The Stylist

by Rosie Nixon

  ‘You’re overreacting. I just thought the bag would be a nice treat.’ She began moodily stuffing tissue paper back into the box.

  ‘Can’t you see, Mona? You’re doing exactly what everybody does to you. You’re trying to buy me with free gifts, and you know what? I don’t want your freebies. I don’t even want this job any more. I’ve had enough of this superficial world and I can’t wait to get home tomorrow and leave it all behind.’ I could feel a prickly sensation building up behind my eyes again, but this time I wouldn’t let the tears break through.

  As Mona quietly replaced the lid on the box, I fought an overwhelming urge to punch it off the table. But then I paused, a thought occurring to me.

  ‘Actually, you know what, seeing as you insist, I will take the bag.’ She looked up, confused. ‘But not for myself—I want to give it to Ana. It seems to me that Ana is the most loyal person you have in your life, and she definitely deserves a treat.’

  ‘Fine. Whatever,’ she conceded, pushing the box towards me once more.

  And that was as close as I was going to get to an apology.

  The following morning Mona breezed into the kitchen, dressed in a powder-rose blouse, canary-yellow capri pants and kitten heels. There was a touch of 1950s Portofino about her. She plonked her big white Louis Vuitton tote, personalised with her initials, onto the kitchen counter. No wonder she didn’t want the Valentino.

  ‘Thought we could grab a taxi to the airport together, babe,’ she said, grabbing the counter for support while she polished her heel with a wet finger.

  I was confused. ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘Beau’s bachelorette. Ten girls on tour—it’s going to be insane!’

  It was tempting to mention the conversation I’d had with Beau at the Oscars, but I stayed quiet—that would only rub more salt into open wounds.

  ‘Are you allowed to fly when you’ve been recently detained for shoplifting?’

  ‘Oh, it’s only a hop and a skip to Cabo,’ she replied, all smiles.

  ‘A hop and a skip across the border to Mexico,’ I muttered.

  ‘I didn’t get charged, you know, Amber.’

  I ignored that last comment. Leave it, Amber. She is no longer your problem. The cab was due in thirty minutes, so I returned to my room for a final check—there was only my hand luggage to pick up. I carefully placed the ‘S’ necklace on the dressing table for Mona to discover.

  I peered out of the window to see Klara in the garden, sunning herself on her favourite lounger as usual. There was something cathartic about the scene—it reminded me of the first time I’d looked out of this window, excitedly spotting the pool—which I still hadn’t even trailed a hand through. Then a man strolled out to join her, naked from the waist up. He had a large tattoo across his back. Hmm, fit body—no wonder she’s been smiling so much. He bent down for a kiss and then sat on the end of her lounger; Klara sat up on her elbows as he quickly closed in for another, more lingering kiss. They looked besotted. I leaned closer to the glass. There was the back of a thick, black mop of curly hair and a long, tanned neck. I recognise that mop. They began kissing, heads bobbing together, his hands holding her cheeks in a firm grip. And then the penny dropped. I recognise that head hold. Hang on, I know that kiss. Jesus, it’s LA Liam! I moved away from the window and sat on the edge of the bed, wanting to laugh. The auditioning actor with a text obsession and terrible lip service. She must have met him at Soho House, too—the place was practically her second home. No wonder she was texting away so furiously yesterday. Their fast fingers are made for each other. Of all the people in Hollywood … Well, at least he’d found a compatible kisser in Klara. I smiled, deciding that rather than interrupt—though it would be funny to see his face—I’d call Klara to say goodbye from the other side of the Atlantic.

  Downstairs, I located Ana in the laundry room, busily transferring the contents of her battered tan shopper into the gleaming Valentino tote.

  ‘Amber, it is so beautiful! Thank you very much,’ she cooed.

  ‘Stunning, isn’t it?’ I stroked the smooth, cool skin. ‘Red suits you.’

  ‘We’ll miss you.’ She reached to take my hand.

  ‘I’ll miss you, too.’ I leaned in and gave her a hug. ‘Look after her, hey? Well—as much as anyone can.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘After fifteen years, I know her pretty well …’

  Then a car horn outside signalled it was time to go.

  We didn’t say much to each other during the journey to LAX. Mona was too busy covering her face with a scarf, in case the cab driver happened to recognise her and alert the gossip sites that Mona Armstrong was on the move.

  We entered the departures hall, and as I scanned the screens for my check-in desk, she turned to me.

  ‘Thank Christ awards season’s over, hey, babe?’

  We both smiled, awkwardly.

  ‘Don’t think I could handle another one,’ I said, truthfully.

  ‘Maybe I’ll see you at Smith’s some time.’

  ‘I guess, if Jas has me back. And, Mona—I really hope you get everything worked out.’

  At last she smiled. ‘Bye, Amber.’ We began to turn away from each other. ‘Oh, Amber …’ I glanced around. ‘You were my best assistant yet. Thank you. For everything.’

  We walked off in opposite directions, but after a few paces I turned back to look at her one final time. I watched her hurry towards the check-in desk, blow-out bouncing, bangles jangling, heels clip-clopping and manicured hand soon to be brandishing another first-class boarding pass to another glamorous destination, paid for by someone else; no spending money in her pocket, and all her troubles packed up in a Louis Vuitton bag. I had to drink her in, just like I did in Smith’s the first time I laid eyes on Mona Armstrong. I wondered if I would ever see her in the flesh again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I pulled my suitcase off the carousel, triple-checking it was definitely mine. Satisfied, I opened the zips and pulled out my winter coat; it was going to be freezing on the other side of the Heathrow arrivals hall. The benefit of having barely worn any of the clothes in my suitcase this entire trip was that my washing load would be significantly reduced when I got home. Travelling light had actually been quite liberating. Have onesie, will travel! I chuckled to myself. There was just about enough left in the kitty to treat myself to a taxi all the way home, and it seemed a neat way of drawing a line under my time as Mona’s assistant. As we whizzed along grey, frosty roads, being back on home turf made me want to burst with happiness. My phone buzzed. Text message from Rob.

  Hope you got back ok. R x. I read it twice and deleted it. Magic FM was playing on the radio and I would be seeing Vicky soon. Life is good.

  When I reached the flat, it was dark and empty. Vicky must have gone to work already. A horrible jet-laggy tiredness descended, so I headed straight for my cold bed and immediately fell asleep for a few hours. When I woke up, I rang Vicky. It took three calls for her to finally pick up.

  ‘You’re back, then,’ she said coolly.

  ‘Yeah, just had a few hours’ kip. Wondering what you’re doing later, if you fancy grabbing some food together and catching up? I’ve got so much to tell you—LA was bonkers!’

  ‘Maybe. Not sure what I’m doing yet.’ Her voice sounded flatter than my plane-seat hair.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You don’t sound it. Vicky, what’s wrong?’

  She huffed loudly. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Well, I can’t read your mind. What is it, honey?’

  ‘I guess you’d be a bit pissed off, too, if your so-called best mate completely forgot your birthday.’

  I took a deep breath, totally floored. My mind raced.

  ‘Oh, honey—it was yesterday!’ How could I have been such a bad friend? I stumbled back and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘That’s why you asked if I’d be back on Tuesday. Oh God, Vix, I’m so sorry. It’s been a mad few days, I got swept up
in all the dramas with Mona—it was worse than ever. I feel awful. Please let me make it up to you.’ Silence.

  ‘Vicky, please?’

  ‘I can’t talk at work.’ That was a lie—she’d regularly spent over an hour chatting to me from inside the fashion cupboard. She had to be really furious.

  ‘Did you have a good birthday though …?’

  Eventually: ‘Yeah, it was fun, I went out with the work lot. Ended up crashing at Jim’s again. Anyway, better go, some of us have to pay rent by doing a normal job, and it’s busy today.’ Ouch.

  ‘You’ll be home after work, will you?’

  ‘Maybe. I’m not sure yet.’ And she hung up.

  I lay back on the bed. You stupid, selfish idiot, Amber. My phone buzzed into life again. Vicky calling me back? No, an answerphone message:

  ‘Amber, it’s Beau, I’m in Cabo at my bachelorette and something really bad has happened. Please call me back. Please.’ She sounded serious. Has something happened to Mona again? Not my problem. Not … my … problem. This is just what I’ve been trying to escape. But, after pondering it over a cup of builder’s and two more missed calls from Beau, curiosity got the better of me.

  ‘Thank God, Amber, I was desperate to speak to you.’

  ‘What time is it there—must be the middle of the night?’

  ‘It’s late, but I can’t sleep and I didn’t know who else to call. Mona has been a complete nightmare. She hit the tequila on the flight from LA and got us thrown out of the restaurant this evening, she was so drunk. Amber, she’s out of control. And she messed up the bachelorette outfits, too. We were meant to be Playboy bunnies with Pinky as our Hugh Hefner and she didn’t even bring him a red silk smoking jacket. I mean, how could he be Hef without a smoking jacket? What kind of stylist could mess that up?’

  I was suddenly immensely glad to be five and a half thousand miles away. I could feel what was coming, and it was much easier to say no to someone—Hollywood star or otherwise—over the phone. ‘And now I’m so worried about my wedding I can’t sleep a wink knowing that she’s going to screw that up, too. There is so much resting on this magazine deal—I just can’t do it without a stylist. I really need your help, Amber.’

  I breathed out heavily. ‘Please, Amber,’ Beau begged, her voice beginning to crack, ‘I need to be styled by you for my wedding—you’re the best, and you were my first choice, anyway.’ She paused to compose herself.

  ‘Beau,’ I reasoned, ‘I’m back in London now—I can’t just—’

  ‘Oh, please don’t ruin my wedding, Amber!’

  ‘Don’t cry, Beau …’ I tried to soothe her. ‘Where’s Mona now?’

  ‘We got her into bed at the hotel, but all she really cares about is whether the paps caught her drunk at the restaurant. All the girls think she’ll be reported, and then the cops could give her an electronic tag. How’s she going to wear Louboutins with a big black plastic thing clunking around her ankle? But, more to the point, it leaves me in the horrendous position of getting married in three days’ time without knowing if Mona will make it to Hawaii, and, if she does, whether she’ll be in a fit state to style me, anyway.’ She started to snivel again. ‘Amber, I really need you in Hawaii—you’re the only one who can handle Mona.’

  ‘But what about the Annie situation? How will we stop Mona blowing my cover to Trey?’ There was silence on the end of the line while she mulled it over.

  ‘It won’t be that hard,’ she finally replied. ‘You know what it’s like at a wedding—the guys do their thing, us girls will do ours. We’ll just stop them from being near you at the same time. It won’t be hard.’

  I tried to think the scenario through. It wasn’t easy, especially as I was still reeling from being a totally shit friend to the most important person in my life.

  ‘Anyway, Jason will be there, too, and he knows about the Annie thing—he’ll help keep your cover. It’ll be fun!’

  ‘Jason will be there, too?’

  ‘Of course, babe, it would be rude not to invite him.’

  Oh God. This didn’t sit well with me at all. But a bigger, more important realisation was beginning to dawn on me.

  ‘You did say you’d get my flights, right? In Club? Plus a suite with sea views?’ If I was going to ask Jas for another few days off work, it had to be worth my while.

  ‘Of course,’ she simpered. ‘Whatever it takes.’

  ‘And could I bring a friend—you know, to share the suite and help me?’

  ‘Your boyfriend, you mean?’

  ‘No, I don’t have a boyfriend. It would be my best friend—a girl.’

  ‘Of course. In fact, that’s perfect! I did mention Annie’s a lesbian, didn’t I?’ Her mood appeared to brighten.

  I smiled to myself. You couldn’t make this up. ‘You didn’t, but if my friend can come, we’re agreed.’

  ‘You got it.’

  ‘Okay … It’s a deal. I’ll do it. But just this once, only because it’s your wedding. When do we need to be there?’

  ‘Yay! Love you more than Pinky! Thank you, Amber! I mean, Annie. I won’t forget this. It’ll be so much fun! I’ll get all the details to you later today.’

  Late afternoon, two e-ticket numbers for Club Class flights in two days’ time, all the way to Kona, Hawaii, were emailed to me by Beau’s PA. I texted Vicky immediately:

  I really need to see you, honey, please. I want to make it up. Can you meet me in The Chamberlayne after work? I’ve something for you xxx

  After a cool sixty minutes, she appeared to thaw. OK. See you then.

  That left me just enough time to buy two fake Hawaiian flower garlands from a fancy dress shop on Portobello Road—I thought grass skirts were a step too far, given the wintry weather—and the ingredients for Vicky’s favourite bangers-and-mash dinner, with an expensive bottle of red for supper back at the flat. Surely she’d be able to take a few days off work at short notice? If anyone was worth a once-in-a-lifetime, all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii, she was.

  Part Five: Hawaii, The Wedding

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The air was hot and humid, filled with the sweet scent of hibiscus, in the outdoor arrivals area at Kona Airport on Hawaii’s Big Island. It was dark, we were both overtired and nursing monster hangovers—it’s impossible to say no to a steady stream of free champagne and red wine when travelling in Club—and Vicky and I had the giggles, big time.

  ‘Aloha! Miss Annie Liechtenstein and partner? Please, let me take your luggage,’ said a porter from the prestigious Four Seasons Resort. When we arrived at the entrance to the hotel—by air-conditioned car, complete with bottled water and cool flannels—garlands of beautiful, fresh pink orchids were placed around our necks. Beau was right, it was like landing in paradise. We were so woozy from the two flights from London via LA that it was surreal to find ourselves now standing in a stunning open foyer, decorated in an upmarket traditional Polynesian style with wooden tables, comfortable chairs and fragrant white orchids. The light rustle of palm trees and the soft sound of a ukulele player entertaining late-night revellers somewhere in the distance permeated the warm air. If you listened really carefully you could just about hear the rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean far beyond. Everything about it was totally worth the journey, even for our whistle-stop trip.

  ‘So who do we check in as—you’re Annie at the moment, right?’ Vicky whispered in my ear as we approached the reception desk.

  ‘Beau told me Annie for anything official,’ I muttered, mentally practising my pseudonym for the next couple of days: Lick-ten-stein, Lick-ten-stein. Hello, my name is Annie Liechtenstein. I really hadn’t nailed my backstory.

  ‘When do we have to start acting like we’re a couple?’ Vicky was trying hard to stop her wobbling voice from turning into full-scale hysterics.

  ‘Hopefully everyone’s in bed already,’ I said, through gritted teeth. ‘Don’t put me off!’

  A waiter presented us each with a chilled glass of passion fruit Belli
ni, delivered on a silver tray. Just what I needed to steady my nerves.

  ‘Aloha!’ he chimed. ‘Welcome to the Four Seasons, we really hope you’ll enjoy your stay.’

  ‘Aloha! Don’t mind if I do.’ Vicky downed a large gulp to stifle any involuntary outbursts of laughter. How we’re going to hold it together for these next two nights, I just don’t know.

  As we took our room key and turned to follow our porter, another vehicle glided to a halt in the driveway. Three figures got out of the car, which had a boot full of cases, and we could hear that they had British accents, too. Though the lighting was muted, I’d recognise that voice anywhere. I gripped Vicky’s arm, my heart racing.

  ‘Amber?’ Rob called. ‘No way! Didn’t realise you were doing the wedding with Mona—I would have called. This is great!’ He dropped the two flight cases in his hands and walked towards us. ‘Vicky, too—nice one! How did you wangle that?’

  ‘Rob!’ I looked at him, his face all lit up and welcoming. This was the best—and worst—surprise ever.

  ‘What’s the plan, then?’ demanded Fran with the bob, stepping in front of him, instantly in work mode. A feeling of doom descended upon me as I imagined how Mona was likely to react to the documentary crew’s reappearance.

  ‘Why are you here, guys? Does Mona know?’

  ‘Mona invited us. Wanted to see if we could turn the pilot around with this job. The production company have agreed to give it one last shot—so it better be good,’ said Fran ominously, marching into the hotel.

  As the reception staff looked on, I pulled Rob to one side. ‘By the way, I’m Annie in front of most of the guests for this trip. Remember, to help out Beau?’

  ‘You don’t make things easy for yourself, do you?’ he chuckled. ‘Of course—Annie it is.’

  ‘And, um, Vicky is Victoria—my “partner”.’