Ah, Matisse, where seizure inducing decor meets a communal pool that lures diamond-earring wearing Greek blokes and drunk patrons busting for a piss.
It’s the hottest place to be on a Sunday and aspiring supermodel Chloe is up at 5:30am getting ready for her session. Her look is finely crafted: a white and blue floral bikini, a tight white dress with a plunging neckline and leg slit, cute heels and a Tiffany’s bracelet around her fake-tanned wrist. She applies a layer of lip-gloss while meticulously examining her skin for imperfections. She heard that the “MacManus-headed”, Brownlow winner Matt Priddis might be attending today, so shit has got to be on point.
A greasy ball of Cocaine picks her up from her Scarborough apartment in his WRX. He pumps deep house while chewing gum and sleazily side-glancing the beautiful Chloe. “Want a line, beautiful?” Stupid question Gino, of course, she does, do you think her hip bones stick out on account of just a good diet? The pair racks up prison-grade Cocaine that has been cut so many times you’d think it was a Fallout Boy fan. Truth be told, the powder only gives them a slight buzz, but that offends the golden rule of the Perth coke crowd: you MUST act like you’ve snorted some Colombian shit off the tits of a Salsa-dancing pornstar. Gino pounds on his steering wheel, “wooooo, that some bomb shit!!!” It’s not.
Chloe walks into Matisse’s while scoping out the scene. Just as expected: it looks like the aftermath of a fake-tan and Corona bomb that left no survivors. Groups of fake-smiling woman pose for photos being taken by Mediterranean men with designer jeans and leather wristbands, “looking goood darrrrrling”. Some drunken semi-Bikie yahoo is drunk and wailing around in the pool. Chloe turns to one of her friends who face has been frozen in a Botox timewarp, “um, he is literally ruining all our photos, what’s the point of a pool setting if bogans are swimming in it?” Chloe may just have a point. She signals to a bouncer to remove the idiot from Perth’s most expensive fashion shoot prop.
Chloe sips Vodka, Lime & Soda through a straw while scouring the club for Priddis’ curly head. It appears she has been deceived. She only has a year left to get an invite to the next Brownlow Medal, so she is understandably pissed at having her time wasted. She tracks down Gino who is trying to give his business card to some girls and demands more coke. Coked up and 4 Vodka’s down, Chloe lets loose on the dancefloor. Model-dancing to the tunes of some tat-sleeved DJ that would push his own mother down the stairs to get a set at an Ibiza club.
Chloe spends her Monday morning in bed constantly refreshing the Matisse Facebook and Instagram page, waiting for the photos to be uploaded. The results of the photos will dictate whether she can even or not.