Younger Thinner Blonder

by Sue Watson

  “Mmmm, just keep yourself to yourself, Astrid. We don’t want any problems with the press on this trip.”

  “None of the worries, Tanya. Paul is hot and delicious, even cuter than perfect Gok Wan, but I only see Paul at night... He tells me I can listen to music later, in his room.”

  “No, Astrid...” Oh, what was the point? And who was I to tell Astrid who she could and couldn’t sleep with. She couldn’t make any mistakes worse than I had.After all, it wasn’t like she didn’t know what she was doing, I still hadn’t discovered who she’d been secretly entertaining in her bedroom that afternoon. I decided to mingle and as Astrid was embarking on another lap of the buffet table, I approached Kara the celebrity lesbian.

  “Please don’t mention kangaroo penises,” was her opening gambit, palm in my face like a stop sign.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said. I assumed she was referring to her time in the Australian Outback on I’m a Celebrity…which clearly still haunted her.

  “Isn’t the plural of penis, peni, anyway?” I said.

  “Why can’t anyone let me forget?” she shovelled a large chapatti into her mouth.

  “I’m sure it all will be forgotten, eventually,” I lied, recalling the photos and forums hinting at bestiality – that would stay online for eternity. “Anyway, I watched it and thought you looked great.”

  “Thanks, do you really think so?”

  I nodded and she smiled – probably thinking I fancied her. I couldn’t decide whether she’d had dodgy Botox or was raising her eyebrows in a ‘come and get me’ way. My heart sank. I didn’t want her splayed across my Mark Wilkinson, in an attempt to surprise me when I got home. I continued to try and make small-talk and tried not to let my eyes wander, lest she thought I was admiring her Olympian bodywork.

  It may have been the thought of chewing on testicles or the remains of the hog plums still swirling around my guts but I decided to call it a night. I didn’t want a fuss and I didn’t need Astrid’s foul-mouthed farewells or observations from the buffet table, so I slipped off to my room. Once in bed my mind turned, as always, to Nathan. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t keep trying to contact him; he’d said he needed his space and I had to respect that. Nevertheless, I found my fingers dialling the international code and punching in his number. My heart was somewhere in my throat, lowering slightly as each ringtone continued until I had to face it: he wasn’t answering. Perhaps he was busy… Or asleep… Or something else?

  GOSSIPBITCH: A little bird tells me the air was thick with the smell of vomit at a recent celebrity bash in Nepal. Mmmm, so the rumours about a disgraced Daytime Diva being an alcoholic anorexic are all true?

  16

  Prime-time Pretty in Pokhara

  I woke the next morning with the sun streaming in through the window. Tiffany had told us to assemble in the lobby and I got ready quickly, though it took me a while to make a final decision on what to take. I had to be methodical and brutal in the packing process, as my lime and ivory leather quilted Moschino backpack was exquisite, but small.

  Arriving in the atrium I was early and enjoyed a few peaceful moments listening to the fountains and the low hubbub of the hotel coming to life.

  “Oh, darling. Darling! I am bereft of my baggage – some gorgeous boy offered to hump it for me...”

  “Here it is,” Cindi appeared. “That ‘gorgeous boy’ was about to run off with your stuff, Marcus. You should be more careful.”

  “Oh dear, you can’t trust anyone these days. Did we all sleep well?” Cindi and I nodded, as we were joined by Paul and Rex who both looked the worse for wear and clearly hadn’t slept at all.

  Jonny and Kara soon appeared and were chatting quite happily which was a relief to me: I’d worried that my mediating skills may have been required for those two. Once the whole cast was assembled, Tiffany eventually appeared with a piece of toast in one hand and a clipboard in the other, barking orders at us to get on the bus outside.

  We all trooped out and I was just boarding the bus when I heard Astrid’s dulcet tones. “Tanya you crazy cow... You nearly go without me saying the goodbyes!” She leaped on me, hugging me hard, only releasing me when I began flailing my arms in alarm to indicate difficulty breathing. I extricated myself from her bosom and she held me by the shoulders, looking at me and smiling. “I very proud to be your PA... You go and give them crap-balls, Tanya Travis.”

  For a moment I stood and looked at her beaming face and her genuine pride and thought I might cry. In all the horror of the past couple of weeks, Astrid had stood by me. She’d been there each morning with a cup of toxic tea, an expletive and a smile and each evening she’d be waiting, her box set of Doc Martin on standby; ‘because it gives you smiles and you such a miserable old bitch at the moments.’

  I hugged her back gratefully. “You’re not just my cleaner, or my PA, Astrid. You’re a good friend.” I smiled.

  “Oh shut up, you sloppy old tit-bag,” she giggled, fobbing me off, though she was clearly pleased at my affection. I kissed her on the cheek and climbed onto the bus. I looked through the window once I’d taken my seat and saw her wipe her eyes as she stood waiting to wave us off.

  Celebrity Spa Trek: a place, according to the promos, ‘where bad celebrities go good’ was taking place in Pokhara, a very beautiful area near the mountains, about 90 miles from Kathmandu. Known as the jewel of the Himalayas, Pokhara was a haven of snowy peaks, serene lakes and lush greenery but the perilous, mountain-top journey to reach it by bus would take some time. I had anticipated the duration of such a journey but once seated I realised to my horror that Paul was getting into the driving seat. I wasn’t ready for that.

  “Marcus!” I hissed. He lowered his sunglasses.

  “Problem, dearie?”

  “Yes there’s a problem! They are only letting bloody Paul drive!” I said, appalled.

  “Yes, rather him than me... Quite a challenge, getting up these hills,” he smiled and went back to looking out of the window.

  “Too right it will be a challenge,” I said, incensed that the production crew were recklessly risking our lives like this.

  “Don’t worry, dear. I think there’s some kind of dual-control thing,” he said, and motioned towards the front, where a Nepali driver sat next to Paul. A cameraman was recording us all getting on and climbed in next to Paul at the front.

  “At least there will be video evidence for the courts,” I grumbled, mostly to myself. “I can see the headlines now: Death By Bus – TV Company Drives Celebrities off a Mountain.”

  “Better than driving us round the bend!” Jonny piped up with a hopeful smile as he climbed on board.

  Rex, who was sitting on a seat parallel to mine snorted and looked out of the window, stroking his bristly square jaw to hide a smirk. Jonny lowered himself into the seat next to Rex and started fussing with his seatbelt.

  “Hey, clown guy,” said Rex, turning to face Jonny. “I kinda like my space, you know?”

  Jonny looked at him, blankly. Rex unwrapped some gum and popped it into his mouth, staring at Jonny.

  “What I mean is: there are other seats, right?”

  “Oh! Yes of course,” said Jonny, embarrassed. He jumped up, but was pulled back into his seat by the seatbelt and he fumbled for what seemed like an age to unclip it. He got up and walked further down the bus, taking a seat on his own. I noticed when he tried to do up his belt again, his hands were shaking. Everyone else was either looking out of the window or down at the floor – anywhere but at Rex or Jonny.

  “Was that really necessary?” I found myself saying.

  Rex turned his stare onto me. “Sorry, who are you again?” He said.

  Flames of anger licked my chest and I was on the verge of a Tanya Travis style confrontation, when I remembered where I was. I had to control myself on this occasion, as there was a camera on board the bus. I could only imagine what it would look like if following on from my studio meltdown I accosted an international film-star. I felt li
ke I’d been on that bus an hour already and we hadn’t even set off. I pressed my head against the window, then I remembered the germs and moved it away.

  Astrid’s little face was still there, all shiny and smiley and I gave her a final wave as we pulled slowly away.

  “Bye, Astrid, you gorgeous little Scandinavian,” Paul blew her kisses and she blew them back. “You are one HOT! Chiquita banana,” he was shouting through the open window.

  “Paul, keep both hands on the wheel!” I yelled from my seat. “And please don’t shout about bananas to my PA, it’s indecent – have some respect and concentrate on what you are doing. If you have to drive, I would appreciate it if you didn’t kill us.”

  Once on the open road it soon became clear there were no luxuries like air-con or vehicle suspension. So as we bounced along, I tried to take my mind off the heat and my imminent death by gazing at the spectacular mountains. This was a mistake, though, because looking downwards I was met with a sheer drop at the side of the mountain road and the unnerving sight of fallen buses, hundreds of feet below. When Paul took both hands off the wheel and shouted ‘look no hands’ I thought I might pass out. When we finally shuddered to a halt some hours later and everyone cheered, I sent up a little prayer to God, Buddha and Allah – just in case it was one of them that had delivered me safely.

  In other circumstances, I would have appreciated how the serenity of the lakes against the magnificent backdrop of the rising Himalayas created an ambience of peace and ethereal magic, but being on that bouncing bus had made me feel very sick. I hadn’t felt myself since the hog plum incident, plus the champagne and dhal at the party last night hadn’t helped.

  I tried to think of Citrus Squeeze cleaning products, cool water and clean worktops as we clambered off the bus and carried our backpacks into a clearing that would now be known as ‘celebrity base camp.’ Situated at the base of a mountain, the area was nestled among trees and shrubbery quite close to the lake. I walked away from the other celebrities, taking deep lungfuls of the deliciously clean air while admiring the spectacular, snow-topped mountains, dramatic against a navy blue sky. Dotted through the blue and white were tiny prayer flags, strung like bunting through the skies and valleys, like confetti of the gods, I thought to myself.

  “Beautiful...yes?” said a voice at the side of me.

  “Yes.” I turned to the voice next to me and did a double-take. Standing at my side was what Astrid would describe as a ‘delicious, hot’ man.

  “The sky is so blue and the air...it’s so...fresh, I said quickly, to stop myself from saying anything else.

  He smiled, taking it all in like it was the first time he’d seen it.

  “Oh... I should introduce myself. I’m Tanya Travis,” I smiled, then added; “one of the celebrities.” Being from Nepal he may not have heard of me. My natural instinct was to shake his hand and as he seemed reticent, I took the lead, reached out and gave him a firm hand shake. I later discovered that in Nepal it was considered deeply offensive for the opposite sex to touch. So in effect, I had greeted the trekking guide by doing the cultural equivalent of rubbing his crotch.

  “Namaste, Tanya. My name is Ardash, I’m the trekking guide and first-aid officer on Celebrity Spa Trek,” he said proudly, tearing his eyes away from the view to look at me. I smiled back and we stood for a few minutes in silence watching the glittering lake fed by tiny streams, like fairy-lights running through the earth’s cracks.

  “Ah, the sun, she paints a beautiful picture,” he whispered. “And there... Over there is Sagarmatha, you know her as Everest.”

  “Sagarmatha,” I turned to him, thinking absently how his eyes were like dark chocolate flecked with milk chocolate. “In Nepali, Sagarmatha means ‘Mother of the Universe’.”

  He looked at me again with those big brown eyes. They were soft, kind eyes; I couldn’t imagine those eyes ever showing hate or contempt, just warmth.

  I listened in silence, loving the way his Nepali accent danced on familiar words, making them sound new to my ears. Then someone called for him and he put his hands together in a prayer-like gesture and left.

  I watched him walk away. Firm, slim thighs in tight jeans, jet-black hair, confident and strong negotiating treacherous terrain. I was torn for a moment between the beautiful lake and mountains and the rear of this delicious man.

  Returning my eyes to the beautiful landscape I was suddenly hit by a viscous wave of dizziness and nausea. Before I could move, I doubled over and heaved, retching up bright yellow vomit. Everyone turned from the majestic mountains to see where the racket was coming from. Seeing Tanya Travis, Queen of Daytime, projectile vomiting neon-yellow like the child in The Exorcist was some competition for those ancient mountains.

  Everything was still and silent. Then Cindi rushed forward in an attempt to dab me, but by now I was beyond ‘dabbing.’

  “Ooh Tan, that’s not going to look pretty on prime time,” she understated, continuing the futile dabbing in the I-never-cleaned-anything-in-my-life way one would expect from a sex-tape-glamour model.

  “I’m sorry... I am so embarrassed,” I said, on all fours, holding on to Cindi and trying to get to my feet, which was proving impossible given the slippery quality of regurgitated dhal. “I need a hot shower,” I hissed to perky Tiff the researcher, who’d turned up to see the spectacle and was looking at me with a curled lip like I was a mutant zoo exhibit.

  “Erm... Sorry Tanya, no showers here... Sweetheart, there’s a stream a few hundred yards down there,” she said apologetically, before adding an unnecessary “ew.”

  “You are kidding, Tiffany? No-one told me there’d be no showers. I expected a shared one, at least!”

  “Sorry lovely – no mirrors, no showers and no beds” said Tiff, brightly. “It was all in your contract.” I looked at her in disbelief. My hair was matted and covered my face, I was soaked in vomit, my Moschino was wrecked and she was talking to me about my bloody contract.

  “OK. OK...” I tried to calm down. After all, there was history here and I must not be seen yelling at researchers. “So Tiffany, tell me...where is the clean water for washing?”

  She didn’t take her eyes off me as her arm came out and her finger flopped downwards towards some crags with water trickling through between them.

  “This is an emergency. I need help. Where’s Paul?” I bellowed into the mountains.

  Silence.

  “Paul!” I yelled again.

  “Here babe,” Paul eventually appeared from behind a crevice, as unfazed as ever, rucksack hanging from his shoulder, fag dangling from his gob.

  “Put that cigarette out and get here now,” I snapped. He ambled over like he had all the time in the world.

  “Cover me,” I hissed, handing him my congealed rucksack. I couldn’t bear my sticky, sweaty vomit-covered clothes a second longer. I had to take everything off and was starting to shake with the whole revolting, dirty mess I was in. Grabbing him round the waist I manoeuvred Paul to stand in front of me so I could quickly whip off my T-shirt and my shorts.

  “Quick nurse, the screens!” Marcus screamed, holding up his hands in camp, feigned horror as Paul stood limply in front of me in a half-hearted attempt to protect my modesty.

  Cindi handed me a tissue, over Paul’s head. “Tanya, girlfriend, you kill me. We’ve only just got here and you’ve got your tits out,” she giggled.

  “I haven’t got my...anything...out.” This was my worst nightmare. Paul was a waste of space and kept moving so everyone saw every bit of my ageing flesh and cellulite. Mind you, who was I kidding? My cellulite was old news to anyone in the western world who’d read a paper or been online in the past week. I hated Donna for sending me here and vowed that the first thing I would do when I escaped from there was murder her, then sack her as my agent.

  Paul stood with his back to me, his arms limply held out in a futile attempt to cover me. It wasn’t working and to make it worse I knew he was sniggering because his shoulders were going up a
nd down. He was still smoking like a bloody chimney and I was desperately trying to waft the dirty clouds of smoke away.

  “Paul!” I shouted. He jumped; that’s how I liked it. “Will you please put that cigarette out and find something other than yourself to hide me. I’m worried this might look rather...inappropriate.”

  “Yeah. I’d say it’s well dodge, Tan,” he nodded, “you standing there in your pants clutchin’ at me.” He was playing to his audience now who were all chuckling, which encouraged him to elaborate. “There’s me thinkin’ you was a nice old lady just like me ma, but you is one cougar, Tanya Travis.”

  He made a vile thrusting gesture with his hips, everyone collapsed in fits of laughter and Cindi shouted; “Go girl!”

  I’m glad the runner is so bloody popular, I thought, trying not to acknowledge the dry vomit now gathering between my breasts. Just as I was considering a mercy dash to the mountains never to return, Cindi turned up again, giggling and carrying a large bath towel.

  “Here you go, Tan,” she said kindly, handing it to me.

  “Thank you” I said gratefully. Then I demanded Paul hold it round me while I took off my bra and pants.

  “I need to get into the water, Paul. Come on.” I snapped. Obviously I needed to get clean, but I also wanted to get away from the crowd of has-beens and crew that was gathering round for a good laugh. He started to walk with me, still holding my towel. He had to keep holding the towel while I rubbed Sanihand cream into my screaming palms, but I didn’t want anyone to see what I was doing. I didn’t need OCD adding to the list of Tanya Travis Tragedies mounting up in the minds of my fellow celebrities. I squeezed out the last few blobs under the towel and rubbed discreetly but vigorously, trying not to panic that I had none left.

  I was trying hard to be subtle but Paul suddenly became aware that my hand was moving briskly under the towel.

  “Whoa, Tanya! What are you doin’, girl?” He yelped, leaping back. Everyone turned to look at my jerky, under-towel hand movements.