“I wasn’t going to!” I retort.
Actually, that’s quite good. I might drop that into a class at Golden Peace. Clothes are a metaphor for the soul.
Maybe I’ll get it printed on canvas to give to Suze for Christmas.
“Why are you smiling?” says Suze suspiciously.
“No reason!” I force my mouth straight. “So. What are you going to wear to the benefit?”
Suze can talk about shopping. She can talk about shopping!
Not only has she bought a new dress for the benefit, she’s bought new shoes, a new necklace, and new hair. New hair. She didn’t even tell me she was doing it. One moment she was “popping out to the hairdresser” and the next she was walking back in the door with the most luscious, glossy extensions I’ve ever seen. They stream down to her waist in a blond river, and what with that and the tanned legs she looks like a movie star herself.
“You look fantastic,” I say honestly, as we stand in front of my mirror. She’s in a beaded shift, the color of a glassy sea, and her necklace has a mermaid on it. I’ve never seen a mermaid necklace before, but now I’m desperate for one too.
“Well, so do you!” says Suze at once.
“Really?” I pluck at my dress, which is Zac Posen and very flattering around the waist, though I say so myself. I’ve styled it with my Alexis Bittar necklace, and my hair is in a really complicated updo, all little plaits and waves. Plus, I’ve been practicing how to stand on the red carpet. I found a guide on the Internet and printed it out for both of us. Legs crossed, elbow out, chin tucked in. I take up my pose, and Suze copies me.
“I look like I’ve got a double chin,” she says fretfully. “Are you sure this is right?”
“Maybe we’re tucking our chins in too much.”
I lift my chin and immediately look like a soldier. Suze, meanwhile, is doing a perfect Posh Spice pose. She has the expression and everything.
“That’s it!” I say excitedly. “Only smile.”
“I can’t stand like this and smile,” says Suze, sounding strained. “I think you have to be double-jointed to get it right. Tarkie!” she calls as he passes the open door. “Come and practice being photographed!”
Tarquin has looked shell-shocked ever since Suze appeared with extensions. Now he looks like a condemned man. Suze has forced him into a tailored Prada dinner jacket, complete with narrow black tie and dapper shoes. I mean, he looks very good, for Tarkie. He’s tall and strapping, and his hair has been artfully mussed by Suze. He just looks so … different.
“You should wear Prada all the time, Tarkie!” I say, and he blanches.
“Stand here,” Suze is saying. “Now, when you have your picture taken, you need to tilt your face at an angle. And look kind of moody.”
“Darling, I don’t think I’ll be in the photos,” says Tarkie, backing away. “If it’s all right.”
“You have to be! They photograph everyone.” She glances uncertainly at me. “They do photograph everyone, don’t they?”
“Of course they do,” I say confidently. “We’re guests, aren’t we? So we’ll be photographed.”
I feel a fizz of excitement. I can’t wait! I’ve always wanted to be photographed on a red carpet in Hollywood. My phone bleeps with a text and I pull it out of my clutch bag.
“The car’s here! Let’s go!”
“What about Luke?” says Tarquin, who is obviously desperate for some moral support.
“We’re meeting him there.” I spray a final cloud of scent over me and grin at Suze. “Ready for your close-up, Lady Cleath-Stuart?”
“Don’t call me that!” she says at once. “It makes me sound ancient!”
I head into the children’s bedroom, where our babysitter, Teri, is presiding over a massive game of Twister. Minnie doesn’t understand Twister, but she understands rolling around on the mat, getting in everyone’s way, so that’s what she’s doing.
“Night night!” I plant a kiss on her little cheek. “See you later!”
“Mummy.” Wilfrid stares at Suze in awe. “You look like a fish.”
“Thank you, darling!” Suze hugs him. “That’s exactly what I wanted to look like.”
Tarquin has edged over and is fiddling with Wilfrid’s toy train. “Maybe I’ll stay here and help look after the children,” he says. “I’d be very happy to—”
“No!” Suze and I shout in unison.
“You’ll love it,” says Suze, chivying him out of the room.
“You might meet Angelina Jolie,” I chime in.
“Or Renée Zellweger.”
“Or Nick Park,” I say craftily. “You know? The Wallace and Gromit man?”
“Ah!” says Tarkie, perking up. “The Wrong Trousers. Now, that was a jolly good film.”
The Beverly Hilton is where they hold the Golden Globes. We’re going to the same place they hold the Golden Globes! As our car edges along in early-evening traffic, I can barely keep still.
“Hey, Suze!” I say suddenly. “D’you think it’ll be the exact same red carpet as at the Golden Globes?”
“Maybe!”
I can tell Suze is as gripped by this idea as I am. She starts rearranging her hair extensions on her shoulders, and I check my lipstick for the millionth time.
I’m not going to waste this opportunity. There are going to be some A-list celebrities at this party, and if I keep my wits about me, I can do some major networking. I’ve got my cards in my bag, printed with Rebecca Brandon, Stylist, and I’m planning to work every single conversation I can round to fashion. I just need one influential person to hire me, and then word will spread, and my reputation will grow, and … well, the sky’s the limit.