The Stylist (30 page)

‘Babe! I’ve been calling you all morning!’ She greeted me with open arms, which was suspicious.

‘The reception’s terrible,’ I muttered, as I felt her eyes scan my clothes and then settle, much more approvingly, on Vicky’s outfit—a tropical Mary Katrantzou floral-print dress. ‘Well, anyway. Beau tells me she wanted to treat you both, and I’m thrilled you offered to dress the bridesmaids.’ We both smiled in response.

Inside, the suite was a hive of activity. It quickly became clear Beau had omitted mentioning that instead of your average two or three bridesmaids, she had opted for
ten,
whose styling Mona had delegated solely to me. The motley gaggle of attendants ranged from a tiara-wearing baby in the arms of a woman who was presumably Beau’s mother, looking like an almost identical, if slightly wizened, Dolly Parton–esque version of Beau; four little girls currently running in circles around the suite, having just coated their pretty aquamarine Chantilly lace–netted dresses in chocolate; three hefty blondes introduced as Beau’s old school friends from Ohio; and somewhere in the middle her younger sister Bethany, currently going through a goth stage, complete with long, dyed, black-and-purple hair. It was her baby their mother was holding. Plus Beau’s PA, Krystal, who was still in her pyjamas and looking as if she was close to a nervous
breakdown, struggling to calm a hyper Pinky whilst juggling two phones. None of the assembled wedding party looked particularly as though they wanted to be turned into mermaids for the day.

Putting thoughts of the bridesmaids to one side for a moment, I joined Mona in Beau’s bedroom for a quick production meeting with Fran and Rob. The atmosphere was already tense. Judging by Fran’s body language—arms crossed tightly, furrowed brow—the meeting had ended before it began, with Mona back on her old, unhelpful form.

The light was pulsing on Shaggy’s camera, and Mona’s stress levels seemed to be rising as she struggled to get to grips with Beau’s stunning Dolce & Gabbana wedding dress, currently standing to attention on a dressmaker’s dummy in the centre of the airy room.

‘The chest needs letting out—she’s only grown a cup size in the last week,’ Mona grumbled, picking violently at the fastenings. Fran looked like she was enjoying seeing her struggle.

‘Need a hand?’ I offered.

‘No, no! I’ve got it,’ Mona spat, smiling through gritted teeth, just as a tiny silver clasp pinged off the dress and was instantly lost on the floor.
‘Bloody
thing.’

I ducked out of shot, deciding instead to give Beau’s Louboutin sandals a gentle polish before I got to work with the bridesmaids. I positioned myself close to the tall balcony doors, allowing the soft, warm sea breeze to wash over me as I worked. It was definitely preferable to be dealing with Mona in this picturesque setting than in the freezing cold or stifling heat.
And this really is the last time I’ll ever have to do it.

‘Hey, Victoria, right? Annie’s other half?’ My ears
pricked up. Trey was talking to Vicky no more than a few metres away from me, beyond Beau’s balcony on the sandy beach. I kept my head down, lest he saw me crouched inside the room, looking distinctly more like a stylist than a film producer.
Please don’t screw this up, Vicky.

‘Oh, yes—hi, Trey,’ she exclaimed, taken aback. Trey looked at the pile of shells she was currently collecting in her hat.

‘I see you’re enjoying being beside the sea.’ He smiled. ‘Collecting a few mementos?’

‘Something like that,’ she answered, scooping up a little clam shell and gently placing it next to the others. Beau’s imagined limitless perfect Hawaiian shells decorating the beach didn’t seem to have materialised. ‘To add to my shell collection.’
Shell collection? What is she on about?
‘And you?’

‘Just getting a bit of air. You know, doing the groom thing and clearing my head, working on some ideas for my speech.’

‘I bet you’ll be a natural, being a hotshot director and everything,’ Vicky said.

‘So, tell me, how long have you and Annie been an item?’ he asked. Vicky frantically glanced around, which I took as my cue to go and rescue her. Leapfrogging over the balcony edge, I scuttled behind some bushes and from there, casually strolled out and joined their group, winding my arm around Vicky’s waist.

‘Hey, what are you two gossiping about?’ I asked.

‘Just getting to know your shell-enthusiast other half,’ Trey replied. He nudged my arm. ‘Us Brits have got to stick together! I hope you’ll be joining me in some serious dance-floor
action later this evening. None of this LA “got to get my beauty sleep” stuff, please!’

‘That’s a deal,’ Vicky replied, and the two shook hands.

Then a flashing light and a series of clicks made us all stop dead and turn towards a large palm tree a few metres down the beach. In the blink of an eye a shadowy figure, his face covered by a camera lens almost the size of the tree trunk, darted out of sight.

‘Oh, Jesus. The paps are onto us,’ Trey exclaimed, withdrawing his hand from Vicky’s. ‘And it probably looks like we’ve just shaken on some kind of dodgy deal.’

‘But this is a private resort,’ I said, astonished. ‘We can just call security and get him escorted off, can’t we?’

‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ Trey replied. ‘You’ve evidently not filmed in Hawaii before, Annie—all the beaches are public, so that scumbag has as much right to be on this sand as you and I. Fucking hell, this is the last thing we need. I really thought we’d got away with it. If I find out anyone’s leaked the venue, I’ll …’

I looked at Vicky, her face ashen, fear in her eyes. My heart began to beat erratically as Trey tapped furiously at his phone.
Is he calling the Twitter police? Will he be able to find out?

‘AJ, get Bill and Jonah down to the beach, we’ve been rumbled.’

Some flashes in the opposite direction suddenly erupted and another paparazzo, more brazen than the first, stepped out into the bright sunshine and began clicking away. He didn’t even bother pretending to hide.

‘Let’s get off the beach—they can’t touch us on the other side of the path,’ Trey instructed, and we scrambled back to the safety of manicured Four Seasons turf. ‘How the hell
are we going to have this wedding now? The beach will be swarming with paps within the hour.’ Trey’s mood had done a U-turn, and I couldn’t blame him. Behind us, two huge Polynesian guys, presumably the security, Bill and Jonah, stood, each marking a pap, blocking their view and ready to challenge them if they tried to get another clean shot of the hacked-off groom. AJ joined us. I’d almost forgotten what a massive hulk he was.

‘Amber.’ He nodded in recognition. I squirmed.
Don’t blow my cover now, please, AJ.
Thankfully Trey was too distracted to notice.

‘No way we can have the wedding on the beach now, with these assholes around—there will be tenfold this number in an hour or two, believe me,’ AJ said, optimistically. ‘And there’s no point calling the cops. Absolutely jack shit we can do about it.’ He folded his huge arms.

‘I know, mate, I know. Any ideas where we can move it to?’

‘Not really—the whole point of this place is the beach.’ He scratched his head. AJ was definitely one of those ‘we’re all doomed’ type of people.

‘Isn’t there a tropical garden, or some kind of function room we can move the ceremony to?’ Trey looked desperate.

‘I’ll ask the wedding planner, but the marquee tent is in the garden, and I don’t think there’s anywhere else. And it won’t be anything like the beach.’

‘Damn it! Beau will be devastated. And what am I going to tell the magazine? We need to get those beach pictures, AJ.’ Trey kicked a sunlounger and then set it straight again. He wasn’t normally one for losing his cool in public. Vicky remained painfully quiet at my side. As my mind ticked over, my cheeks blazed in the sun, though it was less to do
with wearing zero SPF and more the fact that in less than 140 characters, Vicky had quite possibly blown a ‘world exclusive’.

Trey insisted on breaking the news to Beau. Through a crack in the door—in case he accidentally saw her wedding dress or caught a glimpse of the production line behind her attempting to sew pearls onto aquamarine netting and cover chocolate stains with shells—he spoke calmly and slowly to his wife-to-be:

‘Listen, baby-cakes, don’t panic, but there’s been a bit of a change of plan.’ Her already big blue eyes grew wider. ‘There are paps all over the beach, baby, and unfortunately we can’t just get them kicked off. So AJ has taken the decision not to go ahead with the wedding on the beach as originally planned.’

‘But, baby, I don’t understand?’ She struggled to keep her voice even. ‘We can’t not have the wedding on the beach—the beach is the whole reason we’re in Hawaii. And what about the photos on the giant shell? We can’t do that by a swimming pool, it’ll look tacky. Oh, baby, please tell me I’m dreaming?’ Manically, she began pinching her arm. ‘Oh my God, I’m
not
dreaming.’ Suddenly Mona appeared behind her at the doorway, swiftly followed by ten bridesmaids and a tearful mother of the bride, who all clustered around Beau with panic written across their faces. As the door opened, Pinky promptly made a run for it, dashing between Trey’s legs and out of the suite.

‘Pinky!’ Beau screamed urgently. ‘Get him, Amber—Annie! Quickly!’ Instinctively I dived for the little tyke, pulling him back and scooping him up as he squealed loudly in my arms. There was a momentary pause as we all took
in the miniature pig’s specially customised tiny ivory tuxedo, complete with bow-tie collar and, attached to this, an ivory silk purse embroidered with the letters ‘B’ and ‘T’ in aquamarine crystals, soon to contain the wedding rings.

‘Baby, baby—shhh, shhh.’ Trey leaned in close, as the gap in the door narrowed again.

‘It’s bad luck to see the dress—he must not see the dress!’ Mona instructed from behind Beau.

Trey reached for Beau’s tiny hand and guided it through the opening, tenderly lacing her fingers with his.

‘It
has
to be on the beach, baby,’ she pleaded, her eyes shining, on the brink of tears. ‘I can’t bear it otherwise. Seriously, baby—no beach, no wedding.’

‘Well, then, we’re going to have to come up with a plan,’ said Trey, with awe-inspiring patience.

‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ Beau declared suddenly, whipping her hand from his and disappearing into the suite. Mona and the ten bridesmaids followed, while the mother of the bride tried to slam the door in Trey’s face. He pushed against it.

‘Baby Belle! I can’t bear to—’

‘Let me.’ I barged past Trey, dumping Pinky into Krystal’s open arms and elbowing half-naked bridesmaids and netted dresses out of the way to get to the front of the line.

I locked the door of the ornate marble bathroom behind us and knelt down to hold back Beau’s hair, gently rubbing her back as she threw up in the toilet bowl.

‘You okay?’ I asked as she finally rested on her heels, wiping her mouth with toilet paper.

‘Better now,’ she said, weakly. ‘That’s the second time I’ve vommed today.’

‘Pre-wedding nerves?’

‘I guess so,’ she confessed, smiling wanly, eyes watery and skin pale despite several coats of fake tan. A loud knocking at the door startled us both.

‘Beau!’ It was Mona. ‘Darling Beau, let me in!’ We looked at each other.

‘She’s been knocking back the Buck’s Fizz since she arrived,’ Beau said. ‘And she’s more interested in her TV show and getting in the magazine photos than sorting out my dress. Look, it still doesn’t fit.’ She pulled out a pin from the corsetry under her arm, and the dress immediately gaped. The knocking came again, louder.

‘I’ve got an idea … A really good one!’ Mona sounded excited. I wasn’t sure whether an excited Mona was preferable to a foul or even an elusive one, but Beau and I exchanged a look, and I reluctantly got up and let her in. The magazine photographer’s camera flashed in my face making me lift my hand to cover my eyes.

‘Great—you’re here, too,’ she said. ‘Mind if the photographer gets this, as well?’

‘Yes, I do!’ screamed Beau from the floor behind me, with such vehemence that the photographer immediately backed off. The bathroom suddenly felt claustrophobic with Mona in it, too. I sat on the edge of the bath and Beau propped herself up against it, her legs stretched out on the cool floor in front of her.

‘Oh, Beau, it’s terrible luck about the paps,’ Mona began. ‘But someone’s got to think quickly—I’ve got a plan. You said you brought the Vera Wang dress, too, right?’

‘Uh-huh,’ she nodded.

‘Amber’s about the same size as you … give or take,’ she continued, mentally sizing me up and smiling sweetly. My
back stiffened. ‘I think we should put Amber in the Wang and set up a fake photo shoot down one end of the beach to distract all the paps, while you and Trey come out down the other end and have the ceremony. By the time the paps realise Amber’s not you, you’ll be officially married. Genius, hey? My God, I amaze myself sometimes.’ She turned towards the door. ‘Are you sure we can’t let the cameras in?’

There was what seemed like an endless silence as Beau and I digested the idea.

‘Couple of major flaws here, Mona,’ I eventually declared, in desperation. ‘One, I’m twice the size of Beau, not to mention brunette. I’ll never get into that dress. And two, even if I did, no one would think I was Beau.’

‘Oh, Amber.’ Beau used my body to push herself up onto her feet, sickness seemingly forgotten. ‘I think this is a great idea! I don’t know, we’re not that dissimilar.’ She steered my head towards hers and pointed to the mirror, where our differences became even more obvious. ‘And the good news is I didn’t get the Wang taken in yet, because I’ve, um, filled out a little lately.’ She cupped an ample D-cup in her hand. ‘It’ll fit you—I know it. And if it doesn’t, we’ll just take it out a bit.’

I went through the idea again, imagining how it might all look. But however I tried to picture this ridiculous scenario, I came out looking like an idiot.
Brilliant.

‘What if the paps aren’t fooled?’ I protested. ‘These people are professionals. And besides, who’ll be my groom?’ They both ignored me.