Faking It

by Lotte Daley

  ‘There’s that snooty-looking brunette wearing impossibly big Jackie O shades, fingernails curled around the steering wheel, looking like she’s chewing a lemon.’

  ‘So, Hanna’s here, then,’ I giggled, as I pulled on my white canvas pumps and hoisted my leggings up my midriff, pulling my lovely slip-on dress over my bum and hips.

  ‘Gotta go, D. Wish me luck!’

  ‘I wish you luck, babe,’ she said, pulling me close for a quick hug and a kiss.

  As soon as I got into her sports car, a packet of baby wipes hit me clear on the side of my face.

  ‘Oops, sorry!’ Hanna cooed. ‘Accident, my aim has always been bad … never join me for tennis, unless you want an eye missing,’ she smiled.

  ‘Are these yours, then?’ I said, thinking that perhaps she just meant to throw them in the back of the car for safe-keeping.

  ‘No, they’re for you. Take the make-up off, Katie, stick the balaclava back on your head and keep yourself hidden.’

  The roof of the car was down, the morning was glorious. I wish it was time for the great unveiling. I don’t know how much longer I can survive living like a covert burglar.

  ‘Your make-up will be done professionally. Good job, though,’ she said, gesturing to the half of my face that still had make-up applied to it. My heart sank a little. One, I was expecting Bailey and wanted to show him that I was as capable as the next girl of glamour, and two, I thought my make-up would go down well. I mean, I’ve always been good at applying make-up and I thought I looked pretty this morning. Now, I felt like a minger. How Hanna, Aubrey, Dr Vasquez and Jack all manage to make me feel like a hideous monster, I don’t know. At least now I had a nice stylist, I suppose.

  The car whipped through London at lightning speed, with the stomp stomp stomp of frenetic dance music blasting out of the stereo. Hanna’s hair was flowing in the wind as she drove with one hand and in the other held a long, thin cigarette holder with a cigarette popped inside. I guess she didn’t want to damage her nails with lovely nicotine stains.

  As we rolled up into the bay area of the imposing building that was Sunshine Media, which houses Sizzle Stars, a young blonde in vertiginous heels stood waiting. She was chewing gum. She looked fierce.

  ‘Daaahhhling,’ Hanna said as she air-kissed the tiny blonde.

  ‘Daaaahling,’ the blonde simpered back. ‘How are you?’

  They exchanged pleasantries before mini-blonde turned to me. ‘So, you must be Katie! Bit difficult to see you under there, but let’s get you into hair and make-up and I’m sure we’ll be seeing a very different version of the one I see before me now!’ She grinned. Is she for real? I thought, what is it with these fashion media types, insulting me willy-nilly and getting away with it? My mouth agape, I stood there, silently fuming.

  ‘My name is Frenella.’ She extended a dainty hand.

  ‘Hi,’ I muttered, ‘nice to meet you.’ Not, I thought. I hoped my stylist was nicer.

  I walked about six feet behind them like some kind of subservient as Hanna and Frenella waffled on about rock stars, Botox and holidays in LA. I hated them so much at this point, with all their amazing apparel, their groomed hair, perfect straight teeth and complete ignorance of me.

  We turned the corner, and what lay before me very nearly took my breath away. It was an Aladdin’s cave full of Gucci, Chloé and Lanvin, where tanned and toned bodies swayed between rows and rows of bright, expensive, beautifully sewn garments. I pulled the balaclava from my head and stood there gazing at the delights before me.

  ‘And you are the darling Katie!’ Fashion guy number two from the boardroom flashed a smile so bright he nearly gave me cataracts. ‘I’m Tom Theodore, we met earlier in the week? You are SUCH a pup! Gorgeously voluptuous, like some kind of goddess from a painting, so Rubenesque, so shapely!’ He pawed at my arms, ran his hands down them towards my hips, shook me a little and appeared to literally drink me in.

  ‘Hi …’ I breathed at him, barely taking my eyes off the Balenciaga handbags in the corner.

  ‘I know,’ he said, noting my gaze. ‘It’s just like when Charlie visits the Chocolate Factory, isn’t it? Swap chocolate for clothes and you’ve got the same expression as little Charlie … bless you!’ he said, hooking his arm with mine and sashaying me into the hub of the garments. Hanna and Frenella continued to converse in the corner, each applying lipgloss like it was going out of fashion.

  ‘Your colouring is Spring, so that means plenty of pastels, greens, blues, baby pinks … fab-you-less!’ he exclaimed, holding up a variety of stunning outfits. I still hadn’t uttered a word, such was my delight at being immersed in Santa’s clothing grotto.

  ‘It’s all beautiful,’ I eventually gasped.

  ‘Right, we’ll take this Hervé Léger bandage dress, those Louboutins and the Marc Jacobs shrug, and we’re offskis!’

  ‘Off?’ I asked as he shimmied me along towards the other end of the room and into an even shinier area of intense glamour.

  ‘Hairdo, baby,’ he sang at me, as his long fringe fell on to his eyes. He was a gorgeous man. He had mocha smooth skin, piercing emerald eyes which I suspect were contacts, but nevertheless, they stood out. He wore soft cashmere and tight trousers, showing off his cute bum. Why do these impossibly gorgeous men with immaculate skin, hair and nails have to be gay? Such a waste! I must have been gazing longingly up at him, all six foot of him, as Hanna, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, said, ‘Don’t fall in love with him, Katie, he’s Aubrey’s boy,’ and she whisked herself past me and headed towards the nail bar.

  ‘Um,’ I said, feeling the colour creep on to my cheeks. I wondered how someone as polite and confidence-boosting as Tom Theodore could do it with the acrid Aubrey.

  ‘SO!’ Tom said, ignoring Hanna’s attempts to embarrass me. ‘Your hair colour is practically illegal, that’s how sexy it is,’ he cooed. ‘I’m thinking, Bardot hair, sixties eye make-up, nude, matte lipstick in a pale rose, et voilà, we have our first shoot.’

  ‘I thought I had to wait until I was like, you know, properly glamorous with my surgery and whatnot before I could be seen in public, let alone on a photo shoot …’

  Tom looked as though I’d smacked him round the chops with a wet fish and denounced pop music.

  ‘Katie, you have curves to die for, an ample bosom, no wrinkles and eyes that could light up a Third World country. You are beautiful already, and all these clothes and what have you will only add to that.’ He then embraced me with a hug and I must admit, along with his kind words, I took great comfort from feeling his rippling muscles beat against my chest. This had to be a first – the first time one of these fashion types had actually treated me like a real-life person with thoughts and feelings that could be hurt by scathing comments. He was warm and friendly and gave me respect.

  After I was dressed, made up and coiffed, I felt like a princess, sitting on a sumptuous chaise longue, my hair piled up on my head, my lovely pale clothes nestling against my skin.

  ‘Right,’ Tom shouted, ‘I want you to be looking out of the window wistfully, pull the sleeves of your jumper over your hands, in a cute poor-little-me routine. I want you natural, yet sexy. I want you to look fragile, yet strong because despite being a woman who’s been left by her man, you’re still a woman in love …’

  ‘Christ!’ I exclaim. ‘How am I going to convey all of that?’

  ‘Easy!’ he said, as he produced a picture of Jack snogging Jessica. My face must have looked pure horror, and as my mouth took a downward turn, tears pricked at my eyes, I looked at my feet, and counted my toes, first forwards and then backwards whilst inwardly telling myself not to have another meltdown. Like Hanna said, this was important and I must not screw it up. Tom didn’t seem to mind, though, he was actively encouraging a meltdown. Was he some kind of sadist, I thought? No, of course he wasn’t, he was just an artist trying to get the perfect shot.

  ‘Lovely, lovely, perfect, oh yeah, amazing, keep going, just to the left, to the
LEFT, darling, not the right,’ Tom shouted, as he pranced about waving his hands over the photographer’s head, ‘I want you looking out of the window … ahhhh, good girl!’ he continued to bark at me.

  I moved and pulled the necessary faces, wondering whether he talks like that in bed. Tom was warm and friendly but he was ferocious on this shoot. Still the compliments flowed, which made me feel at ease. After about a million shots with my knees up to my chin, hugging myself and looking longing and at a loss out of a fake window, Tom decided I would now convey the emotion of happiness.

  ‘Good luck,’ I muttered.

  ‘Darling,’ he snapped his fingers and an assistant zipped across the room carrying a bag which he then presented to me. ‘Go ahead, look inside …’ he grinned at me.

  I gingerly opened the black ribbon tying the handles together as some sparkles whooshed out of the top. I reached inside and pulled out two tickets for the most exquisite health spa in London and a £5,000 voucher for Harrods!

  ‘Oh, wow!’ I squealed, as my face turned into a beam of excitement.

  The camera began to snap snap snap as I grinned and looked skywards, not believing my luck, literally thanking my lucky stars.

  ‘Gorgeous, look at you, Katie, how does happiness feel?’

  ‘Pretty damn good!’ I smile back, as I notice Danielle in the corner, smiling and snapping away with her own camera. Our eyes meet across the studio floor. I’m a bit blinded by the bright lights, so I hold my hand up to shield the glare and give a little wave.

  ‘Darling, FOCUS!’ Tom orders and I quickly resume my carefree, glad-to-be-rid-of-you poses. In one fifteen-minute time slot, I have gone from miserable, bereft and pathetic to I don’t give a shit about you now I have Harrods vouchers. Huzzah! Maybe money can buy happiness, after all?

  ‘Dazzling, baby,’ Tom continues, before adding, ‘we’re done, Katie, bravo, bravo!’ The lights go down and the people who were watching resume positions towards the other end of the studio.

  ‘Back in a mojo,’ Tom says, as he pulls his cigarettes out of his pocket and gulps an espresso. I swear all these people live on is nicotine and black coffee. Danielle walks over and plonks herself next to me on the chaise longue.

  ‘They put me in the tightest trousers known to humanity, and my clothes are covered in clips to pull them into place. I’ve hungry bum syndrome.’

  ‘Nice, but I know what you mean, I get that with thongs. So,’ she says, smiling at me, ‘how does it feel like to be a mini celeb, almost?’

  ‘Well, so far it’s been hideous! The pants-flashing, my mother giving me grief because the Daily Mail haven’t been stalking her, Janice’s hemlines are getting so short they should come with a health warning, my make-up ban … but I suppose once this article comes out, maybe I will feel like more of a celebrated person than the subject of one of those awful magazines that champion women whose errant husbands ate their cats or had it off with their mother or something.’

  ‘I’d love to see Jack try it on with your mother … I’d pay good money for that!’

  ‘Oh God, please don’t!’ I say, shrieking with mock horror. ‘That would really tip her, and me, over the edge.’

  ‘Seriously, though, honey, I was having a little chat with Hanna. You’re going to be appearing on the decent shows and giving interviews to hot magazines, not appearing on Jeremy Kyle in your vest top and old gym bottoms, so don’t worry. She seems to know what she’s doing anyway, and she seems to have your best interests at heart, so you know, I think …’

  ‘Lovely to know you’re on my side, Danielle,’ Hanna said, as she stepped out of the relative darkness and arranged herself under the spotlight. Although the lights surrounding the actual set were dimmed, we were still under incredibly bright spotlights, meaning we hadn’t seen her approach. I wondered how long she had been standing there.

  ‘In a few minutes, Frenella is going to come along and interview you about how you’re dealing with being thrust into the limelight and also, how devastated you are about Jack. The questions are normal regular questions such as, how long were you together, did you have any niggling worries about the state of your relationship, did you have any suspicions, what kind of boyfriend is he, that kind of thing. Keep your answers short and sweet, for God’s sake, do not go off at a tangent, cry or use the F word. No vulgar language, keep up the pretence that you are a lovely wholesome girl’s girl and we’ll be on to a winner, Katie.’

  ‘OK, sure, will do,’ I say, breathing in deep. This is my first ever magazine interview, what if I accidentally say fuck and call Jack a wanker? What if I cry? Shit, shit, shit, this better go well or I will be eaten alive when Sizzle Stars goes to press. Jack only left me a little under a week ago and now I’m pouring my heart out to a woman who sounds as though she has a sexually transmitted disease for a name. I just don’t know if I am ready.

  ‘Ready?’ Hanna says, looking directly into my eyes. I hate it when she does that staring thing. It’s as though she’s peering right down into my soul.

  I nod my head in agreement. ‘Ready,’ I say.

  ‘Right, then, let’s go.’

  Sitting in a pristine white room with massive comfy sofas, vases of fresh flowers dotted about the place and floor-to-ceiling windows which allowed reams of bright sunshine to spill on to the furnishings, I couldn’t help but feel as though I was once again part of an advert for cool people whose lives were effortless. My hair was exceptionally shiny, my make-up was perfect, I had on false eyelashes and I smelled divine. I even got to keep the adorable clothes that now, without the pegs to pin them to my body, fell beautifully over my curves, accentuating the best parts and helpfully skimming over the bits I was less impressed with. Danielle wasn’t allowed to join me, but Hanna could take a back seat in the room in case I was asked something tricky. Obviously I didn’t want to balls it up. Tom had quickly returned just as Hanna and I were leaving in order to air-kiss my cheeks and near enough squeeze me to death in a vice-like hug.

  Frenella wafted in, all white linen trousers and a cool cotton shirt. Her hair was shiny and her lips glossy.

  ‘Darling,’ she said, sitting down opposite me. ‘We meet again, although I would hardly have recognized you with all that amazing make-up, gosh, our staff really are the absolute best, I have never seen a transformation as epic as this. You look like a different woman, what an improvement!’

  ‘OK, OK, stop it, shhh,’ I said to her, half joking. She was bordering on the offensive and I really didn’t want anything to pull me off cloud number nine right now. Tom had made me feel super hot, and I wasn’t going to let Frenella in her posh clothes take that away from me. Besides, she wasn’t the only one who could rock Marc Jacobs!

  Frenella takes out her dictaphone, pops it down between us and presses play.

  ‘Testing, testing, 1-2-3,’ she says into the mic, before pressing stop, rewind and happily listening to her voice as it plays back her message.

  ‘Fab, right, OK, ready?’ I nod. ‘Let’s begin.’

  Frenella: [businesslike] ‘Katie, as the world knows, Jack Hunter, twenty-five, from Dagenham in Essex, lived a comfortable and happy life with you in your lovely home in Bethnal Green, right?’

  Me: ‘Yes, as far as I know he did … I mean, obviously I knew he was there, he was my boyfriend, we made that commitment to one another … but as for him being happy? As far as I know, he was very happy, we both were.’ [I bit my lip solemnly.]

  Frenella: [eyebrow dancing] ‘But he was harbouring the most awful secret, wasn’t he, Katie …?’

  Me: [She totally knows something!] ‘Was he?’

  My eyes lit up. What did she know that I didn’t? I had begun to master the art of eyebrow decodation from the amount of movement that went on from Hanna and Aubrey, so I knew this particular eyebrow move was an ‘I know something you don’t know’ thing. I felt a little bit sick. OK, a lot sick.

  Frenella: [fake smile] ‘He had been secretly having romantic love trysts with Jessica Hilson fo
r three whole months before the press caught them sneaking out of The Dorchester.’ [Sits back with a smug grin on her stupid face.] ‘Now, Katie, how does it make you feel to know the man you love has been unfaithful with one of the world’s most beautiful and talented women for such a long time, right under your nose?’ [Bigger smug grin.]

  My face visibly dropped as Frenella cocked her head to one side in mock sympathy whilst plastering a giant smug smile on her collagen-filled lips. Bitch, I thought, fucking horrible, nasty, awful, snotty cow! How the fuck did she think it made me feel? On top of the world? Ready to pen a song and fight for a Number One slot on the download chart? Perform naked cartwheels down Oxford Street? She was clearly insane and I was burning up with humiliation. My face now contorts with anguish as pain stabs at my heart and once again, hot tears threaten to ruin my perfect eye make-up. I’d never get it looking like that on my own, no way, and it wasn’t as though I could pick Tom Theodore up and carry him around just for his make-up artistry skills. I look across to Hanna whose facial expression hadn’t changed a jot. She looked eerily OK about this little revelation and she didn’t seem concerned that I was about to have another meltdown. Then Hanna’s behaviour suddenly made sense. She knew all along, didn’t she? It suddenly hit me like a sledgehammer and I now had some burning questions of my own such as, why hadn’t I been informed by Hanna that Jack had been having it off with Jessica for three months? That’s twelve whole weeks! That’s … lots of days. Why had no one, least of all my PR, told me? Or was it totally obvious and the whole timing thing didn’t even occur to me? God, I must be the silliest girl ever to think that it was something quite new. Quite possibly it could have been going on for far longer than three months … although the timing made sense. Cowgirls was filming for around four months in London. As I processed this new horrible information, I struggled to contain how I was really feeling, which was as though a herd of overweight donkeys had rabbit-kicked me in the belly. As I swallowed the indignity and hurt of it all, I gave Frenella a big toothy smile before taking a big deep breath and answering her beastly question.