Shopaholic Ties the Knot
Page 30
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“Never mind,” I say comfortingly. “You were provoked.”
Laurel has made a New Year’s resolution not to talk about her ex-husband or his mistress anymore, because her therapist, Hans, has told her it isn’t healthy for her. Unfortunately she’s finding this resolution quite hard to keep. Not that I blame her. He sounds like a complete pig.
“You know what Hans told me last week?” she says as I open the door of my fitting room. “He told me to write down a list of everything I wanted to say about that woman — and then tear it up. He said I’d feel a sense of freedom.”
“Oh right,” I say interestedly. “So what happened?”
“I wrote it all down,” says Laurel. “And then I mailed it to her.”
“Laurel!”
“I know. I know. Not helpful.”
“Well, come on in,” I say, trying not to laugh, “and tell me what you’ve been up to. I’m a little behind this morning…”
One of the best things about working as a personal shopper is you get really close to your clients. In fact, some of them feel like friends. When I first met Laurel, she’d just split up with her husband. She was really low, and had zero self-confidence. Now, I’m not trying to boast, but when I found her the perfect Armani dress to wear to this huge ballet gala that he was going to be at — when I watched her staring at herself in the mirror, raising her chin and smiling and feeling like an attractive woman again — I honestly felt I’d made a difference to her life.
This morning Laurel is looking for a couple of suits for work. I know her so well now it’s easy to pick out what will sit well on her tall frame. We have a nice easy chat, and talk about the new Brad Pitt movie, and Laurel tells me all about her new, very sexy golf coach.
“My entire game has fallen to pieces,” she says, pulling a face. “I’m no longer aiming to hit the ball in the hole. I’m just aiming to look thin and attractive and the ball can go where the hell it likes.”
As she gets changed back into her own daywear I come out of the fitting room, holding a pile of clothes.
“I can’t possibly wear that,” comes a muffled voice from Erin’s room.
“If you just try it—” I can hear Erin saying.
“You know I never wear that color!” The voice rises, and I freeze.
That’s a British accent.
“I’m not wasting my time anymore! If you bring me things I can’t wear—”
Tiny spiders are crawling up and down my back. I don’t believe it. It can’t be—
“But you asked for a new look!” says Erin helplessly.
“Call me when you’ve got what I asked for.”
And before I can move, here she is, walking out of Erin’s fitting room, as tall and blonde and immaculate as ever, her lips already curving into a supercilious smile. Her hair is sleek and her blue eyes are sparkling and she looks on top of the world.
Alicia Billington.
Alicia Bitch Longlegs.
I meet her eyes — and it’s like an electric shock all over my body. Inside my tailored gray trousers, I can feel my legs starting to tremble. I haven’t laid eyes on Alicia Billington for well over a year. I should be able to deal with this. But it’s as though that time has concertinaed into nothing. The memories of all our encounters are as strong and sore as ever. What she did to me. What she tried to do to Luke.
She’s looking at me with the same patronizing air she used to use when she was a PR girl and I was a brand-new financial reporter. And although I tell myself firmly that I’ve grown up a lot since then, that I’m a strong woman with a successful career and nothing to prove… I can still feel myself shrinking inside. Turning back into the girl who always felt a bit of a flake, who never knew quite what to say.
“Rebecca!” she says, looking at me as though highly amused. “Well, I never!”
“Hi, Alicia,” I say, and somehow force myself to smile courteously. “How are you?”
“I had heard you were working in a shop, but I thought that must be a joke.” She gives a little laugh. “Yet… here you are. Makes sense, really.”
I don’t just “work in a shop”! I want to yell furiously. I’m a personal shopper! It’s a skilled profession! I help people!
“And you’re still with Luke, are you?” She gives me mock concerned look. “Is his company finally back on track? I know he went through a rough time.”
I cannot believe this girl. It was she who tried to sabotage Luke’s company. It was she who set up a rival PR company that went bust. It was she who lost all her boyfriend’s money — and apparently had to be bailed out by her dad.
Laurel has made a New Year’s resolution not to talk about her ex-husband or his mistress anymore, because her therapist, Hans, has told her it isn’t healthy for her. Unfortunately she’s finding this resolution quite hard to keep. Not that I blame her. He sounds like a complete pig.
“You know what Hans told me last week?” she says as I open the door of my fitting room. “He told me to write down a list of everything I wanted to say about that woman — and then tear it up. He said I’d feel a sense of freedom.”
“Oh right,” I say interestedly. “So what happened?”
“I wrote it all down,” says Laurel. “And then I mailed it to her.”
“Laurel!”
“I know. I know. Not helpful.”
“Well, come on in,” I say, trying not to laugh, “and tell me what you’ve been up to. I’m a little behind this morning…”
One of the best things about working as a personal shopper is you get really close to your clients. In fact, some of them feel like friends. When I first met Laurel, she’d just split up with her husband. She was really low, and had zero self-confidence. Now, I’m not trying to boast, but when I found her the perfect Armani dress to wear to this huge ballet gala that he was going to be at — when I watched her staring at herself in the mirror, raising her chin and smiling and feeling like an attractive woman again — I honestly felt I’d made a difference to her life.
This morning Laurel is looking for a couple of suits for work. I know her so well now it’s easy to pick out what will sit well on her tall frame. We have a nice easy chat, and talk about the new Brad Pitt movie, and Laurel tells me all about her new, very sexy golf coach.
“My entire game has fallen to pieces,” she says, pulling a face. “I’m no longer aiming to hit the ball in the hole. I’m just aiming to look thin and attractive and the ball can go where the hell it likes.”
As she gets changed back into her own daywear I come out of the fitting room, holding a pile of clothes.
“I can’t possibly wear that,” comes a muffled voice from Erin’s room.
“If you just try it—” I can hear Erin saying.
“You know I never wear that color!” The voice rises, and I freeze.
That’s a British accent.
“I’m not wasting my time anymore! If you bring me things I can’t wear—”
Tiny spiders are crawling up and down my back. I don’t believe it. It can’t be—
“But you asked for a new look!” says Erin helplessly.
“Call me when you’ve got what I asked for.”
And before I can move, here she is, walking out of Erin’s fitting room, as tall and blonde and immaculate as ever, her lips already curving into a supercilious smile. Her hair is sleek and her blue eyes are sparkling and she looks on top of the world.
Alicia Billington.
Alicia Bitch Longlegs.
I meet her eyes — and it’s like an electric shock all over my body. Inside my tailored gray trousers, I can feel my legs starting to tremble. I haven’t laid eyes on Alicia Billington for well over a year. I should be able to deal with this. But it’s as though that time has concertinaed into nothing. The memories of all our encounters are as strong and sore as ever. What she did to me. What she tried to do to Luke.
She’s looking at me with the same patronizing air she used to use when she was a PR girl and I was a brand-new financial reporter. And although I tell myself firmly that I’ve grown up a lot since then, that I’m a strong woman with a successful career and nothing to prove… I can still feel myself shrinking inside. Turning back into the girl who always felt a bit of a flake, who never knew quite what to say.
“Rebecca!” she says, looking at me as though highly amused. “Well, I never!”
“Hi, Alicia,” I say, and somehow force myself to smile courteously. “How are you?”
“I had heard you were working in a shop, but I thought that must be a joke.” She gives a little laugh. “Yet… here you are. Makes sense, really.”
I don’t just “work in a shop”! I want to yell furiously. I’m a personal shopper! It’s a skilled profession! I help people!
“And you’re still with Luke, are you?” She gives me mock concerned look. “Is his company finally back on track? I know he went through a rough time.”
I cannot believe this girl. It was she who tried to sabotage Luke’s company. It was she who set up a rival PR company that went bust. It was she who lost all her boyfriend’s money — and apparently had to be bailed out by her dad.
