Shopaholic to the Stars Page 4

  ‘My name is Danny Kovitz – yes, the Danny Kovitz – thank you – and I am here today to recommend Rebecca Brandon as a personal shopper without parallel. Where there is disaster she will find style. Where there is blah, she will find a look. Where there is … um—’ He breaks off, pulls a piece of paper out of his jeans pocket and consults it. ‘Yes! Where there is misery she will find happiness. Not just fashion happiness, all-round happiness.’ He takes a step towards Gayle, who looks a bit shell-shocked. ‘You want Rebecca Brandon in your store. The last person who tried to fire her faced a backlash from the customers, am I right, Becky?’

  ‘Well.’ I shrug awkwardly, feeling a bit overcome. I had no idea Danny would be so nice about me.

  ‘You may have heard some strange rumours about Rebecca.’ Danny has gone on to his second sheet of paper. ‘Yes, she once deliberately trapped a customer in a dress. But she had a good reason.’ He hits the paper emphatically. ‘Yes, she’s been known to disguise clothes as sanitary products. But she was helping her clients. Yes, she organized two weddings for the same day and didn’t tell anyone, even her fiancé …’ He peers at the sheet.

  ‘Danny, shut up!’ I mutter. Why is he bringing all this up?

  ‘I have no idea why she did that,’ Danny concludes. ‘Let’s ignore that. Let’s focus on the fact that Rebecca is a shining light in any personal shopping department and any store should be glad to have her. Thank you.’ He gives a bow then looks up at Gayle. ‘I’d now be glad to answer any questions, except those about my personal life, my beauty routine and my ongoing lawsuit with my former manager. For those topics I have Q&A sheets.’ He rummages in another pocket and unfolds three lime-coloured sheets of paper, all headed The Danny Kovitz Story, which he hands to Gayle.

  Gayle gazes at them in stupefied silence, then raises her eyes to me.

  ‘Rebecca …’ She seems lost for words.

  ‘I didn’t mean to organize two weddings,’ I say defensively. ‘These things happen.’

  ‘No, no. It’s not that. It’s … Oh, it’s too bad.’ She shuts her eyes. ‘This is all too bad.’

  ‘What’s too bad?’ I say, with a sudden feeling of foreboding.

  ‘Rebecca …’ Finally she faces me properly. ‘There’s no job for you.’

  ‘What?’ I falter.

  ‘I had a call just now from the group director. He’s been doing a review, and we have to lose some staff.’ She winces. ‘I’m afraid that a personal shopping maternity cover is too great a luxury for us. We’re going to have to get by with just Rhona for now. I would love to hire you, believe me.’ She looks from me to Danny. ‘But in this climate … things are so tough …’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say, my voice wobbly with shock. ‘I understand.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m sure you would have been a great addition to the department.’ She looks so sad, I feel a pang of sympathy. What a horrible job, having to fire people.

  ‘That’s life,’ I say, trying to sound more cheerful. ‘Thanks for the chance, anyway. And maybe I’ll come and work here when things get better!’

  ‘Maybe. Thanks for being so understanding. I’m afraid I have to go break some more bad news.’ She shakes my hand, then turns and strides away, leaving Danny and me looking blankly at each other.

  ‘Bummer,’ says Danny at last.

  ‘I know.’ I sigh heavily. ‘Thanks for the reference, anyway. Can I buy you lunch to say thank you?’

  By the time Danny leaves for the airport, two hours later, we’ve had a blast. We’ve done early lunch with cocktails, and a shopping spree for sunblock, and I’ve laughed so hard, my stomach muscles ache. But as I watch his car whisk him away along Beverly Boulevard, there’s a lump of disappointment weighing me down. No job. I was counting on that job. Not just for employment, not just for money – but as something to do. A way to make friends.

  Anyway. It’s fine. It’s all good. I’ll think of something else. There are loads of shops in LA, there must be opportunities, I’ll just have to keep looking … keep my ears and eyes open.

  ‘Hey, lady! Watch it!’

  Oops. I was so busy thinking about keeping my ears and eyes open, I didn’t notice a great big crane-thing parked slap bang in the middle of the pavement. A man in a headset is directing people around it, and there’s a bit of a buzz further up the street. As I go nearer to get a look, I can see glinting, and lights on stands … Oh wow! It’s a camera crew! They’re filming something!

  I know I need to get back to the hotel and prepare for the Ten Miler race, but I can’t just walk away. Even though I’ve been to LA before, this is the first camera crew I’ve seen. So I hurry along in excitement, heading towards the bright lights. The pavement is cordoned off with metal barriers and a guy in a denim jacket and a headset is politely asking people to step away, to the other side of the street. Reluctantly, I obey, keeping my eyes fixed on the action. There are two guys in jeans sitting on directors’ chairs, and a burly man operating a camera, and several girls scurrying around with headsets too, looking important. I feel massive pangs of envy as I watch them all. I mean, how cool, to be involved in a film. The only kind of filming I’ve ever done was on TV, advising people how to invest their pension. (I used to be a financial journalist. I used to spend all day talking about bank accounts. Sometimes I get an anxiety dream where I’m back in that job and I’m on TV and I don’t even know what an interest rate is.)

  Standing on the pavement, all alone, is a woman who I guess is an actress, as she’s so tiny and made-up. I don’t recognize her, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m just wondering whether to get out my phone, take a picture and text Who’s this? to my best friend Suze, when an older woman, in jeans and a black vest, comes up to her. She’s wearing a maroon peaked cap and has long black braids, and the coolest high-heeled boots.

  Everyone else in the crowd is pointing at the actress, but I’m riveted by the woman with braids. I know her. I’ve read interviews with her. She’s a stylist called Nenita Dietz.

  She’s holding a see-through plastic bag containing a stripy, vintage-looking coat, which she carefully takes out and puts on the actress. She stares critically, adjusts it, then adds a necklace. And as I watch her, my thoughts are suddenly spinning in a new direction. Imagine having that job. Working on films; choosing outfits for actors; styling stars for appearances … Forget department stores, I should aim higher! That’s the job I should have. I mean, it’s perfect. I love clothes, I love films, I’m moving to LA … why didn’t I think of this before?

  Now Nenita Dietz is trying different pairs of sunglasses out on the actress. I follow every move she makes, utterly mesmerized. Nenita Dietz is amazing. She was behind that trend for boots with evening wear. And she’s starting a line of underwear. I’ve always wanted to design my own underwear.

  But how on earth would I get into it? How do you become a top Hollywood stylist? Or even a low-to-medium Hollywood stylist? Where do I even start? I don’t know anyone here, I don’t have a job, I don’t have any film experience …

  Now people across the road are shouting, ‘Quiet on set!’ and, ‘Rolling!’ and, ‘QUIET PLEASE!’ I watch in fascination as the actress folds her arms and looks upwards.

  ‘Cut!’

  Cut? That was it?

  All the film people are scurrying around again and I peer hard, searching for Nenita Dietz, but I can’t see her. And people are starting to press at my back. So at last I tear myself away, my mind whirling with fantasies. A darkened cinema. My name rolling down the screen in white letters.

  * * *

  MISS HATHAWAY’S WARDROBE PERSONALLY SELECTED BY REBECCA BRANDON

  MR PITT’S SUITS SOURCED BY REBECCA BRANDON

  MISS SEYMOUR’S GOWNS CHOSEN BY REBECCA BRANDON

  * * *

  And now, of course, it all falls into place in my head. Sage Seymour is the key. Sage Seymour is the answer. That’s how I’m going to get in.

  * * *

  FRESH BEAN COFFEE SHOP

>   1764 Beverly Blvd

  Los Angeles, CA 90210

  • NOTES AND THOUGHTS •

  Possible fashion trends to start:

  - Tartan dress with neon PVC accessories

  - Fake-fur coat belted with three different belts (Yes! Signature look!)

  - Pink hair and distressed pinstripe jacket

  - Diamanté brooches pinned to wellies

  - Jeans cut up and made into arm warmers

  - Carry two designer handbags at once (Yes! Start immediately!)

  - Full-length tulle skirt worn over jeans

  - Mismatch shoes for quirky, kooky look. (Or will look as though have dementia??)

  - Fresh orchids tucked into belt as corsage

  - Bracelet made of fresh orchids

  - NB: Buy fresh orchids

  * * *

  FOUR

  By 3 p.m., I’m standing in a crowd of runners, formulating a plan for my new career. All I need to do is meet Sage Seymour, start chatting about clothes, offer to style her for an appearance … and I’ll have an in. It’s all about who you know, and Sage Seymour is the perfect person to know. And this is the perfect event to meet her! I mean, I’m actually in her team! I have every reason to talk to her, and I can easily edge the conversation on to red-carpet trends while we’re sprinting along together. I haven’t seen her yet, but my eyes are swivelling around, and I’m poised for action as soon as I spot her.

  A bell sounds, and all the runners start pressing more closely together. The cocktails I drank with Danny are starting to creep up on me, and I slightly regret that last Malibu Sunrise now … but never mind. The endorphins will soon kick in.

  It’s quite a spectacle, this Ten Miler race. It starts at Dodger Stadium and it goes along Sunset and then on to Hollywood Boulevard. According to the welcome pack, the route ‘passes many Hollywood landmarks’, which is brilliant, because I’ll be able to sightsee as I run! I’ve already checked in, and I can’t believe how many people are doing it. Everywhere I look, I see runners limbering up and jogging and adjusting their shoe laces. Music is playing through loudspeakers and the sun is shining hazily through the clouds and there’s a smell of sunscreen. And I’m part of it! I’m standing in the middle of Group One, about ten feet away from a massive great metal arch which is the start of the race, with a number taped to my chest (184) and a special chip in my shoe. Best of all, I’m wearing the fab team baseball cap which was waiting for me at the hotel desk. It’s bright turquoise, with TEAM SAGE in white letters. I feel like I’m in the Olympics!

  Yet again I scan the crowd, searching for another TEAM SAGE turquoise baseball cap, but the runners are too closely packed together to see much. She has to be here somewhere. I’ll just have to find her when we start running.

  As I’m doing a leg stretch I catch the eye of a wiry black girl limbering up beside me. She looks at my baseball cap and her eyes widen.

  ‘You’re in the Sage Seymour team?’

  ‘Yes.’ I try to sound casual. ‘That’s right. I’m with Sage. We’ll be running together, and chatting, and … everything!’

  ‘Wow. You must be good. So, what time are you hoping to make today?’

  ‘Well.’ I clear my throat. ‘I expect I’ll take about … um …’

  I have no idea. Ten miles. How fast can I run ten miles? I’m not even sure how fast I can run one mile.

  ‘I’m just hoping to improve my personal best,’ I say at last.

  ‘I hear you.’ The girl stretches her arms over her head. ‘What’s your race strategy?’

  Meet Sage Seymour, talk about clothes and wangle an invitation to her house, flashes through my mind.

  ‘Just … run,’ I say with a shrug. ‘To the end. You know. As fast as I can.’

  She stares at me blankly, then laughs. ‘You’re funny.’

  The runners are clustering together even more tightly. There must be at least a thousand people, stretching back as far as the eye can see. And despite my jet lag, I feel a sudden burst of exhilaration as I bounce lightly in my new hi-tech shoes. Here I am! Running in a high-profile race in LA! It just shows what you can do if you put your mind to it. I’m about to take a photo of myself and send it to Suze when my phone rings and it’s Mum. She always calls last thing at night, just to tell me that Minnie’s got off to sleep OK.

  ‘Hi!’ I answer the phone in delight. ‘Guess what I’m doing.’

  ‘You’re on a red carpet!’ exclaims Mum excitedly.

  Every time Mum phones, she asks if I’m on a red carpet. The truth is, not only have I not been on one, I haven’t even seen one. Even worse: Luke had an invitation to a premiere last time we were here, and not only did he not go, he didn’t even tell me about it until it was too late. A premiere!

  This is why I can’t rely on Luke to get me into anything cool. He has completely the opposite view of LA from me. All he’s interested in is attending meetings and being on permanent BlackBerry call – i.e., business as usual. He says the work ethic in LA is something he really relates to. The work ethic. Who comes to LA for the work ethic?

  ‘No, I’m running in a charity race. With Sage!’

  Mum gasps. ‘You’re with Sage Seymour? Oh, Becky!’

  ‘I’m not exactly with her right this second,’ I admit. ‘But I’m going to catch up with her while we’re running. I’ve got a TEAM SAGE baseball cap,’ I add proudly.

  ‘Oh, love!’

  ‘I know! I’ll take a picture of it. Show Minnie. Is she OK? Fast asleep?’

  ‘She’s fine, fine!’ says Mum breezily. ‘All snuggled up in bed. So, who else have you met? Anyone famous?’

  Lois Kellerton flashes through my mind.

  No. Don’t even think about it. I love my mum, but if you tell her anything, it’s all over Oxshott in a nano-second.

  ‘There are loads of celebs in the race,’ I say vaguely. ‘I think I just saw a guy from Desperate Housewives.’ It could have been him, or it could have been a different guy, but Mum won’t know.

  A klaxon is sounding. Oh God. Is that the race starting?

  ‘Mum, I have to go,’ I say hastily. ‘I’ll call later. Bye!’

  That was the start of the race. We’re off. We’re running. I’m running too! Feet and arms are blurring around me as the runners jostle for position and I breathlessly try to stay with them.

  God, they’re fast.

  I mean, it’s fine. I’m fast too. I’m totally keeping up with the others. My chest is already burning, but that’s OK, because the endorphins will kick in, any minute.

  The most important thing is: where’s Sage?

  As the crowd thins out, I’m able to get a better view of my fellow runners. I’m scanning the heads desperately for a turquoise baseball cap … She must be somewhere … I can’t have missed her, surely …

  There! I feel a burst of joyous adrenalin. She’s right up at the front, of course. OK, time to make my move. I’ll sprint up to her casually, gesture at my hat and say, ‘I think we’re on the same team.’ And our close friendship will begin.

  I’ve never really considered myself an athlete before, but as I charge forward, it’s like some invisible force is powering me. I’m overtaking the wiry black girl! I’m on fire! I’m exhilarated! But still the turquoise cap is bobbing along ahead of me, tantalizingly out of reach, so I put on an extra spurt of energy. Somehow I succeed in drawing level with her. My face is boiling and my heart is hammering in my chest, but I manage to point at my hat and gasp, ‘I think we’re on the same team.’

  The turquoise baseball cap turns … and it’s not Sage Seymour. It’s some girl with a pointy nose and brown hair who just gives me a blank look and ups her pace. She’s not even wearing a TEAM SAGE cap, either, just a plain turquoise one. I’m so disconcerted I stop dead, and nearly get knocked over by a horde of runners.

  ‘Jesus!’

  ‘Out of the way!’

  ‘One-eight-four, what are you doing?’

  Hastily I move to one side and try to catch my
breath. OK, so that wasn’t Sage. But never mind. She’ll be here somewhere. I just have to keep my eyes open for turquoise … turquoise … Yes! Over there!

  With a fresh surge of adrenalin I plunge into the race again and chase after another turquoise baseball cap. But as I draw near, I can see already that it’s not Sage. It’s not even a girl. It’s a skinny, Italian-looking guy.

  Bloody hell. Panting hard, I head to a water station and take a sip of water, still desperately scanning the crowd of runners, refusing to give up. So I’ve had two near-misses. Never mind. I’ll find her. I will. Wait, there’s a flash of turquoise up ahead. That must be her …

  An hour later, I feel like I’ve moved into a parallel universe. Is this ‘The Zone’? It feels more like hell. My lungs are pumping like pistons; my face is sweaty; I have blisters on both feet; I want to die … and yet still I’m moving. It’s as if some magic force is keeping me going. I keep seeing turquoise baseball caps in the crowd. I keep chasing them. I’ve approached one blonde girl four times now. But none of them is Sage. Where is she? Where is she?

  And where are these bloody endorphins? I’ve been running for ages and haven’t had a single one. It’s all lies. Nor have I seen a single Hollywood landmark. Have we even passed any?

  Oh God, I have to drink some water. I head to the next water stand, decorated with helium balloons. I grab one paper cup and pour the water over my head, then gulp at a second. There’s a crowd of cheerleaders in red costumes doing a routine nearby, and I look at them enviously. Where do they get all that energy from? Maybe they have special springy cheerleaders’ boots. Maybe if I had glittery pom-poms to shake, I’d run faster.

  ‘Becky! Over here! Are you all right?’ I straighten up, panting, and look around in a daze. Then I spot Luke on the other side of the barricade. He’s holding a Ten Miler flag and gazing at me in alarm. ‘Are you all right?’ he repeats.

  ‘Fine.’ My voice comes out rasping. ‘All good.’