Venus Envy (17 page)

I stepl;ed outside and marvelled at my own curves, at the rich tones of my excellent skin, at how a woman could be transformed by putting on a bit of fabric.

‘Oh, that looks lovely.’ A rather brisk assistant, a fifty-something who reminded me of Jenny. ‘Are you ladies shopping for a special occasion?’

‘A wedding,’ Gail said shortly. For someone who’s so into nature and animals and stuff, Gail can be pretty rude to people. If they’re lower on the social scale than herself, of course.

‘Weddirgs are wonderful. None of you is the bride?’ she asked, taking the suit from me as I dived back into my old Warehouse bootleg-cut trousers. The look on Keisha’s face had quietly convinced me that I must have that suit, even if I had to pledge my unborn child and half my kingdom. Oh my God, I was turning into a fashion victim. I felt an unmistakable urge to get my hair cut.

‘No such luck,’ Keisha said smoothly.

‘Well.’ She took my card and rang up my purchase,

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wrapping the suit in filmy layers of tissue. ‘Which one

of you girls is going to get there first, I wonder?’

We all stared at ourselves. Wondering the same

thing.

‘Gail,’ said Bronwen after a pause and Keisha nodded in agreement, while Gail grinned smugly. They had to think about that one for a second, though. The one thing I was certain of was that whoever the runner-up was, it wasn’t me.

‘If you’re going to have your hair cut, go to Joel at John Frieda,’ Bronwen said suddenly. We were sharing a cajun chicken and a bottle of chardonnay at a restaurant in Camden Town. Everything had got very merry over the alcohol. We were dishing each others’ ex-boyfriends’ darkest secrets.

‘Lennox used to like to be pinned down on the bed,’ Keisha said, squealing at the memory. We all shrieked, because Lennox could have swatted Keisha to one side with half a flex of a single bicep. ‘And he liked me to tell. him he was a bad boy and not good enough for

me.’

‘He sounds like Ricky,’ Bronwen pointed out. Ricky

was the Very Famous Footballer I mentioned to you, and Ricky’s pet thing was to be kicked with a pair of stiletto heels and then to kiss Keisha’s feet.

‘Bigger than Ricky. And bigger,’ Keisha corrected

her, giggling.

‘Well, Tony thought he’was driving a race car. Right

before he came, he would shout, “And it’s Meadows,

first past the chequered flag,” ‘ Gail admitted.

‘Well, Dick wouldD’

‘Yeah, we know about Dick,’ Keisha said, stopping

her. Dick was sick. We already knew how sick, so Dick’s humour potential was sorely lacking. ‘And Seamus, tell us about Seamus, Alex.’

I racked my brains. Through the mist of the

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chardonnay, I. reached for funny, ridiculous things that Seamu had done. But none of them seemed funny, they all seemed impossibly romantic.

If I burst into tears right now the girls would never forgive me.

‘Well, he asked me to pick up the dry-cleaning and bring it to our first date,’ I offered bleakly.

To my surprise they all cackled like witches.

‘The bastard!’ Gail said.

‘He might at least have pretended to take you seriously,’ Keisha agreed.

“Sss an asshole,’ Bronwen decided.

‘So who’s this hairdresser?’ I said, determined that they were not going to get my gbat. Oh, lovely Seamus, it was only a bit of dry-cleaning, so what?

‘You’ll love him. I’ll make an appointment for you first thing tomorrow,’ Bronwen said, with a kind of crisp authority she-has when it comes to serious fashion. I keep forgetting that she’s a photographer’s assistant, she’s worked with all the top photographers and she hears the cool insider gossip. I wondered if I was ready for a sneak appointment with somebody like that. Christ, for ten years I used to dye my own hair with the stuff you get in five-quid boxes.

‘Alex has to work tomorrow. And she won’t be comfortable with somebody that cutting-edge,’ Gail said hastily.

‘She’ll be fine.’ Bronwen gave her a steely look. And now I was determined to do it. Why did Gail want to stop me looking my best?

‘I can take a morning off. If yoia can get me in.’ ‘It’s solid, but he owes me a favour. Let me make a few calls,’ Bron said, digging out her battered Orange mobile phone. Keisha gave me a wink and lifted her glass. And Gail smiled too, but she looked tight around the edges.

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Bronwen managed to get me in. This meant I had to go. Ordinarily I would have cancelled in the cold light of day, but since she’d pulled strings to get me this slot, I took my heart in my mouth and called the office.

I told them I was going to be late. And to my astonishment, nothing happened. Glorious just said, ‘Fine, see you at lunchtime.’

‘Destiny,’ Keisha said as she dropped me in Aldford Street. ‘You see, you’re meant to-look great for this wedding. You’ll probably meet the man of your dreams.’

I already have, and he was taken, I didn’t say. ‘This wedding’s going to be full of polo-playing Old Etonians.’ I shivered. Then with no chins and trust finds. I’d rather date Dick.’

‘Don’t be stupid. And don’t be such an inverted snob,’ Keisha said tartly. ‘You wear Donna Karan now, you’re not subscribing to Socialist Worker any more.’

Joha Frieda’s was unmarked outside, which meant it must be really cool. I got through the door and managed not to feel like I was in the wrong place. I was wearing a sloppy sweater from Armani jeans, and a dark Joseph skirt and sassy strap heels, one of my best outfits. Nobody gave me the old arched eyebrow, so that was a start.

Joel came over and was devastatingly handsome, and also witty. He was straight, too. Does it make me homophobic to prefer having straight guys cut my hair? I don’t think so, it’s just that instinctive faith that they’ll cut it in a way that appeals to men, whereas gay guys cut in the height of fashion, not necessarily too feminine. Normally I would be thrilled to get my hair cut by a male model type who’s clearly a genius with the scissors, but all I could think about was how

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Seamus was the only other man I know who was this handsome.

People often say when you’re in love, all love songs sound suddenly written just for you. But that’s not all, is it? Everything seems to conspire to remind you of them. Take Seamus. Whenever I saw Hello! or OK I thought of Dolores. Whenever I saw a businessman, I thought of his flashy suits. Whenever I heard about the peace process on the six o’clock news I thought of his Irish accent.., and believe me, nothing is as annoying as having that beardy weirdy Gerry Adams remind you of your man. Those poems on the Tube brought tears to my eyes. Flowers crunched my-heart into rubble. You get the idea …

But I couldn’t mope this morning. Joel was tilting my head this way and that, slicing and shearing me like some mgusy sheep, and I was not even stressed about my tresses curling on to the floor, I just knew this was going to be great. And it was a sleek pageboy with a slight asymmetrical tilt, it sort of fascinated me as I

turned my head this way and that in the mirror. ‘Looks great,’ I said, breathlessly.

‘Something’s missing …’ He called a girl over and they had a quick conference. And before I knew it I was being tilted back in the washbasin and something was being painted on to my hair with an egg-white brush, or that’s what it felt like.

‘Trust me,’ Joel said, and he was a beauty big shot whilst I, a you might have gathered, was a bit of a novice. So I did.

There’s something so therapeutic about getting your hair cut short. It’s a chance to start over, and not just with the split ends. I wanted to do this, to walk in this salon looking like one girl, and walk out looking like another. The kind who’s at home in that DKNY job. A - don’t laugh v a City professional. It’s the ‘as if’ rule.

Act ‘as if’ until you are - that’s another Jenny Robins

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fortune-cookie special. But she’s right. If you dress seriously, they take you seriously.

Hey, there was no future for me in sculpting and no future with Seamus. So I might as well daydream about something.

Glorious Thunderbum made fifty K per annum, did I mention that?

‘OK,’ Joel said as he attacked me with the hairdryer. Precision-cut strands blasted about in front of my eyes but when the electric whirr stopped I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My sleek medieval helmet of hair was now glimmering, washed through with rich streaks of copper and rust and mahogany, not enough to make me look tarty or overdone, just enough to make me look glowing. Deep, gleaming low lights of red and brown, and it was perfect with my skin, and my muddy green eyes were suddenly alight and shining. The colour set off the cut, too, forced the eyes down to the razor-sharp lines swinging vibrantly round my chin.

I. could hardly bear to get up because I didn’t want to get away from my reflection. Which is not something you’ll hear me say very often.

‘What do you think?’ said Joel, and grinned at my stupefied look.

‘Oh my God,’ Bronwen said, when I got in later that night. Pretty much the reaction I’d got all day; the girl on Reception almost stopped me when I walked in. Glorious Thunderbum refused to notice, but I caught her sneaking glances my way when she thought I wasn’t looking. I went downstairs to show it to Jenny, but Seamus was out of the office.

‘You look breathtaking, that suit’s going to look fabulous.’

‘Wow, AI,’ Keisha gasped, stopping dead as she walked out of the bathroom. That did make me .smile,

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because Keisha is hard to please when it comes to style. ‘Does he do black hair? We have to go shopping again

to get you some more stuff.’

‘I can’t afford it.’

‘Well, I might let you borrow some of mine,’ Keisha said, like a proud mum rewarding her brat for successful potty training.

Then the door creaked open and it was Gail and Snowy, laden down with Harrods bags and Joseph carriers.

‘Well,’ Snowy said theatrically. ‘Darling, how dramatic, it’s almost modern, are you sure it’s you? It will look much better when you’ve dropped a few pounds, that cut is designed to show off cheekbones.’

‘Alex has cheekbones, Olivia,’ Keisha said in her calm but deadly way. I felt a flood of gratitude, it’s so good to have girlfriends in your corner.

‘But when she’s slim, she’ll be so much better suited to it. Men like the girls to be slim and sexy these days, Keisha.’

‘Well, you’d know all about that,’ Keisha replied softly. And Snowy froze, this look passed between them, I could almost see Snowy quailing.

‘I don’t know why you bothered,’ Gail said petulantly. ‘You’re going to have to wear a bloody hat anyway. Oh, look what Snowy bought me—’ and she pulled out a white round box from Philip Treacy, with the most amazing slant and concoction of feathers on top. It must have been hundreds of pounds. It would turn every head at Charles’s wedding. It was the colour of sunlight on elm leaves, and combined with Gail’s mint-green Ghost job, she was going to look like one of the bloody Flower Fairies.

Despite my new cut and colour I now felt like a bloated heifer.

Cheers.

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Thursday evening finally rolled around and I went home to pile into Bronwen’s car. Keisha took up most of the boot with her luggage, so it was just as well Gail was coming later. I couldn’t bear a few hours’ drive with her sniping about my weight, or banging on about organic food and her nature novel and the rest of it. Why, why was I born into my family? They all get on so well with each other, and I’m the cuckoo in the nest. I have furious fantasies-about Gail suddenly growing by a foot, horizontally, her tiny waist thickening and her bud breasts drooping and her playing golf with Fiona Kane just like Mum. Whereas I will get a sculpture praised by the Royal Academy and revel in a glorious old age of bad behaviour, being a loony like , Vanessa Redgrave or Glenda Jackson.

‘Guess who I met down at the studio?’ Keisha said suddenly, as we pulled out on to the motorway.

We started guessing. Keisha as a researcher on Saturday morning kids’ TV was the best joke ever. She actually had to shepherd the kids in the audience, which she did by threatening to lave them all tortured to death unless they did exactly what they’re supposed to. Keisha doesn’t like children, she doesn’t want any and she doesn’t want anybody else’s. So the kids didn’t luck with her, they did what they were told. Whereas put me in a room full of kids and it would be total Bedlam before you knew it.

This made her popular enough to shepherd the guests too. So far we’d had Alan Shearer, Trevor McDonald, Princess Anne and Harrison Ford. They all loved Keisha because she was not impressed. By anything. Ever. You’re talking about a girl who dragged Scary Spice off-camera and told her to sodding well behave herself. If an alien spaceship landed on our roof-terrace while Keisha was sunbathing, she’d tell them to move it because she was trying to get a tan.

Up and Running had been good for her career and bad for her heart. That’s how she met the Very Famous Footballer whose mother she failed to impress. It’s how she met the TV presenter (not one on her own show, of course not, you think Keisha’s that stupid?). ‘Rick Astor.’

‘Rick Astor in Formula One?’ I squealed. Bronwen dissolved into laughter, her shoulders shaking so hard I yelled at her before she lost control of the wheel. Formula One was the appropriate name of the boy band de your, and Rick Astor, all of twenty-four, was the teenage girl’s dream boat. Or preteen, I should say. At eight it’s Horse and Pony, at nine it’s Smash Hits, and at thirteen they’re already dressing in black, smoking and reading Melody Maker. And they’ve grown out of alcopops.

‘He’s not that young,’ Keisha said defensively. She was also giving that secret little smile she had when she’d bagged another scalp, another trophy boyfriend to look good in her boyfriend cabinet. Keisha was twenty-nine years old; how satisfying she must have found it to have these boys whom all the lissome fifteen-year-olds were longing for.