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Authors: Allison Rushby

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BOOK: Blondetourage
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'Romy plays Romy,' George continues,
watching on beside me. 'And Anouschka plays
Anouschka. Don't get me wrong,' she glances at
me for a second before turning back. 'Anouschka
can be a real piece of work. And Romy can still be
a bit of a ditz at times, but it's not what it seems, is
it?'

Still watching the girls, I reply. 'No. It isn't.' I
can't seem to break my gaze from Romy's face.
Someone's found her a chair now and she's kind
of hunched over in it and is looking a bit ashen. I
wonder for a second or two if her foot is hurting
her. 'Hang on,' I whip around to look at George.
'The cast is real, isn't it?'

George nods. 'Oh, yeah. That's real.'

Phew. I think. I thought for a second there that
maybe everyone was in on this except me. When
I glance back over at Romy again, Anouschka is
crouching before her, offering her something – a
couple of pills and a bottle of water. Her foot must
hurt after all. And it's only going to hurt more
after stepping down on sunglasses. I'm surprised
to see a softer side of her as she stretches over and
gives Romy a hug, saying a few words close to her
face that no one else can hear. Wow. I guess the
best friends thing really is true, just like George
told me.

'I think she's in pain,' I say to George. 'Maybe
they should stop filming for the day?'

George laughs at this. 'Are you serious? We're
already behind schedule. They won't be stopping
unless her foot falls off. And even then they'd
probably keep going if it looked even slightly
amusing.'

I frown, only looking away from Romy's pinched
face for a second. How can I feel so protective of
her? For a start, I barely know her. Plus, she's five
years older than me. But there's no getting around
it – I do. I guess it's that connection to JJ. As I watch
her, I think of her words from last night. What had
she said again? Something about everyone having
decided who she is and how she fits in. About how
she didn't think there was much point in being
herself because she was just some kind of outlined
shape people had already coloured in. Sitting over
there in her little fold-out chair, she looks really
unhappy. Tired and unhappy. Maybe she'd been
right last night about considering leaving the
show – if she's that unhappy, she
should
go. Maybe I
should stop thinking about myself and what's good
for me and think about what's good for Romy.
I turn towards George now, breaking my stare.

'She looks so sad. Do you think she really wants
to be here doing this?'

George shrugs. 'Tough luck if she doesn't.
They'll sue her skinny butt if she tries a stunt like
leaving.'

'But maybe she'd be happier if she left?' I try.

Beside me, George laughs. 'That's so sweet. You
really are new to this, aren't you? I'll let you in on
a little secret. Those two? They'll never be happy.'

I watch George carefully. 'You really dislike
them, don't you?'

George just snorts. 'Them. The whole deal ...'

'The world, the universe ... myself' I feel like
adding to her words. Wow. Never mind Romy
and Anouschka – it seems George has more than a
few issues of her own. I watch her for just a second
or two longer before I turn back to Romy. And
I thought I had it tough in Vienna? One thing's for
sure – if I'm up for it, I've certainly got my work
cut out for me, pulling everyone from the
Rich
Girls
quicksand. Well, here goes nothing.

'Tell me something,' I say to George slowly.
'And no joking around, or mouthing off. Straight
up. What's Romy really
good
at?'

Undercover
cool

N
o great surprise, but I don't get a whole lot
of info out of George about Romy's special
talents. While the girls continue filming, George
and I grab at the chance to walk around the store
while it's free of its usual crowds. George tells me
we've hit the jackpot – that there's usually a line
up in front of the store to get in, even before the
store opens each day at 10 am. As we walk around,
I keep on quizzing her, trying, in many different
ways, to get her to answer my question about
Romy. I guess I'm a bit obvious, though, because
eventually George snaps at me.

'What is it with you and Romy?' she asks. 'Are
you interviewing for a best friend or something?'

Yikes. I give up and shut up then. Only minutes
later, however, George slinks back over to me. 'Sorry,'
she says. 'I didn't mean to bark at you. It's just that it
can get a bit much around here sometimes. It's like
the earth revolves around the Rich Girls' sun.'

I don't mention Romy again after that. Something's
telling me George may have been on the
road a bit too long.

I might not be into the whole luxury leather
goods thing (though not in a George-like downfall
of western society kind of way), but I have to admit
the store is amazing. My favourite thing is the
vintage trunks peppered over the walls. Some still
even have the monograms of their owners. I can't
help inspecting one particular trunk intently. The
initials KMB and City of Chicago are holding out
yellow, bright and strong on the outside and I can
even read many of the stickers – 'Paris Cherbourg',
'Red Top Cab and Baggage Co.',
'Gepäckraum –
Baggage Room'. I can't help wondering what the
trunk's owner looked like and what kind of person
she was – travelling in a time when most people
didn't. Inside the trunk there is room for everything.
One side is hanging space with all kinds of
different hangers, the other side is all drawers, the
top drawer even has space for letters, jewellery and
knick-knacks. Beside the trunk rests a matching
vanity case containing eight different kinds of
brushes and combs, fifteen bottles and pots and
even a stand-up mirror. I think of my tiny carry-on
suitcase back at the apartment and my single plastic
compact fold-up brush/comb. Even my shampoo
and conditioner is two-in-one. Dazed, I move on
to view the rest of the gleaming store. Honestly,
it really does have everything. From key holders
to huge trunks, stylish black leather bags to purses
stamped with cherries. There's even a bookstore
where you can view their catalogue electronically,
flipping the pages over by passing your hand over a
touch-screen.

'So, my little chick, what goodies have you
bought me for my upcoming birthday?' a voice
says behind me, making me jump.

'Hi, JJ!' George says, coming back over from
the shoes she'd been inspecting.

'Hi there, George', JJ says. 'I hope you're helping
Elli to carry all the gifts she's had wrapped for me.'

'I've just sent them back to the apartment in
three cabs.'

JJ laughs at this. 'I wish that were true! Now,'
JJ claps her hands together. 'I've come to whisk
you away, Elli. Would you like to join us, George?
We're off to see the real Paris.'

'The real Paris,' I laugh. 'What she means,' I say
to George, 'is that she's going to make me eat until
I practically burst. There won't be any sightseeing.
Just lots and lots of French delicacies.'

'Your life's really hard, isn't it?' George grins.
'But no, I promised my mom I'd wait and that
we'd go get a coffee together. You guys have a
good time, though.'

'Oh, we will, we will. We're off macaroon
hunting,' JJ replies. 'I must try the new Ruby Kiss
– chocolate, berries and spices. Mmm.'

'I have no idea what that is, but it sounds good.
Make sure you bring me one back,' George waves
us off. 'See you tonight!'

$$$

'So what's a Ladurée and why is it more important
than the Louvre?'

'The Louvre?' JJ sits back now she's told the cab
driver where we're headed.

'Well, that's where anyone else's parent in their
right mind would drag them.'

'You'll be glad I'm completely out of my mind
then,' JJ tells me. 'Ladurée. How can I explain it?
It's ...' she pauses, staring into the air.

I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

'Hello?! Earth to JJ! Stop thinking about macaroons
for a second.'

Sorry,' she makes a face. 'Couldn't help myself.
Ladurée is just beautiful. Wait till you see it – it
really is Paris itself. It's perfection. So civilised.
Limoges china, the painted cherubs on the ceiling,
the Parisian ladies all dolled up, businessmen and
their mistresses. Oh, not to mention the little
macaroons all pastel and bright, cocooned in their
boxes safe and sound.'

'Glamourising adultery. What kind of parent are
you?'

'A hungry one.'

I sigh. 'You're all about the biscuits, aren't you?'

JJ sticks her tongue out at me. 'Ungrateful child.
I've decided I'm going to get George a pistachio
macaroon. Or maybe a bitter chocolate. I'm undecided.'

I remember George's fed-up face after I asked
one too many Romy questions this afternoon.
'Maybe bitter chocolate would be the way to go.'

JJ nods slowly. 'Hmmm. Maybe you're right.
We'll take back a big box to share. These poor
people need feeding. That last chef starved them
half to death, it seems.'

'I think that might be Anouschka's plan. Okay
then. I'm in. Let's go macarooning.'

'Good,' JJ reaches over and grabs my hand. 'We
definitely need to catch up, and macaroons and tea
are the perfect catching-up food.'

$$$

'All right. I'm converted,' I tell JJ after my first
bite of crisp on the outside, gooey in the middle,
delicious praline macaroon. And I'm telling the
truth – JJ's just wrecked the drooly line-up for a
Krispy Kreme forever.

'I knew you'd be a praline,' JJ says, proud of
herself. 'I just knew it.'

This is one of JJ's greatest joys in life – matching
people with flavours. 'At first I thought maybe a
vanilla. But then I spotted the praline and I just
knew.'

'Okay, calm down, praline genius,' I laugh.

'I am, aren't I?!' JJ grins, taking a sip of her
Yunnan tea.

'How's the Ruby Kiss?' I ask, checking out the
blood red macaroon resting on its plate before her.

'Divine. Want to try it?'

'I'd better not mix my flavours. It might wreck
my palate,' I joke. But this is a mistake, because
JJ starts in for real then and I get a palate lecture
that I quickly tune out of. While she prattles on, I
take another quick peek at the table beside us. Four
elderly coiffed ladies sit, chattering away in French.
They are a tête-à-tête tangle of Hermès scarves, and
their chic unwrinkled outfits and ramrod straight
backs make me sit up straighter and wish I owned
a skirt. Even a denim one. Just as JJ had promised,
the cherubs dance above our heads while, below,
the china tinkles in the background. JJ was right.

This
is
the real Paris.

On a foody high, it takes another few minutes
for JJ to be able to talk about anything normal
again, but she does get there eventually. 'How
did you like the taping?' she asks. 'Anouschka can
throw quite the tanty, can't she?'

I have to confess. 'When George and I first
walked in, I thought it was for real.'

JJ laughs. 'I don't think anything much is real
around these parts.'

'No,' I say. 'It's not looking like it.'

'Are you liking it so far?' JJ's face takes on a
worried expression.

My mouth full of macaroon, I nod. 'I think I'd
had enough of Frau Braun,' I finally manage to
reply.

'I thought you might have,' JJ says. 'And the
other students seem very nice. You're getting on
very well with George. She's smart as a whip, that
one, isn't she?'

'You could say that.'

'But what's with all the black?'

I pause, toying with my teacup. 'I'm trying to
get to the bottom of that one.'

'Hmmm,' JJ dusts a crumb from the tablecloth.

'I'll tell you something funny though – ' I
start and then proceed to tell JJ all about George's
eBaying efforts, the donkey sanctuary and Mr
Peanuts. This cracks her up.

'She definitely sounds like she's fun to have
around,' she says when I'm done. 'What's the other
girl like? Ashleigh, isn't it?'

I groan. 'George's description of her pretty
much sums her up. One of the first things George
told me about her was that "Ashleigh thinks 'footballer's
wife' is a job description". She was spot
on with that one. She's a mini-Anouschka in the
making, it looks like.'

'And the boys?'

'Toby's really funny and obviously
very
into
George, who pretends not to know about it. And
Rhys ...' I pause, not quite knowing what to say.

'He seems like a nice boy.'

'He is.'

JJ gives me a look. 'Yes. I thought you might
think so.' Her eyebrows raise.

'Hey!'

Now I get a grin. 'I know more about you than
just pralines, young lady,' she grins.

'Melinda's great,' I add, moving on. 'A fantastic
tutor.'

'Yes,' JJ doesn't help me out any, 'I know.'

'And then there's Romy!' I keep trying.

JJ pauses at this and lets Rhys go. Phew. 'She's
very sweet,' JJ says now. 'Sweet, but certainly not
the silly little thing I expected her to be.'

'No. And how weird is it that she's dyslexic too?'

JJ shrugs slightly. 'As you well know, lots of
people are. They just don't talk about it.'

'I know.' I sit up a bit in my seat. 'I've been
thinking ...'

'Have you just?' JJ looks at me warily. 'Thinking
about what?'

'Well, Romy's problems. I think a lot of them
could be solved if she was able to find what she's
good at. Like you did.'

JJ licks a crumb of Ruby Kiss from her thumb
before she continues. 'Maybe so, but don't forget
the number one rule.'

'I know, I know, the number one rule of
working for a celebrity: Don't get involved.'

'Or the number two rule.' JJ's eyes don't leave
mine for a second.

'I know!' I say, remembering the number two
rule: Ever.

'Just refreshing your memory,' JJ smiles. 'I
know it's probably going to be a bit different this
time, the girls being so close to you in age. It's
easier to distance yourself from a middle-aged
opera singer, or a baseball-mad grey-haired guy,
right?'

I fiddle with my teacup. 'It was really easy
considering neither of them ever said more than a
few sentences to me.'

JJ pushes her Ruby Kiss around her plate with
one finger, a sure sign she's truly troubled. 'I'm still
not sure I should have taken this job.'

'JJ, I spoke to her. I'm hardly going to go out
tomorrow and turn into a Rich Girl-wannabe. I
just want to help her if I can. That's all. She seems
... like you in a lot of ways. With her dyslexia and
feeling a bit lost and everything.'

JJ reaches over and pats my hand. 'It's nice that
you want to help, but we just need to be careful,
that's all.'

'I'll be careful. I promise. It's strange, though,
thinking about Romy this way.'

'What way?' JJ frowns.

'Well, I thought she would have had "the what
she wanted to do with her life" thing all worked
out by now. I mean, she's nineteen!'

JJ pauses for a second and then absolutely cracks
up. So much so, that the immaculate French ladies
at the tables surrounding us all turn around and
look at us in horror. She laughs for quite some
time, then has to pat both her eyes with her napkin
before she speaks. 'Oh, sweetheart,' she says when
she can finally speak again. 'I hate to break it to
you, but I'm thirty-nine and I
still
haven't worked
it all out yet.'

'Oh. Really?'

JJ laughs a small laugh. 'Yes. Really. It's not as
easy as it looks. But I do think you're on the right
track with Romy. I think it's the most important
life lesson I've learnt, really.'

'What's that?'

JJ looks me straight in the eye. 'In life, you've
got to find what you're good at and hold onto it
tight with both hands. It doesn't matter what it is,
or what anyone else thinks. If you find the thing
that can make you happy, that you have a passion
for and would do for no payment whatsoever, that's
really something. Some people spend their whole
lives looking for it and never even come close.'

I take all of this in before I reply. 'I get that.'

'Good. You're very lucky, having a passion for
something at such a young age. I had to learn the
hard way. Now, how about we get out of here? It
seems we may have just made ourselves a little bit
too conspicuous! Are you done?'

'Yes.' I'd kind of noticed we were still getting a
few sideways glances as well.

'Okay, then. Let's make one last stop at Galeries
Lafayette. I know how you feel about shopping,
but you need new jeans. You could see that tomato
sauce stain from the top of the Eiffel Tower.'

'Sounds good.' I can hardly argue with that.
I guess I'll just have to brainstorm what Romy's
good at on the sly.

BOOK: Blondetourage
13.31Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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