Blondetourage Read online

  $$$

  'Waiting list?' Anouschka screeches at the shop assistant. 'Waiting list?! Do I look like the kind of girl who waits in line? Do I look like some kind of rag-wearing refugee?'

  'Mademoiselle, if you could please step this way.'

  'Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. I'm not going to be taken to some little back room and quietened down. Oh, no. I want that bag and I want it now.'

  'Mademoiselle, please. I have explained. This particular bag will not be available until next week and ...'

  'Ha!' Anouschka scoffs. 'So, if Scarlett Johansson walked in here now and asked for one, you couldn't rustle one up in five different colours?'

  'I am afraid I could not.'

  'Agh! That's it. I've had it with this place. Out of my way, Frenchie.' With a huff, Anouschka pushes past the shop assistant, who goes flying. She flounces off past us towards the front door. 'Don't bother,' she raises her voice so the line of people outside the door, queuing to get in, can all hear her. 'The service here is atrocious. I'm off to Gucci. If anyone here's smart enough to join me, feel free to share my ride. And hello, Romy, that means you!' she adds, turning around to bark at her best friend, who's kind of ignoring her tantrum and is entranced with her own image as she tries on multiple pairs of sunglasses.

  'Oh, um, okay!' Romy yelps, dropping the sunglasses and trotting off behind Anouschka as fast as her cast will take her. 'You don't sell cast covers, do you?' she asks the shop assistant breathily as she passes her by.

  The shop assistant shakes her head. 'I am sorry, mademoiselle, but we do not.'

  'Oh, well ...'

  'ROMY!'

  'Coming!'

  Silence. Pause. And then Anouschka turns around and walks straight back inside the shop.

  'That okay for you, Jane?' she calls out to Ashleigh's mom, her hand resting on her hip.

  'Beautiful,' she calls back. 'Just once more and we'll move on. If you don't mind, a bit more of the hissing and spitting wouldn't go astray.'

  'Sure,' Anouschka says, from underneath George's mom's kabuki brush that's taking the shine off her non-shiny nose. 'Can do.'

  'And Romy? Really fumble with those expensive sunglasses. Maybe even drop a pair on the floor and step on them with your cast.'

  'Okay,' Romy says, obediently. Like she gets asked to trample on $500 every day.

  Oh. That's right. I guess it's looking like she does.

  I turn to George now, who's already staring at me, grinning like she's really enjoying this. 'You look shocked.'

  'But ... I ... you ... she ...' I start, not quite knowing what to say.

  'You thought it was all for real?' George prompts. 'You thought Anouschka was evil and Romy's brain was permanently on holiday in the Bahamas?'

  I don't know how to answer. 'No. Yes. No. Kind of.' I think it's just strange to see both sides of Rich Girls coming together.

  'Yeah, well, welcome to the reality of reality TV.'

  More silence. Around us, everyone hustles and bustles and gets ready to do the scene we've just seen played out before us all over again. While everything gets set back up again, Romy and Anouschka hang about, inspect their nails and look ... well ... bored. And sort of miserable. As if they've had enough. Hardly like the ever-shopping, ever-partying, ever-no boring moments Rich Girls they're supposed to be.

  'Romy plays Romy,' George continues, watching on beside me. 'And Anouschka plays Anouschka. Don't get me wrong,' she glances at me for a second before turning back. 'Anouschka can be a real piece of work. And Romy can still be a bit of a ditz at times, but it's not what it seems, is it?'

  Still watching the girls, I reply. 'No. It isn't.' I can't seem to break my gaze from Romy's face. Someone's found her a chair now and she's kind of hunched over in it and is looking a bit ashen. I wonder for a second or two if her foot is hurting her. 'Hang on,' I whip around to look at George. 'The cast is real, isn't it?'

  George nods. 'Oh, yeah. That's real.'

  Phew. I think. I thought for a second there that maybe everyone was in on this except me. When I glance back over at Romy again, Anouschka is crouching before her, offering her something – a couple of pills and a bottle of water. Her foot must hurt after all. And it's only going to hurt more after stepping down on sunglasses. I'm surprised to see a softer side of her as she stretches over and gives Romy a hug, saying a few words close to her face that no one else can hear. Wow. I guess the best friends thing really is true, just like George told me.

  'I think she's in pain,' I say to George. 'Maybe they should stop filming for the day?'

  George laughs at this. 'Are you serious? We're already behind schedule. They won't be stopping unless her foot falls off. And even then they'd probably keep going if it looked even slightly amusing.'

  I frown, only looking away from Romy's pinched face for a second. How can I feel so protective of her? For a start, I barely know her. Plus, she's five years older than me. But there's no getting around it – I do. I guess it's that connection to JJ. As I watch her, I think of her words from last night. What had she said again? Something about everyone having decided who she is and how she fits in. About how she didn't think there was much point in being herself because she was just some kind of outlined shape people had already coloured in. Sitting over there in her little fold-out chair, she looks really unhappy. Tired and unhappy. Maybe she'd been right last night about considering leaving the show – if she's that unhappy, she should go. Maybe I should stop thinking about myself and what's good for me and think about what's good for Romy. I turn towards George now, breaking my stare.

  'She looks so sad. Do you think she really wants to be here doing this?'

  George shrugs. 'Tough luck if she doesn't. They'll sue her skinny butt if she tries a stunt like leaving.'

  'But maybe she'd be happier if she left?' I try.

  Beside me, George laughs. 'That's so sweet. You really are new to this, aren't you? I'll let you in on a little secret. Those two? They'll never be happy.'

  I watch George carefully. 'You really dislike them, don't you?'

  George just snorts. 'Them. The whole deal ...'

  'The world, the universe ... myself' I feel like adding to her words. Wow. Never mind Romy and Anouschka – it seems George has more than a few issues of her own. I watch her for just a second or two longer before I turn back to Romy. And I thought I had it tough in Vienna? One thing's for sure – if I'm up for it, I've certainly got my work cut out for me, pulling everyone from the Rich Girls quicksand. Well, here goes nothing.

  'Tell me something,' I say to George slowly. 'And no joking around, or mouthing off. Straight up. What's Romy really good at?'

  Undercover

  cool

  No great surprise, but I don't get a whole lot of info out of George about Romy's special talents. While the girls continue filming, George and I grab at the chance to walk around the store while it's free of its usual crowds. George tells me we've hit the jackpot – that there's usually a line up in front of the store to get in, even before the store opens each day at 10 am. As we walk around, I keep on quizzing her, trying, in many different ways, to get her to answer my question about Romy. I guess I'm a bit obvious, though, because eventually George snaps at me.

  'What is it with you and Romy?' she asks. 'Are you interviewing for a best friend or something?'

  Yikes. I give up and shut up then. Only minutes later, however, George slinks back over to me. 'Sorry,' she says. 'I didn't mean to bark at you. It's just that it can get a bit much around here sometimes. It's like the earth revolves around the Rich Girls' sun.'

  I don't mention Romy again after that. Something's telling me George may have been on the road a bit too long.

  I might not be into the whole luxury leather goods thing (though not in a George-like downfall of western society kind of way), but I have to admit the store is amazing. My favourite thing is the vintage trunks peppered over the walls. Some still even have the monograms of their owners. I can't help inspecting one par
ticular trunk intently. The initials KMB and City of Chicago are holding out yellow, bright and strong on the outside and I can even read many of the stickers – 'Paris Cherbourg', 'Red Top Cab and Baggage Co.', 'Gepäckraum – Baggage Room'. I can't help wondering what the trunk's owner looked like and what kind of person she was – travelling in a time when most people didn't. Inside the trunk there is room for everything. One side is hanging space with all kinds of different hangers, the other side is all drawers, the top drawer even has space for letters, jewellery and knick-knacks. Beside the trunk rests a matching vanity case containing eight different kinds of brushes and combs, fifteen bottles and pots and even a stand-up mirror. I think of my tiny carry-on suitcase back at the apartment and my single plastic compact fold-up brush/comb. Even my shampoo and conditioner is two-in-one. Dazed, I move on to view the rest of the gleaming store. Honestly, it really does have everything. From key holders to huge trunks, stylish black leather bags to purses stamped with cherries. There's even a bookstore where you can view their catalogue electronically, flipping the pages over by passing your hand over a touch-screen.

  'So, my little chick, what goodies have you bought me for my upcoming birthday?' a voice says behind me, making me jump.

  'Hi, JJ!' George says, coming back over from the shoes she'd been inspecting.

  'Hi there, George', JJ says. 'I hope you're helping Elli to carry all the gifts she's had wrapped for me.'

  'I've just sent them back to the apartment in three cabs.'

  JJ laughs at this. 'I wish that were true! Now,' JJ claps her hands together. 'I've come to whisk you away, Elli. Would you like to join us, George? We're off to see the real Paris.'

  'The real Paris,' I laugh. 'What she means,' I say to George, 'is that she's going to make me eat until I practically burst. There won't be any sightseeing. Just lots and lots of French delicacies.'

  'Your life's really hard, isn't it?' George grins. 'But no, I promised my mom I'd wait and that we'd go get a coffee together. You guys have a good time, though.'

  'Oh, we will, we will. We're off macaroon hunting,' JJ replies. 'I must try the new Ruby Kiss – chocolate, berries and spices. Mmm.'

  'I have no idea what that is, but it sounds good. Make sure you bring me one back,' George waves us off. 'See you tonight!'

  $$$

  'So what's a Ladurée and why is it more important than the Louvre?'

  'The Louvre?' JJ sits back now she's told the cab driver where we're headed.

  'Well, that's where anyone else's parent in their right mind would drag them.'

  'You'll be glad I'm completely out of my mind then,' JJ tells me. 'Ladurée. How can I explain it? It's ...' she pauses, staring into the air.

  I wait.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  'Hello?! Earth to JJ! Stop thinking about macaroons for a second.'

  Sorry,' she makes a face. 'Couldn't help myself. Ladurée is just beautiful. Wait till you see it – it really is Paris itself. It's perfection. So civilised. Limoges china, the painted cherubs on the ceiling, the Parisian ladies all dolled up, businessmen and their mistresses. Oh, not to mention the little macaroons all pastel and bright, cocooned in their boxes safe and sound.'

  'Glamourising adultery. What kind of parent are you?'

  'A hungry one.'

  I sigh. 'You're all about the biscuits, aren't you?'

  JJ sticks her tongue out at me. 'Ungrateful child. I've decided I'm going to get George a pistachio macaroon. Or maybe a bitter chocolate. I'm undecided.'

  I remember George's fed-up face after I asked one too many Romy questions this afternoon. 'Maybe bitter chocolate would be the way to go.'

  JJ nods slowly. 'Hmmm. Maybe you're right. We'll take back a big box to share. These poor people need feeding. That last chef starved them half to death, it seems.'

  'I think that might be Anouschka's plan. Okay then. I'm in. Let's go macarooning.'

  'Good,' JJ reaches over and grabs my hand. 'We definitely need to catch up, and macaroons and tea are the perfect catching-up food.'

  $$$

  'All right. I'm converted,' I tell JJ after my first bite of crisp on the outside, gooey in the middle, delicious praline macaroon. And I'm telling the truth – JJ's just wrecked the drooly line-up for a Krispy Kreme forever.

  'I knew you'd be a praline,' JJ says, proud of herself. 'I just knew it.'

  This is one of JJ's greatest joys in life – matching people with flavours. 'At first I thought maybe a vanilla. But then I spotted the praline and I just knew.'

  'Okay, calm down, praline genius,' I laugh.

  'I am, aren't I?!' JJ grins, taking a sip of her Yunnan tea.

  'How's the Ruby Kiss?' I ask, checking out the blood red macaroon resting on its plate before her.

  'Divine. Want to try it?'

  'I'd better not mix my flavours. It might wreck my palate,' I joke. But this is a mistake, because JJ starts in for real then and I get a palate lecture that I quickly tune out of. While she prattles on, I take another quick peek at the table beside us. Four elderly coiffed ladies sit, chattering away in French. They are a tête-à-tête tangle of Hermès scarves, and their chic unwrinkled outfits and ramrod straight backs make me sit up straighter and wish I owned a skirt. Even a denim one. Just as JJ had promised, the cherubs dance above our heads while, below, the china tinkles in the background. JJ was right.

  This is the real Paris.

  On a foody high, it takes another few minutes for JJ to be able to talk about anything normal again, but she does get there eventually. 'How did you like the taping?' she asks. 'Anouschka can throw quite the tanty, can't she?'

  I have to confess. 'When George and I first walked in, I thought it was for real.'

  JJ laughs. 'I don't think anything much is real around these parts.'

  'No,' I say. 'It's not looking like it.'

  'Are you liking it so far?' JJ's face takes on a worried expression.

  My mouth full of macaroon, I nod. 'I think I'd had enough of Frau Braun,' I finally manage to reply.

  'I thought you might have,' JJ says. 'And the other students seem very nice. You're getting on very well with George. She's smart as a whip, that one, isn't she?'

  'You could say that.'

  'But what's with all the black?'

  I pause, toying with my teacup. 'I'm trying to get to the bottom of that one.'

  'Hmmm,' JJ dusts a crumb from the tablecloth.

  'I'll tell you something funny though – ' I start and then proceed to tell JJ all about George's eBaying efforts, the donkey sanctuary and Mr Peanuts. This cracks her up.

  'She definitely sounds like she's fun to have around,' she says when I'm done. 'What's the other girl like? Ashleigh, isn't it?'

  I groan. 'George's description of her pretty much sums her up. One of the first things George told me about her was that "Ashleigh thinks 'footballer's wife' is a job description". She was spot on with that one. She's a mini-Anouschka in the making, it looks like.'

  'And the boys?'

  'Toby's really funny and obviously very into George, who pretends not to know about it. And Rhys ...' I pause, not quite knowing what to say.

  'He seems like a nice boy.'

  'He is.'

  JJ gives me a look. 'Yes. I thought you might think so.' Her eyebrows raise.

  'Hey!'

  Now I get a grin. 'I know more about you than just pralines, young lady,' she grins.

  'Melinda's great,' I add, moving on. 'A fantastic tutor.'

  'Yes,' JJ doesn't help me out any, 'I know.'

  'And then there's Romy!' I keep trying.

  JJ pauses at this and lets Rhys go. Phew. 'She's very sweet,' JJ says now. 'Sweet, but certainly not the silly little thing I expected her to be.'

  'No. And how weird is it that she's dyslexic too?'

  JJ shrugs slightly. 'As you well know, lots of people are. They just don't talk about it.'

  'I know.' I sit up a bit in my seat. 'I've been thinking ...'
>
  'Have you just?' JJ looks at me warily. 'Thinking about what?'

  'Well, Romy's problems. I think a lot of them could be solved if she was able to find what she's good at. Like you did.'

  JJ licks a crumb of Ruby Kiss from her thumb before she continues. 'Maybe so, but don't forget the number one rule.'

  'I know, I know, the number one rule of working for a celebrity: Don't get involved.'

  'Or the number two rule.' JJ's eyes don't leave mine for a second.

  'I know!' I say, remembering the number two rule: Ever.

  'Just refreshing your memory,' JJ smiles. 'I know it's probably going to be a bit different this time, the girls being so close to you in age. It's easier to distance yourself from a middle-aged opera singer, or a baseball-mad grey-haired guy, right?'

  I fiddle with my teacup. 'It was really easy considering neither of them ever said more than a few sentences to me.'

  JJ pushes her Ruby Kiss around her plate with one finger, a sure sign she's truly troubled. 'I'm still not sure I should have taken this job.'

  'JJ, I spoke to her. I'm hardly going to go out tomorrow and turn into a Rich Girl-wannabe. I just want to help her if I can. That's all. She seems ... like you in a lot of ways. With her dyslexia and feeling a bit lost and everything.'

  JJ reaches over and pats my hand. 'It's nice that you want to help, but we just need to be careful, that's all.'

  'I'll be careful. I promise. It's strange, though, thinking about Romy this way.'

  'What way?' JJ frowns.

  'Well, I thought she would have had "the what she wanted to do with her life" thing all worked out by now. I mean, she's nineteen!'

  JJ pauses for a second and then absolutely cracks up. So much so, that the immaculate French ladies at the tables surrounding us all turn around and look at us in horror. She laughs for quite some time, then has to pat both her eyes with her napkin before she speaks. 'Oh, sweetheart,' she says when she can finally speak again. 'I hate to break it to you, but I'm thirty-nine and I still haven't worked it all out yet.'

  'Oh. Really?'

  JJ laughs a small laugh. 'Yes. Really. It's not as easy as it looks. But I do think you're on the right track with Romy. I think it's the most important life lesson I've learnt, really.'