The Stylist (14 page)

‘Moooo-na!’ I paused the TV and ran into the hallway, just as the door to Mona’s room flew open and she bounded
down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Please, please don’t let her trip, I can’t bear dealing with a night in hospital, too.
Miraculously, she displayed more energy than I’d seen in days.

‘She’s wearing the Oscar de la Renta!’ she cried, throwing her arms around my neck, hugging and kissing my startled face on both cheeks. ‘You
were
joking with me, you silly cow! She’s wearing the bloody de la Renta!’

All I could do was hug, kiss and high-five her back as we laughed together like schoolgirls. I had absolutely no idea what had gone on behind the heavy closed door of the Chateau Marmont penthouse suite after I had left, but Jennifer was definitely not wearing the scarlet Valentino gown now. Nobody was.

Jennifer’s turn on the red carpet was like a faultless, choreographed dance. She knew every pose to pull, her smile was bewitching, and the fans and media went wild for her, the cheers deafening as she lifted a slender arm to wave at her admirers. The dress tightly hugged her every curve, making her body look sensational. I spotted Caroline in the background, torch in hand, stepping forwards every now and again to fluff up the feathers on the small train. It really was an exquisite dress, and it suited her perfectly. But I was more than a little confused about what, in Valentino’s name, had happened to his scarlet showstopper? Mona disappeared into the kitchen and returned brandishing a chilled bottle of Perrier-Jouët rosé, two glasses and, to my huge pleasure, a large bag of crisps.
Yes! This is more how I imagined awards night to be.

‘To us!’ she exclaimed thrusting a full glass into my hand.

‘To us!’ I said, as we toasted the gown. We collapsed into
another fit of giggles and backslapping as we spotted a few more of Mona’s clients, in dresses
we
had put on them, gliding towards the venue.

As the drama of the red carpet arrivals came to an end and most of the stars had teetered into the auditorium for the ceremony in their too-high heels, we both sank into the sofa to watch the actual awards. They were almost an anticlimax after the dress parade. It was over halfway through when Jennifer’s Best Supporting Actress category was finally up. We both fixated on the screen as the presenter cranked up the tension, taking his time to reveal that the ‘Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress, goes to … Jennifer Astley!’

On our feet again, we shrieked in unison and watched, awestruck, as Jennifer turned to hug the man sitting on her left, before gracefully rising from her seat in the auditorium.

‘Hold on a minute—that man—isn’t that Beau’s fiancé, Trey?’

‘You’re getting good, honey. Yes, he directed the movie. Look at the exquisite way the dress moves with her body—she made the right choice, babe, no doubt about it.’

‘How come he’s not sitting with Beau?’

‘Oh, she’ll be a few rows further back—only the nominees sit at the front tables. It’s all about your “movie family” on awards night. Oh, and the earrings, Amber! Look how they catch the light! Divine.’

The camera panned around the elated audience, many of whom were on their feet clapping Jennifer’s win, as she elegantly weaved her way to the stage through an assault course of chairs and tables occupied by Hollywood luminaries. All were elated, except for Beau, who the camera picked out looking distinctly unimpressed with the show of
affection between her husband-to-be and his leading lady. It really would have been the most catastrophic clanger if they had both been wearing the same gown. Mona held her breath as Jennifer glided up the steps towards the stage, the feathered dress gently rippling as she moved, then sighed with relief as the star was greeted by the hosts.

‘She made it, thank God. Remember Jennifer Lawrence’s trip up the steps? That would be disaster, for both me and Oscar de la Renta, God rest his soul.’

Jennifer graciously accepted her award, thanking the cast and crew, but most especially the director, Trey Jones, in a well-rehearsed speech. As her eyes glistened with emotion, she then thanked her make-up artist for ensuring she’d worn waterproof mascara tonight. As the crowd made an appreciative, ‘Aww’, I noticed Mona was on the edge of her seat. Was she waiting to see if Jennifer might extend her thank you list to include her stylist, perhaps? There was to be no special mention tonight. Instead, Jennifer swept off the stage, Golden Globe in hand, million-dollar smile blazing and gown flowing beautifully with every dainty step.

The rest of the awards came and went and our bottle of champagne was drained. I turned to see that Mona had sunk so deeply into the sofa, it looked like it had swallowed her.

‘So, you’ve done your first ceremony. What do you think?’ She turned to me as the credits rolled and the camera filmed a few of the stars entering the after-party.

‘I think my nerves are in tatters,’ I said. It was true, I felt as though I’d just done four consecutive rides on Oblivion at Alton Towers. ‘Is it like this every time?’ Maybe that was why Mona had been so unwell last night. Could it have
been pre-awards nerves? Perhaps I’d have felt the same if I’d known what we were in for this evening.

‘Not easy, is it.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘You can never tell what’s going to happen until the client is actually there, physically at the event, wearing the clothes. And even then, I’ve known stars do a quick change in the Ladies’ on the way in.’ She clearly relished the fact I’d had to learn the hard way.

‘It’s so difficult to keep track of everything,’ I said.

She smiled. ‘Missing your old job, babe?’

‘This is way more exciting,’ I answered truthfully.

I reached into my bag for my phone, looking at it for the first time in hours. A message from Liam, saying that Beau looked great. And also a text from Rob, and it wasn’t about filming:
So, how was it for you? Got a couple of +1s to the after-party if you and Klara fancy it? x

This definitely warranted a change of clothes, and Mona still owed me a blow-out.

What time and where? x,
I replied.

Come to think of it, after today, she owes me a dress loan and a taxi, too.

A
s I approached the queue for the
InStyle
and Warner Brothers party at the Beverly Hilton, Klara texted to say she’d been waylaid at Soho House. Apparently a newly single Orlando Bloom had just turned up. Hollywood seemed to be crawling with celebrities this evening—even the atmosphere in the queue was electric.

‘Kendall Jenner at a quarter to three,’ a wide-eyed partygoer behind me whispered to her friend. She spoke through gritted teeth, barely moving her lips. Apparently that’s how you have to talk about megastars in an area where every other person is famous and you’re trying not to seem star-struck.

‘Tom Hanks left, Charlize Theron just going in,’ noted another.

My insides were churning.
Being around stars is such a buzz!
It also helped that, for once, I felt reasonably well put together. Though there hadn’t been time for a blow-out, Mona had loaned me a gorgeous little black dress by Burberry
and some gold Charlotte Olympia sandals, all infinitely more comfortable than my ensemble from the other night. I absolutely loved the LBD—it was skintight, but because I’d almost certainly dropped a few pounds over the past few days due to lack of food, I had to admit I felt great in it. I texted Rob as I neared the entrance:

Nearly at the front—how do I get in? x

A red carpet and ‘step and repeat’ boards with various sponsors logos emblazoned across them stood to the left of the doors, marking the VIP entrance. Vanessa Hudgens had just arrived, seamlessly transferring from car to red carpet where a bank of paparazzi were calling her name and capturing her from every angle, showing off the very low, bottom-skimming back on her stunning crystal-adorned gown. It fell into a delicate mini-train at the back, which I noticed a woman crouched at her heels discreetly tweaking into place. Must be her stylist.
A comrade!
As she entered the party, a few more people from the queue of ‘normal’ partygoers, in which I stood, hurried up the steps and were ushered towards the guest-list desk. I frantically searched for Rob’s face amongst the throng inside and seconds later he appeared, on the other side of the red rope.

‘Amber! You’re on Tim Parker’s list!’ he shouted. I felt his eyes look me up and down appreciatively.
Ooh.
I was secretly pleased Klara wasn’t here to steal my moment with her attention-grabbing looks and confidence.

‘So where’s the tan man?’ I asked as we got through the clipboard-wielding door sergeants, who seemed to be taking great pleasure in turning people away.

‘You won’t believe the number of liggers tonight,’ one tutted into a radio handset as I shuffled past. ‘We need more security.’ I guessed I fell into the ‘ligger’ category, too. Once in, paper lanterns twinkled and lit the way down to the pool area. The party was warm and inviting, and the soft lighting made everyone look even more beautiful and even more expensive than they already were. Rob looked dashing in black tie.

‘You mean Tim? He got a great chat with Keira Knightley on the red carpet,’ he said, stopping in a less crowded area, ‘so he’s happy. He’s gone with the editor to knock it into shape for the breakfast show—it’s a twenty-four-hour operation out here on awards night.’

‘Blimey, that’s not much fun,’ I said, finding it hard to look him straight in the eye. ‘I thought he’d be partying the night away with George Clooney—that’s the impression he gives on
Morning Glory
.’

‘He wishes! I think he once crashed a party at Madonna’s house, along with the rest of the British media, and he once got let into the
Vanity Fair
party by accident because the door Nazi thought he was someone else, but other than that, he struggles as much as the rest of us. Hollywood isn’t very accepting of the British media—they think we’re all after the dirt.’

‘Well, he sorted us out this evening. Thank you, Tim!’ I raised my glass to toast our absent friend.

‘He has his uses. Why do you think he wears so much fake tan?’ Rob smiled, his gaze seeming to settle on me for a little longer than usual. ‘It’s just to look awake. He’s up half the night, sorting out his reports for
Morning Glory.
Dread to think how pale and knackered he’d be without the old Touche Éclat and St Tropez.’

‘You seem to know a lot about make-up.’ I smiled.

‘Too much working in light entertainment—it’s all anyone talks about.’

‘Will you have to work through the night, too?’ I asked, crossing my fingers.

‘Nope. I’m done with the filming. So what you and I really need is—drink. Lots of.’

‘Too bloody right!’

Luckily, there were plenty of champagne cocktails to hand. And while sinewy, designer-clad models, celebrities and entertainment executives networked, gossiped and guzzled free Bellinis all around us, Rob and I chatted. Perhaps it was the booze, perhaps it was the fact that Jennifer wore ‘our’ dress, or perhaps it was just because I was receiving someone’s undivided attention; nothing could dampen my high this evening, not even the memory of Mona nearly puking into her bag.

‘So, after Mona’s, um, what shall we call it, “episode”, last night—how has Golden Globes night been for you, Miss Green?’

‘Surprisingly fine, in the end,’ I replied, noticing Rob smelled more than a little amazing. He still had the clean, washing-powder baseline, but this evening there were subtle notes of cedar wood mixed in. ‘Mona was a mess all day, so Klara and I had to do the final drop-offs, and there was a close encounter with a clash of identical gowns, but other than that it was a success. Jennifer Astley wore the Oscar de la Renta we styled her in, so Mona’s over the moon. But last night, oh man—it was awful, wasn’t it? I’ve been trying to blank it out.’

Truly, it was great to unload the horror of the previous evening on Rob. ‘I really appreciate what you did,’ I gushed, after we’d gone through the whole thing, agreeing on how glad we’d both been when AJ swept in and bundled her out. ‘Honestly, the way you sprang into action and found us a way out of there—I can’t thank you enough.’ Cautiously, I touched his arm, just below the biceps.

‘It’s fine, I didn’t really do that much.’

‘Oh, believe me, you did—thank you so much. I was a blithering idiot when it happened.’

‘You weren’t! You told all the gawping crowds to wind their necks in. Not bad considering you’d fainted yourself only a few hours before, remember?’ He winked.

I shook my head shamefacedly. ‘Yeah—thanks, I’ve been trying to forget about that.’

‘Your secret’s safe with me. So you haven’t felt faint again?’

‘Not at all. It was so embarrassing. I’m not normally a fainting type of girl. Seriously, though, thank you.’

‘Stop thanking me, Amber.’

‘But I really mean it. And Mona should thank you, too.’

‘I only did what anyone else would do.’

‘Face it, you’re a hero and these Bellinis are delicious.’ I lifted another from a tray and swiped a mini-quiche from a passing waiter. I was drinking too fast and I
really
didn’t want to do anything embarrassing again.

‘Cheers to us!’ he said, raising his glass. The drinks were going down well—three gulps and we were on to the next.

‘And cheers to Hollywood! We deserve a night out,’ I replied.

‘Too right. There’s been far too much work going on out here.’

‘Fancy going to explore?’

My confidence was improving with every sip. We wandered around the first level of the party venue, through little groupings of men in penguin suits and women in incredible gowns talking about the awards, and pausing to gawp every time a major star passed by. It was like Madame Tussauds come to life. Scarlett Johansson brushed past me—stunning, but so much smaller in real life. After a while we found a glass staircase, with candles on every step, leading down to a terrace.

‘Ah, the smoking area,’ Rob announced. ‘The smoking terrace is always where you find the fun people.’ We shared a Marlboro Light, which I pretended to enjoy as we continued our conversation.

‘Would you want to be a part of this business?’ I asked. ‘I mean, on the other side of the camera.’

‘An ac-tor? Been there,’ he replied.

‘Really?’ I was intrigued.

‘Oh yeah, could have been the next Ryan Gosling, if I’d kept it up,’ he said, his facial expression deadpan.

‘Seriously?’

‘Toothpaste ad when I was ten.’ He smiled cheesily, flashing his admittedly very straight and white gnashers.

‘No way!’ I laughed. ‘Not the dizzy heights of Colgate?’

‘Macleans, actually. My folks dined out on that for at least a decade.’

‘Pushy parents?’

‘Scarred for life.’

‘I need to see some photographic evidence of this!’ I delved into my clutch for my phone, ready to Google images but instead noticed a new text from Liam. I quickly scanned it: Hey, sexy, thinking about you xx. My heart raced.

‘No need.’ Rob gently pushed the phone back into my bag. ‘If you look carefully, you’ll see a diamond pop in the air every time I smile. Ding! There you go.’ He pointed upwards. ‘Blink and you’ll miss it. I’ve still got it!’ His wide smile was contagious.

I laughed. ‘Hey, be careful, someone might be listening in …’ I pretended to look around for casting directors. ‘You’ll get snapped up around here.’

‘What—don’t tell me Simon Cowell’s veneers need a double?’

‘I’ve heard of stranger things …’ I giggled.

He looked around and mimed shaking hands with an invisible person. ‘Ah, Mr Bruckheimer, enchanted—the new Crest commercial, co-starring Cara Delevingne, you say? Yes, I think my schedule can fit that in …’

I laughed again. Something made me feel like a giggling schoolgirl when I was around Rob.

‘Not likely. It was more my mother who had ideas for me,’ he continued. ‘I just found it torturously embarrassing. When all your mates are getting high scores on Grand Theft Auto and you’re being taken to ad castings for antibacterial cleaning products, it doesn’t do much for your street cred.’

‘Well, at least your parents didn’t name you after a traffic light.’

‘I did wonder.’ He showed off his pearly whites again. ‘Did they do it on purpose?’

‘They just thought it was quirky. Must have seemed a good idea after too many bottles of wine one evening. Anyway, I’m not a traffic light, I’m the “light of their lives”, don’t you know.’

‘That’s one way of looking at it. Got to love parents. So
what about you, Amber Green of the traffic scene? Do you fancy a bit of the Beau Belle lifestyle?’

‘Fame? No, I hate being the centre of attention,’ I replied.

‘Do you, now?’ He looked at me. I mean,
really
looked at me, more than he had ever looked at me before. Then a tap on the shoulder jolted me from the spell—I turned, wondering if the waitress had rumbled the fact I’d quite openly had more than my quota of free Bellinis in the last ten minutes.

‘Annie! I thought it was you!’

Trey. Help.

‘Oh, Trey! Hi!’ I sounded way too enthusiastic, my voice too loud, too screechy. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
And the award for dumbest thing to say to a film director at a film awards party goes to …
‘Let me introduce you to, er, this is Rob, my friend … and colleague. Rob, this is Trey Jones,’

‘I know. Wow, awesome, it’s great to meet you, Mr Jones. I’m a massive fan of your work.’ Rob shook his hand eagerly.

‘Call me Trey, and the pleasure’s mine,’ Trey replied. ‘Great party, hey?’

I imagined this was like every second night out for him.

‘Yes, amazing Bellinis!’ I yelled, suddenly aware of all the people around us. The fun smokers were now staring smokers.
Where did all these people come from?

‘Is Beau with you?’ I asked.

‘Yeah.’ He gestured over his shoulder and I realised exactly why it was so crowded all of a sudden. In the white fur stole, brandishing a long black cigarette holder, working the figure-hugging Dolce & Gabbana gown with a diamond choker shining so bright it made my eyes squint, she looked like Marilyn Monroe. People with big smiles, enormous
hair and animated faces swarmed around her like bees around their queen.

‘So how do you know, Annie?’ Trey turned to Rob.

‘Amber? We’re working together at the moment,’ he replied, innocently.

I squirmed and my palms suddenly felt sticky. My feet wanted to leave this spot immediately.
Why isn’t Beau rushing over to help me out?

I playfully nudged Rob in the ribs.

‘Ahem, Annie. Yes, a new project I’ve got on the go.’ I avoided meeting Rob’s gaze. ‘And talking of which, we were just about to take a quick conference call about it. I’m so sorry, Trey, but I’ve got to drag Rob off quickly. Are you here all evening? We’ll be back!’

And I put my hand firmly onto Rob’s arm and yanked him away, leaving a bemused Trey in our wake.

‘Hey, missy, hold up a minute,’ Rob said as I charged through the crowd and back up the glass stairs towards the crowded bar area, concentrating hard on not slipping over, and simultaneously looking for a spot where we’d be well out of Trey’s sight. ‘A “new project”—what’s that all about? And I thought you’d want to say hello to Beau?’

‘Just not right now,’ I stammered.

‘I didn’t realise you were on first-name terms with Trey Jones.’

‘I’m not,’ I sighed. ‘Well, I am—but the wrong first name, as you might have noticed.’

‘Annie … I thought he’d made a mistake. No one in LA remembers anyone’s name unless they need something from them—and he can probably afford to buy his own suits. What’s that about, then?’

I paused to think for a second, worry etched across my face. I really needed some fresh air. And some proper food.

‘Can we get out of here for a bit?’

Over a basket of chicken and mugs of hot coffee in a diner a block away, I explained the situation with Beau and Trey. In the cold light of day—well, evening—describing how I’d pretended to be someone called Annie Liechtenstein to provide Beau with an alibi for her almost certain infidelity sounded like the script for a low-budget film. Finally I paused for air and a slurp of coffee, and—
is he laughing at me?

‘I’m sorry, Annie, I mean, Amber. It’s just—kind of funny, don’t you think?’