Shopaholic to the Stars

TWENTY-TWO

At last everyone has taken their photos and I’ve done two little interviews about Danny for fashion blogs, and I’m in the car, on the way to the premiere. I feel a bit giddy. It’s going to be brilliant. It already is brilliant.

The premiere is being held at El Capitan, and I know we’re getting near from the noise. The thumping music is practically rocking the SUV, and there are shouts from the crowd, and as we slow down, someone bangs on the car, which makes me jump, startled.

‘You OK?’ says Jeff at once.

‘Fine!’ I say, exhilarated. ‘It’s pretty big, isn’t it?’

The film is an action movie about two circus performers who foil a terrorist attack. Apparently they use all the animals and their circus skills to help them, and it was nearly derailed when an elephant went a bit crazy during the filming.

Jeff has to show all kinds of passes to officials, and as he does so, I peer out of the window. I can see faces pressing up against the glass, trying to see through the tinted windows. They probably think I’m Tom Cruise or something.

‘Jeez!’ Jeff says, trying to negotiate a path through the hubbub. ‘Place is chaos. You wanna go through with this?’

Honestly. Not him too.

‘Yes,’ I say firmly. I reach in my bag for my dad’s autograph book. I’ve brought it with me and I’m determined to get him as many autographs as I can. Then Suze won’t be able to call me selfish.

We’re in a queue of cars, and I can see how the process works. The car pulls up to the dropping-off point, and the door opens and the celebrity gets out and the crowd goes wild. There are two limos ahead of us. Soon it’ll be me!

‘So, you text as soon as you need to get out of here,’ says Jeff. ‘Or call. Any kind of trouble, you just call.’

‘I will,’ I promise, and check my reflection one last time. My heart is starting to beat fast. This is really it. I need to get out of the car elegantly, I need to stay calm, I need to remember who made my dress …

‘OK, you’re on.’ Jeff pulls up and a guy in a headset yanks open the door and I’m out. I’m standing on the red carpet. On the proper red carpet. I’m one of them!

I’m so transfixed by the atmosphere I don’t move for a moment. The music is even louder, now I’m outside. It’s all so big and bright and spectacular. The entrance to El Capitan is done up like a circus big top, and there are circus performers wandering about everywhere. There are fire-eaters and jugglers and a contortionist girl in a jewelled bikini, and a ringmaster cracking his whip. And there’s an elephant! An actual elephant, walking back and forth with its trainer. The crowd is going wild over some young guy in jeans, who I think is in a band, and I can see Hilary Duff about ten yards away … and is that Orlando Bloom signing autographs?

‘Rebecca?’ A girl in a black trouser suit approaches me with a businesslike smile. ‘I’m Charlotte. I’ll be escorting you on the red carpet. Let’s keep moving.’

‘Hi, Charlotte!’ I beam at her as we shake hands. ‘Isn’t this amazing? Look at the jugglers! Look at the elephant!’

Charlotte seems puzzled.

‘Right,’ she says. ‘Whatever. Let’s go.’

Cameras are flashing everywhere as we proceed along. I’ve been practising the proper film-star pose for days, only now I have to walk, too. I never practised film-star walking. Damn. How do they do it?

I think they kind of glide seamlessly along. I’ll glide too. Perhaps with my legs slightly bent?

‘Are you OK?’ Charlotte gives me a strange look and I hastily straighten my legs. Maybe that’s not such a good look. ‘So, we have your photocall and then your interviews …’ She glances at her watch and consults her clipboard. She seems totally unimpressed by the elephant, or the fire-eaters, or the celebrities. In fact, she seems unimpressed by the whole event. ‘So, you’re on.’

With no warning, she pushes me into an empty patch of red carpet, in front of a bank of photographers, who all start shouting, ‘Becky! Becky, over here!’

Hastily I get into position. Legs crossed, chin tucked, radiant, celebrity-type smile …

I’m waiting to feel the glee I did before … but it’s weird. I feel a bit nothingy. And then, almost before they’ve started, it’s over, and Charlotte is tugging me along again, towards the rows of TV cameras.

It was more fun when it was me and Suze, giggling at the whole thing, flashes through my mind.

No. Don’t be stupid. This is fantastic. I’m a proper celeb! I’m part of it! I’ve loads to say about Sage’s outfits, and my own dress, and fashion … I can’t wait.

‘So, the first interview is with Fox News,’ says Charlotte in my ear, and pushes me towards a TV camera. I quickly straighten my hair, and hope my lipstick hasn’t come off on my teeth, and put on my brightest, most intelligent expression.

‘Hello, Betty!’ says a very coiffed woman in a trouser suit. ‘We’re delighted you could join us!’

‘Thanks!’ I smile. ‘Although actually, it’s Becky.’

‘Betty,’ she continues as though she didn’t hear, ‘you are, of course, the witness to Lois Kellerton’s shoplifting incident. Have you seen Lois since then?’

I’m flummoxed for a moment. What do I say? I can’t reply, ‘Yes, I broke into her house and found her plotting how to fool the American public.’

‘Um … no,’ I say, feebly.

‘If you see her tonight, what will you be saying to her?’

‘I’ll be wishing her well.’

‘Lovely! Well, thank you, Betty! Enjoy the movie!’

To my astonishment, Charlotte grabs my arm and shunts me onward. That was it? That was the interview? Don’t they want to know what I do for a living? Don’t they want to know who my dress is by?

‘And the next one is TXCN,’ says Charlotte in my ear.

Another TV camera is pointing at my face, and a guy with red hair grins at me.

‘Hi there, Betty!’ he says in a Southern accent. ‘How’re you doin’?’

‘It’s Becky,’ I say politely.

‘So, shoplifting. Is it a crime or is it a disease?’

What? How on earth would I know? I stammer some answer, feeling like a total moron, and before I know it, I’m moving on to the next interview. That guy wants to know if Lois put up a fight when I confronted her, and the next woman asks me if I think Lois might have shoplifted because she was pregnant. I haven’t had a chance to mention my dress, or the fact I’ve styled Sage. And they all call me Betty.

‘I’m called Becky!’ I exclaim to Charlotte as we’re moving on. ‘Not Betty!’

‘Oh,’ she says, unmoved. ‘I guess it might have been written wrong in the press pack.’

‘But—’ I stop, mid-sentence.

‘But what?’

I was going to say, ‘But don’t they all know my name?’ Looking at Charlotte’s expression, though, I change my mind.

Maybe I’m not quite as famous as I thought I was. I feel a bit crushed, even though I think I manage to hide it quite well. Charlotte leads me on to another reporter, who shoves a radio mic in my face, and I’ve just babbled a few lines about how I’m really glad that Lois and Sage have reconciled and yes, I did see the interview … when there’s the most almighty roar and I can’t help looking round.

It’s Sage.

She’s standing in front of the photographers and they are going wild. I mean, nuts. The level of shouting is going up and up and up, and the flashes are like some kind of lightning storm, and the crowd is surging in her direction, pressing against the metal barriers and holding out phones and autograph books.

Sage looks absolutely delighted. She’s posing in Danny’s white dress, which looks sensational, and she’s flicking her hair around, and blowing kisses to the crowd. And then it happens. She blows a particularly energetic kiss … and somehow the side seam of her dress comes apart. I watch in shock as the whole thing unravels, exposing the entire side of her body.

Sage gives a huge gasp, and clutches at the dress, and the photographers nearly have fits, trying to get a shot of her.

I’m slack-jawed in horror as white beads start rolling all over the red carpet. That dress was fine this afternoon. It was fine. She must have doctored it. That was her secret plan which she didn’t want to tell me. A deliberate wardrobe malfunction. A girl in a black trouser suit is trying to offer Sage a coat, but she’s ignoring the offer, and beaming at the cameras.

Danny’s going to kill me. He’s got a particular sore spot about his clothes falling apart, ever since an unfortunate incident in Barneys when he hadn’t sewn up his seams properly. He’ll ask me why I didn’t make sure she was dressed properly, and I’ll have to say she wouldn’t let me near her, and he’ll say I should have insisted …

I can’t tell anyone I’m Sage’s stylist now. It hits me with a fresh blow. They’ll laugh at me. My whole plan is ruined.

Charlotte has been listening to her earpiece and now looks up.

‘Rebecca, you’re done,’ she says with a professional smile. ‘You can go in now. Enjoy the movie.’

‘Oh,’ I say, taken aback. ‘Is that all?’

‘That’s all,’ she says politely.

‘But I thought I was doing loads of interviews.’

‘The plan changed. If you make your way into the movie theatre, someone will show you to your seat. Have a good evening!’

I feel a pang of dismay. I don’t want to go into the movie theatre. Once I go in, it’s over.

‘Can I stay out here a bit longer?’ I say. ‘I want to … you know. Soak it all up.’

Charlotte looks at me as though I’m crazy. ‘Sure.’ She shrugs, and turns away, leaving me alone. I feel a tiny bit awkward, with nothing to do, but I determinedly swivel round and survey the rows of surging people and TV cameras and celebrities talking to interviewers. Come on, Becky. Here I am on the red carpet. Maybe Sage has derailed my plan a little, but I can still enjoy myself. I can still be positive.

The entire line-up of Heaven Sent 7 has just appeared on the red carpet, and a bunch of teenage girls is screaming hysterically. I can’t help feeling a thrill. They’re huge! I so want to share this with someone. I automatically pull out my phone, and start to text – and then stop, mid-word. I can’t share it with Luke. Or Suze. Or Mum.

Or Dad, obviously.

Or … anyone.

Without meaning to, I heave a miserable sigh, then immediately plaster a wide smile on, to compensate. I can’t be sighing on the red carpet. That’s a ridiculous idea! It’s all good. It’s all fab. It’s—

Oh, there’s Aran, looking immaculate in a black tuxedo and open-collared blue shirt. Feeling a surge of relief, I hurry over to him. His hands are in his pockets and he’s watching Sage, with that wry, detached expression he has. Sage has found a little mini trench coat from somewhere, and has put it on over her dress and is talking eagerly to a queue of interviewers.

‘Hey, Becky.’ Aran kisses me lightly on each cheek. ‘Having a good time?’

‘Yes!’ I say automatically. ‘It’s wonderful!’

‘Good.’ He smiles. ‘I’m glad.’

‘Although, did you see Sage’s dress? It totally collapsed.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Believe me, I saw that.’

‘She was lent that dress by a friend of mine. He’s a really famous designer. And she ruined it on purpose.’ I’m trying not to sound accusing, but I can’t help it.

‘Ah.’ Aran winces. ‘Well, I’m sure we can figure out compensation—’

‘It’s not the money! It’s just so inconsiderate. And now I can’t let anyone know I’m her stylist. I mean, that was the point of tonight; to launch myself as a stylist! I sourced her that dress and she would have looked amazing, but then she goes and deliberately sabotages it …’ My voice is trembling. I think I’m more upset than I quite realized.

‘Uh-huh.’ Aran surveys me as though he’s working something out. ‘Did you meet Nenita yet?’

‘No.’

‘Well, we’ll fix that up.’

‘OK. Thanks.’ To my dismay, a tear has come to one of my eyes. I wipe it hastily away and smile, but Aran has noticed.

‘You all right, Becky?’

‘Kind of.’ I gulp. ‘Not really. My dad’s gone missing and I had a row with Luke, and then I had one with my best friend, too … No one gets it. This.’ I spread my arms around.

‘You don’t surprise me,’ says Aran.

‘Really?’

‘It happens. You’re not a civilian any more, remember?’

He sounds totally unmoved, and I suddenly feel a pang of frustration at his easy-going, Teflon manner. If the world ended, he’d probably just shrug and say, ‘That’s the way it rolls.’

And what did he mean, You don’t surprise me?

‘Let me find Nenita.’ He pats me on the shoulder.

As Aran heads off, I look around again, trying to savour the experience, but suddenly I’m finding it a bit jarring. Everything’s so bright. The white smiles, the cameras flashing, the sequins and jewels and shrieking. It’s like, even the air is alive with electricity. My hair is prickling with it, and my leg is tingling …

Oh. Actually, that’s my phone, buzzing. I grab it out of my clutch, and it’s Suze. I feel a dart of terror and jab the Answer button.

‘Is everything OK?’ I demand. ‘Has anything happened?’

‘Oh God, Bex.’ Suze sounds despairing, and I feel a lurch of fright. ‘Alicia’s found out some information. They’ve gone off with Bryce.’

‘Bryce?’ I stare at the phone, not quite understanding. ‘Bryce from Golden Peace?’

‘Your dad had some mission and he asked Tarkie to help him carry it out. And Tarkie asked Bryce to come with them. Bryce! Alicia reckons he’s just after our money. He wants to set up some rival centre, and he’s going to brainwash Tarkie into funding it, and we have no idea where they’ve gone …’

‘Suze, calm down,’ I say desperately. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘But he’s evil!’ She sounds almost hysterical. ‘And they’ve driven off into the desert with him!’

‘We’ll find them. We will. Suze, just try to get as much information as you can …’ She’s trying to say something else, but I can’t make it out. Her voice is crackling and breaking up. ‘Suze?’

My phone goes dead and I stare at it in dismay. Bryce. Tarquin. My dad. In the middle of nowhere. What’s Mum going to say? What are we going to do?

‘Becky.’ Aran is at my side again. ‘Let me take you to meet Nenita.’ His eyes twinkle. ‘She’s a pretty big deal in your world, huh?’

‘Um … yes. Massive.’ In a daze, I follow him across the red carpet, stumbling slightly in my heels. This is the biggest moment of my career. Meeting Nenita Dietz. I have to put my personal life aside. I have to focus.

Nenita Dietz is holding forth to a group of people, and we wait patiently at the side until she pauses. She looks amazing. She’s in a massive blue fur coat and spiky metallic boots. Her long, dark wavy hair is shining with red and gold highlights under the spotlights and she must be wearing at least three pairs of false eyelashes. From here she looks like a fairy princess.

‘Nenita Dietz,’ Aran says pleasantly. ‘Let me present Becky Brandon.’

‘Becky!’

As I take her hand I feel like I’m meeting the queen. I mean, she is the queen of Hollywood stylists.

‘Hello!’ I gabble nervously. ‘I love your work. Actually, my background’s fashion, too. I was a personal shopper at Barneys and I’d love to get into styling and I’m such an admirer of yours. Especially of Clover. The clothes were exquisite.’

I’ve mentioned Clover because it’s a very low-budget film that she did a few years ago, which most people haven’t even heard of, and I’m hoping to get some Brownie points. But Nenita doesn’t seem interested in my opinion of Clover.

‘You.’ She points at me with narrowed eyes. ‘You’re the young woman who saw Lois stealing and told the world.’

‘Um, yes. I mean, no. I only told one person … or maybe two …’

‘Lois is a wonderful girl,’ she says with emphasis. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’ Her words feel like a slap, and I start backwards.

‘I didn’t mean to cause any harm,’ I say hastily. ‘And I honestly didn’t tell the world …’

‘You’ll bring bad karma into your life, you realize that?’ As she leans forward, I can see that her eyes are all yellowed, and her hands are a lot older than her face. She actually looks quite intimidating.

‘Lois’s doing fine, Nenita,’ says Aran. ‘You know that.’

‘Bad karma.’ She fixes me with her yellow gaze and jabs a finger at me again. ‘Bad karma into your life.’

I’m trying not to recoil in horror. I feel like she’s putting a curse on me.

‘Also, your dress is dated,’ she adds disdainfully, and I feel a prickle of outrage on Danny’s behalf. ‘Nevertheless,’ she says, as though bestowing on me a massive honour, ‘I can see that you, young woman, are like me. When you really want something, you have to have it.’ Her eyes run appraisingly over me again. ‘You may call me.’

She hands me a silver-edged card with a telephone number on it, and Aran raises his eyebrows.

‘Well done, Becky!’ he murmurs. ‘Nice job!’

I stare down at the card, feeling a bit dizzy. I’ve done it. I’ve actually made contact with Nenita Dietz.

The crowd is moving towards the movie-theatre entrance, surging around us, and a bulky man bumps into me, causing me to drop my bag. As I stand, I see I’ve been split up from Nenita and Aran and the crush is increasing. Girls in black suits are circulating, telling everyone that the movie will start soon, could they please take their seats. Feeling a bit like a zombie, I follow them in. The foyer is crowded with people and cameras and journalists, and I just let the throng propel me forward. A pleasant young man shows me to a seat in the auditorium, where I find a complimentary bottle of water and some popcorn and a circus-themed goodie bag.

I’m here! I’m one of the in-crowd! I’m in a top seat at a premiere! I have Nenita Dietz’s card and an invitation to call her!

So … why do I feel so hollow? What’s wrong?

My leather seat seems chilly and the air conditioning is making me shiver. As music starts blasting through the speakers, I jump. This should be the biggest treat ever, I keep telling myself. Suze’s voice is ringing in my ears: I hope you have the time of your life – and my own defiant reply, I will.

But the truth is: I’m not. I’m sitting in a cold, dark room full of strangers, about to watch a movie I don’t want to see, without any friends or family to share it with. I’m not famous. Everyone was calling me Betty. I’m not Betty, I’m Becky.

I finger Nenita’s card to reassure myself. But even that feels toxic in my fingers. Do I want to work with that scary witch? Do I want to be her? I feel as though I’ve reached the oasis mirage in the desert. I’m scooping up sand and I’m telling myself it’s fresh and pure water … but it’s not.

I’m breathing harder and harder; my thoughts are whirling around my head; I’m gripping the armrests of my seat until my fingers hurt. And suddenly I’ve had enough. I can’t stay here. I don’t want to be here. I have other, far more important things in my life than a red carpet and celebrities. I have my family and my friends, and a problem to sort out, and a husband to win back, and a best friend to help. That’s what I have. And I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to see that.

I have to leave. Right now.

Muttering apologies to the people around me, I get up and make my way to the side of the auditorium. The seats are full by now and a man in a dinner jacket has just started making a speech at the front, and all the attendants are giving me odd looks … but I don’t care. I need to get out. I need to talk to Suze as soon as I can. She probably hates me. I don’t blame her. I hate me, too.

Nenita is still standing in the lobby with Aran and a few others, and as I look at her anew, I feel a sudden revulsion. No, worse: outrage. How dare she try to curse me? How dare she diss Danny? As she’s turning away to enter the auditorium, I tap her on the shoulder.

‘Excuse me, Nenita,’ I say, my voice shaking slightly, ‘I’d just like to rebut a couple of things you said. Maybe I shouldn’t have betrayed Lois – but you should know, she isn’t exactly the girl you think she is. Second, I reckon people who try to give other people bad karma get bad karma themselves. Third, my dress is not dated. Danny Kovitz is a very talented designer and all the young fashion bloggers are going wild over it, so maybe if you don’t like it, you’re the one who’s dated.’

I hear a couple of gasps from Nenita’s acolytes. But I don’t care. I’m on a roll.

‘As for us being similar …’ I hesitate. ‘You’re right. When I know what I want in life, I go after it.’ I look around at the PR girls, the cameras, the rows of glossy Big Top goodie bags with striped handles, waiting to be collected. I would have gone wild about those goodie bags, once upon a time. But now it feels as though they’re somehow contaminated. ‘And the truth is … I don’t want this.’

‘Becky!’ says Aran, with a laugh.

‘I don’t want it, Aran.’ I look him square in the eye. ‘I don’t want the fame and I don’t want the heat.’

‘Sweetheart, don’t overreact!’ He puts a hand on my arm. ‘Nenita was joking about your dress.’

Is that all he thinks I care about? My dress?

But then … why wouldn’t he?

Suddenly I can see myself as everyone else has seen me over the last few weeks. And it’s not a great sight. I have a horrible thickness in my throat, and I can feel tears rising. But there’s no way I’m losing it in front of Nenita Dietz.

‘It’s not just about my dress,’ I say, as calmly as I can, and shake off his arm. ‘Bye, Aran.’

A bunch of black-suited girls are gossiping in a clutch by the doors, and as I approach, one springs to life.

‘Did you leave the movie already? Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine.’ I attempt a smile. ‘But I need to go. It’s an emergency. I’m going to call my driver.’

I fumble for my phone and text a message to Jeff:

Can we go now? Thx love Becky x

I stand awkwardly by the doors for a while, wondering where Jeff will pull up – and then I can’t stand waiting any longer. I’ll go out and see if I can spot the car.

I push the doors open and head back out on to the red carpet. It’s empty now, littered with a couple of discarded programmes and a Coke can and a cardigan that someone must have put down. I can see some white beads from Sage’s dress still glimmering on the red pile. I don’t know how I’m going to explain that to Danny. It was hand-sewn. It must have taken ages to make. All ruined in an instant.

And as I look at the beads, my spirits plunge further. I feel like everything has been ruined tonight. My stupid Hollywood dreams, my plan to be a celebrity, my friendship with Suze … I feel a fresh crush of pain and take a deep, shaky breath. I need to hold it together. I need to find Jeff. I need to …

Wait.

I gulp, and stare, unable to move. I can’t believe it.

Coming up the red carpet – the empty red carpet – is Luke. He’s walking steadily but purposefully, and his eyes are fixed on mine. He’s wearing his dark Armani overcoat, and I can see that underneath he’s in black tie.

As he gets near I start to tremble. His face is taut and stern, giving nothing away. There are tiny shadows under his eyes and as he reaches me, he doesn’t smile. For one awful moment I think he’s come here to divorce me.

‘I thought you went to New York,’ I falter, my voice barely above a whisper.

‘I did.’ He nods gravely. ‘I did. And then I turned straight round and came back again. Becky, I behaved atrociously. I’m sorry. To you and to my mother. It was unforgivable behaviour.’

‘It wasn’t!’ I say at once, flooded with relief.

‘You have every right to be angry with me.’

‘I’m not. Honestly, I’m not.’ I gulp. ‘I’m just … I’m so pleased to see you.’

I reach for his hand and clasp it tight. I never expected to see Luke here. Not in a million years. His hand is warm and firm and feels like it’s anchoring me. I never want to let it go.

‘Why aren’t you inside?’ He jerks his head towards the auditorium. ‘Has the evening been a success?’

Part of me longs to say, ‘Yes! It’s been brilliant!’ and regale him with my triumph. But there’s a bigger part of me that can’t lie. Not to Luke. Not when he’s standing here. Not when he flew back from New York. Not when he’s the only person at this premiere who actually cares about me.

‘It’s not what I thought,’ I say at last. ‘Nothing’s what I expected.’

‘Mm.’ He nods, as though he can read my mind.

‘Maybe …’ I swallow. ‘Maybe you were right. Maybe I am a bit lost.’

For a moment Luke doesn’t say anything. Those intense, dark eyes of his meet mine and it’s as though we don’t have to talk. He can sense it all.

‘I was brooding about that all the way to New York,’ he says finally, his voice deep and gravelly. ‘And then it hit me. I’m your husband. If you’re lost, it’s up to me to come and find you.’

With no warning, tears start to my eyes. After everything I did to annoy and upset him. He came to find me.

‘Well … here I am,’ I manage, a lump suddenly in my throat, and Luke sweeps me into his arms.

‘Come here,’ he says against my wet cheek. ‘No one should have to go to a premiere on their own. I’m sorry, my darling girl.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble back, sniffling against his white collar. ‘I think I lost the plot a bit.’

Luke offers me his handkerchief, and I blow my nose and try to repair my eye make-up a little while he waits patiently.

‘All the interviewers called me Betty,’ I tell him. ‘Betty.’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘Betty? No, I can’t see it.’ He glances at his watch. ‘Now, what shall we do? You want to go back inside?’

‘No,’ I say with resolve. ‘I want to find my dad. I want to make up with Suze. I want to hug Minnie. I want to do anything but go inside.’

‘Really?’ He meets my eyes … and I can see he’s asking me a bigger question. The same question he was asking me before. It seems so long ago, now.

‘Really.’ I nod. ‘It’s … it’s over.’

‘OK then.’ His eyes soften. ‘OK.’ He takes my hand, and slowly we start to walk back down the empty red carpet.