The Stylist. Rosie Nixon
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу The Stylist - Rosie Nixon страница 18
Название: The Stylist
Автор: Rosie Nixon
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: MIRA
isbn: 9781474045230
isbn:
‘Chuck me my Burberry, would you, babe?’
I stretched across to retrieve it, thinking how surreal this all was. She delved into the bag to grab her iPhone and looked at it in silence for a moment; then she slumped down and sat on the edge of the bed.
‘Shit.’ She fixated on the phone, reading the message again, then whispered: ‘You absolute shit.’ And then she buried her head in her hands and burst into tears. I looked away, feeling uncomfortable. Has she not got a part? Maybe the casting agents don’t think she’s cut out for ‘edgy’ after all? She began pumping air out of her mouth in short, sharp breaths, like a woman in labour. Perhaps it was helping her fight back the tears. Has someone died? Talk about #awkward. Then, phone still in her hand, she appeared to steady herself and stood up decisively, smoothing the dress over her washboard stomach and miniature hips, and resumed admiring herself in the mirror. Seconds later, her phone rang. She lifted it to see the caller’s identity, then threw the handset down, hard, on the duvet behind her.
‘Fucking asshole!’ She hurled herself onto the bed after it, crumpling the dress and letting out a shriek not unlike the sound Pinky might make if you accidentally stood on his trotter. Then she buried her head in the pillow and began to wail.
I looked up from the corner of the room, where I had been pretending to busy myself straightening a curtain. A noise like that meant I couldn’t ignore her any longer. Cautiously, I inched closer.
‘Um, is everything okay?’
She thumped the duvet. ‘No, it is not!’ she screeched, turning onto her side to face me, as I stood, hesitantly, by the side of the bed. Her eyes were red, make-up smudged, and the ivory pillowcase now sported two charcoal grey blotches and a dab of cherry lip gloss. Was this a prima donna hissy fit because she was last on the waiting list for the new Chanel bag? Such things did actually happen … A loud thud made us both look at the door.
‘Is everything all right in there, Beau?’
Her big blue eyes fixed on my own and, in them, I saw genuine fear. She waved her arm at the door, signalling she didn’t want AJ to intervene.
‘Yes, we’re fine, thanks, AJ!’ I shouted back. ‘Just a stiff zip!’
‘All good!’ she seconded. At least he’d know I hadn’t murdered her or anything.
‘Okay, well, we’ll see you out here.’ I heard him move away.
‘Thanks, honey, you’re a babe.’ Her pretty eyes were wet with tears.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ I asked.
‘I don’t think so.’ She sniffed.
‘Well, if you want to talk about it …’ I perched on the edge of the bed. She seemed to want me there.
‘Really?’ she snivelled, as though no one had ever offered her support before.
‘Really. Er—a problem shared …’
I put an uncertain hand onto her thin, childlike shoulder, wondering if there was a law against making physical contact with a vulnerable, crying, miniature celebrity. It wouldn’t have surprised me if AJ had her wired.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.