by Will Davis
‘It’s not that bad,’ I say to her gently. ‘It’s just an unflattering light.’
‘Not the picture!’ snaps Joni. ‘For fuck’s sake! Look!’
I look again and this time I read the headline above, which says, Violence Of Potential Purrfect Girl. Also under the headline is another, smaller shot of another girl with frazzled brown bangs staring sourly at the camera with her arms folded.
‘Can you believe that little slag?’ Joni is saying. ‘I’m gonna fucking have her when I get back. I’m gonna grind her head on the pavement till it’s fucking flat!’
I take the paper from her. The article has an interview with the girl in the photo, who claims Joni attacked her because of ‘a romantic dispute’, pushing her into a wall and giving her a black eye. Of course it can’t be true. Despite her big attitude and her constant swearing I’ve never met anyone as kind and gentle as Joni. Last night after the disaster, right there onstage, she took my hand and whispered to me that it didn’t matter, that I wasn’t to feel bad about it. She’s so sensitive, she could almost be a mother. And I’ll never forget that day at the first audition, when I was so nervous I thought I was going to hurl and couldn’t even bring myself to come out of the ladies’. I’d never have even made it into the audition room if I hadn’t met her.
‘Fucking shit,’ mutters Joni.
I think about what happened to Jack that day he came to the auditions and exploded, and how awful they made him look in the programme.
‘It’s probably just a mistake . . . she probably just said something she didn’t mean and they just took it out of context.’
‘I’ll fucking take her out of context,’ snarls Joni, glaring at me in this way that’s actually rather frightening. I’ve never seen her so angry, not even when she exploded at me last week. ‘What the fuck’s context?’
I start to explain but she cuts me off and starts ranting about the girl again, whose name is Shea and who according to Joni is a two-faced bitch and a whore who puts out for a cigarette. It’s pretty weird to hear her talking about someone like that. I try to concentrate and say helpful things, but every sentence that comes out of my mouth just seems to annoy her even more. I can’t concentrate properly on what she’s saying. I know that it’s selfish of me, especially after how kind she was to me last night, but my own problems just seem so much worse that I can’t focus on anything else right now. Finally, looking like she’s disgusted with both me and the paper, she screws it up into a ball and tosses it into a toilet bowl before stomping out of the bathroom.
Feeling like I’ve let her down I turn back to the sink and my blotchy reflection. Looking at that weak girl in front of me I’m suddenly stricken with hatred, and in a frenzy I start to splash icy cold water in my face. Each cupful feels like the slap of a tidal wave, and when I look back up my skin has turned a raw reddish colour. But I look tougher, I think. More ready for what life has to throw at me.
At breakfast everyone is quiet. Now that there’s just five of us the room seems weirdly empty and desolate, especially since Valerie was the loudest and you could hear her talking pretty much anywhere in the house. Rebecca sits in the corner turning the pages of a paper and looking totally miserable. I suppose she must be the most upset, since she was Valerie’s best friend. Opposite Riana chomps noisily on her cereal and Louise nibbles daintily on a piece of unbuttered toast. They seem to be friends now, those two, which is quite strange considering how different they are. But it’s nice too, since it proves opposites can get on. Like me and Joni. I take the seat next to her and give her an apologetic smile, but she just turns her head away and looks through the window at the beefy black security guard who’s patrolling the lawn. I pour myself a bowl of Alpen, but just as I’m reaching for the milk jug Emma bursts into the room followed by a camera and looking completely amazing in a red satin shirt, a bit like the ones in the new Toya Roy Allis collection. She must have her own private make-up artist, there’s no other way to explain how anyone could look that gorgeous at this time in the morning.
‘Good morning, girls!’ she announces. ‘I hope you’re ready for a big day ahead of you!’
We all chorus good morning back, but it sounds forced, like we’re greeting our own deaths or something.
‘Girls, I know you’re all very upset about what happened to Valerie,’ Emma says in a quieter voice. ‘And I wanted to assure everyone that she’s getting the best care. We’ve sent some flowers on your behalf, and she wanted me to relay that she misses and loves you all.’
We all go ‘Ahhh’, as if this is the sweetest thing we’ve ever heard, even me, though actually I doubt it’s true since I overheard Valerie whispering with Rebecca one night that she couldn’t believe I was even in the competition and she hoped I’d be the first to go because I held everyone back.
‘Unfortunately,’ continues Emma, ‘she does have a broken ankle, and after some discussion we’ve reached the unfortunate decision she won’t be returning.’
She waits a moment for this to sink in, as though we didn’t know it already. Just the memory of Rebecca’s description of Valerie’s joint snapped in two makes me feel queasy. I push my Alpen away from me.
‘However, the show must go on! Purrfect girls do not let anything stop them from doing what they have to do, and today is extremely important. There’s a car waiting for you outside and I want you ready to leave in five minutes. So let’s eat up, folks!’
Five minutes later we’re all standing outside in front of this enormous limousine. It’s much bigger than a normal limo, almost the size of a tank, and so highly waxed you can see your reflection in it as clear as if it was a mirror. The driver, a tall thin man in black who reminds me of Count Dracula, slides open the door to reveal a whole miniature room inside, complete with a table, TV, mini-bar and even a little crystal chandelier. Rebecca and Joni both let out little gasps.
‘In you get, everyone!’ calls Emma, who’s now wearing a figure-hugging eggshell-coloured coat. We all pile inside. Joni deliberately takes a seat by the window away from me, and I end up sandwiched between Riana and Rebecca. A cameraman who I didn’t see before is already sitting at the back with his camera pointed at us. It’s funny how I’ve almost come to stop seeing them, as if it’s completely normal to be followed around all the time by someone recording your every move. Emma gathers up the folds of her coat and gets in with us, taking the seat next to the TV. The doorman slides the door shut and a minute later the engine starts.
‘Okay, girls,’ commands Emma. ‘Here’s what today is all about. We’re on our way to Lockwood Studios, where you’re going to be doing a short shoot to provide cutaways for Purrfect’s upcoming single ‘‘Adam and Eve’’, due to be released in August. That’s right, girls, you are all going to be in a music video!’
Everybody gasps this time.
‘Now, I have here a little message from some very important people. As you know they’re on tour right now, but these girls still want you to know they’ve been watching the programme religiously and are absolutely rooting for you guys!’
She produces a remote and points it at the screen. Instantly it lights up and four familiar faces appear, sitting in an exact replica of our limo and looking at us with bright clear eyes, their skin flawless, their smiles perfectly white. My heart practically stops. It’s hard to believe so much beauty and grace can be contained within a single moving vehicle.
‘Hi girls!’ they cry in unison.
We can hardly contain ourselves. Rebecca and Joni let out screams and even Louise is practically panting with excitement. A private message from the greatest girl band in the world – just for us.
Monique, who’s wearing a powder blue halter neck that sets off her blue eyes, leans forward towards the camera. ‘Girls, we just wanted you all to know that we’ve been watching and we all think you’re stellar, each and every last one of you.’
‘We can’t wait to get to work on a new album with the winner,’ agrees Kharris beside her, brushing h
er golden blonde fringe to the side. ‘We’ve been missing a little something for some time now and that something is you!’
‘But first of all, you’ve got to win,’ says Saffron, frowning like she wishes this doesn’t have to be the case. She’s wearing a black tank top with a red, white and black Union Jack on it. ‘There’s only room for one more girl in this band and that girl has got to be special.’
‘Riana, Louise, Rebecca, Joni and Ella,’ says Fina. A little thrill passes through me at the sound of my name on her lips. ‘You all have the potential and we’re rooting for each one of you. And just to show you how into you girls we are, we’ve prepared a little something for you to have a think about!’
The girls all look at one another and do little nods, and then, still flashing those stunning pearly smiles, they launch into a harmony: ‘We can’t wait to meet you, we can’t wait to greet you, oh, we can’t wait to make you one of us, so hurry up and win the contest!’ They shout the last line and then, cackling, Kharris raises the controller and points it at us. The screen goes black. The instant it does it’s like a massive light in the sky that made everything okay has been switched off. The reality that Jack has gone enters my heart again with a thud, and I realise guiltily that for thirty seconds I’d forgotten all about him.
‘Okay girls, here we are,’ says Emma.
We climb out of the limo one by one. We’re outside the back of a rundown-looking warehouse, in a part of London I don’t recognise. It’s quite eerie, and I have a weird sense that maybe they’re going to take us all inside and slaughter us, like they do with cattle. Emma leads us over to the door and says something into a little radio box beside it. There’s an electric buzzing noise and the door opens. We follow her in.
‘Darling!’
It’s so different inside the warehouse it’s like we’ve walked into another country. Massive bright lights with sheets of white paper over them stand all around the studio, which is covered in exotic plants and flowers. There’s a rock face on one side of the room, rather like the climbing wall we have at school, only there’s a stream running down this one and a little waterfall over a tiny pool full of floating lilies. It’s almost as though we’ve just stepped into paradise, except for all the people rushing around adjusting the set and rearranging the plants under the supervision of a plump man with a tiny moustache who’s wearing a bruise-purple silk shirt. He turns as we reach the centre of the room, sees Emma and lets out a little shriek. He rushes forward with both arms out. He and Emma air kiss each other on both cheeks in that same way they do on Ab Fab. It’s obviously a joke between them because they then start to giggle and chatter away excitedly even worse than Valerie ever did. Emma calls him Bradford and he insists that a passing photographer take a snap of him and her wrapped in each other’s arms and pouting in front of an enormous cactus next to the rock pool. The rest of us all stand there watching and starting to feel uncomfortable just doing nothing, until Bradford finally turns and looks down his nose at us like he’s never been so unimpressed before in his life.
‘So these are the victims, are they?’ he says. ‘How do you do, sweet things? My name is Bradford and I’m directing. Now, I don’t want to know your names, thank you very much, I’ll only forget them, anyway – I want for you all to go straight over there and get into costume, okay?’
We all stand there for another minute like we’ve been sprayed with cold water. Riana takes a step forward like she’s about to let rip at Bradford for being so rude, but he turns away before she can get a word out and tells Emma he’ll give her an exclusive tour of the set. Feeling like idiots we trudge over in the direction he pointed, where a plump woman with curly orange hair is waiting beside a set of costume rails.
‘Oh my God!’
Joni nudges me. She’s obviously incredibly excited about today and seems to have forgiven me for earlier, or else forgotten about it. I look over where she’s pointing and that’s when I get the fright of my life. A man is standing under a palm tree holding the hugest snake I’ve ever seen, cooing over it like it’s a baby, while it curls itself around his arms and slithers up his shoulder. Behind him are four glass tanks, and in each one you can see another mottled collection of slithering, slowly moving loops. I feel sick.
‘Do you think we’re going to have to touch them?’ whispers Joni.
‘Come on, girls,’ says the woman with the orange hair. ‘I’ve got half an hour to get you decked out and over to make-up so let’s step on it, shall we?’
The costumes we have to wear turn out to be little more than rags that wrap around your private areas and put everything else on display. At first I feel very shy about this, since it’s almost like walking around in your underwear, but it’s funny how fast you get used to being practically naked. It reminds me of the time when Rita let Mimi and me hang out at the back of a charity catwalk show she was a guest designer in. It’s another world behind those divides, with models throwing off clothes and rushing around topless while everybody else fights over each other to put more clothes and make-up on them. Today is just like that, and nobody cares the slightest bit what you look like because they’re all too busy applying body paint to your thighs and weaving flowers in your hair to bother to really look at you. I’m the first person to be finished and I stand next to a clump of lilies, trying not to move and smudge the make-up on my skin. It’s funny to watch the other girls being made up. I notice how Louise is obviously hating the whole process, since she looks like she’s sucking on a lemon and has her arms folded across her chest the whole time as if she’s completely ashamed. Riana, on the other hand, is obviously in her element, and thrusts her chest out for the photographer like modelling rags is what she’s always secretly wanted to do with her life.
‘Okay,’ says a voice in my ear and I jump and turn round to find Bradford looking me up and down critically while a nervous-looking woman with a clipboard waits behind him. ‘I suppose she’ll do. Let’s have her by the fountain for the first take, then.’
His assistant leads me over to the rock pool. There waiting for me is the man with the snake. I stop dead.
‘Basically all we want is for you to stand still while our snake handler Gunther wraps it around your shoulders,’ explains the assistant. ‘Then just follow Bradford’s instructions.’
She looks up with a little smile and sees my expression.
‘It’ll be fine, don’t worry. It’s perfectly tame, and Gunther will be right on hand to take it off you the instant we stop shooting. Isn’t that right, Gunther?’
‘It’s a she not an it,’ says the snake handler, stepping forward. ‘And her name is Sweetie.’
Sweetie raises her head from Gunther’s shoulder and peers at me with tiny slit eyes. A sharp forked tongue slips out and licks the air before disappearing inside the freakish elongated head again. Despite all the hot light that makes this place feel like a sauna, I’m suddenly very cold. A familiar lump rises in my throat and I gulp it down as the cameraman who’s followed me over steps in for a close-up.
‘Come along, people!’ shouts Bradford. ‘We’re wasting precious life here!’
You can do this, I think to myself. After what happened on Saturday, surely holding a tame reptile for a few minutes can’t be that bad. Except that for as long as I can remember I’ve been terrified of snakes. Even worse than spiders. The only snake I’ve ever been able to come close to is Snakey, who’s made of yellow felt and looks nothing like a real one.
I step closer to Gunther. He grins and unloops the snake from around his shoulder. The guy who’s filming the shoot points at a white X on the ground and tells me to stand there. One of the make-up artists appears from behind the rock fountain and quickly touches up my forehead and cheeks while Bradford starts explaining that he wants me to stand as still as I possibly can, as if I were a statue that happened to have a snake crawling on it. It’s not as though I’m going to be able to bring myself to move anyway, I want to tell him.
‘Okay, are we read
y?’
A young guy with greasy skin who doesn’t look any older than me arrives with a clapper. Bradford tells him to get in place and he comes and stands right in front of me with the clapperboard. I want to tell him to move away because I’m sure he can see down the slit between the rags over my boobs. But even if I wanted to I couldn’t because my mouth is paralysed with fear. Gunther is holding the snake right next to me, preparing to drape it over my shoulders. ‘Now, be gentle with her because she’s a fragile little thing,’ he’s saying, and I don’t know if he’s talking to me or to the snake.
Suddenly I realise that I cannot have that thing on me under any circumstances. If it so much as touches me with its slimy scaly skin I am going to have an aneurysm. Desperately I try to think about Jack, about how bad I feel and how much I want him – anything to take my mind off the long thick dangling body Gunther is holding out for me to take. And as the snake’s body gets closer I have a blinding revelation: the reason Jack stopped wanting me isn’t because he doesn’t love me. It’s because I’ve never stood up like a real woman should and said out loud what I really want. When he told me it was over I just accepted it, when what he really needed me to do was to refuse, to tell him that what we had was special and make him understand that I wasn’t letting go of it. I’ve always been so frightened and pathetic – even in entering this competition. I thought he would see the real me, but of course it just took me away from him and made him think I didn’t want him anymore! I’m so stupid.