Shopaholic to the Stars

THREE

Next morning, my head is still sparking in disbelief. Did that actually happen? Did I actually meet Lois Kellerton?

When I returned to Pump!, clutching the socks, it turned out they hadn’t even noticed that the socks had gone. For an awful moment I thought they were going to accuse me of stealing them. But thankfully a sales assistant took over the incident, and called up the CCTV footage and we all watched as a thin girl in a grey hoody put the socks in her bag and slipped out. I was tingling all over as I watched. A tiny part of me wanted to yell, ‘Don’t you see who it is? Don’t you see?’

But of course I didn’t. I’d made a promise. Besides which, they’d never believe me. On the video you can’t see her face at all.

Then we watched the footage as I chased her out of the shop. All I can say is, I am never buying an ‘Athletic Shaping All-in-One’ again. I wanted to die when I saw my bottom bulging through the shiny fabric.

Anyway. On the plus side, everyone was really impressed by what I did, even if they were more interested in arguing about whether the socks should have been fitted with security tags. My story was that the ‘mystery girl’ dropped the socks as I chased her down the street, and that I couldn’t catch up with her. I didn’t know what to do about the fifty-dollar note, so in the end I pretended that I’d found it on the floor and handed it over. I left my name in case the police needed a statement, then hurried back to our hotel, where I finally cut that awful all-in-one off myself. (I bought a pair of shorts and a vest from Gap instead.)

Lois Kellerton. I mean, Lois Kellerton. People would die if they knew! (Well, Suze would.) But I haven’t told anybody. When Luke and I finally met up for supper last night, he wanted to hear all about the rental houses I’d looked at, and I didn’t want to admit I’d spent quite so much time on Rodeo Drive … and besides which, I made a promise. I said I’d keep it a secret and I have. Today it feels as though the whole event was a weird little dream.

I blink and shake my head to dislodge it. I have other things to think about this morning. I’m standing outside Dalawear, which is on Beverly Boulevard and has a window display of mannequins in ‘easy-wear’ dresses and pantsuits, taking tea on a fake lawn.

I’m not meeting Danny for another twenty minutes, but I wanted to get here early and remind myself of the store and its layout. As I wander in, there’s a lovely smell of roses in the air, and Frank Sinatra is playing over the sound system. It’s a very pleasant store, Dalawear, even if all the jackets seem to be one style, just with different buttons.

I’ve gone through separates, shoes and underwear, when I come to the evening-wear section. Most of the dresses are full-length and heavily corseted, in bright colours like periwinkle blue and raspberry. There are lots of big rosettes at the shoulder or waist, and beading, and laced-up bodices, and built-in ‘slimming’ undergarments. Just looking at them makes me feel exhausted, especially after my ‘Athletic Shaping All-in-One’ experience. Some clothes just aren’t worth the hassle of trying to get them on and off.

I’m about to get out my phone to text Danny when there’s a rustling sound, and a girl of about fifteen appears out of the dressing room to stand in front of the full-length mirror. She’s not the most together-looking girl. Her dark-red hair is in a fuzzy kind of bob, and her nails are bitten, and her eyebrows could do with a bit of a tweeze. But worst of all, she’s wearing a jade-green, strapless, swooshy gown which totally swamps her, complete with a rather revolting chiffon stole. She looks uncertainly at herself, and hitches the bodice over her bust, where it really doesn’t fit. Oh God, I can’t bear it. What is she doing here? This shop isn’t for teens.

‘Hi!’ I approach her hurriedly. ‘Wow! You look … um, lovely. That’s a very … formal dress.’

‘It’s for my end-of-year prom,’ mutters the girl.

‘Right. Fantastic!’ I let a pause fall before I add, ‘They have some pretty dresses in Urban Outfitters, you know. I mean, Dalawear is a brilliant choice, obviously, but for someone your age …’

‘I have to shop here.’ She shoots me a miserable look. ‘My mom had some coupons. She said I could only get a dress if it didn’t cost her anything.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘The sales lady said green would set off my hair,’ she adds hopelessly. ‘She went to find me some shoes to match.’

‘The green is … lovely.’ I cross my fingers behind my back. ‘Very striking.’

‘It’s OK, you don’t have to lie. I know I look terrible.’ Her shoulders slump.

‘No!’ I say quickly. ‘You just … it’s a tiny bit full for you … perhaps a bit fussy …’ I tug at the layers of chiffon, wanting to trim them all off with a pair of scissors. I mean, when you’re fifteen, you don’t want to be dressed up like a Christmas cracker. You want to be in something simple and beautiful, like …

And then it hits me.

‘Wait here,’ I say, and hurry back to the underwear section. It takes me about twenty seconds to grab a selection of silk slips, lace slips, ‘shaping’ slips, and a ‘luxury satin slip with boned bodice’, all in black.

‘Where did you get those?’ The girl’s eyes light up as I arrive back in the evening-wear section.

‘They were in another section,’ I say vaguely. ‘Have a go! They’re all in Small. I’m Becky, by the way.’

‘Anita.’ She smiles, revealing train-track braces.

While she’s rustling around behind the curtain, I search for accessories, and find a black beaded sash plus a simple clutch bag in dark pink.

‘What do you think?’ Anita emerges shyly from the changing room, utterly transformed. She’s in a strappy lace slip that makes her look about three sizes smaller and shows off her long legs. Her milky skin looks amazing against the black lace, and her short, stubby hair seems to make more sense, too.

‘Amazing! Just let me do your hair …’ There’s a basket of complimentary water bottles on the counter, and, quickly opening one, I wet my hands. I smooth down her hair until it looks sleek and gamine, cinch her waist in with the beaded sash, and give her the pink clutch to hold.

‘There!’ I say proudly. ‘You look fabulous. Now, stand with some attitude. Look at yourself. Don’t you just rock?’

Once she’s got a pair of heels on, she’ll look a million dollars. I sigh happily as I watch her shoulders relax and a sparkle come to her eye. God, I love dressing people up.

‘So I found the shoes in your size …’ comes a trilling voice behind me, and I turn to see a woman in her sixties approaching Anita. I met her when I came for the interview before, and her name’s … Rhoda? No, Rhona. It’s on her name-badge.

‘Dear!’ She gives a shocked laugh as she sees the teenage girl. ‘What happened to the gown?’

The girl’s eyes slide uneasily to me, and I step in quickly.

‘Hi, Rhona!’ I say. ‘I’m Becky, we met before, I’m starting work here soon. I was just helping Anita with her look. Doesn’t that slip look great worn as a dress?’

‘Well, goodness!’ Rhona’s rigid smile doesn’t move an inch, but her eyes fix me with daggers. ‘How imaginative. Anita, sweetheart, I’d love to see you in the green full-length.’

‘No,’ says Anita stubbornly. ‘I’m wearing this one. I like it.’

She disappears behind the curtain and I step towards Rhona, lowering my voice.

‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘You don’t need to see her in the green. It didn’t work. Too big. Too old. But then I suddenly thought of the slips and … bingo!’

‘That’s hardly the point,’ says Rhona, bristling. ‘You know what the commission on that green gown is? You know what the commission on a slip is?’

‘Well, who cares?’ I say indignantly. ‘The point is, she looks lovely!’

‘I’m sure she looked far lovelier in the green gown. I mean, a slip.’ Rhona looks disapproving. ‘To a prom. A slip.’

I bite my lip. I can’t say what I really think.

‘Look, we’re going to be working together, so … shall we agree to disagree?’ I hold out my hand placatingly, but before Rhona can take it, there’s an exclamation from behind me and two arms twine themselves around my neck.

‘Becky!’

‘Danny!’ I wheel round to see his pale-blue eyes shining at me through heavy eye-liner. ‘Wow! You look very … um … New Romantic.’

Danny never puts on any weight or looks a day older despite leading the least healthy lifestyle on the planet. Today his hair is dyed black and gelled into a kind of droopy quiff; he’s wearing a single dangly earring and tight jeans tucked into winkle-picker boots.

‘I’m ready,’ he announces. ‘I have my reference. I learned it on the plane. Who do I say it to? You?’ He turns to Rhona and makes a small bow. ‘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.’

‘Stop!’ I say, pink with embarrassment. ‘This isn’t the right place. We need to find Gayle, my new boss.’

‘Oh,’ says Danny, unfazed. ‘OK.’

Meanwhile, Anita has reappeared from the dressing room and heads over to Rhona.

‘OK, I’d like to get the black lace dress. And the pink clutch and the sash.’

‘Well, dear,’ says Rhona, her face still pinched with annoyance. ‘If you’re sure. Now, what about this fabulous pink stole? It would set off the black lace wonderfully.’ She reaches for a length of pink tulle adorned with oversized white sequins, and spreads it out on the counter.

Anita glances at me and I surreptitiously shake my head.

‘No thanks,’ she says confidently. Rhona whips round in suspicion, but I give her an innocent smile.

‘We’d better find Gayle,’ I say. ‘See you later, Rhona! Have fun at the prom, Anita!’

As I head away with Danny, I can’t help wrapping an arm around him.

‘Thank you for coming. You’re such a star to do this.’

‘I know,’ he says complacently.

‘I’m going to miss you when you go to Greenland! Couldn’t you have chosen somewhere nearer?’

‘What, some hike in the mountains?’ says Danny dismissively. ‘Some little day trek?’

‘Why not? We would still have sponsored you—’

‘Becky, you don’t get it.’ Danny gives me a serious look. ‘This is something I have to do. I want to push myself to the limit. I have this great trainer, Diederik, and he’s done the Greenland expedition. He says it’s a mystical experience. Mystical.’

‘Oh well. Mystical.’ I shrug.

‘Who buys these clothes?’ Danny seems to have noticed the racks for the first time.

‘Er … lots of people. Lots of very fashionable, stylish, um … chic people.’

‘Chic?’ He looks at me with a comically appalled face. ‘Chic?’

‘Sssh! There’s my boss!’

We’ve reached the entrance to the Personal Shopping area, where I’ve agreed to meet Gayle, and there she is, looking around anxiously. Maybe she thought I wasn’t going to turn up. She’s a really lovely woman, in her forties – very pretty except her hair’s too long, in my opinion – and I’m looking forward to working with her.

‘Hi!’ I wave to attract her attention.

‘Rebecca.’ She exhales. ‘I was about to call you. This is very awkward. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry …’

She’s about to tell me that Danny still hasn’t come through with his reference, isn’t she?

‘No, it’s fine,’ I say hastily. ‘He’s here! Danny, this is Gayle, my new boss.’ I nudge him. ‘You can start now.’

‘Excuse me?’ Gayle looks baffled.

‘This is Danny Kovitz,’ I explain. ‘He’s come here especially to give you my reference! Go on, Danny.’ I nod encouragingly, and Danny draws breath.

‘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.