The Final Act (#4 Bestselling Spotlight Series) (13 page)

“I…”
His eyes are wide and earnest. “I thought with everything you knew about me. It was a big thing to ask.”

He looks sad again. “You know I’m broken, Issy,” he says. “Asking you to commit to me. It’s a lot to expect you to commit.”

I move myself closer so our noses are touching.

“You are the most wonderful man I have ever met,” I say, channelling my feelings through
my eyes. “You have lifted me to a level of happiness which I never knew was possible.”

His eyes come alive as I talk, and I realise I should have told him this sooner.

“You are everything to me,” I continue, “and I love you so much. You’re not broken James, you are all I could have ever wanted, and besides,” I pause for breath, “I’ve already committed to you already, haven’t I? We’ve already risked press exposure. I was ready to deal with being reported as your evil mistress. I think I can handle the crew knowing I’m your girlfriend.”

We’re both grinning at each other now, unable to stop.

“We’ll tell them then,” says James. “We’ll tell them all.” He stops and scoops me up, shrieking into his arms. “That the lovely Isabella Green is all mine.”

His face is shining with delight, and in that moment, I can’t think of how I could ever be unhappy with this man in my life.

Suddenly, all my fears of the celebrity world have fallen away.

Fame and fortune do your worst
. James Berkeley is all mine.

Chapter
20

With the fancy dress party to come, we’ve only got a few hours to find outfits. And James has opened the costume department to the cast and crew.

Since our shopping trip, it only seems right to team up with Camilla and Natalie to choose outfits. T
hough to my disappointment, Madison declined to join us, saying she was too old for fancy dress.

“I’m still adjusting to UK time,” she added
. “I’ll be in bed by 9pm. Though I hear Mr Berkeley has a very important announcement tonight.”

Madison
gave me a disarming wink and looked so genuinely excited, that I forgot to be mad that James had confided in her. Much as I hate to admit it, the idea of their fake marriage still bothers me a little. And I can’t quite fix it in my head that they weren’t really husband and wife.

So Natalie, Camilla and I have headed to the enormous hanger, in which the Berkley Studios house their costumes.

And as usual, James’s studio facilities do not disappoint. The costume department is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

It’s a giant, rolling labyrinth of costume racks, stretching right to the ceiling. The selection so large, that it
’s organised in pathways, complete with signage.

“Oh my God!” shouts Camilla
as we move through the massive warehouse doors. “This is incredible.”

Ahead of us is
a towering bank of clothes, tapering away in a long dark corridor ahead. Staring down the aisle, I can just make out where it splits off at a junction in the distance.

“We’re going to get lost,” I murmur, staring along the pathway at
row after row of clothes.

We walk in a few steps, all of us mesmerised by the endless aisles of clothes and shelves of props.

“Whoa,” breathes Natalie, staring ahead. “This is going to be
fun
.” The theme for the evening is movie stars. And it looks as though we’ll be completely spoilt for choice.

We venture a few steps into the pathway created by the towering shelving systems
. Now we’re in amongst the costumes, it’s hard to see what is where.

I look at the
outfits immediately around us. It seems we’re currently standing in the horror section. The hangers and shelves are filled with scary masks, blood-stained clothing, and various ghoulish props.

“Jeeeesus Christ,” breathes Camilla, lifting up a clawed glove. “How are we even going to choose?”

I can see her point. I was worried I wouldn’t find anything I liked. Now I’m worried I’ll find too much.

Camilla is pulling out a Batman costume, complete with a utility belt.

“Cool!” says Natalie. She dips towards the outfit. “Look, it still has some props inside.” She reaches into a pocket on the Batman belt and pulls out what looks like a grey cotton ball.

“Smoke bomb!
” she shouts, throwing it square on the floor.

“Uh! Natalie!” cries Camilla as the bomb detonates near her feet in a dusty puff of fake smoke.

“Yuk,” I say as the grey mist meets my nose. “It’s like flour.” The pretend smoke has got in my mouth and it tastes horrible.

“That’s what it is,” explains Camilla, waving away the rapidly settling dust. “It’s just coloured corn starch.” She turns to Natalie.

“No more messing around,” she warns, “we need to find outfits.”

“Sorry,” says Natalie. “Ok, where shall we head?”

I shrug. “This place is enormous. Let’s just walk around and see what we find. And hope we can find our way out again.”

Natalie grins. “I’ll bet there are a
few well-dressed corpses in this warehouse of people who never found their way out again.”

We wander forward, and
I realise we’re entering the history aisle. As we walk through the tight racks of clothes and high shelving systems, I see signs breaking the clothes down by era. We move past caveman, with furs and clubs, into medieval, and then Elizabethan.

I admire the huge skirts and elaborately jewelled garments. “These are incredible,” I say, running my fingers over an intricate lace ruff. “They must be difficult to wear.”

“Never do costume dramas,” says Natalie, “that’s what I was always told. You spend more time sweating than acting.”

“Doesn’t it remind you of the Wizard of Oz?” asks Camilla
, taking in the world of outfits around us. “It’s like we’re lost in a mystical land.”

Hemmed in by the fantastical clothes, it’s hard not to agree. The real world feels very far away.

“I’d be the scarecrow,” adds Camilla with a grin. “I’m the tall lanky one.”

I laugh.
“Then I’d be the cowardly lion.”

Natalie and Camilla look at me in surprise. As though they don’t think of me that way.

Surely they must notice? I’m not confidant like most actresses.

“Well then,” says Natalie, adopting a pitch perfect Judy Garland, “I guess
I
must be Dorothy. Come on lion! Come on scarecrow! Let’s go find the wizard!”

And she grabs both our arms and pulls us into an
energetic skipping walk.

“We’re
off
to see the wizard!” she sings, imitating Garland’s high trill, “the wonderful Wizard of Oz!”

She breaks off laughing, and we all stop to get our breath back, joining in Natalie’s amusement. We’re in the 1960s now, and I can see brightly coloured baby-doll dresses and knee high white boots.

“Where to now?” asks Camilla. “Does anyone have the slightest clue what they want to wear?”

Natalie shrugs. “Let’s just keep walking.”

“We’ll never find our way out again,” protests Camilla.

“You’re forgetting my ruby slippers,” says Natalie. “We’ll just click our heels all the way back to the party.”

We take a left, laughing, and find ourselves in a section labelled ‘vintage greats’. It has the same musty smell as some of my favourite vintage stores, but I notice it’s laid out differently. Everything seems to by jumbled in together.

“What do they mean by vintage?” I ask uncertainly.

Natalie is grinning from ear to ear. She grabs Camilla and I and drags us to the first hanger.

“They’re outfits worn by movie greats!” she announces excitedly.
“They sometimes have a few in the better costume departments. But I have never seen anything like this. James must be, like, a
collector
.”

She plucks out a pair of leather chaps and reads the label. “John Wayne.
The Big Trail
.” Her green eyes are wide and excited. “That was John Wayne’s first movie. I
loved
that movie.”

“I never even heard of it,” I say. “You must watch a lot of films.”

“I missed school,” says Natalie with a shrug. “But old movies is where I learned everything I know about acting.”

She rehangs the chaps. “James must go to costume auctions,” she says, “to have all this stuff. Those would have cost a lot.”

Natalie’s coral coloured fingernails slide reverently across the racks of clothes. She plucks out a small suit and checks the label. Then she crushes it against her chest, raising her eyes to heaven.

“Oh no. Oh no!” she cries. “You will never believe it!”

“What?” laughs Camilla. “Tell us.”

Natalie pulls the suit away from her body and regards it like a holy thing.

“Marlon Brando,” she whispers. “
Actually
Marlon Brando. These are his pants.”

She holds them high, so we can see.

They’re a fifties style cut, high-waisted, and made from heavy grey cloth.

Natalie moves them back against her body, considering.

“I’ve got my outfit,” she announces. “All I need is a jacket, a hat, and a Tommy gun.”

“A mobster?” I guess, thinking the pants are the wrong era.

“Yeah,” breathes Natalie, her eyes shining. “I mean, the pants will need adjusting. Brando was 5ft 8”, and I’m only 5ft 3”. But I’ll get them pinned.”

“Won’t the eras be wrong?” asks Camilla. “The pants are 1950s.
”

“Yep
,” shrugs Natalie, “but I don’t care. I just have to wear these pants. Marlon Brando is my absolute hero. I would die happy if I could act as well as him, just once. Just for a second.”

Her face looks far away for a moment. “I’ll be a k
ind of Godfather-mobster hybrid,” she decides.

I have a sudden picture of her as a cute little mobster girl in a b
lack hat.

“Ok,” I say, enjoying her enthusiasm for mixing it up. “Then I guess we need to
find props and get you a gun.”

“And a fedora,” says Camilla. “There’s a hat section too.”

After a long search, we discover the props department. And w
e find Natalie a surprisingly heavy Tommy gun, which she’s very happy with. Then we head back past the sci-fi and fantasy section to find a hat.

I’m wondering what costume I might suit. I’ve always liked history. Maybe the
re’ll be something interesting in the historical outfits.

We’re in sci-fi and fantasy now, and the costumes are incredible.

“Issy! Issy!” Natalie’s excited voice jolts me out of my thoughts. “
Looooook!”

She dives into a rack of bizarre looking
sci-fi clothes, and emerges holding up a few scraps of leather and metal.

For a moment I don’t understand her meaning. And then I see Camilla is grinning and nodding.

“Oh no, no, no. Not for me.” I shake my head, eyeing the outfit. “That it way too…”

“Awesome?” counters Natalie. “Totally out of this world amazing? Issy you
have
to wear this.”

She’
s holding a Princess Leia outfit, from the final Star Wars film. It’s a leather and gold bikini top, with only the briefest square of cloth to act as a partial skirt.

“You’ve got the l
ong dark hair,” says Camilla. “And that tiny waist. It would be
so
cool.”

“I
’d be half naked,” I protest, prodding the flimsy garment.

“Oh wait!”
Natalie is back delving into the sci-fi zone. “Double bonus. I’ve just found your outfit Cam.”

She pulls out a bright green garment.

Camilla’s face twists. “A cat-suit?”

Natalie thrusts the Princess Leia hanger at me, forcing me to grab it or let it fall. My hands close on the intricate metalwork.

“Poison Ivy!” announces Natalie, brandishing the green cat-suit. “See? Here’s the ivy.” She grabs out a huge handful of winding leaves. “It’s perfect.” She announces.

Camilla looks uncertain. But I can see instantly that the outfit i
s the ideal choice for her long willowy frame. I picture her soft features in the dramatic Poison Ivy make-up.

“It’s perfect,” I announce. “Let’s go get you a wig. You’ll see
, Cam. You are going to look breath-taking.”

Natalie is nodding excitedly and grabs hold of Camilla’s hand to pull her towards the wigs and hats. But Camilla pulls back.

“I can’t,” she protests weakly. “A cat-suit? I mean seriously guys. I can’t wear it. It’s skin tight!”

“Yes you can,” insists Natalie, pulling her firmly across the costume warehouse. “If Issy can wear Princess Leia, then you can wear Poison Ivy. You girls are going to totally steal the show.”

Camilla stops resisting on the mention of my outfit. And I realise that Natalie has brokered me into the leather bikini whether I want to or not.

I examine it with a half sigh. Part of me
would
like to see how I look in this. Besides, I can’t let Camilla get out of the Poison Ivy outfit. She would look great.

Natalie has dragged Camilla into the wigs area and has lighted on not one, but three different long red curling wigs.

This is some costume department.

Whilst they
are deliberating, I spot a small black fedora high up on a shelf and reach up on tip-toe to pluck it down. I don’t know how it got to be in this section. But it would be just perfect for Natalie’s mobster look. She’d totally rock this hat, with her long straight hair.

I join them as Natalie is adjusting a long wig on Camilla’s head. The
bright hair transforms her from waif to vixen.

“See?”
insists Natalie, steering Camilla to a mirror.

Camilla studies her appearance. Now even she looks pleased.

“Ok,” she admits. “That’s pretty cool.”

“And we’ll get Kristy to do your make-up,” adds Natalie. “She won’t mind. You’ll look sensational.”

Now she can see the wig, Camilla seems less nervous about the cat-suit.

I grin at her in the mirror.

“I got you a hat,” I say, proffering the fedora to Natalie.