The Stylist

by Rosie Nixon

  He sniggered. ‘As in, your “civil partner”?’ I nodded, mutely. ‘Awesome. I love this trip already! You make a beautiful couple. Production meeting after breakfast, then?’

  ‘I’ll let Mona know.’ I fiddled with my orchid garland anxiously. The butterflies in my stomach were already throwing a party and we’d barely arrived.

  Thankfully, a porter came to our rescue, and led Vicky and I off to a white golf buggy. We were soon following a pathway lit with tiki torches to our bungalow, an elegant two-room suite, almost hidden by lush tropical flora and fauna. During the short five-minute journey our driver must have said ‘Aloha!’ at least seven times, each with the same level of enthusiasm, to every passing staff-member and guest. But I could barely concentrate on anything, other than the fact that Rob was here. I wasn’t over him at all. Vicky read my mind.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ she promised, squeezing my knee.

  As is the law on entering the best hotel suite you have ever set foot in, we immediately set about exploring—bouncing on the super-king beds, stroking the bamboo headboards, checking out the fully stocked minibar and nearly passing out at the huge bathroom, complete with outdoor shower for bathing under the stars. But when we flung open the balcony doors in the living room area, we were both finally rendered speechless. Beyond our balcony, not more than a stone’s throw across a strip of perfectly raked sand, was the ocean, gently lapping at the shoreline. A full moon sent a magical beam of light across the beautiful, rippling expanse. We breathed it all in deeply, and felt our shoulders drop.

  ‘Pinch me, please,’ I uttered.

  ‘Sod Rob, I think you might actually fall in love with me here, Amber Green,’ Vicky teased. ‘Anyway, this view alone is the best birthday present ever. Thank you so much.’ She pulled me in and planted a kiss on my cheek.

  ‘You’re right. Sod Rob—he didn’t look very handsome today, anyway. It’s handling Mona I’m most worried about. But, whatever happens, we’ve got to make the most of being in this amazing place.’

  That meant no unpacking, just getting some proper sleep in our luxury beds. The long journey had left us both shattered, and I’d noticed crusty red-wine stains decorating my lips.

  The only thing that could top our arrival in paradise, under the cover of nightfall, was waking up and seeing it all over again, bathed in early-morning sunlight. After a deep sleep I emerged to find Vicky on the balcony already, Instagramming the hell out of everything.

  ‘Shit! Careful!’ I rushed to pull down her arm. ‘You’ve not put anything up, have you?’

  ‘No, but I’ve sent one Tweet. What’s the panic?’ My palms were sweating, and not because of the humidity.

  ‘I forgot to say—Beau and Trey have a deal with a magazine, and no one can know the wedding’s happening here. It’s got to stay exclusive. Beau called me about it just before we left—sorry, I meant to tell you. It’s really important. If you take it down fast, hopefully no one will have seen anything.’

  Vicky fiddled with her iPhone, holding it up and waving it around.

  ‘Damn reception, it’s really in and out here.’

  ‘What did it say?’ I was beginning to feel panicky.

  ‘That I’m here at the Four Seasons, Haulalai,’ she muttered, sheepishly, ‘… for a celebrity wedding … Shit, sorry, hon, I didn’t know.’

  ‘But you didn’t mention Beau’s name, right?’

  ‘No. And it’s not like I’ve got millions of followers—I’m sure no one’s picked it up. Ah, that’s it. Deleted.’

  The phone in the room buzzed into life, making both of us jump. Nervously, I dashed over. ‘A-Annie speaking?’

  ‘Amber, it’s Beau. Aloha! Welcome to paradise—isn’t this the most amazing place you’ve ever seen?’

  ‘Certainly is! Have you seen Mona yet?’

  ‘Only briefly—she arrived really early this morning in a foul mood after spending three hours being questioned before she could get through passport control. Must be something to do with the shoplifting or the Cabo episode. I give up. Anyway, she was asking after you, and I said it’d be best if she met you at my villa after the brunch.’

  ‘Brunch—great! We’re starving.’

  ‘It’s at the main beach restaurant in ten minutes, and then it’ll be time to start making everyone over. We’ve got so much to do and not much time. You okay to come to brunch and then my suite? It’ll be only us girls—and Mona and Pinky of course—I’m staying in the Presidential Villa. And one other thing—I, um, there’s been a change to the wedding gown. I brought two of them out with me, because you can never be sure if your suitcase is going to make it, and I couldn’t risk getting married in my birthday suit. I was going to wear a Vera Wang, but then Dolce & Gabbana came through with the most incredible custom-made dress for me. It’s covered in crystals with a sexy fishtail and a veil with a really long train. I look like a mermaid in it—it’s perfect for Hawaii, you’re going to die! And I was thinking we could build on the mermaid theme by adding some shells and pearls onto the bridesmaid dresses.’

  I took this in. ‘Does, um, Mona know about the theme yet? It sounds like quite a lot to do on your actual wedding day, Beau …’

  ‘I thought we could tell her together.’ She’s as scared of her as I am. ‘Oh, Amber, I’m so in love with the idea. Think Birth of Venus meets Hawaii. How cool?’ Hmm. Beau had the most un-Botticelli body imaginable.

  ‘Awesome!’ Well, what else can I say? ‘I’m just a bit concerned about where we’ll get the shells and pearls from though—where’s the nearest town to here?’

  Her voice broke into a raucous laugh. ‘Oh, Amber! You’re so funny sometimes. Look where you are! We’re on a beach, for Christ sakes—just send your wife-stroke-assistant out to pick up some shells, the more authentic the better, and my mom’s got a long pearl necklace she’s donated as my “something old” so we can dismantle that and sew them on. I mentioned the idea to the editor at the magazine and they’re going crazy for it: they’re working on finding a giant shell for Trey and I to stand in when we have our photos taken! I know it’s a lot to pull together, but it’ll be fun!’ Beau’s catchphrase was really starting to grate on me.

  ‘You’re the bride. See you at brunch, and then let’s do this!’ Resistance was futile, so I mustered all the American enthusiasm I could before replacing the handset, slamming my fist against the duvet and crumpling into a heap on the bed as I relayed it all to Vicky—including the part about Mona already being in a foul mood. Vicky, obviously, found it hilarious. Then I remembered an important question I’d forgotten to ask, so I quickly called Beau back: ‘Other than Mona, is there anyone here who will know I’m not actually Annie Leichtenstein? I mean, you said Jason Slater would be here—is that still …?’ Vicky’s eyes lit up. I braced myself.

  ‘Of course, Amber! Durr! But don’t worry, he’s in on the Annie thing, so he’ll keep it up in front of Trey. He’s an actor after all.’

  I laughed nervously. ‘Okay, if you’re sure.’

  She paused. ‘He’s a good guy, you know—he’s been a rock to me.’

  ‘I believe you,’ I found myself saying, with no conviction.

  Trey and Beau stood greeting guests at the entrance to the ocean-facing restaurant. Beau looked stunning in a sheer peach flowing gown with a high slit showing off her golden tan and revealing her slender body, barely covered in what looked like a Missoni string-bikini, underneath. I began to feel self-conscious in my cut-off denim shorts, white vest top and Havaianas—my idea of beach cool was clearly not on the same level as hers. The assembled party of guests before us was something to behold. Women dressed up in finely embroidered kaftans in coral colours. Wealthy-looking girls in animal print silks and hippy-chic crochet dresses, worn casually over expensive bikinis to show off their model-perfect limbs, their faces hidden behind oversized sunglasses and big, floppy beach hats. Vicky was going to have her work cut out telling apart the fake from the natural boobs gathered before us.

 
; The men were mostly in preppy pastel colours, linen trousers or Ralph Lauren shorts with open white shirts, revealing tanned chests and admirable pecs. A concoction of flowery summer perfumes, mixed with the sweet scent of coconut sunscreen, hung in the air. I recognised several faces from TV and film appearances and one guy in a straw fedora and Ray-Bans had a definite resemblance to Justin Timberlake.

  ‘It’s not, is it?’ Vicky nudged me, thinking the exact same thing. But I’d just noticed Jason Slater in one corner, biceps bulging in a white string vest, as he bent down from a bar stool, apparently putting something into a pouch around Pinky’s neck. Finally he patted the little pig on its derrière, and it was whisked back to Beau by an excitable young guest far more interested in playing with a micro-pig than mixing with any of the beautiful people. Jason had a shifty look in his eye, for sure—but I parked that for now.

  ‘You should have seen Pinky’s passport photo—so cute!’ Beau cooed, as the little animal started licking my feet in recognition.

  ‘Dear Annie, welcome! I see that someone’s obviously taken a shine to you!’ Trey greeted me with a kiss on each cheek, like a long-lost comrade. I felt a twinge of guilt at how friendly he was.

  ‘It’s so great to have a fellow Brit here. Beau and I are over the moon you could find the time to join us—aren’t we, baby?’

  Beau smiled. ‘Sure are—and they’ve flown in from freezing London.’

  ‘Filming at Shepperton Studios,’ I offered, awkwardly, ‘with Scorsese.’ What am I saying?

  ‘Ha—I know only too well what those gruelling production schedules are like.’ Trey smiled. ‘And you must be Victoria?’ Trey seemed impressed that I had bagged such a pretty wife. Vicky offered her hand. ‘Welcome. I hope you both have an incredible time here in Hawaii.’ He gestured to the postcard-perfect vista before us.

  ‘Thanks so much, Trey—it’s an honour to be here, for both of us,’ I cooed, having instructed Vicky to smile sweetly and leave all the talking to me.

  After a buffet of tropical fruit, pancakes and eggs done every which way, plus some strained conversations with guests keen to know how I enjoyed working with Beau and Jason on Summer’s Not Over—which I still hadn’t actually seen—and limited chat about what I was doing with Scorsese, Vicky and I excused ourselves and headed over to Beau’s villa. Mona opened the door, dressed in an OTT, long, wafting zebra-print kaftan, hair loosely tousled around her shoulders and at least twenty bangles jangling loudly on each arm. She had rings on almost every finger.

  ‘Babe! I’ve been calling you all morning!’ She greeted me with open arms, which was suspicious.

  ‘The reception’s terrible,’ I muttered, as I felt her eyes scan my clothes and then settle, much more approvingly, on Vicky’s outfit—a tropical Mary Katrantzou floral-print dress. ‘Well, anyway. Beau tells me she wanted to treat you both, and I’m thrilled you offered to dress the bridesmaids.’ We both smiled in response.

  Inside, the suite was a hive of activity. It quickly became clear Beau had omitted mentioning that instead of your average two or three bridesmaids, she had opted for ten, whose styling Mona had delegated solely to me. The motley gaggle of attendants ranged from a tiara-wearing baby in the arms of a woman who was presumably Beau’s mother, looking like an almost identical, if slightly wizened, Dolly Parton–esque version of Beau; four little girls currently running in circles around the suite, having just coated their pretty aquamarine Chantilly lace–netted dresses in chocolate; three hefty blondes introduced as Beau’s old school friends from Ohio; and somewhere in the middle her younger sister Bethany, currently going through a goth stage, complete with long, dyed, black-and-purple hair. It was her baby their mother was holding. Plus Beau’s PA, Krystal, who was still in her pyjamas and looking as if she was close to a nervous breakdown, struggling to calm a hyper Pinky whilst juggling two phones. None of the assembled wedding party looked particularly as though they wanted to be turned into mermaids for the day.

  Putting thoughts of the bridesmaids to one side for a moment, I joined Mona in Beau’s bedroom for a quick production meeting with Fran and Rob. The atmosphere was already tense. Judging by Fran’s body language—arms crossed tightly, furrowed brow—the meeting had ended before it began, with Mona back on her old, unhelpful form.

  The light was pulsing on Shaggy’s camera, and Mona’s stress levels seemed to be rising as she struggled to get to grips with Beau’s stunning Dolce & Gabbana wedding dress, currently standing to attention on a dressmaker’s dummy in the centre of the airy room.

  ‘The chest needs letting out—she’s only grown a cup size in the last week,’ Mona grumbled, picking violently at the fastenings. Fran looked like she was enjoying seeing her struggle.

  ‘Need a hand?’ I offered.

  ‘No, no! I’ve got it,’ Mona spat, smiling through gritted teeth, just as a tiny silver clasp pinged off the dress and was instantly lost on the floor. ‘Bloody thing.’

  I ducked out of shot, deciding instead to give Beau’s Louboutin sandals a gentle polish before I got to work with the bridesmaids. I positioned myself close to the tall balcony doors, allowing the soft, warm sea breeze to wash over me as I worked. It was definitely preferable to be dealing with Mona in this picturesque setting than in the freezing cold or stifling heat. And this really is the last time I’ll ever have to do it.

  ‘Hey, Victoria, right? Annie’s other half?’ My ears pricked up. Trey was talking to Vicky no more than a few metres away from me, beyond Beau’s balcony on the sandy beach. I kept my head down, lest he saw me crouched inside the room, looking distinctly more like a stylist than a film producer. Please don’t screw this up, Vicky.

  ‘Oh, yes—hi, Trey,’ she exclaimed, taken aback. Trey looked at the pile of shells she was currently collecting in her hat.

  ‘I see you’re enjoying being beside the sea.’ He smiled. ‘Collecting a few mementos?’

  ‘Something like that,’ she answered, scooping up a little clam shell and gently placing it next to the others. Beau’s imagined limitless perfect Hawaiian shells decorating the beach didn’t seem to have materialised. ‘To add to my shell collection.’ Shell collection? What is she on about? ‘And you?’

  ‘Just getting a bit of air. You know, doing the groom thing and clearing my head, working on some ideas for my speech.’

  ‘I bet you’ll be a natural, being a hotshot director and everything,’ Vicky said.

  ‘So, tell me, how long have you and Annie been an item?’ he asked. Vicky frantically glanced around, which I took as my cue to go and rescue her. Leapfrogging over the balcony edge, I scuttled behind some bushes and from there, casually strolled out and joined their group, winding my arm around Vicky’s waist.

  ‘Hey, what are you two gossiping about?’ I asked.

  ‘Just getting to know your shell-enthusiast other half,’ Trey replied. He nudged my arm. ‘Us Brits have got to stick together! I hope you’ll be joining me in some serious dance-floor action later this evening. None of this LA “got to get my beauty sleep” stuff, please!’

  ‘That’s a deal,’ Vicky replied, and the two shook hands.

  Then a flashing light and a series of clicks made us all stop dead and turn towards a large palm tree a few metres down the beach. In the blink of an eye a shadowy figure, his face covered by a camera lens almost the size of the tree trunk, darted out of sight.

  ‘Oh, Jesus. The paps are onto us,’ Trey exclaimed, withdrawing his hand from Vicky’s. ‘And it probably looks like we’ve just shaken on some kind of dodgy deal.’

  ‘But this is a private resort,’ I said, astonished. ‘We can just call security and get him escorted off, can’t we?’

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ Trey replied. ‘You’ve evidently not filmed in Hawaii before, Annie—all the beaches are public, so that scumbag has as much right to be on this sand as you and I. Fucking hell, this is the last thing we need. I really thought we’d got away with it. If I find out anyone’s leaked the venue, I’ll �
��’

  I looked at Vicky, her face ashen, fear in her eyes. My heart began to beat erratically as Trey tapped furiously at his phone. Is he calling the Twitter police? Will he be able to find out?

  ‘AJ, get Bill and Jonah down to the beach, we’ve been rumbled.’

  Some flashes in the opposite direction suddenly erupted and another paparazzo, more brazen than the first, stepped out into the bright sunshine and began clicking away. He didn’t even bother pretending to hide.

  ‘Let’s get off the beach—they can’t touch us on the other side of the path,’ Trey instructed, and we scrambled back to the safety of manicured Four Seasons turf. ‘How the hell are we going to have this wedding now? The beach will be swarming with paps within the hour.’ Trey’s mood had done a U-turn, and I couldn’t blame him. Behind us, two huge Polynesian guys, presumably the security, Bill and Jonah, stood, each marking a pap, blocking their view and ready to challenge them if they tried to get another clean shot of the hacked-off groom. AJ joined us. I’d almost forgotten what a massive hulk he was.

  ‘Amber.’ He nodded in recognition. I squirmed. Don’t blow my cover now, please, AJ. Thankfully Trey was too distracted to notice.

  ‘No way we can have the wedding on the beach now, with these assholes around—there will be tenfold this number in an hour or two, believe me,’ AJ said, optimistically. ‘And there’s no point calling the cops. Absolutely jack shit we can do about it.’ He folded his huge arms.

  ‘I know, mate, I know. Any ideas where we can move it to?’

  ‘Not really—the whole point of this place is the beach.’ He scratched his head. AJ was definitely one of those ‘we’re all doomed’ type of people.

  ‘Isn’t there a tropical garden, or some kind of function room we can move the ceremony to?’ Trey looked desperate.

  ‘I’ll ask the wedding planner, but the marquee tent is in the garden, and I don’t think there’s anywhere else. And it won’t be anything like the beach.’

  ‘Damn it! Beau will be devastated. And what am I going to tell the magazine? We need to get those beach pictures, AJ.’ Trey kicked a sunlounger and then set it straight again. He wasn’t normally one for losing his cool in public. Vicky remained painfully quiet at my side. As my mind ticked over, my cheeks blazed in the sun, though it was less to do with wearing zero SPF and more the fact that in less than 140 characters, Vicky had quite possibly blown a ‘world exclusive’.