What's the Drama, Malibu Bennet?

by Michelle Gayle

  “Well, she’s been crying this evening.”

  “It can’t be because of me. Must be something to do with Gary.”

  Mum shook her head. “You’re living her dream, Remy – have you ever stopped to consider that?”

  No, I hadn’t. And I suppose it must be hard. But no harder than me spending nineteen years of my life putting up with people gasping over how beautiful she is.

  “It’s not my fault this has happened to me,” I said after a while.

  “I know. And she’s happy for you, but it doesn’t make it any easier. If there’s any way you can help her; any way at all…”

  I sighed. “OK, Mum. I get it. I’ll phone the TV producer.”

  Monday 5 August – 8 a.m.

  Had a little lapse in the Highlands so … I am Remy Louise Bennet. I am not perfect. But I still love—

  8.15 a.m.

  Just got interrupted by Malibu knocking on my door. She’s been behaving like an over-enthusiastic puppy ever since.

  “Mum said you’re gonna phone the Silver Fox. Yay! Sorry about yesterday, by the way – was probably a bit stroppy!”

  D’ya think?!

  “Anyways, we’re about to be ridiculously famous! I just know it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The Kardashians made sixty million last year. SIXTY MILLION. So you’d better work out how you’re going to spend the money.”

  “Yeah.” *roll eyes*

  “Come on, let’s phone him now.”

  I could only humour her so much. “It’s too early.”

  “He’ll be up. We’re up, aren’t we? Phone him.”

  “Um… Where’s my lovely nephew?”

  “Mum’s giving him breakfast. Come on, Silver Fox time, now.”

  “Wait a minute, Mal. Wait… Breathe.”

  “Am I talking fast?”

  “Very.”

  She inhaled… “Right. Call him.”

  “Maybe we should run through what to say first.”

  She thought about it. “OK. Good point,” she admitted.

  Phew!

  “I’ll show you my business plan,” she said.

  WTF?!

  She’d covered three sides of A4 with her business plan to turn us into the Kardashians. She never submitted that much in two years of GCSE English coursework! Along with the TV show, she’s given us a brand name – M ’n’ R – and products: make-up, bags and perfume.

  “What d’you think?”

  “It’s very …” – was actually thinking “deluded” but chose my words carefully – “… ambitious.”

  “That’s a good thing, though, right?”

  “Er… Yeah.”

  “We want him to see that we’re aiming high. The Kardashians are switched on – their mum knows how to print money.”

  “Right.”

  “Go on then, call!”

  She was actually standing right behind me, breathing down my neck as I held the business card and dialled the number for the TV producer Robert Fitzgerald.

  Got his voicemail. Phew! Couldn’t end the call quick enough.

  “You should’ve left a message,” she moaned. “Why didn’t you leave a message?”

  Decided to introduce a tiny bit of reality. “Mal, he might not even remember us.”

  “Course he will. He thought we were great. Pass me the phone.”

  I gave it to her and she pressed redial. Voicemail. Beep!

  “Hey Robert, it’s Malibu Bennet. You met me and my sister Remy Bennet at the charity do the other night. You liked our Nancy Scott dresses. But you’ll probably remember Remy at any rate – she’s the one who flashed her bum on Good Morning A.M.”

  Grrrr.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “we have a great idea for a TV show. It’s going to be bigger than the Kardashians and I think you’ll be interested, so give us a call.”

  Mal reeled off my number, ended the call and then said, “Trust me. It’s in the bag!”

  She’s clueless. But I have bigger problems to deal with, like a boyfriend who won’t let me speak about him in public!

  8.50 a.m.

  Called Harry.

  “Stephen doesn’t want me to talk about him in interviews.”

  “Yeah, he did mention somefin’ like that. I was about to call. Your Here mag article’s bin sent to me. It’s coming out tomorrow.”

  “And?”

  “I’m ’aving a conference call with Camilla Douglas-Smith. Think it’ll be best if we all talk about it together. Can you come in for ten-thirty?”

  “All right then,” I said, although I was meant to go into the salon this morning. Will go in after my session with Dr Clein instead.

  9.05 a.m.

  Robert “Silver Fox” Fitzgerald just rang!

  “Remy Bennet,” he sang, “how are you, darling?”

  Wow, he was chirpy. “Me? Yeah… I’m good.”

  “Great. We wondered where you got to the other night – one minute you were going to the loos, the next you’d disappeared.”

  “Yeah, erm, Malibu had had a few too many and she felt really sick,” I pretended (about her feeling sick, anyway).

  “Oh. Well, I just got her message about you having an idea that’s, and I quote, ‘bigger than the Kardashians’.”

  “Malibu thinks so, anyway.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Um… Can you hold a second, please?” Opened my bedroom door. “Malibu!” At least if she explained it, he’d know I wasn’t the one stupid enough to think we’re superstars in the making.

  “What d’you want?” she snapped from her room next door.

  “Robert Fitzgerald’s on the phone.”

  Malibu materialized within seconds and grabbed the phone out of my hand.

  “Hiya Robert. Hope I wasn’t too tipsy the other night? Good. Listen, I could tell you a bit about it now but I think it’d be much better for us to meet up.”

  I started to shake my head.

  But Malibu looked at me and nodded. “You’re the first person we’ve called but obviously we’ll have to speak to other TV producers… Yeah, yeah, Wednesday sounds good. Shall we say eleven? Perfect. See you then.”

  9.35 a.m.

  Suddenly realized how late I was running. Showered and dressed quicker than the speed of light. In cab now. Dying to see Here mag.

  So wish I was back at Highland Manor. Best hot stone massage ever! #withdrawalsymptoms

  7.50 p.m.

  Found out some interesting things during the conference call with Camilla:

  1. PR stands for public relations.

  2. PR people give information to the press to publicize their client in the best possible light – and to hell with everyone else, even boyfriends!

  3. There’s actually someone way bossier than Malibu: Camilla Douglas-Smith.

  The Here mag article had a full-page pic of me in the beautiful wedding dress, with the headline “I’ve already picked our kids’ names”.

  Yikes!

  “Does that make me sound desperate?”

  “Well, have you?” asked Harry.

  “Um, maybe.”

  “Well then, yes.”

  “Wrong, Harry!” Camilla snapped through the loudspeaker. “All girls have done it. And now they’ll know you’re exactly the same as them, instead of believing that your footballer boyfriend, clothing range, et cetera means you could never be their friend. And women being able to relate to you is a very lucrative prospect. This isn’t just a rebranding, dahling, this is you moving forward.”

  I quickly scanned the article. Sam for Short had written gushing comments about Stephen: He is the “Braveheart” who sprang to defend Remy’s honour on the pitch in one of the most romantic moments of last year. However, there was a “but”: Which begs the question why he hasn’t proposed. “He hasn’t even asked me to live with him!” she quoted me as saying.

  “Hmm. Does that proposal bit make me sound desperate?”

  “In a word, yes,” answe
red Harry.

  “Wrong again, Harry,” Camilla chimed in. “Thousands of women are hanging on for a proposal right now. And being someone people can relate to is—”

  “A very lucrative prospect – we heard. But I ’appen to have a client who only wants to be spoken about in the press if it’s something to do with football.”

  “Then perhaps you shouldn’t be representing both of them, Harry. Because I assure you that Remy speaking about her ups and downs with Stephen will sway people’s opinions about her. And she’s who I am working for.”

  “Looking after both of them isn’t ideal, I admit. But Remy,” Harry said, looking me straight in the eye, “Stephen won’t like it. I promise ya.”

  “Remy, I’m moments away from booking you on Life Stories. If it goes well, it could change your career for ever. So, excuse my French here, Stephen will have to grow some balls.”

  Aa–aaaaaaaargh!

  Stormed into Dr Clein’s office and spilled my guts. “Just fed up with everyone bossing me around!”

  “Well, why don’t you try doing what you want to do?” he asked.

  “Because… It’s not as simple as that.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Apparently not. Not if I want a career.”

  “A salon career?”

  “No. In TV and stuff. I mean Life Stories is massive. Me and Mal always watch it, and have a good cry.”

  “How do you think Stephen will react if you talk about him on the show?”

  I sighed because there was no need to “think” – I KNEW. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  “Remy, if this TV career is important enough for you to risk your relationship with Stephen, why are you so bothered about Malibu pushing for your own show – surely that’s a good thing?”

  “Well, on paper maybe. But it just doesn’t feel right.”

  Dr Clein thought for a second. “Do you like being famous?”

  “Um… S’pose so. Everyone wants to be famous, don’t they?”

  “Do they?”

  And that’s when the session ended.

  I then headed over to the salon and immediately felt better. Apart from the odd customer intent on beating up a mistress, everyone there just wants to have a trouble-free day. They’re the kind of people I want to surround myself with. Debbie Wyatt has only gone and got herself a toyboy – ALREADY. She passed by the salon to show him off. Said she met him in a pub two days ago and he hasn’t left her side since.

  Lara said, “Good for you Debbie,” and gave her a high-five.

  It took a while but I really like Lara now. So far she’s the only person to ask how my Scotland trip went. Told her how excellent it was and about my to-die-for hot stone massage. As usual, I reported back on the competition:

  “Their salon looked the part, had top-of-the-range products, and the lady who did my massage was top-drawer.”

  Lara looked a bit wounded.

  “But she’s not salon manager material – definitely couldn’t run the place like you do.”

  On the way home I thought, OK, I’m not one hundred per cent sure why I’m not jumping up and down about this TV show with Mal (IF Robert Fitzgerald is dumb enough to give us one). But I’m going to that meeting on Wednesday and will do my best to get it made. And it won’t be any old TV show either. This one will make Kim Kardashian and her sisters kiss our perfectly pedicured Bennet feet! #bowdownbiatches

  Tuesday 6 August – 11.30 a.m.

  Spent the night at Stephen’s. Felt guilty as soon as he opened the door to me, and before I knew it I was grassing myself up.

  “Baby, I know I agreed not to talk about you in interviews but there’s one coming out tomorrow that I did when you were in Japan. In Here mag.”

  “Aw.” He looked disappointed. “What yer saying?”

  “Good things. I promise you.”

  “Like?”

  I pictured myself in the wedding dress, then the “kids’ names” headline, and quietly died inside. Here mag might as well have written DESPERATE across my forehead.

  “Oh, just girly stuff. Boring really.” It’s one thing looking desperate in a magazine, but another admitting it to the man who hasn’t even asked you to live with him yet. Would have preferred to boil a bunny!

  “No more now though. OK?”

  “OK,” I said. And I’m not proud of it, but I crossed my fingers just in case Life Stories comes off.

  Home now, and dressed for training. Have a session with Mimi later. First, want to get Mal’s view on the Here mag article.

  11.55 a.m.

  “Did you actually admit that you’d picked kids’ names or was the journalist making that up?” asked Malibu when she’d read the whole thing.

  “No, that was me.”

  “Well, you probably should buy a flat. He’s going to run a mile.”

  Aa–aaaaaaargh!

  “The dress is beautiful though.”

  “Every cloud…” I groaned.

  “You never know, I could be wrong and it’ll push him into proper commitment.”

  “What do your guts say?” I asked tentatively.

  “Buy a flat.”

  Why am I such an idiot?

  “Don’t worry about it for now. We’ve got far more important things to talk about.” Malibu meant our meeting with Robert Fitzgerald tomorrow of course. She had it all planned out.

  “I’ll be the good cop, you’re going to act the bad cop,” she said.

  “Act? I can’t act. And why’ve I got to be the baddie, anyway?”

  “Cos you’re a celebrity – you can get away with being a stroppy diva. And the way I wanna play it, Robert will be lapping up whatever I say while you’re acting like you don’t want to do it. Before you know it, he’ll be convincing you to do the show instead of us trying to convince him. Classic Jedi mind trick.”

  “How d’you think this stuff up, Mal?”

  “When you’ve got a mouth to feed, you think up a lot of stuff.”

  I asked her how it was going with Gary and she sighed.

  “He’s not sure whether he can forgive me one hundred per cent for the Lance thing. I said I’d take fifty per cent, but he says it has to be a hundred. Well, that’s not gonna happen.”

  “Don’t worry. Once this TV show comes off, he’ll be begging you to get back with him,” I told her.

  “Yeah. But I might have nabbed myself a Grammy-winning rapper by then.” She smiled but I know she didn’t mean it. She’s crazy about Gary.

  I showed Mum Here mag to get a second opinion. She took one look at the headline and said, “You’re pregnant? That’s no way to break it to your mother.”

  “No, Mum, I’ve picked kids’ names for when I do start having babies.”

  “Oh.”

  “What d’you think?”

  “Well… We used to choose baby names when we were young too,” she said, as if she were ancient. “But in my time, girls kept that to themselves. Admitting something like that would have given a man cold feet.”

  Oh Lawd.

  2 p.m.

  To everyone wishing congrats. Cheers but not preggers. Bit of a confusing headline. :-) #HereMag

  OMG just been killed by @MimiFitness! Had aching quads and six missed calls by the time she’d finished with me. Five of them were from Stephen. Knew that probably meant I was in deep poo. Still, played it cool when I returned his call, just in case. “Hi baby,” I chirped when he answered.

  “What are yer playing at?” he growled back. Holy crap! He’d seen the article then.

  “Moi?” I said innocently.

  “I resent yer portraying me as a bad guy because we don’t live together when yer the one looking for yer own flat!”

  “It wasn’t like that, babe! She asked whether marriage was on the cards so all I said was we’re taking one step at a time, seeing as we don’t even live together. It’s been twisted into something else by her!”

  “Stitched up by a journalist? Easy way out.”
>
  “I’m serious! Why would I say something that would put you off wanting to marry me?”

  Those last two words seemed to hang in the air as if I’d said them inside a very large cave.

  Oh–hhh shit.

  “Not that I think you’re considering marriage or anything,” I said quickly, “but … well … I… You know what I mean.”

  “Naw, I don’t. Explain.”

  Now I know the real meaning of awkward. “Well, I mean that if… Well, if I thought you were ever thinking of … asking me something that could possibly lead to a … a … thingy … then I wouldn’t have my pictures taken in a wedding dress and talk about picking kids’ names. I mean, as if! That would obviously make you run a mile. Der!”

  There was a pause.

  “Aye. Yer a lotta things, Remy, but stupid isn’t one of them,” he said, sounding more like the Stephen I love. Phew!

  “Thanks. Look, I’m sorry. It sucks and I hate it, and I told people it’s a load of crap on Twitter. I can write an even stronger tweet now if you like?”

  “Naw, don’t bother. That’ll only spark more talk about it, and I told yer – I want people to concentrate on my football this season, not gossip about my private life.”

  He’s lucky he’s got football because when it comes to me, my private life/mental state is all anyone seems to be interested in. Even after I shared personal stuff for this blooming Here mag interview, Sam for Short still didn’t print any of the stuff I’d said about running a salon.

  “Look, I knaw it’s my fault for fighting that day but I need to move on. Every time it comes up in the press, things get said in training and…” He trailed off. It must be hard to be in the same team as Robbie twot-face. And he’s put up with it for a whole eighteen months. “No more talk about us – OK? I really mean it.”

  “I promise,” I said, and this time I didn’t cross my fingers. “How did you find out about it, anyway? Didn’t have you down as a Here mag kind of guy.”

  “My mum. She read the headline and thought I was making her a grandma.”