Blondetourage (7 page)

'Oh, good,' JJ eyes our empty plates with happy
eyes, just like I'd thought – glad to see her efforts
gobbled up. 'Now, you,' she focuses in on me. 'it's
just after five. Even if you can't sleep, go and lie
down and get a bit more rest. I'm sure you've a big
day ahead of you.'

I think about all the lessons Melinda is likely to
cram in. 'Okay.' I get up, dropping Fluffy lightly
onto the floor. 'Sorry, Fluff.'

'And how about you, Romy? Back to bed, or can
I tempt you with a proper hot chocolate? Belgian
chocolate? Organic milk? That might help you get
back to sleep.'

'That sounds lovely. Anyway, there's something
I want to ask you about.'

I
manage an hour or so of squeezing my eyes
shut in bed and pretending to sleep before
I hear the tap, tap, tap of fingers on a keyboard
and decide it's okay to get up again. I follow the
noise across the hall to the study where we did
our lessons last night and I enter to see the soles of
George's black slippers facing me, propped up on
the desk in front of her. Black slippers. That girl
really is making a statement to the world.

'Hey!' I greet her. 'What are you up to?'

George looks up from her MacBook. 'Hiya,
Elli. eBaying.'

'Not Fluffy, I hope.' He's crouched on the floor,
curled up into a cold ball, watching George with a
look that is something close to loathing.

'Hardly. It'd end in bad feedback for sure. Come
and have a look.'

I trot on over obediently, pull out a chair beside
George and settle myself in. On one half of the
screen is a bunch of pictures – dresses, handbags,
accessories, shoes. On the other half, George seems
to be arranging some notes on each of the items
into proper descriptions. I drag my eyes away from
the screen to look at her.

'All the things the girls are given and that they
don't want, I eBay. I made $183,000 last year.'

'What?!' I say a little too loudly, before lowering
my voice. '$183,000? Are you serious?'

George waves a hand. 'Oh, no. Don't get me
wrong. They know about it. Sort of. And I don't
keep the money. I give it to charity. I pick a new
one every year. This year it's all going to a donkey
sanctuary.'

I expel all the air caught in my chest. Phew. For
a moment there I thought ... but now I frown,
hearing what she's just said. 'But wait ... if the
girls don't have any money, why don't they sell the
things themselves?'

George shakes her head. 'Nah, they'd be found
out for sure. Some of that stuff is easily traceable. If
it looked like they needed cash, their cover would
be blown. But this way they look all sweetly charitable.'

Ah, right. I see. But, hang on again, a donkey
sanctuary? Is she having me on? 'Are you serious
about that charity? Do they really have sanctuaries
for donkeys?'

George keeps on with her description writing. 'I
saw an article about it once in a magazine and the
donkey they had pictured looked almost as emaciated
as Anouschka, so I thought it was a good fit.'

I laugh out loud at this. 'And what was the
charity last year?'

'Adult literacy.'

Now I really crack up.

George grins at me. 'I've been trying to find
a charity that helps to wean people off diet soda,
eyelash extensions and owning a shoe collection
worth more than the GDP of several small countries
put together, but so far no luck.'

'Maybe you'll have to start your own.'

George nods. 'I guess I could. If I cared enough.'

Rightio then. Back to good old black B-list
George, I guess. 'So how often do you eBay?' I
stare at the screen, ignoring her 'I don't care' bit.
'I mean, how do you work it if you're moving
around all the time?'

'Well, I collect whatever I can and stash it all
in the schoolroom back at base camp. I take the
photos and the measurements and things whenever
we're there and then list the items on the road.
Maybe two or three items each day. I just make
sure to tell people it could be a while until I can
post anything to them. It's worked out fine so far.
I think I may even crack $200,000 this year.'

My eyes widen. '$200,000! Maybe you'd better
find a different charity. All the donkeys need is a
bit of hay thrown their way, right? Donkeys don't
need trips to Club Med.'

'I know it sounds dumb, but look ...' she brings
up a new Explorer window, quickly typing in the
name of a website. Instantly, photos of donkeys
spring up before my eyes. Donkeys with matted
coats, sticky-out ribs and misshapen overgrown
hooves. Donkeys with sad, 'no one cares about me'
big brown eyes.

'Oh,' I lean in for a closer look, 'poor things.'

'It's actually quite sad,' George nods. 'I never
really thought about it before, but donkeys are
kind of overworked and underpaid. Look at this
little guy ...' She clicks on a link to bring up a
picture of a specific donkey. 'This is Mr Peanuts.
He'd been tied up to a hedge for a week without
food or water. He had pneumonia and it took the
farrier two days to fix his poor feet as well. He had
abscesses all over them. So, yeah, even though it
started out as a bit of a joke, I'm kind of glad the
money is going to the donkeys this year. I think
they deserve it.'

'Sorry I made fun of it,' I say quickly.

George just shakes her head. 'Don't worry
about it. I mean, donkey sanctuaries. Who'd have
thought? And it is kind of funny. They're so up to
the minute they even have their own donkeycam!
I can take a peek at what they're up to around the
clock, if I want to!'

I stand up now. 'I guess I'd better leave you to it,
then. Just remember, a little less donkeycam, a little
more eBaying, or Mr Peanuts really
will
starve.'

George laughs.

'And anything I can do to help, just ask.'

'Thanks,' she says. 'I may just take you up
on that. You know, wrestle a $5000 purse off
Anouschka, steal a diamond-encrusted collar off
Fluffy ...'

We both look down at him with this and he
hisses at George. 'Oh, Fluffy,' I bend down for a
pat. 'She's only joking.' After a moment or two,
I glance back up at George. 'So, um, any idea what
we're up to today?'

George looks back at her screen now. 'Yep,
Melinda was in before. Lessons this morning, then
we're going for a walk along the Seine. The girls
are filming at the LV store this afternoon,' she
glances up for a second, 'and you are definitely
coming along with me there. You have got to see
the place. Disgusting. A shrine to consumerism.
Then we've got a couple hours off. JJ should have
it off too, because the girls will be busy working.'

'Sounds good,' I say, standing up once more.

'I think the main bathroom's free,' George adds.
'You should probably make the most of it before
everyone else gets up.'

'Thanks for the tip,' I head for the door. I make
a break for JJ's and my room where I grab my towel
and cross back to the bathroom (still free, thankfully).
I close the door behind me, drop my towel
over the edge of the gigantic bath and stare out the
window, mesmerised again by the view.

Lessons. A walk along the Seine. Filming at the
LV store (yes, even little old sheltered me knew
what George meant by the LV store). A couple of
hours free in Paris.

Whatever I might think of
Rich Girls
the show,
being educated blondetourage-style sure beats
another rainy Vienna Saturday holed up in the
library with Frau Braun.

$$$

The morning's lessons – Biology and German – are
easy. I'm starting to realise that I'm going to have to
take things lesson by lesson. In some subjects, like
German, Biology and Maths, I am miles ahead. In
others, like Geography, the only word that can be
applied is struggling. I don't think Frau Braun even
realised Geography could encompass more than
picking off the capital cities on a map. I guess being
tutored one-on-one by the most boring woman in
the world in one of the most boring cities on earth
had both benefits and disadvantages.

After impressing everyone with my German
verbs and slipping George a sly note that says
Ich
bin ganz allein dabei die Esel zu retten
('I'm single-handedly saving the donkeys' – and, believe me,
she had to get out her German–English dictionary
for that one), we pick up our packed lunch from JJ
and head out for our walk along the Seine.

'Just remember he's not really yours,' the voice
comes from behind me as we hit the pavement
outside the apartment.

Beside me, George groans, then pauses and
grins, changing tack. 'Rhys isn't yours either,
Ashleigh. He's a free man.'

There are a few quick steps, then, 'You
knew
I
was talking about Anouschka's cat,' Ashleigh hisses
as she steps up to meet us, her eyes darting back to
see if Rhys has heard any of this.

'Oh, you were talking about
Fluffy.
Not
Rhys.
Sorry, Ashleigh, I thought you were talking about
RHYS
!' George states loudly.

'What?' Rhys says from behind.

'Nothing!' George chimes back. 'It's just that
...

'Shut UP!' Ashleigh butts in and quickens up
again to walk a pace or two in front of us, her arms
crossed.

George laughs at her. 'You want to take him,
Ashleigh? I'm sure Elli wouldn't mind one bit.'
She takes Fluffy's pink and black zebra-striped lead
from me and offers it to Ashleigh. Fluffy hisses at
her and then at George before she passes the lead
back again. 'Yeah, I didn't think so.'

Ashleigh huffs. 'All I'm saying is he's a very
expensive cat, that's all. Try not to lose him.'

'I'm not going to lose him!' I tell her. 'Why
would I want to do that? I like Fluffy. Unlike some
people.'

Ashleigh shrugs. 'Well, everyone knows you
don't want to be here, don't they? Maybe you've
got some little scheme to get your mother fired.
Like losing Fluffy.'

'What?' I frown and look over at George and
then, beyond her, at Rhys, who's caught up now
and is listening in.

'You're a freak, Ashleigh,' George shakes her
head. 'A freak. Go on, run ahead and go and think
about ... I don't know ... which surgeon you fancy
for your first facelift.'

Ashleigh rolls her eyes at this. 'Scoff all you
want. At least I'll be able to afford one,' she says
before she flounces off.

George, Rhys and I look at each other and then
laugh.

'That wasn't very nice,' I say to George. 'But it
was funny! I can't believe she actually aspires to a
life of plastic surgery.'

'Well, a girl's got to have something to do
between husbands, doesn't she?' George replies.

I shake my head as I turn back and watch
Ashleigh stalking off. I just can't figure out that
chick. She can't really be that nasty, can she?

Toby takes a few steps forward to join us. 'Hey,
what's so funny?'

I snap out of my 'what is it with that Ashleigh
girl?' daze. 'George is just being her usual hilarious
self,' I tell him. 'Aren't you, George?'

George's cheeks redden slightly with this. 'I've,
um, got to go ask Melinda about something,'
she says and jogs off, leaving me with Rhys and
Toby.

'Guess I'll talk to her later, huh?' Toby shrugs,
then falls back a few steps again, whips out his
cell and starts texting, oblivious to the gorgeousness of the streets of Paris. Frankly, I'm still a little
bit (okay, majorly) in awe of this place. And since
we've set out today, slowly making our way across
the 15th arrondissement to the Seine, I've had to
play it cool and stop yelping, 'Oh, look!' at even
the most obvious things. 'Oh, look! A lady making
crepes!', 'Oh, look!
A fromagerie
!', 'Oh, look! A
patisserie!', 'Oh, look! A Starbucks/McDonalds/
KFC/Curves women's gym where you can work
off all the crepes, cheese, croissants, Starbucks,
McDonalds and KFC!'

'So,' Rhys says, beside me, waking me up from
my 'Wow! I could be fat in Paris!' daydream. 'It
looks like you're enjoying Paris, huh?'

I smile at him. I'm that transparent, am I? 'It's
nice not to be in Vienna for once,' I tell him. But
then I realise I sound ungrateful. I mean, I'm sure
lots of people would jump at the chance to live in
Vienna. 'Not that Vienna is a bad place, it was just
a bit ... I was a bit ... lonely.' And then I realise I
sound like a Nigel no friends, so I keep right on
blathering. 'Not that I didn't have any friends, it
was just ...' My cell phone starts ringing, thankfully
saving the day. And saving my red cheeks, which are
surely redder than George's were just moments ago.
'Excuse me,' I tell Rhys and juggle Fluffy's leash so
I can grab my cell from my pocket, gripping it for
dear life. It's JJ, according to the screen.

'Guess what I just did?' she says with a groan,
even before I get to say hello.

'What?' I ask her warily. I'd been wanting to ask
her how her chat with Romy went last night, but I
hadn't managed to catch up with her this morning.
She'd been busy with breakfast and getting lunches
ready.

'I just ordered
confiture des grosses selles
instead of
confiture des groseilles
.'

I frown, thinking hard. My French is good, but
it's not
that
good. 'Hang on ...' I keep on thinking.
Des grosses selles. Groseilles.
Oh. Oh, wait. I crack up
now. Really crack up and the whole group turns
to look at me. Melinda gives me, and Toby behind
me, the 'put that cell phone away and take in the
beauty of Paris' glare. 'I getcha, but I also gotta go,'
I tell JJ.

'Thanks for the sympathy,' she groans again.
'Apparently we have a date this afternoon. I'm
taking you out to see the real Paris.'

'Great!' I tell her. 'I can't wait.
A bientôt
!'

'C'est ça
!
Au revoir
!' JJ chirps.

I press end and shove my cell back in my pocket.
'Sorry,' I tell everyone, including Fluffy, who's
not enjoying having his leash passed from hand
to hand, and they go back about their walking
business. I turn to Rhys. 'JJ called to tell me she
just ordered
confiture des grosses selles
instead of
confiture des groseilles.'

'Uh huh,' he gives me a 'what on earth are
you talking about' stare. 'And that's pretty funny
because ...?'

I laugh again. 'It would have been if they'd had
it. How would you fancy big poo jam instead of red
currant jam on your croissant tomorrow morning?'