“Wow!” I breathe.
“It’s easier because you’re so calm,” observes Chloe, reaching into a black vanity case. “We get some people in here, really trembling with nerves. Even celebrities. We can hardly do their makeup.”
“Really?” I say, and lean forward, ready to hear some insider gossip. But Zelda’s voice interrupts us.
“Sorry about that, Rebecca!” she exclaims. “Right, how are we doing? Makeup looks good. What about hair?”
“It’s nicely cut,” says Chloe, picking up a few strands of my hair and dropping them back down again, just like Nicky Clarke on a makeover. “I’ll just give it a blow-dry for sheen.”
“Fine,” says Zelda. “And then we’ll get her along to wardrobe.” She glances at something on her clipboard, then sits down on a swivel chair next to me. “OK, so, Rebecca, we need to talk about your item.”
“Excellent,” I say, matching her businesslike tone. “Well, I’ve prepared it all just as you wanted. Really simple and straightforward.”
“Yup,” says Zelda. “Well, that’s the thing. We had a talk at the meeting yesterday, and you’ll be glad to hear, we don’t need it too basic, after all.” She smiles. “You’ll be able to get as technical as you like!”
“Oh, right,” I say, taken aback. “Well. . good! That’s great! Although I might still keep it fairly low—”
“We want to avoid talking down to the audience. I mean, they’re not morons!” Zelda lowers her voice slightly. “Plus we had some new audience research in yesterday, and apparently 80 percent of our viewers feel patronized by some or all of the show’s content. Basically, we need to redress that balance. So we’ve had a complete change of plan for your item!” She beams at me. “What we thought is, instead of a simple interview, we’d have more of a high-powered debate.”
“A high-powered debate?” I echo, trying not to sound as alarmed as I feel.
“Absolutely!” says Zelda. “What we want is a really heated discussion! Opinions flying, voices raised. That kind of thing.”
Opinions?
“So is that OK?” says Zelda, frowning at me. “You look a bit—”
“I’m fine!” I force myself to smile brightly. “Just. . looking forward to it! A nice high-powered debate. Great!” I clear my throat. “And. . and who will I be debating with?”
“A representative from Flagstaff Life,” says Zelda triumphantly. “Head-to-head with the enemy. It’ll make great television!”
“Zelda!” comes a voice from outside the room. “Bella again!”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” says Zelda, leaping up. “Rebecca, I’ll be back in a sec.”
“Fine,” I manage. “See you in a minute.”
“OK,” says Chloe cheerfully. “While she’s gone, let me put on that lipstick.”
She reaches for a long brush and begins to paint in my lips, and I stare at my reflection, trying to keep calm, trying not to panic. But my throat’s so tight, I can’t swallow. I’ve never felt so frightened in all my life.
I can’t talk in a high-powered debate!
Why did I ever want to be on television?
“Rebecca, could you try to keep your lips still?” says Chloe with a puzzled frown. “They’re really shaking.”
“Sorry,” I whisper, staring at my reflection like a frozen rabbit. She’s right, I’m trembling all over. Oh God, this is no good. I’ve got to calm down. Think happy thoughts. Think Zen.
In an effort to distract myself, I focus on the reflection in the mirror. In the background I can see Zelda standing in the corridor, talking into a phone with a furious expression on her face.
“Yup,” I can hear her saying curtly. “Yup. But the point is, Bella, we pay you a retainer to be available. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” She looks up, sees someone, and lifts a hand in greeting. “OK, Bella, I do see that. .”
A blond woman and two men appear in the corridor, and Zelda nods to them apologetically. I can’t see their faces, but they’re all wearing smart overcoats and holding briefcases, and one of the men is holding a folder bulging with papers. The blond woman’s coat is actually rather nice, I find myself thinking. And she’s got a gorgeous Louis Vuitton bag. I wonder who she is.
“Yup,” Zelda’s saying. “Yup. Well, if you can suggest an alternative phone-in subject. .”
She raises her eyebrows at the blond woman, who shrugs and turns away to look at a poster on the wall. And as she does so, my heart nearly stops dead.
Because I recognize her. It’s Alicia. Alicia from Brandon Communications is standing five yards away from me.
I almost want to laugh at the incongruity of it. What’s she doing here? What’s Alicia Bitch Long-legs doing here, for God’s sake?
One of the men turns round to say something to her — and as I see his face, I think I recognize him, too. He’s another one of the Brandon C lot, isn’t he? One of those young, eager, baby-faced types.
But what on earth are they all doing here? What’s going on? Surely it can’t be—
They can’t all be here because of—
No. Oh no. Suddenly I feel rather cold.
“Luke!” comes Zelda’s voice from the corridor, and I feel a swoop of dismay. “So glad you could make it. We always love having you on the show. You know, I had no idea you represented Flagstaff Life, until Sandy said. .”