The Stylist (25 page)

‘But what about—’

‘Mona? Oh, she’ll be there, too, natch, but you know what she’s like—I can’t rely on her. You saw her at my premiere party, you’ve read all the stories. I’ve invited her to my bachelorette, but I’m nervous about the wedding, and the magazine is, too. And I saw what you did for Jennifer in London—she
rocked it. The venue’s in Hawaii, the Four Seasons. Oh my God, Amber, it’s incred—total tropical paradise—everyone says “Aloha!” everywhere you go, it’s
so cool!’
She paused to study my face. I was teetering. ‘But there’s not much time. I really need you on board.
Mona
needs you on board. We
all
need you. Oh, go on, Amber, please?’ She fixed me with those puppy-dog eyes.
‘Pleeease?’

I glanced back towards Jennifer and Trey, who were now talking animatedly into a CNN microphone.

‘But what about Trey? He thinks I’m someone else, Beau—Annie, your producer, remember? How am I going to explain that?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about him. You can be at the wedding as Annie—I wasn’t planning on inviting the real one, she’s a bitch—and every now and again you can just pop to check I haven’t got the dress tucked in my panties. Trey won’t notice a thing. He’ll be too wowed by how amazing I look. I’ll make sure you’re invisible to him, I promise.’ I undid the onesie zip a bit further—Jesus, it was hot. Trey turned around briefly to check on Beau’s whereabouts. She clocked him and blew a kiss, just as I darted out of sight behind a handily placed large gentleman.
Harvey what’s-his-name again?

‘But, Beau, I hate lying—you know I hated it in the first place.’

‘Listen, I’ll get you Club Class flights, an ocean-view suite—I’ll cover all your expenses.’ She was speaking quickly now, keen to wrap things up, and she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

‘When is it, anyway?’

‘Next week.’

‘Next
week
?’
Talk about putting me on the spot.

‘Trey wanted to bring it forward, to stop all the stupid
rumours and we didn’t want the magazine to pull the deal, so …’

‘I’ll be back in London in my old job then, Beau, I won’t be working for Mona any more. I …’

From the corner of my eye I noticed Trey turn around again, eyes scanning the red carpet to spot his wife-to-be amongst the growing throng of famous people. We were out of time—I couldn’t face pretending to be Annie in front of him again.

‘I can’t do it, Beau. I’m sorry.’ I was painfully aware that this was probably the first time in her entire pampered life anyone had ever said ‘no’ to her.

‘Suit yourself.’ She raised her chin in the air and spun on her spiked heel. ‘Don’t say I didn’t give you an amazing opportunity.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I called after her.
But for once I have to do something for myself.
I had to know when to leave the party before I became a casualty, too. Besides, I couldn’t handle another fiasco with Mona—she’d have to find herself another crutch. I watched Beau rejoin Trey, hiding any sign of disappointment, all smiles for the flashing cameras. And then I scuttled off to lie in wait for Jennifer behind another huge golden man, feeling quietly confident I had done the right thing.

The paps flinched as I darted past. Even they had noticed my ridiculous outfit.
Is this this year’s red carpet fashion turkey; the Bjork in a swan dress?
But then they carried on jostling for the best spot before the inevitable moment when all the major stars walked past at once and it was a mad scramble, each paparazzo driven by the possibility that one exclusive could set them up for early retirement: a ‘Julia Roberts with hairy armpits’ moment. I waited beside
the railings, my kit poised ready to offer anything Jennifer might need before she entered the ceremony. At one point Nicole came over and asked for my spare permanent marker for Jennifer to sign autographs.

It was intoxicating observing the steady parade of big names glide past me, offering plenty of photo-perfect moments en route to the entrance to the theatre, embracing each other along the way, and stopping to talk to some of the younger nominees in their fancy ball gowns, just as wowed by the whole surreal experience as I was. No matter how many times you do it, the red carpet at a major event is such a buzz. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I hoped it might be Rob. Or the airline calling about my case. Rob’s friendly face would be welcome right about now, if he forgave me for my drunken tirade in London. He would be bound to see the funny side of my ridiculous appearance.

Instead it was a text from Mona: Are you with Jennifer?

No explanation of where she was, or anything else. I was livid. It was tempting to reply ‘No,’ followed by ‘I quit’, but there was little point. Instead I replaced the phone in my pocket.
I’ll deal with her later.

With Jennifer safely deposited outside the grand art deco facade of the theatre ready to make her entrance, Caroline and I shared a cab back to the Chateau to retrieve our things, relieved and happy that the carpet had gone smoothly. I called the airline and was emailed a lost-luggage form to fill out; meanwhile, I was informed that someone would be round to return Sarah-Louise Moore of Mothercare’s suitcase to its rightful owner. Somehow this all made me feel like a thief. When I eventually arrived at Mona’s, the jet lag was really starting to take hold. The exhilaration of the evening
was wearing off, my eyelids felt heavy and my mood was suddenly flat. Even the mansion didn’t look as spectacular as it had the first time I’d laid eyes on it, barely a fortnight before. Ana met me at the door, tea towel in hand.

‘Any sign of Miss Armstrong?’ she asked, concern etched across her face.

‘One text,’ I replied. ‘She’s not dead, but I don’t know any more than that.’

‘Nothing here,’ Klara said. ‘We even called a few hospitals, just in case, but nothing.’

I pulled out my phone, realising I hadn’t checked it in a while. I had three missed calls from Mona, soon after the text.

‘She’s been ringing,’ I informed the others and almost immediately, it vibrated again. Mona’s name flashed up. I shouted into the phone: ‘Where on earth have—’

A male voice interrupted me. ‘Is this Miss Amber Green?’ He sounded serious.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘My name is Officer Lyle, from the LAPD in Beverly Hills. I’m calling about Ms Armstrong—yours was the last-dialled number in her cell and she thought you would be the best person for us to contact.’

‘The police?’ I whispered, stumbling backwards to sit on a chair. Ana and Klara stared at me wide-eyed, then huddled close.

‘We have Ms Armstrong here with us. She’s been detained, following an incident this afternoon.’

‘Detained?’ I looked at Ana and Klara in disbelief.

‘That’s right, ma’am—she was shoplifting,’ the officer continued.

‘Shoplifting?’
I repeated the word aloud, as if repeating
it might make it go away. Ana put one hand to her mouth and crossed herself with the other.

‘She was caught by the in-store detective outside Barney’s Co-op, Rodeo Drive, at approximately midday.’

‘So, what’s happening to her?’ I asked after a lengthy pause. Jet lag wasn’t helping me process the situation.

‘She’ll be released from our custody with a ticking off this time, but she’s lucky. Barney’s have decided not to press charges because she has no other theft-related conviction—but things won’t look so good if it happens again. She had some expensive items on her person.’

‘What were they?’

‘Five hundred dollars’ worth of silk lingerie and hosiery,’ the officer informed me. ‘Plus some silicone bra inserts, and something called “Tit tape”. You can pay for them in cash or with any major credit card. Ms Armstrong said that you could make this happen for her.’

Frantically, I gestured for Klara to pass my bag and I rummaged through it to find the brown envelope containing what was left of my portion of the kitty. There had been roughly £500 in cash, which luckily I’d changed into US dollars at the airport. It was just enough to cover the loot, and taxis to and from the police station.

‘I’ll be down within the hour,’ I replied.

‘Thank you for your co-operation, ma’am.’

An image of Mona’s mugshot making an appearance on E! News this evening flashed into my head. If her career wasn’t already over, it would be after that.

We sat in silence for the first five minutes of the journey back to the house. The roads were deserted, the city felt like a ghost town—everyone was either at the Oscars or glued
to the ceremony at a viewing party. It would be nearing Jennifer’s moment now and I was itching to watch the TV, which only compounded my frustration with Mona. When I’d got there, Mona hadn’t been in a forthcoming mood. A bashful ‘Does Jennifer know about this?’ was all she said at the station, and since then she had avoided eye contact entirely. Beverly Hills whizzed past the window as I sat quietly fuming next to her. After noticeably staring into his rear-view mirror more times than was necessary to check the empty lanes behind us, the driver eventually broke the silence: ‘Hey, that’s it! Ma’am, aren’t you—’

‘No!’ she snapped, slamming the privacy window shut, sinking down and pulling her collars up. We were over halfway home when she finally spoke again.

‘So, did she wear the Valentino?’ Through big sunglasses I could just make out her eyes, they were focused on the horizon.

‘She did, and it looked incredible,’ I replied, coolly.

‘At least that’s one person who doesn’t hate me,’ she said, presumably referring to the designer. Then there was another lengthy pause, before she sighed. ‘It’s been complete humiliation today.’

‘For you?’ I scoffed. ‘Wasn’t I the idiot wearing a onesie at the Oscars?’

For once she hadn’t even seemed to register my clothing, she was so wrapped up in herself.

‘Full-body search to find the lingerie and implants,’ she continued, bottom lip quivering. ‘I shouldn’t have had to be in that position. Why didn’t you transfer me the money, like I asked?’

‘So it’s
my
fault you got frisked by the LAPD?’ I turned to face her, fury in my eyes and adrenalin pumping through
my veins. ‘I hardly had enough to get myself over here—flights aren’t free for assistants, you know.’

‘I had no choice, Amber—Jennifer was waiting for me.’ Her voice began to tremble.
She’s trying to justify shoplifting now?
I doubted this would stand up if it ever went to court.

‘You could have asked her to pay for her own underwear, or called some in?’

‘It doesn’t work like that, dear. Not on Oscars day, when everyone’s panicking. Besides, it’s not as if a star like Jennifer carries cash to sub her penniless stylist.’ She paused for a breath as we both considered this.

‘I could have left you in there,’ I muttered, not quietly enough.

‘Perhaps you should have,’ she spat.

‘Oh, for God’s sake—you’re hardly Nelson Mandela!’ I folded my arms and waited, unsure where any of this was going. Finally, as our surroundings began to look more familiar, she took a deep breath and spoke: ‘Anyway, I had a chance to do some thinking when I was … in the cell.’ She turned towards me, and her features appeared to soften. There was a hint of a smile. ‘Oh, don’t look so terrified, babe! There’s no drink or drugs problem. I don’t need rehab, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ She raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Not yet, anyway. But I’ve made a decision—I’m going to get my accounts in shape. I mean it this time.’ She scoured my face for a reaction. I bit my bottom lip.

Against my better judgement, I still clung to an unlikely fantasy that Mona would come round and finally, really, do something about all this mess. Her eyes still on me, she continued: ‘When they said you were coming to get me out, I was so thankful, Amber. Not just because there was money left in the kitty, but because you were there for me. I realised
there wasn’t actually anyone else to call—I couldn’t think of a single person. None of the famous people I know would be seen dead walking into a Beverly Hills police station in the middle of the afternoon—let alone Oscars afternoon—to bail me out.’

‘It was pretty hard to top,’ I said, determinedly, when she appeared to have finished. ‘You landed me in it. Jennifer, Nicole, Caroline—they were all going mad. It was bloody lucky I was on the afternoon flight, otherwise I’d have missed the awards, too. And Ana and Klara were so worried—they were phoning around hospitals looking for you. So don’t tell me no one cares.’

She bowed her head. ‘They were?’ She suddenly looked like a child.

‘There is someone who could maybe help you get your accounts in order,’ I offered, after a sufficient pause, ‘my mum.’ Mona let out a grunt. ‘Before you dismiss it, she’s a hotshot lawyer and she has contacts out here. She’s offered to talk to you, offer some advice. For free.’

Mona rested her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. ‘Sweet of you,’ she finally said.

When we reached the house she headed straight upstairs to her room, presumably to turn on the TV to discover, as I soon did, too, that Jennifer had made it an awards-season hat-trick, triumphing at the Oscars and sealing her place in the Hollywood hall of fame with a beautifully choreographed, tearful acceptance speech. I celebrated alone with a glass of flat champagne from the fridge and the news from Ana that an airline representative had picked up the Mothercare woman’s suitcase and mine was still safely at the airport. I couldn’t face a trip there to collect it now—I’d send a courier for it tomorrow and wing it until then. Besides, I consoled myself with the realisation
that the one benefit of spending the past twenty-four hours in a onesie was that I was ready to roll straight into bed.

As I nodded off, I was jolted awake by a text from Rob. Despite everything, my heart leapt.
Has he forgiven my drunken fiancée-slagging?
I read the message with one eye. No mention of fiancée-gate. Phew. He was wondering if I fancied a run in the morning.

A run? Are you joking?
I texted back.
Maybe this is his way of punishing me for being an arse.

I’m serious—Runyon Canyon.

A run in a canyon?
No thanks.
Stay firm, Amber, he’s taken, so what is the point of humiliating yourself further.