Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)

Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7) Page 147

“Open the gates,” I instruct Jeff, and I approach the throng, waving graciously, feeling like a princess.

“Becky!” Lon is calling.

“Beckeeeee!” shouts a girl in a black shift dress. “Over here!”

“You look amazing!”

“How does the dress feel?”

“Can we get a back view?”

“Did Danny tell you anything special about the dress? What was his inspiration?”

As I pose, looking this way and that, I keep darting glances back at the house. I hope Suze is watching out of the window and can hear all the yelling. Then maybe she’ll understand.

At last everyone has taken their photos and I’ve done two little interviews about Danny for fashion blogs, and I’m in the car, on the way to the premiere. I feel a bit giddy. It’s going to be brilliant. It already is brilliant.

The premiere is being held at El Capitan, and I know we’re getting near from the noise. The thumping music is practically rocking the SUV, and there are shouts from the crowd, and as we slow down, someone bangs on the car, which makes me jump, startled.

“You OK?” says Jeff at once.

“Fine!” I say, exhilarated. “It’s pretty big, isn’t it?”

The film is an action movie about two circus performers who foil a terrorist attack. Apparently they use all the animals and their circus skills to help them, and it was nearly derailed when an elephant went a bit crazy during the filming.

Jeff has to show all kinds of passes to officials, and as he does so, I peer out of the window. I can see faces pressing up against the glass, trying to see through the tinted windows. They probably think I’m Tom Cruise or something.

“Jeez!” Jeff says, trying to negotiate a path through the hubbub. “Place is chaos. You wanna go through with this?”

Honestly. Not him too.

“Yes,” I say firmly. I reach in my bag for my dad’s autograph book. I’ve brought it with me and I’m determined to get him as many autographs as I can. Then Suze won’t be able to call me selfish.

We’re in a queue of cars, and I can see how the process works. The car pulls up to the dropping-off point, and the door opens and the celebrity gets out and the crowd goes wild. There are two limos ahead of us. Soon it’ll be me!

“So, you text as soon as you need to get out of here,” says Jeff. “Or call. Any kind of trouble, you just call.”

“I will,” I promise, and check my reflection one last time. My heart is starting to beat fast. This is really it. I need to get out of the car elegantly, I need to stay calm, I need to remember who made my dress.…

“OK, you’re on.” Jeff pulls up and a guy in a headset yanks open the door and I’m out. I’m standing on the red carpet. On the proper red carpet. I’m one of them!

I’m so transfixed by the atmosphere, I don’t move for a moment. The music is even louder now that I’m outside. It’s all so big and bright and spectacular. The entrance to El Capitan is done up like a circus big top, and there are circus performers wandering about everywhere. There are fire-eaters and jugglers, and a contortionist girl in a jeweled bikini, and a ringmaster cracking his whip. And there’s an elephant! An actual elephant, walking back and forth with its trainer. The crowd is going wild over some young guy in jeans, who I think is in a band, and I can see Hilary Duff about ten yards away … and is that Orlando Bloom signing autographs?

“Rebecca?” A girl in a black trouser suit approaches me with a businesslike smile. “I’m Charlotte. I’ll be escorting you on the red carpet. Let’s keep moving.”

“Hi, Charlotte!” I beam at her as we shake hands. “Isn’t this amazing? Look at the jugglers! Look at the elephant!”

Charlotte seems puzzled.

“Right,” she says. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

Cameras are flashing everywhere as we proceed along. I’ve been practicing the proper film-star pose for days, only now I have to walk too. I never practiced film-star walking. Damn. How do they do it?

I think they kind of glide seamlessly along. I’ll glide too. Perhaps with my legs slightly bent?

“Are you OK?” Charlotte gives me a strange look, and I hastily straighten my legs. Maybe that’s not such a good look. “So, we have your photo-call and then your interviews.…” She glances at her watch and consults her clipboard. She seems totally unimpressed by the elephant, or the fire-eaters, or the celebrities. In fact, she seems unimpressed by the whole event. “So, you’re on.”

With no warning, she pushes me into an empty patch of red carpet, in front of a bank of photographers, who all start shouting, “Becky! Becky, over here!”