Shopaholic to the Stars (27 page)

Are you willing to appear nude?
Are you mad? What would Daddy say? And my husband? Anyway, why do you need anyone to appear nude? When anyone strips off on the screen I start squirming with embarrassment and my husband gets up and says, ‘Who’s for a titchy?’ People in films should
keep their clothes on
. Apart from Captain Jack Sparrow, he can take his off!! (Don’t tell Tarkie I said that.)

Page 1 of 3

It’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with many awkward social encounters in my time; it’ll be fine. I mean, OK, so I’ve never met a movie star who: 1. I’ve caught shoplifting; 2. has a tricky reputation (perhaps undeserved); 3. I know the entire life history of, having Googled her solidly for about three days.

But still. I expect it’ll go really well. We’ll probably really hit it off, and meet up for coffee, go shopping together …

No. I pull myself up short.
Not
shopping. I mean, what if she pinches something? What if she asks me to be her accomplice and I don’t know how to say no? I have a sudden hideous vision of the headlines:

Stylist and movie star arrested in Barneys stuffing designer socks in bags. See pictures pages 8 to 10
.

Argh. Stop it, Becky. That’s not going to happen. Decision one: If I get to work on Lois’s styling team, then I’ll tell her I never shop with my clients. And if by any chance we
do
go shopping and she asks me to shoplift something, I’ll … I’ll pretend I don’t understand and back away. And then run. Yes. Good plan.

At least I’ve done my research. I know so much about Lois Kellerton, I could write a book about her. I know she started her career aged two in an infomercial about road safety, and she had an agent at age three, and her parents gave up their jobs to focus on her career. Her mother is the driven one and her father is the had-lots-of-affairs-and-ran-off one, so I won’t mention him.

Nor will I mention Sage. I hadn’t quite realized what a feud they’ve been having. It’s not just the cancer-victim-shaving-head remark which Sage keeps going on about. It started ages ago, when they both arrived at an event in the same vivid-green dress, and Sage accused Lois of doing it on purpose. Then Sage didn’t turn up to an AIDS event organized by Lois. She was supposed to be presenting the whole evening, apparently, and Lois said she felt ‘snubbed and let down’ but that she wasn’t surprised that Sage had ‘once again displayed her innate selfishness’.

Then last year, Lois did the Hollywood Walk of Fame and said in her speech, ‘Hollywood is in my DNA.’ Whereupon Sage immediately commented on Facebook, ‘God help Hollywood.’

What’s really sad is that they used to be friends, years ago. They even appeared in a TV show together as children. But Hollywood is a tough place for the twenty-first-century actress, and she learns to look on every other star as an enemy (according to
Hollywouldn’t.com
, this brilliant blog I found). Apparently actresses compete over roles, men, ad campaigns and even plastic surgeons. They set up camps like royal courts and become paranoid about their competitors, even those they’re ‘friends’ with.

It all sounds super-stressy. I can’t imagine competing with Suze over a plastic surgeon. Although, to be fair, we
did
once clash over an Orla Kiely coat which we both wanted to buy on eBay. (Suze got it. But she lends it to me.)

Anyway, so there are quite a few possible conversational pitfalls, if and when I meet Lois tonight. I won’t mention Sage, or shoplifting (or shopping) or Lois’s dad, or Lois’s latest film,
The Spiked Bed
(it got bad reviews), or white sugar (she thinks it’s evil). Not that I was planning to mention white sugar, but still. Worth remembering. Topics I
can
safely mention: Lois’s Golden Globe, kettlebells, macadamia nuts. I’ve written them down in case I get tongue-tied.

‘Why macadamia nuts?’ says Suze, who has been reading the list with interest.

‘Because Lois loves them,’ I say. ‘It said so in
Health and Fitness
. So I’ll pretend to love them too and we’ll connect.’

‘But what can you say about macadamia nuts?’ objects Suze.

‘I don’t know!’ I say defensively. ‘I’ll say, “They’re really nutty, aren’t they?”’

‘And what will you say about kettlebells? Have you ever even
seen
a kettlebell?’

‘That’s not the point. Lois’s done a kettlebell DVD, so it’s a good conversational topic.’

We’re in my room getting ready for the Actors’ Society Awards or ‘ASAs’, as everyone calls them. And I can’t help feeling a little bit hyper. I have to get it right tonight. I have to make a good impression. I’ve analysed Lois’s style endlessly over the last few days and I’ve got loads of ideas for her. I think she could go far more young and glam. She wears dresses that are too old for her. And
who
does her hair?

‘I read another piece in
Variety
today saying Lois’s career is on the skids,’ says Suze conversationally. ‘Hair up or down?’ She grabs her hair extensions in one hand and piles them in a knot on her head. I look at it critically.

‘Up. That looks amazing. And it
isn’t
on the skids.’

‘Well, her price has fallen. Apparently she’s really moody. Shannon’s worked with her. Shannon says she’s permanently on the edge.’

‘Shannon’s just jealous,’ I snap.

I’m getting a bit sick of this Shannon. After our departure from
The Black Flag
, Suze got herself a day’s work as an extra on a TV show called
Cyberville
and made a new friend called Shannon, who’s been a professional extra for over twenty years. Shannon considers herself an expert on Hollywood and Suze treats all her views with total reverence and keeps spouting them back to me. I mean, honestly. Just because you’ve been in
The Matrix
, it doesn’t mean you know everything.

‘Lois just needs an exciting new look,’ I say firmly. ‘Which I will give her.’

‘What did Luke say about it?’ Suze turns, her voice muffled by hairpins in her mouth. ‘You never told me.’

‘Oh. Um.’ I play for time by lining my lips carefully, even though I’ve already lined them.

‘He is OK with it, isn’t he?’ Suze gives me a sharp look. ‘Bex, you did tell him, didn’t you?’

‘Look.’ I cast around for the best answer. ‘There’s no point telling him yet.’

‘You have to tell him!’ Suze shoves a sparkly hair clip into her hair. ‘You can’t just join Team Lois and he has no idea!’

‘I haven’t even met Lois properly yet,’ I retort. ‘What if we don’t get on? Then I’ll have told Luke for no reason. I’ll wait till I get hired and
then
I’ll tell him.’

I don’t want to tell Luke yet about meeting Lois. First, because I secretly know that Suze is right – Luke might raise objections. And secondly, I want to tell him when I’m already a success. I want to prove that I
can
make it here on my own.

‘What if he sees you making conversation with Lois tonight?’

‘Suze, this isn’t the Cold War! I’m allowed to talk to people! I’ll just say we were chatting. Can you hook me up?’

As Suze starts pulling at the fabric of my corset dress, my phone bleeps with three new texts, all in a row, and I reach for it on a nearby chair.

‘Stop it!’ Suze scolds me. ‘I can’t hook you if you move around. It’s only a text.’

‘It might be an emergency.’

‘It’s probably just Luke.’

‘What do you mean,
just
Luke?’ I say, punching in my code. ‘I wouldn’t say it’s
“just”
Tarquin.’

‘Yes you would, you say it all the time.’ Suze wrenches at my dress. ‘Are you sure this is the right size?’

I can’t answer. I’m staring at my phone in a state of shock.

‘Bex?’ Suze pokes me. ‘Hello?’

‘She’s coming,’ I say at last.

‘Who’s coming?’

‘Elinor. Here.’

‘Now?’
says Suze in alarm.

‘No, not now, but soon. In a week or so. I sent her a text, asking her to come, but I never thought she would—’ I turn to face Suze, suddenly petrified. ‘Oh God. What shall I do?’

‘You’ll stage an intervention, remember?’ says Suze. ‘Because you’re so brilliant at conflict resolution,
remember
?’

‘Right.’ I swallow. ‘Yes.’

Somehow it all sounded better in theory. But the idea that Elinor is actually going to get on a plane to LA, and Luke has no idea, and I’ll have the two of them to manage …

‘Suze, you have to help me,’ I say plaintively.

‘I’m not helping you!’ she says at once. ‘Count me out. I always thought it was a bad idea.’

‘It isn’t a bad idea! It’s just … it might be more difficult than I thought.’

‘I thought you were an expert,’ says Suze, rather unfeelingly. ‘I thought you had a variety of techniques up your sleeve and Buddha would guide you with his infinite wisdom.’ She pauses, then adds, ‘Tell you what, I’ll buy you some more wind chimes, if you like.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Well honestly, Bex, you must be nuts. What happened about Elinor’s surgery, anyway?’

‘It was cancelled,’ I say, reading the third text again. ‘It was only a minor procedure on her toe.’

‘Her
toe
?’ Suze stares at me. ‘I thought she was dying!’

‘So did I,’ I admit.

‘Well, I think you should cancel her. Say you made a mistake and you won’t be here.’ She prods my shoulder. ‘Turn round. There’s one more hook to do.’

I turn round, thinking hard. That’s the obvious option. The easy solution. I could text Elinor back. Tell her not to come; make some excuse. We’ll probably never see her again. But is that really what I want? Is that really for the best for all of us? For Luke? For Minnie?

Suze fixes the last hook in place. ‘There. Done.’ Then she adds, ‘Or you could always say Minnie was ill. I do that all the time if I want to get out of things. Ernie’s had whooping cough about five times, poor little love—’

‘I’m not going to cancel.’ I’m feeling resolute. ‘Elinor and Luke have to sort things out, and I really think I can help them, and the longer I put it off, the harder it’ll be.’

‘God help us.’ Suze stares at me, incredulous. ‘You
are
going to stage an intervention.’

‘Why not? I’m sure I can do it. With or without help,’ I say pointedly.

‘Who needs help?’ comes Luke’s voice from the corridor, and I stiffen. I hastily turn off my phone and paste on a casual smile.

‘Oh hi!’ I say brightly, as he comes in, all smart in black tie. ‘Just talking about … kettlebells.’

‘Marvellous,’ says Luke, shooting me an odd look. ‘What
is
a kettlebell? I keep hearing about them.’

‘It’s an exercise device,’ I improvise. ‘It’s modelled on a kettle. And a bell, obviously. Both. So, what time shall we leave?’ I add hurriedly.

‘Oh God, is that the time?’ Suze suddenly sounds fractious. ‘Where’s Tarkie?’

‘Haven’t seen him.’ Luke glances at his watch. ‘We’ll need to go in about twenty minutes.’

Luke wasn’t originally intending to come to the ASAs, but then suddenly Sage announced she wanted to go, and her whole entourage had to come too. Apparently she wanted to bring a monkey as a publicity stunt and Luke had to talk her out of it. A monkey! Imagine if it made a mess everywhere.

Now Luke’s eye has fallen on a shiny-cardboard carrier bag lying on the bed, out of which is poking a diamanté-encrusted clutch.

‘Another bag, Becky?’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘I thought the bag you bought at the weekend was so perfect you would use it for ever and it would be your signature look and people would call you “The Girl with the Lara Bohinc Bag”?’

I feel a dart of righteous indignation. Husbands should
not
memorize conversations, word for word. It’s against the whole spirit of marriage. But in this case I don’t mind, because whatever he’s thinking, he’s wrong.

‘That clutch isn’t for
me
. I bought it in my role as a stylist. It’s tax-deductible,’ I add smartly.

I don’t actually know if that’s true but it must be, surely?

‘Right. Of course. The styling.’ Luke looks quizzical. ‘How’s that going, then?’

‘Great!’ I say robustly. ‘Lots of potential. Lots of irons in the fire.’

Luke sighs. ‘Becky, sweetheart, I wish you’d let me help you. I’m sure I could get you a couple of introductions—’

‘I don’t need your help!’ I reply, stung. ‘I’m on the case.’

This
is why I don’t want to mention Lois Kellerton yet. I want to show him. The bag’s for Lois, of course. It’s a one-off from a vintage shop and has an Art Deco design which I think she’ll love. Lately, Lois has taken to wearing really subtle, muted shades, which is all very well, but I think she needs to ‘pop’ more and this bag will be perfect. Especially against all that lovely dark hair. I’m planning to give it to her tonight, as an ice-breaker, and hopefully we can take things from there.

‘Where
is
he?’ Suze is tapping at her phone. ‘Honestly, this bloody Golden Peace …’ She shoots me an accusing look, which is totally unfair. ‘I told him to get back in good time,’ she mutters as she presses Send. ‘He totally loses track of time. What’s he
doing
?’