Blondetourage

by Allison Rushby

  She coughs slightly before she begins. 'Well, it's no big secret that you're now Romy's best friend and ...'

  I butt in here. What is wrong with these people? 'Don't be ridiculous. I am so not "Romy's best friend".' If she's being nice to me because she thinks Romy likes me, she is going to be out of here so fast ...

  Ashleigh shrugs an uninterested shrug. 'Whatever. I just thought you should know, being close to her and all.'

  'Know what?' I ask, suspiciously.

  Ashleigh's eyes zoom in on mine. 'I just overheard something on the phone – Anouschka's in talks for her own show. Exactly the kind of show she wants. Her dream show. With just her as the host. And no one else knows. No one.'

  'What?!' I really sit up now. 'But ...?' A million thoughts go whizzing through my head. How could Anouschka even consider her own show? And keep it secret from Romy, who's supposed to be her best friend, too! Plus, Anouschka is contracted to Rich Girls for another year, exactly like Romy told me she is. 'I don't get it,' I finally manage to form some words. 'Anouschka's contracted. She can't consider another show.'

  Ashleigh laughs at this. 'You really are naïve, Elli! As if that matters. Everything is negotiable. It just comes down to money.'

  I give her a truly suspicious look now. 'Wait. If no one else knows, how do you know?'

  Ashleigh's face becomes smug (seriously, does she have another expression? I bet she was born looking smug!). 'I have my ways. I always know what's really going on around here. And if the whispers I've heard are true, Romy's miserable. So miserable she wants to quit. After seeing everything in the papers today, I think it's reminded her that she wants a life outside of Rich Girls. Again. You probably don't know, but she's been thinking of leaving for some time now. Anyway, I think you should encourage her to leave the show.'

  'What? Me?'

  Ashleigh nods. 'Seeing as you're so close.'

  I answer her quickly. 'No way. That's up to her. Not me.'

  'But if she's so unhappy ...' Ashleigh starts. And this is where the tiny seed of doubt sets in once more and I start back on my 'maybe Romy would be happier if she left, but then it'd be back to Frau Braun for me' mouse wheel. Around and around and around.

  'I know something else, too,' Ashleigh adds.

  I quit with the mouse wheel motif. 'Oh, yes. And what's that?'

  'Romy's broken foot?' Ashleigh pauses dramatically.

  'What about it?'

  'Maybe it wasn't such an accident.'

  I look at her like the freak that she is. 'What are you saying? That someone pushed Romy?'

  Ashleigh shrugs. 'Pushed, greased the steps ... it's all the same thing, isn't it?'

  'Um, no,' I say. 'And who?'

  Ashleigh shrugs again. 'Someone close to her, I guess.'

  I can't believe what I'm hearing. 'So you're saying Anouschka made her fall. Oh, come on, Ashleigh.'

  Ashleigh shakes her head. 'I never said that.'

  'Well, it's pretty obvious what you're trying to say.'

  She gets up off the bed now. 'I hear things. I know things that go on around here.'

  'You mean you eavesdrop like a little weasel,' I snort and instantly wish George was around to hear this.

  Ashleigh dusts the disease off her taupe pants and then saunters over to the door. 'Sometimes it helps to know what's really going on behind the scenes.' She turns to leave, but then pauses. 'Oh, and one last thing. If you leak the offer of the show to anyone, I'll say the information came from JJ, which would probably mean she'd be fired for reading Anouschka's email. Especially after your little jaunt out on the town yesterday. Bye!' she waves a hand nonchalantly and is gone.

  As for me, I sit and stare at my sickeningly rosy doona for some time, not quite understanding what's just gone on between Weasel Girl and me. I'm not used to the ins and outs of gossip. I don't understand why Ashleigh's just told me what she's told me, for a start. Why would I want to know that Anouschka's been offered her own show? Because Romy's been thinking of leaving Rich Girls for a different kind of life? And I still don't really believe Anouschka would push Romy down a set of stairs. She might be high maintenance and have her priorities in life completely back to front, but she's not pure evil. I think. Yet. One thing that does pop into my head again, however, is Anouschka's calm countenance at the meeting this morning. She'd seemed to take those pictures of Romy and me in the paper completely in her stride. I wonder for a second time if she knew where we were going to be all along. And if it was her who told the media, too? I mean, if Ashleigh's reading Anouschka's email, I bet Anouschka is reading everybody's. But, again, why? I don't see what she would gain from that. Unless she wants to get Romy fired so she can leave the show without it being her problem. Now that would make sense ... but do I believe it? I don't know ... I keep staring at the roses on my doona until they blur before my eyes. Ugh. This is all so confusing. It's like a soap opera. And for all I'm understanding of what's going on here, I may as well be the resident five-year-old blonde kid who never grows up (there's always one, isn't there?). My thoughts jumbled, pushing and shoving against each other in my head, I spot my Geography book lying next to me, grab it and start studying again.

  Celebrity

  knockout

  Thanks to my running about London with Romy efforts, the rest of our time in London is spent heads down, tails up. Melinda had planned trips out to the Victoria and Albert Museum and the Tate Modern, but we're informed that they've been cancelled. No prizes for guessing why. When I plead with Melinda and tell her that no one else knew about me skipping out, I can tell she doesn't really believe me. Thus, everyone suffers.

  We spend another few days in London filming the girls running (and crutching) about madly, and then make our way from London to LA. As the long minutes, hours and days pass, still no one talks to me (including Steph – I have been ostracised even by people on the other side of the world), and if they do manage a few words, it's to remind me of the terrible thing I did (which I know was terrible, but really, they need to get over it already, especially as I've said it's not going to happen again a million times over now). With all the fuss going on, I don't sleep well, which means I'm tired in class, which means Melinda is on my back even further. LA is painful. After London, the sky is such a bright, clear, unrelenting blue that it makes my eyes hurt. 'Look! Look at me! I'm blue!!!' it seems to scream. Or maybe I'm just cranky because I already have a headache from not sleeping well. And, you know, everyone hating me.

  Maybe I'd like the city a little more if I'd seen some of it. But apart from whizzing out to the Hollywood Hills from the airport in complete darkness, I can't say I've really seen anything of it. Hopefully soon, when we're back up to speed with our lessons.

  I do manage a bit of time on the sly with Romy, helping her to research her courses. It's actually a nice break, considering everyone else thinks I've grown horns (well, okay, Fluffy is warming to me a tad). Several times, when I'm sitting down beside Romy, looking through her course materials, I think about coming clean and telling her everything Ashleigh told me. But I always stop myself at the last second because she seems so happy right now, planning away, even if the things she's planning are some time away. I don't want to spoil things for her just as she's found something she enjoys. Plus, everything still fits together like a badly designed jigsaw puzzle in my head. That is, none of it fits. And as much as I try to force the pieces, they don't match up. The thing is, I don't want Romy to leave the show because I love it here (despite the current fuss), but it would probably be best for Romy to leave the show so she could pursue her perfume dreams right now, but she's contracted to stay. Then there's the fact that if what Ashleigh has said is true, Anouschka wants out and will probably make everyone miserable for the next year that she has to stick out her contract and if that happens, maybe everyone would be better chucking the show in anyway? It would be perfect for Romy if Anouschka broke the contract and the show ended, but no ... she's going to push her best friend to the edge and make
her break the contract because that way she won't lose any precious money.

  Break the contract like she broke her foot? A little voice pops into my head. It sounds suspiciously like Ashleigh's voice.

  Aaaggghhh! Ashleigh in my head alert! Now I really am going insane.

  It's on our third day in LA that I really lose it. It's a Saturday and, even though it's officially the 'weekend' (which is turning out to be a dubious concept around these parts), we've done lessons all morning, making up for the time we've lost in transit. Out of the blue, Melinda springs a pop quiz on us just before lunch and tells us that if we all pass, and pass well, the afternoon is ours to do with as we please. The catch? The pop quiz is in ... you guessed it ... Geography. As Melinda hands the papers out to us, I can feel everyone's eyes searing my flesh, warning me not to fail. Or else. I take a deep breath and try to keep calm. With all the spare time I've had on my hands, being friendless and all, I've actually been getting in quite a bit of extra Geography study. Fingers crossed the quiz covers some of the chapters I've been reading up on in my own time.

  Melinda puts my paper face down in front of me and I wait until we're given her cue to turn it over. When we're allowed, I skim the paper quickly. Phew. I'm in luck. The quiz is on the exact same chapter that I read over twice last night, trying to understand what on Earth (sorry, bad pun) it was going on about. I work through the multiple choice questions slowly, then check them, then recheck them and then re-recheck them until, finally, Melinda tells us our half hour is up. She then gathers the papers up and marks them quickly as we all hold our breath. When she's done, she looks up at us again.

  'Well ...' she starts, keeping us all guessing, 'it seems you'll be having the afternoon off after all. Good work everyone. You've done well. And, Elli, only one question wrong. That's fantastic work. You're really catching up. Well done!'

  Everyone looks at me in surprise for a moment and my heart flutters with hope. Maybe this will be it? Everyone will start talking to me again? Maybe? I get my hopes up as everyone packs up their books, but then start to hear whispers about a trip to the movies and a great burger bar that Rhys knows about and even though I take ages to sort all my things out, waiting, hoping ... I'm not invited. Eventually, it's only Melinda and me left in the long sunroom that has become our classroom over the past few days. She sighs when she catches sight of my expression. 'Chin up, Elli. They'll come around.'

  I shrug as I pick my books up off the desk. 'I know. I'd tried to talk to Rhys just this morning, but he didn't want to hear what I had to say. They've closed ranks on me. I guess I broke their trust. Only minutes after I earned it.

  'Oh, Elli. They'll change their minds back. Just stick it out. Why don't you go and see what JJ's up to? Maybe she could do with a hand? I think she's pretty busy today.'

  I can only nod and trudge out of the room in the direction of the kitchen.

  I find JJ up to her armpits (almost literally) in muffins. 'You finished for the day, Elli?' she asks me, as she packs a second large basket of her double dark chocolate chocolate-chips. (They're secretly packed full of wholemeal flour and a protein mix, so you're not hungry five minutes later, and she uses really dark chocolate powder and dark chocolate-chips, so they're not even that high in sugar and are full of antioxidants – tricky chef stuff.)

  'Melinda thought you might need a hand,' I say.

  JJ pauses for a moment to size me up. 'Where's everyone else?'

  I shrug that shrug again.

  'Oh,' she says slowly, catching on.

  'Yes, oh.'

  'They'll come around soon enough.' JJ starts packing her muffins again.

  I snort a half-hearted snort as I lean up against the kitchen's long, high bench. 'That's what Melinda said, but I don't know ...'

  But JJ just waves a hand. 'Of course they will. They just need to believe they can trust you again. Now. I hear you might have been offering a hand? How about two?'

  'Okay. What do you need me to do?'

  JJ pauses for a second and looks around her. 'The muffins are all packed, and so are the lunch wraps. The cooler is ready to go with the drinks in. All I need is a hand down to the van and I can get going.'

  'You're going too?' I practically wail the words.

  JJ nods. 'They're short one crew member today, so I'm going to be needed to pass the food about. The girls are out tonight, so everyone has the night off after the scene they're shooting is done. Including you and me.'

  'But what am I going to do until then? Not even Fluffy's here. He's off at the cat spa for the day!' I know I'm whining, but I can't help it. I've done more than enough extra study this week and can't face doing any more this afternoon. I start to look around me, worriedly. 'You can't leave me here alone. Not in this house.'

  I've forgotten to mention the house, haven't I? How can I put it? It's a monstrosity. Imagine the bow of a cruise ship chopped off and superglued high up on the Hollywood Hills and that's what we're staying in. Truly, it is the weirdest, wackiest (I'd add wonderful to the mix, but it is, as I said, a monstrosity) house you have ever seen. The structure is white and built over six stacked levels, the very front jutting out to a point and holding the pool aloft. The view is stunning – you can see forever and peer down on all the gigantic homes dotted about, each with its own swimming pool. Sadly, however, you don't really notice the view because your retinas are forever burning from the interior decorating, which consists of hideously mismatched shades of orange, black and mauve. (Orange, black and mauve – what were they thinking?) Every so often, the floor is covered with a leopard skin rug, as if that's going to draw everything together (newsflash: it doesn't). There are also a couple of pure white rooms that make you feel you've just been institutionalised. It's probably the flashest place we've stayed in so far, but everyone seems to be spending a lot of time shivering in corners and walking the long way around to avoid the white rooms. It has a bad vibe, too. As much as I was going to vomit if I saw another rose in the London house, at least I never got the feeling someone was going to step out of the shadows and gun me down gangster-style, like I do in this place.

  'Please don't leave me here,' I turn my worried look full-force on JJ.

  JJ looks at me, unconvinced, and places the muffin basket she's been holding back on the bench. 'I don't know ...'

  'Please. It's freaky here.'

  Now it's JJ who looks around. And shudders (a good sign, I think).

  Bring it home, Elli. 'I'll be good. I'll be perfect. You won't even notice I'm there. Promise!'

  'Well ...' I can see the doubt flickering behind JJ's eyes.

  'So you don't trust me, either!' I play my trump card now, hoping that JJ's mother guilt will kick in. 'And I haven't seen anything of LA yet.'

  I get a 'you don't fool me, kid' look in return. 'Oh, don't be so melodramatic. Okay, you can come. But not a peep out of you!' I get a warning finger pointed at me now. 'I mean it.'

  'Not a peep!' I say, a little too enthusiastically. 'I won't even "peep" at my peeps!'

  'You'd better not, or we're done for. All right. You take the muffin baskets and I'll handle the rest.'

  $$$

  I do mean it when I say I'll be good. As much as I hate everyone not talking to me, I know Melinda's right and it'll all be over soon and we'll all be having fun again like we were when this journey began.

  JJ and I are in the van within minutes. As the driver winds his way down the steep hills, I absentmindedly watch the palms go by (I've never seen so many kinds ...) and start to wonder where we're headed today. 'Where are we off to? Saks?' I try the most obvious place first. 'Chateau Marmont?'

  'No,' JJ says, then frowns. 'We're actually going to a bead shop.'

  This floors me. 'A bead shop?'

  'I know,' JJ says. 'I thought it sounded a bit strange, but maybe it'll make more sense when we get there.'

  'I hope so.' I'm not really seeing how this is going to make for some great Rich Girls footage. Unless Anouschka manages to trip Romy up
again and break her other leg or something. Maybe on some beads this time.

  We seem to drive for ages and, again, I can't get over the difference between the cities I've been visiting. Paris and London might have had their differences, but comparing them both to LA – it's mind-blowing stuff. LA seems so very young and everything is concrete, or bitumen. There don't seem to be any green spaces, only lush trees dotted about the place, and there's no one walking anywhere. Everyone's driving wherever they're going. There are a lot of shops and a lot of food on offer. I can see how you wouldn't wait for anything here. It's very Now. A very immediate city. But still, there's something about it. Something exciting that I like – a buzz. And, today, being (allowed) out and about in that buzz, I'm a bee in the beehive.

  When we finally get to the bead shop, the girls have already started the scene they're shooting. They're just about to go through it all again, so JJ and I get all the food out of the van quickly and set it down on the footpath out of the way. This means the van can depart before everything needs to be quiet so shooting can begin.

  From where JJ and I are standing, baskets and esky at our feet, I can see past the cameraman, past Anouschka and Romy (who are both having their makeup retouched) and inside the bead shop. Now, I get it. It's not some hokey suburban bead shop. This is more of a ritzy, design it yourself, bead-filled boutique. I don't think the girls will be saving any money designing their own jewellery here.

  The producer calls for quiet and I take a seat on the closed drinks esky and get ready to watch what's happening on Rich Girls today.

  The girls start the scene only metres away from me, off to the side of the store – as if they're making their way inside. When the scene begins, Anouschka is already angry, and pushes past poor Romy, who teeters on her crutches.

  'I'm not having it!' she says, as she flounces past her and then turns dramatically. 'Three girls I saw last night. Three girls with the exact same earrings as me. It's just ... wrong! No wonder luxury is losing its lustre, if any little tramp can go into a store and buy the same earrings as I have.'