Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)

Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7) Page 63

“Sure, sure,” says Sage. “I’m only having some fun, right? Right?” She flashes me her smile again.

God, Sage is exhausting. She flips this way and that like an eel. I don’t know how Luke does business with her.

I turn to make sure that Suze and Tarkie are OK and see that Tarkie is in conversation with Ken Kerrow. OK, this could be interesting.

“We’re calling the movie Florence in Love,” Ken Kerrow is saying animatedly. “Like Shakespeare in Love, only more authentic. We’re recasting Florence as an American, but we’re keeping the essence of Florence. Her conflict. Her growth. Her sexual awakening. We think she would have dressed as a boy to get onto the war field. We think she would have been in a passionate love triangle. Think The Age of Innocence meets Saving Private Ryan meets Yentl.”

“Right.” Tarkie looks none the wiser. “Well, I’m afraid I haven’t seen any of those films, but I’m sure they’re jolly good.”

Ken Kerrow looks profoundly shocked. “You haven’t seen Yentl?”

“Ahm …” Tarkie looks trapped. “Sorry … did you say ‘Lentil’?”

“Yentl!” Ken Kerrow almost shouts. “Streisand!”

Poor Tarkie. He clearly doesn’t understand a word Ken is saying.

“I watch a lot of wildlife documentaries,” he says desperately. “David Attenborough. Marvelous man.”

Ken Kerrow just shakes his head pityingly, but before he can say anything else, Suze swoops in.

“Darling, let’s go and watch the dancers.” She gives Ken Kerrow a charming smile. “I’m so sorry to drag my husband away. Bex, shall we go and watch the dancers?”

As we’re heading toward the stage, I’m distracted by a sign on one of the tables: SILENT AUCTION PRIZES.

“I’m just going to have a quick look,” I say to Suze. “I’ll catch up with you in a sec.”

There’s an amazing necklace on a stand, which is up for auction, and as I draw near I feel the tugging of lust. God, it’s beautiful, all pale-pink crystals and a hammered-silver heart; I wonder how much …

Oh my God. I’ve suddenly seen the printed label below it. Reserve price $10,000. I hastily back away, in case anyone thinks I’m bidding for it. Ten thousand dollars? Seriously? I mean, it’s a nice necklace and everything, but … ten thousand dollars? Just for some pink crystals? I don’t even dare go near the pair of watches at the end of the table. Or that gift certificate for a Malibu villa. Maybe I’ll go and watch the dancers with Suze instead. I’m about to turn away when I see a doddery old man making his way slowly along the prizes. He looks quite frail and is keeping his balance by clutching at the table.

Not a single person has noticed, which makes me feel quite incensed. I mean, what’s the point of coming to a benefit to help people and then ignoring a poor old man who needs help right in front of your eyes?

“Are you all right, sir?” I hurry forward, but he bats me away.

“Fine, fine!”

He’s very tanned, with perfect teeth and what looks suspiciously like a white toupee, but his hands are gnarled and his eyes are a bit rheumy. Honestly, someone should be looking after him.

“It’s a lovely event,” I say politely.

“Oh yes.” He nods. “Wonderful cause. Discrimination is the blight of our lives. I’m gay, and, let me tell you, the world is not an open place. Not yet.”

“No,” I agree.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t encountered discrimination yourself. As a woman. And in other ways. Because, in my opinion, no human on this earth is free from discrimination in some way or other.”

He’s so full of fervor, I don’t like to contradict him.

“Definitely.” I nod. “I’ve been discriminated against in lots of ways. Heaps. All the time.”

“Tell me some examples of this shocking behavior.” His rheumy eyes fix eagerly on me.

My mind is blank. Come on, quick. Discrimination.

“Well, obviously as a woman … and …” I cast my mind around. “I once had to take out my earrings to work in a café, so that was discriminating against jewelry … and … er … hobbies can be discriminated against and … pets …” I have no idea what I’m saying. “It’s terrible,” I end lamely. “We need to fight it.”

“And we will.” He clutches my hand. “Together.”

“I’m Rebecca, by the way,” I add. “Rebecca Brandon.”

“And I’m Dix.” He flashes me a white smile. “Dix Donahue.”