Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)

Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7) Page 17

For a while I do nothing but dart backward and forward, looking for famous names. This is the most Hollywood-y thing we’ve done yet, and I don’t care that we’re being total saddo tourists.

At last, we resume walking along, checking off famous names every now and again.

“I’m sorry about your job.” Luke squeezes my hand. “That’s bad luck.”

“Thanks.” I shrug. “But, you know, I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe actually it’s for the best. Bob Hope,” I add, pointing at his star.

“I agree!” says Luke with sudden eagerness. “I didn’t want to say so before—but do you really want to commit yourself to a job when we’re only here for such a short time? This is a wonderful place to explore. I’d just enjoy the healthy outdoor lifestyle with Minnie. Go hiking in the hills, play on the beach …”

That is so Luke. First the work ethic, now the “healthy outdoor lifestyle”? What’s he on about? I haven’t come to L.A. for the “healthy outdoor lifestyle,” I’ve come for the “celebrity-big-sunglasses-red-carpet lifestyle.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’ve got an even better idea. I’m going to become a Hollywood stylist!”

As I look up for Luke’s reaction, I’m taken aback. OK, so maybe I didn’t expect him to shout Go, girl!, but neither did I expect this. His eyebrows are raised and furrowed at the same time. His mouth is turning down at the edges. I’ve been married to Luke so long, I know his expressions off by heart, and this one is Number 3: How do I break it to Becky that I hate this idea? It’s exactly the same expression he had when I suggested painting our bedroom purple. (I still say it would have been sexy.)

“What?” I demand. “What?”

“It’s a great idea …” he begins carefully.

“Stop it,” I say impatiently. “What do you really think?”

“Becky, you know Sage only hired me as a consultant on a short-term basis. If this whole venture works out, maybe Brandon Communications will open a media arm here and maybe I’ll fly back and forth. But I can’t imagine we’ll relocate permanently.”

“So?”

“So, what will you do if you establish a whole new career here?”

“I dunno,” I say impatiently. “Figure it out.”

This is typical. Luke always lets practical plans get in the way of creative inspiration.

“It’ll be a lot of hard work,” he’s saying now, “a lot of banging on doors, a lot of disappointment.…”

“You think I can’t do it?” I say, affronted.

“My darling, I think you can do pretty much anything you put your mind to,” says Luke. “However, I think to get into the world of Hollywood styling in three months will be, let’s say, a challenge. But if you really want to—”

“I don’t just want to, I’m going to.”

Luke sighs. “Well, then, of course I’ll help. I’ll ask around for some contacts, see what I can fix up—”

“I don’t need your help!” I retort.

“Becky, don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly,” I shoot back, feeling outraged. “I don’t want to rely on my husband. I’m an independent woman, you know.”

“But—”

“What, you think I can’t break in to Hollywood on my own? You just watch. Katharine Hepburn,” I add.

We walk on for a while in silence, not even bothering to say the names anymore, and gradually I simmer down. Actually, Luke’s help would have been quite useful. In fact, really useful. But it’s too late now; I’ve said it. I’ll have to find a way to do it on my own and show him.

My mind starts working hard. Sage is still my most obvious way in. I’m bound to meet her soon. And meanwhile I can plan a few outfits for her. Maybe I’ll even buy her an accessory or two, just like a personal stylist would. Yes. Brilliant. And if Sage doesn’t work out … well, I have other contacts, don’t I?

“You know, Luke, I do have my own resources,” I say grandly. “I have worked at Barneys, remember. I am a bit connected, remember. In fact I think you’ll find I’m even better connected than you.”

And it’s true! I met loads of Hollywood people when I worked at Barneys. At least three producers and a music consultant and a casting director. I’ll contact all of them, and someone will be able to give me an entrée, and then—

Ooh, Lassie!

From: Laird, Nick

To: Brandon, Rebecca