Saved by the Celebutante (33 page)

JUST OVER A YEAR LATER…

“Oh, isn’t she beautiful?” I coo.

“I tell you, she looks like an angel, but she doesn’t sleep like one,” Penny complains.

Matt and I are at the hospital visiting Penny’s daughter, Claudia, for the first time. Michelle is hovering nearby, looking on lovingly.

“Can I hold her?” I ask.

“Of course.” She hands the tiny bundle of baby and blankets to me. She’s so light. I rock her gently back and forth. Claudia closes her eyes and lets out a little sigh.

“I think I’m going to have to get you to move back in as my live-in nanny,” Penny jokes.

“Well, I’m just a phone call and a mere hour and a half drive away.”

She laughs. “How are you enjoying Santa Cruz anyway?”

“I love it. It’s so chilled out compared to the chaos of the city here. I think I needed a change.”

“Good.” She nods at Matt. “And this boy is looking after you?”

“Of course I am!” he protests before kissing my cheek to prove his point.

“You guys are adorable. So Matt, have you thought about having another baby?” She pats Claudia’s head. “Is this little one triggering any longing emotions?”

“Would you believe that I do in fact want more kids, but your sister is the one dragging her feet?”

Penny snorts. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. She says there’s no hurry, apparently.”

“Is this true?” she demands.

“Yeah. I mean, biologically I should probably start thinking about it soon, but from every other perspective, there’s no rush. I’d like to just enjoy life with Matt and Noah for a while first. And after seeing how not amazing your pregnancy was, and listening to all of Gia’s horror stories, I’d like to put it off as long as possible.”

She laughs. “That’s good for me, I suppose. I won’t have to compete for your time.”

“Exactly.”

Penny yawns, and I reluctantly hand Claudia back. “We should probably go soon and let you rest.” I look around the small hospital room, noting the mountain of flowers and balloons. “Are these all deliveries, or have you already had that many visitors?”

“They’re mostly deliveries. Do you think I would leave you guys until last on the list or something?”

“No, but…”

Penny cuts me off. “Oh my God! I forgot to tell you! Guess who wants to come visit?”

“Who?”

“Mom and Dad! Look!” She points to a very large and expensive-looking bouquet of flowers in the corner. “They had them sent over, and when I talked to Mom she was all excited about meeting Claudia. She even wanted to give me and Michelle an evening off so we could have dinner on our own! It’s like our parents have morphed into completely different people. I’m guessing they must have had some sort of realization or something. They’re even talking about moving back so they can see us more often!”

My eyes widen. “Wow! That’s wonderful.”

“Plus, they were also asking after you and contemplating a trip to Santa Cruz.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“How odd.”

“I know! But I say just embrace it. Anyway, how long are you in town for?”

“Oh, we just drove up for the day to see you, but I can come back again soon and stay for a bit longer. I’d love to help out.”

“That would be great. I’ll call you when we’re home and settled.”

“Perfect.”

We leave the two new moms alone and go back out into the street. Matt pulls me in for a hug. “What would you like to do now?”

“I don’t know. Grab some lunch, I guess?”

“Do you need to see Gia? Or let your ex-husband know you’re in town?”

“I should probably call Gia and see if she needs anything. But I don’t need to let Corey know we’re here.”

“Whatever you think is best. You know I’m not going to get jealous or anything.”

I chuckle. “I know. How could you be jealous anyway? Corey is engaged to someone else now. And you know where my heart lies.”

“I just thought I’d check.”

“Well, thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

We walk back to the car, and I text Gia to let her know I’m around if she wants anything. These days I’m still her publicist, but I only work part time. I try and see her once a week – or once every two weeks at a minimum. The rest of the time I work from the tiny bungalow I share with Matt in Santa Cruz. Gia is in the process of expanding her line of baby food, but she’s hired some people to do most of the work for her so she can dedicate more time to her kids. Apparently Lily started complaining about having to share a bedroom with the boys, so Gia thought it was time to upgrade their living situation and bought a really nice house with some of the money Jack left.

I only moved in with Matt three months ago, but so far it’s going great. Donna decided she wanted to settle down with the guy she met in Oregon, and because he didn’t like kids, she was willing to leave Noah with Matt almost full time. That’s fine with me. He is a beautiful little boy, and while he has his moments, we mostly have a lot of fun together.

In my spare time, I volunteer at a women’s center (Gia kept her word and still stays in contact with Lindsey in LA), and I also occasionally help Matt out on a photo shoot. It turns out I’m not too bad with a camera myself, but I put that down to having a great teacher.

Matt is doing amazingly well. He scored some great publicity thanks to his work at Earth & Fire and a few contacts I knew from when I worked at Perry Tyler.

My phone beeps. It’s Gia.

Thanks for letting me know you’re in town, but I don’t need you today! Enjoy your time with that sexy man of yours and we’ll talk next week!

“I don’t need to see Gia, so we’re free to do whatever we like,” I tell Matt.

“Great! Well, I feel like being a tourist for the day. Can we go down to the wharf?”

I groan. “That’s so lame.”

“I want clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl.”

“If you must.”

We make our way down to the water, and as we walk past Americano, I remember the horrible conversation I had with Corey when we first broke up. I can’t believe how much has happened since then.

Corey is still with Jasper, but they decided not to go ahead with the wedding for a while. Corey also finally confessed he wasn’t ready for them to buy property together, and although Jasper was a bit put out at first, he eventually understood. With that said, it’s been over a year now, so I’m guessing I’ll be getting a phone call any day about an upcoming wedding or property settlement.

Matt and I have jokingly talked about marriage, but both of us have agreed it’s not important. We might get hitched down the track, but as we’ve both already been through it, we know how little it means in the scheme of things.

We buy our clam chowder and sit down, overlooking the water. It is a crystal clear day and San Francisco has never looked better.

“I am the luckiest guy in the world,” Matt declares, leaning across the table to kiss me, narrowly avoiding spilling soup everywhere.

I beam at him. “I’m feeling pretty lucky myself.”

It’s funny how my way of thinking has changed. If you had told me a couple of years ago that I would end up happily dating a man that wasn’t Corey and that I was no longer desperate to have kids or settle down, I would have said you were crazy.

But this – right now – somehow this is my happily ever after.

And it feels amazing.

Not ready to stop reading yet? Check out the first chapter of Kirsty’s first novel,
Zen Queen
!

(Please note, this book uses Australian spelling and grammar.)

Jess Harper’s personal life is a mess. She hasn’t had a haircut since 2006 and she doesn’t have time to find better friends than the self-centred associates she’s had since University. And instead of searching for love, she’s settled for ‘friends with benefits’ status with one of her buddies. Yet none of that matters, because professionally she’s living the dream, and has just scored a highly coveted assignment in Japan with the promise of a promotion on her return. But when she arrives in Japan, instead of the smooth integration she anticipated, Jess finds herself wrongfully fired, abandoned and broke in a country where she doesn’t speak the language.

Now she must rebuild her life and clear her name. But the friendly locals and allure of the ex-pat lifestyle soon have her reconsidering her priorities and challenging her views on climbing the corporate ladder. With a new job as an English teacher and the temptation of her cute (but already attached) roommate, Jess discovers that although life doesn't always turn out as planned, maybe that's not such a bad thing.

ONE

‘Hi! My name’s Cindy and I’m going to be your hair technician today! Would you like a glass of champagne or a cup of tea before we get started?’

I marvel at the little elf standing in front of me. She’s only about four foot ten and dressed from head to toe in tight black lycra. She is also wearing the tallest platforms I’ve ever seen – which means she’d be positively tiny without the shoes. How does she not get a backache standing in those things all day?

‘Uh, just a cup of tea thanks.’

‘Great. I’ll be right back.’

It’s only 2.30. If I start drinking now, there’s no telling what might happen later. But then again, I could probably use the Dutch courage. I’m not very comfortable in hair salons. A colour is one thing, but a cut is a life-changing and irreversible decision. I can’t even remember the last time I put myself at the mercy of a ‘technician’. Maybe 2006? Could it really have been that long? I think my aversion stems back to when I was 10 and my mum told the stylist to give me one of those ‘fetching pageboys’ and I came out sharing a do with an 80’s animated action hero. I still suffer from confidence issues due to the relentless teasing at school – I was known as He-Man right up until I graduated. And when newer students came along, I think they got confused and thought I was a hermaphrodite because they started calling me She-Man instead. Kids just don’t realise how cruel they can be.

Cindy trots back and hands me a mug. ‘It’s rosehip,’ she explains. ‘With a little honey. It’s full of Vitamins A, C, D and E. Plus,’ she lowers her voice conspiratorially, ‘it helps prevent cystitis.’

‘Oh, right. Ta.’ I wonder if this is some new hybrid service where hairdressers are also qualified to dole out medical advice. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had changed the rules since I’d last had my hair done professionally.

‘OK! Now let me just get my clipboard. Take a seat and we’ll start with a few questions.’

That confirms it. They’ve definitely changed the rules. I don’t remember filling out any questionnaires last time.

I put my purse on the floor, and it immediately attracts all the loose hair lying around nearby. It’s like a magnet. I’m going to have to find the lint brush when I get home.

Cindy grabs a pencil from the counter and perches on a small stool opposite. She slides in really close so that our knees are practically touching.

‘Alright, first question. How much time do you spend styling your hair each day?’

I think back to my routine this morning. Hmm. That’s probably not a great example. I wanted to get to the office early, but I forgot to set my alarm so I didn’t even look at my hair today, let alone touch it. It’s quite possible that I forgot to brush my teeth as well. Oops.

‘About 15 minutes?’ I reply, half as a question.

She looks at my ratty hair dubiously but writes it down anyway.

‘Question two – which celebrity’s hair do you most admire?’

I stifle a giggle. I’m really not sure how that’s going to help. What if I said Whoopi Goldberg?

‘Um... I guess I kind of like…’ I frantically look around the salon for inspiration. There’s a copy of Vogue lying nearby. I squint to see who’s on the cover.

She follows my gaze to the magazine.

‘Catherine McNeil?’ she suggests helpfully.

‘Yep. Her.’ Who?

She shakes her head and moves on.

‘What would you say your face shape is?’

What does she mean? Isn’t it shaped like a face? Oh wait! I remember this from an old issue of Cosmo. There’s oval, round, square, heart… What’s heart again? Is diamond a choice? It sounds pretty.

‘Diamond?’

She frowns and looks at me.

‘No, you’re definitely not a diamond. I would say…’ She studies my face for a second. ‘… a square.’

Really? I’m a square? That doesn’t seem right. But she’s the expert I suppose.

‘Have you permed your hair in the last twelve months?’

Hang on. What decade are we in? Didn’t perms go out of fashion in the early 90’s? I did actually try one a few years after the pageboy incident but it was also a huge disaster. When my gender wasn’t being questioned, I would often randomly hear sheep noises behind my back.

‘Is this really necessary?’ I ask as politely as possible. ‘I mean, surely you can tell whether I’ve had a perm just by looking at my hair.’ For the record, it’s dead straight.

Her ever-present grin starts to falter.

‘Look, I know you probably think that this is pointless, but it’s important to ascertain all the facts before choosing the right style for you. For all I know you could have used the GHD on it today and if I choose the wrong product, your hair could disintegrate and break off. You don’t want to go around looking like 2007 Britney, do you?’

I’m rather taken aback. I didn’t realise the situation was so dire. Could I really end up bald? And what’s a GHD?

‘You know what?’ I say, standing up. ‘I think I’ll be fine. I don’t really need my hair done. I’m only here because I’m supposed to be in a fashion show and my friend Alex seems to think that my current style isn’t good enough. But I’m sure it will be easy to talk him round.’

I turn to leave.

She smirks. ‘Honey, you totally need a makeover. And your friend already pre-paid so you really should take advantage of the offer.’

I sigh. She’s right. I can’t let Alex blow two hundred on me and not have anything to show for it.

I sit back down, defeated. ‘OK. Well do whatever you want then. I don’t care.’

Her eyes gleam. I hope I don’t regret this.

***

I can’t believe I volunteered to be a model. Admittedly, Alex is my best friend and I would do almost anything for him, but this is asking a bit much – especially considering my aforementioned self-esteem issues. Alex owns a sports store in the city and came up with the idea of running a big promotional event and fashion show. He wants me to be part of it and model the new range of workout gear. But me? In yoga pants? In runners? Ha! It would be laughable if it weren’t such a mortifying prospect – striding down a catwalk in front of half our town and swaying my butt in time with the music. Actually, I just found out today that you’re not supposed to walk in time with the music. Apparently it’s got something to do with keeping a consistent pace throughout the show. I guess that kind of makes sense. I mean, you wouldn’t want to be marching along to
Too Funky
and then have the song suddenly change to
Black Betty
. Everyone would start zooming around like they were on speed and then the show would be over prematurely. But then any choreographer choosing a song like
Black Betty
for a fashion show is just asking for trouble.

Cindy paints a mud-like substance on my hair and plonks me under one of those big heating pods. It makes me feel a bit claustrophobic. And it kind of burns my ears. In fact, ouch. This is really unpleasant.

‘Excuse me?’ I call out to Cindy. ‘Could you please turn the heat down?’

She doesn’t hear me at first. One of the other hairdressers has chosen that exact moment to turn on an industrial strength blow dryer.

‘EXCUSE ME!’ I yell, right when the blow dryer is turned off again. Cindy looks over, startled.

‘Sorry,’ I apologise, my face turning pink. ‘It’s just that I think this thing is too hot.’

She sighs and comes over to adjust the dial. ‘You only have seven minutes left, but if we turn it down, you’ll have to wait longer.’ She goes out the back and I hear whispering. I hope she’s not telling the other hairdressers how wussy I am.

Gosh, these hairdressing salons can be a bit intimidating. All the stylists are so pretty and confident. It’s enough to make anyone feel inadequate – especially considering my current reflection. I don’t stand a chance with this cape and my hair looking like Encino Man after he popped out of the ice.

Finally Cindy decides I’ve been tortured enough and leads me to the basin. That’s another thing I don’t understand about the whole salon experience – when they tilt your head back at an unnatural angle against a ridge of porcelain. And then they make you stay there for ten minutes while they give you a ‘relaxing’ head massage. I always get headaches the day after having my hair done and I just know it’s because of the basin.

She towel dries my hair and clips a tool belt around her waist. There are at least three different types of scissors on it. I’m starting to feel like I’ve stepped out of a time capsule into the future. Why does she need that many?

I expect Cindy to start chopping away, but instead she’s decided to inspect a strand of my hair. She looks at it like it’s a particularly unique archaeological fossil.

‘Tell me,’ she says. ‘When was the last time you had a haircut?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe two years ago?’

‘Uh no, I don’t think so. It would have to be five at a minimum. See this split end? It takes significant neglect for something like this to occur.’

My face reddens again. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say in a small voice.

‘I just can’t understand how someone can let themselves go like that.’

‘Well, I’ve been kind of busy,’ I stutter. I’m not sure why I feel the need to justify myself to this woman. But in a way she reminds me of one of the cool kids at school and I just want her to like me.

‘There’s no excuse for bad hair,’ she continues to lecture. ‘You need to have some respect for your appearance. You’re probably single, aren’t you?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Guys aren’t interested in girls who don’t care about their looks, you know.’

‘I think this is getting a bit personal,’ I say, tears pricking at my eyes. ‘Do you mind if I read a magazine while you cut my hair?’

She stares at me at me for a minute and then thrusts an old copy of Cosmopolitan in my face.

I hide behind an article called
How Guys Rate You In Bed
.

I think the universe is trying to tell me something.

***

After what seems like hours of cutting and slicing, Cindy stands back to admire her work. She’s now treating my hair as its own separate entity, judging by the amount of attention she’s giving the owner.

I cough politely to indicate I’m still alive. In response, she half-heartedly holds up a mirror to show me the back. I take a peek, and then instantly regret it. It’s awful. How could anyone think a haircut modelled on Johnny Depp circa Edward Scissorhands is even remotely attractive? There are chunks cut out all over my head, and these little stringy bits hanging randomly around my face. I want to die.

‘Doesn’t it look great?’ she coos.

I’m not sure if she’s being sincere or not. I really hope it’s some kind of joke. Any minute now she’ll laugh and say ‘Just kidding. Here’s what it really looks like,’ and then she’ll whip off the wig she sneakily planted when I wasn’t paying attention, revealing a gorgeous new do.

But the longer I sit there, the more I realise she’s serious.

The other stylists peer over and make their obligatory approval noises. I think it must be a compulsory part of the hairdresser’s code or something. Do they really think this looks good?

I fumble around for my handbag and get up, dazed. I walk out without saying another word and vaguely wonder if Cindy even notices. When I glance back, she’s already moved on to the next customer, so I guess not.

I am beyond traumatised. I could maybe go to another salon, but it would probably cost a fortune to fix, and my bank account is a bit sad at the moment.

I walk down the street to the train station and avoid eye contact with everyone I pass. I’m afraid someone will laugh at me if I look up.

Suddenly, I stop.

Damn. I think I forgot my phone. I’d texted Alex from the salon to tell him where I was.

I open my purse and rummage around for a moment just to make sure it’s not hiding in the corner under the mountain of receipts I can’t bring myself to throw away.