The Stylist (19 page)

I’d been in the loo for five minutes now and the last thing I wanted was to give Rob the impression something was wrong, or that I had a dicky tummy. I took a deep breath and mentally pulled myself together.
I’m going to go out there and congratulate him properly, like a good ‘mate’ should.
I even spared a thought for whether Hallmark made cards to mark this kind of occasion—‘Good luck with the proposal! Hope she says no!’ I wondered what Rob’s imminent fiancée might be like—was she Cambridge-educated, fashionable, blessed with a cute button nose, dainty feet and a high metabolism? I decided my best tactic was to act not bothered.

‘So how are the BAFTAs shaping up?’ he asked when I returned, seemingly also keen to change the subject, and thank God he didn’t move it onto Liam.

‘Quiet,’ I said. ‘I’m a bit worried about it, but Mona seems confident things always happen at the last minute.’ I’d wondered if we were feeling the repercussions of sick-gate—if the stylist had become more infamous than her clothes. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to go and meet her at Soho House now. She’s just asked me to work with her until after the Oscars.’

‘Do it! I’ll be out there, too, we’ll have some fun,’ he said, eyes shining—the eyes that I had a crushing feeling I was
falling in love with. ‘If you thought the Globes were mad, you ain’t seen nothing yet.’

‘Will you be filming Mona still?’ I asked, knowing my boss was unlikely to give me any details until the last minute.

‘It’s up for discussion.’ Rob fiddled with the rim of his cardboard cup. ‘I’ll be with Tim, mostly. But it’ll be much more fun working with her again if you’re there—you made it all happen in LA.’ He was beginning to relax into the old Rob again—I didn’t like the nervous, nearly engaged version. But the thought of LA already felt infinitely less fun knowing that Rob would be there, clearly marked ‘taken’. LA Liam was a poor substitute, though I did momentarily wonder if it was possible to find previously deleted contacts on an iPhone.
Perhaps the distraction will do me good.
Then a hideous thought crept into my mind.
Next, Rob will be asking for my advice about what he should wear to get married. Even worse, maybe
she’ll
be in LA, too, the Tiffany ring on her slender finger, smiling smugly, like the luckiest girl on the fucking planet.
I definitely wasn’t going to send him a friend request now. It would be far, far too painful.

‘Anyway, when are you planning to do the deed?’ I asked, trying my best to look sincere.

‘Not sure—when the time feels right. I might wait a few weeks. We’ll see. So you’ve got to keep it a secret, okay?’

‘Safe with me!’ I faked a smile and put my scarf on again. I needed fresh air.

As I walked to Soho House to meet Mona, I called my mum, desperate to hear a comforting voice.

‘Darling! Dad and I were just talking about you, in fact—hold on a minute—Richard!’ I had to move the phone away
from my ear. I’d forgotten what a piercingly loud shout my mother had.

‘Amber?’ Dad picked up another receiver. I hated three-way calls.

‘Hi, Dad.’

‘I’m still here, too!’

‘Hi, Mum.’

‘We were wondering if you’d got back safely, and what was going on with that Rhona woman?’

‘It’s Mona.’

‘Nora’s concert was so sweet last night—honestly, your sister and I could barely hold it together when she did her solo!’

‘Like gibbering wrecks they were, snivelling into their sleeves,’ Dad laughed. ‘But anyway, tell us about your trip. Did you meet Michael Caine? He won something, didn’t he?’

‘He did indeed, Dad, good skills, but no, afraid I didn’t get to meet him. I didn’t actually go to the awards—we watched them on TV.’

‘You flew all the way to Los Angeles to watch an awards ceremony on television?’ Mum sounded flabbergasted. ‘I’ve told the whole of the firm you were there!’

‘What Mona does is more behind-the-scenes—dressing people for the red carpet,’ I explained. There was silence on the other end while they took this in.

‘Can’t they dress themselves?’ Dad asked eventually. ‘Honestly, do these people have someone to do everything for them? Do they never have to think for themselves?’

‘I don’t expect you to get it, Dad, but there’s a lot more to it than putting someone’s head through a jumper.’

‘Yes, Richard, it’s
high fashion,’
said Mum.

‘But it went really well, and Mona’s asked me to stay on
with her for a bit longer to help her through the BAFTAs and the Oscars, too.’

The conversation swung to the inevitable. ‘Well, I hope she’s paying you handsomely for all this jetting about?’

‘Not sure yet—I’m about to meet her to talk through the logistics.’

‘Well, don’t sell yourself short, girl, or she’ll have me to answer to.’

‘Okay, Mum, I’ll let you know. Listen, I’d better go, I’m nearly there.’

‘All right, darling, but when will we see you?’

‘Hopefully this week, once the BAFTAs are over, I’ll come round. Can we have a roast?’

‘I’ll get your dad on to it.’ The words felt as good as a hug.

‘Amazing, love you.’

‘Love you, too,’ they both said in unison.

‘Oh and Nora’s got a recital next Wednesday, perhaps you’ll make it this time?’ Mum added.

‘I’ll try. Bye.’

When I reached Soho House, I felt frozen to the bone. The Christmas glitz had been stripped from the streets, and now it was just cold, grey and on the verge of snowing. Only this wouldn’t be the lovely fluffy white stuff that falls in the countryside—it would be the London snow that turns into grey sludge as soon as it lands, bringing the public transport system to an immediate halt. Snow doesn’t have any benefits at all in London, unless, of course, you live near Primrose Hill and have time to Instagram photos of yourself making snow angels all day long. It was getting colder, seemingly by the second. The thought of the warm LA breeze was definitely appealing.

Mona had secured a spot in the Circle Bar and there were two glasses of champagne on the table in front of her, one nearly drained. A candle burned enticingly. It was cosy, warm and conducive to celebration.

‘So, how was cute Rob, babe—has he made a lunge for you yet?’ she asked, direct as usual, as I pulled off my layers and laid them down on an empty part of the bench seat next to us. I felt glad that she hadn’t witnessed the lunge event a couple of days ago. I’d never live it down.

‘Not exactly,’ I said, reaching for my drink. Alcohol was exactly what I needed right now.

‘Well, have you lunged for him, then?’

‘Not after today,’ I sighed, necking a healthy glug.

‘Don’t tell me he’s gay—what a waste!’

‘Worse,’ I replied. ‘He’s about to get engaged. He showed me the Tiffany ring he’s bought her.’

‘Tiffany? For the love of Lanvin, how obvious,’ she scoffed. ‘The poor girl.’ Sometimes I had to love Mona. On this occasion she managed to say exactly what I needed to hear. A waitress passed and Mona ordered a bottle of champagne.

‘I thought we’d celebrate tonight,’ she declared, taking me aback.

‘Did Jennifer come good for the BAFTAs?’

‘She did indeed.’ She smiled, as the waitress plonked two fresh glasses on the table. ‘Caroline called this afternoon. She’s flying in tomorrow and wants to wear the Valentino, easy-peasy. I’ve said you’ll swing by the Dorchester on Sunday morning to see what we can do accessories-wise.’

‘This is great news!’ It also meant that there would surely be cash coming in—money was playing heavily on my
mind. ‘But what about Miss P? I thought you needed me to assist with her on Sunday?’

‘Leave her to me,’ she instructed. ‘Anyway—there’s something else we need to toast this evening.’ Bang on cue, the waitress filled our glasses with fizzing cold champagne. I lifted mine in anticipation. ‘I had a little chat with Jas, after you left,’ she continued. ‘And she said she’d be more than happy for you to continue on with me for the next few weeks. It’ll all be done in just over a fortnight and you can go back to your little London life. Isn’t that great news?’

I was horrified she’d gone behind my back. I didn’t know what to say as she lifted her glass to meet mine. I felt furious she’d taken the decision for me, leaving me with no control over my own life.
What if I’d decided against it? And what about my money?

‘But I thought we were going to talk about it some more?’ I said, feeling my cheeks sizzle. I hated confrontation, especially with someone as up and down as Mona.

‘What more is there to discuss?’ She wasn’t having any of it. ‘Come on, Amber, babe, it’s a no-brainer. And forget Rob. You’ll feel better after another glass.’

W
e sat together, feeling worlds apart. Mona was gazing around the room, picking at her fingernails, fiddling with her zips, chatting about the upholstery on the seats; anything but invite questions about my wages. She made eye contact occasionally, to check whether I was looking at her pretending not to look at me. But tonight I didn’t feel like being a total pushover. The knock I’d taken from Rob had given me the guts to stand up for myself—not to let ambiguity rule the day. If only I’d known he had a girlfriend, I could probably have stopped myself from feeling so hurt. Vicky was right, I should have stalked him on Facebook. Besides, my rent was a pressing issue and I needed to know where I stood.

‘So about the money for the flights—are you okay to transfer it first thing tomorrow, please, Mona?’ For once I resisted the urge to fill the awkward hush hanging in the air between us as I waited for a response.

‘I found my purse,’ she replied at last. ‘It must have fallen
out of my bag during the premiere party.’
The ‘sick party’, how could I forget?

‘Great, so we’re set? And for the new job, will I be paid more than the work experience rate of fifty pounds a week? My rent is due now, and I can’t ask my flatmate to sub me. It would be humiliating to have to ask my parents.’
Stay firm, Amber.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she replied eventually, and gazed in the opposite direction, her eyes hunting for the waitress. Silence descended again. But I was ready to boil over now.

‘I’m sorry, Mona,’ I began, voice trembling, ‘but you’ve already accepted a job on my behalf—a job that will turn my life upside down for the next few weeks. I’ve had to fork out for flights I can’t afford, plus I haven’t received the pay owed to me for the last fortnight. The least you can do is transfer my money in the morning, like you said you would.’ I took another large gulp of champagne. She just sat there, motionless.
Why is she being so evasive?
I was enraged.

‘Is there any problem with paying me?’ I pressed. ‘I think I deserve to know if there is.’

Still no response.
I have to finish what I’ve started now, I’ve got no choice.

‘I’ve seen the pile of unopened bills in your office, you know. And I heard the message from the loans company.’ Mona’s face did not reveal a flicker of acknowledgement. I necked another mouthful, finishing off my glass. If she didn’t say something soon, I was preparing to storm out. But first, buoyed by the alcohol, it was time to pull out the big guns. ‘My mother’s a lawyer, you know.’

Finally, a glimmer of vulnerability: ‘How did you hear about the loan?’ she asked, her tone calm, measured.

‘Your phone, on the day of the Globes. I had to listen
to your messages so I could sort out Jennifer and get the gowns to the right clients, because you were … recovering. Remember?’

A solitary tear formed in one of her eyes and hovered there for a few seconds. I stayed very still, physically almost unable to move. Then I handed her a napkin from the table and she dabbed at the corners of her eyes, embarrassed.

‘It’s okay,’ I offered, a pang of guilt shooting through me for having caused a grown woman to weep in the middle of Soho House. ‘If there’s a problem, perhaps I can help you with it? I am your assistant after all.’

‘I’ve not talked about this before,’ she muttered, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. ‘It’s hard.’

‘I’m happy to listen.’ I shuffled a bit closer.

As a group of men entered the bar, looking in our direction, Mona reached into her bag for her sunglasses. I noticed actual big, hot tears falling from Mona Armstrong’s eyes and plopping onto her leather jacket. She wasn’t made of steel after all.

Is she having a breakdown before my eyes?
Oh, how I wished I had one of Beau’s scripts for what to say. I shuffled up the bench seat, leaning in, wondering whether to put my arm around her, as I naturally would if I saw anyone other than Mona so upset. I grabbed another napkin. The tears were really falling now and I suddenly saw her in a completely different way. She looked so defenceless.

‘Jesus, you must think I’m going down the Britney Spears path,’ she scoffed at last, pulling back her hair and sitting up straighter. Crying wasn’t in line with Mona’s image.

Tentatively, I placed a hand on her arm. ‘Nah, you’re much cooler than Britney ever was.’

She made a feeble attempt to laugh, before sighing. ‘I
was
.’

‘Then what happened?’ I asked, softly.

‘Oh, Amber, you’re so young. You won’t understand.’

‘Try me,’ I said.

Her breathing was erratic, like a child who’s cried for too long. I could almost hear her brain turning over as she internally debated whether to unlock the door. In the silence, I tried a different tack.

‘Maybe there are things I could help you with?’ I said, trying to sound more upbeat. She slipped her feet in and out, out and in of her Chanel ballet pumps, balancing one shoe on her big toe. We both looked at it sticking out from under the table.

‘Like the box of paperwork under the desk in LA?’ I said, instantly panicking that I’d overstepped the line. She didn’t respond. ‘My mum—she’s a lawyer, you know,’ I said again, but this time with a different motive. ‘If you need legal advice, maybe she could help?’

‘Oh, it’s all bullshit!’ she cried, sending the shoe falling to the ground.

‘Everything okay here?’ A waitress approached. ‘Another drink, maybe?’

‘Two double vodka tonics,’ Mona said. The canyon reappeared between us as we waited for them to arrive.

‘Sometimes,’ she began, ‘I just want to be your age again, rest my head on someone’s shoulder and let them make some decisions for once—let them open the bills, pull the clothes, suck up to the celebrities and designers, and deal with it all. I keep telling myself it’ll get easier, and the money will start rolling in, but then another red carpet, another premiere, another awards season, another year passes—and what do I have to show for it?’ She looked at my blank face. ‘I’ll tell you what I have,’ she continued, ‘endless bouquets of beautiful
fucking flowers, designer handbags, enough scented candles to open a small concession in Harrods and some dresses even Anna Wintour would sell her children for. But what about the cold, hard cash? The stuff that will actually stop the bailiffs and the loans companies from calling?’ I let out a sigh. Vicky had been right.

‘I’m broke, Amber—isn’t it clear to see? If I had my way right now, I’d go to sleep and never wake up. I’m buried alive in bills and unpaid loans, and I don’t have the energy for it any more.’ She held her head in her hands and started crying again. ‘And I don’t know what to do.’

I placed a cautious hand on top of her mound of curls. She came up for a second to throw down her sunglasses and then hid her face in her folded arms on top of the table. She stayed there, sobbing, for a few moments. The bartender gave us a strange look. My mind was racing.

‘But what about the clients—Beau, Jennifer? They pay you, right?’

She lifted herself up and replaced her shades, before anyone else noticed her eye make-up had made a bid for freedom. ‘Oh, their management or the film companies pay some of my expenses—the odd flight, hotel bill and the like—but most of them think the honour of my being able to say they’re my clients is payment enough. It’s crass to discuss money in the circles I move in. Everybody thinks everyone else is swimming in it, but the designer clothes on my back mean jack shit.’

I exhaled loudly. I had to admit I had Mona down as someone ‘swimming in it’, too. Didn’t you have to be, to live in a Hollywood mansion with a pool?

‘But your house in LA—it must be worth a fortune?’ I said.

‘My divorce,’ she scoffed, without taking her eyes off her
nearly drained glass. ‘Only thing the bastard gave me was to live rent-free, with a housekeeper, in that prison. He owns it, Ana keeps it clean and tidy, and I’ll never make a penny from it. But at least I have a roof over my head. At least I’m not completely destitute. Wonderful!’ She clapped her hands together sarcastically. The house wasn’t exactly somewhere I’d describe as a prison, but this wasn’t the time to argue.

‘Can he help you at all?’ I asked.

She puffed out her cheeks. ‘We haven’t spoken in ten years and I’m not about to start.’

‘What about Clive?’ I asked, shocked by what I was hearing.

‘Clive sent me this charming watch, but can I use it to pay your wages? No pawnshop wants this season’s Michael Kors ladies’ timepiece until it’s become an antique. It’s a frigging joke!’ She snorted into the napkin and then looked me straight in the eye. ‘I’m counting my last shekels, Amber. I’m bankrupt.’

Bankrupt.
The word sounded so scary and final. It also meant I was unlikely to see a refund for the flights or the money to pay my rent until it was sorted out.

‘Listen, I’m not an accountant, but I think I might be able to help you,’ I suggested. Even I knew that a situation involving bailiffs, loans companies and bankruptcy was not something that would go away of its own accord, and the last thing Mona needed was for this to become news in itself. I was starting to feel sorry for her—she seemed so completely alone. ‘We’ll make sure we go through every single bill in the basket in LA—we’ll do it together. It might even be—fun?’ That last comment caused both of us to titter slightly hysterically. ‘Well, it won’t be fun, but it’s necessary,’ I corrected myself. ‘And in the meantime, why don’t
we take some of your most amazing gifted clothes—’ her eyebrows shot up in alarm ‘—the ones that you hardly ever wear, I mean, to one of those designer sale shops? They’ll think Christmas has come round again, and you’ll make a tidy sum. That will help tide us over through the BAFTAs, anyway.’ I pulled a notepad from my bag. Surely a list would sort out everything. ‘Here, let’s make a note of everything you could sell.’

‘We’ll have to go to my lock-up,’ Mona snivelled, wiping at a clump of mascara that had settled beneath her right eye. I sucked the top of the pen.
We must be talking a treasure trove if she needs a whole lock-up for her discarded designer wardrobe.

‘Fine. Do you have the key?’ She nodded in response. ‘Great, we can do that tomorrow and then focus on the BAFTAs on Sunday.’

She seemed a bit perkier after we had made a rough list of the bits she could bear parting with. Three classic Chanel handbags would easily set us up for the immediate future and there were dresses by Zac Posen, Azzedine Alaia, Hervé Léger and Christian Dior—all unworn—a Balmain wool cape, plus a couple of Bvlgari bangles that came to mind, all off the top of her head. I was confident we wouldn’t go short.

The throng around the bar had thinned as it approached midnight, and with Mona all cried out and drunk, and my eyelids barely able to hold themselves open, I asked for the bill and put it on my card. By some miracle it didn’t get declined. I hadn’t quite worked out what we’d do if it did. I decided to use the last of the cash in my purse to put Mona into a taxi.

‘Where to?’ asked the driver. I realised I didn’t have a clue where she lived.

‘Mona—your address?’ I repeated, loudly, praying she wouldn’t pass out.

‘Travelodge,’ she slurred, almost lying flat across the back seat. ‘Barking.’

I put the forty pounds remaining in my purse into the driver’s palm before begging him to get her home for not a penny more, and shut the passenger door. Then I pulled my scarf up around my ears for the frosty walk to the tube. If I hurried, I’d make the last train.
Mona, living at a Travelodge, in Barking?
Nothing more could shock me this evening.

When I got home the flat was silent and Vicky’s bedroom door closed, indicating she was either asleep or entertaining. I pressed my ear to the door and was relieved to hear her quietly snoring. I’d been half-expecting to find her with her head in a bag of chips, just back from another drinking session somewhere in central London. It had crossed my mind to call her on the way home and I would have, had I not been so exhausted by the evening’s revelations and desperate to be reunited with my bed. I hadn’t failed to notice that Vicky had been either tipsy or full-blown drunk almost every evening since I could pretty much remember. But who was I to talk?
Jesus, what a day.

Next morning I was woken by the sound of a mug of tea being clunked down on my bedside table, loud enough to wake a sleeping log. Bleary-eyed, I looked up to see Vicky, hair in a topknot, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

‘Left you as long as I could, but it’s nearly ten and I know you’ve got the Miss P fitting today,’ she said, looking way too together for my foggy brain to deal with. ‘I didn’t want you to oversleep, because you’re doing this job for the both of us, remember?’

‘I am? What day is it?’ I croaked.

‘Saturday, honey. Do you want some eggs?’

‘Saturday,’ I repeated, looking at her, uncharacteristically smart for a Saturday, in a structured black dress and the chunky gold choker she’d bought the other day. ‘You look amazing—but why so posh? Are you due in court for something?’

‘Silly! I’m coming with you to see Miss P.’ She smiled. ‘Oh, please let me, it’s the weekend and I’m dying to meet Mona. I thought I’d better look the part,’ she begged, registering my confused expression.

The memory of last night began flooding back. It made me feel even more queasy. I reached for my phone. One new message, and it was from Rob. I pushed myself up, fumbling to squish the pillows behind my back.

‘Do you think she’ll rate my dress?’ Vicky was far too alert this morning. I think I preferred her hungover. ‘It’s by a hot new designer, Star-Crossed, a graduate—we’re featuring her in this month’s mag. I thought Mona might be interested.’ I recognised the name from Smith’s and Jas’s ‘ones to watch’ rail, but right now I was distracted.

‘Rob’s going to propose to his girlfriend,’ I sighed.

‘He
what?’

‘Long story, but let’s just say yesterday was a nightmare, and I’m an idiot for not realising he’s taken.’

I tried to focus on the phone and Rob’s message:
So how did it go with Mona—are you coming back to LA? x