The Stylist. Rosie Nixon

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ My cheeks began to heat up as I racked my brains. What could have happened to the shoes? The shaggy cameraman headed towards the front of the store, too, Rob lifting cables behind him. Kiki and Fran followed. Surreptitiously, we all strained to see the feet of the two mannequins standing exactly as I’d left them, with their backs to us behind the glass facade. The burning sensation in my cheeks turned into a wave of panic as it hit me like a cold, hard slap in the face—I’d been standing outside, looking at the mannequins from the street, when the Stick had screamed for me to come in and finish steaming the jumpsuits. I’d meant to come back to them, but got distracted by Mona’s arrival … Oh God … I’d left one white and one black shoe on each mannequin’s plastic feet.

       I feel sick.

      ‘Which of you is responsible for the mismatched shoes?’ Mona asked.

      I shuffled uncomfortably, knowing I had nowhere to hide. I wanted to open the door and run far away from here; just keep on running until I found a bush to hide under in Regent’s Park, or a cardboard box in an underpass. I wanted to be at my parents’ house—better still, my grandma’s flat. Somewhere no one would find me. Jas and the Stick both looked in my direction, frowning, willing me to speak, lest Mona should think either of them had messed up the display.

      ‘Come on, don’t be shy,’ Mona urged, searching our faces.

      The camera’s big, nosy lens pointed towards us. I hated Shaggy for putting me on the spot like this with his horrible, ugly camera. And I hated Rob and Fran even more, for not stopping him. Eventually I plucked up the courage to speak.

      ‘It was me, Mona, I …’

      ‘The monochrome vibe, it’s so fresh, so relevant,’ she said. ‘But what you’ve done with the shoes—j’adore! You’re a genius, girl.’

       Is she having a laugh?

      Before I could say it was a hideous mistake that I had meant to fix, she was gesturing to the TV crew. ‘Have you got this, cameraman?’ She ushered Shaggy closer to get a good view of my stunned, blotchy face.

      ‘Babe, it’s a brave statement,’ she continued, ‘but you totally nailed it. The odd shoes grabbed my attention straight away.’

      ‘They did?’

      Luckily for me, Mona doesn’t listen to other people’s doubts.

      ‘And that’s what this business is all about. You don’t gain column inches by blending in with the crowd. You’ve got to wear a look with conviction, you’ve got to stand out, kick it up a notch. Mixed up monochrome has a buzz to it—it’s the perfect way to inject some attitude into a cocktail look or get noticed on the street. It’s cheeky and playful—seriously, it’s reinvention at its best. Loving your Kirkwoods, by the way.’

      The camera zoomed in on my (matching) pair of too-tight suede and metal heels. They were amazing, all right. Amazing at cutting off the circulation to my toes. I winced.

      ‘Jas, you’re a lucky woman to have this talent on your team.’

      I still didn’t know whether she was being sarcastic or not, when she said: ‘I’ll take odd pairs of Sandersons, black and white, in all the sizes you’ve got.’

      When I dared to glance in her direction, the Stick looked as though someone had handed her an envelope marked ‘Anthrax’ and told her to snort it. The camera zoomed in for a close-up of the mixed up shoes on the mannequins and I cringed inside. Then Mona grabbed me by the arm and shoved me into the shot, as well.

      ‘And here is the girl responsible! Kiki, isn’t it?’

      I smiled awkwardly.

      ‘It’s … Amber …’ I stuttered.

      ‘Well, what a morning it’s been already. It must be time for a coffee break. A big, strong caffè macchiato, that’s what I need. You?’ She looked at me.

      ‘Sure, I’ll go,’ I answered, desperate to scurry out of sight and compose myself.

      ‘No, I mean you’ll have one, too, right, Amber?’

      ‘You—’ Mona looked at the Stick, who skipped forward expectantly.

      ‘You be a darling and run to the Monmouth coffee shop for me and Miss Windows, would you, babe? They do the best caffè macchiato in London and I’ve been craving one all morning.’

      And before Kiki could say, ‘But this is a dreadful mistake!’, and before Jas could ask her to kindly not wear her borrowed Pucci dress and box-fresh Nicholas Kirkwoods out of the store, she’d been dispatched to a coffee establishment on the other side of Zone One. As she wrapped herself up in a fake fur swiped from a rail by the door, the camera followed her out, witnessing her almost getting tangled up in the French blinds. Meanwhile I remained anchored to Mona’s side, her cold fingers still holding my arm in a vice. I battled the urge to ask the Stick to pick me up a croissant while she was at it. None of us had eaten all morning and I was starting to feel faint.

      Mona’s sweep of the shop complete, we moved over to the rail I had filled with her chosen pieces. ‘Pieces’ are what the fash-pack call items of clothing, shoes and accessories, a bit like they’re artefacts in a museum.

      ‘Hold it there, babe—you can’t shoot the pieces!’ Mona turned to Rob, who was helping Shaggy get some close-ups of the designer haul on display.

      ‘Jennifer Astley’s Golden Globe–winning gown could be on this rail! We can’t let the dress out of the bag. That’s enough, let’s wrap.’

      With the caffeine jump leads not yet connected, she’d lost interest in filming. The crew busied themselves winding up cables, opening flight cases and checking their phones, probably counting down the minutes before they could escape to the pub for a much-needed pint. It was exhausting being in Mona’s company. Jas disappeared into her office to prepare a dossier detailing her edit of the store, so we could arrange for items to be couriered to her in the States or packaged up for her to take. For the first time, I was left alone in the court of Mona Armstrong.

      ‘Coffee’s taking its time,’ she huffed.

      I’d almost forgotten about the Stick. I imagined the long queue outside the Monmouth Coffee Company at all times of day. Even if she’d placed the order and had the exact change, with a black cab waiting on double yellows, the macchiato was bound to be stone cold by the time she got back. It was a no-win situation. I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to break the rules and start a conversation with Mona.

      ‘Sounds like you’re having a bad day.’ Did I really say that?

      ‘You can say that twice.’ I battled the urge to take her at her word.

      Then she sighed. ‘You don’t happen to know any styling assistants who could start tomorrow, do you?’

      A vivid apparition flashed before my eyes: Me, adjusting the train on Jennifer Astley’s diaphanous designer gown as she gets out of a limousine at the foot of the Golden Globes red carpet. The bank of paparazzi awaiting her and the frenzy of flashes when she strikes a perfectly honed pose in front of them, with just enough leg on display to ensure maximum column inches the next day. And the Golden Globe for Best Dressed Actress goes to … Of course I had no СКАЧАТЬ