Blondetourage (14 page)

'Have to text Romy, do you?'

I look up to find George's face twisted into an
unflattering sneer.

I freeze. 'I ...'

George snorts. 'Are you serious? You really
were
texting her, weren't you? I can't believe it. You
really were! Wow. You've got it bad, don't you?'
She takes a few steps forward, closer to me now,
rather like a charging bull.

'Got what bad? I ...'

'Don't lie to me!' George yells, stamping one
foot. 'You were texting her.'

'Fine,' I yell back. 'I was. And so what? I'd tell
you why, but you wouldn't want to hear what I've
got to say, anyway.'

'No, I don't!' George's voice raises another level
and I'm suddenly thankful we're outside, even
though it is getting a bit too cold. She starts to say
something else and then thinks better of it, flings one
hand up and turns to leave, stalking back inside.

As I watch her go, I shake my head. What's the
big problem here? It's not like Romy and I are
best friends, but so what if we were? What's the
big problem with that? Am I not allowed to be
friends with her because she's famous? That's just
stupid! As George gets further away from me, I get
angrier. She hates me talking to Romy ... why?
Because it means I like her less? It doesn't. And
why does everyone assume I'm some stupid little
girl who's just caught up in the 'ooohhh, they're the
Rich Girls'
thing. Give me some credit, already!

George's hand reaches out to push the conservatory
door open and then stops. She stands,
unmoving for a second or two, and then whips
around and starts to march back over to me, her
angry expression mirroring mine. She stamps into
place in front of me, her arms crossed and her eyes
flashing.

'You know what? You explain it to me then,
if you've got all the answers.' She flings one arm
around again. 'I thought you were different. I
thought you saw through the whole
Rich Girls
thing – how pathetic it is, justifying your existence
on this planet by buying things and grooming
yourself like a bored monkey. All about the outside
and nothing on the inside. But you're not different.
You're the same. The same as the rest of them.
Maybe even worse because you
did
see the difference
and then you went right ahead and became
one of them anyway.' When she's finished her little
speech, she goes to turn on her heel again, but I
catch her arm.

'Oh, no. No, no, no,' I tell her. 'Don't think
we're done. Because we're not.'

'Is that right?' George's eyes flash once more as
she turns back around.

'Yes, that's right.' I don't back down. I'm so
angry I don't even consider backing down as an
option. I'm so angry, I don't know where to start.
But I find somewhere anyway, picking up on the
comment that makes my blood boil at the highest
temperature. 'So you think Romy's all about the
outside, do you? And that I'm going the same way?
Well, if that's true, what do you think of yourself?
Hiding behind your black clothes and your thick
eyeliner and your angry little "I hate the world"
bit. I've seen your MySpace page. You used to
have the coolest outfits. You used to be different.
And now look at you, emo girl. Little miss
Rich
Girls
opposite. I mean, that's fine if you want to be
different from the Rich Girls, but why can't you
do it in your own way. Like you used to? What
is this,' I wave one hand up and down her outfit,
'some big statement?' I pause to take a breath
before I continue.

'And you know something else? I
don't
like the
Rich Girls
thing. But not for the same reasons as
you. That day you asked me why I don't like it, in
the park, remember? You didn't believe my reasons?
Well, I'm quite sure of them now. It's because I know
all these amazing girls who don't want enough for
themselves. I have a cousin who just wants to be
"famous". I meet you and you're so smart and funny
and then you go and say the stupidest things about
yourself like you're not the "dating type" and that
you're "B-list". I get to listen to Ashleigh compare
starving kids who obviously aren't "worthwhile"
to the price of luggage. The truth is, I know all
these girls who are bigger and better and brighter
than they think they are. Well, I'm sick of it. I don't
want to be friends with someone who tells me she's
"B-list", because I think you're pretty "A-list",
George. I'm sorry I lied about the dentist. I didn't
like lying to you about that. But I did it because
Romy needs some help. I just wanted her to be able
to see she can be really good at something – that
she's not what people say she is and she's more than
just the handbag she's carrying. And ...' I pause for
another deep breath. 'And that's ALL!'

And with that,
I
stomp off this time. I stomp off
past George, who's standing stock still, like she's
five minutes behind me and still taking all of this
in. I stomp off through the conservatory and up
the two flights of stairs and down the hall into my
bedroom. And then I flop onto the bed and start
studying Geography.

I never thought I'd actually want to study Geography,
but right now anything that takes my
mind off everything else looks like a pretty good
option. I've studied for almost half an hour when
I notice someone hovering about in the doorway. I
look up, expecting to see George and see Ashleigh
instead.

Oh, great. That's all I need right now. 'What?'
I say, rudely.

Ashleigh leans against the doorframe. 'I wanted
to see if you were okay.'

I snap my book shut and push myself up to sit on
the bed. I eye Ashleigh in an unbelieving fashion.
Ashleigh checking in on me? I seriously doubt it.

'Well, okay ...' she starts. 'Maybe I didn't. But
we need to talk.'

That's more like it. 'Take a seat,' I say, warily,
motioning to JJ's bed. Ashleigh does what she's
told, perching on the end of it like it's got some
kind of disease that might rub off on her pristinely
pressed Ralph Lauren ensemble.

She coughs slightly before she begins. 'Well, it's
no big secret that you're now Romy's best friend
and ...'

I butt in here. What is wrong with these
people? 'Don't be ridiculous. I am so not "Romy's
best friend".' If she's being nice to me because she
thinks Romy likes me, she is going to be out of
here so fast ...

Ashleigh shrugs an uninterested shrug. 'Whatever.
I just thought you should know, being close
to her and all.'

'Know what?' I ask, suspiciously.

Ashleigh's eyes zoom in on mine. 'I just overheard
something on the phone – Anouschka's in
talks for her own show. Exactly the kind of show
she wants. Her dream show. With just her as the
host. And no one else knows. No one.'

'What?!' I really sit up now. 'But ...?' A million
thoughts go whizzing through my head. How could
Anouschka even consider her own show? And keep
it secret from Romy, who's supposed to be her best
friend, too! Plus, Anouschka is contracted to
Rich
Girls
for another year, exactly like Romy told me
she is. 'I don't get it,' I finally manage to form some
words. 'Anouschka's contracted. She can't consider
another show.'

Ashleigh laughs at this. 'You really are naïve,
Elli! As if that matters. Everything is negotiable. It
just comes down to money.'

I give her a truly suspicious look now. 'Wait. If
no one else knows, how do
you
know?'

Ashleigh's face becomes smug (seriously, does
she have another expression? I bet she was born
looking smug!). 'I have my ways. I always know
what's
really
going on around here. And if the
whispers I've heard are true, Romy's miserable. So
miserable she wants to quit. After seeing everything
in the papers today, I think it's reminded her
that she wants a life outside of
Rich Girls.
Again.
You probably don't know, but she's been thinking
of leaving for some time now. Anyway, I think
you should encourage her to leave the show.'

'What? Me?'

Ashleigh nods. 'Seeing as you're so close.'

I answer her quickly. 'No way. That's up to her.
Not me.'

'But if she's so unhappy ...' Ashleigh starts. And
this is where the tiny seed of doubt sets in once
more and I start back on my 'maybe Romy would
be happier if she left, but then it'd be back to Frau
Braun for me' mouse wheel. Around and around
and around.

'I know something else, too,' Ashleigh adds.

I quit with the mouse wheel motif. 'Oh, yes.
And what's that?'

'Romy's broken foot?' Ashleigh pauses dramatically.

'What about it?'

'Maybe it wasn't such an accident.'

I look at her like the freak that she is. 'What are
you saying? That someone pushed Romy?'

Ashleigh shrugs. 'Pushed, greased the steps ...
it's all the same thing, isn't it?'

'Um, no,' I say. 'And who?'

Ashleigh shrugs again. 'Someone close to her, I
guess.'

I can't believe what I'm hearing. 'So you're
saying Anouschka made her fall. Oh, come on,
Ashleigh.'

Ashleigh shakes her head. 'I never said that.'

'Well, it's pretty obvious what you're trying to
say.'

She gets up off the bed now. 'I hear things. I
know things that go on around here.'

'You mean you eavesdrop like a little weasel,'
I snort and instantly wish George was around to
hear this.

Ashleigh dusts the disease off her taupe pants
and then saunters over to the door. 'Sometimes it
helps to know what's really going on behind the
scenes.' She turns to leave, but then pauses. 'Oh,
and one last thing. If you leak the offer of the show
to anyone, I'll say the information came from JJ,
which would probably mean she'd be fired for
reading Anouschka's email. Especially after your
little jaunt out on the town yesterday. Bye!' she
waves a hand nonchalantly and is gone.

As for me, I sit and stare at my sickeningly rosy
doona for some time, not quite understanding
what's just gone on between Weasel Girl and me.
I'm not used to the ins and outs of gossip. I don't
understand why Ashleigh's just told me what she's
told me, for a start. Why would I want to know
that Anouschka's been offered her own show?
Because Romy's been thinking of leaving
Rich
Girls
for a different kind of life? And I still don't
really believe Anouschka would push Romy down
a set of stairs. She might be high maintenance
and have her priorities in life completely back to
front, but she's not pure evil. I think. Yet. One
thing that does pop into my head again, however,
is Anouschka's calm countenance at the meeting
this morning. She'd seemed to take those pictures
of Romy and me in the paper completely in her
stride. I wonder for a second time if she knew
where we were going to be all along. And if it was
her who told the media, too? I mean, if Ashleigh's
reading Anouschka's email, I bet Anouschka is
reading everybody's. But, again, why? I don't see
what she would gain from that. Unless she wants
to get Romy fired so she can leave the show
without it being her problem. Now that would
make sense ... but do I believe it? I don't know ...
I keep staring at the roses on my doona until they
blur before my eyes. Ugh. This is all so confusing.
It's like a soap opera. And for all I'm understanding
of what's going on here, I may as well be the
resident five-year-old blonde kid who never grows
up (there's always one, isn't there?). My thoughts
jumbled, pushing and shoving against each other
in my head, I spot my Geography book lying next
to me, grab it and start studying again.

T
hanks to my running about London with
Romy efforts, the rest of our time in London
is spent heads down, tails up. Melinda had planned
trips out to the Victoria and Albert Museum and
the Tate Modern, but we're informed that they've
been cancelled. No prizes for guessing why. When
I plead with Melinda and tell her that no one else
knew about me skipping out, I can tell she doesn't
really believe me. Thus, everyone suffers.

We spend another few days in London filming
the girls running (and crutching) about madly, and
then make our way from London to LA. As the
long minutes, hours and days pass, still no one talks
to me (including Steph – I have been ostracised
even by people on the other side of the world),
and if they do manage a few words, it's to remind
me of the terrible thing I did (which I know was
terrible, but really, they need to get over it already,
especially as I've said it's not going to happen again
a million times over now). With all the fuss going
on, I don't sleep well, which means I'm tired in
class, which means Melinda is on my back even
further. LA is painful. After London, the sky is
such a bright, clear, unrelenting blue that it makes
my eyes hurt. 'Look! Look at me! I'm blue!!!' it
seems to scream. Or maybe I'm just cranky because
I already have a headache from not sleeping well.
And, you know, everyone hating me.

Maybe I'd like the city a little more if I'd seen
some of it. But apart from whizzing out to the
Hollywood Hills from the airport in complete
darkness, I can't say I've really seen anything of it.
Hopefully soon, when we're back up to speed with
our lessons.

I do manage a bit of time on the sly with Romy,
helping her to research her courses. It's actually a
nice break, considering everyone else thinks I've
grown horns (well, okay, Fluffy is warming to
me a tad). Several times, when I'm sitting down
beside Romy, looking through her course materials,
I think about coming clean and telling her
everything Ashleigh told me. But I always stop
myself at the last second because she seems so
happy right now, planning away, even if the things
she's planning are some time away. I don't want
to spoil things for her just as she's found something
she enjoys. Plus, everything still fits together
like a badly designed jigsaw puzzle in my head.
That is, none of it fits. And as much as I try to
force the pieces, they don't match up. The thing
is, I don't want Romy to leave the show because I
love it here (despite the current fuss), but it would
probably be best for Romy to leave the show so she
could pursue her perfume dreams right now, but
she's contracted to stay. Then there's the fact that
if what Ashleigh has said is true, Anouschka wants
out and will probably make everyone miserable for
the next year that she has to stick out her contract
and if that happens, maybe everyone would be
better chucking the show in anyway? It would be
perfect for Romy if Anouschka broke the contract
and the show ended, but no ... she's going to push
her best friend to the edge and make
her
break
the contract because that way she won't lose any
precious money.

Break the contract like she broke her foot?
A little
voice pops into my head. It sounds suspiciously like
Ashleigh's voice.

Aaaggghhh! Ashleigh in my head alert! Now I
really
am
going insane.

It's on our third day in LA that I really lose it.
It's a Saturday and, even though it's officially the
'weekend' (which is turning out to be a dubious
concept around these parts), we've done lessons
all morning, making up for the time we've lost
in transit. Out of the blue, Melinda springs a pop
quiz on us just before lunch and tells us that if we
all pass, and pass well, the afternoon is ours to do
with as we please. The catch? The pop quiz is in
... you guessed it ... Geography. As Melinda hands
the papers out to us, I can feel everyone's eyes
searing my flesh, warning me not to fail. Or else. I
take a deep breath and try to keep calm. With all
the spare time I've had on my hands, being friendless
and all, I've actually been getting in quite a bit
of extra Geography study. Fingers crossed the quiz
covers some of the chapters I've been reading up
on in my own time.

Melinda puts my paper face down in front of me
and I wait until we're given her cue to turn it over.
When we're allowed, I skim the paper quickly.
Phew. I'm in luck. The quiz is on the exact same
chapter that I read over twice last night, trying
to understand what on Earth (sorry, bad pun) it
was going on about. I work through the multiple
choice questions slowly, then check them, then
recheck them and then re-recheck them until,
finally, Melinda tells us our half hour is up. She
then gathers the papers up and marks them quickly
as we all hold our breath. When she's done, she
looks up at us again.

'Well ...' she starts, keeping us all guessing, 'it
seems you'll be having the afternoon off after all.
Good work everyone. You've done well. And, Elli,
only one question wrong. That's fantastic work.
You're really catching up. Well done!'

Everyone looks at me in surprise for a moment
and my heart flutters with hope. Maybe this will
be it? Everyone will start talking to me again?
Maybe? I get my hopes up as everyone packs up
their books, but then start to hear whispers about a
trip to the movies and a great burger bar that Rhys
knows about and even though I take ages to sort all
my things out, waiting, hoping ... I'm not invited.
Eventually, it's only Melinda and me left in the long
sunroom that has become our classroom over the
past few days. She sighs when she catches sight of my
expression. 'Chin up, Elli. They'll come around.'

I shrug as I pick my books up off the desk. 'I
know. I'd tried to talk to Rhys just this morning,
but he didn't want to hear what I had to say.
They've closed ranks on me. I guess I broke their
trust. Only minutes after I earned it.

'Oh, Elli. They'll change their minds back. Just
stick it out. Why don't you go and see what JJ's up
to? Maybe she could do with a hand? I think she's
pretty busy today.'

I can only nod and trudge out of the room in
the direction of the kitchen.

I find JJ up to her armpits (almost literally) in
muffins. 'You finished for the day, Elli?' she asks
me, as she packs a second large basket of her double
dark chocolate chocolate-chips. (They're secretly
packed full of wholemeal flour and a protein
mix, so you're not hungry five minutes later, and
she uses really dark chocolate powder and dark
chocolate-chips, so they're not even that high in
sugar and are full of antioxidants – tricky chef
stuff.)

'Melinda thought you might need a hand,' I say.

JJ pauses for a moment to size me up. 'Where's
everyone else?'

I shrug that shrug again.

'Oh,' she says slowly, catching on.

'Yes, oh.'

'They'll come around soon enough.' JJ starts
packing her muffins again.

I snort a half-hearted snort as I lean up against
the kitchen's long, high bench. 'That's what
Melinda said, but I don't know ...'

But JJ just waves a hand. 'Of course they will.
They just need to believe they can trust you again.
Now. I hear you might have been offering a hand?
How about two?'

'Okay. What do you need me to do?'

JJ pauses for a second and looks around her. 'The
muffins are all packed, and so are the lunch wraps.
The cooler is ready to go with the drinks in. All I
need is a hand down to the van and I can get going.'

'You're going too?' I practically wail the words.

JJ nods. 'They're short one crew member today,
so I'm going to be needed to pass the food about.
The girls are out tonight, so everyone has the night
off after the scene they're shooting is done. Including you and me.'

'But what am I going to do until then? Not
even Fluffy's here. He's off at the cat spa for the
day!' I know I'm whining, but I can't help it. I've
done more than enough extra study this week and
can't face doing any more this afternoon. I start to
look around me, worriedly. 'You can't leave me
here alone. Not in this house.'

I've forgotten to mention the house, haven't I?
How can I put it? It's a monstrosity. Imagine the
bow of a cruise ship chopped off and superglued
high up on the Hollywood Hills and that's what
we're staying in. Truly, it is the weirdest, wackiest
(I'd add wonderful to the mix, but it is, as I said, a
monstrosity) house you have ever seen. The structure
is white and built over six stacked levels, the
very front jutting out to a point and holding the pool
aloft. The view is stunning – you can see forever
and peer down on all the gigantic homes dotted
about, each with its own swimming pool. Sadly,
however, you don't really notice the view because
your retinas are forever burning from the interior
decorating, which consists of hideously mismatched
shades of orange, black and mauve. (Orange, black
and mauve – what were they thinking?) Every
so often, the floor is covered with a leopard skin
rug, as if that's going to draw everything together
(newsflash: it doesn't). There are also a couple of
pure white rooms that make you feel you've just
been institutionalised. It's probably the flashest
place we've stayed in so far, but everyone seems to
be spending a lot of time shivering in corners and
walking the long way around to avoid the white
rooms. It has a bad vibe, too. As much as I was
going to vomit if I saw another rose in the London
house, at least I never got the feeling someone was
going to step out of the shadows and gun me down
gangster-style, like I do in this place.

'Please don't leave me here,' I turn my worried
look full-force on JJ.

JJ looks at me, unconvinced, and places the
muffin basket she's been holding back on the
bench. 'I don't know ...'

'Please. It's freaky here.'

Now it's JJ who looks around. And shudders (a
good sign, I think).

Bring it home, Elli. 'I'll be good. I'll be perfect.
You won't even notice I'm there. Promise!'

'Well ...' I can see the doubt flickering behind
JJ's eyes.

'So you don't trust me, either!' I play my trump
card now, hoping that JJ's mother guilt will kick
in. 'And I haven't seen anything of LA yet.'

I get a 'you don't fool me, kid' look in return.
'Oh, don't be so melodramatic. Okay, you can
come. But not a peep out of you!' I get a warning
finger pointed at me now. 'I mean it.'

'Not a peep!' I say, a little too enthusiastically. 'I
won't even "peep" at my peeps!'

'You'd better not, or we're done for. All right.
You take the muffin baskets and I'll handle the
rest.'

$$$

I do mean it when I say I'll be good. As much as
I hate everyone not talking to me, I know Melinda's
right and it'll all be over soon and we'll all be
having fun again like we were when this journey
began.

JJ and I are in the van within minutes. As the
driver winds his way down the steep hills, I absentmindedly
watch the palms go by (I've never seen
so many kinds ...) and start to wonder where we're
headed today. 'Where are we off to? Saks?' I try
the most obvious place first. 'Chateau Marmont?'

'No,' JJ says, then frowns. 'We're actually going
to a bead shop.'

This floors me. 'A bead shop?'

'I know,' JJ says. 'I thought it sounded a bit
strange, but maybe it'll make more sense when we
get there.'

'I hope so.' I'm not really seeing how this is
going to make for some great
Rich Girls
footage.
Unless Anouschka manages to trip Romy up again
and break her other leg or something. Maybe on
some beads this time.

We seem to drive for ages and, again, I can't
get over the difference between the cities I've
been visiting. Paris and London might have had
their differences, but comparing them both to
LA – it's mind-blowing stuff. LA seems so very
young and everything is concrete, or bitumen.
There don't seem to be any green spaces, only lush
trees dotted about the place, and there's no one
walking anywhere. Everyone's driving wherever
they're going. There are a lot of shops and a lot of
food on offer. I can see how you wouldn't wait for
anything here. It's very Now. A very immediate
city. But still, there's something about it. Something
exciting that I like – a buzz. And, today,
being (allowed) out and about in that buzz, I'm a
bee in the beehive.

When we finally get to the bead shop, the girls
have already started the scene they're shooting.
They're just about to go through it all again, so JJ
and I get all the food out of the van quickly and
set it down on the footpath out of the way. This
means the van can depart before everything needs
to be quiet so shooting can begin.

From where JJ and I are standing, baskets and
esky at our feet, I can see past the cameraman,
past Anouschka and Romy (who are both having
their makeup retouched) and inside the bead shop.
Now, I get it. It's not some hokey suburban bead
shop. This is more of a ritzy, design it yourself,
bead-filled boutique. I don't think the girls will be
saving any money designing their own jewellery
here.

The producer calls for quiet and I take a seat
on the closed drinks esky and get ready to watch
what's happening on
Rich Girls
today.

The girls start the scene only metres away
from me, off to the side of the store – as if they're
making their way inside. When the scene begins,
Anouschka is already angry, and pushes past poor
Romy, who teeters on her crutches.

'I'm not having it!' she says, as she flounces past
her and then turns dramatically. 'Three girls I saw
last night. Three girls with the exact same earrings
as me. It's just ... wrong! No wonder luxury is
losing its lustre, if any little tramp can go into a
store and buy the same earrings as I have.'