Shopaholic to the Stars
Page 121
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“Yes!” I say automatically, although I can’t quite get my head round this. “So … I’d decide what kind of plastic surgery some celebrity has and then it gets voted on? But what if I get it wrong?”
Aran is shaking his head.
“We see you as one of the celebrity participants who would undergo the journey. You would be assigned a celebrity mentor who would aim to make you the most beautiful swan. Not that you’re not already a swan,” he adds charmingly. “But everyone can do with a little improvement, right?” He twinkles. “The surgery alone would be worth thousands, together with the fee and the primetime exposure.… Like I said, it’s a great opportunity.”
My head is spinning. He can’t be serious.
“You want me to have plastic surgery?” I falter.
“Believe me, this is going to be the biggest TV show ever to hit our planet,” says Aran confidently. “When I tell you who’s already signed up …” He winks. “Let’s just say, you will be in stellar company.”
“I’ll … I’ll think about it.”
I stare out of the window, feeling dazed. Plastic surgery? Luke would be absolutely— Oh God. I can’t even tell Luke about this. There’s no way I’m doing it.
“Aran.” I turn back. “Listen. I don’t think … I mean, I know it’s a great opportunity and everything—”
“Sure. You think it’s grotesque. You’re shocked I even asked.” Aran twinkles again. He opens a box of gum and offers me some, and I shake my head. “Becky, you want a shortcut to fame? This is your quickest route.”
“But—”
“I’m not telling you what to do, I’m just giving you the information. Think of me as your GPS. There are slow routes and there are quick routes to fame. Appearing on this show would be a super-fast route.” He tips three pellets of gum into his mouth. “Now, if you don’t like the look of the super-fast route, that’s another story.”
He’s so matter-of-fact. He’s so detached. As I survey his smooth, immaculate face, I feel more confused than ever.
“You said I was hot already. You said my profile had gone through the roof. So why do I need to do a reality show?”
“Becky, you don’t do anything,” Aran says bluntly. “You’re not on a TV show. You’re not dating a celebrity. If Lois pleads guilty, there won’t even be a court case. If you want to stay out there, you need to be out there.”
“I want to be out there styling.”
“Well, then, style.” He shrugs. “But that is not the super-fast route, I can tell you.”
The car pulls up in my drive, and he leans over to kiss me lightly on each cheek. “Ciao, ciao.”
I get out, followed by Jeff, and the car drives off, but I don’t approach the house. I go and sit on a low wall, thinking hard and chewing my lip. I let my thoughts simmer down into a decision, then determinedly pull out my phone and jab in a number.
“Becky?” comes Sage’s sleepy voice down the phone. “Is that you?”
“Listen, Sage, are you going to the Big Top premiere tomorrow? Only, I’d love to put an outfit together for you. Remember, you said you wanted me to style you? Remember we were talking about it?”
“Oh.” Sage yawns. “Sure.”
“So … are you going to the premiere? Can I dress you?”
I’m crossing my fingers tightly. Please say yes, please say yes …
“I guess so.”
“Great!” I exhale in relief. “Fantastic! Well, I’ll put some looks together. I’ll call you later.”
As I head into the house, my spirits are higher. So what if the interview today wasn’t brilliant? I’ve taken charge. I’m styling Sage Seymour. I’m doing the red carpet. Everything’s coming together!
I can hear Luke in the kitchen, and my stomach gives a twinge of apprehension. I haven’t spoken properly to Luke since yesterday. He came to bed after I’d fallen asleep, and I left him dozing when I got up for the TV show. So we haven’t seen each other since our row.
No, not row. Discussion.
“Why don’t you sit there for now,” I say to Jeff, and point to one of the big chairs in the hall. “I guess Mitchell’s patrolling the garden.”
“You got it,” says Jeff, in that expressionless way he has, and settles his huge frame down on the chair. I take a deep breath, then saunter into the kitchen, humming, like someone who’s totally OK with everything and didn’t have a tense moment with her husband last night.
Aran is shaking his head.
“We see you as one of the celebrity participants who would undergo the journey. You would be assigned a celebrity mentor who would aim to make you the most beautiful swan. Not that you’re not already a swan,” he adds charmingly. “But everyone can do with a little improvement, right?” He twinkles. “The surgery alone would be worth thousands, together with the fee and the primetime exposure.… Like I said, it’s a great opportunity.”
My head is spinning. He can’t be serious.
“You want me to have plastic surgery?” I falter.
“Believe me, this is going to be the biggest TV show ever to hit our planet,” says Aran confidently. “When I tell you who’s already signed up …” He winks. “Let’s just say, you will be in stellar company.”
“I’ll … I’ll think about it.”
I stare out of the window, feeling dazed. Plastic surgery? Luke would be absolutely— Oh God. I can’t even tell Luke about this. There’s no way I’m doing it.
“Aran.” I turn back. “Listen. I don’t think … I mean, I know it’s a great opportunity and everything—”
“Sure. You think it’s grotesque. You’re shocked I even asked.” Aran twinkles again. He opens a box of gum and offers me some, and I shake my head. “Becky, you want a shortcut to fame? This is your quickest route.”
“But—”
“I’m not telling you what to do, I’m just giving you the information. Think of me as your GPS. There are slow routes and there are quick routes to fame. Appearing on this show would be a super-fast route.” He tips three pellets of gum into his mouth. “Now, if you don’t like the look of the super-fast route, that’s another story.”
He’s so matter-of-fact. He’s so detached. As I survey his smooth, immaculate face, I feel more confused than ever.
“You said I was hot already. You said my profile had gone through the roof. So why do I need to do a reality show?”
“Becky, you don’t do anything,” Aran says bluntly. “You’re not on a TV show. You’re not dating a celebrity. If Lois pleads guilty, there won’t even be a court case. If you want to stay out there, you need to be out there.”
“I want to be out there styling.”
“Well, then, style.” He shrugs. “But that is not the super-fast route, I can tell you.”
The car pulls up in my drive, and he leans over to kiss me lightly on each cheek. “Ciao, ciao.”
I get out, followed by Jeff, and the car drives off, but I don’t approach the house. I go and sit on a low wall, thinking hard and chewing my lip. I let my thoughts simmer down into a decision, then determinedly pull out my phone and jab in a number.
“Becky?” comes Sage’s sleepy voice down the phone. “Is that you?”
“Listen, Sage, are you going to the Big Top premiere tomorrow? Only, I’d love to put an outfit together for you. Remember, you said you wanted me to style you? Remember we were talking about it?”
“Oh.” Sage yawns. “Sure.”
“So … are you going to the premiere? Can I dress you?”
I’m crossing my fingers tightly. Please say yes, please say yes …
“I guess so.”
“Great!” I exhale in relief. “Fantastic! Well, I’ll put some looks together. I’ll call you later.”
As I head into the house, my spirits are higher. So what if the interview today wasn’t brilliant? I’ve taken charge. I’m styling Sage Seymour. I’m doing the red carpet. Everything’s coming together!
I can hear Luke in the kitchen, and my stomach gives a twinge of apprehension. I haven’t spoken properly to Luke since yesterday. He came to bed after I’d fallen asleep, and I left him dozing when I got up for the TV show. So we haven’t seen each other since our row.
No, not row. Discussion.
“Why don’t you sit there for now,” I say to Jeff, and point to one of the big chairs in the hall. “I guess Mitchell’s patrolling the garden.”
“You got it,” says Jeff, in that expressionless way he has, and settles his huge frame down on the chair. I take a deep breath, then saunter into the kitchen, humming, like someone who’s totally OK with everything and didn’t have a tense moment with her husband last night.
