Shopaholic to the Stars
Page 144
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I’m alone, apart from a housekeeper, who walks silently around, picking up bowls and brushing popcorn off the sofa. And just for an instant I feel totally deflated. This isn’t how I pictured it at all. I had so many ideas I wanted to share with Sage, yet she doesn’t even seem interested in the clothes.
But as I pull out my phone and dial Jeff’s number, I force myself to look on the positive side. Come on. It’s all still good. I’ve still been to her house; I’ve still given her the bones of her outfit. When people ask who styled her, she’ll say, “Becky Brandon.” It’s still my big chance. I have to hold on to this. Whatever else is going on, this is still my big Hollywood chance.
As we approach the house, Lon is still hanging around outside the gates, and he gesticulates wildly at the car. He’s wearing a lime bandanna today and thigh boots.
“Pirate!” cries Minnie, who is clutching the “Rothko-inspired” painting she did at the museum. (It’s really good. I’m going to put it in a frame.) “See pirate!”
“Becky!” I can hear him shouting as we drive past. “Becky, wait! Listen! Guess what?”
The thing about me is I’m a total sucker for anyone who says, “Guess what?”
“Hey, Jeff,” I say, as the gates start opening for us. “Stop a minute.”
“Stop a minute?”
“I want to talk to Lon. That guy.” I point.
Jeff halts the car and turns round in his seat. He’s got his “disappointed” face on.
“Rebecca, we’ve talked about street interactions,” he says. “I do not recommend that you get out of the vehicle at this time.”
“Jeff, honestly.” I roll my eyes. “It’s Lon. He’s a fashion student! I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding a gun.”
OK, saying “gun” was a mistake. At once Jeff stiffens. He’s been on hyper-alert ever since Dad and Tarkie disappeared.
“If you wish to approach this person,” he says heavily, “I will secure the area first.”
I want to giggle at his disapproving expression. He’s behaving like he’s some stiff and starchy 1930s butler and I’ve said I want to talk to a tramp.
“Fine. Secure the area.”
Jeff gives me another reproachful look, then gets out of the car. The next minute I can see him frisking Lon. Frisking him!
But Lon doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his face is all shiny and excited, and I can see him taking pictures of Jeff with his phone. At last Jeff returns to the car and says, “The area is secure.”
“Thank you, Jeff!” I beam and bound out of the car. “Hi, Lon!” I salute him. “How are you? Nice boots! Sorry about all the security and stuff.”
“No, that’s fine!” says Lon breathlessly. “Your bodyguard is so cool.”
“He’s really sweet.” I nod.
“I guess you have to be super-careful of nut jobs,” says Lon reverently. “I’ve seen your guard dog, too, patrolling the grounds and everything?”
Lon is so starry-eyed, I can’t help blossoming under his gaze.
“Well, you know.” I toss my hair back. “When you’re in my position, you have to be careful. You don’t know who’s out there.”
“Have you had many attempts on your life?” Lon is agog.
“Er, not that many. You know. Just the normal amount.” I quickly change the subject. “Anyway, so what did you want to say?”
“Oh, right!” Lon nods animatedly. “We saw your special delivery from Danny Kovitz. The van came earlier, and I got talking to the guy. He works at the showroom. He knew all about it. It’s a dress for you to wear tonight.”
“Danny sent over a dress for me?” I’m so touched, I can’t help grinning.
“It’s from the new collection, Trees and Wires? Like, the one that hasn’t even been shown yet?” Lon seems beyond ecstatic. “The one that Danny said came straight from his soul?”
All Danny’s recent collections have been called “Something and Something.” One was Metal and Philosophy. Another was Envy and Scarlet. The fashion journalists and bloggers write screeds on what the titles mean, but if you ask me, he just picks two random words out of the dictionary and chooses two different fonts and calls it meaningful. Not that I’ll say this to Lon, who looks like he’s going to expire with excitement.
“No one has seen anything of this collection,” Lon is babbling. “There are rumors online, but nobody knows anything. So, like, I was wondering, will you wear it tonight? And can we take some pictures? My friends and me?”
But as I pull out my phone and dial Jeff’s number, I force myself to look on the positive side. Come on. It’s all still good. I’ve still been to her house; I’ve still given her the bones of her outfit. When people ask who styled her, she’ll say, “Becky Brandon.” It’s still my big chance. I have to hold on to this. Whatever else is going on, this is still my big Hollywood chance.
As we approach the house, Lon is still hanging around outside the gates, and he gesticulates wildly at the car. He’s wearing a lime bandanna today and thigh boots.
“Pirate!” cries Minnie, who is clutching the “Rothko-inspired” painting she did at the museum. (It’s really good. I’m going to put it in a frame.) “See pirate!”
“Becky!” I can hear him shouting as we drive past. “Becky, wait! Listen! Guess what?”
The thing about me is I’m a total sucker for anyone who says, “Guess what?”
“Hey, Jeff,” I say, as the gates start opening for us. “Stop a minute.”
“Stop a minute?”
“I want to talk to Lon. That guy.” I point.
Jeff halts the car and turns round in his seat. He’s got his “disappointed” face on.
“Rebecca, we’ve talked about street interactions,” he says. “I do not recommend that you get out of the vehicle at this time.”
“Jeff, honestly.” I roll my eyes. “It’s Lon. He’s a fashion student! I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding a gun.”
OK, saying “gun” was a mistake. At once Jeff stiffens. He’s been on hyper-alert ever since Dad and Tarkie disappeared.
“If you wish to approach this person,” he says heavily, “I will secure the area first.”
I want to giggle at his disapproving expression. He’s behaving like he’s some stiff and starchy 1930s butler and I’ve said I want to talk to a tramp.
“Fine. Secure the area.”
Jeff gives me another reproachful look, then gets out of the car. The next minute I can see him frisking Lon. Frisking him!
But Lon doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his face is all shiny and excited, and I can see him taking pictures of Jeff with his phone. At last Jeff returns to the car and says, “The area is secure.”
“Thank you, Jeff!” I beam and bound out of the car. “Hi, Lon!” I salute him. “How are you? Nice boots! Sorry about all the security and stuff.”
“No, that’s fine!” says Lon breathlessly. “Your bodyguard is so cool.”
“He’s really sweet.” I nod.
“I guess you have to be super-careful of nut jobs,” says Lon reverently. “I’ve seen your guard dog, too, patrolling the grounds and everything?”
Lon is so starry-eyed, I can’t help blossoming under his gaze.
“Well, you know.” I toss my hair back. “When you’re in my position, you have to be careful. You don’t know who’s out there.”
“Have you had many attempts on your life?” Lon is agog.
“Er, not that many. You know. Just the normal amount.” I quickly change the subject. “Anyway, so what did you want to say?”
“Oh, right!” Lon nods animatedly. “We saw your special delivery from Danny Kovitz. The van came earlier, and I got talking to the guy. He works at the showroom. He knew all about it. It’s a dress for you to wear tonight.”
“Danny sent over a dress for me?” I’m so touched, I can’t help grinning.
“It’s from the new collection, Trees and Wires? Like, the one that hasn’t even been shown yet?” Lon seems beyond ecstatic. “The one that Danny said came straight from his soul?”
All Danny’s recent collections have been called “Something and Something.” One was Metal and Philosophy. Another was Envy and Scarlet. The fashion journalists and bloggers write screeds on what the titles mean, but if you ask me, he just picks two random words out of the dictionary and chooses two different fonts and calls it meaningful. Not that I’ll say this to Lon, who looks like he’s going to expire with excitement.
“No one has seen anything of this collection,” Lon is babbling. “There are rumors online, but nobody knows anything. So, like, I was wondering, will you wear it tonight? And can we take some pictures? My friends and me?”
