The Stylist

by Rosie Nixon

  Trey insisted on breaking the news to Beau. Through a crack in the door—in case he accidentally saw her wedding dress or caught a glimpse of the production line behind her attempting to sew pearls onto aquamarine netting and cover chocolate stains with shells—he spoke calmly and slowly to his wife-to-be:

  ‘Listen, baby-cakes, don’t panic, but there’s been a bit of a change of plan.’ Her already big blue eyes grew wider. ‘There are paps all over the beach, baby, and unfortunately we can’t just get them kicked off. So AJ has taken the decision not to go ahead with the wedding on the beach as originally planned.’

  ‘But, baby, I don’t understand?’ She struggled to keep her voice even. ‘We can’t not have the wedding on the beach—the beach is the whole reason we’re in Hawaii. And what about the photos on the giant shell? We can’t do that by a swimming pool, it’ll look tacky. Oh, baby, please tell me I’m dreaming?’ Manically, she began pinching her arm. ‘Oh my God, I’m not dreaming.’ Suddenly Mona appeared behind her at the doorway, swiftly followed by ten bridesmaids and a tearful mother of the bride, who all clustered around Beau with panic written across their faces. As the door opened, Pinky promptly made a run for it, dashing between Trey’s legs and out of the suite.

  ‘Pinky!’ Beau screamed urgently. ‘Get him, Amber—Annie! Quickly!’ Instinctively I dived for the little tyke, pulling him back and scooping him up as he squealed loudly in my arms. There was a momentary pause as we all took in the miniature pig’s specially customised tiny ivory tuxedo, complete with bow-tie collar and, attached to this, an ivory silk purse embroidered with the letters ‘B’ and ‘T’ in aquamarine crystals, soon to contain the wedding rings.

  ‘Baby, baby—shhh, shhh.’ Trey leaned in close, as the gap in the door narrowed again.

  ‘It’s bad luck to see the dress—he must not see the dress!’ Mona instructed from behind Beau.

  Trey reached for Beau’s tiny hand and guided it through the opening, tenderly lacing her fingers with his.

  ‘It has to be on the beach, baby,’ she pleaded, her eyes shining, on the brink of tears. ‘I can’t bear it otherwise. Seriously, baby—no beach, no wedding.’

  ‘Well, then, we’re going to have to come up with a plan,’ said Trey, with awe-inspiring patience.

  ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ Beau declared suddenly, whipping her hand from his and disappearing into the suite. Mona and the ten bridesmaids followed, while the mother of the bride tried to slam the door in Trey’s face. He pushed against it.

  ‘Baby Belle! I can’t bear to—’

  ‘Let me.’ I barged past Trey, dumping Pinky into Krystal’s open arms and elbowing half-naked bridesmaids and netted dresses out of the way to get to the front of the line.

  I locked the door of the ornate marble bathroom behind us and knelt down to hold back Beau’s hair, gently rubbing her back as she threw up in the toilet bowl.

  ‘You okay?’ I asked as she finally rested on her heels, wiping her mouth with toilet paper.

  ‘Better now,’ she said, weakly. ‘That’s the second time I’ve vommed today.’

  ‘Pre-wedding nerves?’

  ‘I guess so,’ she confessed, smiling wanly, eyes watery and skin pale despite several coats of fake tan. A loud knocking at the door startled us both.

  ‘Beau!’ It was Mona. ‘Darling Beau, let me in!’ We looked at each other.

  ‘She’s been knocking back the Buck’s Fizz since she arrived,’ Beau said. ‘And she’s more interested in her TV show and getting in the magazine photos than sorting out my dress. Look, it still doesn’t fit.’ She pulled out a pin from the corsetry under her arm, and the dress immediately gaped. The knocking came again, louder.

  ‘I’ve got an idea … A really good one!’ Mona sounded excited. I wasn’t sure whether an excited Mona was preferable to a foul or even an elusive one, but Beau and I exchanged a look, and I reluctantly got up and let her in. The magazine photographer’s camera flashed in my face making me lift my hand to cover my eyes.

  ‘Great—you’re here, too,’ she said. ‘Mind if the photographer gets this, as well?’

  ‘Yes, I do!’ screamed Beau from the floor behind me, with such vehemence that the photographer immediately backed off. The bathroom suddenly felt claustrophobic with Mona in it, too. I sat on the edge of the bath and Beau propped herself up against it, her legs stretched out on the cool floor in front of her.

  ‘Oh, Beau, it’s terrible luck about the paps,’ Mona began. ‘But someone’s got to think quickly—I’ve got a plan. You said you brought the Vera Wang dress, too, right?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ she nodded.

  ‘Amber’s about the same size as you … give or take,’ she continued, mentally sizing me up and smiling sweetly. My back stiffened. ‘I think we should put Amber in the Wang and set up a fake photo shoot down one end of the beach to distract all the paps, while you and Trey come out down the other end and have the ceremony. By the time the paps realise Amber’s not you, you’ll be officially married. Genius, hey? My God, I amaze myself sometimes.’ She turned towards the door. ‘Are you sure we can’t let the cameras in?’

  There was what seemed like an endless silence as Beau and I digested the idea.

  ‘Couple of major flaws here, Mona,’ I eventually declared, in desperation. ‘One, I’m twice the size of Beau, not to mention brunette. I’ll never get into that dress. And two, even if I did, no one would think I was Beau.’

  ‘Oh, Amber.’ Beau used my body to push herself up onto her feet, sickness seemingly forgotten. ‘I think this is a great idea! I don’t know, we’re not that dissimilar.’ She steered my head towards hers and pointed to the mirror, where our differences became even more obvious. ‘And the good news is I didn’t get the Wang taken in yet, because I’ve, um, filled out a little lately.’ She cupped an ample D-cup in her hand. ‘It’ll fit you—I know it. And if it doesn’t, we’ll just take it out a bit.’

  I went through the idea again, imagining how it might all look. But however I tried to picture this ridiculous scenario, I came out looking like an idiot. Brilliant.

  ‘What if the paps aren’t fooled?’ I protested. ‘These people are professionals. And besides, who’ll be my groom?’ They both ignored me.

  ‘Oh, Mona, you’re a genius! And, Amber, I knew you had to be here today—you were meant to save my wedding!’ Beau, now smiling brightly, threw her arms around our necks. ‘Oh no—hold on a minute.’ She chucked up in the toilet once more.

  We emerged from the bathroom to find Fran, Rob and Shaggy, camera blinking, poised by the door, the magazine photographer shooting away just behind them.

  ‘What’s the plan, then, Mona?’ Fran asked, shoving a furry microphone in her face. Mona was only too delighted to fill them in on her brilliant idea, only now there was an additional twist:

  ‘As for the groom—it makes sense if my assistant—’ she exaggerated ‘assistant’ ‘—Amber here, ties the knot with you, Rob, don’t you think?’

  Rob instantaneously coughed, nearly choking on a sip of Coke. I know, mate, this is not in my job description, either. The cameras turned to take in the look of crushing embarrassment on both of our faces.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘How do I look?’ Beau asked, twirling slowly in the living area, as we all gathered to admire her. The magazine photographer set about capturing her from every angle.

  ‘Incredible,’ Mona said. And Beau genuinely did look breathtaking. Shaggy’s camera swooped around her Dolce & Gabbana fishtail ivory gown, hugging her curves to perfection. Delicate crystal embellishments glinted in the sunshine, and the long train created the drama of an Italian bride meets Hawaiian goddess. Mona, it had to be admitted, had done a good job, thanks to one of Beau’s bridesmaids turning out to be a half-decent seamstress. Even the ten bridesmaids looked adorable. The pretty pearls and a few shells stitched into the netting gave a subtle nod to the mermaid theme, and strangely enough it all hung together.

  ‘And how do I l
ook?’ I asked, sarcastically, stepping through the door of the guest bedroom wearing the Vera Wang. My hair and make-up were in the exact same style as Beau’s, though an inordinate amount of dry shampoo made my updo look more white and powdery than Beau’s brassy blonde. It was as good as we could do.

  ‘Squashed!’ Mona said, cackling to herself. I felt the whole room take in the huge tulle-skirted princess gown with its tight bodice and long veil.

  ‘Thanks for that, Mona.’ I scowled. I’m so over pretending to be nice to her. ‘I may not be able breathe properly, but I think I can just about walk.’ I tentatively lifted the gown and placed one heel-clad foot in front of the other. The shoes were at least a size too small, as well.

  ‘My God, lock up your sons!’ gushed Vicky, hand over her mouth. ‘Seriously, Amber, you look damn hot as a bride! You’re working it, girlfriend!’ She rushed forwards to take a photo on her iPhone.

  ‘No Instagramming! Not yet, anyway!’ I called. Flash! Flash! The official photographer started going for me, too.

  I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the balcony doors and for a second allowed myself the fantasy that this was my wedding day. Though the dress was way more flamboyant than anything I could imagine myself choosing, there was something pleasingly romantic about it. I smoothed down the skirt. It was amazing what Vera Wang internal corsetry could do—squashed internal organs or not, my waist had never looked so beautifully waspish. Mona gazed at me in silence. In fact, if I wasn’t mistaken, she was slightly irked that I’d managed to look so damn good.

  ‘Time’s ticking! Are you ready for us?’ Fran hollered through the door of another adjoining bedroom, where Mona had banished the crew while Beau was prepped for her ‘reveal’.

  ‘Yes, come capture our real bride with the fake one!’ Mona shouted back, and the door opened to reveal Rob, dressed to kill in a sharp navy Tom Ford suit and skinny white tie borrowed from one of the ushers. He looked seriously hot—definite husband material.

  ‘And here comes the groom!’ Mona squealed, clapping her hands together. ‘Alo-ha!’

  As Rob and I looked at each other, my heart leapt with such vigour I let out a little involuntary gasp.

  ‘You’ll need this, though.’ Mona thrust one of Trey’s baseball caps into Rob’s hand to make his disguise complete. Shaggy circled around us filming the decoy Beau and Trey, as we prepared to head off for the pretend wedding photo shoot on the beach.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ Rob said, his green eyes intent on mine.

  ‘You scrub up pretty well yourself,’ I replied, feeling my cheeks tingle. Could today get any more surreal? I took a deep breath and turned towards Mona. ‘So, what happens now?’

  ‘May I present Master Pinky, the ring bearer,’ Mona called, arm outstretched towards the balcony, in full ham-it-up-for-the-cameras-mode. ‘How does he look?’

  Krystal appeared timidly, white Swarovski crystal–adorned lead in her hand, but no Pinky at the end of it.

  ‘He, um, appears to have done a runner,’ Krystal muttered, embarrassed, as both lenses zoomed in on her face. I felt for the poor girl.

  ‘What do you mean, “done a runner”? How could that happen, have you seen the size of those trotters? He’s hardly Usain Bolt. Plus—unless he’s a trained high jumper as well—the balcony only has one exit, and that’s through this door,’ Mona ranted.

  ‘I only left the balcony for a few seconds to check my phone,’ Krystal stuttered.

  ‘Pinky? Where are you, Pinky-pops?’ Beau rushed through the balcony doors, narrowly missing falling flat on her face; the Dolce gown was so tight across her legs she could barely walk. ‘Wow—don’t you look hot!’ Her gaze lingered for a second too long as she passed Rob, oozing sex appeal in his suit.

  The doorbell to the suite chimed, startling us all, and Krystal scuttled over to answer it, keen to escape all the attention.

  ‘Panic over!’ she trilled, as the door was flung open. We all turned to witness Jason Slater carrying Beau’s beloved pet into the living area, where he plonked him down, mini-tux in place, little silk purse bobbing as he trotted into the centre of the room. Jason covered his eyes, pretending not to have noticed Beau in her bridal gown, breasts undulating over the top of the tighter-than-tight corset. It couldn’t have been a less virginal look—she was pure filthy sex.

  ‘This little piggy cried, wee, wee, wee, wee, all the way home. Found him sniffing around the catering tent,’ he joked, before snapping the lead back onto Pinky’s collar and handing him to Beau. ‘Don’t let him out of your sight, angel.’

  ‘I won’t! Thanks, Jase,’ Beau stammered, seemingly flustered by his arrival. Vicky seemed to have gone a bit misty-eyed, too. ‘Don’t worry, Krystal,’ Beau said, ‘I’ll take care of Pinky now—the rings are in his pouch.’

  Still mock-shielding his eyes, Jason backed out of the suite, the photographer clicking after him. ‘Didn’t see a thing, promise, ladies!’

  ‘Beau, darling, you can’t keep hold of that grubby little thing whilst you’ve got a couture gown on. Give Pinky to Amber, he’s needed for the fake photo shoot, anyway,’ Mona instructed, prising the lead from Beau’s fingers and thrusting it into mine. I suppose it doesn’t matter that I happen to be wearing a priceless gown, too? Vicky tapped me on the back and surreptitiously handed me an open bottle of champagne, presumably one that Mona had been quietly working on all morning.

  ‘Swig,’ she ordered. Obediently, I took a large glug.

  Outside the suite, against the clock now, as the real ceremony was due to start in less than thirty minutes, the female section of the bridal party assembled to wave us off to one end of the long beach on our mission. I’m sure it wasn’t just me who noticed a flicker of electricity as Rob offered me his hand to step onto the golf buggy. Then I passed Pinky to AJ, who clamped him under his arm and climbed onto a second buggy behind us—he would be posing as the magazine photographer.

  The resort was teeming with people. Florists carrying boxes containing thousands of fragrant, fresh orchid petals crossed paths with caterers brandishing sealed metal containers of food and burly men laden with lighting rigs on their way to the marquee. With the wedding rapidly approaching, a procession of golf buggies carried heavily made-up guests to a pre-ceremony drinks reception deep within the resort, away from any prying paparazzi lenses. Rob and I giggled on the back of our cart as we weaved through the maze of pathways in the opposite direction to everyone else. Many guests did a double take at the bride and groom whizzing past them, merrily shouting, ‘Aloha!’ at all we passed. I allowed myself a dizzying moment to imagine this was real—that I had the gorgeous Tiffany ring on my finger and was about to enjoy all the benefits of being Mrs Amber Walker, wife of Rob Walker; no more traffic light puns; the loveliest husband ever; mini-Walkers on the near horizon … Then Rob’s phone rang.

  He looked at it but seemed unwilling to answer. It had to be her. Fantasy shattered. He let it ring out and then turned towards me and shrugged. We both said nothing.

  The carts finally crept to a standstill as we approached the main beach area, set up to resemble the scene of a celebrity photo shoot (complete with an oversized Birth of Venus shell that had been shipped in for the photos). After quietly disembarking, AJ ushered us in close. Rob and I listened intently.

  ‘So, here’s the plan,’ he whispered. ‘I had one of my guys put some piggy treats inside the shell, so we send Pinky out first, to attract the attention of the paps. I’ve got men positioned all the way down the beach to give us the nod, so when the paps take the bait and start creeping forwards, thinking the photos are about to happen, it’ll be time for me to start snapping the two of you as you emerge from behind that group of palm trees.’ He pointed at a cluster of rocks and trees a few metres away. ‘Just come out onto the sand looking blissfully happy. You’re going to need to really ham it up—hold hands, laugh, kiss, whisk her off her feet if you want to, Rob—whatever it takes to make it all seem real. Keep your veil pulled down over your f
ace though, Amber, and Rob, wear the baseball cap the whole time, we don’t want them to realise you’re not the actual couple. And take your time, all this has to happen while the real ceremony is getting under way down the other end. They’ll be snapping away, going crazy for you. Got it?’

  We nodded sagely. Then the sound of a third buggy approaching made us all turn around, and Vicky jumped off the back.

  ‘Mona’s got it all under control with Beau. She won’t let me within a mile radius of any of the bridal party—she clearly doesn’t want me there—so I thought I’d come give you some moral support.’ She giggled. ‘I was thinking, I could pretend to be your stylist, if you like, Am—plump up your skirt for the photos and stuff?’

  ‘Good thinking,’ AJ agreed. ‘The more authentic we can make it look, the better.’

  Waiting for the nod, I peeked out from behind one of the beachside cabanas to survey the set. A sultry breeze blew in off the ocean and a canopy of hundreds of twinkling fairy lights shone above the giant conch. As the sun began its descent in the sky, we were ready to go.

  ‘Three, two, one … Action!’ whispered AJ, and Rob got ready to push Pinky out onto the beach, to snaffle the treats. Suddenly a wave of panic hit me—I darted forwards onto the sand and grabbed Rob’s arm.

  ‘Wait! Shit!’ I held Pinky back by the collar, almost sending myself flying head over Wang. ‘I’ve just remembered: Pinky’s got the rings for the real wedding around his neck. We need to get them back!’ I tugged firmly at his leash.

  ‘Bloody hell—thank God you remembered,’ Rob said, taking Pinky from me and holding him tightly as he tried to squirm free, his greedy little snout already picking up the scent of the treats.