Shopaholic to the Stars (22 page)

‘It’s Lois,’ says Sage, who has overheard this, too, and is scowling. ‘She’s up for Florence, I know she is. Can you see Lois as a nurse? A
nurse
? This is the girl who said, “You don’t get any acting awards for shaving off your hair,” remember?’

‘Not this again.’ Aran closes his eyes.

‘She could play a psycho-freak nurse. That would work. Or maybe a kleptomaniac nurse, right, Becky?’ she says, flashing me a wild grin.

I feel a thud of alarm at the word
kleptomaniac
. Sage is talking really loudly, and the place is crowded. Anyone could overhear.

‘Um, Sage.’ I move close to her and drop my voice right down. ‘I told you that about Lois in confidence.’

‘Sure, sure,’ says Sage. ‘I’m only having some fun, right? Right?’ She flashes me her smile again.

God, Sage is exhausting. She flips this way and that like an eel. I don’t know how Luke does business with her.

I turn to make sure that Suze and Tarkie are OK, and see that Tarkie is in conversation with Ken Kerrow. OK, this could be interesting.

‘We’re calling the movie
Florence in Love
,’ Ken Kerrow is saying animatedly. ‘Like
Shakespeare in Love
, only more authentic. We’re recasting Florence as an American but we’re keeping the
essence
of Florence. Her conflict. Her growth. Her sexual awakening. We think she would have dressed as a boy to get on to the battlefield. We think she would have been in a passionate love triangle. Think
The Age of Innocence
meets
Saving Private Ryan
meets
Yentl
.’

‘Right.’ Tarkie looks none the wiser. ‘Well, I’m afraid I haven’t seen any of those films, but I’m sure they’re jolly good.’

Ken Kerrow looks profoundly shocked. ‘You haven’t seen
Yentl
?’

‘Ahm …’ Tarkie looks trapped. ‘Sorry … did you say “Lentil”?’

‘Yentl!’
Ken Kerrow almost shouts. ‘Streisand!’

Poor Tarkie. He clearly doesn’t understand a word Ken is saying.

‘I watch a lot of wildlife documentaries,’ he says desperately. ‘David Attenborough. Marvellous man.’

Ken Kerrow just shakes his head pityingly, but before he can say anything else, Suze swoops in.

‘Darling, let’s go and watch the dancers.’ She gives Ken Kerrow a charming smile. ‘I’m so sorry to drag my husband away. Bex, shall we go and watch the dancers?’

As we’re heading towards the stage, I’m distracted by a sign on one of the tables:
Silent Auction Prizes
.

‘I’m just going to have a quick look,’ I say to Suze. ‘I’ll catch up with you in a sec.’

There’s an amazing necklace on a stand, which is up for auction, and as I draw near I feel the tugging of lust. God, it’s beautiful, all pale-pink crystals and a hammered-silver heart, I wonder how much …

Oh my God. I’ve suddenly seen the printed label below it:
Reserve price $10,000
. I hastily back away, in case anyone thinks I’m bidding for it. Ten thousand? Seriously? I mean, it’s a nice necklace and everything, but … $10,000? Just for some pink crystals? I don’t even
dare
go near the pair of watches at the end of the table. Or that voucher for a Malibu villa. Maybe I’ll go and watch the dancers with Suze instead. I’m about to turn away, when I see a doddery old man making his way slowly along the prizes. He looks quite frail, and is keeping his balance by clutching at the table.

Not a single person has noticed him, which makes me feel quite incensed. I mean, what’s the point of coming to a benefit to help people, and then ignoring a poor old man who needs help right in front of your eyes?

‘Are you all right, sir?’ I hurry forward, but he bats me away.

‘Fine, fine!’

He’s very tanned, with perfect teeth and what looks suspiciously like a white toupee, but his hands are gnarled and his eyes are a bit rheumy. Honestly, someone should be looking after him.

‘It’s a lovely event,’ I say politely.

‘Oh yes.’ He nods. ‘Wonderful cause. Discrimination is the blight of our lives. I myself am gay, and let me tell you, the world is not an open place. Not yet.’

‘No,’ I agree.

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t encountered discrimination yourself. As a woman. And in other ways. Because in my opinion, no human on this earth is free from discrimination in some way or other.’

He’s so full of fervour, I don’t like to contradict him.

‘Definitely,’ I nod. ‘I’ve been discriminated against in lots of ways.
Heaps
. All the time.’

‘Tell me some examples of this shocking behaviour.’ His rheumy eyes fix eagerly on me.

My mind is blank. Come on, quick. Discrimination.

‘Well, obviously as a woman … and …’ I cast my mind around. ‘I once had to take out my earrings to work in a café, so that was discriminating against jewellery … and … er … hobbies can be discriminated against and … pets …’ I have no idea what I’m saying. ‘It’s terrible,’ I end lamely. ‘We need to fight it.’

‘And we will.’ He clutches my hand. ‘Together.’

‘I’m Rebecca, by the way,’ I add. ‘Rebecca Brandon.’

‘And I’m Dix.’ He flashes me a white smile. ‘Dix Donahue.’

Hang on. Dix Donahue. That sounds familiar. I glance at a nearby poster and sure enough, it’s printed in big grey letters: HOST: DIX DONAHUE.

This is the
host
? He looks about a hundred.

‘Dix!’ A plump man with a neat black moustache bears down on us and pumps his hand. ‘Victor Jamison from E.Q.U.A.L. I’m a big fan. All set for your introductory speech?’

‘Gathering inspiration all the time.’ Dix flashes his smile at me, and I beam back. He must be famous in some sort of way. I wonder how. Luke will know.

The two men head off, and I drain my glass. I really must find Luke and Suze, but the trouble is, everyone’s started clustering around the stage area and it’s hard to see. The dancers have stopped their routine and the band has fallen silent and there’s an expectant air. Then suddenly, the band strikes up again with some tune that everyone seems to recognize, going by their nods and smiles at each other. Dix Donahue mounts the steps with a hop and a jump – and it’s obvious he’s an entertainer. He seems to sparkle under the lights, even if he is a zillion years old.

As he starts to tell jokes, I edge my way round the corner of the throng, and suddenly see Luke. I’m about to join him, when the room goes dark and a spotlight moves around the crowd, and Dix Donahue takes on a grave manner.

‘But seriously, folks,’ he says. ‘We’re here for a very fine cause tonight. Discrimination is an evil and it takes place in all shapes and forms, often in the place you’d expect the least. Later we’ll be hearing from Pia Stafford, who battled workplace discrimination regarding her disability after a car accident.’

The spotlight falls on a lady in black, who lifts a hand and nods soberly.

‘But you know, I was talking to a young lady just now, who had maybe the most unusual tale of discrimination I’ve heard …’ Dix Donahue shades his eyes and squints into the audience. ‘Rebecca, where are you? Ah, there!’

Does he mean
me?
I stare up at him in horror. A moment later the spotlight is glaring into my face.

‘Rebecca was discriminated against because of – of all things’ – he shakes his head sombrely – ‘her pet.’

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. He can’t have taken me seriously. I only said ‘pets’ because I ran out of other things to say.

They should never have hired a hundred-year-old host. He’s batty.

‘Rebecca, let’s hear your story,’ says Dix Donahue in a soft, coaxing voice. ‘What was your pet?’

I stare at him, transfixed.

‘A … a hamster,’ I hear myself saying.

‘A hamster, ladies and gentlemen.’ Dix Donahue starts clapping, and a half-hearted round of applause breaks out. I can see people whispering to each other, looking puzzled, as well they might.

‘And what form did the discrimination take?’

‘Um … well … People wouldn’t accept it,’ I say cautiously. ‘I was ostracized by my community. Friends turned against me and my career suffered. My health, too. I think it’s up to the government and society to change attitudes. Because all humans are the same.’ I’m rather warming to my speech now. ‘All of us, whatever religion we practise or colour skin we have, or, you know, whether we have a hamster or not … we’re the same!’

I make a sweeping gesture and catch Luke’s eye. He’s staring at me from a few yards away, his mouth open.

‘That’s it,’ I finish hastily.

‘Wonderful!’ Dix Donahue leads another round of applause, and this time it feels really genuine. A lady even pats me on the back.

‘One more question before we move on.’ Dix Donahue twinkles at me. ‘What was your hamster’s name, Rebecca?’

‘Er …’ Shit. My mind has gone totally blank. ‘It was … er … called …’

‘Ermintrude,’ comes Luke’s deep voice. ‘She was like family.’

Oh, ha, ha. Very funny.

‘Yes, Ermintrude.’ I muster a smile. ‘Ermintrude the hamster.’

The spotlight finally moves off me and Dix Donahue comes to the end of his speech, and I look up to see Luke giving me a little wink as he approaches through the crowd.

‘I’ll get you a new hamster this Christmas, darling,’ he says over the sound of applause. ‘We’ll fight the discrimination together. If you can be brave enough, so can I.’

‘Shhh!’ I can’t help giggling. ‘Come on, it’s time to eat.’

That’s the last time I make conversation with some random old man just to be kind. As we move back to our table, I’m totally mortified, especially as people keep stopping me to congratulate me and ask about the hamster and tell me about how their kids have a rabbit and they wouldn’t stand for discrimination, it’s
shocking
in this day and age.

But at last we’re able to sit down, and on the plus side, the food is delicious. I’m so engrossed in my fillet of beef that I don’t pay much attention to the conversation, which doesn’t matter, because it only consists of both Kerrows droning on to the entire table about this Florence Nightingale film they want to make. They talk like some sort of song duet, overlapping every phrase, and no one else can get a word in. This is another lesson I’m learning in Hollywood. You’d think hearing about a film would be exciting – but it’s deathly. I can tell Suze is just as fed up as me, because her eyes are glassy, and also she keeps mouthing ‘Booooriiiing’ at me.

‘… locations are the challenge …’

‘… wonderful director …’

‘… problems with the third act …’

‘… he really
gets
Florence’s arc …’

‘… talked to the studio about budget …’

‘… finances lined up. We’re waiting on the last investor, but it depends on some British guy with a crazy name. John John Saint John. Kind of a name is that?’ Kerrow spears a mangetout and eats it ferociously.

‘D’you mean John St John John?’ says Suze, suddenly tuning into the conversation. ‘How on earth do you know him? That’s Pucky,’ she adds to me. ‘Have you met Pucky?’

God knows if I’ve met Pucky. All Suze’s childhood friends are called things like Pucky and Binky and Minky. They basically blend into one braying, cheery human Labrador.

‘Er … maybe.’

‘
You’ve
met Pucky.’ She turns to Luke. ‘I know you’ve met him.’

‘Tarquin’s investment manager,’ says Luke thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I did. Runs the media arm of your business interests?’

‘Something like that,’ says Suze vaguely, then beams at Tarkie, who’s returning from the Gents. ‘Darling, they know Pucky.’

‘Good Lord.’ Tarkie’s face brightens. ‘Extraordinary coincidence.’

‘Pucky?’ Ken Kerrow looks perplexed.

‘Called him that ever since prep school,’ Tarkie explains. ‘Marvellous chap. He’s worked with me, what, ten years now?’

‘
Worked
with you?’ Ken Kerrow’s eyes focus on Tarquin anew. ‘You in film?’

‘Film?’ Tarkie looks horrified at the idea. ‘Good Lord, no. I’m a farmer. You were saying something earlier about an “ark”? Do you mean Noah’s Ark?’

‘Tarquin, can I ask you a question?’ says Luke. His mouth is twitching and he looks highly amused at something. ‘I know you have a few media interests among your investments. Has Pucky ever backed any films for you?’

‘Oh!’ Tarquin’s expression clears. ‘
Ahm
. Well. As a matter of fact, yes, he has. Perhaps that’s the connection.’

‘Films?’ Suze stares at him. ‘You never told me!’

‘This is your investor,’ says Luke to Ken Kerrow, and jerks a thumb at Tarquin. ‘Lord Cleath-Stuart.’

‘Please,’ says Tarkie, flushing red. ‘Tarquin.’

Ken Kerrow looks as though he’s choked on his fillet steak. ‘That’s
you
?’

‘Lord?’
Sage looks up from her phone for the first time.

‘Lord Cleath-Stuart.’ Ken Kerrow is gesticulating at his wife. ‘This is the Brit backer. You backed
Fiddler’s Game
,’ he adds to Tarquin, in sudden realization. ‘Didn’t you?’

‘Ahm … yes.’ Tarquin looks a little hunted. ‘That sounds right.’

‘It made thirty million its opening weekend. You picked a winner.’

‘Well, it was Pucky,’ says Tarkie modestly. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t know one film from another.’

‘Excuse me,’ says Ken Kerrow. ‘I’m going to find my co-producer. I’d love for you to meet him.’ He leaps up and practically sprints to a nearby table, where I can see him whispering frantically to another guy in a tux.

‘Tarkie!’ exclaims Suze, and bangs the table. ‘Since when do we invest in films? You should have told me!’

‘But, darling,’ says Tarkie anxiously. ‘You said you weren’t interested in our investments.’

‘I meant boring things like stocks and shares! Not films—’ Suze breaks off and fixes Tarkie with an accusing gaze. ‘Tell me the truth. Have we been invited to premieres?’

‘Ahm …’ Tarkie’s eyes slide around nervously. ‘You’d have to ask Pucky. I probably told him we weren’t interested.’

‘Weren’t
interested?
’ Suze’s voice rises to a screech.

‘Your Lordship!’ Ken Kerrow is back at the table. ‘It is my honour to present my co-producer, Alvie Hill.’

A broad man pumps Tarkie’s hand with a meaty handshake. ‘Your Lordship. What a pleasure to welcome you to Los Angeles. If there is
anything
we can do to make your stay more pleasant …’