by Rebecca Lim
Within a few hours, Gabs’s dad had verified Celia Albright’s identity and position as Second Secretary at the Australian Embassy in Rome. Arrangements were made for Janey to make her first ever overseas trip, fully paid for by her new aunt. Mr Epstein had also told Janey that she’d have a debit card linked to the modest sum of money her mum had left her. He lectured her about sticking to a budget and not blowing the entire amount on a two-week holiday. Janey’s eyes had filled as she nodded, knowing how hard her mum had worked to save that money.
‘I’m sooooo jealous!’ said Em over lunch on the second-last day of term. ‘Italy’s totally the land of La Dolce Vita, Janes. Long lunches, fabulous coffee, gorgeous monuments, even more gorgeous guys. I can’t believe you’re getting a second summer in the Eternal City while we suffer through a boring winter without you! And your minestrone. It’s too cruel.’
‘La Dolce what?’ Janey wrinkled her freckly nose.
‘The Sweet Life,’ said Em. ‘It’s, like, only the most famous film Federico Fellini – just about Italy’s most famous film director – ever made. And it’s set in Rome. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of it. Fellini practically invented the word paparazzi. Watch it before you go, you philistine.’
‘Never heard of him, Em, you know-it-all,’ Ness interrupted. ‘Now on to more important things, Janey. Like getting you holiday-ready and fabulous before you leave. My place, after school, no excuses. I’ve got some looks for you to try out.’
Janey and Ness were both tall and willowy, with legs to die for. And there the similarity ended – Ness was a green-eyed blonde stunner and styling genius, who looked a million bucks on a teeny budget, while Janey was, well, just Janey. She always looked perfectly okay in her hoodies, jeans and high-tops. But it was generally acknowledged that Janey Gordon, with her cloud of untamable, fluffy red-gold hair and habit of tripping over her own size ten feet, would never set the fashion world on fire. Plus, Ness ate like a sparrow, while saying that Janey loved her food was a massive understatement.
Gabs rolled her eyes and groaned. ‘You and your looks, Vanessa McAdams! Like that time you said green glitter eye shadow, an oversized cable sweater and black leggings were a really good match for someone with my hair and build!’
‘And the time you insisted I buy that atrocious silver tulip-skirted bandeau dress that made me look ten times shorter than I already am,’ snorted Em. ‘I looked like a flowerpot man, only upside down.’
‘You both looked perfectly on trend!’ exclaimed Ness in hurt tones.
Her three friends giggled.
‘Yeah, for someone built like Kate Moss!’ said Gabs. ‘Whereas I am built along more Roman lines.’
‘Which brings us back to the urgent issue of your holiday wardrobe,’ said Ness, turning to Janey. ‘I’ve always said that you’d knock ’em dead if you’d just let me style you!’
Janey sighed. Usually she just zoned out when Ness launched into the subject of fashion, but for some strange reason it was suddenly really important to her that she make a good impression on her new aunt and cousin. She wanted to fly the flag for her beautiful mum, Lydia, and if that meant a bit of fashion torture, well, maybe it was worth it. Just this once.
‘I don’t even wear make-up, Ness,’ she said. ‘Never got the hang of it. And I just can’t speak that whole flash-fash lingo of yours. Let’s face it, I’ve got zero girly style.’
‘You’ve got really good skin,’ Ness replied.
Janey looked dubious.
‘Seriously! And you should never underestimate a good foundation and concealer,’ Ness continued. ‘Just add a great smoky eye and nude lip and that’s all you need on the make-up front. Which just leaves you to pull together some resort-worthy looks from the clothes I’ve picked out for you to wear. I can fix the girly style thing. It’s a no-brainer.’
Ness was so good at styling herself that older girls often stopped her in the street to ask where she bought her clothes. She could make vintage look amazing. She also made stuff from scratch that looked totally couture and mixed it all up like a pro. The Olsen twins had nothing on Ness, who worked three jobs, two of which were fashion-related. Ness almost never needed to actually sell anything to anyone, because as soon as a customer clapped eyes on what Ness was wearing, they wanted it too.
‘Go on, Janes,’ said Em. ‘Saves you worrying about what to pack. Ness has clothes to burn. She’s not going to miss a suitcase full of stuff for a couple of weeks. Let her help.’
‘Yeah,’ Gabs agreed. ‘If I could fit into Ness’s stuff I’d be raiding her wardrobe every spare minute. You’ve never let her work her magic on you – just let her try. If you end up looking like a Roman urn or a flowerpot man, Em and I will let you know – have no fear.’
Janey found herself nodding. As the bell rang, the four girls agreed to meet up at Ness’s house after school.
‘I’ll bring the eats,’ Em volunteered, as she melted into the post-lunch corridor crowd with a wave.
Ness’s room was dominated by an awesome walk-in wardrobe filled to the colour-coded brim with clothes, handbags, accessories and shoes.
Vintage was mixed in with hand-me-down high-end stuff from Ness’s equally gorgeous mum, Lou Lou. One-off creations by Ness herself were rounded out with trash-fash cheapie buys that could be loved to death for one season, then thrown away. Her room was a fashionista’s paradise. The only thing was, Janey and Em weren’t fashionistas in the slightest, and Gabs had long ago acknowledged that she’d have to stop eating altogether to fit into any of Ness’s clothes. And she wasn’t about to do that.
‘I just love food too much,’ said Gabs, looking around the room longingly.
‘And so you should,’ Em replied. ‘Have a chip.’
Gabs and Janey helped themselves to Em’s stash of chilli-flavoured corn chips and sprawled across the end of Ness’s double bed. Fashion magazines littered almost every surface of the bedroom. Ness was also a cosmetics junkie. Lipstick and nail polish in every conceivable shade were lined up in neat rows across her French provincial-style dressing table.
‘Uh, bring it on,’ Janey said warily.
‘Oh no you don’t, Jane Gordon. You’re the house model for today, so get in there and try on outfit number one.’ Ness pointed a perfectly painted fingernail – Chanel Le Vernis in Vamp, naturally – at her overflowing, room-sized walk-in robe.
Janey mooched in. ‘I don’t even know where my head is supposed to go,’ she said a minute later, sounding muffled. ‘I think my earring’s caught. Help.’
Ness shot Em and Gabs an expressive eyebrow and marched in. A moment later, Janey emerged in a figure-skimming red-and-white striped halter-neck top over a pair of indigo jeans of the perfect degree of skinniness.
Gabs and Em gasped. The shade of red in the top shouldn’t have worked with Janey’s bright hair, but somehow it did.
‘You look fantastic!’ said Em. ‘You’ve got a shape at last!’
Janey looked sheepish. ‘I feel half-dressed. And I’m cold.’
‘It’s high summer over there, stupid,’ Ness replied. ‘I checked the weather channel. Now get in there and slide on look number two.’
Look number two was a vintage Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress in graphic black and white, with red platform wedges. Luckily, Ness’s feet were as huge as Janey’s.
‘You’ve got curves, Jane Gordon,’ Gabs crowed as Janey leant slinkily against the doorframe, batting her eyelashes. Her friends broke out laughing.
‘Fab dress courtesy of Lou Lou’s last wardrobe cleanout,’ said Ness happily. ‘Haven’t worn it myself yet! There are at least five other outfit changes in there, Janes, so get cracking. We ’ve got other fish to fry.’
Next, Janey appeared in a pair of denim sailor pants with heavy brass buttons, a navy-and-white striped top with three-quarter sleeves, and a pair of round-toed ballet flats.
Gabs nodded as she nibbled on a rice cracker. ‘I like it. Very Gwen Stefani-esque.’
‘Cl
assic,’ Em agreed. ‘Very French New Wave cinema.’
The fourth of Ness’s looks was a fitted orange singlet top and a black, mid-calf tulle skirt.
‘Kooky combo,’ said Ness as Janey pirouetted around the bedroom with her arms in the air. ‘But it works, don’t you think?’
Emily and Gabs nodded, in awe of Ness’s fashion genius.
Further outfit changes yielded white short shorts, a silky peasant blouse in a vibrant flower print with cap sleeves and a gathered yoke, a belted grey jersey T-shirt dress, and a vintage black shift dress with bronze beading around the neckline.
‘Magnifique!’ Em declared, clapping as the run of outfits ended.
‘Magnifico, you clueless wonder,’ Gabs corrected. ‘She’s going to Italy, remember? Though she wouldn’t look out of place in Paris. Every look a bona fide winner, Janey. If you don’t come back engaged to a handsome young Italian aristocrat, I’ll eat Ness’s entire collection of rhinestone hairclips.’
‘Deal,’ said Ness. ‘I was getting sick of them anyway.’ She turned to Janey. ‘You like?’
Janey, still in the beaded black dress, threw her hands up in the air. ‘I like. You were right, Ness, I needed help. I don’t own anything half as glam as these. And everything works back together. Mixing and matching shouldn’t be too much of a stretch for a fashion cretin like me.’
‘And I’ve got the perfect suitcase for all this to go into,’ Ness added. ‘Genuine Anya Hindmarch, if you don’t mind. Another Lou Lou cast-off. Covered in signature bows with a telescoping handle to save your dainty back. Wait one minute while I throw everything into it.’
Janey changed out of the dramatic black dress and reappeared in her usual striped hoodie and jeans. Gabs handed her a piece of caramel slice, which Janey devoured gratefully.
‘Don’t get too comfortable!’ Ness said as she wheeled out the little suitcase, leaving it by her bedroom door. ‘That was only the start of your kick-butt makeover. Now for a lesson in the art of cosmeceutical enhancement. Eyebrows first, I should think. They’re looking a bit straggly.’
Janey groaned. ‘You mean there’s more?’
Ness dragged her over to the dressing table and began picking out bottles, tubes and brushes. Em and Gabs each popped open a can of cola, toasted one other, and settled in for the show.
Janey was so hopeless at applying eyeliner and mascara that they all ended up staying for dinner at Ness’s place.
‘You looked less like Janey and more like a raccoon,’ mused Em as she practically inhaled Lou Lou’s apricot chicken.
‘No,’ said Gabs cheerfully, ‘like a runny panda. Tragic.’
Janey flushed. ‘I told you I was no good at this stuff.’
‘Not to worry, dear,’ said Lou Lou, taking a sip of her wine, ‘I was completely clueless about make-up at high school. And look at me now!’
Janey shot Lou Lou – who looked like a model – a look of disbelief.
‘No really, I was.’ Lou Lou laughed. ‘And I had a poodle perm with a sheepdog fringe, to make matters worse.’
‘She’s not joking,’ grinned Ness’s dad. ‘Back when we first met, Lou Lou’s look could best be described as, uh . . . colour blind. Luckily I saw beyond the daggy façade to the beauty within.’
Lou Lou giggled. ‘Nothing matched.’
‘And you couldn’t see where you were going.’
‘They can go on like this for hours,’ Ness snorted. ‘What they’re trying to say is that there’s hope for you yet, Janey.’
‘On an entirely different topic,’ said Em, pushing away her empty plate, ‘did you get many comments on MySpace about your trip to Rome?’
Janey nodded. ‘So many that I haven’t had time to work my way through them all! If it’s okay, Gabs, I’m going to log a couple of extra hours on your computer tonight. I know it’s still technically a school night but I want to touch base with as many people as possible before I leave for Rome. Aunt Celia’s probably got a computer I can use, but if she doesn’t, I don’t want to leave my fans hanging!’
Her friends laughed. But actually it wasn’t far from the truth. Janey had a humungous number of online buddies because her About Me blurb was so laugh-out-loud funny and so utterly Janey that she’d attracted quite a fan base. She would proclaim proudly, ‘My mum is my hero!’ and wasn’t afraid to say other daggy stuff that people were thinking, but were too afraid to post themselves, like, ‘I hate it when people are mad at me’ and ‘I love the smell of the garden after it rains’ and ‘I’m really shy till I get to know you, so keep on trying! I’m worth it!’ Online, Janey was a lot bolder than she was in person, and her personality really shone through.
Her photo was cute too, because Ness had caught her smiling in the sunshine, unaware of the camera. The natural-looking photo was a refreshing change from all the seedy prom queen photos that were out there. It was obvious she was the real deal, and not a try-hard, fake friend-collector.
‘Sure thing, Janes,’ said Gabs, polishing off the last of her chicken. ‘Computer’s all yours.’
‘Better get you girls home then,’ said Mr McAdams. ‘Don’t want to keep those fans waiting!’
It was almost midnight. Gabs had long since begged Janey to stop reading to her from her MySpace page and had gone to sleep. Like the good friend she was, Janey was replying to as many comments as she could and was having about a dozen simultaneous conversations with friends who were currently online, most of whom she’d never met in real life.
She was about to log out when a new message came through from Razzle Girl.
Hey chickie, who’s this Fellini dude? Sounds heavy.
Razzle Girl
Janey frowned into the computer screen.
Wat? Don’t know no Fellini.
x X Janey G X x
Where had she heard that name before? Fellini. It came to her a moment later. Em’s genius (but dead) Italian film director.
What an odd coincidence, she thought. She didn’t remember accepting ‘Fellini’ as a friend, but with new friends coming on board all the time, she probably had.
C ur page, Id read if I were u. Sounds serious. Creepy even.
Razzle Girl
Janey hastily closed out of about a million other windows and scrolled further up her own comments list, which she’d been tackling from the bottom. She realised with a sinking feeling that she still had dozens of comments to read and reply to. An absolute avalanche of excited mail had arrived after her last blog about her upcoming trip. But with the last day of term still to get through, she needed to hit the sack now, or she’d be a bona fide zombie in the morning.
I’ll just check out this Fellini guy’s comment, she thought to herself, searching up through the most current comments until she found him. It had been posted on the same day she’d uploaded her latest blog.
Rather than using a personal photo like almost all of Janey’s 369 online friends, Fellini was represented by a photo of a serious car wreck. It was a shiny black sedan with a smashed-in bonnet. The wreck was surrounded by pieces of glass and twisted metal. Janey went cold as she peered more closely at the photo. She thought she could make out a person slumped against the steering wheel which, like all European cars, was a right-hand drive.
The message beside the chilling image made Janey recoil.
Hey this could happen to u. In Rome.
Fellini
Janey frantically scrolled up the remaining comments on her page with shaking fingers and found one further message.
Don’t go. Or bad things will go down. You heard it here first.
Fellini
Her insides went ice cold.
I would’ve remembered an avatar like that! she thought. The guy must’ve changed it recently.
Skin crawling, Janey clicked on Fellini’s profile. All it said was that ‘Fellini’ was male, twenty-one and Italian, and had logged in as recently as today. His page was largely blank, as he had no blogs, blurbs or other photos posted. Which said exactly zero a
bout him. Scanning the rest of his meagre page, she saw that the guy had just one friend and that one friend was . . . her.
Janey quickly logged out, telling herself it was just sour grapes from some jealous creepazoid who’d browsed her at random and was in the mood for causing trouble.
Still, sleep was a long time coming that night.
Luca
She flew for twenty-six bewildering hours to emerge into the chaos that was Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci airport at six in the morning.
There were people everywhere: shouting, sweating, cursing and pushing their way up ragged, haphazard queues to reach customs windows that were closed, then suddenly opened, then closed again. And when they all cleared customs, there was more shouting, sweating and cursing when people discovered that several flights’ worth of baggage had somehow been mixed up and was now piled at random throughout the arrival hall in every available nook and cranny.
But Janey didn’t mind because Janey was in Rome. Rome! And Lou Lou’s lovely suitcase was the easiest bag to spot. And even though her hair was frizzy and her nose was shiny, everything was all right with her world because she still looked cool and classy in her denim sailor pants and jaunty French top and – as soon as she walked through the sliding doors into the golden heat of a Roman morning – the most beautiful young man she had ever seen in her life was standing on the footpath, holding up a sign with her name on it.
If she’d been the swooning type, she would have, because the stranger held out a strong, tanned hand to her and said in a deliciously husky voice: ‘Buongiorno, signorina Gordon. I would know you anywhere. I am Luca Sarti.’