‘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 LA, 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 sombre, 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.
Then it’s another ad break – and then it’s time for Lois’s appearance. And even though I know they’ve cooked all this up, my heart is beating faster at the thought of them together on the sofa. God knows what the American public is feeling. This really is a TV event.
Suddenly we’re back in the studio, and Lois walks on to the set, wearing skinny cigarette pants and a billowy white silk shirt and … holding the clutch bag! I can’t help gasping, and Jeff looks in the rear-view mirror.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Just watching the telly.’
Sage and Lois are staring at each other like two hostile cats, with a kind of crackling, unsmiling tension. The cameras keep switching from close-up to close-up. Camberly is watching silently, her hands to her mouth.
‘Have your clutch bag.’ Lois throws the bag down on the floor. Camberly jumps in shock and I make a squeak of protest. She’ll damage the diamanté!
‘You think I want it?’ says Sage. ‘You can keep it.’
Hang on. I’m a bit offended, here. That’s a really nice clutch bag. Which, by the way, no one has ever paid me for.
‘You two girls haven’t seen each other since the awards ceremony,’ says Camberly, leaning forward.
‘No,’ says Sage, not taking her eyes off Lois.
‘Why would I want to see her?’ chimes in Lois.
And suddenly I lose patience with the whole thing. It’s so unreal. They’re going to fight and be mean and then they’ll probably hug each other and cry at the end.
‘We’re here,’ says Jeff, pulling the car over. ‘You wanna keep watching?’
‘No thanks,’ I say, and switch off the TV. I look out of the window, trying to get my bearings. There are the galvanized gates. There are the rows of mobile homes. OK. Let’s hope I find some answers here.
‘This is really the address?’ says Jeff, who is peering out of the window dubiously. ‘You sure about that?’
‘Yes, this is it.’
‘Well, I think it’s advisable I come along with you,’ he says firmly, and gets out of the car.
‘Thanks, Jeff,’ I say, as he opens my car door.
I’m going to miss Jeff.
This time I walk straight to no. 431, without looking right or left. The eviction notice is still on the door, and the trailer opposite is shut up. I can see my card, still stuck in the window frame. Great. Clearly that woman didn’t pass it on.
I walk past an old man sitting outside a trailer about three along but I don’t feel like approaching him. Partly because he keeps giving me funny looks, and partly because he has a massive dog on a chain. I can’t see any neighbours other than him. So what do I do now? I sit down on a plastic chair which seems to be randomly in the middle of the path, and heave a big sigh.
‘Are you visiting with someone?’ says Jeff, who has followed me without comment.
‘No. I mean, yes, but he’s been evicted.’ I gesture at the notice on the door. ‘I want to find out where he’s gone.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Jeff digests this for a few moments.
‘I was hoping to speak to a neighbour,’ I explain. ‘I thought I could get a forwarding address or something …’
‘Uh-huh,’ says Jeff again, then nods at the trailer. ‘He might be in there. Back door’s open.’
What? That hadn’t even occurred to me. Maybe he’s come back. Maybe Dad’s in there with him! In excitement, I hurry to the trailer door and bang on it.
‘Hello?’ I call. ‘Brent? Are you there?’
There’s a pause, then the door swings open. But it’s not Brent. It’s a girl. She’s a little older than me, I’d say, with wavy sandy hair and a freckled, weatherbeaten face. She has pale-blue eyes and a nose ring and an unfriendly expression. I can smell toast and hear Michael Jackson’s ‘Beat It’ playing faintly in the background.
‘What?’ she says.
‘Oh, hi,’ I say hesitantly. ‘Sorry to disturb you.’
A little dog comes running out of the door and licks my toes. He’s a Jack Russell, and he’s wearing the cutest lime-green harness.
‘Gorgeous!’ I say, and squat to pat him. ‘What’s he called?’
‘Scooter.’ The girl doesn’t unbend a millimetre. ‘What do you want?’
‘Oh. Sorry.’ I rise up and give her a polite smile. ‘How do you do?’ I extend a hand and she cautiously takes mine. ‘I’m looking for someone called Brent Lewis. Do you know him?’
‘That’s my dad.’
‘Oh!’ I exhale in relief. ‘Great! Well, he was a friend of my father, and I think my dad’s gone off looking for him, but I don’t know where’s he’s headed.’
‘Who’s your dad?’
‘Graham Bloomwood.’
It’s as though I’ve said ‘the Antichrist’. Her whole body jolts i
n shock. But her eyes stay on mine, unwavering. There’s a gimletty hardness to them which is starting to freak me out. What’s wrong? What have I said?
‘Your dad is Graham Bloomwood?’ she says at last.
‘Yes! Do you know him?’ I say tentatively.
‘So, what, you’ve come here to gloat? Is that it?’
My mouth falls open a little. Have I missed something here?
‘Er … gloat?’ I echo, at last. ‘No. Why would I come here to gloat?’
‘Who’s that guy?’ Her eyes suddenly fix on Jeff.
‘Oh. Him.’ I cough, feeling a bit embarrassed. ‘He’s my bodyguard.’
‘Your bodyguard.’ She gives a bitter, incredulous laugh and shakes her head. ‘Figures.’
It figures? Why does it figure? She doesn’t know anything about me—
Oh, she’s recognized me! I knew I was famous.
‘It’s just been since the whole ridiculous business on TV,’ I say, with a modest sigh. ‘When you’re in my position you have to hire security. I mean, I’m sure you can imagine what it’s like.’
She might want an autograph, it occurs to me. I really should get some of those big shiny pictures to carry about with me.
‘I could sign a napkin,’ I suggest. ‘Or a piece of paper?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ says the girl, her tone unchanged. ‘I don’t watch TV. Are you a big deal?’
‘Oh,’ I say, feeling suddenly stupid. ‘Right. I thought … Well … no. I mean, kind of …’ This conversation is excruciating. ‘Look, can we talk?’
‘Talk?’ she echoes, so sarcastically that I wince. ‘It’s a bit late to talk, don’t you think?’
I stare at her in bewilderment.
‘I’m sorry … I don’t follow. Is something wrong?’
‘Jesus H. Christ.’ She closes her eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. ‘Look, just take your little bodyguard and your little designer shoes and your little prinky-prinky voice and go. OK?’
I’m feeling more and more upset by this conversation. Why is she so angry? I don’t even know her. Why did she say I’d come here to gloat?
And what ‘prinky-prinky voice’? I don’t have a prinky-prinky voice.
‘Look.’ I try to stay calm. ‘Please can we start again? All I want is to track down my father and I’m quite worried about him, and this is the only place I can think of, and—’ I break off. ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself properly. My name’s Rebecca.’
‘I know.’ She looks at me strangely. ‘Of course it is.’
‘And what’s your name?’
‘Rebecca too. We’re all called Rebecca.’
It’s as though time stands still. I gape at her blankly for a few seconds, trying to process her words. But they make no sense. We’re all called Rebecca.
We’re all … what?
What?
‘You knew that.’ She seems puzzled by my reaction. ‘You had to know that.’
Am I missing something? Have I moved into some weird, parallel universe? Who’s we?
What the bloody hell is going ON?
‘Your dad did see my dad. Couple days ago.’ She gives me a challenging stare. ‘I guess they had it out at long last.’
‘Had it out about what?’ I say in despair. ‘What? Please tell me!’
There’s a long silence. The other Rebecca is just staring at me with her narrow blue eyes, as though she can’t work me out.
‘What did your dad tell you about that trip?’ she says at last. ‘The trip in seventy-two.’
‘Nothing much. I mean, just little stuff. They went to the rodeo, they ate ice-cream, my dad got really sunburned …’
‘That’s all?’ She seems incredulous. ‘Sunburn?’
‘Yes,’ I say helplessly. ‘What else was there to tell? What do you mean, we’re all called Rebecca?’
‘Jesus H. Christ.’ She shakes her head. ‘Well, if you don’t know I’m not telling you.’
‘You have to tell me!’
‘I have to tell you nothing.’ She looks me up and down, and I can feel the contempt in her eyes. ‘I don’t know where your dad is. Now fuck off, princess girl.’ She picks up the little dog, and to my horror, bangs the trailer door shut. A moment later I can hear the back door being locked, too.
‘Come back!’ I beat furiously on the door. ‘Please! Rebecca! I need to talk to you!’
As if in answer, the sound of ‘Beat It’ from inside gets louder.
‘Please!’ I can feel tears rising. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know what happened!’
I bang on the door for what seems like for ever, but there’s no answer. Suddenly I feel a huge, gentle hand on my shoulder.
‘She ain’t opening that,’ says Jeff kindly. ‘I say you leave it. I say we go home.’
I can’t reply. I stare at the trailer, a painful fullness in my chest. Something happened. And I don’t know what, and the answer’s in there, but I can’t get at it.
‘I say we go home,’ repeats Jeff. ‘Nothing you can do now.’
‘All right,’ I say at last. ‘You’re right. We should go.’
I follow him past the mobile homes, past the man with the scary dog, out of the gates. I don’t know what I’m going to say to Suze. I don’t know what I’m going to do, full stop.
As Jeff starts up the car, the TV comes on, and I’m assailed by the sound of sobbing. Lois and Sage are in each other’s arms on-screen, mascara dripping down both their faces, while Camberly watches, her hands clasped in delight to her mouth.
‘I’ve alwaaaays respected you …’ Sage is hiccuping.
‘I’ve had such a damaaaaged life,’ Lois sobs back.
‘I love you, you know that, Lois?’
‘I will always love yoooooou …’
They both look absolute wrecks. They must have worn non-waterproof mascara on purpose.
Lois cradles Sage’s face between her hands and says tenderly, ‘You have a beautiful spirit,’ and I can’t help snorting with laughter. Is anyone going to believe in this ‘reconciliation’? I have no idea. And right now, I don’t care. All I can think is: where’s Dad? What’s going on? What on earth is going on?
When I get back, Suze is out. Presumably she’s with Alicia. Presumably they’re having really long, heartfelt conversations, because Suze can’t talk to me, her oldest friend, who helped her have her first baby, does she remember that? And spent a whole week jiggling him in my arms while Suze slept, does she remember that? Where was Alicia then? She was swigging cocktails and planning how to ruin my life, that’s where she was.
Anyway. If Suze wants to be best friends with Alicia, then fine. Whatever. Maybe I’ll make friends with Robert Mugabe, to match.
I leave her a voicemail, giving her the bare bones of what happened, and do the same for Mum. But then I feel at a loss. I can’t just head off randomly in search of Dad. I don’t have a single other clue.
So at last I pack up my bag and get Jeff to take me to Sage’s house, which is surrounded by paparazzi. (Proper paparazzi, not just Lon and his mates.) As we approach, I realize they won’t be able to see inside the blacked-out SUV. I wind down the window and they start snapping away at me inside the car, while I ignore them elegantly and Jeff shouts, ‘Wind that window up!’ (He doesn’t have to be so cross. I only wanted some air.)
When I finally get inside, the whole place is pumping with music, and there are about ten assistants milling around, making smoothies and telling people on the phone that Sage is not available. Sage herself is dressed in grey leggings and a T-shirt reading SUCK ON THAT, and seems totally hyper.
‘So, wasn’t Camberly awesome?’ she says about five times before I can even say hello. ‘Wasn’t it incredible?’
‘It was amazing! Did you wear non-waterproof mascara on purpose?’ I can’t help asking.
‘Yes!’ She points her finger at me as though I’ve got an answer correct on a quiz show. ‘That was Lois’
s idea. The make-up people were all like, “You might cry, people often do on this show,” and we were like, well so what? We want to be honest, you know.’ She blinks at me. ‘We want to be truthful. Mascara runs and that’s the truth, and if it’s not your perfect put-together look, then too bad.’
I clamp my lips together so I won’t laugh. Truthful? Only I can’t say anything because she’s my client, so I just nod earnestly.
‘Wow. You’re so right.’
‘I know,’ she says in satisfaction. ‘So, some dresses arrived. Where did I put them?’
After some searching, I find a Danny Kovitz box in the corner of the room. It was sent over this morning from Danny’s LA showroom and contains three dresses. He’s such a star. (I talked to Adrian at the Danny Kovitz headquarters today. Apparently Danny has checked into the Setai in Miami and says he’s never going anywhere colder than 75 degrees Fahrenheit again. I never thought Greenland would suit him.)
I shake out the white beaded dress, which is absolutely gorgeous, and head over to Sage.
‘This is amazing.’ I drape the dress over my arm so she can see. ‘It’s very fitted, though, so you’ll need to try it.’
‘Cool!’ Sage strokes it. ‘I’ll try it on in a minute.’
‘So, what was your brilliant idea?’
‘Oh, that.’ She gives me a secretive smile. ‘I’m not going to tell you.’
‘Really?’ I stare at her, disconcerted. ‘Not at all?’
‘You’ll see it tonight.’
Tonight? Is it a hair do? Or a new tattoo?
‘OK!’ I say. ‘Can’t wait! So, I have some other options as well as the white—’
‘Wait.’ Sage is distracted by a TV on the wall. ‘Look! The interview’s on again. Let’s watch it. Hey, guys!’ she calls to her assistants. ‘The show’s on again! Get popcorn!’
‘Whoo!’ shout a couple of assistants. ‘Go Sage! Awesome!’
‘Let me call Lois. Hey, babe,’ she says as soon as she’s put through. ‘We’re on again. Becky’s here. We’re going to watch it.’ She high-fives me as she speaks, and I notice a tongue stud which wasn’t there before. Is that her new thing?
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