Blondetourage (15 page)

I almost gag. Who does she think she is? Her
family flogs toothpaste, for crying out loud. It's
hardly like she's royalty. But I don't gag. (If JJ
heard me, it would be my
last
gag. Ever.) Instead,
I tell myself, 'it's just her character, it's just her
character.'

'I need to source something creative. Something
original. Something unique. Something that says
... Anouschka!' She flicks her hair as she walks
backwards into the store and then turns dramatically
once more in the doorway, to face the camera
that's inside the boutique. 'And if other girls choose
to copy what I do, that's fine. Of course they will.
I can't help having good taste. But me, I need to
be the first. I can't wear what other people wear. I
simply can't!'

Perching on the esky, I'd love to stand up and
ask her why not, but of course that's not going
to happen. Anyway, I already know the answer:
because she thinks she's better than everyone
else. Above everyone else. I frown as I continue
to watch her. She's such a strange person. Really
scarily unstable. That personality of hers is like a
simmering, bubbling volcano that might erupt at
any moment. She's quiet one minute (like she was
during my little 'meeting' in London with her,
JJ and Ashleigh's mom) and then screaming her
lungs out, spewing molten lava, the next, just like
she is now. I still can't work out how much is her
and how much is her character, like I was thinking
before. Anouschka says a few more lines about
how fantastic she is and the scene is finished. The
girls head back outside and JJ pulls me up off
the esky.

'All right,' she says. 'Let's go. Food time. Do the
drinks, will you? I'll manage the food.'

It's Anouschka who walks spikily over in her
heels first. I pop the lid of the esky and look inside.
'What can I get you?' I ask her. 'There's water,
mineral water, soft drink ...'

'Soft drink?' she says. 'What's soft drink?'

'Er, I mean soda,' I say quickly.

'Water. Non-sparkling.'

I grab it and pass it up to her. Fast. This is a
woman who doesn't waste any time. Or words.

'Thanks,' she says gruffly. 'Romy?' she holds the
bottle over her head and waves it.

'Yes, please,' Romy calls out.

I bend down and grab a second bottle and then
stand back up to pass it over to Anouschka. Both
of us see it shaking in my hand and Anouschka
gives me a funny look as she takes it from me. She
doesn't say anything about it, though, but simply
spikes her way back to Romy to deliver her water.
I watch as they talk for a moment or two and then
Romy laughs, sways on her crutches a bit and
Anouschka puts a hand out to steady her. To me
they really do look like good friends. Old friends.
Or is that all just an act as well? Hmmm ... I just
don't know what to think about that girl.

With only a few minutes downtime, the producer
starts herding everyone together again, the drinks
get put to the side and the makeup gets retouched
once more. The girls are positioned back inside the
store. Because they're shooting an interior scene
this time, JJ goes over and fetches us both a pair
of earphones, so we can hear what's going on. For
this scene, they're looking out the glass front of the
store and hovering over a long display bench that
contains hundreds of tiny trays of display beads.
When the scene begins, Anouschka is holding
something up for Romy to see – some large gold
hoop earrings.

'This is it. Definitely it,' she dangles one in front
of Romy's nose.

'Just the one?' Romy asks, with a vacuous
expression.

Anouschka stamps one stilettoed hoof. 'Of
course not. I meant this design.'

'Ohhh ...' Romy nods, teetering on her
crutches. 'I see.'

Anouschka huffs and bends over to look closely
at the beads. 'Perfect. What do you think of this?'
She holds something up to the light – a gorgeous
smoky grey crystal bead.

That's one thing you've got to give the girl. She
has great taste. Her clothes are always immaculate and utterly droolworthy and I don't think
I've seen her wear the same outfit or accessories
twice. No wonder she has so much luggage. Still
holding the bead up to the light, she gazes back
up at it again and, as she does so, this funny sort of
smile comes over her face – as if she knows something
is about to happen. She glances back over her
shoulder at Romy for a second and that's when the
jigsaw puzzle pieces fall into place in my head. I
suddenly know exactly what Anouschka's going to
do. Exactly. And in that moment of recognition,
I realise I have a choice here. Either I sit down and
shut up and do nothing and stay out of trouble, or I
get up. I get up right now and go race over there.

I can't help myself. I fling my headphones off
and jolt upright. It's like I'm possessed.

And then, in slow motion, it happens.

Anouschka says something to Romy;

Romy answers her, turns and starts to move off
on her crutches;

Anouschka glances around, saying one last thing
to her and ... oops, she 'accidentally' trips up a bit;
and ...

her arm flings out over the display of beads and
they fly
everywhere.

I hold my breath as I watch the beads shimmer
in the light as they ricochet off each other, off
the display benches, off the walls of the boutique.
Someone – I'm not sure who – yells, 'Romy!
Watch out!' but it's too late. Facing in the opposite
direction, she doesn't see what's going on until the
beads are already under her feet. And that's when,
with one foot out to take another step, she slips.
I'll never forget the look of shock on her face as
she drops one crutch and her arm goes straight
out, trying to grab onto one of the long benches
to steady herself, but she's too far away. Her foot
goes out from under her and she goes down in a
split second, cracking her head against the polished
concrete floor. And then she lies there, her eyes
closed and her whole body quite, quite still.

It's uncanny. It's as if the scene I'd imagined in
my head, in the van on the way here, is playing out
before me. But it's not a scene. It's real.

I make it inside before anyone else, but I'm
already too late. I skid on the beads myself as I
enter the doorway of the boutique and fall over,
ending up painfully on my knees beside Romy.
Anouschka falls over as well, and ends up in a
similar position on the other side of Romy's body.

'Romy? Romy!' we both say at the same time.

Anouschka reaches out for her face and my hand
jolts out to push hers back. 'Don't!' I tell her. 'Her
neck. There could be something wrong with her
spine.' Even while I'm attending to Romy, I can't
stop thinking about that look on Anouschka's face.
That funny look. Like she knew she was about to
do something. And in that instant, I believe everything
Ashleigh told me. And then some. Anouschka
really
is
evil. The best friends thing all really
is
an
act. She
meant
for this to happen.

Anouschka gives me a shocked look. 'I ... she
...

I can only make a disgusted sound in reply.
'Don't you think you've done enough already?
Just use your fancy phone to call an ambulance
already.'

Anouschka's eyes don't really seem to register
what I'm saying, but then she starts to mumble
something. 'Cell ... cell ...' she says, fumbling
around and sitting back to pat her pockets. She
locates her phone and drags it out just as several
other people reach us.

Within five minutes, the ambulance arrives and
a semi-conscious Romy is bundled away to the
nearest ER.

I
f there was a Ms Teen Unpopularity contest
running this year, I would win it hands
down.

On the drive back to the house, JJ isn't angry.
She's past angry. She's so past angry, she just looks
really, really tired. From experience, I know that
this is not a good thing. In fact, this is a bad, bad
thing. I have only seen her like this a few times
in my life and the last time was when I used her
favourite knife (chefs have these kinds of strange
love affairs with particular knives) to try and fish
something out of the garbage disposal and, at the
same time, accidentally switched it on. At one
point, I go to open my mouth to say something,
to say anything, and she simply holds out a hand. 'I
can't speak to you right now, Elli,' is all she says.
'I know it was all an accident, but you running
over there ... it isn't going to make things easier.'

JJ is so not angry, it's scary. Scarier than the
black, orange, mauve and leopard-skin-rug-dotted
house, which is saying something.

When we get back, I hide out in JJ's and my room
and toy with my laptop for a bit of distraction. I start
by emailing Frau Braun – a bit of sucking up can
only help, considering we'll be headed back her way
in about five minutes' time. Then I email Steph,
telling her I know she's still not talking to me, but
that she'll be happy to know it looks like my
Rich
Girls
existence is about to come swiftly to an end.

I'm lying on my back on my scary black bed,
a sparkling spa-clean Fluffy on my stomach, and
am staring at the even-scarier-than-the-black-bed
orange ceiling, when there's a knock on the door.
'Come in!' I say, hoping it's not a firing squad.

'Um, hi,' George pokes her head around the
door, kind of squinting at me.

'Hey!' I sit up on my bed and Fluffy jumps
down onto the floor. 'I hope you haven't been sent
to dispose of me or something.'

George laughs, but stays half-hidden behind the
door.
'Have
they sent you to dispose of me?' I joke.
'Is that why you're not coming in?'

'Um, no ...' George starts, but then opens the
door up wider and I see why she's been hiding
behind it. She's embarrassed. She shouldn't be,
though.

My mouth drops open as I take in her outfit.
'You look amazing!' I get up off the bed quickly
and go over to her. 'You look GREAT!'

She does a twirl for me and then brings something
out from behind her back to add to her outfit.
I didn't believe it could, but my mouth falls open
even wider with this. 'Those are fantastic! I mean
it. You look fantastic!'

'Mrow,' even Fluffy agrees. Maybe it wasn't
George all along? Maybe it was the black he didn't
like?

'Thanks!' George does another twirl and I get
to take in her whole outfit again. She really does
look fantastic in her slim high-waisted pencil skirt
with its big chunky belt and her cute cherry-dotted
sweater. Plus, those 1950s glasses are to die for.
'I was, um ...', she pauses and looks embarrassed
again, 'out with everyone and I found this vintage
shop. I spent so long there, they all got sick of me
and left me behind. Which is a pity, because I kind
of needed them to carry all my bags.'

'How much did you buy?' I laugh.

'Both you and my mom don't want to know.
Still ...' George pauses again, before she continues,
'I haven't really bought any clothes in a while. I
don't think she'll mind.'

In the silence that follows George's words, I
think I know what she's about to say.

'I ...' George starts, but I'm close behind her
– 'You don't ...' I stop so George can continue.
'Sorry.'

'No, it's okay. I want to say it. What you told me
that day. In London. A lot of that was true. I think
I just spent too much time living the
Rich Girls
version of how it's okay to be. It got to me. Obviously.
I know the world loves Anouschka's clothes
and that she hates mine. She's mouthed off plenty
to Ashleigh about it, that's for sure. I guess that was
one of the reasons I chose to wear black. It was a
statement. The exact opposite of what Anouschka
would do. It was
anti
-fashion. I think I just forgot
the important thing – that
I
like my clothes. That's
all that really matters, right?'

I shake my head. 'You're crazy if you think
otherwise. And you're crazy if you think you're
B-list, George,' I tell her. 'I mean, apart from being
completely A-list anyway, look at you. You look so
cool! You look hot! Anouschka must be blind if
she can't see that. And poor Toby, is all I can say.'

'Toby?' George looks confused. 'What's Toby
got to do with it?'

I grin at her. 'Well, if he thought you were
pretty good before, he's going to be blown away
now.'

George swats at me and I move out of the way
just in time. 'Anyway, I've been meaning to say
I'm sorry, too. I hated lying to you in London,
but I didn't want to tell anyone about Romy's
problems. They weren't mine to talk about. I'm
sure it'll all come out later on.' The last I'd heard,
Romy had picked out where she wanted to study
and was already talking to them about her course
options.

'I'm sure Ashleigh will keep us updated,' George
makes a face.

Which reminds us both that she probably won't
be keeping us updated for much longer.

'I wish I was staying around to see the rest of
your outfits,' I tell her.

George frowns. 'I heard all about what happened,
of course. But it's not your fault, is it? I mean, it
was an accident.'

I wince as I remember that look on Anouschka's
face. Not to mention the one that's currently
residing on JJ's. 'I shouldn't have raced over to
Romy. It wasn't my place. And I kind of told
Anouschka off, too.'

'No way,' George gives me a shocked look.

I shrug. 'I couldn't help it.'

'Well ...' George starts slowly. 'Who knows
what's going to happen anyway? With this
and
Romy's foot, I wouldn't be surprised if they just
call the whole season off. It's a bit much to ask her
to continue like this.'

We look at each other in silence for a minute.
And I don't know what George is thinking, but
me, I'm thinking about how it was all too good
to be true right from the beginning. How I was
so hoping it wouldn't end in the way it was always
bound to.

'Come on,' George beckons. 'We may as well
stop moping and go and get something to eat.
We've called for pizza and Rhys has stoked up the
fire pit.'

I give her a look. 'The fire pit?'

George points upwards. 'It's on the top level.
We only found it this afternoon – this huge round
sunken fire pit full of coals. You know, for your
marshmallow-roasting parties. Don't you have one
at your house?'

'Um, no. We had to remove it when we installed
our medieval torture room.'

George laughs. 'Medieval torture rooms are so
2005.' She turns and starts towards the door.

I don't, however.

'What's wrong?' George turns back when she
realises I'm not following her.

'Is everyone ... will everyone talk to me?' I start
to get a bit worried.

But George just waves one hand. 'Oh, don't
worry about it. Anyway, you'll practically be a
bigger celebrity than the Rich Girls combined
now, if what you said about telling off Anouschka
was true.'

I wince, remembering my words.

'Looks like it was!' George laughs. 'Come on
then,' she beckons to me once more. 'If it's going
to be our last night, we may as well make it a good
one.'

It's this that speaks to me – our last night. We
will
make it a good one. I'm sure of it. 'I hope you
ordered enough pizza,' I tell George, as I finally
follow her out of the room. 'I'm starving, and
Fluffy just adores pepperoni.'

$$$

George was right about everyone talking to me.
It seems messing up once is a no-no, but messing
up twice means you're the bad girl – unpredictable,
wild and cool. (Sure, because that's me!)
Everyone is really nice, which is a big relief. Well,
except for Ashleigh, who seems even more smug
than usual. It's like she's actually glad Romy's in
hospital. Speaking of Romy, we get an update on
her condition just after 10 pm. By that time, she's
fully conscious, has had a bunch of scans and, apart
from a nasty egg on her head, is looking okay.
She'll probably be released from hospital in the
morning (if she can get past the paparazzi, that is).

Even though it's late and I'm tired by the end of
our pizza and fire pit party, I make time to quickly
pack my bag before I fall into bed. That's how sure
I am that JJ and I will be booted out the door come
dawn. Either that or the whole season will be axed.
You can feel it in the over-air-conditioned air.

I toss and turn until well past 3 am, when I must
pass out, because when I wake up again it's quite
bright outside, the sun streaming in through the
tall windows that look out onto the Hollywood
Hills. I'm having a stretch in front of the windows,
enjoying the last of the great views I'll be seeing
for a while (especially with winter coming on in
Vienna – we'll be holed up for months) when the
door opens.

'Elli?' JJ pokes her head in the door.

'I'm up,' I tell her.

'Everyone's heading downstairs. Romy's just
arrived back and there's going to be a meeting
soon. Head into the study with Melinda and wait
there, will you?'

I nod. And gulp.

So that's it.

The end.

Quickly, I throw on my jeans, fresh underwear
and a long-sleeved top, splash some water on
my face and run downstairs. I don't even stop to
brush my hair, but finger-comb and ponytail as
I go. Rhys, Toby and George arrive in the room
just before me. As we take our seats, Melinda at
the large desk in front of the black wood-panelled
wall (which reminds me of a dungeon ... what is
wrong with rich people?), we all have the same
look on our faces. This kind of 'uh oh' look. A
'goodbye, friends, it was nice knowing you' look.
Only Ashleigh seems to be having a good time and
I guess she probably is. She might think Anouschka
is all that, but she's obviously never cared much for
anyone else on the
Rich Girls
team right from the
start. She'll be glad to see us dispersed across the
globe.

Melinda starts in on a German lesson and we
try to concentrate, but I don't think any of us, not
even Melinda, has it in us today. We read a chapter
about food and drink and then begin a speaking
lesson, pretending to be in a café ordering
schokaladentorte
(though Ashleigh orders
apfelkuchen
just
to be a PITA) when the door opens and we all
jump.

It's Ashleigh's mom – the executive producer.
'Melinda, would you mind joining us for a
minute?'

Melinda's so jumpy she doesn't even leave us
with anything to do, but simply follows Ashleigh's
mom out the door wordlessly.

With no clear instructions left for us, you'd
think we'd all kick back and chat, but no. In a
kind of final salute to Melinda, we carry on with
our lesson. Rhys calls out to me from beside Toby.
'Come on, Elli, let's keep going. Teach us how to
order something else.'

I'm glad to have been given something to do,
because on Melinda leaving the room, the tears had
started to well up. 'Sure!' I say brightly, looking
around me. At my friends. 'How about chips with
mayonnaise? They're my favourite.'

Ashleigh screws up her nose. 'That's disgusting.'

'How would you know?' George shoots back at
her, looking, again, stunningly fabulous in a new
ensemble – denim capri pants and a grey and pink
polka-dot shirt. It sounds like a kooky outfit, but
she looks like a cute waitress who's about to bring
your pie order over any second now. I love it. The
outfit, combined with her usual snarky attitude,
is just so George and I'm trying my hardest not
to think about how much I'm going to miss her
colouring my days. Especially now she's wearing
more than just black.

So, we keep on with our lesson. We order
chips and mayonnaise and
wurst
and fish on a stick
(don't ask). We then head back to the café and
order
schwarzwälderkirschtorte
(black forest cherry
cake). We order it with cream, we order it with
ice-cream, we send it back to the kitchen because
there's a dirty long black hair in it as well as half
a cockroach (I can't help showing off a bit). We
order it with coffee, we order it with tea, we order
it with hot chocolate. We order it with a side of
medium-rare steak, just to be obnoxious. About
halfway through, Ashleigh gives up on our puerile
shenanigans with a bored sigh and pulls out a
magazine and starts reading about what her celebrity
buddies are up to this week.

Eventually, we run out of things to order. And
we've been sitting, staring at each other for about
fifteen minutes, all jittery and fiddly, when the
door opens.

All five of us jump so high we almost hit the
ceiling. Even Ashleigh, with her 'I couldn't care
less' flip, flip, flip of her magazine pages.

It's Melinda. 'Okay, guys,' she says. 'Everyone's
been asked to congregate in the kitchen.'

Dum, dum, dum-dum, dum, dum-dum, dum-dum,
dum-dum.
The solemn notes of a death march start
playing in my head.