Younger Thinner Blonder

by Sue Watson

  “Ha! I’m not fucking psychic!”

  “I’m not suggesting you are. But I think the least you can do is let me know what’s happening and when, so I can be prepared.”

  “Hey, I’ll do what I can but it’s always a ride. Last year a sex-change footballer turned up in drag; I thought I’d dropped acid. They was all well surprised. I pissed myself laughin’!”

  “Oh, I imagine that was nice, you laughing and pissing at him!” I said crossly, holding my ostrich-leather Prada tote (with detachable shoulder-strap) tight to my chest as we bumped along the appalling roads. “Well, you’re going to be very disappointed this year if you think I’m going to drag up, piss myself or drop acid,” I said, grandly.

  “You won’t be disappointin’, Tan,” said Paul with a grin. “You are one hilarious chick. No shit. I saw that video you tweeted of your arse. Bloody funny...and it’s not a bad arse for an old lady, if you know what I mean,” he nudged me. I clenched my buttocks and clutched my Prada.

  Astrid giggled. I held my breath, waiting for her unadulterated thoughts on the condition of my arse but she seemed quite dumbstruck by Paul. I’d never known her so quiet – I just wished she would aim a little higher than the bloody runner.

  “But the gate? Tanya, when you got up on that gate...there’s nothing you won’t do to get yer picture in The Sun...” he continued, shaking his head at what he considered to be my sheer desperation for publicity.

  “I didn’t climb the gate to get my picture in the papers, for God’s sake!” I spat. “I couldn’t find the key to the power box and...I... Oh, what’s the use in explaining?”

  “’Gate-gate got you LOADS of followers on Twitter... then you lost it on your show. Jeez.” He started pressing buttons on his phone to find it. “What a laugh, the funniest I’ve ever eyeballed...have you eyeballed it on You Tube?”

  “I don’t need to. I was there.”

  “It went fucking viral, didn’t it?”

  “Did it?” I said, feigning indifference. “I don’t really do social networking. My assistant Georgina used to do it for me. I still don’t know how to put anything on to the YouTube,” I sighed, picking at a bit of errant fluff on my white linen cruise trousers.

  “Yeah? No shit. And now she’s got your show, she’s the star? I reckon you was unlucky...whoa, here you go...” he giggled, and passed his phone to Astrid in the front seat so she might once more enjoy the spectacle of me straddling a gate and yelling abuse at the top of my voice .. When they’d passed the phone back and forth and both watched it a couple of times and had a good old laugh we all sat in silence. The car continued to bump along and the journey was beginning to feel like a fairground ride. I gripped Paul’s arm as our brakes screeched in front of a cow wandering in the middle of the road. Taxi drivers were bleeping their horns and people were hanging out of their fume-sputtering rickshaws.

  “When I saw you was on the list, I thought you might bring your fella,” Paul said, looking across for my reaction.

  “Nathan? Well it may have escaped your notice, but it’s called CELEBRITY Spa Trek – and he’s not a celebrity, is he?” I snapped.

  “Yeah, he is. Nathan Wells is a legend... Ten women in one night? He’ll be on Celebrity Big Brother next year.”

  “It was nine actually,” I hissed, like one less made a difference. “Don’t believe what the papers say. Nathan isn’t a sex addict, whatever The Daily Star are saying... I want you to make that clear to everyone, the rest of the celebrities and the viewers. Is that clear?”

  He looked vacant, which was nothing new.

  “Have you been making notes Paul?”

  “No.”

  “Then find a notepad and pen please.”

  “OK.”

  I took a sly, sideways glimpse. He was pierced in places I didn’t know he could be and covered in tattoos. TV had certainly gone downhill since I first started in the early 90’s. This young man had been employed to look after celebrities, the least he could do was take out his body jewellery and comb his bloody hair! I heard my mother’s voice saying just that and felt very old.

  TWEET: @TanyaTruth: Just arrived in beautiful Nepal. So happy 2 be here at last. Can’t wait 2 get 2 spa #CelebritySpaTrek #Kathmandu

  14

  Hog Plums at the Yak and Yeti

  “Please don’t beat me, Tanya Travis,” joked Tiffany, the ‘hilarious’ twenty-something researcher who greeted me at the hotel’s reception while holding a clipboard to her face like a shield in mock fear.

  “Is there someone to carry my bags?” I asked, ignoring her comments.

  “Yes, but you have just one night of luxury tonight so make the most of it, my lovely.” She said, handing me my keys.

  “Good. I’m tired after the flight.”

  “Oh, you can’t go to bed yet, Tanya. As soon as you have unpacked you have to come straight back down here. There’s a press launch in an hour, so we want you bright eyed and bushy tailed asap. You are meeting the rest of the celebrities tonight and it’s all gonna be filmed. So no sneaking off to bed early, sweetheart.”

  I smiled, while resisting an almost uncontrollable desire to smack her in the face. I gripped my tote so I didn’t give in to my violent urges. “Thank you, Tiffany,” I said. “Come along, Astrid.” And with that, we moved at a dignified pace towards the lobby lifts.

  The strangely-named hotel, The Yak and Yeti, was in fact rather spectacular and five-star. I felt a deep sense of loss as I admired the palm frond and fountain-filled atrium and remembered that I only had one night there. All cool, white marble and sweeping staircases, there was a strong sense of Nepal’s cultural heritage in the grand décor and paintings of old royals. Astrid was clearly captivated by the faded elegance and gilded glamour of it all.

  “Ooh Tanya, I want to always be having your PA job. This is fucking hot stuff!” She twirled around as I staggered along with the cases. I clicked my fingers to attract a porter but they all seemed to have the same attitude problem as Paul, sauntering towards us lethargically, shaking their heads from side to side and smiling blandly. We eventually arrived upstairs, where Astrid and I had rooms next to each other. I was escorted into mine, the ‘Shangri-La’ room; it had a fresh feel and was pale in the lamplight, with big, bulky wooden furniture. I wondered if this was the best room available; I hoped none of the other celebs had a better room than me. A welcome drink tray lay on the side near the huge TV cabinet and I gratefully picked up the cool jug and poured myself some of the drink, which tasted like rhubarb smoothie but I later learned was in fact Nepalise Hog Plum Smoothie bright greenish yellow, slightly tart and quite delicious.

  There was a knock on the door and when I answered it, Astrid stood there, all excited. “Shall I come and do the make-up in your room Tanya? This is big launch with celebrity, we need to look sexy hot, yes?” I had been looking forward to at least half an hour of peace, but this was all new to Astrid and I thought I should really help her.

  “Yes, alright Astrid, give me ten minutes for a shower and then knock,” I said, magnanimously.

  Ten and a half minutes later, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to see Astrid in a very tight white dress with a huge blue flower in her hair. A matching bloom was pinned to her chest and I looked down to see that the dress barely covered her rounded knees.

  “I come to do your make-up. I bring my best dress, Tanya,” she smiled, so pleased with her outfit.

  I couldn’t let her go downstairs looking like that.

  “Oh I’m sorry Astrid, I didn’t tell you but I think tonight, it’s long dresses only,” I lied.

  “Oh, what the shit? I will look like a dildo...”

  Literally, I thought.

  “I know, I know. I should have told you. I forgot.”

  “Tanya, no problem. I have very long nightie – no-one will know.” She was about to turn round and go back to her room to put on her nightwear, when I grabbed her by the arm.

  “No. No, Astrid. I have the perfect dress, yo
u can borrow it.”

  I pulled her into the room, shut the door and began rummaging in my case. I soon found what I was looking for, a loosely-fitted, dark blue evening dress I’d brought with me for my ‘fat days.’ I threw it at Astrid and within seconds she had taken hers off and was squeezing her ample hips into the now-tight blue satin.

  “Fuck me, Tanya, it’s tight on my tits,” she smiled.

  “Yes it is,” I said, slightly enviously; “but as long as you don’t breathe, you’ll be fine.” I gently pulled the flower from her hair and re-arranged the long blonde mane, which – with a little TLC – was quite pretty. I stood back and admired my creation; Astrid didn’t look half bad.

  “Come on, let me do your make-up,” I said, patting the stool by the dressing table.

  “But Tanya, I am your PA. You don’t do my face... I do yours.”

  “Yes, but I’ve seen what you do with blusher and it’s not Halloween. I’d say it’s in both our interests that I make up our faces tonight.”

  By the time we arrived downstairs, Astrid looked like a young, very voluptuous Britt Ekland. In contrast, I had rushed my Audrey Hepburn eye make-up and as I was also feeling a little queasy. I felt less ‘50’s-film-star gamine glamour’, more ‘heroin-chic’.

  I felt a flutter of nerves when we got downstairs. Tiff saw me and reached out her arms to hug me, but on seeing my face thankfully thought better of it. I wasn’t in the mood to be lolloped over by an exuberant teen researcher and she knew it.

  “Welcome, Tanya,” she smiled, walking me towards a small room. “This is your ‘holding area’. You will hang out here until it’s time for you to meet the other celebrities. You’ll see lights outside, in the courtyard area and that’s where the introductions will happen. Go and get a drink and I’ll give you a shout when it’s your turn.”

  “Thank you, Tiffany.”

  “Oh and one other thing, Tanya. You need to surrender any phones, Blackberrys, smart phones et cetera to me.”

  “Sorry – what?” I said in horror.

  “Well, this show relies on the element of surprise. So no connection with the outside world once you are there!” she said brightly.

  I digested this piece of horrifying information, thanked her and turned towards the room. Anyway, there’s nothing like a bit of sheer decadence to take a girl’s mind off things and I soon forgot about mobile phones on entering the ‘Dynasty Crystal Room’, where I felt right at home. Perhaps the experience wasn’t going to be so bad after all? The room was a study in old-fashioned opulence: all linen cloths, glittering chandeliers and antique mirrors. If only I could spend the next ten days here, I thought. I couldn’t enjoy it for long, though, as I felt a sudden jolt of nausea and made a quick detour into the toilets directly to my left. I leant over the sink, breathing hard.

  “Hey Tanya Travis,” I heard, and turned to see a curtain of blonde hair disappearing into a cubicle with a giggle. I knew that voice, but couldn’t quite place it. I counted to 40, waiting for the rustle of toilet paper, the sound of the flush and the cubicle door opening, the click of heels, then…

  “I’m not a ghost, Tanya. It’s me.”

  “Oh my God! I didn’t recognise you...the hair. You’re blonder... Cindi,” I gasped to CC Starr, who began shushing her hair and smiling into the mirror.

  Blonde, beautiful CC had once been my pink-haired assistant on The Tanya Travis Show. It didn’t go so well as Cindi’s laid-back attitude and inability to understand simple instructions combined with a total lack of IT knowledge brought with it too many problems. After a very short time, Cindi was moved to ‘special projects’ and Georgina stepped in as my new assistant.

  I looked at CC Starr and marvelled at the transformation from flaky, unsophisticated twenty-something to Page 3 blonde. I suddenly remembered reading somewhere that CC Starr’s ascent to fame was due to her ‘association’ with a well-known boy band. All of them. At the same time. Apparently, she was feeling energetic one evening and having met them all in a hotel bar decided to enjoy each and every one of them. The six-some had been filmed and then, as happens these days, was soon posted on the Internet. The CC Starr Sex Tape had been enjoyed at home, online, Facebooked, tweeted, re-tweeted and Youtubed through cyberspace. She had been on her way up, but it was only when CC bagged a Premier League footballer that her celebrity status was confirmed forever and ever amen.

  Our eyes met in the bathroom mirror. Cindi was watching me, watching her.

  “Didn’t you know it was me?” she said, shocked.

  “No. I had heard about the...erm…online, boy-band...incident? But I didn’t realise you were CC Starr... You look so different.”

  “Yeah, management made me have a makeover and as I’m Cindi Charlotte, CC is now my stage name. Well, my sex-tape name,” she giggled.

  “Of course,” I said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to make a sex-tape and use your initials to market it.

  “I bet you’re surprised to see me here, aren’t you?” she went on. “Just think, this time two years ago I was your assistant and now I’m a big celebrity... Isn’t it funny?”

  “Hilarious.”

  I looked at the long hair, the tan, the high heels – the complete transformation. Funny, flaky little Cindi had reinvented herself and was riding high, while I was on my way down.

  “You OK, Tan?” she asked as I leant against the sink, trying to get my breath back. I nodded.

  “I hope this trip sorts out – stuff for you... after losing your show and that,” she started, while washing her hands.

  “Oh, it was time to move on.” I smiled with gritted teeth, turning the hot tap on full.

  “Yeah, sometimes the maddest stuff turns out to be the answer. I was totally lost,” she said, gazing ahead, twisting her hair extensions round her fingers to give them life. “The sex-tape saved me, really. Once it was out there in the Twittersphere, an agent called me and booked all these deals with the lads’ mags. Then I signed up with a management company who put me in reality shows. Then I went out with Mike, you know, Mike Chilcott, the footballer? Anyway, that didn’t work out so I am now single and ready for the spa!” she said.

  “Great,” I said, with a big fake smile.

  “How’s Nathan?” she asked suddenly. “He’s got his sex addiction now, hasn’t he?” she said, like his ‘sex addiction’ was a newly acquired possession he carried under his arm at all times; his own, little toilet bag of ‘sex addiction.’

  “He’s not... He never...” I stuttered. The soap had run out, so I moved to the next sink. “I mean, it’s not true, any of it.” I said, trying to make light of the situation. “If you believe everything you read, Nathan had sex with half of Manchester!”

  “He did, didn’t he?”

  “No Cindi. According to the papers, he did – and you and I both know that what the papers print and what is true are two different things.” I said, irritated.

  “No. Honest Tanya, it’s true. He’s a right one. I know some of the girls who...”

  “I don’t mean to be rude but it’s not really any of your business, Cindi,” I said curtly, stopping her mid-sentence. I didn’t want to hear any more. “And anyway, the papers exaggerate. I mean, how many boy-band members did they say you took in one sitting? Six? Surely that’s not physically...”

  “Ooh Tanya, you are funny – one sitting? Ha! Yeah, course it’s true, the papers were spot on, six in one ‘sitting’.” She giggled to herself, shaking her head at my comedy gem, then concentrating hard on the serious stuff of applying thick, sticky lip-gloss and pouting at the mirror.

  “My mate was a sex addict,” she said, returning to subject and screwing the lip-gloss lid back on. I concentrated on washing my hands, hoping she’d get the hint that it wasn’t a conversation I was keen to dwell on.

  “Oh, my life! His girlfriend went through it. All night, every night, Tan...on all fours, over the kitchen units, up the back of...”

  “Nathan’s not like that. Can
we please move on, Cindi?” I said in my best, regal Tanya Travis voice, trying to hold it together.

  She turned and peered at me through flapping false lashes.

  “Is it off then?”

  “What?”

  “You know, the fairytale, vintage, country-house wedding with Vera Wang dress and tiered, bridal fairy-cakes made by hand by Stella Weston at The Cake Fairy? I saw it in Hello!”

  “I don’t know,” I sighed, sadness sweeping over me like a wedding veil. I stopped washing and gripped the sink.

  “Aw...and the honeymoon on Richard Branson’s Island...is that off too?”

  I shrugged.

  “Ah, that’s a shame... That’s really sad that is – I’d love to go there.”

  I looked at her in silence as she made the final titivations to her already-perfect face. I stared at my own reflection, lines, too much black eye make-up and a few stubborn greys at the roots of my honey-caramel bob. Cindi put her cosmetics away and stared at me.

  “Tan.”

  “What?” I said curtly.

  “Here.” She offered me a wad of paper towels.

  “My hands are dry, thanks” I snapped.

  “I know, Tan. It’s just... Well, it’s just that they’re bleeding.”

  I quickly looked down at my hands, red and cracked. They were indeed bleeding. “I have eczema,” I said. “You worked for me, you should remember that, yes?”

  She smiled kindly.

  “OK, Tan. Well, let’s get out there, shall we? I am dying to know who else is on the show!”

  She teetered out of the ladies’ on very high heels, her blonde hair swishing and her tiny hips wiggling as she walked. The door closed softly behind me and I took a deep breath. I am Tanya Travis, I thought to myself. I have faced addicts, abusers, cheaters and liars. How hard could it be to hang out with celebrities like me for twelve days? I am Tanya Travis, and I can do this. I stepped quickly into the corridor and walked purposefully towards the holding room.