, you’d just found out that Mr Mauritius was bashing the pants off that slutty boarder of yours.’
She was right. When Pascal left me my eyelid had twitched for three weeks. Smitts, bless her tiny designer socks, had brought me a pair of sunnies to hide the tic – mine were lost – and a reflexology session at a day spa.
While we burrowed through the racks I told her about Enid and Harvey, and by the time I’d picked out a few items to try on, she was crying with laughter.
‘I’d better not tell Henny,’ she hiccupped. ‘I’ll be banned from visiting you.’
I laughed and disappeared into the change-room to fight my way into a striped tube-dress.
Smitty stuck her head around the curtain. ‘I can’t give proper advice until I know who it is.’
‘Nick Tozzi,’ I mouthed, so the shop assistants couldn’t hear. Richview was a VERY small shopping world. ‘He was at Johnny Vogue’s party.’
‘Nick Tozzi,’ she mouthed. ‘OMG. You mean Antonia Falk’s shag?’
‘Husband,’ I corrected. ‘And how many times have I told you it’s totally un-cool to speak in acronyms.’
‘Well it’s damn useful,’ Smitty retorted. ‘And you can’t wear that to breakfast with a Tozzi. You look like a $1000-a-night girl.’
I looked in the mirror. ‘You mean an expensive hooker?’
‘More mid-range tart.’ She pointed to the white halter dress I’d grabbed as a maybe. ‘Try that one.’
With a sigh I peeled out of the tube and put on the halter.
‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Elegant and sexy.’
‘I always feel like a princess in white, and not in a good way,’ I said.
‘Quit whining. I’ve only got half an hour left. Let’s grab a coffee.’ She closed the curtain.
Smitty’s deadlines were to the second, so I hurried. Just as I got my head and one arm through my t-shirt, I heard a female voice.
‘Jane Evans, is that you?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Smitty in her most frigid tone. ‘I’m afraid I’ve . . .’
‘June Whitehead nee Barry.’
Who in the hell said ‘nee’?
‘June Barry,’ Smitty repeated loudly and slowly. ‘From school. Oh, yes, you married Whitey.’
‘Yes, I did,’ said the voice, ‘and you can tell that friend of yours to keep right away from my man. She’s here with you, isn’t she?’
All my instincts wanted me to stride out half naked and thump June Whitehead nee Barry in her big gob, but Smitty was cool as a cucumber.
‘I don’t have the slightest idea who you’re talking about. But I do think you should go home and take your tablets, dear.’
The shop girls tittered.
‘Tara Sharp is who I’m talking about! That bitch is sniffing around my Greg.’
‘Oh you poor deluded thing,’ said Smitty with sugary sympathy. ‘I’ll let you in on a secret. Tara Sharp wouldn’t bang Whitey if he was wrapped in hundred-dollar bills. The man’s a fugly idiot. Besides, she’s dating a Tozzi.’
I’m what?!
June made some snorting sounds that sounded like ‘rich bitch’ before stomping away.
After enough time had passed, I peeked around the curtain. ‘Is the coast clear?’
Smitty’s cheeks were as red as a fire hydrant. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips. ‘Appalling,’ she said, channelling our mothers. ‘The manners some people don’t have.’
The shop girls stared at us goggle-eyed. I could almost feel the wheels of the rumour mill start to spin, so I resorted to my cure-all. ‘Let’s eat.’
I paid for the dress with the last of my Social Skills Class money, and hoped Smitty would cover the bill for the cake.
We got the last table downstairs in the brasserie. I ordered a pot of tea for two, and two vanilla slices. Smitty was the vanilla slice queen.
‘Honestly,’ she said, sucking custard out from between the pastry. ‘Some people should be drowned at birth.’
I squashed my custard out and picked off the globs with my finger. ‘Why did you say I was dating a Tozzi?’
Smitty took a sip of tea. ‘Well you are. Tomorrow morning.’
‘It’s a work meeting with a very married Tozzi. And I don’t need another deranged woman claiming I’m after her husband.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I got an anonymous abusive call the other day. Something similar.’
‘It was probably her.’
I studied my glob of custard and sighed. ‘Probably was.’
‘Now where were we? Ah, Nick Tozzi.’
‘Smitts, I am not dating him.’
‘Pooh,’ said Smitty. ‘His marriage is never going to last.’
I might have rubbed my hands together with glee if my fingers hadn’t been sticky with custard – Smitty was always good for the dirt. ‘Do tell,’ I ordered.
‘Antonia’s a major coke addict. She managed to hide it until after the wedding though. But I hear she’s back to her old tricks.’
I thought about Nick’s reaction when he’d seen his wife at the Coke Road party. Smitty’s gossip explained a lot.
‘So why doesn’t she do rehab?’ I asked.
Smitts took delicate bites of the leftover pastry bits. ‘Who knows? She’s supposed to have picked up the habit when she was modelling overseas. Good way to stay thin. Anyway, it’s your turn. Tell me everything.’ she glanced at her watch. ‘And do it in fifteen minutes.’
I launched into a point-form version of how I ran into Whitey, his phone call asking me to have an affair, and the now-infamous party where I’d met Nick Tozzi.
Smitty listened with complete attention, sipping the last of her tea. When I finished, she sighed. ‘Your life is so much more interesting than mine, T.’
‘I don’t know that “interesting” is quite the word, Smitts. I mean, Bok’s got me on probation. Besides, you’ve got a husband and kids who adore you, not to mention enough money to take holidays. I’ve got . . . Brains, Hoo and JoBob, and I just spent my savings on a white dress.’
‘Is that your sneaky way of saying that I’m paying for afternoon tea?’
I tried for an offended look. ‘Well, considering that I’m your entertainment, I think it’s only fair.’
She reached into her handbag and pulled out her wallet. ‘Tara Sharp,’ she said sternly. ‘Will you ever grow up?’