Celebrity Shopper

by Carmen Reid

  ‘You know you’re lovely,’ Ed insisted.

  ‘Aw—’ But before Annie could say something nice back, a sharp cry attracted Ed’s attention.

  ‘Got to go,’ he told her, ‘fighting has broken out in the playpen.’

  By 9.45 a.m., fifteen minutes before curtain up, the church hall was overwhelmed with the smells of perfume, clouds of hairspray and the lashings and lashings of deodorant being used to hold nervous sweat at bay.

  Annie, plus every one of her ‘models’, had been made up, dressed up, tweaked, teased and prepared in every way that they could think of, so now they were all peeking out of the church hall windows and anxiously watching the arrival of the buyers and the press.

  In the cool light of day in the drab church hall, their elaborate plans, concocted last night in a fug of darkness, candlelight and several bottles of wine, seemed … well … a little childish, amateur and definitely unprofessional.

  Look at these terrifying fashionistas walking towards the church!

  Annie had been a personal shopper for long enough to know that these were very serious fashion people. They carried thousand-pound Chloé and Bottega Veneta bags. They wore Chanel sunglasses, although it wasn’t even remotely sunny; Fendi fur-trimmed coats were slung over their shoulders.

  Annie could feel her heart sink, then sink some more. She just hoped no one would actually laugh outright, out loud at their poor little show.

  Then she stole a little glance at Yvette and took heart once again. At least Yvette looked like a proper model. She was the real deal. A catwalk panther, about to stalk down the runway, take out her talons at the bottom and claw. Bite even.

  Yvette had strapped mighty stilettoed boots on to the ends of her long legs and they made the cobalt-blue dress look slinky and dangerous. She also kept bursting into little snatches of song to gee everyone up.

  Anoush looked pixieish and cute as a button, Celeste, curvaceous and gorgeous, Grand-mère of course looked pleine de dignité in her dress and Annie … well, Annie just hoped she looked on the better side of normal, even though she was wearing a red tulle veil that would have been more at home on a flamenco dancer, or maybe a lamp.

  ‘Nervous?’ Annie asked Anoush as she walked over towards her.

  ‘A little bit,’ Anoush confided. ‘I hope we remember where to walk and where to stand.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ Annie said, hoping the same thing herself. ‘We just need to go slowly and then we won’t trip and fall, or bump into each other. That’s the main thing.’

  Annie took another look out of the window and saw Svetlana laughing with a small group of guests.

  Svetlana was a practised veteran of tens of thousands of cocktail parties and high-society events. She was a natural out there making small talk and no doubt telling everyone how exciting this was and how thrilled she was, building up their anticipation for the event.

  Every time Annie flicked a glimpse at her wristwatch, it seemed to have jumped much further forward than she expected.

  The door of the hall opened and there was Rich, camera on his shoulder: ‘One more shot of backstage,’ he said with a grin, ‘then I need to man the action stations in there. Are we all ready for curtain up, girls?’

  Annie felt a sickening lurch of nerves, but knew she had to hide them as well as she possibly could. Nervousness was horribly contagious and she wanted everyone to exude calm and sexy confidence.

  ‘Smile for the camera,’ she urged everyone.

  Once Rich was out of the hall, she called all the girls together.

  ‘Group hug,’ she commanded, ‘but gently, we don’t want to mess our hair.’ When no one seemed to know what she meant, she spread out her arms and tucked Celeste under one and stretched up to include Yvette under the other, and then she encouraged everyone, including Grand-mère, to do the same.

  When they were all in the cramped huddle, she began with: ‘Anoush, you translate please. We all look wonderful. We are all beautiful in our different ways. We are going to go out there and show off our beautiful dresses on our wonderful selves.’

  She paused while Anoush caught up with the French version.

  ‘Pleines de dignité,’ Grand-mère added at the end of Annie’s little pep talk.

  It wasn’t a bad idea, if they were all dignified, no one could laugh at them, could they?

  ‘Dignité,’ Annie repeated.

  Elena came into the hall, looking pale with worry. The strain of being the lynchpin for this event was starting to show.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Elena asked after she’d looked everyone over with a critical eye. ‘You look really good,’ she added, voice full of anxiety, unable to stop herself from going over to Celeste to make a little adjustment to the short netting veil pulled over her eyes.

  ‘We’re ready,’ Annie answered for the models. ‘We’re going to knock your socks off,’ she added, sounding much more confident than she felt.

  ‘OK, come and wait in the vestibule. I will tell you when to come out.’

  Crammed into the dimly lit vestibule, Annie listened to the organ music and inhaled the thick incense that was now burning in the church to make it as authentic and atmospheric as possible.

  Glancing over the other models as they waited nervously under their head-dresses and veils, she thought again of brides. How many brides had waited in this cramped space? Smelling incense and listening to the organ play as they prepared to walk down the aisle in their one and only catwalk moment, a new, strange and thrilling life ahead of them?

  For a flickering moment, Annie considered the question Ed asked every so often. Would she be a bride once again? As soon as she even thought of the question, she felt the inexplicable fear …

  The organ stopped and now the church was in silence. All the models knew that when the music began to play again, that was their cue to start the show.

  In the silence, Annie thought she could hear not just her own heart beating, but the thumping of all the nervous hearts around her. Only Grand-mère looked serene. She was too old for nerves, she’d told them earlier in the day, nerves were bad for the heart.

  It was simple enough, the plan for the show. Everyone was going to file in slowly, one by one, walk down the aisle, turn at the top and take their place there until the last model, Yvette, had done her walk. Then they would file out, rush to the church hall, change dresses and go through it all once again. While they were changing, Elena was going to talk about the dresses, the fabrics and the prices. Easy. So why was Annie, who was watched by nearly two million viewers on TV every week, feeling as if she might actually puke with panic?

  Then the organ struck up, the vestibule door opened and before Anoush could even think about it, she walked out and the show began.

  Within moments, Celeste followed, then Grand-mère, then Annie.

  Walking down the aisle to the dramatic strains filling the space, Annie kept her eyes ahead of her. She felt grateful for the red veil shielding her face and her features from the crowd.

  Although she didn’t look at it, she could feel the audience. The church was full of the warmth and subdued hush of a densely filled space. It was packed, the aisle felt narrow because black-clad arms, black jackets, bags and blond heads were all edging in to it.

  She walked carefully, one hand on her hip as she attempted to look carefree and nonchalant. All she was really concentrating on was the distance between her and Grand-mère. She had to maintain it. That was her only real job here.

  Already, she could sense that Yvette had stepped out of the vestibule. Heads were turning to look at her and there was a sort of rustle of interest from the crowd.

  Yvette in her shiny high-heeled boots, blue dress and orange hair, trimmed with orange net, strode down the aisle. She was a total natural who managed to convey just the right amount of disdain to the audience.

  Annie turned left at the top of the aisle, took her place beside Grand-mère and turned towards the audience. From what she could read on the faces, t
he audience was watching carefully and paying attention, but no one was smiling or giving away the slightest sign of approval. So much for creating a wedding-like atmosphere; this was like being at a very fashionable funeral: everyone was dressed in black and looking incredibly grave.

  Annie hadn’t expected high fashion to be quite so serious.

  But, of course, maybe it had to be taken so seriously, because everyone who didn’t take it super-seriously laughed at it.

  Yvette finished her walk down the aisle, twirled elegantly and came to stand beside Annie, though not too closely because the wrought-iron holder with the forty or so little candles was blazing with a surprising heat between them.

  As Annie had twirled herself into position she had noticed with a flicker of worry how dangerously close to the candles her nylon netting had swished. Health and Safety wouldn’t have been very impressed with this artistic little fire hazard, that was for sure.

  Once Yvette had posed for a moment or two, Anoush began to lead the models towards the back of the church. As soon as the vestibule door was closed they rushed over the courtyard to the church hall to change in a frenzy of relieved giggles.

  ‘Was it OK?’ Anoush asked Annie. ‘Do you think we did OK?’

  ‘We did fine,’ Annie assured her.

  ‘I miss the DJ,’ Yvette said, snatching her white dress from the rail. ‘Is hard to rock to church music.’

  As the rest of them dropped their dresses on the floor and wriggled into the new outfits, bras, stocking, G-strings and all on display, Yvette and Grand-mère turned away, trying to maintain some privacy despite the need for speed.

  ‘Yvette, you are so skinny, you hardly need a body-stocking,’ Annie had to say, although she was so tightly pulled into one herself that bending over was an effort.

  ‘Oh, you would not like to see me naked,’ Yvette replied.

  There was no time to ask why not because head-dresses and veils had to be arranged, lipstick touched up and everyone checked over because it was already time to crowd back into the vestibule.

  Pushing the door open just a tiny crack, Annie could listen in to the final part of Elena’s pitch. She realized at once that every word was falling into a sea of silence.

  There just wasn’t any feedback. The crowd was not wowed. There was no rustle, no stirring, no whisper of interest. It felt flat and dead out there, smoky and stuffy.

  Annie looked over the models huddled into the vestibule. They were amateurs putting on a pantomime and it was flopping. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if she could brace herself for round two.

  Elena finished her speech and it was met with silence, not even a ripple of polite applause. As she walked up through the church to the vestibule door, to come and tell the models to begin the next part of the show, Annie could see that she looked flushed and embarrassed.

  ‘You OK?’ Annie whispered as Elena approached the door.

  Elena just nodded, but Annie saw the first hint of tears in her eyes.

  ‘Ask the organist to play the wedding march,’ Annie whispered to her, struck with sudden inspiration, ‘then we’ll send Yvette out first, she’s in white with a big veil, she’s our bride, then Anoush and Celeste as bridesmaids, with Grand-mère and me bringing up the rear. Big effect, grand finale – and at least it will get it over with quickly.’

  Elena made a nod of agreement and hurried off to instruct the organist to move the wedding march up to the top of the playlist.

  Annie explained in whispers to the models just as the opening chords struck up.

  ‘Yvette first, go down the aisle like a bride, Celeste and Anoush behind. Then la grand-mère et moi, derrière,’ she stumbled in schoolgirl French.

  ‘Bien,’ Grand-mère agreed.

  If Yvette had looked good in the blue, she looked magnifique in the white dress. White sandals with straps which wound up her legs had been borrowed from Svetlana for this outfit. Grand-mère had made her an elaborate veil from the full three metres of white tulle which Annie had bought. In her hand was a little posy of white flowers.

  As she went out, a veiled Anoush and Celeste followed behind.

  There was a little flutter of something from the crowd, Annie couldn’t help feeling.

  She enjoyed this second trip down the aisle much more than the first. Every one of the models seemed to. The extreme tension of walking through the church for the first time had been broken, now their shoulders lowered and their steps looked much more easy and relaxed.

  As she reached the top of the aisle, Annie even managed a smile for Rich and his camera. This felt better, the atmosphere of doom and gloom had lifted and she could even spot a smile or two in the audience.

  But all was not entirely straightforward at the top of the aisle. They had come down in a new order and they were now standing in different positions, which they hadn’t practised before.

  Anoush and Celeste had understood that Yvette should be in the centre, not at the far end of the row, so they were stepping past her and encouraging her to move up towards Annie and Grand-mère.

  Yvette, in the borrowed sandals, stumbled just slightly, but instinctively put her hand out to catch hold of the nearest solid object. Unfortunately, this was a low wooden screen set out to provide a prettier backdrop. It swayed momentarily, then toppled backwards with an alarming clatter. As Yvette spun her head to survey the damage she’d done, the breezy tulle of her veil swished over one of the candle holders and ignited with an audible whoosh.

  Panicked cries of alarm broke out amongst the models and the audience.

  Annie’s mind raced. Where was a fire blanket? Or a fire extinguisher?

  Like a vision of calm and control, two women appeared before the screaming crowd with the necessary items in their hands.

  Grand-mère was holding a thick fur coat she’d plucked from the front row, Svetlana had an opened bottle of champagne in each hand.

  Just as they were about to douse Yvette, the model leaned forward and her flaming veil, along with her luscious wig of astonishing orange hair, fell to the floor in a burning heap.

  Svetlana poured on the champagne, and Grand-mère dealt the fire a death blow by smothering it with the coat.

  Thick smoke and an astonishingly bitter smell of burning hair and singed fur filled the space. The audience was on its feet, ready to make a rush for the door, but the relief that the fire was out and the extraordinary sight of Yvette stopped everyone spellbound in their places.

  Now that Yvette was stripped of the wig and the cropped hair underneath had been revealed, it was instantly obvious that slinky-bodied, nonchalantly slouchy model Yvette had the strong jawline and slight Adam’s apple of a man.

  Annie stared too.

  She couldn’t help it.

  Yvette was just as beautiful as she had been a moment ago, but she was a he. Yvette was really an Yves, who sensed the curiosity in the room, the eyes upon him.

  Snatching this little moment of fame, which was right there before him, waiting to be taken, Yvette threw his head back and gave the crowd the surprisingly polished chorus of Abba’s ‘Super Trouper’. It was almost loud enough to drown out Elena’s whimper of dismay.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Pssst! Vickie goes fashion:

  Navy-blue harem-trousered playsuit (Topshop)

  Metallic silver blazer (Whistles)

  Silver heels (Faith)

  Purple mock-croc handbag (Osprey)

  Notebook and pen (WHSmith)

  Digital voice recorder (eBay)

  Total est. cost: £440

  ‘You never mention your dad …’

  ‘Well, that’s made selling the story to the editor a piece of cake.’ The magazine columnist Vickie Plumridge turned and smiled at the journalist sitting beside her on the church steps.

  The journalist nodded in agreement: ‘Let’s just hope the photos are good.’

  ‘Do you think they staged it?’ Vickie wondered.

  ‘No way! Did you see the look on the faces of
the other models when the bride turned out to be a guy? And the woman who owned the fur coat! She was absolutely livid!’

  ‘Still,’ Vickie couldn’t help wondering, ‘for two bottles of champagne to be so close to hand, and already opened … and for Svetlana Wisneski to be the one pouring them over the burning veil? If I hadn’t just seen this happen, I’d never have believed it.’

  ‘OK, recorders at the ready, they’re coming out,’ the journalist warned and tossed her half-smoked cigarette on to the step where she ground it out with the pointed toe of her shoe.

  Elena and Svetlana stepped out of the church, both with bright, cheerful smiles on their faces, as if setting a model alight and nearly burning down a historic church was just another ordinary, everyday sort of thing.

  At their request, Annie was standing just behind them.

  ‘You better come out with us,’ Elena had told her, ‘the British journalists will want to speak to you too.’

  ‘Hi.’ Elena addressed the crowd of buyers and press assembled in the small courtyard, driven out of the church by the smoke and horrible smell.

  Sounding much more confident than she felt, she went on: ‘Everything is under control. Yvette is fine. Luckily, her … his …’ she corrected herself, ‘hair was a wig. So, I’m sorry our show ended with such a drama. But we’re here wanting to talk to you now about our wonderful dresses. ’

  There wasn’t any calling out of questions, the press pack just huddled in beside the three women and took turns to ask everything they wanted to know.

  After several minutes, Elena decided to leave the journalists to her mother and Annie; she broke out of the throng and headed straight towards the huddle of buyers.

  Vickie Plumridge didn’t waste any time; she moved straight up to Annie with the list of questions she’d already prepared.

  ‘Hi, Annie, I’m Vickie from Pssst! magazine. How are you? Did you enjoy modelling in the show? How long have you and Svetlana and Elena been friends?’