by Rosie Nixon
He replied straight away. Hey, beautiful. Learning lines for tomorrow. I’m up for a vampire. What are you wearing?
His comment made my heart speed up a little.
Nothing amazing, I’m styling Beau Belle x, I replied, wishing I’d said, ‘a red-hot Dolce number’. Damn it.
Tell me how it goes. x
I smiled to myself, deciding not to risk another unanswered text, but leave it at that.
Ten minutes later AJ emerged from the house with a tottering Beau Belle on his arm.
‘You move over there, Amber—Beau needs to be on the left side and facing forwards. She gets nauseous otherwise.’
‘Amber! I’m so happy you’re doing the carpet with me this evening,’ Beau gushed, carefully stepping into the vehicle. It definitely wasn’t the easiest dress for getting in and out of cars without flashing all your bits. ‘Don’t tell Mona, but she can be a little cranky at times. And you and I have fun together, don’t we?’
‘Yeah … we do,’ I replied, feigning excitement, as I felt Leslie’s sharpened eyes look her client up and down, disapproving of the outfit already. Well, we did have the fitting before anyone knew Miss Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt had been having it off with her co-star. Keen to keep the subject off Beau’s clothes, or lack of them, I asked how Pinky was doing.
‘Oh, he’s a lot better, thanks, babe. It was weird, he puked up an empty M&Ms packet last night and we never eat M&Ms, especially not the peanut ones, so I don’t know where it came from. But he was right as rain afterwards.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said, looking at the floor.
When we pulled up outside the Regency Village Theatre in Westwood the crowds were already five deep along either side of the red carpet. As our conspicuous mode of transport drew nearer to an assigned parking bay in front of the velvet rope, a deafening cheer went up from the fans. Beau’s fans. I’d almost forgotten what a big name she was out here, although, granted, most of the crowd was made up of spotty, brace-wearing pubescent boys. As the limo door was flung open by a security guard, Beau expertly swung her legs around, knees together but not too together (this was Beau), put her shoulders back and bounced forth from her chariot, one arm lifted into a wave. Her dress instantly lifted to just below her butt-cheeks. Oops. The thunderous roar reached a crescendo as a couple of hundred voices chanted her name. I felt a rush of adrenalin power through my veins; I could only imagine how high Beau must have felt knowing all this adoration was for her. AJ jumped out of the car next, closely followed by Leslie, and I took up the rear. Literally. It was becoming clear that Beau’s pert little bottom was an unplanned co-star at this premiere, and that keeping it hidden would be my primary role for the evening.
As things turned out, the Beau and Jason show was so captivating, it was hard to keep my mind on Beau’s rising hemline. Only when it appeared to be levitating to a certificate 18 level did I at one point leap forward and gently tease it down again, hopefully out of shot (she was being asked by a German TV crew about her preferred flavour of bratwurst at the time). Beau spent most of her red-carpet performance as a twosome with Jason, and it was clear she was infatuated by him. She hung on his every word and dissolved into flirtatious giggles whenever he showed her particular attention. If there isn’t something going on between them, I’m not a pasty girl from London. Surely everyone else could see it, too? One interviewer broke with protocol and asked about the recent story concerning the pair’s off-screen relationship. Frantically, Beau looked around for Leslie, but her publicist had momentarily vanished.
‘I’m engaged!’ she protested, thrusting forth the dazzling fifteen-carat diamond rock on her wedding finger, before purring, ‘but this one—’ she indicated Jason ‘—was like a slave driver, making me rehearse all the time when I should have been ordering my bridal flowers!’ Jason’s muscles twitched beneath his too-tight white shirt.
‘Seriously, though—’ she fixed the interviewer with those puppy-dog eyes ‘—I love my Trey and we’re sooo excited about the wedding. It’s going to be off-the-scale amazing! But I can’t say any more, because we’ve got a magazine deal.’ Her eyes shone with excitement.
‘I’m going to be pageboy,’ added Jason, failing to pull off sarcasm.
‘You are?’ asked the equally dense interviewer.
‘Uh, no. But I’m really excited for Beau and Trey. They are going to be sooo happy together,’ he said, turning to her and smiling with all the authenticity of a fake Prada handbag.
‘That’s enough now—subject closed,’ interjected Leslie, appearing from nowhere and making a note of the reporter’s name so she could ban him from future red-carpet events for breaking the media agreement. I thought about Rob’s earlier comment and wondered why Trey wasn’t here with Beau, making a show of togetherness. I suddenly felt sorry for him. Surely these fresh premiere photos would stir up the gossip all over again? Looking away from Beau’s wandering hem for a moment, and taking in my surroundings, I spotted Tango Tim from Morning Glory a few crews down, waiting for his chat with the stars. He looked more orange than ever in the last of the early-evening sun. I scanned the area for Rob; suddenly the top of his head popped up, close to Tim’s. On tiptoes, I strained my neck to check it was him. Almost instantly I felt light-headed and my palms became clammy. Why is it suddenly so insufferably hot? I tried to loosen the neck of my black T-shirt and gripped a nearby railing with my other hand in an attempt to steady my spinning head. The sensation only intensified and my heart sped up, I could feel it pulsating hard, each beat ricocheting around my body. I took a couple of deep breaths and crouched down; my face felt sweaty now, too. And then nothing.
Chapter Ten
Flickering lights appeared before my eyes, muffled voices at close range got louder, and suddenly a cold, wet sensation made me sit bolt upright.
‘She’s back with us.’
‘Oh, thank God for that.’
‘Is she okay? The last thing we need is a lawsuit.’
Three pairs of eyes were staring directly into mine. Another shower of cucumber-scented water sprayed into my face, stinging my eyes and smudging my mascara. As the world came into focus, I registered that the eyes belonged to Tango Tim, Leslie and—oh no—Rob. Tim’s index finger was poised on a small spray can, about to give me another blast.
‘No, I—I’m okay. Thank you.’ I quickly sat up on my elbows, a bit bemused, but mostly monstrously embarrassed. Immediately I tried get to my feet, but Rob put a firm hand on my shoulder. ‘Just sit here for five minutes. You were only out briefly, but you need to take it easy.’ You were only out briefly? Oh my God, I fainted. At a premiere.
Thankfully, all three then left me alone to regain my composure as they resumed their responsibilities. I slowly looked around from my seated position, half-on, half-off the red carpet, nestled between two TV crews, and realised that everything looked pretty much as it had done before I blacked out. Beau and Jason were still doing interviews, Leslie was still clutching her three phones and Tango Tim was having more bronzer applied by a make-up artist as he prepared for his interview with the stars, who had inched slightly closer down the media line. I can’t have passed out for more than a few seconds. Thank God for that. I pulled out my iPhone. One text from Liam and three missed calls from Vicky. It had to be 3:00 a.m. at home, so I discounted Vicky’s calls as drunk-dials from her pocket.
How’s the premiere? Liam asked, over text. Obviously, I wasn’t going to tell him the truth.
Really cool! How’s the line-learning?
Fine. I mostly have to rise up and bite people, he replied. Wish I could practise on you though.
Before I could think of a suitably amusing response, Rob reappeared, holding a bag of crisps, a Snickers and a cold can of Pepsi.
‘Here, get these down you,’ he said. I had never been so grateful to see anything before in my life.
‘When was the last time you ate something?’ he asked. I thought for a moment. I can’t actually remember the last time I ate much more than a
piece of dried fruit or some chocolate. In fact I don’t think I’ve had a proper meal the whole time I’ve been out here.
‘Yeah, I am pretty hungry.’
‘Unfortunately they don’t have St John’s Ambulance out here, so I nicked them from the production rider. Not the healthiest dinner, but the sugar will help sort you out.’
‘Thanks so much. I think I was light-headed.’
‘Just because no one eats in this town doesn’t mean you shouldn’t, too,’ he said, wisely.
‘I know … and don’t worry, it’s been humiliating enough.’ I opened the crisps and began scoffing them. The Pepsi tasted like amber nectar.
‘The beauty of fainting in this kind of situation is that everyone is so wrapped up in getting their two seconds with the stars, they’d barely notice if an alien craft landed and started abducting people,’ he said, making me laugh.
‘Unless they think someone might get sued,’ I added, giving Leslie a reassuring wave. ‘Did Beau see me?’
The last thing I needed was for this to get back to Mona. Surely I’d be joining Nathan in the dole queue if it did. Fainting at a premiere was not a good look.
‘Seriously? I think you know the answer.’
We both looked over at Beau, who had now perched herself on a high stool, having turned the tables on an interviewer. She was having a ball, clutching the interviewer’s microphone and jokily pretending to interview Jason, eagerly watched by three sets of TV cameras, some of which seemed most interested in capturing her ever-lengthening legs. Shit!
‘Better get back to it.’ I smiled, pushing myself up. A bite of Snickers, and the colour had returned to my face. ‘I’m fine now, really. It’s only my ego that was hurt.’
‘See you at the party,’ Rob said. Then he winked and added, ‘By the canapés.’
The rest of the red carpet operation went more smoothly—thankfully Leslie didn’t bring up the fainting episode, preferring instead to airbrush it from proceedings. Rather like we were all ignoring the blatant flirting going on between Beau and Jason. Tango Tim seemed pleased with his interview—he’d got Beau to reveal not only that her favourite frozen yogurt flavour was blueberry, ‘sometimes with a white choc chip topping’, but that she and Trey were thinking of adopting a second micro-pig from a sanctuary for abandoned pigs somewhere in Africa, as a sibling for Pinky. Two veritable world exclusives.
Eventually we reached the theatre doors and everyone marched in; Beau and Jason were greeted with a thunderous roar of applause. I then became privy to a secret about film premieres: the big stars rarely actually watch the movie, they do their bit on stage as the film is introduced by the director, then pretend to take their seats as the lights dim, but really they get straight back up again and head to their limos for the after-party. There, they schmooze with the film’s backers and key sponsors before everyone else arrives to gush about how brilliant the film was—whether it actually was or not—and guzzle the free booze.
The premiere party was being held at Morton’s, a hip establishment that once played host to the legendary Vanity Fair Oscars party, and it was thrilling to be whizzed straight in with the ‘talent’. The main room had been transformed into a high school prom hall, complete with a stage featuring disco lights, a swing band, still in the process of tuning up, and waiting staff dressed in school uniforms.
As I obviously hadn’t actually seen the film, Leslie filled me in: ‘The final scene—the guy gets the girl, they perform a dance routine at the prom, the whole school is on their feet and no one wants the summer term to end. Hence the name, Summer’s Not Over.’
The film’s title was emblazoned across every available surface, from the twirling 3D projections on the walls and ceiling, to the coasters for the glasses on endless poseur tables, and when I popped open the mini umbrella on my cocktail, there were the words again, smiling back at me in shouty pink capitals.
‘Think Glee meets Dirty Dancing for a new generation,’ Leslie enthused, putting her best publicist spin on things. ‘It’s going to be huge!’
I watched from the sidelines as Beau worked the room, constantly throwing her head back with laughter. At one point, she was all over a man I recognised from the party last night as possibly being movie mogul Harvey Weinstein. Slowly the room began filling up with dressed-to-impress premiere-goers and a sprinkling of celebrities, most of whom had been invited to ensure the party achieved the necessary column inches the next day. I was glad that Mona wasn’t here when I saw the photographers go mad for Poppy Drew. It had to be said she looked stunning in a vintage pale blue prom dress, complete with netted skirt, nipped-in waist and a flower in her hair. Tamara had done an excellent job, and she looked like she knew it. Rob arrived with Tim and I felt chuffed when they made a beeline for me and proceeded to assassinate the movie scene by scene as we tucked into the delicious miniature hot dogs and hamburgers now being served. It was great to be amongst company that didn’t bristle if I ate more than a mouthful of something containing protein and carbohydrate at the same time.
Still there was no sign of Trey, much to my relief, as I would struggle to hold a conversation about executive producing Summer’s Not Over, having not actually seen the film myself and sensing from Leslie’s précis that it was destined to be one of the year’s biggest flops. Why was it not being released in the summer, anyway? Sometimes, Hollywood was baffling.
A good two hours into the party, as conversation with Rob and Tim moved effortlessly from one topic to the next, I noticed a kerfuffle going on around the bar.
‘Oh, look—there’s Mona and Klara.’ I spotted them just as Mona clocked me, too.
‘Amber, babe!’ she called above the throng.
I frantically looked around for Beau, realising I’d been so caught up in conversation I’d totally forgotten I was meant to be working. As if reading my mind, Rob made the sound of a cracking whip.
‘The wicked witch is back,’ muttered Tim. ‘That’s the end of your party, then, doll.’
Klara made her way over to us first. She looked particularly pleased to see Rob again. ‘Hey, how’s it going? Did you get Beau on every Best Dressed list?’
‘Hi, Klara, yes, it went well.’ I prayed Rob and Tim would keep quiet about the fainting part. Luckily, any appraisal of my performance ended there because Mona was ordering champagne and vodka shots. Apparently she often did this, to give the impression to anyone who cared to look, but mostly Tamara on this occasion, that we were celebrating and having enormous fun. Escorting a waitress precariously balancing a tray containing five full glasses of champagne plus six Summer’s Not Over–branded shot glasses filled to the brim with pink vodka, Mona was more animated than ever. She even greeted me with a hug.
‘You were brilliant, babe, quite simply my little superstar.’ She squeezed my rigid body. ‘Beau looks divine in that dress and Stefano Gabbana has apparently already been on to Leslie to say she can keep it. Her image has gone everywhere, and it’s all down to the frock.’
Rob, Tim and I looked at each other, suspecting it was probably rather more than the dress that had garnered Beau so much media coverage this evening.
‘Drinks on me … Well, it’s a free bar … But here’s to you, Amber! Bravo!’
She briefly glanced over to ensure Tamara and Poppy had heard the toast. How could they not? She was shouting loud enough. As we all raised our glasses, Mona was already necking her shot, followed by her entire glass of champagne. Because none of us dared do otherwise, we all followed suit, Rob, Tim, Klara and I downing our shots in one. Tim slammed his empty glass on to the table for dramatic effect, shaking his head and exclaiming: ‘Gooood morning, Vietnam!’
The alcohol burned its way down my throat, heating up my insides. I hadn’t done shots since I last had a huge night out with Vicky.
‘Look at that, they brought one too many.’ Mona eyed the remaining glass on the table. ‘Saluté!’ And necked it quickly, before swiping another glass of bubbly from a passing waiter.
/> ‘Anthony! Wonderful to see you, darling!’ And she was off, air-kissing a very good-looking, tall, tanned man with slicked-back hair, who looked as if he might be someone but no one could put their finger on who, and we were all left, our heads gently spinning, in her wake. As a waitress passed, I grabbed another mini hot dog. I really didn’t want to faint again. But a few drinks felt like a great escape this evening. Better still, Klara seemed to be accepting me as someone it was okay to be seen with—we chatted easily about her day attending castings. Though she was flirting a little with Rob, he didn’t seem to be flirting too much back. Tim provided some entertaining stories about his Hollywood interviewees and the inside scoop on what was really going on in Tom Cruise’s love life. Yes, it was beginning to feel as though I was making some friends out here.
The startling crash of a champagne flute hitting the floor made us all jump. Partygoers abruptly stopped their conversations. In fact, it was as though all the most glamorous people inhabiting the Earth suddenly ceased what they were doing and turned to look in one direction—at Mona. Then everything went into slow motion as, not more than a few feet away from us, Mona came up for air. Her chest lifted, her head jolted back, and then she violently lurched forwards and heaved, projecting a lumpy pink substance, presumably miniature hot dog mixed with champagne, straight from her mouth onto the beautiful man’s pristine, probably Tom Ford, white shirt. Everyone around her stopped what they were doing and stood like statues in a sculpture park. Then there was a mass intake of breath, followed by a chorus of: ‘Oh. My. God.’ Mona put her hand to her mouth in an effort to stifle a loud hiccup.
‘Um, did, er, that just really happen?’ Rob, as transfixed as I was by the absurd vision in front of us, whispered in my ear. I felt as though my feet were pinned to the ground. I was temporarily dumbstruck.
‘Amber, that really did just happen,’ he repeated.
