Mum threw me a nervous glance. I didn’t need to ask what she was thinking.
I already knew.
But it didn’t let me off the hook either. Mum insisted that I still had to go to the darn premiere, “because you promised”.
God, it was so irritating when she was right.
And I had to buy a dress. One I could afford, bearing in mind the size of my student loans.
I felt a momentary pang of regret for the beautiful dress I’d left behind in Miles’ apartment. I knew it wasn’t the thing to wear the same dress twice, but it wasn’t like anyone would have noticed.
A morning traipsing up and down Oxford Street, right in the middle of the winter sales, was a miserable experience. You needed a sharp pair of elbows and language like a docker to even get near the clothes rails.
Running out of time, and loooong out of patience, I found something cheap that I thought would do in Top Shop.
Which was why, one hour, two donuts and a bottle of champagne later, I was standing in Polly’s hotel room just off Leicester Square, wondering why the hell I’d thought magenta would do anything for my complexion. Or my boobs. Or any part of me, in fact.
“I look like a friggin’ Quality Street,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, you’re quality, honey,” she said, absentmindedly.
I rolled my eyes. “No! A Quality Street is a chocolate – one of those wrapped in colored cellophane and… you know what, never mind.”
She wasn’t listening anyway.
“Does my butt look big in this?” she said, tugging at the day-glo orange frill around her hips.
“Yes,” I said, honestly. “Enormous.”
“You’re a bitch.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She smirked. “Get used to it, honey, you’ll be hearing that a lot.”
Huh?
“Any particular reason?”
“Well, Lilia hates your guts.”
“The feeling is mutual – but why in particular?”
“Because.” She waved her arms around helplessly.
“Okay, you’re going to have to be more specific. Because, what?”
“You’ve got Miles and she hasn’t.”
“I haven’t ‘got’ Miles,” I snapped, tetchily. “We’re friends.” I think. “That’s all.”
“Hmm,” she said, a knowing look on her face. “Well, that’s more than she has right now.”
I scowled, wishing it were true.
“It’s her own damn fault. If she wasn’t such a cheating hag, she’d still have him.”
“Maybe. I’m kinda surprised she bothered coming to the UK – the Press here hate her.”
“The Press hate her everywhere – it’s unifying. Maybe she should try world peace next.”
Polly sniggered. “She probably will. A spell as a UN Goodwill Ambassador would look right for her charidee work.”
I laughed then flicked my eyes toward Polly’s ginormous suitcase.
“You sure you’re not going to wear the black dress?”
She shook her head. “Nope, but you can wear it if you want.”
With huge relief, I peeled off the pink monstrosity and tossed it onto her bed. You can’t beat the ole LBD when you want to feel confident. At least, that’s what I thought.
Unfortunately, Polly was half a size smaller than me and one of the seams tore as I forced the borrowed dress over my hips.
“Oops.”
The champagne we’d shared had definitely mellowed Polly because she just shrugged her shoulders.
“Um, what do Americans call safety pins?” I said.
Polly rolled her eyes. “Safety pins.”
“Oh. Have you got any?”
“No, sorry. Maybe they’ll have some at the reception desk. Or failing that, you could staple it?”
Great. I was going to a film premiere where he would be there with her, in a dress held together with staples. Isn’t that life’s way of saying you should have stayed in bed?
But then my phone beeped with a text.
Don’t get too excited – it was from my mum.
Is it there yet?
God, she was rubbish at texting.
I sent a message back.
I’m with Polly.
We’re just leaving.
Speak to you later.
Just as I was about to head down to get my dress stapled, there was a knock on the door.
I looked at Polly, who shrugged her shoulders.
A guy in the hotel’s uniform was standing there with a suit carrier.
“Miss Milton?”
“Yes?”
“This is for you, madam.”
Madam?
“I didn’t order anything.”
“For Miss Clare Milton.”
I nodded, bemused.
“Sent by courier, madam.”
He pushed the bag toward me, waited for a moment, presumably hoping for a tip, then huffed and stalked off down the corridor.
“Thanks!” I called after him.
“What is it?” asked Polly.
“Dunno. But it says it’s for me.”
Just then my phone rang.
“Hi, mum.”
“Has it arrived yet?”
“Oh! It’s from you? Yeah! What is it?”
“Open it,” she said, her voice excited. “I’ll wait.”
I pulled open the carrier and forgot how to breathe.
Inside was a gorgeous, floor-length, emerald green gown. You couldn’t call it a dress. This was a gown.
“Holy shit!”
I wasn’t sure whether I said that or it was Polly. Either way, we were both thinking the same thing.
I picked up the phone, stunned.
“Mum! Where did you get it? It’s beautiful! It must have cost you an arm and a leg. Thanks so much! Wow!”
Her happy laugh echoed down the line.
“No, silly! Miles sent it – except he sent it to our house. I had to run around trying to find a courier to get it to you in time.”
Miles sent it.
I didn’t hear much of what she said after that.
“Are you going to try it on?” Polly whispered, reverently stroking the silky material.
“Uh, I suppose so.”
“Wow!” she said, peering at the label. “Versace! This must have cost… Hell! I have no idea how much a dress like this would cost.” She smiled at me eagerly. “You’re so lucky, Clare!”
I didn’t know what to feel. Miles had sent me a dress? Maybe it was a peace offering.
It fit perfectly. Of course.
I loved it. Of course.
We decided to walk from our hotel as it was only about 300 yards from the cinema where the premiere was being held.
Polly had insisted that we shouldn’t wear coats because they’d look rubbish in photographs, and that Versace shouldn’t be covered with a coat from Walmart.
“Nobody’s going to take pictures of us!” I said, frowning.
“Ya never know,” she grinned at me.
“Fine, whatever. But we’ll freeze our arses off.” Then a thought struck me. “But at least our nipples will look sensational.”
“You’re weird.”
“What, you’re only noticing that now?”
As soon as we left the hotel, we were fighting our way through hordes of screaming girls. It was a scrum just to get anywhere near the red carpet, and some slapper tried to pinch the silver invitations I was holding that showed we were legitimate premiere guests.
She was a couple of years younger than me, but taller, scraggier, and showing more flesh than a stripper in a Soho revue.
“Oi, get off,” I snarled, snatching the invitation out of her filthy claws.
“Get over yourself,” she laughed, completely unabashed at having been caught. “Nice dress, by the way. More Asda than Prada, love!”
“Oh, go and play with the traffic,” I muttered, and pushed on through the crowd.
We
showed our invitations to the security guards, who examined them at insolent length. I almost expected them to do a body search in case I’d got a weapon shoved down my cleavage. But that dress fitted like a glove, and trust me when I say nothing was getting down the front of there. Unless Miles’ hand happened to slip, in which case all bets were off. No! Mustn’t think like that.
I gave myself a mental slap.
It was a relief to be inside the warmth of the cinema. I’d been there many, many times before, and quite a few times with Miles. But not like this. It was familiar, but completely different.
For one thing, they’d gone to town with the decorations. I think it was supposed to be sort of heavenly, with swaths of silvery fabric drifting down the atrium.
Waiters, dressed completely in white, slid through the small knots of guests, offering English champagne (seriously), and funny little white canapés that I didn’t fancy the look of. I was glad Polly and I had shared a box of donuts before we’d come out. The food at these things was rubbish.
I recognized two of the producers who were standing off to one side, looking a little nervous, but self-satisfied at the same time. That took some doing. Either that, or they were just constipated. Yeah, I’d probably better brush up on reading body language.
Polly and I clung together, trying to look relaxed, but we didn’t recognize anyone else, and nobody spoke to us. It was like the first day of high school all over again. Except this time, Miles wasn’t with me.
Gradually, the number of guests increased, and the excitement began to ramp up. When the actors who’d played Esther’s parents arrived, the crowd outside started going crazy. It was only a matter of minutes now before Miles made his entrance, followed by Lilia.
They were traveling in separate limos, of course, but they’d be close together. It was the best compromise the producers could rightfully expect.
Jo-Anne Moody arrived looking happy and excited. She saw us immediately and walked straight over. That’s what I liked about Jo-Anne – she wasn’t always rubbernecking to see if there was someone more important to talk to.
“How ya doing, ladies!” she said. “Awesome, isn’t it? Great dress, Clare. Bet I can guess where that came from,” and she winked at me.
We chatted for a while, catching up on mutual friends, what she was working on next, gossip about the Biz, and some of the other cast members came over, whiling the time away until the real action started.
When the screams reached an unbelievable level, I knew Miles was on his way.
I stood by the door, and saw Prue stagger inside, ashen and shaking. I knew she’d come as his ‘date’ for the evening. She’d been nervous about it, but now she looked shell-shocked.
“Oh my God!” she said, as she stumbled into my hug. “That… that… bloody hell!”
“I know. Mad, isn’t it?”
“Thank God for your friendly face, love.”
I introduced her to Polly, then casually asked, “How’s Miles?”
She smiled and patted my cheek. “Looking forward to seeing you, love.”
Polly and Prue yakked away like old friends. I left them to it and watched Miles’ slow progression up the red carpet. He was stopping to talk to as many fans as possible, and had obviously become adept at using their camera phones to take pictures of himself with them. He smiled and smiled and smiled, then stopped to do sound bite interviews with at least seven different sets of reporters.
I could tell that he was on edge, but whether that was because of the noise, the crowds, the fact of being blinded by camera flashes, or his dread of being asked something personal, I couldn’t tell. Probably all of the above.
God, he looked gorgeous. He was wearing a severe, black suit that emphasized his lean body and angular face. It was the sort of beauty that didn’t seem destined for us mere mortals – even ones dressed in Versace. I couldn’t help dying just a little bit inside, wondering who his next actress love would be.
When he finally made it through the entrance, Prue pulled him into a tight hug, and I could see him smiling as she whispered in his ear. He kissed her cheek then straightened up.
I thought he was going to say something to me, but Melody got to him first.
“Well done,” she said, and he gave her a tired smile.
“I managed to keep my foot out of my mouth, Melody. Do I get a prize?”
She laughed. “Yes, a big, fat pay check for your next film. Don’t push it, buster.”
Then she strolled off to do some grip and grin with the producers, and we were left staring at each other.
“Hi,” he said, quietly.
“Hi. You look well.”
“You, too.”
“Thanks for the dress.”
A smile lit up his face. “Do you like it? I thought it would really suit you – it does.”
“Yeah, um, it was a nice surprise. Thanks.”
I snagged an extra glass of bubbly from a passing waiter and handed it to Miles.
“God, thanks, Clare. I need that!” he said, emptying almost the whole glass in one go.
“Steady,” said his mum, her voice a gentle warning.
He laughed and gave her a bright smile.
“Have you met my mum, Polly?” he said. “She wants someone else to boss around, so watch your back.”
“You’re not too old to put over my knee!” Prue threatened, wagging her finger.
I was the only one who heard Polly murmur, “Oh, I’d do that for you.” And she sighed heavily.
I became aware that the sounds outside had changed. The screams and shrieks had changed to something deeper, more sinister.
I listened for a moment, trying to work out what was happening. And then it hit me – the crowd was booing. They were booing Lilia.
“Can you hear that?” I said, in a shocked voice.
Silence flowed out across the guests inside the cinema, and all eyes automatically swiveled to Miles.
But he didn’t see everyone scrutinizing his face, waiting for his reaction – he was staring out of the window. He looked really angry. Furious, in fact.
“That shit is just wrong,” he growled.
I couldn’t help agreeing. The noise outside sounded like it could turn into a mob at any moment, and a shiver passed down my spine.
Before anyone realized what was he was doing, before his security team had a chance to react, Miles had pulled the door open and shouldered his way through the baying crowd, fighting his way back up the red carpet. To her. To Lilia.
Prue gripped my arm, the fear apparent on her face. But the crowd fell back, the booing and catcalls giving way to angry murmurs, then sullen silence. I could see Lilia’s shocked face and her desperate relief when Miles put a protective arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the cinema’s sanctuary, while her security team faced down the crowd.
It started with just one person, the sound echoing through the plaza, but a few more people began clapping, then full-blown applause rang out. Lilia whispered something to Miles and I saw him lean down to listen, her lips just inches from his ear.
I felt sorry for her. And really fucking annoyed that she’d managed to get Miles’ attention, and his arms around her, again.
They turned in unison, glancing briefly at the crowd, and stepped inside.
He was still talking to her quietly, and she was nodding and smiling up at him.
The producers looked ecstatic and swept over to greet them, smiling, shaking hands, giving air-kisses, as if there had never been a moment’s disquiet.
Polly raised her eyebrows as she looked at me.
I shook my head and poured the cheap, fizzy wine straight down my throat, draining my champagne flute. I emptied Miles’ abandoned glass, too.
Then I hurried to the ladies’ room before I made my mascara run.
I stood by the sink, splashing cold water onto my face, hoping it would help. It did. A bit. Enough for me to give myself a stiff talking to.
You are one stupid cow
, Clare Milton! You’re as thick as the floor. You keep going back for more punishment. Why not just have the word ‘doormat’ tattooed on your backside and…
The door opened and I looked up. I was eyeball to eyeball with her – Lilia I’m-a-fucking-cheating-slag Purcell.
“You!” she snapped. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh, just chilling. Checking out the scenery. Thought I’d go and look in the shop window for ‘Slags R Us’, but now I don’t need to, seeing as you’re here.”
“You bitch!”
“That’s so lacking in originality, Lilia, I’m disappointed. But as you mentioned it, yes, I am a bitch, I’m just not your bitch. You, however, are a skinny, mean-minded, pointy arsed, two-timing, dick breath bint. Have a nice day.”
Wow, that felt good.
I heard her gasp, and it made me smile.
“You know,” I couldn’t help adding, “you’re lucky Miles is even talking to you. You’re lucky he’s such a nice guy. But he doesn’t like cheats. Boy, you really fucked up badly.”
“It was an accident!” she hissed.
“Falling over in the street is an accident. Falling onto someone’s dick seems premeditated.”
“Fuck you!”
“No, thanks. I have standards.”
She folded her arms over her scraggy tits and clamped her lips in a tight line.
“You’re just jealous – because I fucked Miles and you never have and never will. Why would he want old ham when he can have steak?”
“You’re entitled to your opinion, Lilia. It’s just hilarious that you think yours actually matters to me.”
She smirked. “Yeah, you’re jealous.”
“You must still be on drugs if you think I’m jealous of you, you frowzy tart.”
Her eyes shrank to tiny points as her anger mounted. “You’re a fat, ugly, sarcastic little bitch!”
“I should deduct points for repetition.”
“Do you think you’re funny?”
“No, I’m just allergic to cheating trollops – it makes me break out in sarcasm.”
I thought she was going to hit me, and part of me really hoped she would, because my fingers were just itching to slap the shit out of her.
Her lip curled. “Let’s see who’s laughing when Miles is back in my bed.” And she swept out of there like the Queen of fucking Sheba.
Damn.
Dazzled Page 24
