Shopaholic to the Stars

by Sophie Kinsella

  There’s an amazing necklace on a stand, which is up for auction, and as I draw near I feel the tugging of lust. God, it’s beautiful, all pale-pink crystals and a hammered-silver heart, I wonder how much …

  Oh my God. I’ve suddenly seen the printed label below it: Reserve price $10,000. I hastily back away, in case anyone thinks I’m bidding for it. Ten thousand? Seriously? I mean, it’s a nice necklace and everything, but … $10,000? Just for some pink crystals? I don’t even dare go near the pair of watches at the end of the table. Or that voucher for a Malibu villa. Maybe I’ll go and watch the dancers with Suze instead. I’m about to turn away, when I see a doddery old man making his way slowly along the prizes. He looks quite frail, and is keeping his balance by clutching at the table.

  Not a single person has noticed him, which makes me feel quite incensed. I mean, what’s the point of coming to a benefit to help people, and then ignoring a poor old man who needs help right in front of your eyes?

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ I hurry forward, but he bats me away.

  ‘Fine, fine!’

  He’s very tanned, with perfect teeth and what looks suspiciously like a white toupee, but his hands are gnarled and his eyes are a bit rheumy. Honestly, someone should be looking after him.

  ‘It’s a lovely event,’ I say politely.

  ‘Oh yes.’ He nods. ‘Wonderful cause. Discrimination is the blight of our lives. I myself am gay, and let me tell you, the world is not an open place. Not yet.’

  ‘No,’ I agree.

  ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t encountered discrimination yourself. As a woman. And in other ways. Because in my opinion, no human on this earth is free from discrimination in some way or other.’

  He’s so full of fervour, I don’t like to contradict him.

  ‘Definitely,’ I nod. ‘I’ve been discriminated against in lots of ways. Heaps. All the time.’

  ‘Tell me some examples of this shocking behaviour.’ His rheumy eyes fix eagerly on me.

  My mind is blank. Come on, quick. Discrimination.

  ‘Well, obviously as a woman … and …’ I cast my mind around. ‘I once had to take out my earrings to work in a café, so that was discriminating against jewellery … and … er … hobbies can be discriminated against and … pets …’ I have no idea what I’m saying. ‘It’s terrible,’ I end lamely. ‘We need to fight it.’

  ‘And we will.’ He clutches my hand. ‘Together.’

  ‘I’m Rebecca, by the way,’ I add. ‘Rebecca Brandon.’

  ‘And I’m Dix.’ He flashes me a white smile. ‘Dix Donahue.’

  Hang on. Dix Donahue. That sounds familiar. I glance at a nearby poster and sure enough, it’s printed in big grey letters: HOST: DIX DONAHUE.

  This is the host? He looks about a hundred.

  ‘Dix!’ A plump man with a neat black moustache bears down on us and pumps his hand. ‘Victor Jamison from E.Q.U.A.L. I’m a big fan. All set for your introductory speech?’

  ‘Gathering inspiration all the time.’ Dix flashes his smile at me, and I beam back. He must be famous in some sort of way. I wonder how. Luke will know.

  The two men head off, and I drain my glass. I really must find Luke and Suze, but the trouble is, everyone’s started clustering around the stage area and it’s hard to see. The dancers have stopped their routine and the band has fallen silent and there’s an expectant air. Then suddenly, the band strikes up again with some tune that everyone seems to recognize, going by their nods and smiles at each other. Dix Donahue mounts the steps with a hop and a jump – and it’s obvious he’s an entertainer. He seems to sparkle under the lights, even if he is a zillion years old.

  As he starts to tell jokes, I edge my way round the corner of the throng, and suddenly see Luke. I’m about to join him, when the room goes dark and a spotlight moves around the crowd, and Dix Donahue takes on a grave manner.

  ‘But seriously, folks,’ he says. ‘We’re here for a very fine cause tonight. Discrimination is an evil and it takes place in all shapes and forms, often in the place you’d expect the least. Later we’ll be hearing from Pia Stafford, who battled workplace discrimination regarding her disability after a car accident.’

  The spotlight falls on a lady in black, who lifts a hand and nods soberly.

  ‘But you know, I was talking to a young lady just now, who had maybe the most unusual tale of discrimination I’ve heard …’ Dix Donahue shades his eyes and squints into the audience. ‘Rebecca, where are you? Ah, there!’

  Does he mean me? I stare up at him in horror. A moment later the spotlight is glaring into my face.

  ‘Rebecca was discriminated against because of – of all things’ – he shakes his head sombrely – ‘her pet.’

  My eyes nearly pop out of my head. He can’t have taken me seriously. I only said ‘pets’ because I ran out of other things to say.

  They should never have hired a hundred-year-old host. He’s batty.

  ‘Rebecca, let’s hear your story,’ says Dix Donahue in a soft, coaxing voice. ‘What was your pet?’

  I stare at him, transfixed.

  ‘A … a hamster,’ I hear myself saying.

  ‘A hamster, ladies and gentlemen.’ Dix Donahue starts clapping, and a half-hearted round of applause breaks out. I can see people whispering to each other, looking puzzled, as well they might.

  ‘And what form did the discrimination take?’

  ‘Um … well … People wouldn’t accept it,’ I say cautiously. ‘I was ostracized by my community. Friends turned against me and my career suffered. My health, too. I think it’s up to the government and society to change attitudes. Because all humans are the same.’ I’m rather warming to my speech now. ‘All of us, whatever religion we practise or colour skin we have, or, you know, whether we have a hamster or not … we’re the same!’

  I make a sweeping gesture and catch Luke’s eye. He’s staring at me from a few yards away, his mouth open.

  ‘That’s it,’ I finish hastily.

  ‘Wonderful!’ Dix Donahue leads another round of applause, and this time it feels really genuine. A lady even pats me on the back.

  ‘One more question before we move on.’ Dix Donahue twinkles at me. ‘What was your hamster’s name, Rebecca?’

  ‘Er …’ Shit. My mind has gone totally blank. ‘It was … er … called …’

  ‘Ermintrude,’ comes Luke’s deep voice. ‘She was like family.’

  Oh, ha, ha. Very funny.

  ‘Yes, Ermintrude.’ I muster a smile. ‘Ermintrude the hamster.’

  The spotlight finally moves off me and Dix Donahue comes to the end of his speech, and I look up to see Luke giving me a little wink as he approaches through the crowd.

  ‘I’ll get you a new hamster this Christmas, darling,’ he says over the sound of applause. ‘We’ll fight the discrimination together. If you can be brave enough, so can I.’

  ‘Shhh!’ I can’t help giggling. ‘Come on, it’s time to eat.’

  That’s the last time I make conversation with some random old man just to be kind. As we move back to our table, I’m totally mortified, especially as people keep stopping me to congratulate me and ask about the hamster and tell me about how their kids have a rabbit and they wouldn’t stand for discrimination, it’s shocking in this day and age.

  But at last we’re able to sit down, and on the plus side, the food is delicious. I’m so engrossed in my fillet of beef that I don’t pay much attention to the conversation, which doesn’t matter, because it only consists of both Kerrows droning on to the entire table about this Florence Nightingale film they want to make. They talk like some sort of song duet, overlapping every phrase, and no one else can get a word in. This is another lesson I’m learning in Hollywood. You’d think hearing about a film would be exciting – but it’s deathly. I can tell Suze is just as fed up as me, because her eyes are glassy, and also she keeps mouthing ‘Booooriiiing’ at me.

  ‘… locations are the challenge …’

 
‘… wonderful director …’

  ‘… problems with the third act …’

  ‘… he really gets Florence’s arc …’

  ‘… talked to the studio about budget …’

  ‘… finances lined up. We’re waiting on the last investor, but it depends on some British guy with a crazy name. John John Saint John. Kind of a name is that?’ Kerrow spears a mangetout and eats it ferociously.

  ‘D’you mean John St John John?’ says Suze, suddenly tuning into the conversation. ‘How on earth do you know him? That’s Pucky,’ she adds to me. ‘Have you met Pucky?’

  God knows if I’ve met Pucky. All Suze’s childhood friends are called things like Pucky and Binky and Minky. They basically blend into one braying, cheery human Labrador.

  ‘Er … maybe.’

  ‘You’ve met Pucky.’ She turns to Luke. ‘I know you’ve met him.’

  ‘Tarquin’s investment manager,’ says Luke thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I did. Runs the media arm of your business interests?’

  ‘Something like that,’ says Suze vaguely, then beams at Tarkie, who’s returning from the Gents. ‘Darling, they know Pucky.’

  ‘Good Lord.’ Tarkie’s face brightens. ‘Extraordinary coincidence.’

  ‘Pucky?’ Ken Kerrow looks perplexed.

  ‘Called him that ever since prep school,’ Tarkie explains. ‘Marvellous chap. He’s worked with me, what, ten years now?’

  ‘Worked with you?’ Ken Kerrow’s eyes focus on Tarquin anew. ‘You in film?’

  ‘Film?’ Tarkie looks horrified at the idea. ‘Good Lord, no. I’m a farmer. You were saying something earlier about an “ark”? Do you mean Noah’s Ark?’

  ‘Tarquin, can I ask you a question?’ says Luke. His mouth is twitching and he looks highly amused at something. ‘I know you have a few media interests among your investments. Has Pucky ever backed any films for you?’

  ‘Oh!’ Tarquin’s expression clears. ‘Ahm. Well. As a matter of fact, yes, he has. Perhaps that’s the connection.’

  ‘Films?’ Suze stares at him. ‘You never told me!’

  ‘This is your investor,’ says Luke to Ken Kerrow, and jerks a thumb at Tarquin. ‘Lord Cleath-Stuart.’

  ‘Please,’ says Tarkie, flushing red. ‘Tarquin.’

  Ken Kerrow looks as though he’s choked on his fillet steak. ‘That’s you?’

  ‘Lord?’ Sage looks up from her phone for the first time.

  ‘Lord Cleath-Stuart.’ Ken Kerrow is gesticulating at his wife. ‘This is the Brit backer. You backed Fiddler’s Game,’ he adds to Tarquin, in sudden realization. ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘Ahm … yes.’ Tarquin looks a little hunted. ‘That sounds right.’

  ‘It made thirty million its opening weekend. You picked a winner.’

  ‘Well, it was Pucky,’ says Tarkie modestly. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t know one film from another.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ says Ken Kerrow. ‘I’m going to find my co-producer. I’d love for you to meet him.’ He leaps up and practically sprints to a nearby table, where I can see him whispering frantically to another guy in a tux.

  ‘Tarkie!’ exclaims Suze, and bangs the table. ‘Since when do we invest in films? You should have told me!’

  ‘But, darling,’ says Tarkie anxiously. ‘You said you weren’t interested in our investments.’

  ‘I meant boring things like stocks and shares! Not films—’ Suze breaks off and fixes Tarkie with an accusing gaze. ‘Tell me the truth. Have we been invited to premieres?’

  ‘Ahm …’ Tarkie’s eyes slide around nervously. ‘You’d have to ask Pucky. I probably told him we weren’t interested.’

  ‘Weren’t interested?’ Suze’s voice rises to a screech.

  ‘Your Lordship!’ Ken Kerrow is back at the table. ‘It is my honour to present my co-producer, Alvie Hill.’

  A broad man pumps Tarkie’s hand with a meaty handshake. ‘Your Lordship. What a pleasure to welcome you to Los Angeles. If there is anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant …’

  He continues talking for about five minutes, complimenting Tarkie, complimenting Suze, suggesting restaurants and offering to drive them out to the canyons for a hike.

  ‘Ahm, thank you.’ Tarkie gives him an embarrassed smile. ‘You’re very kind. I’m so sorry,’ he says to the table, as Alvie finally leaves. ‘What a fuss. Let’s get back to our dinner.’

  But that’s just the beginning. An hour later, it seems as if every single person in the room has dropped by our table to introduce themselves to Tarkie. Several have pitched movies, several have invited him to screenings, several have tried to set up meetings, and one has suggested flying the whole family to his ranch in Texas. Tarkie is totally an LA player. I can’t quite believe it.

  In fact, no one can believe it. Luke has been bursting into laughter a lot – especially when some studio executive asked Tarkie what was his view of the American Pie franchise and Tarkie said, Gosh, he wasn’t sure – was it similar to Starbucks? Meanwhile Tarkie himself looks rather shell-shocked again. I feel a bit sorry for him, actually. He came here to get away from everything, not to be besieged by people after his money.

  I can understand why he spends so much time wandering around moors on his own. At least the deer don’t keep running up saying they’ve got a fabulous concept which they’d love to share with him over breakfast. Now, some guy in a shiny grey suit is asking Tarkie if he wants to visit a film set.

  ‘We’re shooting this great drama; it’s set on the high seas. Bring your kids, they’ll love it …’

  ‘You’re very kind.’ Tarkie is starting to sound robotic. ‘But I’m here for a holiday …’

  ‘I’ll come!’ Suze interrupts.

  ‘Terrific!’ The grey-suited guy smiles at her. ‘We’d be delighted to welcome you, give you the tour, you can watch some scenes being shot—’

  ‘Can I be an extra?’ Suze says boldly.

  The grey-suited man stares at her, apparently baffled.

  ‘You want to—’

  ‘Be an extra in the film. And so does my friend Bex.’ She grabs my arm. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes! Definitely!’

  I have always wanted to be an extra on a film! I beam delightedly at Suze and she grins back.

  ‘Your Ladyship.’ The grey-suited man seems totally perplexed. ‘You won’t be comfortable being an extra. The day is long, it’s tiring, the scenes are shot again and again … Why don’t you watch the scene, and then you can meet the cast, we’ll have lunch someplace nice …’

  ‘I want to be an extra,’ says Suze obstinately. ‘And so does Bex.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘We don’t want to watch it, we want to be in it.’

  ‘We want to be in it,’ I echo emphatically.

  ‘Well.’ The man seems to admit defeat. ‘OK. No problem at all. My people will fix it up for you.’

  ‘Bex, we’re going to be extras!’ Suze clutches me in excitement.

  ‘We’re going to be in a film!’

  ‘We can go and watch ourselves at the cinema! Everyone will see us— Ooh, what’s the film about?’ says Suze as an afterthought, and the man looks up from where he’s writing his mobile number on a card.

  ‘Pirates.’

  Pirates? I look at Suze with renewed glee. We’re going to be in a film about pirates!

  * * *

  DiscriminHate LA

  * * *

  c/o 6389 Kester Avenue Van Nuys CA 91411

  Dear Mrs Brandon

  I was given your name by Andy Wyke, who was at the recent E.Q.U.A.L. benefit and heard your inspiring story.

  I am president of the charity DiscriminHate LA, a lobby group set up to combat discrimination in all its forms. We consider that current definitions of discrimination are far too narrow. We have identified no fewer than 56 common grounds for discrimination and the list grows longer every day.

  However, you are the first case of ‘pet-ism’ we have come across, and we would like to tal
k to you about your experience. Many of our members have spearheaded campaigns and we hoped you could do the same. For example you could:

  Write an account of your discrimination story for our website.

  Develop an outreach program for high school students who may suffer the same type of discrimination.

  Lobby your local government representative for ‘Ermintrude’s Law’.

  May I, at this point, offer you my sincere solidarity and sympathy. I am not familiar with the exact details of your case, but I gather it was a moving story and must have been painful for you to share.

  I look forward to hearing from you and welcoming you to our fight.

  All my best

  Gerard R. Oss

  President DiscriminHate LA

  Survivor and Fighter: size-ism, name-ism, odor-ism, and sexual-practice-ism.

  Author of I’m Different, You’re Different, S/He’s Different

  * * *

  * * *

  LHA

  LETHERBY HALL ASSOCIATION

  THE PARSONAGE

  LETHERBY COOMBE

  HAMPSHIRE

  Dear Mrs Ermintrude Endwich

  Thank you for your recent letter.

  It is always interesting to hear from an ‘unbiased member of the public’ as you describe yourself. However, I must take issue with your various points. The LHA is not a ‘bunch of Nazis with nothing better to do than complain about fountains’. We do not ‘meet every night in some grim little cavern’; nor ‘plot like the witches in Macbeth’. Our dress sense is, I would suggest, irrelevant.

  I also rebut your assertion that The Surge is ‘one of the wonders of the world’. It is not. Nor will we ‘all be sorry when the brilliant Tarquin Cleath-Stuart is given a medal for it by the Queen’. I cannot quite imagine which medal this would be.

  May I have your address in the UK? I cannot find any record of you on the electoral roll.

  President

  LHA

  * * *

  TWELVE

  I’ve done my research. I’m taking this seriously. I’m going to be the best extra ever.