Shopaholic To The Stars - Shopaholic to the Stars Part 37
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Shopaholic to the Stars Part 37

'I knew we had a big chance,' says Lois. 'But my people would never have gone along with it. They're so conventional.' She shakes her head impatiently.

'So ...' I rub my head, trying to get things clear. 'So you're not really a shoplifter? But I caught you red-handed!'

'That was an experiment,' says Lois. She sits down at the table, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. 'I wasn't expecting to get caught. But it all worked out.'

'Lois's really imaginative,' says Sage admiringly. 'The feud was her idea. She came up with the cancer-victim line. She came up with the two green dresses. I mean, those were just tiny little ideas between ourselves. They didn't get us huge attention. But now this suicide thing is on a whole new level. Genius. It's put us right back on the front pages.'

As I look at Lois's calm face, I feel revulsion. She actually faked a suicide attempt?

'But how could you do that? People have been really worried about you!'

'I know,' says Lois. 'That's the point. The farther you fall, the more they love you when you bounce back.' She sighs at my expression. 'Look. It's a competitive world. We need exposure. All the public craves is a good story. Don't you love a good story? Don't you read US Weekly?'

'Well, yes, but-'

'Do you think every word is true?'

'Well, no, but-'

'So what's the difference?'

'Well, some of it has to be true!' I say hotly. 'Otherwise what's the point?'

'Why? Does it matter? As long as we entertain our audience?'

I'm silenced for a while, thinking about all the stories Suze and I have read in the gossip magazines. Does it matter if they're true or not? Like, I've always taken it as gospel truth that the cast of Our Time all hate one another. What if they don't? What if Selma Diavo isn't really a bitch? I've read about the stars for so long, I feel like I know them. I feel familiar with their worlds and their friends and their ups and their downs. I could probably write a thesis on Jennifer Aniston's love life.

But the truth is, all I really know is images and headlines and 'quotes' from 'sources'. Nothing real.

'Wait a minute,' I say, as something occurs to me. 'If everyone thinks you're a suicidal wreck, how will you get any work?'

'Oh, I'll get work,' says Lois. 'The offers are already coming in. Lots of shoplifting roles.' She gives a sudden burst of laughter. 'I'll be punished and then I'll be forgiven. That's how Hollywood operates.'

She looks so relaxed, I feel a spurt of anger. Does she realize how worried I've been about her? And I don't even know her! What about her friends? What about her parents?

Oh, actually, her parents are dead. And she doesn't have any friends. (At least, that's what National Enquirer said. But who can I believe any more?) 'I thought you were about to have a breakdown,' I say accusingly. 'You were shaking ... you were collapsing ... you couldn't even breathe ...'

'I'm an actor,' says Lois with a shrug.

'We're actors.' Sage nods. 'We act.'

I cast my mind back to the Lois I caught shoplifting all those weeks ago the timid wraith in the hoody. The trembling hands, the whispering voice, the flinching expression ... That was acting? I mean, OK, I know I shouldn't be surprised. Lois is one of the top actors in the world. But still. She looked so real. I almost want to ask her to do it again.

'What about Luke?' I turn to Sage. 'Does he have any idea?'

'I don't think so,' says Sage, after a pause. 'Although he's smart. He asked me straight out, was any of this fabricated? Of course I told him no. Has he said anything to you?'

'Nothing.'

'He mustn't know,' says Lois. 'He mustn't know anything. Every attempt to fool the American public needs a level of plausible deniability.'

'The President's Woman,' chimes in Sage, and high-fives Lois.

I knew I'd heard Lois say that somewhere before. It was when she played the Vice-President and wore all those pinstripe suits.

'Luke is our level of plausible deniability,' she's saying now. 'He and Aran both. They're credible, they're trustworthy ...'

'Luke's great,' says Sage, turning to Lois. 'When this has simmered down, you should totally hire him. He has, like, all these ideas for strategy. And he's such a gentleman.'

'But Sage ...' I don't quite know how to put it. 'Inventing a feud with Lois can't be part of Luke's strategy, surely?'

'So I had to go a little off the path.' She tosses her hair back. 'It worked, didn't it? You mustn't tell him,' she adds. 'You know what he thinks I should be doing? Charity work. Like, some trip to Darfur.' She makes a disparaging face. 'I told him I was researching landmines today. In fact, you can back me up!' Her face brightens. 'Tell him you called me and I was totally on the internet looking at charity websites.'

'I can't lie to Luke!' I say in horror.

'Well, you can't tell Luke,' retorts Sage.

'Becky, you're in this now,' says Lois sternly. 'And if you're in it, you're in it.'

That's a quote from one of her movies, too, but I can't remember which one. The Mafia one, maybe?

'We'll give you a break in styling,' she continues. 'You can dress us both for events. You'll make contacts, it'll be the real deal. But you cannot tell anyone.' Her eyes are flashing at me. She's got up from her chair and looks suddenly quite intimidating, like she did when she played that partner in a law firm who was also a serial killer. 'You cannot tell anyone,' she repeats.

'Right.' I swallow.

'If you do, we'll trash you.'

I have no idea what she means by 'trash' but it can't be good.

'Right,' I say again, nervously.

Lois has already turned away and is tapping at a laptop. 'Lois and Sage to appear on Camberly,' she reads aloud. 'It's up! You should go, Becky,' she adds to me. 'Call your driver. The guard will let him in and he can back the SUV right up to the door. The press won't see you. That's what Sage did yesterday. And if your driver asks, tell him I wasn't available. I was too ill. That'll get around.'

'Drivers know everything,' chimes in Sage. 'Hey, look, we made Fox News!'

The two of them are totally engrossed in the laptop. There's no point me sticking around.

'Well ... bye then,' I say, and reach for my phone. A few minutes later Mitchell and Jeff arrive at the front door in the blacked-out SUV and I slide in seamlessly, just as Lois described. It's like the house was designed for discreet exits. As we make our way out of the gates, journalists start banging on the sides of the SUV and flashing cameras, shouting 'Lois! Lois!' until we manage to break free and drive off.

They thought I was her. The world has gone nuts. My head is still spinning and the blood is pulsing in my ears. What just happened there? What?

From: Kovitz, Danny To: Kovitz, Danny Subject: i'm so collld

so coooooooooollllld. can'ttt tyyype fingers agonynnn this issssn't howexxpcteted dddanananyyyy

SEVENTEEN.

By the time Luke gets home that evening, I'm feeling calmer. The thing is, this is what Hollywood is like and you just have to get used to it. Yes, it seems completely freaky and messed up at first, but gradually it starts to feel more normal. They're right. It is all a game. Everyone's playing it, the stars, the journalists, the public, everyone. And if you don't want to play, maybe you shouldn't come to Hollywood.

On the plus side, Sage has been texting me all afternoon, and I've been texting back, and it's like we're best friends. I'm totally in the gang! Lois even texted me too, a few times. The forthcoming Camberly interview is already huge news, just as they said it would be. It's been featured on every news website, and it's all over the TV too, and the Sage-and-Lois soap opera is Topic A again.

They've been really clever. (At least, Lois has been really clever.) And now I'm part of it too! The best bit was this afternoon, when I was picking up the children from school. I'd already made quite an impression, what with Jeff and Mitchell and the blacked-out SUV. But then, when I was waiting at the pre-school door to get Minnie, Sage rang and I said, 'Oh, hi Sage, how are you?' just a bit more loudly than usual, and everyone turned to stare.

The only not-so-A-list thing is, all the photographers have disappeared from our gates, which is a bit disloyal of them. At least, not all. There's one geeky Asian guy who is still hanging around. He has bleached-blond hair and today he was wearing a pink bomber jacket with tight black jeans and rubber ankle boots. I started to pose and he took a few snaps, then he beckoned me over and said excitedly, 'You're a friend of Danny Kovitz, right? The designer? Could you get me his autograph?' It turns out his name is Lon and he's a fashion-design student and he worships Danny. And now he worships me too because I'm a friend of Danny.

And OK, maybe I did play up to it a bit. Maybe I did promise to come out tomorrow morning wearing a vintage Danny Kovitz outfit (i.e. two years old) which never even hit the catwalks, and let him take a picture of it. The thing is, I like having photographers outside the house. It's boring not to have any around.

I'm in the kitchen preparing an A-lister-type supper when Luke comes in. Dad must have come back at some point and he and Tarquin have gone out sightseeing they left a note and Suze is nowhere to be seen, so I guess she's with them too. All the children are in bed and I've sent Jeff and Mitchell out for supper, so it's just me and Luke, which is nice.

Now that I'm a rising Hollywood celebrity, I have to cook appropriately. We'll probably need to get a chef or private juice-maker or something, but for now I'm making a very of-the-moment dish. Grain soup. It's the latest thing. All the A-listers have it, plus I need to look thin for all my forthcoming appearances, and apparently it's got some magic combination that boosts the metabolism.

'Hi!' I greet Luke with a kiss and a wheatgrass smoothie, which is also very healthy and A-list.

'What's that?' He sniffs it and recoils. 'I'm having a glass of wine. Want one?'

'No thanks,' I say, self-righteously. 'I'm trying to follow a clean diet.' I ladle grain soup into two bowls and put it on the table. 'This is totally organic and macrobiotic. It has chia,' I add.

Luke looks dubiously at it and pokes it with his spoon.

'OK,' he says slowly. 'What are we having with it?'

'This is it! It has protein and sprouty things and everything. It's a meal in a bowl.' I'm about to take a spoonful, when I remember something. I push my chair back and start doing squats.

Luke stares at me in alarm. 'Becky, are you all right?

'I'm fine!' I say breathlessly. 'You should do squats before you eat. It boosts the metabolism. All the stars do it. Nine ... ten.' I take my seat again, panting slightly. Luke surveys me silently for a moment, then takes a spoonful. He munches it, but doesn't say anything.

'Isn't it great?' I say cheerily, and take a massive spoonful myself.

Argh. Blurgh. Akk.

Seriously? This is what the film stars eat?

It's really watery, and what little taste it has is like a mix of mushrooms and sawdust and earth. I force myself to swallow it down, and take another spoonful. I don't dare look at Luke. A bowl of this won't fill him up. Nor me. It wouldn't even fill up Minnie.

How do the A-listers stay so cheery when they have to eat grain soup the whole time? It must be mind over matter. They must sit there grimly, telling themselves, 'I'm ravenous ... but I'm in a movie! My stomach is rumbling and I feel faint ... but I'm friends with Leonardo DiCaprio!'

I take another mouthful and try to chew it a hundred times, as recommended in the blog I read. But honestly. How can this be good for you? My jaws are aching and all I can taste is sprouty things. I would kill for a KitKat- No, stop it. A-listers don't eat KitKats. If I'm going to be in their crowd I need to learn to love grain soup.

'Luke, maybe we should buy a yacht,' I say, to take my mind off the grain soup.

'What?' He looks flabbergasted.

'Just a little one. And then we could hang out with other people on yachts. Like Ben and Jennifer,' I add casually. 'Those kinds of people.'

Sage was talking about Ben today as though they're best friends. Well, if she can be friends with him, why not me, too?

'Ben?'

'Ben Affleck.'

'Ben Affleck?' Luke puts his spoon down. 'Why on earth would we hang out with Ben Affleck?'

'We might!' I say defensively. 'Why shouldn't we? We live in LA now, we're in the movies ... you're bound to meet Ben Affleck at a party or something ...'

'I doubt it,' says Luke, dryly.

'Well, I will, then! Maybe Sage will introduce us. Or maybe I'll style him or one of his friends.'

And I'll become best friends with Jennifer Garner, I think secretly. I've always thought I would hit it off with her.

'Becky, this conversation makes no sense.' Luke is shaking his head and I look at him impatiently. He's so slow sometimes.

'Don't you realize everything's changed? I'm in the public eye now. I'm in a whole new zone.'

'You're hardly an A-lister,' he snorts, and I feel a dart of indignation.

'Well, I will be! I have paparazzi outside the house ... Sage Seymour calls me all the time ...'

'The paparazzi have gone,' says Luke, unmoved. 'And Sage calls me all the time, too. That doesn't make me an A-lister.'

'Aran believes in me,' I say pointedly. 'He says I'm going to be huge. He says I could have my own network show by next year.'

Luke sighs. 'Darling, I don't want to rain on your parade but don't believe every word Aran says. He's a great guy, but he just says whatever the conversation of the moment seems to require. Maybe he believes it, maybe he doesn't. It's the Hollywood way.' He sips his wine. 'And another thing: we need to get rid of those goons. We can't live with them lurking around the place all day.'

'Mitchell and Jeff?' I put down my spoon in dismay. 'I couldn't live without Mitchell and Jeff.'

Luke peers at me incredulously for a moment, then throws back his head in laughter. 'Darling, you've only had bodyguards for a day. You can't be dependent on them already. And if you are, I'm afraid you need a reality check.' He gets up from the table. 'I'm making myself a sandwich. Sorry.' He starts slathering mayonnaise on to bread, and I watch in secret envy. 'Since you're talking to your best friend Sage non-stop,' he adds, 'you can tell me something. I'm convinced she's up to some lunatic plan or other. What has she said to you?'

I feel a tweak of alarm. I wasn't expecting him to ask me straight out.

'What do you mean?' I say, playing for time.