Shopaholic to the Stars

SEVEN

For the next few days I’m in a total state of shock that Alicia Billington has turned up in LA. Except she’s not Alicia Billington any more, she’s Alicia Merrelle. It all gets worse, as I found out when I Googled her yesterday. She’s filthy rich and well known all over LA, because she’s married to the founder of Golden Peace. The actual founder himself. He’s called Wilton Merrelle and he’s seventy-three with a goaty grey beard and those fixed, stretched eyes you get when you have too much plastic surgery, and they met on a beach in Hawaii. A beach. Who meets their husband on a beach? They have a daughter called Ora who is a month younger than Minnie and they are, according to one interview, ‘hoping to expand their family’.

As soon as I started Googling, I found all these articles about the ‘super-stylish home-maker’ with her ‘British wit and charm’. I sent them to Suze and she sent back a one-word email: ‘WHAT?????’, which made me feel better. Suze has no time for Alicia. And neither does Luke (which is no surprise, bearing in mind she once tried to steal all his clients and ruin his company. Oh yes, whilst trashing my reputation in the newspapers at the same time. Luke and I actually split up because of it. It was awful). When I told him, he just grunted, and said, ‘Might have known she’d land on her Manolos.’

But the trouble is, everyone else here thinks she’s adorable. I haven’t seen her again at Little Leaf, thank goodness, but I’ve had to have about six conversations with other mothers about how great it is that Queenie and I are old friends (friends!) and isn’t she divine and am I coming to her spa party?

I can’t cope with an Alicia Bitch Long-legs spa party. I just can’t.

Anyway. Never mind. I don’t care. I’ll make friends another way. There are lots of other ways. And in the meantime, I’m going to focus on my new career.

I have a plan at the ready, and it starts today. I’ve been totally inspired by the story of Nenita Dietz marching into a wardrobe department and landing herself a job. So today I’m going to do the tour at Sedgewood Studios, which is where Nenita Dietz works, and I’m going to sneak away and find her. Luke has even got me a free VIP ticket through some contact of his, although I haven’t mentioned my plan to him. I’ll wait till I have success first. Then he’ll see.

I’ve put together a collection of my work as a personal shopper: look books, photos of clients, even a couple of sketches, all zipped up in a leather portfolio. I’ve also put together a critique of some recent Sedgewood Studios films, to show that I’m movie-minded. (Like, for example, that alien film they made, Darkest Force. They really could have had better costumes in that. The space uniforms were so clunky. By the year 2154, surely we’ll be going into space in skinny jeans, with tiny little helmets designed by Prada or someone?)

I’ve also done extensive research on Nenita Dietz, because I want to make sure we hit it off straight away. I’m wearing a really cool dress by Rick Owens, which is a label she likes, and I’m wearing Chanel N° 5, which is apparently her favourite scent, and I’ve Googled Martinique which is where she goes on holiday. All I have to do is meet her and I’m sure we’ll get along.

As I wait to join the VIP tour, I feel a fizz of excitement. My life could turn a massive new corner today! I’m standing by the famous gates, which are huge and ornate, with Sedgewood Studios in big iron letters at the top. Apparently if you kiss them, your deepest wish will come true, and lots of tourists are kissing them and filming each other. Honestly, what a load of rubbish. Like a gate could help. Like a gate could really have any secret powers. Like a gate could—

Oh, come on. I might as well. Just to be on the safe side. I’m kissing it and whispering, ‘Get me a job, please, please, lovely gate,’ when a side entrance opens.

‘Come forward for the VIP tour!’ A girl in a headset starts ushering us through and scanning our passes. I follow the crowd of tourists and soon find myself on the other side of the gates, in the studio lot. I’m here! I’m at Sedgewood Studios!

I quickly look around, trying to get my bearings. There’s an endless road stretching ahead, lined with pretty Art Deco buildings. Beyond that is a lawned area, and I can see more buildings in the distance. I couldn’t track down a map of the studio lot online so I’m just going to have to find my own way.

‘This way, ma’am.’ A young man with blond hair, a dark jacket and a headset is approaching me. ‘We have one more space on our cart.’

I turn to see that a whole fleet of golf carts have turned up, and all the tourists are getting on. The blond guy is gesturing to the back seat of a cart that seats six people and is nearly full.

I don’t want to get on. I want to find the wardrobe department. But I guess I have no choice.

‘Great.’ I smile at him. ‘Thanks.’

Reluctantly I climb on to the back of the cart and buckle up, next to an old lady in pink seersucker shorts who is filming everything with a video recorder. She even swings round to take a shot of me, and I do a little wave. The blond guy has got into the front of the cart and is handing out headphones.

‘Hi!’ His voice booms into my ears as soon as my headphones are on. ‘My name is Shaun and I’ll be your guide for today. I’m gonna take you on a fascinating tour of Sedgewood Studios, past, present and future. We’ll see the places where all your favourite shows and movies have been filmed. And while we’re on our tour, keep your eyes peeled, and you might just spot one of our stars at work. Yesterday I was beginning a tour just like this one, when who should we see strolling by but Matt Damon!’

‘Matt Damon!’

‘I love him!’

‘His films are awesome!’

At once, everyone starts looking around excitedly as if he might appear again, and one man even starts snapping his camera at empty space.

This is just like being on safari. In fact, I’m amazed they don’t do celebrity safaris. I wonder who the ‘Big Five’ would be. Brad Pitt, obviously, and Angelina. And imagine if you saw the whole family together. It would be like when we came across a lioness feeding her cubs in the Masai Mara.

‘Now, we’re gonna travel back in time, to the glory days of Sedgewood,’ Shaun is saying. ‘I’m gonna share with you some magical moments in film history. So sit back, and enjoy!’

The golf cart moves off, and we all look around politely at the white buildings and the lawns and the trees. After a while we stop, and Shaun shows us the fountain where Johnno proposed to Mari on We Were So Young, in 1963.

I never saw We Were So Young. In fact, I’ve never even heard of it, so that doesn’t mean an awful lot to me. Quite a nice fountain though.

‘And now on to our next highlight!’ Shaun says as we all get back on the cart. He starts it up and we drive for ages past more white buildings, lawns and trees. We turn a sharp corner and we all look excitedly to see what’s next … but it’s more white buildings, lawns and trees.

I suppose I knew this is what a studio lot looked like. But I can’t help feeling it’s a bit … meh. Where are the cameras? Where’s the guy shouting ‘Action’? And, more importantly, where’s the wardrobe department? I really wish I had a map, and I really wish Shaun would stop. As if reading my mind, he pulls to a halt and turns to face us, his face glowing with professional animation.

‘Ever wondered where was the famous grating that Anna lost her ring down, in the movie Fox Tales? Right here, on the Sedgewood Studios lot! Come and take a closer look.’

Obediently we all get off the cart and have a look. Sure enough, on a nearby fence there’s a framed still from some black-and-white film of a girl in fox furs dropping a ring down a grating. To my eye, it’s just an old grating. But everyone else is taking pictures of it, jostling for a good view, so maybe I should, too. I take a couple of snaps, then edge away from the group while they’re all engrossed. I walk to the corner and squint up the road, hoping to see a sign saying Wardrobe or Costume Design, but it’s just more white buildings, lawns and trees. Nor can I see a single film star. In fact, I’m starting to doubt whether they really come here at all.

‘Ma’am?’ Out of nowhere, Shaun has appeared, looking like a special agent in his dark jacket and headset. ‘Ma’am, I need you to stay with the group.’

‘Oh right. OK.’ Reluctantly, I follow him back to the cart and get on. This is useless. I’m never going to meet Nenita Dietz, stuck on a cart.

‘To your right, you’ll see the buildings that house some of the most famous film-production companies in the world.’ Shaun is booming down the earpiece. ‘They all produce films right here on the Sedgewood lot! Now, we’re heading to the gift shop …’

I’m peering out of the cart as we trundle along, reading every sign we pass. As we pause at an intersection, I lean out, squinting, to read the signs on the buildings. Scamper Productions … AJB Films … Too Rich Too Thin Design! Oh my God, that’s her! That’s Nenita Dietz’s company! Right there in front of my eyes! OK. I’m off.

With a burst of excitement, I unbuckle my belt and start clambering off the cart, just as we start moving. The momentum sends me sprawling on to the grass, and everyone on the cart screams.

‘Oh my God!’ one woman exclaims. ‘Are these carts safe?’

‘Is she injured?’

‘I’m fine!’ I call. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine!’ I hastily get to my feet, brush myself down and pick up my portfolio. Right. New career here I come.

‘Ma’am?’ Shaun has appeared by my side again. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Oh, hi, Shaun.’ I beam at him. ‘I’d like to get off here, actually. I’ll make my own way back, thanks. Brilliant tour,’ I add. ‘I loved the grating. Have a good day!’

I start to walk away, but to my annoyance, Shaun follows me.

‘Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to walk unsupervised through the lot. If you would like to leave the tour, one of our representatives will guide you back to the gate.’

‘That’s not necessary!’ I say brightly. ‘I know the way.’

‘It is necessary, ma’am.’

‘But honestly—’

‘This is a working lot, and unauthorized visitors must be accompanied at all times. Ma’am.’

His tone is implacable. Honestly. They take it all so seriously. What is this, NASA?

‘Could I go to the Ladies?’ I say in sudden inspiration. ‘I’ll just pop into that building there, I’ll only be a sec …’

‘There’s a ladies’ room at the gift store, which is our next stop,’ says Shaun. ‘Could you please rejoin the cart?’

His face hasn’t flickered once. He means business. If I make a run for it he’ll probably rugby-tackle me to the ground. I want to scream with frustration. Nenita Dietz’s design company is right there. It’s yards away.

‘Fine,’ I say at last, and morosely follow him back to the cart. The other passengers are looking at me with wonder and incomprehension. I can almost see the thought bubbles above their heads: Why would you get off the cart?

We whizz off again, past more buildings and round corners, and Shaun starts talking about some famous director who used to sunbathe nude in the 1930s, but I don’t listen. This is a total failure. Maybe I need to come again tomorrow and try a different tack. Sneak away at the start before I’ve even got on a cart. Yes.

The only tiny positive is, there’s a shop. At least I can buy souvenirs for everyone. As I wander around the gift store, looking at tea towels and pencils with miniature clapperboards on them, I can’t help sighing morosely. The old lady who was sitting next to me comes over and picks up a novelty megaphone paperweight. She glances at Shaun, who is supervising us all with a close eye. Then she moves nearer to me and says in a lowered voice, ‘Don’t look at me. He’ll suspect something. Just listen.’

‘OK,’ I say in surprise. I pick up a Sedgewood Studios mug and pretend to be engrossed in it.

‘Why did you get off the cart?’

‘I want to break into movies,’ I say, practically whispering. ‘I want to meet Nenita Dietz. Her office was right there.’

‘Thought it was something like that.’ She nods in satisfaction. ‘That’s the kind of thing I would have done.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, I was stage struck. But what was I going to do? I was a kid in Missouri. My parents wouldn’t let me sneeze without permission.’ Her eyes dim a little. ‘I ran away when I was sixteen. Got as far as LA before they tracked me down. Never did it again. Should have done.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say awkwardly. ‘I mean … I’m sorry you didn’t make it.’

‘So am I.’ She seems to come to. ‘But you can. I’ll create a diversion.’

‘Huh?’ I stare at her.

‘A diversion,’ she repeats a little impatiently. ‘Know what that means? I distract ’em, you get away. You do what you gotta do. Leave Shaun to me.’

‘Oh my God.’ I clasp her bony hand. ‘You’re amazing.’

‘Get over to the door.’ She nods her head. ‘Go. I’m Edna, by the way.’

‘Rebecca. Thank you!’

My heart beating hard, I head towards the door and linger by a display of We Were So Young aprons and baseball caps. Suddenly there’s an almighty Crash! Edna has collapsed theatrically to the floor, taking an entire display of crockery with her. There are screams and shouts and all the staff in the place, including Shaun, are rushing forward.

Thank you, Edna, I think as I creep out of the shop. I start to hurry along the street, running as fast as I can in my H&M wedges (really cool black-and-white print, you’d never think they cost only twenty-six dollars). After I’ve gone a little way I slow down, so as not to look suspicious, and turn a corner. There are people walking along and riding bikes and driving around in golf carts, but none of them has challenged me. Yet.

The only trouble is, I have no idea where I am. All these bloody white buildings look the same. I don’t dare ask anyone where Nenita Dietz’s office is – I’ll draw too much attention to myself. In fact, I’m still half expecting Shaun to come whizzing up beside me in a golf cart and perform a citizen’s arrest.

I round another corner and stop in the shade of a big red canopy. What do I do now? The lot is huge. I’m totally lost. A golf cart full of tourists passes by and I shrink away into the shadows, feeling like a fugitive avoiding the secret police. They’ve probably circulated my description to all the golf-cart drivers by this point. I’m probably on the Most Wanted list.

And then suddenly something rattles past me, and I blink at it in astonishment. It’s something so shiny and colourful and wonderful, I want to whoop. It’s a gift from God! It’s a rail of clothes! It’s a girl pushing a rail of clothes in plastic bags. She steers them expertly along the pavement, her phone in her other hand, and I hear her saying, ‘On my way. OK, don’t stress. I’ll be there.’

I have no idea who she is or what she’s doing. All I know is, where there are clothes, there’s a wardrobe department. Wherever she’s going, I want to go too. As discreetly as I can, I begin to follow her along the street, ducking behind pillars for cover and shielding my face with my hand. I think I’m being fairly unobtrusive, although a couple of people give me odd looks as they pass by.

The girl winds round two corners and through an alley, and I stay on her tail. Maybe she works for Nenita Dietz! And even if she doesn’t, there might be other useful people I could meet.

At last she turns in to a set of double doors. I wait a moment, then cautiously push my way in after her. I’m standing in a wide corridor, lined with doors, and ahead of me the girl is greeting a guy in a headset. He glances at me, and I hastily duck into a short side corridor. A bit further on I peep through a glass panel, and stifle a gasp. It’s the Holy Grail! It’s a room filled with tables and sewing machines and, all round the walls, rails of clothes. I have to have a look. The place is empty, thank God, so I push the door open and tiptoe in. There are period dresses lined up against one side, and I rifle through them, fingering all the gorgeous little pin-tucks and ruffles and covered buttons. Imagine working on a period film. Imagine choosing all those stunning dresses. And look at the hats! I’m just reaching for a poke bonnet with a broad-ribbon trim, when the door opens and another girl in jeans and a headset looks in.

‘Who are you?’ she demands, and I start guiltily. Shit.

My mind is racing as I put the bonnet back. I can’t get chucked out now, I can’t. I’ll have to wing it.

‘Oh, hi there.’ I try to sound pleasant and normal. ‘I’m new. Just started. That’s why you haven’t seen me.’

‘Oh.’ She frowns. ‘Is anyone else around?’

‘Er … not right now. Do you know where Nenita Dietz is?’ I add. ‘I have a message for her.’

Ha! Neatly done. Next I can say, ‘Can you just remind me where her office is?’ and I’ll be in.

The girl’s brow wrinkles. ‘Aren’t they all on location still?’

Location? My heart sinks. It never occurred to me she might be on location.

‘Or maybe they got back yesterday. I don’t know.’ The girl doesn’t seem remotely interested in Nenita Dietz. ‘Where are they all?’ She’s looking impatiently around the empty room and I realize she must mean whoever normally works here.

‘Dunno.’ I shrug. ‘Haven’t seen them.’ I think I’m busking this conversation pretty well. It just goes to show: all you need is a bit of confidence.

‘Don’t they realize we’re making a movie?’

‘I know,’ I say sympathetically. ‘You’d think they’d realize.’

‘It’s the attitude.’

‘Terrible,’ I agree.

‘I really don’t have time to chase people down.’ She sighs. ‘OK, you’ll have to do it.’ She produces a white cotton shirt with a frilly collar.

‘What?’ I say blankly, and the girl’s eyes narrow.

‘You are a seamstress?’

My whole face freezes. A seamstress?

‘Er … of course,’ I say after what seems like an eternity. ‘Of course I’m a seamstress. What else would I be?’

I need to get out of this room. Quickly. But before I can move, the girl is handing me the shirt.

‘OK. So this is for the older Mrs Bridges. I need a hem in the bottom, half an inch. You should use slipstitch for these garments,’ she adds. ‘I’m sure Deirdre told you that. Did she show you the attachment?’

‘Absolutely.’ I try to sound professional. ‘Slipstitch. Actually, I’m just on my way to get a coffee, so I’ll do that later.’ I put the shirt down next to a sewing machine. ‘Lovely to meet you—’

‘Jesus Christ!’ The girl erupts and I jump in fright. ‘You won’t do it later, you’ll do it now! We’re shooting! This is your first day and you come in with that attitude?’

She’s so scary I take a step back.

‘Sorry,’ I gulp.

‘Well, do you want to start?’ The girl nods towards the sewing machines, then folds her arms. I have no way out of this. None.

‘Right,’ I say after a pause, and take a seat in front of one of the sewing machines. ‘So.’

I’ve seen Mum using a sewing machine. And Danny. You just put the material under the needle and push the pedal. I can do this.

My face hot, I cautiously insert the shirt into the sewing machine.

‘Aren’t you going to pin it?’ says the girl critically.

‘Er … I pin as I go,’ I say. ‘It’s just the way I do it.’ Experimentally I press the pedal, and thankfully the sewing machine whirrs along vigorously as though I’m an expert. I reach for a pin, shove it into the fabric, then sew a bit more. I think I look pretty convincing, as long as the girl doesn’t come anywhere near me.

‘Do you want to pick this up in a minute?’ I say. ‘I could bring it to you, maybe?’

To my relief, there’s a crackling sound from her headset. She shakes her head impatiently, trying to listen, then steps outside the room. At once I stop sewing. Thank God. Time to make a run for it. I’m halfway out of the chair when the door swings back open and, to my horror, it’s the girl again.

‘They want some pin-tucks down the front as well. Did you finish the hem?’

‘Um.’ I swallow. ‘Nearly.’

‘So, finish it and put in the pin-tucks.’ She claps her hands. ‘Come on! They’re waiting! Now!’

‘Right.’ I nod, and hastily start up the sewing machine again. ‘Pin-tucks. Coming up.’

‘And two extra sleeve tucks at the shoulder. You can do that?’

‘Sleeve tucks. No problem.’

I briskly sew a seam, then turn the blouse and sew another seam. She’s still watching me. Why is she still watching me? Doesn’t she have anywhere else to go?

‘So,’ I say. ‘I’ll just … put those tucks in.’

I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m pushing the shirt back and forth, criss-crossing seams all over it. I don’t dare stop; I don’t dare look up. I’m just willing the girl to leave. Go, please go … please, please go …

‘Are you nearly done?’ The girl listens to her headset. ‘They’re waiting for it.’

I feel like I’m in a never-ending sewing nightmare. The shirt is a mish-mash of random wavery stitches; in fact I’ve actually stitched the whole thing together. I’m sewing more and more feverishly, backwards and forwards, praying that something gets me out of this …

‘Hello? Excuse me?’ She raises her voice over the sound of the sewing machine. ‘Can you hear me? Hey!’ She bangs a hand on the table. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘Oh.’ I look up as though hearing her for the first time. ‘Sorry. I was just sewing.’

‘The shirt?’ She holds out her hand.

I stare steadily back at her. The blood is pulsing in my ears. Any minute now she’s going to grab the shirt from the sewing machine and it will all be over. And she won’t let me leave and I’ll be arrested by the studio secret police in dark jackets and my whole plan will fail before it’s even begun.

‘Actually … I think I’m going to change career,’ I say in desperation.

‘What?’ The girl gapes at me.

‘Yes. I’ve had a sudden realization. I don’t want to be a seamstress any more, I want to work with animals.’

‘Animals?’ She seems absolutely pole-axed and I take advantage of this fact to get up and start edging past her to the door.

‘Yes. I’m going to go to Borneo and work with gorillas. It’s always been my dream. So, er, thank you for the opportunity.’ I start backing out of the room. ‘Say thank you to Deirdre, too. You’ve all been lovely to work with!’

The girl is still staring at me, open-mouthed, as I hurry out of the double doors. I can hear her calling something, but I don’t stop to listen. I have to get out.