Sequins, Secrets, and Silver Linings (12 page)

Jenny
:
He said he was really sorry! He always wanted to be friends and he thought he’d blown it. He was so cute!

NonieChat:
And?

Jenny
:
And what?

NonieChat:
Is he your boyfriend?

Jenny
:
No! No no no no no no no. Just cute. And sweet. Anyway, he’s too old for me.

NonieChat:
Too famous.

Jenny
:
Too far away, most of the time.

NonieChat:
Too busy.

I decide it’s time to change the subject. The I’m-glad-he’s-not-my-boyfriend conversation has gone on long enough.

NonieChat:
You looked great, anyway. Did you win anything?

Jenny
:
Oh yes. Forgot to say. Best Action/Adventure and Best Performance, Female. Joe lost out, but he was OK about it. Mum let me have two glasses of champagne, so I did, but it’s DISGUSTING.

I have a feeling that if I hadn’t asked, Jenny would have completely forgotten to tell me. It’s just possible that her mind is still on the non-boyfriend. I hope she’s as cool with it as she sounds. At least he’s talking to her, which has to be good.

Next day, the picture of Joe and Jenny is in three of the papers. It’s a good shot of him, of course, but it’s fabulous of Jenny. She’s beautiful, elegant, young, and associated with the movie they all want to talk about. Instantly, the cherry tomato is history. Jenny is completely glamorous and everyone loves her.

I cut out the photo to keep, but it turns out I don’t need to bother. The picture appears, better printed, in all the celebrity magazines. What’s really strange is that they even start to rewrite her career as an actress, saying what a sweet part she had in
Kid Code
and how she reminds them of Emma Watson, who plays Hermione Granger. For once, they forget to mention the father and the mistress and the zits. Instead, they want to talk about her demureness, her Marilyn-esque figure, and her “fabulous auburn updo.”

Her dress is attributed to a variety of designers, or put down as “vintage.” Her shoes feature heavily in each article, however, and are correctly attributed every time.

Two weeks later, she’s the opening guest on the Jonathan Ross show on BBC1. Millions of TV viewers watch her sit on the famous sofa and tell the story about the monkey and what a privilege it was to work with so many talented
people. Jonathan Ross, however, has noticed that the real story is how good she suddenly looks.

“Because you had a few problems in that department, didn’t you?”

Graciously, and going only slightly strawberry, she admits she did.

“But you’re looking stunning tonight. Isn’t she, ladies and gentlemen?”

She is. Everybody applauds. She still has the glow about her that’s been there since the awards. She’s wearing Granny’s blue lace Dior cocktail dress, which Crow has been frantically adapting for her, and the trusty Louboutins, which by fashion math are working out to be positively cheap. You’d think she’d spent her life in vintage couture.

All the fashion press are in agreement after this outing. Jenny Merritt is a teen style queen and they can’t wait to see what she’ll show up in next.

In the days that follow, her first free handbag is delivered. Then her second. And three free pairs of shoes. None of which fit Jenny’s growing feet, but it’s a nice gesture. Then an invitation arrives to open a ward at a children’s hospital, and another to launch a soft drink. And a vast bouquet of flowers from the producers of
Kid Code
, to say “job well done.” And a one-line text from
Joe Yule to say he heard she was on TV and hoped it went OK.

It’s a shame you can’t frame texts. I hope Jenny doesn’t get carried away and embroider it on her pillow, or worse (as I’ve heard Sexy Girlfriend did) have it tattooed somewhere private. HAH! I wonder what would happen if Jenny started telling that story instead of the one about the monkey.

Chapter 17

I
t’s the children’s ward opening that annoys Edie the most.

She just about manages to handle the free bags and shoes and party invitations, but she says the idea of being asked to upstage a bunch of sick children just because you looked good in a frock on TV practically makes her want to throw up.

This doesn’t go down well with Jenny, who accepts the invitation partly to annoy Edie and comes back from the hospital saying what a MARVELOUS time she had and how THRILLED all the children were to see her and how the older ones were PARTICULARLY excited that she showed up in her Louboutins.

This makes Edie even crosser, because she says if there’s anything worse than swanning around a children’s ward like Lady Bountiful just because you’ve been on a TV sofa, it’s doing it in STILETTOS. Jenny
says Edie’s just jealous and Edie does her most sarcastic laugh and says she wouldn’t be seen dead in those magazines—they’re only read by people like me—and Jenny gets a bit carried away and says that’s true, we wouldn’t be interested in Edie even if she were dead, and they stop talking to each other for a while and channel all communication through me.

This is not great for me because Jenny mostly wants to talk about boys. Definitely not smoky, green-eyed gods of hotness. Not those, oh no. Anything but those. But boys in general have suddenly become a bit of a pet subject. And Edie wants to talk about Internet campaigning and her new project to help build schools for the Invisible Children in Uganda. She says her website’s been getting thousands of new hits recently and (I quote) she wants to “harness its popularity to improve awareness of the plight of displaced children in areas of conflict.”

Which is great in theory. Fabulous and worthwhile and I’m really proud of her. I’ve even bought a bracelet to support the campaign. I’m just not very good at statistics and campaigning methods and international organizations. I try and concentrate but my brain starts clouding over and I find myself thinking about next semester’s designs for my pencil case or the ideal color combination
for my next pair of Converses. I wish I wasn’t so superficial but it’s obviously genetic, so I don’t think it can really be my fault.

But I do discover one interesting thing. I happen to be googling Jenny one evening after homework (OK, instead of homework—it’s become a bit of a habit to watch the search results grow each week) and I notice that one of the most popular sites for people looking for stuff about Jenny is Edie’s blog. It turns out that Edie’s been describing Jenny’s TV and magazine appearances alongside snarky comments about my outfits and general information about world peace and her own do-gooding.

I can’t help wondering how many of the hits are down to Edie’s limpid prose and biting political analysis, and how many are down to Jenny’s taste in shoes.

I ask Edie about it as we’re leaving school one day and she somehow manages to change the subject to how much publicity she’s raised recently for Invisible Children, swiftly followed by the number of displaced people in camps in ten African countries. By the time she’s finished quoting a series of very large numbers at me, I’ve forgotten what my original question was.