The Stylist

by Rosie Nixon

  ‘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 tu
rned 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?’

  ‘Funny?’ I was infuriated. This is my work! My livelihood.

  He apologised again. ‘But just think, Amber—if Beau and Trey don’t make it down the aisle, you’re probably first in line to get the pig.’ He burst out laughing again, almost sending a mouthful of cappuccino over his chicken bones. ‘I’m sorry, but it is … just a tiny bit funny.’ He gestured a tiny measure with his thumb and forefinger and looked up at me mock-apprehensively. ‘Just a weeny bit, Amber. Annie?’

  He was right—this week had become more than a bit ridiculous, and he was the only person out here who could make me see it. I decided to tell him everything. All about working at Smith’s, how I accidentally got offered this job, my cobbled-together kit, rushing out here without really having a clue, Mona’s erratic behaviour, the message from the loans company on her phone, the hamper of unopened bills in her office and the constant feeling that I was within a whisker of getting the sack the whole time. When I put it all together, it did sound pretty entertaining. In a black-comedy way.

  ‘So the boyfriend’s pining for you back home in London, then?’ Rob asked, just as a waitress landed the most delicious-smelling hot brownie with vanilla ice cream between us. My cheeks coloured as I wondered whether to come clean and explain there was no boyfriend.

  ‘Actually I live with Vicky—my best friend stroke house mate.’ I stared into my mug. ‘But, we’re not, um—’ I went red instantly. Meep.

  ‘Special friends?’ Rob smiled.

  ‘Yeah, I mean, no.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were a lesbian, Amber,’ he said, smirking, ‘Not that I have any problem with lesbians. Did the mystery caller ever get in touch the other day, by the way?’ I was surprised he remembered.

  I shrugged, thinking about the text from Liam again. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘You’ve got the guys queuing up,’ he teased. ‘But I saw the way you were looking at Trey Jones this evening.’

  ‘Trey? He’s a good-looking guy, but no, he’s engaged. Although like you said, whether they’ll make it up the aisle is another thing,’

  ‘You really think he’ll break it off?’

  ‘If he’s got any sense. She’s so clearly playing him. Oh, and did I tell you why Pinky was less than perky in the suite the other day?’ I was really loosening up now. ‘He ate an empty M&Ms packet on my watch. I could have killed him!’ Now I was laughing, too, proper from-the-belly laughter that made my eyes water.

  He spluttered. ‘This is too much! You’re lucky animal welfare aren’t after you …’

  ‘Anyway, enough about me—what about you? Trey or Jennifer?’

  ‘You think I’m gay?’ He giggled again. ‘Sorry to disappoint, but Jennifer all the way.’

  The waitress broke the conversation by asking if we wanted to pay. Instead, we ordered more coffee. I felt so comfortable in his company, and it was great to speak to someone on my wavelength—someone who didn’t take this town and what we were doing in it too seriously. Later, as we became aware of tables being wiped and chairs stacked around us, Rob announced: ‘Don’t know about you, but I’m not ready for bed yet.’ I was comforted by his dependable London accent. ‘Why don’t we pop back into the party for a quick drink, seeing as we’re so near? It’s bound to be still going and if we bump into Pinky and Perky—’ as he had now nicknamed Beau and Trey ‘—I’ll play along, I promise. I’m an ac-tor, remember?’ We both cracked up again. He insisted on paying for the food, and I pulled out my phone to check the time: 1:10 a.m. I knew there would be a ton of clothes returns to get through tomorrow, and negotiating Mona’s mood was a headache at the best of times. There were calls to make, cases to pack, errands to run ahead of the flight back to London. All the gloss of the past few days was rubbing off rapidly, but my drunkenness had been replaced by a caffeine buzz and as there was definitely going to be a crash sooner or later, one more cocktail wouldn’t hurt.

  ‘Are you trying to get me into trouble tonight?’

  ‘All the celebs will have gone by now, anyway,’ he reasoned. ‘Come on, I don’t want to go home yet, so you’re not going, either.’

  I gathered up my handbag and we strolled back down the street. Once inside the party again, we headed straight for the now almost deserted smoking terrace and sat on a bench looking out over the half-asleep city below. The crowds had vastly thinned out, suggesting, as Rob had predicted, that all the celebrities had left the building. A row of tall, thin palm trees stood proudly in the foreground, silhouetted in front of the impressive vista. As the lights of Los Angeles glimmered beneath us, I didn’t want our evening to end. When the breeze cooled, Rob rested his jacket around my shoulders.

  ‘You’ve got very twinkly eyes this evening, Miss Green,’ he said, during a natural pause in conversation. Our arms were lightly touching, and I could feel the heat from his body on my bare skin.

  ‘Perhaps they’re just glazing over—I’m so tired.’ I suddenly felt self-conscious and pulled my arm away from his. ‘I can’t actually believe how much has happened this week.’

  I became aware that my heart was beating fast.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said after a pause, looking away. ‘I’m shattered, too. We’d better make a move. Taxi for twinkly eyes.’ He stood up. ‘I guess this means I’ll see you back in London.’

  Along with the other remaining guests, who were now admitting defeat and going to bed, we were ushered from the venue by a waitress who probably had an after-after-party to get to. When we reached the street Rob gave me a friendly kiss on both cheeks, and closed the door on my cab back to Mona’s.

  ‘Safe travels—and don’t let that madwoman get you down!’ he said through the open window as I was driven off. As the taxi sped along a dual carriageway heading for the Hills, I was still chuckling to myself about how crazy the past few days had been. I was already looking forward to seeing Rob back in London; he had made the whole thing
fun again. And at least I wasn’t sharing my bed with a micro-pig.

  As I slipped off my heels at the front door, ready to sneak in without being heard, my phone lit up. Message from Rob:

  Sleep well, twinkles x

  I read it over and over.

  Chapter Fourteen

  All the lights in the house were off, so I crept straight upstairs, assuming Mona was asleep and Klara still partying. Perhaps she was sitting on Orlando Bloom’s lap by now. I took my make-up off, still thinking about the text from Rob, brushed my teeth thinking of it some more and then reread the message several hundred times when I got into bed, just to check I hadn’t misread it in any way. I then spent an inordinate amount of time concocting a response. I deliberated several responses, ranging from: ‘You too, A x’ (too blunt); ‘Hey green eyes, I had a great evening x’ (too much); to ‘You made them twinkle x’ (too soppy).

  I finally settled on: Sweet dreams, see you soon x (friendly and alluding to meeting up again). Sent. Then I immediately panicked that the ‘Sweet dreams’ part was too girly and the ‘See you soon’ too presumptuous. Perhaps I should have not replied at all? Christ, why isn’t there a twenty-four-hour helpline for text etiquette? I looked at the radio alarm. Just gone 2:00 a.m. in LA meant soon after 10:00 a.m. in London. Vicky would be up.

  ‘A-ha, it’s the talk of the town. Had almost forgotten the sound of your voice,’ she answered.

  ‘Hey, Vixter, can you speak?’

  ‘Sure, if you don’t mind me sounding out of breath. And no, not for any dirty reason—I wish! I’m late for work and got the hangover from hell, hence making a bad attempt at jogging to the tube. If I stop talking it’s because I’ve passed out. How were the awards? Isn’t it the middle of the night over there?’

  ‘Yes, I drank too much coffee. It was crazy. Literally no one has a clue what anyone is going to wear until they are standing there on the red carpet being interviewed about it.’

  ‘Jennifer Astley looked amazing … she’s going to be on our Best Dressed list.’

  ‘Fantastic! Thanks, hon, I’ll tell Mona. We were so happy she wore that gown, but it was a close call.’