Shopaholic to the Stars
Page 139
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“OK.” I bite my lip. “Well … I’ll talk to you later.”
We’ve been driving twenty minutes or so when my phone rings and I reach for it eagerly. But it’s not Suze or Dad, or even Luke, but Sage.
“Oh, hi, Sage.”
“Hey, Becky!” Her voice peals happily down the phone. “Are you super-excited?”
“What?” I say blankly.
“Our Camberly show! It airs in, like, ten minutes! I’m totally psyched. Aran was just on the phone. He was, like, ‘This is huge already, babe.’ I mean, have you seen the hits on YouTube? And that’s just the trailer!”
“Right. Right.” I try to wrench my head away from Dad and into the world of Sage. “Yes, I saw that. It’s phenomenal!”
It’s true; it is pretty phenomenal. There have been wall-to-wall trailers for the last two days for what they’re calling The Big Showdown: Lois Meets Sage. They were on this morning while I was making coffee, but we turned the telly off because it was all getting a bit too much.
(Well, in fact, Suze threw her phone at the telly and yelled, “Shut up! Shut up!” So I zapped it off.)
“Are you watching?”
“I will be!” I say, hastily turning on the in-car TV. “I’m in the car, but I’ll be watching it in here. I can’t wait. I’m sure you’re amazing in it.”
“I’m awesome,” says Sage in satisfaction. “So the other thing is, I had this great idea for my premiere outfit tonight. You have to come over and help me with it. Where are you now? Could you be here in, like, fifteen minutes?”
“Fifteen minutes?” I stare at the phone. “Well … no. Sorry. I have some stuff I have to do this morning. It’s kind of a family emergency.”
“But you’re styling me!” says Sage, sounding affronted.
“I know. I’m coming round later, remember? Can we discuss it then?”
There’s silence down the phone. Oh God. Is Sage pissed off?
“What’s the idea?” I say hastily. “I bet it’s brilliant.”
“I can’t tell you. I have to show you.” She gives a huffy little sigh. “OK, if you really can’t come now, I guess we’ll meet later. You’ll be, like, totally oh my God.”
“Wow! Sounds amazing. I’ll see you later. OK?”
I ring off and turn up the volume on the TV. It’s showing a weather report for the East Coast, and I find myself wondering if Dad and Tarkie could have got on a plane.
No. They wouldn’t do that. Would they?
Even though I’m sure both Mum and Suze are overreacting to the situation, I feel a little chill. People you love shouldn’t disappear, simply telling you vaguely they have “something to put right.” They shouldn’t do that.
Suddenly I realize the Camberly show is starting. The familiar titles are zooming over the screen, and shots of Camberly in evening dress and running along the beach with her dog are flash-cutting with shots of her famous white house, where it’s “filmed.” (It’s really filmed in L.A., on a studio set. Everyone knows that.) Normally there are several sections in the show. There’s an interview and a song and a cooking slot, and often a competition. But today is a “special.” It’s all about Lois and Sage. As soon as the music dies away, the camera focuses on Camberly, looking somber, and a backdrop of Sage’s and Lois’s faces blown up, glaring at each other. It all looks very dramatic.
“Welcome to my home,” Camberly says in serious tones. “And to a unique and momentous hour-long special. Sage Seymour. Lois Kellerton. Meeting for the first time since their infamous encounter at the ASAs. We’ll be back after this.” Music plays again, and the titles swoosh around the screen. I stare at it in slight outrage. An ad break already? I will never get used to American telly. Yesterday I started watching an advert and it went on for twenty minutes. Twenty whole minutes!
(It was quite good, though. It was all about this brilliant barbecue grill thing, which gives you a “restaurant quality finish” with none of the calories. I wrote the number down, actually.)
I sit impatiently through a zillion ads for pain relievers and then watch as Sage appears on the screen, sitting on the sofa with a rapt Camberly. At first it’s very boring, because she gets Sage to tell her exactly what happened at the awards ceremony, in every detail, and shows the video clip about ten times, and asks Sage over and over, “And how did that make you feel?”
Sage is acting devastated. She keeps using phrases like “I felt so betrayed” and “I just don’t understand Lois” and “Why me?” in a broken voice. I think she’s overdoing it myself.
We’ve been driving twenty minutes or so when my phone rings and I reach for it eagerly. But it’s not Suze or Dad, or even Luke, but Sage.
“Oh, hi, Sage.”
“Hey, Becky!” Her voice peals happily down the phone. “Are you super-excited?”
“What?” I say blankly.
“Our Camberly show! It airs in, like, ten minutes! I’m totally psyched. Aran was just on the phone. He was, like, ‘This is huge already, babe.’ I mean, have you seen the hits on YouTube? And that’s just the trailer!”
“Right. Right.” I try to wrench my head away from Dad and into the world of Sage. “Yes, I saw that. It’s phenomenal!”
It’s true; it is pretty phenomenal. There have been wall-to-wall trailers for the last two days for what they’re calling The Big Showdown: Lois Meets Sage. They were on this morning while I was making coffee, but we turned the telly off because it was all getting a bit too much.
(Well, in fact, Suze threw her phone at the telly and yelled, “Shut up! Shut up!” So I zapped it off.)
“Are you watching?”
“I will be!” I say, hastily turning on the in-car TV. “I’m in the car, but I’ll be watching it in here. I can’t wait. I’m sure you’re amazing in it.”
“I’m awesome,” says Sage in satisfaction. “So the other thing is, I had this great idea for my premiere outfit tonight. You have to come over and help me with it. Where are you now? Could you be here in, like, fifteen minutes?”
“Fifteen minutes?” I stare at the phone. “Well … no. Sorry. I have some stuff I have to do this morning. It’s kind of a family emergency.”
“But you’re styling me!” says Sage, sounding affronted.
“I know. I’m coming round later, remember? Can we discuss it then?”
There’s silence down the phone. Oh God. Is Sage pissed off?
“What’s the idea?” I say hastily. “I bet it’s brilliant.”
“I can’t tell you. I have to show you.” She gives a huffy little sigh. “OK, if you really can’t come now, I guess we’ll meet later. You’ll be, like, totally oh my God.”
“Wow! Sounds amazing. I’ll see you later. OK?”
I ring off and turn up the volume on the TV. It’s showing a weather report for the East Coast, and I find myself wondering if Dad and Tarkie could have got on a plane.
No. They wouldn’t do that. Would they?
Even though I’m sure both Mum and Suze are overreacting to the situation, I feel a little chill. People you love shouldn’t disappear, simply telling you vaguely they have “something to put right.” They shouldn’t do that.
Suddenly I realize the Camberly show is starting. The familiar titles are zooming over the screen, and shots of Camberly in evening dress and running along the beach with her dog are flash-cutting with shots of her famous white house, where it’s “filmed.” (It’s really filmed in L.A., on a studio set. Everyone knows that.) Normally there are several sections in the show. There’s an interview and a song and a cooking slot, and often a competition. But today is a “special.” It’s all about Lois and Sage. As soon as the music dies away, the camera focuses on Camberly, looking somber, and a backdrop of Sage’s and Lois’s faces blown up, glaring at each other. It all looks very dramatic.
“Welcome to my home,” Camberly says in serious tones. “And to a unique and momentous hour-long special. Sage Seymour. Lois Kellerton. Meeting for the first time since their infamous encounter at the ASAs. We’ll be back after this.” Music plays again, and the titles swoosh around the screen. I stare at it in slight outrage. An ad break already? I will never get used to American telly. Yesterday I started watching an advert and it went on for twenty minutes. Twenty whole minutes!
(It was quite good, though. It was all about this brilliant barbecue grill thing, which gives you a “restaurant quality finish” with none of the calories. I wrote the number down, actually.)
I sit impatiently through a zillion ads for pain relievers and then watch as Sage appears on the screen, sitting on the sofa with a rapt Camberly. At first it’s very boring, because she gets Sage to tell her exactly what happened at the awards ceremony, in every detail, and shows the video clip about ten times, and asks Sage over and over, “And how did that make you feel?”
Sage is acting devastated. She keeps using phrases like “I felt so betrayed” and “I just don’t understand Lois” and “Why me?” in a broken voice. I think she’s overdoing it myself.
