Blondetourage

by Allison Rushby

  I almost gag. Who does she think she is? Her family flogs toothpaste, for crying out loud. It's hardly like she's royalty. But I don't gag. (If JJ heard me, it would be my last gag. Ever.) Instead, I tell myself, 'it's just her character, it's just her character.'

  'I need to source something creative. Something original. Something unique. Something that says ... Anouschka!' She flicks her hair as she walks backwards into the store and then turns dramatically once more in the doorway, to face the camera that's inside the boutique. 'And if other girls choose to copy what I do, that's fine. Of course they will. I can't help having good taste. But me, I need to be the first. I can't wear what other people wear. I simply can't!'

  Perching on the esky, I'd love to stand up and ask her why not, but of course that's not going to happen. Anyway, I already know the answer: because she thinks she's better than everyone else. Above everyone else. I frown as I continue to watch her. She's such a strange person. Really scarily unstable. That personality of hers is like a simmering, bubbling volcano that might erupt at any moment. She's quiet one minute (like she was during my little 'meeting' in London with her, JJ and Ashleigh's mom) and then screaming her lungs out, spewing molten lava, the next, just like she is now. I still can't work out how much is her and how much is her character, like I was thinking before. Anouschka says a few more lines about how fantastic she is and the scene is finished. The girls head back outside and JJ pulls me up off the esky.

  'All right,' she says. 'Let's go. Food time. Do the drinks, will you? I'll manage the food.'

  It's Anouschka who walks spikily over in her heels first. I pop the lid of the esky and look inside. 'What can I get you?' I ask her. 'There's water, mineral water, soft drink ...'

  'Soft drink?' she says. 'What's soft drink?'

  'Er, I mean soda,' I say quickly.

  'Water. Non-sparkling.'

  I grab it and pass it up to her. Fast. This is a woman who doesn't waste any time. Or words.

  'Thanks,' she says gruffly. 'Romy?' she holds the bottle over her head and waves it.

  'Yes, please,' Romy calls out.

  I bend down and grab a second bottle and then stand back up to pass it over to Anouschka. Both of us see it shaking in my hand and Anouschka gives me a funny look as she takes it from me. She doesn't say anything about it, though, but simply spikes her way back to Romy to deliver her water. I watch as they talk for a moment or two and then Romy laughs, sways on her crutches a bit and Anouschka puts a hand out to steady her. To me they really do look like good friends. Old friends. Or is that all just an act as well? Hmmm ... I just don't know what to think about that girl.

  With only a few minutes downtime, the producer starts herding everyone together again, the drinks get put to the side and the makeup gets retouched once more. The girls are positioned back inside the store. Because they're shooting an interior scene this time, JJ goes over and fetches us both a pair of earphones, so we can hear what's going on. For this scene, they're looking out the glass front of the store and hovering over a long display bench that contains hundreds of tiny trays of display beads. When the scene begins, Anouschka is holding something up for Romy to see – some large gold hoop earrings.

  'This is it. Definitely it,' she dangles one in front of Romy's nose.

  'Just the one?' Romy asks, with a vacuous expression.

  Anouschka stamps one stilettoed hoof. 'Of course not. I meant this design.'

  'Ohhh ...' Romy nods, teetering on her crutches. 'I see.'

  Anouschka huffs and bends over to look closely at the beads. 'Perfect. What do you think of this?' She holds something up to the light – a gorgeous smoky grey crystal bead.

  That's one thing you've got to give the girl. She has great taste. Her clothes are always immaculate and utterly droolworthy and I don't think I've seen her wear the same outfit or accessories twice. No wonder she has so much luggage. Still holding the bead up to the light, she gazes back up at it again and, as she does so, this funny sort of smile comes over her face – as if she knows something is about to happen. She glances back over her shoulder at Romy for a second and that's when the jigsaw puzzle pieces fall into place in my head. I suddenly know exactly what Anouschka's going to do. Exactly. And in that moment of recognition, I realise I have a choice here. Either I sit down and shut up and do nothing and stay out of trouble, or I get up. I get up right now and go race over there.

  I can't help myself. I fling my headphones off and jolt upright. It's like I'm possessed.

  And then, in slow motion, it happens.

  Anouschka says something to Romy;

  Romy answers her, turns and starts to move off on her crutches;

  Anouschka glances around, saying one last thing to her and ... oops, she 'accidentally' trips up a bit; and ...

  her arm flings out over the display of beads and they fly everywhere.

  I hold my breath as I watch the beads shimmer in the light as they ricochet off each other, off the display benches, off the walls of the boutique. Someone – I'm not sure who – yells, 'Romy! Watch out!' but it's too late. Facing in the opposite direction, she doesn't see what's going on until the beads are already under her feet. And that's when, with one foot out to take another step, she slips. I'll never forget the look of shock on her face as she drops one crutch and her arm goes straight out, trying to grab onto one of the long benches to steady herself, but she's too far away. Her foot goes out from under her and she goes down in a split second, cracking her head against the polished concrete floor. And then she lies there, her eyes closed and her whole body quite, quite still.

  It's uncanny. It's as if the scene I'd imagined in my head, in the van on the way here, is playing out before me. But it's not a scene. It's real.

  I make it inside before anyone else, but I'm already too late. I skid on the beads myself as I enter the doorway of the boutique and fall over, ending up painfully on my knees beside Romy. Anouschka falls over as well, and ends up in a similar position on the other side of Romy's body.

  'Romy? Romy!' we both say at the same time.

  Anouschka reaches out for her face and my hand jolts out to push hers back. 'Don't!' I tell her. 'Her neck. There could be something wrong with her spine.' Even while I'm attending to Romy, I can't stop thinking about that look on Anouschka's face. That funny look. Like she knew she was about to do something. And in that instant, I believe everything Ashleigh told me. And then some. Anouschka really is evil. The best friends thing all really is an act. She meant for this to happen.

  Anouschka gives me a shocked look. 'I ... she ...

  I can only make a disgusted sound in reply. 'Don't you think you've done enough already? Just use your fancy phone to call an ambulance already.'

  Anouschka's eyes don't really seem to register what I'm saying, but then she starts to mumble something. 'Cell ... cell ...' she says, fumbling around and sitting back to pat her pockets. She locates her phone and drags it out just as several other people reach us.

  Within five minutes, the ambulance arrives and a semi-conscious Romy is bundled away to the nearest ER.

  Ciao, bella

  If there was a Ms Teen Unpopularity contest running this year, I would win it hands down.

  On the drive back to the house, JJ isn't angry. She's past angry. She's so past angry, she just looks really, really tired. From experience, I know that this is not a good thing. In fact, this is a bad, bad thing. I have only seen her like this a few times in my life and the last time was when I used her favourite knife (chefs have these kinds of strange love affairs with particular knives) to try and fish something out of the garbage disposal and, at the same time, accidentally switched it on. At one point, I go to open my mouth to say something, to say anything, and she simply holds out a hand. 'I can't speak to you right now, Elli,' is all she says. 'I know it was all an accident, but you running over there ... it isn't going to make things easier.'

  JJ is so not angry, it's scary. Scarier than the black, orange, mauve and leopard-skin-
rug-dotted house, which is saying something.

  When we get back, I hide out in JJ's and my room and toy with my laptop for a bit of distraction. I start by emailing Frau Braun – a bit of sucking up can only help, considering we'll be headed back her way in about five minutes' time. Then I email Steph, telling her I know she's still not talking to me, but that she'll be happy to know it looks like my Rich Girls existence is about to come swiftly to an end.

  I'm lying on my back on my scary black bed, a sparkling spa-clean Fluffy on my stomach, and am staring at the even-scarier-than-the-black-bed orange ceiling, when there's a knock on the door. 'Come in!' I say, hoping it's not a firing squad.

  'Um, hi,' George pokes her head around the door, kind of squinting at me.

  'Hey!' I sit up on my bed and Fluffy jumps down onto the floor. 'I hope you haven't been sent to dispose of me or something.'

  George laughs, but stays half-hidden behind the door. 'Have they sent you to dispose of me?' I joke. 'Is that why you're not coming in?'

  'Um, no ...' George starts, but then opens the door up wider and I see why she's been hiding behind it. She's embarrassed. She shouldn't be, though.

  My mouth drops open as I take in her outfit. 'You look amazing!' I get up off the bed quickly and go over to her. 'You look GREAT!'

  She does a twirl for me and then brings something out from behind her back to add to her outfit. I didn't believe it could, but my mouth falls open even wider with this. 'Those are fantastic! I mean it. You look fantastic!'

  'Mrow,' even Fluffy agrees. Maybe it wasn't George all along? Maybe it was the black he didn't like?

  'Thanks!' George does another twirl and I get to take in her whole outfit again. She really does look fantastic in her slim high-waisted pencil skirt with its big chunky belt and her cute cherry-dotted sweater. Plus, those 1950s glasses are to die for. 'I was, um ...', she pauses and looks embarrassed again, 'out with everyone and I found this vintage shop. I spent so long there, they all got sick of me and left me behind. Which is a pity, because I kind of needed them to carry all my bags.'

  'How much did you buy?' I laugh.

  'Both you and my mom don't want to know. Still ...' George pauses again, before she continues, 'I haven't really bought any clothes in a while. I don't think she'll mind.'

  In the silence that follows George's words, I think I know what she's about to say.

  'I ...' George starts, but I'm close behind her – 'You don't ...' I stop so George can continue. 'Sorry.'

  'No, it's okay. I want to say it. What you told me that day. In London. A lot of that was true. I think I just spent too much time living the Rich Girls version of how it's okay to be. It got to me. Obviously. I know the world loves Anouschka's clothes and that she hates mine. She's mouthed off plenty to Ashleigh about it, that's for sure. I guess that was one of the reasons I chose to wear black. It was a statement. The exact opposite of what Anouschka would do. It was anti -fashion. I think I just forgot the important thing – that I like my clothes. That's all that really matters, right?'

  I shake my head. 'You're crazy if you think otherwise. And you're crazy if you think you're B-list, George,' I tell her. 'I mean, apart from being completely A-list anyway, look at you. You look so cool! You look hot! Anouschka must be blind if she can't see that. And poor Toby, is all I can say.'

  'Toby?' George looks confused. 'What's Toby got to do with it?'

  I grin at her. 'Well, if he thought you were pretty good before, he's going to be blown away now.'

  George swats at me and I move out of the way just in time. 'Anyway, I've been meaning to say I'm sorry, too. I hated lying to you in London, but I didn't want to tell anyone about Romy's problems. They weren't mine to talk about. I'm sure it'll all come out later on.' The last I'd heard, Romy had picked out where she wanted to study and was already talking to them about her course options.

  'I'm sure Ashleigh will keep us updated,' George makes a face.

  Which reminds us both that she probably won't be keeping us updated for much longer.

  'I wish I was staying around to see the rest of your outfits,' I tell her.

  George frowns. 'I heard all about what happened, of course. But it's not your fault, is it? I mean, it was an accident.'

  I wince as I remember that look on Anouschka's face. Not to mention the one that's currently residing on JJ's. 'I shouldn't have raced over to Romy. It wasn't my place. And I kind of told Anouschka off, too.'

  'No way,' George gives me a shocked look.

  I shrug. 'I couldn't help it.'

  'Well ...' George starts slowly. 'Who knows what's going to happen anyway? With this and Romy's foot, I wouldn't be surprised if they just call the whole season off. It's a bit much to ask her to continue like this.'

  We look at each other in silence for a minute. And I don't know what George is thinking, but me, I'm thinking about how it was all too good to be true right from the beginning. How I was so hoping it wouldn't end in the way it was always bound to.

  'Come on,' George beckons. 'We may as well stop moping and go and get something to eat. We've called for pizza and Rhys has stoked up the fire pit.'

  I give her a look. 'The fire pit?'

  George points upwards. 'It's on the top level. We only found it this afternoon – this huge round sunken fire pit full of coals. You know, for your marshmallow-roasting parties. Don't you have one at your house?'

  'Um, no. We had to remove it when we installed our medieval torture room.'

  George laughs. 'Medieval torture rooms are so 2005.' She turns and starts towards the door.

  I don't, however.

  'What's wrong?' George turns back when she realises I'm not following her.

  'Is everyone ... will everyone talk to me?' I start to get a bit worried.

  But George just waves one hand. 'Oh, don't worry about it. Anyway, you'll practically be a bigger celebrity than the Rich Girls combined now, if what you said about telling off Anouschka was true.'

  I wince, remembering my words.

  'Looks like it was!' George laughs. 'Come on then,' she beckons to me once more. 'If it's going to be our last night, we may as well make it a good one.'

  It's this that speaks to me – our last night. We will make it a good one. I'm sure of it. 'I hope you ordered enough pizza,' I tell George, as I finally follow her out of the room. 'I'm starving, and Fluffy just adores pepperoni.'

  $$$

  George was right about everyone talking to me. It seems messing up once is a no-no, but messing up twice means you're the bad girl – unpredictable, wild and cool. (Sure, because that's me!) Everyone is really nice, which is a big relief. Well, except for Ashleigh, who seems even more smug than usual. It's like she's actually glad Romy's in hospital. Speaking of Romy, we get an update on her condition just after 10 pm. By that time, she's fully conscious, has had a bunch of scans and, apart from a nasty egg on her head, is looking okay. She'll probably be released from hospital in the morning (if she can get past the paparazzi, that is).

  Even though it's late and I'm tired by the end of our pizza and fire pit party, I make time to quickly pack my bag before I fall into bed. That's how sure I am that JJ and I will be booted out the door come dawn. Either that or the whole season will be axed. You can feel it in the over-air-conditioned air.

  I toss and turn until well past 3 am, when I must pass out, because when I wake up again it's quite bright outside, the sun streaming in through the tall windows that look out onto the Hollywood Hills. I'm having a stretch in front of the windows, enjoying the last of the great views I'll be seeing for a while (especially with winter coming on in Vienna – we'll be holed up for months) when the door opens.

  'Elli?' JJ pokes her head in the door.

  'I'm up,' I tell her.

  'Everyone's heading downstairs. Romy's just arrived back and there's going to be a meeting soon. Head into the study with Melinda and wait there, will you?'

  I nod. And gulp.

  So that's it.

 
; The end.

  Quickly, I throw on my jeans, fresh underwear and a long-sleeved top, splash some water on my face and run downstairs. I don't even stop to brush my hair, but finger-comb and ponytail as I go. Rhys, Toby and George arrive in the room just before me. As we take our seats, Melinda at the large desk in front of the black wood-panelled wall (which reminds me of a dungeon ... what is wrong with rich people?), we all have the same look on our faces. This kind of 'uh oh' look. A 'goodbye, friends, it was nice knowing you' look. Only Ashleigh seems to be having a good time and I guess she probably is. She might think Anouschka is all that, but she's obviously never cared much for anyone else on the Rich Girls team right from the start. She'll be glad to see us dispersed across the globe.

  Melinda starts in on a German lesson and we try to concentrate, but I don't think any of us, not even Melinda, has it in us today. We read a chapter about food and drink and then begin a speaking lesson, pretending to be in a café ordering schokaladentorte (though Ashleigh orders apfelkuchen just to be a PITA) when the door opens and we all jump.

  It's Ashleigh's mom – the executive producer. 'Melinda, would you mind joining us for a minute?'

  Melinda's so jumpy she doesn't even leave us with anything to do, but simply follows Ashleigh's mom out the door wordlessly.

  With no clear instructions left for us, you'd think we'd all kick back and chat, but no. In a kind of final salute to Melinda, we carry on with our lesson. Rhys calls out to me from beside Toby. 'Come on, Elli, let's keep going. Teach us how to order something else.'

  I'm glad to have been given something to do, because on Melinda leaving the room, the tears had started to well up. 'Sure!' I say brightly, looking around me. At my friends. 'How about chips with mayonnaise? They're my favourite.'

  Ashleigh screws up her nose. 'That's disgusting.'

  'How would you know?' George shoots back at her, looking, again, stunningly fabulous in a new ensemble – denim capri pants and a grey and pink polka-dot shirt. It sounds like a kooky outfit, but she looks like a cute waitress who's about to bring your pie order over any second now. I love it. The outfit, combined with her usual snarky attitude, is just so George and I'm trying my hardest not to think about how much I'm going to miss her colouring my days. Especially now she's wearing more than just black.