Blondetourage (6 page)

Uncomfortable with the silence, I continue.
'Whatever it is, it can't be that bad, can it? Maybe I
could ... I don't know ... give you a fresh perspective.
I mean, I don't really know anything about
you, do I? I never even saw
Rich Girls
until a fortnight
or so ago.' Oh, great. What on earth did I
say that for? Good one, Elli.

Naturally, Romy zooms in on this last sentence.
She drops the note and turns to face me properly.
'Are you serious?'

I nod. Please don't fire JJ, I think.

'So you don't know anything about me?'

'Not really.'

'Do you know much about my family?'

'I guess I thought you might have one. From
what I've heard they're really wealthy.'

Romy laughs at this. 'But you don't know who
they are and what they do?'

I shrug. 'Nope. I've kind of been living in
operatic isolation for a couple of years in Vienna.
TV and internet for one hour only per day. No
cell phone.'

'Are you serious?'

'Deadly. But please don't tell anyone. It's a bit
of a secret. If too many other teenagers find out
I'm not one of their kind, they may stone me to
death.'

Romy laughs at this and finally looks at ease
again. 'That's just ...'

'Cruel. Inhumane. Torturous ...' I finish her
sentence for her. 'Tell me about it. Most of JJ's
bosses have been more than slightly strange.'
I pause, then realise what I've said. 'Oh! Except
for you, of course. You seem really nice!' I add
hurriedly.

Romy laughs again. 'Nice save.' She reaches out
and slowly picks up another crepe, placing it on
her plate, shaking her head all the while. 'Do you
know how ... refreshing that is? To hear you don't
know who my family is? Sometimes it feels like
everyone I meet has already decided who I am and
where I fit into the scheme of things. Sometimes I
think there's not even any point being me. I'm just
this outlined shape they've already coloured in.'

Silence.

Yikes. I mean, what do you say to that? It's a bit
deep for 3 am with a side of crepes, isn't it?

'Sorry,' Romy sighs, starting to pick at her crepe.
'I'm freaking you out, aren't I?'

I think about this for a moment. 'Um, not really.'
I take another crepe as well. 'So, what does your
family do? Are they like the mafia or something?'

Romy laughs for a third time at this.

And then, over the next forty-five minutes or
so, she tells me pretty much everything I'd ever
need to know about her.

L
ike I said, Romy tells me everything. I get
Romy's life story, her family's life story,
Anouschka's life story, Anouschka's family's life
story. Like I said,
everything.
I practically even get
dished the dirt on good old Fluffy (who's by now
cuddled up on my lap and fast asleep after I found
him a few non-crepe cat treats). I hear all about
Anouschka's father and grandfather, the toothpaste
barons (no wonder her teeth are so scarily white)
and how her two brothers have been groomed to
be mouthwash and floss barons. I almost laugh at
this, but suck the laugh back in when I see Romy
is serious. She goes on to tell me just what they all
think about Anouschka's 'career'. Apparently, not
much.

Romy talks and talks and talks. All I need to
do is nod my head every so often and pick at my
crepe in a semi-interested way and she's off again.
After only a few minutes, I realise that she might
be talking just a little too much (there's the understatement
of the new millennium). The thing is,
every so often I see Romy look kind of weird. Her
expression a bit spacey, maybe even a tad drugged,
her speech a tiny bit slurred, her hand shaking the
tiniest amount again. I get the distinct impression
it might be the painkillers telling me everything
I'm hearing, so I make sure I butt in and ask her
several times if she wants to go back to bed, or if
she wants me to get someone, but every single time
she says no, she's fine. She tells me she's having a
great time talking to someone who doesn't know
anything about her. She says 'refreshing' so many
times, I start to wonder if we're in a Schweppes
commercial or something.

After a fifteen minute rundown on everything
Anouschka, she starts in on herself. I then get to hear
all about her own family. How they own a bunch of
newspapers and that just about every member of her
extended family is a famous editor, publisher, journalist
or novelist. But not her. Romy, as she puts it,
is some kind of freakish genetic throwback. Not at
all academic, she'd been hopeless at school, barely
graduating. I'm not sure what to say when she tells
me this, because for a second or two, I almost don't
believe her. I might have a few weeks ago, before I
actually met her. But now ... nope. No way. In just
the short amount of time I've spent with her over
the last couple of days, I've realised one thing –
Romy isn't the ditz they make her out to be on
Rich Girls.
She's nice. And kind of funny in a goofy
way. Sure, she's not going to discover a cure for
cancer any time soon, but I'm seriously doubting
I am, either. What it comes down to is that Romy
is not the ditz I assumed she was and while I might
have doubted she could graduate from fifth grade
last week, now I know better. I open my mouth,
trying to think of something to say, when Romy
leans over and sticks her head in my face, almost
overbalancing on her stool.

'Whoops!' she says and grabs the bench in front
of her. She leaves her head, however, right in my
face, a few stray hairs tickling my nose. 'Tell me
something, Elli, is my head flat?'

Okaaaaay, maybe I should hold out on that
graduating fifth grade thing for a bit. Or maybe it's
time to put that poor girl to bed.

'Well, is it? Is it flat?' The most copied hairstyle
in the world waves about in front of me. If only
Steph could see me now, I think, my eyes wide.

'I, um, I don't think it's flat, Romy.'

She sits back upright again and winces. 'You'd
think it might be. Because that's what I got all my
life. Pats on the head from my family. I was the
pretty one. The life of the party. The fun time girl.
What they meant was I was the stupid one.'

I watch her closely again. 'I'm sure they don't
think you're stupid.'

Romy snorts the most elegant snort I've ever
heard. 'Sure. They never once thought that. You
know what some journalist called me the other
day? A "celebutard". My brother thought that was
really funny. He faxed me the article just so I could
read it. He even highlighted it for me, so I didn't
miss the good bit.'

My eyebrows raise at this. 'He faxed it to you?
And
highlighted it?'

There's a long pause.

'Yes.' Romy sounded miserable.

I'm not sure what to say, so I say the obvious
thing. 'Well, that wasn't very nice of him, was it?!'
Geez. He sounds like he needs more than a few
minutes in the Supernanny naughty corner.

She shrugs. 'Being a Rich Girl is all I'm good
for. But, oh, I don't know ...' she pauses. 'Sometimes ...'
I nod at her, expectantly.

'I don't know ... sometimes I just feel like I want
to do something more.'

'Like what?' I prompt.

She stops again and thinks for a second. 'I'm not
sure. Like something I'm really good at. Something
that's really about me.' Romy turns to look at me.
'I guess you think I'm the ultimate poor little rich
girl, don't you?' She laughs slightly. 'Crying over
nothing when I've got the perfect life.'

But I shake my head slowly in return. 'No. I
don't, actually.'

Romy looks surprised. 'You don't?'

'Nope.'

'Oh,' she thinks about this for a moment. 'And,
um, why is that?'

I consider my words for a second. I don't want to
get JJ fired, after all. 'Well, because it kind of all adds
up, doesn't it? You just said your family always made
you out to be the less smart one and now your job,
your whole life, really, is being this Rich Girl character
who isn't really you and also isn't that bright,
but everyone assumes you're one and the same. It
can't be easy for you. It must get you down.'

Romy sits beside me and stares at me, looking
kind of shocked as I speak. When I'm done, I
start to freak out, thinking I've said too much.
What was I thinking? She's going to fire JJ, for
sure. Right when I've just about mentally finished
packing my bag, Romy points a finger at me and
starts waggling it. Oh, brother. This is it. This is
so it. JJ and I are outtie.
Au revoir
Paris. I wince,
waiting for Romy's words that will vote us off the
island (or, you know, the continent). Finally, they
spill from her mouth. 'That is it! That is really it!
You totally get me, don't you?'

Oh.

'Maybe what I've been thinking over these past
few weeks has been right,' she adds.

'What's that?' I ask, relieved it doesn't look like
JJ and I will be leaving on the next jet plane.

'That I should leave the show!' she throws her
hands out.

I jump off my stool with this and poor Fluffy
goes flying with a shocked 'Mrow!'. 'NO!' I yell.

Romy's hands fall by her sides.

'I never said that!' I lower my voice now and
bend down to pick up a stunned Fluffy. 'I didn't
mean you should leave the show. I mean, you're
contracted, aren't you? For the season. Like JJ.'

'But if it's making me unhappy ...'

I think. Fast. 'Maybe ... um ... maybe it's not
the show? Maybe it's about you.'

There's a frown. 'What do you mean?'

'Um, I'm not sure ...' I start, but I begin to
remember when JJ first started working her
pretty close to intolerable Tokyo job and found
that she could handle her work hours better by
developing outside interests that took her mind
off things in her non-work hours. She took a class
in ikebana (flower arranging) and got really good
at it, too.

I settle back onto my stool now, replacing Fluffy
and giving the poor animal the pat he deserves.
'There's nothing in your contract to stop you
exploring other areas, is there?'

'Like?' Romy prompts.

'Like college or something?' I regret the words
as soon as they leave my mouth. Whoops. I can't
believe I just said that. It's just that it was the most
obvious thing. The first thing that popped into my
head. 'Oh, sorry, I forgot you didn't like school,' I
add quickly.

'That's okay,' Romy pushes her plate away,
not looking at me. There's a long pause before
she turns back and her eyes meet mine. 'I'm really
not dumb, you know. It's just that I have this
thing ...'

'Thing?' I have no idea what she's talking
about.

She takes a deep breath before continuing. 'It's
... it's called dyslexia. It means I can't read or write
very easily. It's like I can't see words properly.'

I stare at her, unblinking.

Romy tries to stand up, but fails, her cast
sticking out at right angles. 'Now you think I'm
stupid too!'

I shake my hands. 'No way! I just can't believe
you said that. I know all about dyslexia. JJ's dyslexic
too.'

Romy stares at me, equally unbelieving. 'Are
you serious?'

I nod. Hard.

'But she's so smart!'

I give her a look and she blushes as she arranges
herself more comfortably in her seat again. 'Oh. I
guess I shouldn't have said that!'

'You know, I really can't believe you've just told
me this. JJ's really, really good at what she does,
but she went through all the same things you did.
Everyone at school thought she was just lazy, or
stupid, but she was lucky – her parents knew she
wasn't. They got her a lot of outside help and
she got through school okay. And now she does
something she's brilliant at that doesn't involve a
lot of reading or writing. A lot of dyslexic people
are like that. They find other sorts of careers and
excel at them. Picasso was dyslexic. Did you know
that?'

'Well, no.'

'And Edison and Einstein, da Vinci and Andy
Warhol were too. And, um ... JFK. And Richard
Branson.'

'Really?' Romy says. 'He never told me that!'

I pause. 'Well, did you tell him you were?'

Romy laughs at this. 'No, I didn't. But I might
the next time I see him!'

Hmpf, I think to myself. 'JJ always says dyslexia
is hard when you're a kid and easy when you're
an adult. Now you're out of school and don't have
to do stupid spelling tests and things, you can do
anything you want, can't you?'

'I guess so,' she says slowly, as if this is an earth-shattering concept.

'So, what are you good at?'

Her face falls once more at this. 'Not much.
Being "Romy". That's about it by the looks of
things.'

'Oh, come on.' I refuse to boogie at her pity
party. 'You just have to find something you're
good at. Everyone's good at something. It took JJ a
while to realise her thing was cooking.'

'Did it?'

'Sure. She'd always enjoyed cooking, but I don't
think it really occurred to her that she could make
a career out of it. Not when all her friends were
becoming teachers and nurses and things.'

'I know how that feels. All of my friends went
off to college. So what do you think I might be
good at?'

I give Romy a quick once-over. 'Well ... you're
obviously good at clothes and stuff. What do they
call it? Styling?' I wait to see what she thinks of
this.

All I get is a shrug. 'Putting on clothes. Big
deal.'

I almost laugh. Millions of women are copying
her style all over the world and Romy thinks about
it as 'putting on clothes'. You've got to admire
that. Obviously she's just a natural at it. 'Um ...
makeup?'

She wrinkles her nose. 'Never wear it if I don't
have to. I'm a lip-gloss and a bit of mascara girl,
really.'

I look at Romy's perfectly perfect un-made-up
face and consider the unfairness of it all. No one
should look like that without a whole tonne of
makeup. It just isn't right. 'Hmmm. Shoes?' I try
again. Maybe third time lucky?

Romy looks down at her cast.

I follow her gaze. 'Well, maybe not right now,
but shoes in general?' Romy is, after all, famous
for her ever-changing array of ballet-style flats.

'I HATE shoes,' she says so emphatically even
Fluffy looks up. And hisses.

I shush him before turning back to Romy. 'You
hate shoes?' I say, surprised. 'But you have so many.
It's your signature thing, isn't it?'

'Let's just say you don't have a lot of choice when
you're six feet tall. It's flats or freaksville.'

Three strikes and I'm out. 'I'm sure you're good
at something. We just need to find what it is.'

'Mmm.' Romy doesn't look convinced.

'Maybe I could help you find it?' I say, without
thinking, and then immediately regret my words.
'Or ... what I mean is ...' I begin to back pedal
fast, sure I'm about to get some kind of 'you little
upstart' lecture as Romy twists around on her stool
to face me fully.

'Would you really?' Romy cuts in on my blathering.
'Would you really do that?'

Her words come out a little too quickly and
she then looks a tad embarrassed at how fast she's
jumped upon my offer. 'It's just that ... well, it's
been interesting hearing what you have to say. Not
knowing anything about the show and all. And
with your mom being in the same situation.'

'Of course!' I say quickly. I mean, of course I
would! As if I'd sit here and watch her be miserable
and not help. Especially when I know all
about what she's going through. If not first-hand,
through everything JJ's told me about what she
went through at Romy's age. I still see JJ struggle
with some things today. I spy the crumpled up
note again and swivel around to give Romy my
full attention.

'Of course I'll help.' But as the words form on
my lips, I feel a pang of guilt, because despite the
fact that I really do want to help Romy, I'm also
helping myself, aren't I? I might really want to help
Romy, but I also really, really don't want her to
leave the show.

'What are you two doing up?' JJ's voice behind
me makes me jump.

'I ... um ...' I stutter.

'Hi, JJ!' Romy answers for both of us. 'I couldn't
sleep and Elli obviously couldn't either, so we both
ended up here. She rustled up some great crepes
for us.'