Blondetourage Read online

  Romy sits beside me and stares at me, looking kind of shocked as I speak. When I'm done, I start to freak out, thinking I've said too much. What was I thinking? She's going to fire JJ, for sure. Right when I've just about mentally finished packing my bag, Romy points a finger at me and starts waggling it. Oh, brother. This is it. This is so it. JJ and I are outtie. Au revoir Paris. I wince, waiting for Romy's words that will vote us off the island (or, you know, the continent). Finally, they spill from her mouth. 'That is it! That is really it! You totally get me, don't you?'

  Oh.

  'Maybe what I've been thinking over these past few weeks has been right,' she adds.

  'What's that?' I ask, relieved it doesn't look like JJ and I will be leaving on the next jet plane.

  'That I should leave the show!' she throws her hands out.

  I jump off my stool with this and poor Fluffy goes flying with a shocked 'Mrow!'. 'NO!' I yell.

  Romy's hands fall by her sides.

  'I never said that!' I lower my voice now and bend down to pick up a stunned Fluffy. 'I didn't mean you should leave the show. I mean, you're contracted, aren't you? For the season. Like JJ.'

  'But if it's making me unhappy ...'

  I think. Fast. 'Maybe ... um ... maybe it's not the show? Maybe it's about you.'

  There's a frown. 'What do you mean?'

  'Um, I'm not sure ...' I start, but I begin to remember when JJ first started working her pretty close to intolerable Tokyo job and found that she could handle her work hours better by developing outside interests that took her mind off things in her non-work hours. She took a class in ikebana (flower arranging) and got really good at it, too.

  I settle back onto my stool now, replacing Fluffy and giving the poor animal the pat he deserves. 'There's nothing in your contract to stop you exploring other areas, is there?'

  'Like?' Romy prompts.

  'Like college or something?' I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Whoops. I can't believe I just said that. It's just that it was the most obvious thing. The first thing that popped into my head. 'Oh, sorry, I forgot you didn't like school,' I add quickly.

  'That's okay,' Romy pushes her plate away, not looking at me. There's a long pause before she turns back and her eyes meet mine. 'I'm really not dumb, you know. It's just that I have this thing ...'

  'Thing?' I have no idea what she's talking about.

  She takes a deep breath before continuing. 'It's ... it's called dyslexia. It means I can't read or write very easily. It's like I can't see words properly.'

  I stare at her, unblinking.

  Romy tries to stand up, but fails, her cast sticking out at right angles. 'Now you think I'm stupid too!'

  I shake my hands. 'No way! I just can't believe you said that. I know all about dyslexia. JJ's dyslexic too.'

  Romy stares at me, equally unbelieving. 'Are you serious?'

  I nod. Hard.

  'But she's so smart!'

  I give her a look and she blushes as she arranges herself more comfortably in her seat again. 'Oh. I guess I shouldn't have said that!'

  'You know, I really can't believe you've just told me this. JJ's really, really good at what she does, but she went through all the same things you did. Everyone at school thought she was just lazy, or stupid, but she was lucky – her parents knew she wasn't. They got her a lot of outside help and she got through school okay. And now she does something she's brilliant at that doesn't involve a lot of reading or writing. A lot of dyslexic people are like that. They find other sorts of careers and excel at them. Picasso was dyslexic. Did you know that?'

  'Well, no.'

  'And Edison and Einstein, da Vinci and Andy Warhol were too. And, um ... JFK. And Richard Branson.'

  'Really?' Romy says. 'He never told me that!'

  I pause. 'Well, did you tell him you were?'

  Romy laughs at this. 'No, I didn't. But I might the next time I see him!'

  Hmpf, I think to myself. 'JJ always says dyslexia is hard when you're a kid and easy when you're an adult. Now you're out of school and don't have to do stupid spelling tests and things, you can do anything you want, can't you?'

  'I guess so,' she says slowly, as if this is an earth-shattering concept.

  'So, what are you good at?'

  Her face falls once more at this. 'Not much. Being "Romy". That's about it by the looks of things.'

  'Oh, come on.' I refuse to boogie at her pity party. 'You just have to find something you're good at. Everyone's good at something. It took JJ a while to realise her thing was cooking.'

  'Did it?'

  'Sure. She'd always enjoyed cooking, but I don't think it really occurred to her that she could make a career out of it. Not when all her friends were becoming teachers and nurses and things.'

  'I know how that feels. All of my friends went off to college. So what do you think I might be good at?'

  I give Romy a quick once-over. 'Well ... you're obviously good at clothes and stuff. What do they call it? Styling?' I wait to see what she thinks of this.

  All I get is a shrug. 'Putting on clothes. Big deal.'

  I almost laugh. Millions of women are copying her style all over the world and Romy thinks about it as 'putting on clothes'. You've got to admire that. Obviously she's just a natural at it. 'Um ... makeup?'

  She wrinkles her nose. 'Never wear it if I don't have to. I'm a lip-gloss and a bit of mascara girl, really.'

  I look at Romy's perfectly perfect un-made-up face and consider the unfairness of it all. No one should look like that without a whole tonne of makeup. It just isn't right. 'Hmmm. Shoes?' I try again. Maybe third time lucky?

  Romy looks down at her cast.

  I follow her gaze. 'Well, maybe not right now, but shoes in general?' Romy is, after all, famous for her ever-changing array of ballet-style flats.

  'I HATE shoes,' she says so emphatically even Fluffy looks up. And hisses.

  I shush him before turning back to Romy. 'You hate shoes?' I say, surprised. 'But you have so many. It's your signature thing, isn't it?'

  'Let's just say you don't have a lot of choice when you're six feet tall. It's flats or freaksville.'

  Three strikes and I'm out. 'I'm sure you're good at something. We just need to find what it is.'

  'Mmm.' Romy doesn't look convinced.

  'Maybe I could help you find it?' I say, without thinking, and then immediately regret my words. 'Or ... what I mean is ...' I begin to back pedal fast, sure I'm about to get some kind of 'you little upstart' lecture as Romy twists around on her stool to face me fully.

  'Would you really?' Romy cuts in on my blathering. 'Would you really do that?'

  Her words come out a little too quickly and she then looks a tad embarrassed at how fast she's jumped upon my offer. 'It's just that ... well, it's been interesting hearing what you have to say. Not knowing anything about the show and all. And with your mom being in the same situation.'

  'Of course!' I say quickly. I mean, of course I would! As if I'd sit here and watch her be miserable and not help. Especially when I know all about what she's going through. If not first-hand, through everything JJ's told me about what she went through at Romy's age. I still see JJ struggle with some things today. I spy the crumpled up note again and swivel around to give Romy my full attention.

  'Of course I'll help.' But as the words form on my lips, I feel a pang of guilt, because despite the fact that I really do want to help Romy, I'm also helping myself, aren't I? I might really want to help Romy, but I also really, really don't want her to leave the show.

  'What are you two doing up?' JJ's voice behind me makes me jump.

  'I ... um ...' I stutter.

  'Hi, JJ!' Romy answers for both of us. 'I couldn't sleep and Elli obviously couldn't either, so we both ended up here. She rustled up some great crepes for us.'

  'Oh, good,' JJ eyes our empty plates with happy eyes, just like I'd thought – glad to see her efforts gobbled up. 'Now, you,' she focuses in on me. 'it's just a
fter five. Even if you can't sleep, go and lie down and get a bit more rest. I'm sure you've a big day ahead of you.'

  I think about all the lessons Melinda is likely to cram in. 'Okay.' I get up, dropping Fluffy lightly onto the floor. 'Sorry, Fluff.'

  'And how about you, Romy? Back to bed, or can I tempt you with a proper hot chocolate? Belgian chocolate? Organic milk? That might help you get back to sleep.'

  'That sounds lovely. Anyway, there's something I want to ask you about.'

  Budget buys

  (under $500!)

  I manage an hour or so of squeezing my eyes shut in bed and pretending to sleep before I hear the tap, tap, tap of fingers on a keyboard and decide it's okay to get up again. I follow the noise across the hall to the study where we did our lessons last night and I enter to see the soles of George's black slippers facing me, propped up on the desk in front of her. Black slippers. That girl really is making a statement to the world.

  'Hey!' I greet her. 'What are you up to?'

  George looks up from her MacBook. 'Hiya, Elli. eBaying.'

  'Not Fluffy, I hope.' He's crouched on the floor, curled up into a cold ball, watching George with a look that is something close to loathing.

  'Hardly. It'd end in bad feedback for sure. Come and have a look.'

  I trot on over obediently, pull out a chair beside George and settle myself in. On one half of the screen is a bunch of pictures – dresses, handbags, accessories, shoes. On the other half, George seems to be arranging some notes on each of the items into proper descriptions. I drag my eyes away from the screen to look at her.

  'All the things the girls are given and that they don't want, I eBay. I made $183,000 last year.'

  'What?!' I say a little too loudly, before lowering my voice. '$183,000? Are you serious?'

  George waves a hand. 'Oh, no. Don't get me wrong. They know about it. Sort of. And I don't keep the money. I give it to charity. I pick a new one every year. This year it's all going to a donkey sanctuary.'

  I expel all the air caught in my chest. Phew. For a moment there I thought ... but now I frown, hearing what she's just said. 'But wait ... if the girls don't have any money, why don't they sell the things themselves?'

  George shakes her head. 'Nah, they'd be found out for sure. Some of that stuff is easily traceable. If it looked like they needed cash, their cover would be blown. But this way they look all sweetly charitable.'

  Ah, right. I see. But, hang on again, a donkey sanctuary? Is she having me on? 'Are you serious about that charity? Do they really have sanctuaries for donkeys?'

  George keeps on with her description writing. 'I saw an article about it once in a magazine and the donkey they had pictured looked almost as emaciated as Anouschka, so I thought it was a good fit.'

  I laugh out loud at this. 'And what was the charity last year?'

  'Adult literacy.'

  Now I really crack up.

  George grins at me. 'I've been trying to find a charity that helps to wean people off diet soda, eyelash extensions and owning a shoe collection worth more than the GDP of several small countries put together, but so far no luck.'

  'Maybe you'll have to start your own.'

  George nods. 'I guess I could. If I cared enough.'

  Rightio then. Back to good old black B-list George, I guess. 'So how often do you eBay?' I stare at the screen, ignoring her 'I don't care' bit. 'I mean, how do you work it if you're moving around all the time?'

  'Well, I collect whatever I can and stash it all in the schoolroom back at base camp. I take the photos and the measurements and things whenever we're there and then list the items on the road. Maybe two or three items each day. I just make sure to tell people it could be a while until I can post anything to them. It's worked out fine so far. I think I may even crack $200,000 this year.'

  My eyes widen. '$200,000! Maybe you'd better find a different charity. All the donkeys need is a bit of hay thrown their way, right? Donkeys don't need trips to Club Med.'

  'I know it sounds dumb, but look ...' she brings up a new Explorer window, quickly typing in the name of a website. Instantly, photos of donkeys spring up before my eyes. Donkeys with matted coats, sticky-out ribs and misshapen overgrown hooves. Donkeys with sad, 'no one cares about me' big brown eyes.

  'Oh,' I lean in for a closer look, 'poor things.'

  'It's actually quite sad,' George nods. 'I never really thought about it before, but donkeys are kind of overworked and underpaid. Look at this little guy ...' She clicks on a link to bring up a picture of a specific donkey. 'This is Mr Peanuts. He'd been tied up to a hedge for a week without food or water. He had pneumonia and it took the farrier two days to fix his poor feet as well. He had abscesses all over them. So, yeah, even though it started out as a bit of a joke, I'm kind of glad the money is going to the donkeys this year. I think they deserve it.'

  'Sorry I made fun of it,' I say quickly.

  George just shakes her head. 'Don't worry about it. I mean, donkey sanctuaries. Who'd have thought? And it is kind of funny. They're so up to the minute they even have their own donkeycam! I can take a peek at what they're up to around the clock, if I want to!'

  I stand up now. 'I guess I'd better leave you to it, then. Just remember, a little less donkeycam, a little more eBaying, or Mr Peanuts really will starve.'

  George laughs.

  'And anything I can do to help, just ask.'

  'Thanks,' she says. 'I may just take you up on that. You know, wrestle a $5000 purse off Anouschka, steal a diamond-encrusted collar off Fluffy ...'

  We both look down at him with this and he hisses at George. 'Oh, Fluffy,' I bend down for a pat. 'She's only joking.' After a moment or two, I glance back up at George. 'So, um, any idea what we're up to today?'

  George looks back at her screen now. 'Yep, Melinda was in before. Lessons this morning, then we're going for a walk along the Seine. The girls are filming at the LV store this afternoon,' she glances up for a second, 'and you are definitely coming along with me there. You have got to see the place. Disgusting. A shrine to consumerism. Then we've got a couple hours off. JJ should have it off too, because the girls will be busy working.'

  'Sounds good,' I say, standing up once more.

  'I think the main bathroom's free,' George adds. 'You should probably make the most of it before everyone else gets up.'

  'Thanks for the tip,' I head for the door. I make a break for JJ's and my room where I grab my towel and cross back to the bathroom (still free, thankfully). I close the door behind me, drop my towel over the edge of the gigantic bath and stare out the window, mesmerised again by the view.

  Lessons. A walk along the Seine. Filming at the LV store (yes, even little old sheltered me knew what George meant by the LV store). A couple of hours free in Paris.

  Whatever I might think of Rich Girls the show, being educated blondetourage-style sure beats another rainy Vienna Saturday holed up in the library with Frau Braun.

  $$$

  The morning's lessons – Biology and German – are easy. I'm starting to realise that I'm going to have to take things lesson by lesson. In some subjects, like German, Biology and Maths, I am miles ahead. In others, like Geography, the only word that can be applied is struggling. I don't think Frau Braun even realised Geography could encompass more than picking off the capital cities on a map. I guess being tutored one-on-one by the most boring woman in the world in one of the most boring cities on earth had both benefits and disadvantages.

  After impressing everyone with my German verbs and slipping George a sly note that says Ich bin ganz allein dabei die Esel zu retten ('I'm single-handedly saving the donkeys' – and, believe me, she had to get out her German–English dictionary for that one), we pick up our packed lunch from JJ and head out for our walk along the Seine.

  'Just remember he's not really yours,' the voice comes from behind me as we hit the pavement outside the apartment.

  Beside me, George groans, then pauses and grins, changing tack. 'Rhys isn't yo
urs either, Ashleigh. He's a free man.'

  There are a few quick steps, then, 'You knew I was talking about Anouschka's cat,' Ashleigh hisses as she steps up to meet us, her eyes darting back to see if Rhys has heard any of this.

  'Oh, you were talking about Fluffy. Not Rhys. Sorry, Ashleigh, I thought you were talking about RHYS !' George states loudly.

  'What?' Rhys says from behind.

  'Nothing!' George chimes back. 'It's just that ...

  'Shut UP!' Ashleigh butts in and quickens up again to walk a pace or two in front of us, her arms crossed.

  George laughs at her. 'You want to take him, Ashleigh? I'm sure Elli wouldn't mind one bit.' She takes Fluffy's pink and black zebra-striped lead from me and offers it to Ashleigh. Fluffy hisses at her and then at George before she passes the lead back again. 'Yeah, I didn't think so.'

  Ashleigh huffs. 'All I'm saying is he's a very expensive cat, that's all. Try not to lose him.'

  'I'm not going to lose him!' I tell her. 'Why would I want to do that? I like Fluffy. Unlike some people.'

  Ashleigh shrugs. 'Well, everyone knows you don't want to be here, don't they? Maybe you've got some little scheme to get your mother fired. Like losing Fluffy.'

  'What?' I frown and look over at George and then, beyond her, at Rhys, who's caught up now and is listening in.

  'You're a freak, Ashleigh,' George shakes her head. 'A freak. Go on, run ahead and go and think about ... I don't know ... which surgeon you fancy for your first facelift.'

  Ashleigh rolls her eyes at this. 'Scoff all you want. At least I'll be able to afford one,' she says before she flounces off.

  George, Rhys and I look at each other and then laugh.

  'That wasn't very nice,' I say to George. 'But it was funny! I can't believe she actually aspires to a life of plastic surgery.'

  'Well, a girl's got to have something to do between husbands, doesn't she?' George replies.

  I shake my head as I turn back and watch Ashleigh stalking off. I just can't figure out that chick. She can't really be that nasty, can she?

  Toby takes a few steps forward to join us. 'Hey, what's so funny?'