Shopaholic to the Stars
From shopping list to A-list!
Becky Brandon (née Bloomwood) is in Hollywood! It’s as if all her life has been leading to this moment. She’s hanging out with the stars ... or at least she will be, when she finally gets to meet movie superstar Sage Seymour, whom husband Luke is now managing.
There’s so much to see and do! And getting Minnie through the hurdles for her A-list Hollywood pre-school will require some ... er ... help.
Becky sets her heart on a new career – she’s going to be a celebrity stylist. Red carpet, here she comes! But Becky soon finds it’s tough in Tinseltown. Luckily her best friend Suzie comes over to keep her company, and together they embark on the Hollywood insider trail. But somehow ... things aren’t quite working out as they’d hoped.
Then Becky’s big chance comes, and it’s an opportunity that money can’t buy. But will it cost her too much?
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Contents
Sophie Kinsella
To Patrick Plonkington-Smythe, the best bank manager ever
CUNNINGHAM’S
Rosewood Center
◆
W 3rd St.
◆
Los Angeles, CA 90048
Dear Mrs Brandon
Thank you for your letter. I’m glad you enjoyed your recent visit to our store.
Unfortunately, I cannot comment on whether the woman shopping at the M.A.C counter on Tuesday was ‘Uma Thurman wearing a long dark wig’. I therefore cannot tell you ‘exactly which lipstick she bought’, nor ‘whether she’s just as lovely in real life’, nor pass on your note ‘because she must want a friend to hang out with and I think we’d really get on’.
I wish you all the best for your forthcoming move to Los Angeles. However, in answer to your other query, we do not offer introductory discounts for new residents of LA to ‘make them feel welcome’.
Thank you for your interest.
Customer Services Department
 | INNER SANCTUM LIFESTYLE SPA 6540 HOLLOWAY DR. * WEST HOLLYWOOD, CA 90069 |
Dear Mrs Brandon
Thank you for your letter – I’m glad you enjoyed your recent visit to our spa.
Unfortunately, I cannot comment on whether the woman in the front row in your yoga class was Gwyneth Paltrow. I’m sorry that it was hard to tell because ‘she was always upside down’.
I therefore cannot pass on your query as to how she achieves ‘such a perfect headstand’ or whether she has ‘special weights in her T-shirt’; nor can I pass on your invitation to an organic tea with kale cakes.
I’m glad you enjoyed our gift-and-lifestyle shop. In answer to your further question, should I meet your husband in the street, rest assured I will not tell him about your ‘tiny splurge on organic underwear’.
Thank you for your interest.
Kyle Heiling
Achievement Manager (Eastern Arts)
Beauty on the Boulevard
9500 BEVERLY BOULEVARD
BEVERLY HILLS, LOS ANGELES CA 90210
Dear Mrs Brandon
Thank you for your letter.
Unfortunately, I cannot confirm whether the woman browsing at the La Mer stand was ‘Julie Andrews in dark glasses and a headscarf’.
I therefore cannot pass on your comments, ‘How hot was Captain von Trapp in real life?’ or ‘I’m sorry I sang “The Lonely Goatherd” at you, I was just very excited.’ Nor can I pass on your invitation to ‘come round for a fun sing-along with apple strudel’.
In answer to your further inquiry, we do not throw ‘Welcome to LA’ parties, nor offer free gifts to new arrivals; not even teeth-whitening kits to ‘help them fit in’. However, I wish you every success with your imminent move to LA.
Thank you for your interest.
Customer Services Consultant
OK. Don’t panic. Don’t
panic
.
I’ll escape from this. Of course I will. It’s not like I’ll be trapped here in this hideous confined space, with no hope of release,
for ever
… is it?
As calmly as possible, I assess the situation. My ribs are squashed so that I can hardly breathe, and my left arm is pinned behind me. Whoever constructed this ‘restraining fabric’ knew what they were doing. My right arm is also pinned at an awkward angle. If I try to reach my hands forward, the ‘restraining fabric’ bites into my wrists. I’m stuck. I’m powerless.
My face is reflected, ashen, in the mirror. My eyes are wide and desperate. My arms are criss-crossed with black shiny bands. Is one of them supposed to be a shoulder strap? Does that webbing stuff go around the waist?
Oh God. I should never
ever
have tried on the size 4.
‘How are you doing in there?’ It’s Mindy, the sales assistant, calling from outside the cubicle curtain, and I start in alarm. Mindy is tall and rangy with muscled thighs that start three inches apart. She looks like she probably runs up a mountain every day and doesn’t even
know
what a KitKat
is
.
She’s asked three times how I’m doing and each time I’ve just called out shrilly, ‘Great, thanks!’ But I’m getting desperate. I’ve been struggling with this ‘Athletic Shaping All-in-One’ for ten minutes. I can’t keep putting her off for ever.
‘Amazing fabric, right?’ says Mindy enthusiastically. ‘It has three times the restraining power of normal spandex. You totally lose a size, right?’
Maybe I have, but I’ve also lost half my lung capacity.
‘Are you doing OK with the straps?’ comes Mindy’s voice. ‘You want me to come in the fitting room and help you adjust it?’
Come in the fitting room?
There’s no way I’m letting a tall, tanned, sporty Angeleno come in here and see my cellulite.
‘No, it’s fine, thanks!’ I squeek.
‘You need some help getting it off?’ she tries again. ‘Some of our customers find it tricky the first time.’
I have a hideous vision of me gripping on to the counter and Mindy trying to haul the all-in-one off me while we both pant and sweat with the effort and Mindy secretly thinks, ‘I
knew
all British girls were heifers.’
No way. Not in a million years. There’s only one solution left. I’ll have to buy it. Whatever it costs.
I give an almighty wrench and manage to snap two of the straps up on to my shoulders. That’s better. I look like a chicken trussed up in black Lycra, but at least I can move my arms. As soon as I get back to the hotel room I’ll cut the whole thing off myself with a pair of nail scissors, and dispose of the remains in a public bin so Luke doesn’t find them and say
What’s this?
or,
You mean you bought it even though you knew it didn’t fit?
or something else really annoying.
Luke is the reason I’m standing in a sports apparel shop in LA. We’re moving out to Los Angeles as soon as possible because of his work, and we’re here on an urgent house-hunting trip. That’s our focus: real estate. Houses. Gardens. Rental agreements. Very much so. I’ve only popped to Rodeo Drive very,
very
quickly between house appointments.
Well, OK. The truth is, I cancelled a house appointment to come to Rodeo Drive. But I had to. I have a genuine reason for needing to buy some emergency running clothes, which is that I’m running in a race tomorrow. A real race! Me!
I reach for my clothes, grab my bag, and walk stiffly out of the cubicle, to see Mindy hovering nearby.
‘Wow!’ Her voice is bright but her eyes are shocked. ‘You look …’ She coughs. ‘Awesome. It’s not too … tight?’
‘No, it’s perfect,’ I say, attempting a carefree smile. ‘I’ll take it.’
‘Great!’ She can barely hide her astonishment. ‘So, if you want to take it off, I’ll scan it for you …’
‘Actually, I’ll wear it.’ I try to sound casual. ‘Might as well. Can you put my clothes in a bag?’
‘Right,’ says Mindy. There’s quite a long pause. ‘You’re sure you don’t want to try the size 6?’
‘No! Size 4 is perfect!
Really
comfy!’
‘OK,’ says Mindy after a silence. ‘Of course. That’ll be eighty-three dollars.’ She scans the barcode on the tag hanging from my neck and I reach for my credit card. ‘So, you’re into athletics?’
‘Actually, I’m running in the Ten Miler tomorrow afternoon.’
‘No way!’ She looks up, impressed, and I try to appear nonchalant and modest. The Ten Miler isn’t just any old running race. It’s
the
race. It’s held every year in LA and loads of high-profile celebrities run it and they even cover it on E! And I’m in it!
