Helen drew a large black line over several images of supermodel Bebette and pushed them to one side.It was late, very late and, as usual she was still at work … the only people around being the night security, the cleaning staff and her ever loyal P.A. Chantelle DeBloom.
Once she had decided which of the images she was going to use of Bebette then the next edition of Chic was in the bag and ready to print.
Helen looked down at the image of the sultry brunette and shook her head – the last time she had seen Babette was at a Milan Fashion Show the young Australian beauty wasn’t quite the glamorous icon that would soon be staring down from yet another front cover on thousands of magazine rackes.
Babette’s nose was covered in white powder, her left breast had escaped from her dress and she was desperately attempting to unzip the pants and blow Manuel Perez, the Spanish Formula One tycoon.
It all got rather embarrassing and it took Helen to stand up to the plate and drag the girl kicking, screaming and shouting obscenities out of the party in order to save her from further embarrassment.
To date Helen had received an apology, a thanks … nada, rien, nothing … but then she hadn’t really expected one anyway.
‘Helen’ she looked up, Chantelle was in the doorway. Small, bubbly, vivacious and great fun, Chantelle lightened up any room she came into. Chantelle also got to feast on the hungry male suitors that fell by the wayside when Helen failed to respond to their hot and horny advances.
‘Helen, there’s a lady on the phone … a Mrs O’Donaghue … she says she’s your great Aunt’.
‘Aunty Maria?’ it had been ages since Helen had heard from her bohemian and charismatic relative.
Always considered the black sheep of the family the old spinster kept herself to herself.
Helen, however, had always got on well with the old lady … even if she did profess to have psychic powers and a hotline to the spirits on the other side.
‘Put her through’, said Helen a smile spreading on her face.
No comments:
Post a Comment