Shopaholic to the Stars (37 page)

‘What is he
doing
?’ I almost squeak with frustration.

‘Like he said,’ Luke comments, ‘that’s his business. Why don’t you leave him to it? Come on, poppet,’ he adds to Minnie. ‘Teeth. Come on, you lot,’ he adds to the Cleath-Stuarts. ‘You can all do your teeth too.’

‘Thanks, Luke,’ says Suze gratefully. As the children all pile out of the kitchen with Luke, Suze gives the most almighty sigh. She’s staring out of the window, and I can see a little frown between her brows that wasn’t there before.

‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m tired of LA,’ she says. ‘It’s not good for us.’

I stare at her in astonishment. ‘Yes it is! Look at you! You’re working as an extra, and Tarquin’s a total VIP, and you’re all thin and tanned, and—’

‘It’s not good for us as a
family
.’ She cuts me off. ‘In England, yes, we had loads of headaches, but we dealt with them together. I feel like I’m losing Tarkie.’ Her voice suddenly wobbles. ‘Bex, I don’t know him any more.’

To my horror, her eyes are welling up with tears.

‘Suze!’ I rush over and give her a hug. ‘You mustn’t worry! He’s just going through a funny patch. He’s finding himself.’

‘But he doesn’t talk to me! He looks at me as though I’m the enemy!’ Suze gives a shaky sigh. ‘Bex, when the children are at school, d’you feel like going for a walk and just chatting? We could go to Runyon Canyon, maybe have lunch …’

‘Suze, I would,’ I say regretfully. ‘But I’ve got to go shopping for Sage’s outfit.’

An odd flicker passes over Suze’s face. ‘Right.’ She breathes out. ‘Of course. You have to go shopping.’

‘It’s not shopping for me!’ I say, stung. ‘I have my TV segment coming up! I have to source pieces for Sage! I have to go to vintage shops and build up some relationships! It’s a massive job. Suze, this is my big chance. This is
it
!’

‘Of course it is,’ she says, in a tone I can’t quite read.

‘Another time?’

‘Another time.’ She nods, and gets up from the table.

I’m left alone in the kitchen with Jeff, and I glance over at him. He’s sitting in silence, staring implacably ahead, but even so, I feel judged.

‘I
do
have to go shopping,’ I say defensively. ‘This is my big chance to be a Hollywood stylist.’

Jeff says nothing. But I know he’s judging me. They’re all judging me.

This is what it’s like to be a celebrity. Your family don’t understand. No one understands. No wonder they say it’s lonely at the top.

On the plus side, it turns out that shopping for a movie star is the
perfect
way to shop. I just wish I’d known a movie star before.

There’s the most fab vintage shop on Melrose Avenue, and the owner, Marnie, is absolutely on my wavelength. By mid-morning, I’ve been on the fastest, most efficient shopping spree of my life. I’ve bought three new clutch bags, two stoles and a vintage diamanté headdress. I’ve got three evening coats on hold, and five dresses, and this fantastic velvet cloak, which, if Sage doesn’t want, I am totally getting for myself.

I’ve also bought myself a couple of tiny things – just a sequined evening dress and a few pairs of shoes, because I’ll need them for my new lifestyle. I even used my notebook from Golden Peace, just to make sure I wasn’t shopping in an unhealthy way. In answer to the question, ‘Why am I shopping?’ I wrote, ‘Because I am a celebrity stylist now.’ I mean, you can’t argue with that.

When I head out of the shop, the blacked-out SUV is waiting by the kerb. Mitchell is standing to attention, his shades glinting in the sun, and Jeff escorts me to the SUV door. I can see some shoppers looking at me curiously, and I put my hand up to shield my face, just like a proper A-lister.

As I get into the SUV, surrounded by bags, I feel elated. I’m totally on track with my new career! The only slight worry I have is that my
Breakfast Show USA
segment is tomorrow, and I
still
haven’t heard from them what sort of styling they want. How can I prepare a fashion piece if I don’t have a brief? I’ve left a zillion messages for Aran about this already, but I decide to try him again anyway, and this time he picks up.

‘Oh hi, Aran,’ I say. ‘Listen, did you ever hear back from
Breakfast Show USA
about what sort of clothes I should prepare? Because it’s tomorrow! I need to get some pieces together!’

‘Oh!’ Aran laughs. ‘My bad. Yes, I meant to tell you. They say don’t worry about the clothes. They’ll take care of all that. Your job is just to go on the show and talk.’

Don’t worry about the clothes? I stare blankly at the phone. How can I not worry about the clothes when I’m the stylist?

‘But how will that work? How will I prepare?’

‘Becky, you’ll be great,’ says Aran. ‘You can comment on the clothes, engage in some general chat, get your personality across.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Well, OK. Thanks.’

I ring off, still puzzled. This is all very weird. But maybe they do things differently in the States. In fact, maybe I should do some research. I zap on the TV to see if there are any fashion items I can watch, and flick through the channels, until an image suddenly stops me. For a moment I can’t even make sense of what I’m seeing.

It’s a fuzzy picture of Lois’s house in the dark. There’s an ambulance flashing in her driveway and paramedics wheeling a hospital gurney and the headline is
BREAKING NEWS: Lois in suicide bid?

Suicide?

Suicide
bid?

Oh God, oh God, oh God …

My heart thumping, I turn the volume up and lean forward anxiously to hear the voice-over.

‘There are unconfirmed reports that Lois Kellerton was rushed to the hospital last night, in what one commentator described as “the desperate act of a desperate star”. Over to our reporter Faye Ireland.’

The picture switches to a reporter standing outside what I recognize as Lois’s house, talking gravely into a microphone.

‘Neighbours confirm that at around midnight last night, an ambulance was summoned to the house, and one witness saw Lois Kellerton being placed in the ambulance, on a gurney. Some time in the early hours of the morning, Lois Kellerton appeared to return to the house and has not been seen since.’ The screen shows a fuzzy, long-lens picture of a girl covered in a sheet being bundled into the house. ‘Friends have been worried about the state of mind of the award-winning actress, since her apparent exposure as a thief.’ The picture flashes to the familiar sight of Lois at the ASAs, crumpling in shock on the stage. ‘Ms Kellerton’s spokesman refused to comment on these latest troubling events. Back to the studio.’

‘And now to sports …’ says a woman in a purple dress, and I switch off. I’m quivering all over. I never thought in a million years anything like this would happen. I never imagined – I never expected—

I mean, it isn’t
my
fault.

It isn’t. It really isn’t.

Is it?

On impulse, I dial Sage’s number. Of all people, she must know how I feel. In fact, she must feel even worse.

‘Sage,’ I say, as soon as she answers. ‘Did you see the news about Lois?’

‘Oh.’ She sounds unconcerned. ‘That.’

‘Sage, we did that to her!’ My voice is trembling. ‘I can’t believe it’s gone so far. Have you been to see her or called her or anything?’

‘See that maniac?’ Sage retorts. ‘You have to be kidding!’

‘But shouldn’t we do something? Like … I don’t know. Go and apologize?’

‘No,’ says Sage flatly. ‘Not happening.’

‘Just “no”?’

‘This is her problem, Becky. She’ll sort it out. I gotta go.’ And she rings off.

Sage sounds so sure of herself. But I can’t feel like that. Doubts are crawling all over me like insects. I can’t bear it. I want to do something. I have to do something. Make amends.

But how can I make amends?

I close my eyes, thinking hard for a moment, then open them and whip out my phone. I still have April Tremont’s number and she answers after the second ring.

‘Rebecca?’

She doesn’t exactly sound delighted to hear from me.

‘Um, hi, April,’ I say nervously. ‘Sorry to bother you. It’s just, I saw the news about Lois. I feel terrible about everything that happened and I’d really like to apologize to Lois and somehow make amends. Maybe help her. Or something …’ I tail off lamely.

‘
Help
her?’ April’s voice is so sarcastic, it makes me wince. ‘You helped enough already, don’t you think?’

‘I know you’re her friend,’ I say humbly. ‘You must think I’m an awful person. But you have to know, I never realized it would turn out like this, I never meant to expose her. And I wondered if you could help me get to see her, maybe? To say sorry?’

‘Lois isn’t talking to anyone,’ says April curtly. ‘I’ve phoned a million times but she won’t reply. And even if she were, you’re the last person I’d bring along. Yes, she needs help. She’s needed help for a long time, if you ask me. But not from opportunistic users like you.’

‘I’m not an opportunistic user!’ I say in horror.

‘Don’t tell me you’re not doing nicely from this,’ snaps April, and rings off.

I stare at my phone, my cheeks hot, feeling as though I’ve been slapped. As I lift my eyes, I see Jeff’s thick neck ahead of me and feel a fresh twinge of shame. Here’s me, riding along in an SUV with bodyguards and shopping bags, my career transformed. And there’s Lois, being rushed to hospital.

Jeff hasn’t said a word all this time, but I know he’s been listening. And judging me again. I can see it from the muscles in his neck.

‘I’m not opportunistic,’ I say defensively. ‘I could have sold the story weeks ago, couldn’t I? But I didn’t. It’s not my fault Sage blabbed. And I’ve wanted to be a Hollywood stylist for ever. Can you blame me if I leap at the chance? It doesn’t mean I’m opportunistic.’

Again Jeff is silent. But I know what he’s thinking.

‘Well, what
can
I do now?’ I say, almost angrily. ‘If April won’t take me to see Lois, then it’s impossible! I can’t say sorry, or offer help, or anything. I don’t even know where she—’

I break off. I’m remembering something that April said, when we were sitting in her trailer.
We’ve both lived on Doheny Road for ever
.

‘Mitchell,’ I say, leaning forward. ‘Change of plan. I want to go to Doheny Road.’

It takes us about thirty minutes to reach Doheny Road, and as soon as we arrive it’s obvious which house is Lois’s. Journalists are camped outside the gates and prowling up and down the street, and I can see two vox-pop interviews going on. We pull up some way further on, outside a mansion that looks like a Greek temple.

‘Stay in the car, Rebecca,’ says Mitchell. ‘We need to survey the area.’

‘OK.’ I try to sound patient as they clunk the car doors shut and head towards Lois’s house, looking conspicuous in their dark suits. All this ‘surveying’ and ‘securing’ is starting to get on my nerves. Once you get over the novelty, having a bodyguard is a real pain.

I have to sit for ages while they scout around the whole neighbourhood. As they return to the car, their faces are even more sober than usual.

‘The building is currently compromised with the strong presence of media,’ says Mitchell. ‘We foresee a high-risk situation developing. We recommend you do not proceed.’

‘D’you mean not go into the house?’ I clarify.

‘We recommend you do not proceed.’ Mitchell nods. ‘At this time.’

‘But I want to proceed.’

‘Well, we recommend that you do not.’

I glance from Jeff to Mitchell. They look identically serious, with their dark glasses masking any expression they might have (which is probably non-existent to begin with).

‘I’m going to proceed,’ I say defiantly. ‘OK? I need to see Lois Kellerton. I can’t live with myself if I don’t at least try.’

‘Rebecca,’ says Mitchell sternly. ‘If you approach the front of the house, we cannot guarantee your security.’

‘It’s a situation,’ chimes in Jeff, nodding.

I look over their shoulders at the crowd of journalists. It is a bit of a mob. They might have a point.

‘Well, then, I’ll have to break in at the back,’ I say. ‘Will one of you give me a leg-up?’

Jeff and Mitchell exchange glances.

‘Rebecca,’ says Jeff. ‘Under the terms of our contract, we are not permitted to aid you, the client, in any endeavour deemed as law-breaking.’

‘You’re so
square!
’ I say in frustration. ‘Don’t you get bored, driving around in dark jackets and pretending everything’s serious all the time? Well, OK, I’ll do it by myself. And when I’m arrested, I’ll say: “Mitchell and Jeff had nothing to do with it, Officer.” Happy?’

I grab my bag, slither out of the car and start heading towards Lois’s house, my heels clicking on the road.

‘Rebecca, wait.’ Jeff’s voice follows me.

‘What now?’ I turn. ‘I know, you think I shouldn’t proceed. You’re worse than the bloody sat nav.’

‘Not that.’

‘What, then?’

He hesitates, then says in a low voice, ‘There’s a weak point in the fence by the pool house. CCTV just misses it. Try there.’

‘Thanks, Jeff!’ I beam at him and blow him a kiss.

Lois’s property is so huge, it takes ages to find my way to the back. As I hurry along a side road, I start feeling more and more nervous. I’ve never met anyone suicidal before. I mean, not
really
suicidal. Shouldn’t I have training or something? Anyway, too late now. I’ll just have to be really gentle. And uplifting and positive. And apologetic, obviously.

What if she blames me for everything?

I feel an uncomfortable twinge. I really, really want Lois to understand that I didn’t tell everyone. OK, I blabbed to Sage, but
I told her to keep it a secret
.

But what if Lois won’t see it? What if she screams at me? What if she picks up a knife and says she’s going to stab herself right there, in front of me, and I throw myself at her to save her but it’s too late? Oh God …

Feeling slightly ill with all these lurid thoughts, I force myself to keep going. At last I arrive at an eight-foot-high fence, with what must be the pool house on the other side. There’s no way I could climb over it on my own, but after walking back and forth a few times, I see what Jeff meant. Two of the slats are loose. I prise them to one side, exposing a gap. I peer at it incredulously. I’m meant to climb through that? What size does he think I am, minus 20?