Lindsey Kelk - I Heart Vegas

‘We’re so pleased you could come, Cecelia,’ Jenny cooed, her arm wrapped through Cici’s skinny limb. ‘Tonight is such a special night for the designer.’

‘Thomas is one of my favourites,’ Cici crooned, batting her eyelashes in the general direction of a short, very skinny, entirely repellent man with over-dyed black hair in the middle of the room. Thomas, pronounced ‘Toe-Mah’ of course, wasn’t wearing one of his own designs. He was wearing a red PVC Santa costume. With the arse cheeks cut out. I believe trousers such as his are more commonly known in the business as chaps. Father Christmas does not wear chaps; they are not practical in his line of business. I hadn’t laid eyes on him before this moment, but at least I now realized why I was dressed like a very cheap prostitute. And at least I wasn’t the worst-dressed person in the room. Never before had Christmas made me so sad.

‘I’m so glad I could be here – the holidays are just crazy,’ Cici was saying, rolling her eyes at Jenny. ‘All the parties, all the travelling, the shopping – it’s just chaos.’

‘Isn’t it though?’ Jenny nodded sympathetically. ‘The shopping is just the worst.’

‘It sure is. I hate shopping when it’s not for me!’ No one enjoyed Cici as much as Cici enjoyed Cici. ‘I hate Christmas.’

So it was true, she was the devil. I softened the shock of this news with a handful of snack mix from my tray.

‘You’re not supposed to eat those,’ one of the other dead-eyed waitresses said as she sailed by with champagne. I shrugged and went back in for seconds. I had a feeling this job wasn’t going to be a big tipper for me anyway; might as well get my money’s worth.

‘Yeah, it’s just so …’ Jenny waved her hands around to agree as emphatically as possible. And accidentally spilled a glass of red wine right down the front of Cici’s dress. ‘Oh. My. God.’

The shriek that came from Cici’s throat would have sent the virgin Mary into an early labour. There wouldn’t have even been time to get to the stable. The little donkey would have had to act as midwife. I couldn’t believe Jenny Lopez had sacrificed couture to the great girl-vengeance gods. I nibbled on a wasabi pea. This was better than the cinema.

‘This is archive Halston,’ she hissed. ‘I have to return this to the PR.’

‘Sabrina?’ Jenny waved away her concerns. ‘One of my best friends. I’ll call her. Don’t sweat it. In fact, let me make it up to you. I’ve got one of Thomas’s designs from his new collection in the back. I was going to have a model come out in it later, but I don’t suppose I could beg you to wear it for me? I know Thomas would love it. You’ve got such a perfect figure.’

Cici gaped like a guppy. Lovely teeth. And I had to admit, this was a curveball I did not see coming. How exactly was letting Cici wear a beautiful, exclusive designer dress revenge of any kind?

‘Me? Wear a brand new Thomas design?’ She actually gasped. ‘Where do I change?’

Confused-dot-com, I watched as Jenny pointed Cici in the direction of one of the bedrooms, but just before she vanished behind the heavy white door, she flashed me a wicked smile and raised her eyebrows in a silent promise. She would have made a great Bond villain. What was her wicked plan? Maybe she was holding Cici’s head down the toilet and flushing repeatedly while I stood there watching a closed door. I wondered whether or not it was too late to retract my Christmas list and ask for a sopping wet Cici from Father Christmas this year. I wanted it even more than a Mulberry Alexa. No, really.

‘Part of me is convinced she’s going to come out of that door naked,’ a very familiar voice groaned over my shoulder. ‘She’d set a dog on fire for attention if she thought it would work.’

I turned and almost dropped my tray. Right in front of me was Cici’s double. The same long limbs, the same blonde hair, even the same icy blue eyes, but instead of knocking me on my arse with the evil equivalent of a Care Bear stare, her baby blues just looked tired and bored. On closer inspection, this Cici was altogether less frightening. The elaborate hair pleat had been replaced by loose waves, and the show-stopping red gown had given way to a classic black sheath. Still stunning, but in a ‘wow, you look great’ way, not ‘wow, please don’t steal my soul’. It was a subtle difference.

‘I’m Delia.’ She held out her hand and I couldn’t help notice the lack of manicure. Was it possible that this Cici clone actually worked for a living? ‘The living Barbie doll is my sister. Twin sister. For my sins.’

And suddenly it all made sense. Cici’s sister. Why did I know Cici had a sister? Clearly it wasn’t from our cocktail hour heart-to-hearts …

‘I’m Angela.’ I took her hand and shook it, as was traditional amongst humans. ‘Cici and I actually used to work together. Sort of. Because, you know, she doesn’t really work.’

Delia’s eyes flashed with recognition and I readied myself for a slap. It was one thing to slag off your own sibling, but it was quite another to have Krystal the Call Girl-cum-Waitress do it for you. She raised her arm, but before I could duck I was pulled into a huge hug and her dry voice gave way to a glorious laugh.

‘Angela Clark!’ She pushed me away then grabbed my arms. I dropped my tray but managed to stay upright, so I took it as a win. ‘Ohmygod, I love you!’

I froze, wide-eyed, and took the hug.

‘Thank you?’

‘No, really.’ Delia had quite the firm grip. ‘I love you. I used to read your blog all the time. I told Grandpa I was never going to speak to him again when he killed it.’

Grandpa. Delia’s grandpa was Cici’s grandpa. Who was Bob Spencer, the owner of my previous employer, Spencer Media. Who had fired me after reading a particular email that was somewhat peppered with expletives and other colourful expressions describing his little princess. Every single one of which was justified, but still, I imagined very few people would enjoy seeing their pride and joy described as a ‘raving psycho that should be beaten to death with a spoon’, even if it was true.

‘Thank you?’

And again.

‘And I know it probably doesn’t help, but I’m so sorry – I know what a bitch she can be.’ Delia finally let go of my arms. Funnily enough, I still couldn’t really relax. ‘One time, when we were in high school, she pretended to be me to get a date with this guy. I was super-excited to get to school on Monday morning and find out I’d lost my virginity when I thought I’d been in the Hamptons studying.’

‘Woah, really?’ That was genuinely evil. Maybe Jenny had competition in the Bond villain stakes. ‘Who is that evil that young?’

Delia shrugged. ‘She didn’t want to get a reputation, so she gave me one instead. Not the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten. Happy sweet sixteen, Delia. I bought her a Tiffany charm.’

‘And you didn’t kick her arse?’ I would have actually killed her. Actually murdered her.

‘Living well is the best revenge,’ she replied. ‘Or something. And with Cici, that means just ignoring her. There’s no point going to war with someone like that, sister or not. I’d rather just not deal with her.’

‘You’re my hero.’ I pressed my hand against her shoulder. ‘I’ve been having some trouble controlling my rage lately, and I won’t lie, I’m a bit worried about being in the same room with her.’

‘Oh, please, feel free to punch her in the face.’ Delia gave me a beatific smile. ‘After what she did to you? She totally deserves it. So what are you doing now?’

I looked down at my outfit and back at Delia.

‘Right.’

‘Yeah.’

We stood in awkward silence for a moment while I tried to think of something to say that didn’t involve how much I hated her sister. This was the season of goodwill, after all.