The Liar, The Bitch and the Wardrobe

by Kingsley, Allie

  I stepped away from the frame and put my hand on the door. Without further response, I shut the door in their faces and secured the dead bolt. Click.

  * * *

  The enormous jet to London was like nothing I had ever seen. The white leather love seats and lounge chairs were detailed with a cherry wood grain. I couldn’t believe that I was once again on a flying Mercedes-Benz, let alone going all the way to Europe. I accepted a glass of champagne from the friendly flight attendant who would accompany us. I hoped it would quiet the guilty knot in my stomach from all that had transpired the night before. I couldn’t wait to get out of LA for a while. I was upset about my friends accusing me of . . . well, I guess catching me doing . . . that stuff. But still, I shouldn’t have closed the door in their faces. They deserve better.

  I decided to leave the drama in LA and focus solely on my photography in London. As we took off, I was not only literally but also metaphorically putting LA behind me for the time being.

  “Cheers!” Bella accepted a flute of champagne from the attendant and touched it to mine.

  “Cheers! So . . . why exactly are we going to London?” I still hadn’t been informed.

  “A whole lot of press. The itinerary is a little crazy. Some television and radio publicity . . . and of course there will be some fabulous parties!”

  I patted the padded camera case beside me. “I brought enough film for a lifetime!”

  She kicked her heels up on the adjacent seat. “Film? As long as you use Mariah’s retouching team, it’s all the same to me.” She smiled and pointed to the barely there wrinkles in the corner of her mouth. “Alright girly, Ambien was invented for long plane rides, and I could really use a good nap.” Taking two capsules from her pocket, she popped one into her mouth, chasing it with the champagne. “Want one?” I had never taken a sleeping aid before, but the idea of dozing off until we reached our destination sounded like a dream come true. I accepted the pill and washed it down with my drink too. We reclined and settled in for the long haul. I quickly blacked out and slept through the entire flight.

  * * *

  The plane taxied to a small hangar away from the main area of Heathrow Airport. The captain and co-captain emerged to thank us for flying with them. Bella slid into a long J Mendel sable coat, fluffed out her blonde tresses and pushed a pair of dark sunglasses over her dewy face before stepping out into the crisp air. I zipped into a pair of fur-lined Michael Kors boots, snapped my pea coat together and also donned a pair of shades—even though the gloomy sky didn’t require shielding. I felt so chic living Bella’s opulent lifestyle, even if it was only temporary.

  “There she is! Isabella!” Piercing screams and loud roars echoed across the runway as at least fifty fans pressed against the gates. “Miss Blackstone! Over here!” They jumped and crammed against each other, hoping to get a glimpse. Bella quickly moved down the steps and into a warm Bentley limousine. Attendants carefully handled an assortment of Prada and Vuitton trunks, along with my generic black one. As the limo slowly rolled past the gates, the crowd erupted in chaos. Airport security opened the fence and the fans clamored to the car windows. Pounding their fists against the glass, they tried to open the locked doors. Bella politely smiled but I was somewhat petrified. What if a door was left unlocked? Would the fans pile in and pull at her coat and hair? It seemed likely. The car gradually gained momentum and, within a minute, we were sailing toward the city.

  The Sanderson Hotel was magnificent. Several paparazzi politely snapped photos as we entered the double doors, which were held open by two handsomely uniformed doormen. The Baroque-meets-modern interior sparkled with fantasy. We were escorted past a velvety red couch shaped like a pair of lips. I was in awe.

  “Isn’t it beautiful? It’s my favorite hotel!” Bella beamed.

  A warm gentleman welcomed us. “Ladies, I’ll be showing you to the penthouse. Right this way . . .”

  We moved to the top floor in the elevator, not needing to wait or even check in. The man unlocked the door to the enormous suite and held it open.

  If I was any more awestruck, I would have started spinning in circles while singing “I Think I’m Gonna Like It Here” from the musical Annie.

  Each room was more impressive than the one before. The rich white curtains showcased an unbelievable view of the city and the famous London Eye. The ultra contemporary bathroom featured a stand-alone stainless steel tub, like the kind you see in the movies. Accommodations fit for a modern-day queen. I returned to the living room and found Bella popping open a bottle of complimentary Cristal in the dining room. She filled two flutes. Handing one to me, she said, “Cheers to a great trip!” It was my second glass of champagne for the day on a completely empty stomach.

  Outside the large bay windows, the gray blue London sky was somber. Bella plopped down on the sofa, kicking her heels up over the side.

  “So, what do you want to do? I don’t have to do my thing until tomorrow.”

  I stretched out on the faux fur rug. “What thing?”

  “My perfume is debuting. I just have to go in for a few hours, take pictures with fans, sign autographs . . . Easy.” She sipped her champagne. “Mmm . . . and the ribbon-cutting thing.”

  “Ribbon cutting?”

  “At Harrods. They’re making this stupid perfume thing a big deal.”

  “Sounds like a big deal to me!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! What time is it at home?” She glanced at her rose gold Jacob & Co watch. “We should go do a late lunch.” She grabbed the bottle of Cristal and walked out of the den.

  It was the best thing I’d heard all day! I was imagining biting into something warm, juicy and delicious. We went to our separate bedrooms to change and freshen up. Bella kept her black Citizens of Humanity skinny jeans on and paired them with a backless eggplant Loro Piana cashmere top. I stayed in my black leggings and added a slouchy Missoni sweater. We complimented each other and strutted to the elevator.

  The appropriately named Purple Bar is a purple-hued lounge that is as dramatic as it is decadent. We settled into a pair of lavender-colored seats at a discreet table. A smartly dressed young woman in a violet dress placed two delicate menus on the table. Bella read it through, scanning the words. Even though the menu was in English, I felt as though I were reading a foreign language. The delicacies included foie gras crostini, mini haddock cakes, and blood pudding. I was open to trying new things but didn’t quite know what any of that meant. Nor did I think I was ready to consume anything containing the word “blood.”

  “Do you like oysters?” Bella asked.

  Flipping over the finely printed menu, I said, “I don’t see them on the menu.”

  “Everyone has oysters.” Bella motioned for the maître d’.

  “Yes, Miss Blackstone?”

  “We’d like an order of oysters and a champagne menu please.”

  “Right away, Miss Blackstone.” He politely nodded and disappeared. I wondered if we were going to just have oysters for dinner. Since working for Stefano and spending time with Bella, I had become accustomed to barely grazing, but it didn’t mean that I didn’t like to eat when time allowed. I wasn’t comfortable ordering more for just myself, given that I likely couldn’t afford it and I didn’t want to be too much of an expense for Bella, even though she definitely could afford it.

  With that thought in mind, I was ready to get down to business. “So, where do you think there will be room in your schedule for us to shoot? I’m thinking that I’ll scout locations for inspiration while you’re at Harrods tomorrow?”

  “Oh no! You have to come! You’ll meet my publicists and manager and agent and everyone you just have to know!” It made sense that I would have to meet those people if I was going to work with their star client, and perhaps one of them could help me work with her schedule.

  The maître d’ returned with a bottle of Krug Clos du Mesnil wrapped in a dark, velvety cloth. “From a friend, madame.”

  Bella turned in her se
at and eyed the sparse crowd. “A friend? I don’t know anyone in here . . .” I also turned around even though I knew there was no way that I had any friends there. Bella quietly squealed, “Lucy, this is easily at least a thousand-dollar bottle of vintage!”

  “One . . . thousand . . . dollars?!” The bottle was expertly opened and its contents poured into elegant crystal glasses. I calculated how many glasses added up to my rent. Bella closed her eyes, moaning in satisfaction. I’ll admit that it tasted good . . . I mean, it must have been impressive to a refined palate. But I’m not going to pretend to know what set it apart from others. I didn’t want to appear unimpressed, so I too let out a sigh of satisfaction. A waiter brought a lovely silver double-tiered tray laden with an assortment of oysters to the table. They were displayed all curved in the same direction, creating a giant swirl. I shook my head, reminding myself to take a mental picture. I had flown to London via private plane with the most famous woman in the world. I was staying in a penthouse that looked like a Salvador Dalì painting come to life, sipping thousand-dollar champagne and slurping oysters that weren’t even on the menu. Unreal.

  A man’s thick Italian accent bellowed from above. “Bayla, my beautiful friend. So good to see you! But in another designer’s clothes, is not so nice . . .” Bella shifted around to see whose hands were resting on her shoulders. “Roberto!” She darted up and they air-kissed three times. “Please, join us!”

  “No, dahling . . . I’m afraid I’ve had too much. Please, enjoy . . .”

  “Roberto, meet my very good friend Lucy Butler. She’s a fabulous photographer.”

  “It’s an honor to meet you!” I stood up, offering my hand for a handshake. Roberto gently held my hand and kissed each of my cheeks three times. I blushed and smiled. He had tight tanned skin and a charming smile. His fashionable charcoal suit highlighted his long, manicured gray hair. Taking both of our hands, he said, “You must come with me to Paris tonight. I’m having a party and it wouldn’t be right without you!” We giggled while Bella took his hand into both of hers. She knew how to amp up the charm as well and I was taking notes.

  “I can’t go to Paris tonight! I have to be here in the morning.”

  “I will have you returned in time for your work. There isn’t a reason to say no!”

  Bella and I looked at each other and grinned. She bit her lip and gave me a look that said, Why not?

  Roberto raised his arms and stepped back. “Ahh! Bellissimo! I insist you wear my new line and nothing else! You both are ready for dressing at eight o’clock, yes?”

  Bella clasped her hands together, exclaiming, “Yes!”

  Roberto kissed both his hands and threw them out, calling as he left, “Ciao, Bayla! Ciao, Lucy!” I considered myself to be the luckiest girl in the world. I tried not to let the fact that I couldn’t tell Julie what had just happened dim my excitement.

  chapter twenty-two

  One of Us

  Immediately upon returning to the suite we prepared for our impromptu trip to Paris. I poured a miniature bottle of Molton Brown bath gel into the filled bathtub and sank in. I wondered what my parents were doing back in Seattle. We had played phone tag for long enough and it was time to come clean.

  “Hello?” my father answered the phone.

  “Hi, Dad!”

  “Hey, Luce! Here, wait a sec . . . Renee! Lucy’s on the phone!”

  My mother picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hey guys! Sorry that I haven’t called you lately but I’ve been dealing with a lot. I have a few things to tell you. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” I was treading softly.

  “How about the truth?” my mom rightfully requested.

  I took a deep breath and exhaled. “I no longer work for Stefano.” I heard her softly gasp. “I wasn’t fired—I quit. As you know, it wasn’t the job that I had hoped for. There’s more to it but I don’t want to dwell on the negative, so I’ll leave it at that.” Neither of them said anything. I thought maybe we were disconnected. “Hello?”

  My dad moved the conversation along. “And the good news?”

  “I am calling you from London! Bella hired me! I’m going to get to travel with her everywhere and we have this really awesome idea we’re working on for a project . . .” I couldn’t wait to tell them!

  “Excuse me?” My mother sounded livid. I thought for sure she would agree it was pretty amazing and glamorous. “What about finding work since quitting your supposed dream job?” Did she not hear me? London! With Isabella! “We supported you through school so that you could become a photographer—or at least work for another photographer . . . How could you think this is an acceptable alternative?”

  “Mom, you don’t understand! I am going to continue my photography! We are here putting together this project . . .”

  She kept going. “You’re just going to give up everything that we’ve all worked for to babysit some train-wreck slut in Europe—that’s great, Lucy.” She must have been referring to a recent article about Bella in Star magazine. It labeled her an alcoholic and accused her of sleeping with anyone and everyone, which obviously wasn’t true.

  “No, Mom. You don’t understand . . . Dad, help me out here? I’m here to work as a photographer, for Bella!”

  My dad didn’t say anything.

  “So now you don’t want to work in photography?” my mom questioned. She wasn’t even listening!

  “No, listen to me. I—” I was about to explain everything. That I was going to be finally taking the pictures and on the right path—a far better path.

  “Lucy, I have to go to work,” my dad cut me off. I remembered that it was early in the morning there.

  “Some of us actually work,” my mom verbally stabbed me.

  “Fine.” I catapulted my cell phone across the floor. Bella stopped the phone with her pointed toe. I was very embarrassed that she had witnessed my childlike meltdown.

  Bella sauntered into the bathroom wearing a blue lace bra and matching panties. “Parents?”

  “Yeah . . .” I stared into the bubbles.

  “Mine never approved, either.” Bella stood tall, scrutinizing herself in the mirror, pinching at skin on her waist and inner thighs. She sat on the edge of the tub and put her legs into the water. “But, look how things turned out for me! They’ll come around. And if they don’t, screw ’em!” She blew a handful of bubbles into my face, attempting to lighten my mood. The doorbell chimed. “Yes!” Bella cried out, springing into the foyer.

  I patted myself dry with a towel and wrapped a snug white robe around my pink cotton bra and panty set. Bella, comfortable in just her underwear, answered the door and found Roberto and two of his assistants. Unfazed at her scanty attire, she invited them in. They trailed in, wheeling a rack of dazzling dresses behind them. Isabella flung off her bra, holding both breasts in one arm while sliding the hangers with the other arm to examine the dresses. “Oh . . . Roberto . . . They are all so beautiful!”

  “Yes. This one is the one for you, Bayla,” he said, pulling out a glittering fuchsia satin dress. Bella gasped, reaching out to touch the buttery fabric. The assistants rushed over to zip Bella into the gorgeous gown. It was held up by a gold snake chain that wrapped around Bella’s neck. The dress hugged every luscious curve and enhanced her breasts to perfection. She rushed to the mirror, gushing, “This is brilliant! I love it!” before running back to Roberto, kissing him on the cheek. I timidly watched from the hall. Roberto held his hand out to me. “Come! Your turn now!” I clutched my robe as I entered the living room. Bella pointed out, “She has amazing legs! Show him, Luce!” I reluctantly untied my robe, modestly opening it just enough so they could get an idea of my figure. I was shocked when one of the assistants snatched the robe from behind me and tossed it aside. I was nearly naked! I bit my lip, silently praying they would all look away. I fully covered my chest with both arms. Roberto pulled out a ruffled, off-the-shoulder spotted frock. I turned my back to everyone, raising my arms so t
he assistants could professionally pull it over my head. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and loved what I saw.

  “Thank you so much!” I kissed the icon just like Bella had. Patting one of the assistants on his back, Roberto headed for the door. “I’ll see you downstairs in thirty minutes, yes?” Both Bella and I responded gleefully, “Yes!”

  We finished getting ready in Bella’s bathroom. She removed luscious blonde locks from a velvet case. One by one, she clipped the pre-curled pieces in with her own hair. “Voila!” So that’s how she does it, I observed. I loosely braided my own and twisted it up into an invented updo. It was the best I could do with what I had. As we applied our makeup, I watched Bella carefully for tips to use on myself.

  Bella expertly lined her pout with a pencil as she spoke. “You’re bringing the camera tonight, right?” Obviously!

  Bella cloaked herself in a white mink coat, loaning her black one to me. As promised, Roberto was in the lobby. He was impeccably dressed in a black suit and vibrant fuchsia satin tie. He and Bella looked like the prom king and queen. We stepped into his chauffeured Rolls-Royce and were promptly driven to a nearby airport.

  A small black single-engine prop glistened under the moon. Bella and I staged a shot before taking off. She wanted a glamorous image of her stepping into the small plane. She slid the mink coat off her shoulder and posed in the door, kicking one leg out. To me, it mimicked a cliché Guess ad from the Anna Nicole Smith days. It looked very staged. I knew that she wanted it to look like she was getting into her plane, appearing so rich and decadent. I understood what she was going for, but it wasn’t really my favored style. I hoped that she’d allow for some candid, more journalistic shots along the way too.

  We were in Paris less than two hours later. We arrived at Le Blanc, a trendy Parisian hot spot Roberto had rented for about a hundred of his closest friends. As we entered the club, I spotted Madonna, Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney, among others. Ashley Olsen, Presley Dalton, and Jessica Amore lounged on a sofa. Steven Tyler and his daughter, Liv, were also at a nearby booth. When Roberto and Isabella walked in, the entire room rose and cheered. I followed behind the duo and quickly got lost in the chaotic scene. I immediately thought of Julie and how starstruck she would be if she was here. I missed her. Presley spotted me and called out my name.