Shopaholic to the Stars (13 page)

This is just like being on safari. In fact, I’m amazed they don’t do celebrity safaris. I wonder who the ‘Big Five’ would be. Brad Pitt, obviously, and Angelina. And
imagine
if you saw the whole family together. It would be like when we came across a lioness feeding her cubs in the Masai Mara.

‘Now, we’re gonna travel back in time, to the glory days of Sedgewood,’ Shaun is saying. ‘I’m gonna share with you some magical moments in film history. So sit back, and enjoy!’

The golf cart moves off, and we all look around politely at the white buildings and the lawns and the trees. After a while we stop, and Shaun shows us the fountain where Johnno proposed to Mari on
We Were So Young
, in 1963.

I never saw
We Were So Young
. In fact, I’ve never even heard of it, so that doesn’t mean an awful lot to me. Quite a nice fountain though.

‘And now on to our next highlight!’ Shaun says as we all get back on the cart. He starts it up and we drive for ages past more white buildings, lawns and trees. We turn a sharp corner and we all look excitedly to see what’s next … but it’s more white buildings, lawns and trees.

I suppose I knew this is what a studio lot looked like. But I can’t help feeling it’s a bit … meh. Where are the cameras? Where’s the guy shouting ‘Action’? And, more importantly, where’s the wardrobe department? I really wish I had a map, and I
really
wish Shaun would stop. As if reading my mind, he pulls to a halt and turns to face us, his face glowing with professional animation.

‘Ever wondered where was the famous grating that Anna lost her ring down, in the movie
Fox Tales?
Right here, on the Sedgewood Studios lot! Come and take a closer look.’

Obediently we all get off the cart and have a look. Sure enough, on a nearby fence there’s a framed still from some black-and-white film of a girl in fox furs dropping a ring down a grating. To my eye, it’s just an old grating. But everyone else is taking pictures of it, jostling for a good view, so maybe I should, too. I take a couple of snaps, then edge away from the group while they’re all engrossed. I walk to the corner and squint up the road, hoping to see a sign saying
Wardrobe
or
Costume Design
, but it’s just more white buildings, lawns and trees. Nor can I see a single film star. In fact, I’m starting to doubt whether they really come here at all.

‘Ma’am?’ Out of nowhere, Shaun has appeared, looking like a special agent in his dark jacket and headset. ‘Ma’am, I need you to stay with the group.’

‘Oh right. OK.’ Reluctantly, I follow him back to the cart and get on. This is useless. I’m never going to meet Nenita Dietz, stuck on a cart.

‘To your right, you’ll see the buildings that house some of the most famous film-production companies in the world.’ Shaun is booming down the earpiece. ‘They all produce films right here on the Sedgewood lot! Now, we’re heading to the gift shop …’

I’m peering out of the cart as we trundle along, reading every sign we pass. As we pause at an intersection, I lean out, squinting, to read the signs on the buildings.
Scamper Productions … AJB Films … Too Rich Too Thin Design
! Oh my God, that’s her! That’s Nenita Dietz’s company! Right there in front of my eyes! OK. I’m off.

With a burst of excitement, I unbuckle my belt and start clambering off the cart, just as we start moving. The momentum sends me sprawling on to the grass, and everyone on the cart screams.

‘Oh my God!’ one woman exclaims. ‘Are these carts
safe
?’

‘Is she injured?’

‘I’m fine!’ I call. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine!’ I hastily get to my feet, brush myself down and pick up my portfolio. Right. New career here I come.

‘Ma’am?’ Shaun has appeared by my side again. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Oh, hi, Shaun.’ I beam at him. ‘I’d like to get off here, actually. I’ll make my own way back, thanks. Brilliant tour,’ I add. ‘I loved the grating. Have a good day!’

I start to walk away, but to my annoyance, Shaun follows me.

‘Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to walk unsupervised through the lot. If you would like to leave the tour, one of our representatives will guide you back to the gate.’

‘That’s not necessary!’ I say brightly. ‘I know the way.’

‘It
is
necessary, ma’am.’

‘But honestly—’

‘This is a working lot, and unauthorized visitors must be accompanied at all times. Ma’am.’

His tone is implacable. Honestly. They take it all so seriously. What is this, NASA?

‘Could I go to the Ladies?’ I say in sudden inspiration. ‘I’ll just pop into that building there, I’ll only be a sec …’

‘There’s a ladies’ room at the gift store, which is our next stop,’ says Shaun. ‘Could you please rejoin the cart?’

His face hasn’t flickered once. He means business. If I make a run for it he’ll probably rugby-tackle me to the ground. I want to scream with frustration. Nenita Dietz’s design company is right there. It’s
yards
away.

‘Fine,’ I say at last, and morosely follow him back to the cart. The other passengers are looking at me with wonder and incomprehension. I can almost see the thought bubbles above their heads:
Why would you get off the cart?

We whizz off again, past more buildings and round corners, and Shaun starts talking about some famous director who used to sunbathe nude in the 1930s, but I don’t listen. This is a total failure. Maybe I need to come again tomorrow and try a different tack. Sneak away at the start before I’ve even got on a cart. Yes.

The only tiny positive is, there’s a shop. At least I can buy souvenirs for everyone. As I wander around the gift store, looking at tea towels and pencils with miniature clapperboards on them, I can’t help sighing morosely. The old lady who was sitting next to me comes over and picks up a novelty megaphone paperweight. She glances at Shaun, who is supervising us all with a close eye. Then she moves nearer to me and says in a lowered voice, ‘Don’t look at me. He’ll suspect something. Just listen.’

‘OK,’ I say in surprise. I pick up a Sedgewood Studios mug and pretend to be engrossed in it.

‘Why did you get off the cart?’

‘I want to break into movies,’ I say, practically whispering. ‘I want to meet Nenita Dietz. Her office was right there.’

‘Thought it was something like that.’ She nods in satisfaction. ‘That’s the kind of thing I would have done.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, I was stage struck. But what was I going to do? I was a kid in Missouri. My parents wouldn’t let me sneeze without permission.’ Her eyes dim a little. ‘I ran away when I was sixteen. Got as far as LA before they tracked me down. Never did it again. Should have done.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say awkwardly. ‘I mean … I’m sorry you didn’t make it.’

‘So am I.’ She seems to come to. ‘But you can. I’ll create a diversion.’

‘Huh?’ I stare at her.

‘A diversion,’ she repeats a little impatiently. ‘Know what that means? I distract ’em, you get away. You do what you gotta do. Leave Shaun to me.’

‘Oh my God.’ I clasp her bony hand. ‘You’re amazing.’

‘Get over to the door.’ She nods her head. ‘Go. I’m Edna, by the way.’

‘Rebecca. Thank you!’

My heart beating hard, I head towards the door and linger by a display of
We Were So Young
aprons and baseball caps. Suddenly there’s an almighty
Crash!
Edna has collapsed theatrically to the floor, taking an entire display of crockery with her. There are screams and shouts and all the staff in the place, including Shaun, are rushing forward.

Thank you, Edna
, I think as I creep out of the shop. I start to hurry along the street, running as fast as I can in my H&M wedges (really cool black-and-white print, you’d never think they cost only twenty-six dollars). After I’ve gone a little way I slow down, so as not to look suspicious, and turn a corner. There are people walking along and riding bikes and driving around in golf carts, but none of them has challenged me. Yet.

The only trouble is, I have no idea where I am. All these bloody white buildings look the same. I don’t dare ask anyone where Nenita Dietz’s office is – I’ll draw too much attention to myself. In fact, I’m still half expecting Shaun to come whizzing up beside me in a golf cart and perform a citizen’s arrest.

I round another corner and stop in the shade of a big red canopy. What do I do now? The lot is huge. I’m totally lost. A golf cart full of tourists passes by and I shrink away into the shadows, feeling like a fugitive avoiding the secret police. They’ve probably circulated my description to all the golf-cart drivers by this point. I’m probably on the Most Wanted list.

And then suddenly something rattles past me, and I blink at it in astonishment. It’s something so shiny and colourful and wonderful, I want to whoop. It’s a gift from God! It’s a rail of clothes! It’s a girl pushing a rail of clothes in plastic bags. She steers them expertly along the pavement, her phone in her other hand, and I hear her saying, ‘On my way. OK, don’t stress. I’ll be there.’

I have no idea who she is or what she’s doing. All I know is, where there are clothes, there’s a wardrobe department. Wherever she’s going, I want to go too. As discreetly as I can, I begin to follow her along the street, ducking behind pillars for cover and shielding my face with my hand. I
think
I’m being fairly unobtrusive, although a couple of people give me odd looks as they pass by.

The girl winds round two corners and through an alley, and I stay on her tail. Maybe she works for Nenita Dietz! And even if she doesn’t, there might be other useful people I could meet.

At last she turns in to a set of double doors. I wait a moment, then cautiously push my way in after her. I’m standing in a wide corridor, lined with doors, and ahead of me the girl is greeting a guy in a headset. He glances at me, and I hastily duck into a short side corridor. A bit further on I peep through a glass panel, and stifle a gasp. It’s the Holy Grail! It’s a room filled with tables and sewing machines and, all round the walls, rails of clothes. I
have
to have a look. The place is empty, thank God, so I push the door open and tiptoe in. There are period dresses lined up against one side, and I rifle through them, fingering all the gorgeous little pin-tucks and ruffles and covered buttons. Imagine working on a period film. Imagine choosing all those stunning dresses. And look at the hats! I’m just reaching for a poke bonnet with a broad-ribbon trim, when the door opens and another girl in jeans and a headset looks in.

‘Who are you?’ she demands, and I start guiltily. Shit.

My mind is racing as I put the bonnet back. I can’t get chucked out now, I
can’t
. I’ll have to wing it.

‘Oh, hi there.’ I try to sound pleasant and normal. ‘I’m new. Just started. That’s why you haven’t seen me.’

‘Oh.’ She frowns. ‘Is anyone else around?’

‘Er … not right now. Do you know where Nenita Dietz is?’ I add. ‘I have a message for her.’

Ha! Neatly done. Next I can say, ‘Can you just remind me where her office is?’ and I’ll be in.

The girl’s brow wrinkles. ‘Aren’t they all on location still?’

Location? My heart sinks. It never occurred to me she might be on location.

‘Or maybe they got back yesterday. I don’t know.’ The girl doesn’t seem remotely interested in Nenita Dietz. ‘Where
are
they all?’ She’s looking impatiently around the empty room and I realize she must mean whoever normally works here.

‘Dunno.’ I shrug. ‘Haven’t seen them.’ I think I’m busking this conversation pretty well. It just goes to show: all you need is a bit of confidence.

‘Don’t they realize we’re making a
movie
?’

‘I know,’ I say sympathetically. ‘You’d think they’d realize.’

‘It’s the
attitude
.’

‘Terrible,’ I agree.

‘I really don’t have time to chase people down.’ She sighs. ‘OK, you’ll have to do it.’ She produces a white cotton shirt with a frilly collar.

‘What?’ I say blankly, and the girl’s eyes narrow.

‘You
are
a seamstress?’

My whole face freezes. A
seamstress
?

‘Er … of course,’ I say after what seems like an eternity. ‘Of course I’m a seamstress. What else would I be?’

I need to get out of this room. Quickly. But before I can move, the girl is handing me the shirt.

‘OK. So this is for the older Mrs Bridges. I need a hem in the bottom, half an inch. You should use slipstitch for these garments,’ she adds. ‘I’m sure Deirdre told you that. Did she show you the attachment?’

‘Absolutely.’ I try to sound professional. ‘Slipstitch. Actually, I’m just on my way to get a coffee, so I’ll do that later.’ I put the shirt down next to a sewing machine. ‘Lovely to meet you—’

‘Jesus Christ!’ The girl erupts and I jump in fright. ‘You won’t do it later, you’ll do it
now
! We’re shooting! This is your first day and you come in with that attitude?’

She’s so scary I take a step back.

‘Sorry,’ I gulp.

‘Well, do you want to start?’ The girl nods towards the sewing machines, then folds her arms. I have no way out of this. None.

‘Right,’ I say after a pause, and take a seat in front of one of the sewing machines. ‘So.’

I’ve seen Mum using a sewing machine. And Danny. You just put the material under the needle and push the pedal. I can do this.

My face hot, I cautiously insert the shirt into the sewing machine.

‘Aren’t you going to pin it?’ says the girl critically.

‘Er … I pin as I go,’ I say. ‘It’s just the way I do it.’ Experimentally I press the pedal, and thankfully the sewing machine whirrs along vigorously as though I’m an expert. I reach for a pin, shove it into the fabric, then sew a bit more. I think I look pretty convincing, as long as the girl doesn’t come anywhere near me.

‘Do you want to pick this up in a minute?’ I say. ‘I could bring it to you, maybe?’

To my relief, there’s a crackling sound from her headset. She shakes her head impatiently, trying to listen, then steps outside the room. At once I stop sewing. Thank
God
. Time to make a run for it. I’m halfway out of the chair when the door swings back open and, to my horror, it’s the girl again.