Shopaholic to the Stars

by Sophie Kinsella

‘Come!’ Sage beckons me to her enormous white squashy sofa. ‘Relax!’

  ‘OK!’ I surreptitiously glance at my watch. It’ll be fine. We’ll watch the show and then we’ll get to work.

  Except we don’t just watch it once, we watch it four times.

  Each time, Sage keeps up a running commentary, saying things like, ‘See how I really nail the emotion here?’ and, ‘Lois looks so good from that angle,’ and once, ‘Where did Camberly have her boobs done? They’re pretty great.’ Whereupon a young assistant leaps up and says, ‘I’m on it,’ and immediately starts tapping at his BlackBerry.

  By the fourth go I’m numb with boredom. The weird thing is that if I could see myself, I’d be mad with jealousy. I mean, look at me! Lounging on a squashy white sofa with a movie star … sipping smoothies … listening to her little in-jokes … You’d think it would be paradise. But all I really want to do is go home and see Suze.

  I can’t, though, because we still haven’t got to the clothes. Every time I mention them, Sage says ‘Sure’, and absently waves a hand at me. I’ve told her about fifty times that I’ll need to go and pick up Minnie from pre-school soon and I don’t have all day, but she doesn’t seem to have registered that.

  ‘OK, let’s go have our nails done!’ Sage suddenly gets up from the sofa. ‘We have to get to the spa. We all have reservations, right?’

  ‘Right!’ says an assistant. ‘We have the cars waiting outside.’

  ‘Cool!’ Sage starts searching around the coffee table. ‘Where are my shoes? Did they slide under the sofa? Christopher, find my shoes,’ she says prettily to the most handsome of her assistants and he instantly starts grovelling on the floor.

  I’m not following any of this. How can she be going off to a spa?

  ‘Sage?’ I try to get her attention. ‘Aren’t we going to decide on your look for tonight? You were going to try on the dresses?’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ says Sage vaguely. ‘We’ll do that too. We’ll talk about it at the spa.’

  ‘I can’t come to the spa,’ I say as patiently as I can. ‘I have to pick up my daughter from her class trip to the Museum of Contemporary Art.’

  ‘Her kid is so sweet,’ Sage announces to her assistants, and they all croon back, ‘Oh cuuuute! Adorable!’

  ‘So what about the dresses?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll try them on myself.’ She suddenly seems to focus. ‘I don’t need you to be there. You did a great job, Becky, thanks! And thank you, Christopher, angel!’ She slides her pumps on.

  She doesn’t need me? I feel like she’s slapped me in the face.

  ‘But I haven’t explained each look yet,’ I say, bewildered. ‘I was going to try them on with you, talk you through the accessories, see if we need to alter anything …’

  ‘I’ll figure it out.’ She spritzes herself with scent, then catches my eye. ‘Go! Have fun with your daughter!’

  ‘But …’

  If I don’t help her create her look, then I’m not a stylist at all. I’m a delivery girl.

  ‘Your car will take you, right? See you tonight!’ Before I can say anything else, she’s skipped out of the door. I can hear a roar from the paparazzi outside and the sound of engines and the general mayhem that surrounds Sage.

  I’m alone, apart from a housekeeper, who walks silently around, picking up bowls and brushing popcorn off the sofa. And just for an instant, I feel totally deflated. This isn’t how I pictured it at all. I had so many ideas I wanted to share with Sage, yet she doesn’t even seem interested in the clothes.

  But as I pull out my phone and dial Jeff’s number, I force myself to look on the positive side. Come on. It’s all still good. I’ve still been to her house, I’ve still given her the bones of her outfit. When people ask who styled her, she’ll say, ‘Becky Brandon.’ It’s still my big chance. I have to hold on to this. Whatever else is going on, this is still my big Hollywood chance.

  As we approach the house, Lon is still hanging around outside the gates, and he gesticulates wildly at the car. He’s wearing a lime bandana today, and thigh boots.

  ‘Pirate!’ cries Minnie, who is clutching the ‘Rothko-inspired’ painting she did at the museum. (It’s really good. I’m going to put it in a frame.) ‘See pirate!’

  ‘Becky!’ I can hear him shouting as we drive past. ‘Becky, wait! Listen! Guess what?’

  The thing about me is I’m a total sucker for anyone who says ‘Guess what?’

  ‘Hey, Jeff,’ I say, as the gates start opening for us. ‘Stop a minute.’

  ‘Stop a minute?’

  ‘I want to talk to Lon. That guy.’ I point.

  Jeff halts the car and turns round in his seat. He’s got his ‘disappointed’ face on.

  ‘Rebecca, we’ve talked about street interactions,’ he says. ‘I do not recommend that you get out of the vehicle at this time.’

  ‘Jeff, honestly.’ I roll my eyes. ‘It’s Lon. He’s a fashion student! I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding a gun.’

  OK, saying ‘gun’ was a mistake. At once Jeff stiffens. He’s been on hyper-alert ever since Dad and Tarkie disappeared.

  ‘If you wish to approach this person …’ he says heavily, ‘I will secure the area first.’

  I want to giggle at his disapproving expression. He’s behaving like he’s some stiff and starchy 1930s butler and I’ve said I want to talk to a tramp.

  ‘Fine. Secure the area.’

  Jeff gives me another reproachful look, then gets out of the car. The next minute I can see him frisking Lon. Frisking him!

  But Lon doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his face is all shiny and excited, and I can see him taking pictures of Jeff with his phone. At last Jeff returns to the car and says, ‘The area is secure.’

  ‘Thank you, Jeff!’ I beam, and bound out of the car. ‘Hi Lon!’ I salute him. ‘How are you? Nice boots! Sorry about all the security and stuff.’

  ‘No, that’s fine!’ says Lon breathlessly. ‘Your bodyguard is so cool.’

  I nod. ‘He’s really sweet.’

  ‘I guess you have to be super-careful of nut jobs,’ says Lon reverently. ‘I’ve seen your guard dog, too, patrolling the grounds and everything?’

  Lon is so starry-eyed, I can’t help blossoming under his gaze.

  ‘Well, you know.’ I toss my hair back. ‘When you’re in my position, you have to be careful. You don’t know who’s out there.’

  ‘Have you had many attempts on your life?’ Lon is agog.

  ‘Er, not that many. You know. Just the normal amount.’ I quickly change the subject. ‘Anyway, so what did you want to say?’

  ‘Oh, right!’ Lon nods animatedly. ‘We saw your special delivery from Danny Kovitz. The van came earlier, and I got talking to the guy. He works at the showroom. He knew all about it. It’s a dress for you to wear tonight.’

  ‘Danny sent over a dress for me?’ I’m so touched, I can’t help grinning.

  ‘It’s from the new collection, Trees and Wires? Like, the one that hasn’t even been shown yet?’ Lon seems beyond ecstatic. ‘The one that Danny said came straight from his soul?’

  All Danny’s recent collections have been called Something and Something. One was Metal and Philosophy. Another was Envy and Scarlet. The fashion journalists and bloggers write screeds on what the titles mean, but if you ask me, he just picks two random words out of the dictionary and chooses two different fonts and calls it meaningful. Not that I’ll say this to Lon, who looks like he’s going to expire with excitement.

  ‘No one has seen anything of this collection,’ Lon is babbling. ‘There are rumours online, but nobody knows anything. So, like, I was wondering, will you wear it tonight? And can we take some pictures? My friends and me?’

  His face is scrunched up in hope and he’s folding his bandana into ever-decreasing squares.

  ‘Of course!’ I say. ‘I’m leaving at six but I’ll come out five minutes early and you can all see the dress.’

  ‘Yay!’ Lon’s face relaxes into a
beam. ‘We’ll be there!’ Already he’s tapping at his phone. ‘Thanks, Becky! You’re the greatest!’

  As we head inside, my spirits are higher than they have been for ages. Danny sent me a dress! I’m going to be a fashion story! Nenita Dietz is bound to be impressed when she sees me. But my momentary euphoria freezes into icy fog as soon as I see Suze. She’s sitting in the kitchen, surrounded by papers, on which I can see her scribbled writing. Her hair is shoved into a dishevelled knot. I can hear The Little Mermaid playing in the next room, and smell toast, which is clearly what she’s given her children for their tea.

  On the table is a fancy-looking Golden Peace tote bag, which is new. Alicia must have given it to her, as well as that sweatshirt sticking out of it. I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to buy Suze’s love.

  ‘Nice bag,’ I say.

  ‘Thanks,’ says Suze, barely looking up. ‘So you’re back.’ She sounds accusing, which is hardly fair.

  ‘I was back earlier,’ I reply pointedly. ‘But you were out.’ With Alicia, I refrain from adding. ‘Any news?’

  I know there isn’t any news, because I’ve been checking my phone every five minutes, but it’s worth asking anyway.

  ‘Nothing. I’ve been on the phone to all of Tarkie’s friends, but none of them has any leads. What have you done? Have you spoken to your dad’s friend?’

  ‘I went to the trailer park. I did some investigating there.’

  ‘Oh yes, I got your voicemail.’ She stops scribbling, and draws her feet up to her chair, hugging her knees. Her face is drawn with worry, and I feel a sudden urge to hug her tight and pat her back, like I would have done any other time. But somehow … I can’t … Everything feels too stilted between us. ‘You met another Rebecca? That’s so strange.’

  I tell her all about the trailer park, and she listens in silence.

  ‘Something’s going on with my dad,’ I finish. ‘But I have no idea what.’

  ‘But what does it mean?’ Suze rubs her brow. ‘And why has he got Tarquin involved?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say helplessly. ‘Mum will be in the air by now, so I can’t ask her, and anyway, she doesn’t know anything …’ I grind to a halt. My attention has been grabbed by something on the kitchen counter. It’s a big box with Danny Kovitz printed on the side.

  Obviously my dress isn’t the priority right this second. On the other hand, I can’t wait to see it. I don’t even know if it’s full-length, or mid-length, or a mini-dress …

  ‘I tried the police again,’ Suze is saying. ‘Absolutely useless! They said I could file a report. What good is a report? I need them out there, searching! They kept saying, “But where would we search, ma’am?” I said, “That’s for you to find out! Put some detectives on it!” Then they said, “Could these two gentlemen have just gone on a little trip?” I said, “Yes! They have gone on a trip. That’s the whole point. But we don’t know where!”’

  As Suze is talking, I edge over to the counter. I lift the lid a little way and hear a rustle of tissue paper. There’s a lovely waft of scent, too. Danny always has his clothes sprayed with his signature fragrance before they’re sent out. I push aside the silvery-grey tissue paper and glimpse a shoulder strap made out of linked copper hoops. Wow.

  ‘What are you doing?’ says Suze tonelessly.

  ‘Oh.’ I jump, and drop the lid. ‘Just having a look.’

  ‘More “essential shopping” for Sage, I suppose.’

  ‘It’s not for Sage, it’s for me. I’m wearing it tonight. Danny sent it over specially. It’s from his Trees and Wires collection …’ I trail off, registering the sharp silence in the kitchen. Suze is staring at me with a look I can’t quite work out.

  ‘You’re still going to the premiere,’ she says at last.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see.’

  There’s another long silence. The atmosphere is getting edgier and edgier, until I want to scream.

  ‘What?’ I say at last. ‘What? Don’t you think I should go?’

  ‘Jesus, Bex! Do you really have to ask?’ Suze’s sudden vehemence takes me by surprise. ‘Your dad is missing and Tarkie too, and you’re going to a bloody premiere? How can you be so selfish? I mean, what kind of priorities do you have?’

  Resentment is rising inside me. I’m tired of Suze making me feel bad. I’m tired of everyone making me feel bad.

  ‘Your dad’s disappeared without a trace and taken Tarkie with him!’ Suze repeats, still on her tirade. ‘There’s obviously some mystery; they could be in big trouble—’

  ‘Well, what am I supposed to do about it?’ I explode. ‘It’s not my fault if they just took off! I’ve got one chance in Hollywood, Suze, one chance, and this is it! If I don’t grab it, I’ll always regret it.’

  ‘The red carpets will always be there,’ says Suze scathingly.

  ‘The TV interviews won’t always be there! Nenita Dietz won’t always be there! I don’t see why I should just sit around, doing nothing, waiting for news. You can do that if you like. Maybe Alicia could keep you company,’ I can’t help adding bitterly. And I grab the Danny Kovitz box and march out of the kitchen before Suze can say anything more.

  As I get ready, there are two voices arguing in my head. One is mine and one is Suze’s. Or maybe one is Luke’s. Or maybe they’re both mine. Oh God, I don’t know whose they are, but by quarter to six I’m sick of both of them. I don’t want to have to think about whether I’m doing the right thing. I just want to do it.

  I stare at myself boldly in the mirror and adopt a red-carpet pose. I look good. I think. I’ve put on a bit too much make-up, but I don’t want to look washed out next to all the celebrities, do I? And Danny’s dress is genius. It’s short and slinky in a flattering black fabric, and the single shoulder strap is made of a mass of unpolished copper hoops. (They’re digging into my skin a bit, and they’ll probably leave marks, but I don’t care.) I’m wearing the spikiest ever black stilettos and my bag is a little copper-framed clutch (it was in the box with the dress). I definitely look like a top celebrity stylist.

  Adrenalin is pumping through my body. I feel like I’m about to go into a boxing ring. This is it. This is it. As I’m carefully painting my lips, my phone rings, and I put it on speaker.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Becky.’ Aran’s voice fills the room. ‘Psyched for tonight?’

  ‘Definitely!’ I say. ‘Can’t wait!’

  ‘Great! I just wanted to let you know the run-down. You are in demand tonight, girl.’ He laughs. ‘You’ll be talking to NBC, CNN, Mixmatch, that’s a fashion channel …’

  As he continues, I can barely concentrate. It all seems so surreal. I’m going to be on NBC!

  ‘So just stay bright and positive,’ Aran is saying. ‘Ooze your British charm and you’ll do great. See you later!’

  ‘See you there!’ I give myself a final spray of perfume and look at my reflection. British charm. How do I ooze British charm?

  ‘Cor, strike a light, guv’nor!’ I say aloud.

  Hmm. Maybe not.

  As I walk downstairs, I can hear Suze approaching. I start prickling with defiance, and clench my bag tight. She appears in the hall, holding Minnie on her hip, and looks me up and down dispassionately.

  ‘You look amazing,’ she says flatly.

  ‘Thanks.’ I match her tone.

  ‘Thin.’ She manages to make this sound like an accusation.

  ‘Thanks.’ I take out my phone and check for texts. There’s one from Jeff telling me he’s waiting outside, but nothing from Luke. Not that I was really expecting it, but still my heart drops in disappointment. ‘I’ll have my phone on the whole time,’ I add. ‘In case you … you know. Hear anything.’

  ‘Well, enjoy yourself.’ She hoists Minnie to the other hip and I glare at her resentfully. She’s only carrying Minnie to make me feel bad. She could easily put her down on the floor.

  ‘Here are the details of where I am.’ I hand her a printed sheet. ‘Thanks
for looking after Minnie.’

  ‘Oh, any time.’ Her voice is so sarcastic I wince. She doesn’t mean it, I tell myself. She’s just stressed out about Dad and Tarkie.

  I mean, I’m stressed out, too. But there’s a bigger emotion overriding the stress. It’s excitement. NBC … red carpet … exclusive designer outfit … How could I not be excited? How can Suze not understand?

  ‘Well, I hope you have the time of your life,’ she says as I open the door.

  ‘I will,’ I say mutinously. ‘See you later.’

  I step outside and hear a roar from outside the gates. I stop dead and blink in astonishment. Oh my God. Lon must have brought his entire class to see the dress. There’s a whole crowd of them, clustered together, pointing cameras and phones at me through the iron bars of the gates.

  ‘Open the gates,’ I instruct Jeff, and I approach the throng, waving graciously, feeling like a princess.

  ‘Becky!’ Lon is calling.

  ‘Beckeeeee!’ shouts a girl in a black shift dress. ‘Over here!’

  ‘You look amazing!’

  ‘How does the dress feel?’

  ‘Can we get a back view?’

  ‘Did Danny tell you anything special about the dress? What was his inspiration?’

  As I pose, looking this way and that, I keep darting glances back at the house. I hope Suze is watching out of the window and can hear all the yelling. Then maybe she’ll understand.

  TWENTY-TWO

  At last everyone has taken their photos and I’ve done two little interviews about Danny for fashion blogs, and I’m in the car, on the way to the premiere. I feel a bit giddy. It’s going to be brilliant. It already is brilliant.

  The premiere is being held at El Capitan, and I know we’re getting near from the noise. The thumping music is practically rocking the SUV, and there are shouts from the crowd, and as we slow down, someone bangs on the car, which makes me jump, startled.

  ‘You OK?’ says Jeff at once.

  ‘Fine!’ I say, exhilarated. ‘It’s pretty big, isn’t it?’

  The film is an action movie about two circus performers who foil a terrorist attack. Apparently they use all the animals and their circus skills to help them, and it was nearly derailed when an elephant went a bit crazy during the filming.