Lily laughed. ‘If it is any consolation, you were at the top. Will you do it?’
Spend the night straining my eyesight sewing on sequins or rubbing shoulders with film stars? ‘I’ll just check with my social secretary, put off Taylor Lautner till Tuesday, move Robert Pattinson to next week, but it looks as though I’m free.’
‘Thank you. I’ll just sort things out with the signora and we’ll go get you dressed.’
I looked down at my jeans and jumper combo. ‘You mean I can’t go like this?’
‘Just you wait, Crystal Brook, I’ve got something special in mind for you.’
‘I can’t be seen like this!’ I hissed to Lily as we waited for Steve and James outside the Fenice Theatre. The white-pillared entrance loomed above us like an entrance to Olympus; it was guarded by a phoenix, which hung, carved and freshly gold tinted, over the flight of stairs. The organizers had staged this evening’s art exhibition in the sumptuous foyer of the opera house and I could already see the brightly-coloured evening dresses of the ladies mingling with the black tie suits of the men. White jacketed waiters wound between the groups of art lovers offering delicate nibbles and flutes of champagne. They were the gods of the international social scene; I was one very unimportant human interloper and we all knew what happened when mortals messed with deities. I tugged the hem of my outfit lower—it was mid thigh and I was not used to displaying so much leg. ‘I’m not dressed for that crowd.’
Lily glanced at the guests and sniffed. ‘Not a scintilla of fashion taste among them. Those dresses have been in their wardrobes for years. Classic, classic, classic, yawn, yawn, yawn. You, girlfriend, are wearing a signature piece from Julien Macdonald’s latest collection, London Fashion Week’s star turn.’
‘I am not wearing a signature anything because I am wearing not very much!’ The hem finished at the top of my leg before it barely got started. The V front and back meant not very much material had been used in the bodice either. The only place there was any coverage was in the floaty train that billowed from the back which was what made it qualify as evening wear.
‘You look lovely in cream and gold. You know, the embroidery on that alone costs more than the average family car.’
‘Oh God. Lily: I order you to keep me away from the red wine.’
‘Just be careful. Julien was more than happy to lend it to me as he knew that he’d get some nice shots in tomorrow’s press but I did promise to get it back to him in the same condition in which I received it.’
‘This is such a bad idea.’ If Lily hadn’t been holding on to my arm, I would have picked up the train of my skirt and run for it—high-heeled gold boots notwithstanding—a Cinderella who bottled out before the ball.
My little panic attack amused Lily but she did not make the mistake of letting go. ‘You can’t change your mind now. Just think of the negative press for Steve if he gets stood up.’
‘How on earth would they know?’
Lily rolled her eyes at my naivety. ‘Because they have been tipped off that they can get a shot of him leaving the party at around ten with his date. These things are not spontaneous, you know.’
Two men stepped out of the street running down the side of the church opposite the opera house. One short and fat, the other medium height and slim: our dates had just arrived. Steve’s burly minder closely followed them.
‘Quickly now: Steve won’t want to hang around outside in case any press have come early. Candid shots never look good.’ Lily tugged my arm and we fell in behind the director and his star, through the glass doors and into the foyer. Cloakroom attendants were on hand to take our wraps and coats. Only then did Steve relax and greet us.
‘Hey, Lily, you’re looking amazing!’ He kissed the wardrobe mistress on the cheek twice.
I had to bite down on a scream: I was in the same room as my hero. I was HIS DATE!!!!!
James gave us both a hug. ‘Hi, Crystal. Feeling up to this?’
I gave him a weak smile.
Lily brushed a loose thread off the film star’s lapel. ‘Like the jacket, Steve. Tom Ford?’
‘Yes. It’s one of my favourites.’ Steve turned to me.
Deep breaths, Crystal. Don’t disgrace yourself.
‘Hi, you must be Crystal. Thanks so much for agreeing to this madness tonight.’ He leant forward and gave me two kisses as he had Lily. ‘Love the dress.’
‘Thanks,’ I squeaked.
He gave me an understanding look. I imagine any normal girl must act really strangely around him so this was not the first time he had reduced someone to a blithering idiot.
‘Here’s the deal, Crystal: this whole gig is in honour of a friend of mine, so we sip champagne, say “hi” to a few folks, support the cause, then we split.’ He rubbed his hands in a workmanlike fashion. ‘I’ve got a heavy poker night lined up with the guys from the crew back at the hotel, so I want to leave in about an hour. Is that OK with you, Crystal?’
Not very flattering but I was hardly going to demand his undivided attention all evening.
‘No problem.’
‘Great. Let’s go mingle.’ He offered me his arm, which I took. I hoped he couldn’t tell that I was shaking in my four-inch heel boots. Fortunately he seemed unfazed by the fact that I towered over him. ‘So, tell me about yourself. Lily said you were an extra for the movie?’ He checked his reflection in the wall mirror as we passed.
‘Yes.’
‘So, do you want to be an actress?’
That was so far from being my ambition, I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘No way!’
He gave me a quick grin, almost making me swallow my tongue as I got a blast of his cobalt eyes. His onscreen charisma was even more obvious in real life. ‘I’m getting to like you more and more. Wannabe actresses are a pain in the butt and I meet far too many of them. What do you do?’
‘I make carnival costumes—you know, like the masks and robes we were wearing at the weekend. It’s a Venice tradition.’
‘Hey, now that’s really interesting.’ He patted my hand in what I couldn’t help but think a patronizing gesture—well done, the little people. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date with someone who makes things. People who make scenes, sure; but not useful things like costumes. Dating a talented craftswoman shows I’ve got hidden depths, doesn’t it?’ He winked to undercut the egocentric nature of the comment but I guessed he probably meant it. He guided me into the crowd smoothly, people turning to look as he joined them: sunflowers following the sun. Not betraying that he had noticed how they reacted, Steve took me straight to the artist whose work we were supposed to be appreciating. I had not had a moment to see what pieces were being exhibited. I brushed past a tortured clown sculpture as we cut our way through the gathering and glimpsed a ravaged ballerina on one paint-splattered canvas so I hazarded a guess that the exhibition had a theatrical theme.
Steve thrust his hand out to a diminutive man dressed in peacock blue. ‘Hey, Sebastian, great show you’ve got here.’ Not that he’d seen it.
‘Oh, Steve, you made it!’ The artist fluttered in a nervous little circle, his flute of champagne slopping over his fingers as he switched hands to shake Steve’s palm. I retreated a step, mindful of my dress. ‘How perfectly darling of you!’
‘I wouldn’t miss it. Allow me to introduce you to my friend here—Crystal … um … Crystal.’ A blush stole over my cheeks. Steve didn’t know—or had forgotten—my surname. ‘She’s a Venetian fashion designer.’
I was a what?
Sebastian Perry (as I now worked out he was called thanks to the brochure another guest was clutching) kissed me as if we were old friends. ‘Crystal, lovely to meet you. Which label do you work for?’
I couldn’t carry off pretending to be something I wasn’t even if this was the usual modus operandi for Steve. ‘I think you’ve misunderstood, Mr Perry. I work for a Venetian costume maker—carnival costumes.’
‘Mr Perry!’ The artist tittered. ‘Your manners are impecc
able, darling, but do call me Sebastian or I’ll feel about a hundred years old.’ Some of his show-nerves dissipated and he winked at Steve flirtatiously. ‘I can see why you chose this one: she’s a poppet.’ That was the very first (and possibly last) time anyone a foot shorter than me had called me a poppet; I warmed to him immediately. ‘But, Crystal, I am intrigued to hear more about what you do. Traditional theatrical skills such as mask making are very close to my heart.’ He flicked his fingers towards another canvas of what looked at a distance like a heap of massacred carnival participants.
But Steve was already pulling me away. ‘Later, Sebastian. I must go and drum up some buyers for you.’
‘Do that, sweetie, and I’ll be ever in your debt!’
Steve was already on the move. I glanced back and saw the artist jokily patting his heart for the benefit of his little circle. I know how he felt: Steve was all action man, enough to make anyone’s pulse race.
‘How do you know Sebastian?’ I asked, accepting the glass of sparkling water Steve snagged from a tray.
Steve’s eyes were roving the room, working the angles for his press profile. ‘Oh, how do I know anyone? Bumped into him at a gig like this—bought a couple of his canvases as my financial adviser said they’d increase in value.’
From what was on display, I decided that I liked the artist more than I liked his work. ‘Where have you hung them?’ I was struggling to imagine my little apartment with one of these nightmarish pictures on the wall. I’d only just taken down my Twilight poster and had moved on to Monet.
‘Oh, they’re in a vault somewhere. I don’t have a home right now—just a rented house and a few staff to keep things ticking over. I spend most of my time working. My personal assistant has got very, very good at packing suitcases for me. Hey, Mary, long time!’ And he was off on his second encounter for the evening: this lady turned out to be a reporter for the New York Times. I hung on at the edge of the Steve show, finding the position very familiar. Had it not been a bit like that for me with Diamond in Savant circles? The idea of making a name for myself had never seemed more attractive. I’d far prefer to be the one people queued up to talk to, rather than the afterthought tacked on to the evening to buff up his image. Steve wasn’t an unpleasant companion—far from it—but once I’d got over my breathless hero-worship I realized that he just wasn’t that interested in me or anything beyond his career. Why should he be? This whole evening fell under the ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’ category.
I began to have wild thoughts. I was a hanger-on now but I wasn’t powerless; if I felt really bitchy, I could scupper his little publicity voyage if I so wished. I imagined turning to the next journalist and saying ‘Hi, I’m Crystal. Do you know Steve likes to kick puppies and flushed his sister’s gerbil down the loo when he was ten?’ It wouldn’t be true but he’d have to spend the next week living the rumour down.
And I’d be sued.
Yeah, well, I wasn’t actually going to say anything so stupid; I was just enjoying the sensation of flirting with the edge of the abyss. Xav would get the joke. I’d never look at another edition of a gossip magazine with a ‘girlfriend’ clutching the arm of a celebrity without wondering if she was contemplating kamikaze tactics just to get real.
Pausing in his conversation with the local mayor, Steve glanced at his watch—one of those fancy kinds that retail for thousands. My gold(ish) bracelet one sells for twenty euros; I wonder if this crowd would recognize the difference? Probably had nannies that trained them in that sort of thing before they learned their alphabet. Steve gave a sigh and looped his arm around my shoulder. ‘Sorry, Mr Buccari, Crystal here has another party to go to and I promised I’d get her there on time.’
The mayor said something flattering and very Italian about beautiful girls being in demand.
‘I know—I have a hard time fending off all the other guys.’ Steve kissed the back of my hand, making it sound as though he and I were an item.
The mayor slanted a glance at me. ‘But you are Steve Hughes—you won’t have a problem keeping your girl. And if you do, there is no hope for the rest of us!’ The little group around the mayor laughed in appreciation of the quip.
I did my bit, hanging on Steve’s arm and looking suitably adoring. And I did still adore him a little, but only when I imagined him as the onscreen presence rather than the man beside me. What did that say about me? Shallow, anyone?
We returned to the cloakroom. Steve’s expression became very serious as he looked me up and down.
‘No coat and you’d better freshen up your lip-gloss.’
‘What?’
‘For the press pack, honey. This is what you came for, isn’t it?’
I suppose it had been but my feet were more than cold, they were ice cubes. Had I really thought this through? No. I’d let Lily bounce me into this as I chased a dream I wasn’t sure I wanted.
‘No coat? I’ll freeze.’
‘It’ll only be for a minute. My assistant will bring it along.’ He gestured to a young man waiting on a chair by the entrance who doubled as bodyguard. ‘John, bring Miss Crystal’s coat will you?’
‘My name is Brook, Crystal Brook.’
Steve was too busy checking the lie of his hair to listen, but his bodyguard had.
‘I’ll look after your coat for you, Miss Brook,’ he said giving me a kind smile.
‘Thanks, John.’ I leant closer, sensing an ally. ‘Does he do this kind of thing often?’
‘All the time, Miss. You’ll get used to it.’
I laughed and shook my head. ‘You won’t catch me freezing my butt off for publicity again. I’m just doing this for Lily.’
The bodyguard smiled again but I could tell he didn’t believe me. I suppose in the publicity hungry world of Los Angeles what I had just said was the equivalent of a habitual drunk promising to go teetotal.
‘Ready?’ Steve asked as I slipped my lip-gloss back in my little clutch bag.
‘As I’ll ever be.’
‘The press will want to know your name. I assume Lily has given it to my PA?’
Had she? I had no idea how this kind of thing worked. ‘I guess.’
Steve put his arm around me. ‘I’ll hustle you through. Smile and try to look as though we are good friends, OK?’
One more act in his life of acting—it was sad really.
‘Understood.’
We emerged from the privacy of the cloakroom and headed straight into the lightning storm of camera flashes.
‘Hey, Steve, how’s the movie going?’
‘Great, thanks, guys,’ Steve replied.
‘Crystal, Crystal, look this way, love!’
Caught off guard, I turned my head towards the shout. They already knew who I was. I imagine I looked like a startled rabbit.
Smile, you twit, I told myself.
The press mobbed us. My name ricocheted from all directions like pinballs. Now Steve’s arm was genuinely reassuring.
‘Give the girl room to breathe!’ he joked.
‘Steve, what did Jillian say when she heard about your new relationship?’ called another reporter.
Steve shrugged. ‘Why don’t you ask her? Look, guys, Crystal and I have places to go, people to see.’
‘Crystal, what’s this rumour about your career as a page three model?’
What!
‘Are you really fifteen?’
Oh God.
‘Ignore them,’ whispered Steve, his grip on my arm tightening in his anger. ‘They’re fishing for a story. John, take note of who asked those asinine questions and cut them from our list.’
Then, jostled by the scrum, someone trod on my floaty train and I felt a rip—and it wasn’t stopping.
‘John! Coat!’ I begged, clapping my left hand to my rear.
Steve did not pause. ‘Keep going—almost through.’
I’d had enough of this master/servant relationship. Anger made my hero-worship go pop. ‘Steve Hughes, unless you want my un
derwear on display on the news-stands tomorrow morning, we are stopping!’ I ducked out from under his arm and grabbed the coat John was hurrying to wrap me in—he at least had had an eyeful of the problem. I whipped it around my shoulders, making sure it flicked a few of the most persistent reporters in the face. ‘There. Now we can go.’
I stomped away, head held high. It took a split second for Steve to realize I was on the move. He hurried to catch me up, caught my arm and swung me round.
‘You were magnificent, darling,’ he said loudly, then planted a kiss on my lips. He nuzzled my ear. ‘Now they’ll have to choose between putting that or your superior rear on the front page.’
I relaxed in his hold. He wasn’t making an ill-timed move on me but trying to help.
‘Thanks,’ I whispered.
‘Don’t mention it.’ He patted the back of my coat over the offending rip. ‘You needn’t worry—either will be very flattering.’
Back in the safety of my bedroom by ten thirty, I heard Xav, Diamond, and Trace return half an hour later. I’d already confessed my wardrobe mishap to Lily who said it wouldn’t matter as long as the photos mentioned the dress that had almost been ripped off me. She thought the whole Steve/dress ripping thing might be thought very sexy and help shift a few couture items for the designer.
It had felt far from sexy to me—more like feeding time at the zoo with me as the hunk of meat. If I could magically blank out all the digital shots including me, I would have cast my spell. I knew though that it was far too late and already the images would be syndicating around the world. I’d done a search on the Internet—so far nothing—but it wouldn’t be long. I’d consoled myself with looking up other wardrobe failures of the rich and famous—and there are a few far more embarrassing ones out there.
Diamond stuck her head round my door. I was tucked up in bed wearing my PJs. ‘Hi, Crystal.’
I slammed the laptop closed. ‘How was your day?’
‘Oh, it went well thanks. Peace and harmony restored.’
Seeking Crystal Page 9
