‘Come on, Red, get up.’
Being violently shaken by a gay man was never one of my favourite
ways to wake up on a Monday morning, let alone when I’d consumed half a
bottle of Jack Daniel’s the night before.
‘No, Nana needs her rest,’ I groaned, pulling a pillow over my face.
‘Jesus Christ, my head hurts.’
I prised open one eye to see a man’s hand setting a mug of tea down by
my face. Trying to open the other eye only resulted in a shooting pain all
the way down my cheekbone. And I was fairly certain there was some
drool. Definitely a little drool.
‘Oh. My. God.’
‘Yeah,’ Matthew said slowly. ‘You might want to have a shower and, I
don’t know, put on all your make-up before you leave the house.’
‘I never wear make-up for work,’ I protested, trying to sip the tea without
making the throbbing in my eye socket any worse.
‘I know,’ he replied in the same voice. ‘Little bit of cover up here
maybe.’
He reached out and poked my face.
‘Shit!’ I wailed, spilling the tea all over the floor.
‘What did you do to yourself last night?’ Matthew pulled back one of the
curtains to get a better look at my eye. Not that there was a shortage of
offensively cheery sunshine in the first place. ‘Looks like you snuck out to
Fight Club.’
‘I don’t know, hit myself with my bag,’ I groaned, trying to turn over on
to my back but feeling like an upturned cockroach. No, a cockroach was too
good for how I felt. Maybe if someone had stood on that cockroach with a
Doc Marten boot and pulled three of its legs off before kicking it across the
room. And this was why I never drank whiskey. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just after nine?’ He squinted at the clock on my phone. ‘You’ve got an
hour.’
‘But I need to sleep.’ I tried to sit up too quickly and got a wave of
nausea for my trouble. Back down, Rachel. ‘Or be sick. And then sleep.’
‘Want me to call in sick? You know you get a couple of freebies in this
sitch.’
I tried to imagine Dan’s reaction to my pulling a sickie an hour before the
shoot was due to start. If he didn’t come round here and kill me, my agent
surely would.
‘No, I have to go.’ My stomach churned promisingly as I writhed around
onto my back. ‘Did Em get home OK?’
‘Em didn’t get home, she’s on the sofa,’ he replied. ‘It’s not pretty. I’m
cutting you both off the whiskey.’
‘Doesn’t she have a meeting?’ Bed was so lovely. Why couldn’t we all
just live in bed? Just because it hadn’t really worked out for John Lennon
didn’t mean the idea wasn’t worth revisiting.
‘Oh, she’s up,’ Matthew said with a smile. ‘She’s been up most of the
night. I recommend that you try not to breathe on your way through the
living room. Or use your eyes. Or make any noise. In fact, it might be worth
going outside and breaking in through the back window.’
With a sour expression, I rolled off the bed and into the living room,
immediately regretting my decision.
‘Oh, Emelie.’ I couldn’t quite believe the sight on my sofa. Her long
curly hair was a tangled mess and her face was actually grey. I chose not to
look in the bucket tucked away round the corner.
‘Oh god,’ Em actually put her hand up to her mouth. ‘You look like shit.’
That, coming from her?
‘Have you seen yourself?’ I asked. ‘Pot. Kettle. Black. Look into it.’
‘I’ve banished all reflective surfaces.’ She closed her eyes and pointed
towards the hot pink throw she’d tossed over the mirror above the fireplace.
‘Don’t make too much noise. Or, you know, any. I don’t want to have to kill
you.’
‘Understood.’
Pinballing from wall to wall, I thrust myself forward towards the
bathroom. Maybe I should have opted for the no-mirror too. There wasn’t a
lot of time to do anything with myself: Dan was supposed to be picking me
up in less than an hour. I gently washed my face and then set to covering up
the bruise under my eye. It wasn’t too bad. After a couple of minutes with
my civilian make-up kit – some Laura Mercier Secret Camouflage, a dab of
Touche Éclat and far too much Nars Orgasm blush to perk up my deathly
pallor – and I was passable. At least I hadn’t had to bust out the hard stuff,
no face and body foundation necessary. I did not look good, but at least I
didn’t look as though I’d been punched in the face and then spent all night
awake, drinking whiskey.
‘Fuck me,’ Dan said, staring straight at me and not even slightly at the road.
He’d arrived dead on the dot of ten and, so far, it was all I could do not to
puke in his car. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I cut my hair, I dyed my hair and I got drunk,’ I burbled, leaning into the
cool glass of the window, trying to maintain short, shallow breaths. ‘Next?’
‘It’s just, you know, a new look,’ he pointed out. ‘Not that it’s not good.
Who did it?’
‘Tina Morgan,’ I replied. ‘It took three and a half hours of Tina Morgan.’
‘That’s weird.’ He was still paying slightly more attention to my hair than
I would like given that we were in a moving vehicle. ‘She left me the most
bizarre voicemail yesterday. Seriously, like, obscene.’
I didn’t have the energy to laugh but I did force out a smirk. ‘I think she
likes you.’
‘Well, she’s not really my type,’ he replied, looking out through the
windshield just long enough to hurl abuse at the Ford Mondeo in front.
‘Not everyone can be a supermodel, Daniel,’ I said, closing my eyes
behind my giant Aviators. It couldn’t be much further. It couldn’t be much
further.
‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.
‘Because you’re shagging Ana?’ I waited for a cheeky shrug or sarky
comment but it didn’t come. In fact he didn’t say anything.
‘Because you flirt with every single model on every single shoot?’
We drove in silence for a few minutes. Happily, I was too hungover to
feel awkward.
‘Flirting with the models is part of the job,’ he said eventually. ‘There’s
nothing to it; it’s just on-set banter.’
‘And off-set shagging,’ I added.
We paused at traffic lights and he turned in his seat to face me. ‘Who
exactly am I meant to have shagged?’
‘Aside from Ana?’ I challenged.
‘Aside from Ana,’ he replied.
‘So you are seeing her then?’
Another long pause, another set of traffic lights. Driving through London
really was an arse-ache.
He put the handbrake on and stretched one arm out of the window, the
other out behind my headrest. ‘What if I am?’
‘What if you are?’ I said, staring at the road ahead. Well, there went my
easy date for dad’s wedding. Arses.
‘You’re always bouncing around, telling everyone how wonderful it is to
have a boyfriend.’ He pulled off as the lights changed. ‘Ooh, me and Simon
are going to Croatia; ooh, me and Simon are decorating the spare room; oh
no, I couldn’t possibly come out for drinks, I have to get home to Simon.’
I had to say, I did not care for his impression of me.
‘Do I really do that?’ I was actually fairly certain I didn’t say ‘ooh’ half
as often.
Dan shrugged and pushed his curly brown hair out of his eyes. ‘I don’t
know. You must or I wouldn’t say it, would I?’
‘Well, no need to worry about that any more,’ I muttered into the
window. Why weren’t we there yet? I just wanted to get through the day, go
home and look at my list. I had thought maybe today was an ‘angry letter’
day, but perhaps it was more of a ‘breaking the law’ sort of a Monday.
Putting a photographer through his own windscreen face first was illegal,
wasn’t it?
‘Dumped you, has he?’ Dan laughed.
‘Yes,’ I said simply. ‘Don’t you read Facebook?’
Dan let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like someone had kicked a
seal in the face. I turned a tiny bit in my seat to take a look at him. I’d
never, ever seen that man look more uncomfortable. And given that I’d seen
him shooting several extraordinarily homoerotic D&G underwear
campaigns, that was quite the statement.
He looked at me, staring through the darkened lenses of my glasses for
just a second too long.
‘What?’ I asked. I would have shrugged for effect but I definitely would
have vommed on him.
‘Nothing.’
He looked away and turned the radio on. I closed my eyes and
concentrated on remaining vomit-free for the rest of the journey.
Against all laws of god and man, I managed not to throw up in the car and
Dan managed to get us to the studio on time. Far more predictably, Ana
was, as always, late, and after our fun in-car conversations, two minutes’
peace was wonderful. But not nearly long enough.
‘Raquel!’
Before I’d even had time to crack out the Vita Coco, all six feet of
supermodel blew into the studio, ignoring all of the lackeys and hangers-on
who were paid to tolerate her, and flew right at me. Her perfume was almost
enough to push me right over the edge – supermodels still wore Angel? As
she got closer, I stopped being able to smell it and actually began to taste it.
And if she hugged me any tighter, my children would be born smelling of it.
‘Oh, honey, I feel a-maze-ing this morning.’ She released her vice-like
grip, shook her coat off onto the floor and dropped into my chair. Why had I
designed the make-up as a neutral lip and a smoky eye? There was
absolutely no need for her to shut up. Aside from it being polite but,
obviously, social graces had passed this one by. ‘So you know I was seeing
that guy? The one with all the money? Well, I decided I couldn’t be arsed
with him any more, called him Friday night to tell him we’re over and he
shows up at my flat with this!’
She thrust her hand into my face, almost taking my eye out with an
offensively large rock: a large, sparkly, clear diamond mounted on an
equally sparkly, diamond-encrusted band. It took me a couple of minutes to
focus on it for fear of being blinded. I drew back and switched my attention
from the giant engagement ring to her ridiculously beautiful face.
Now was it possible to choke someone to death with a foundation
sponge?
‘Of course, I told him I’m not marrying him because, you know, I’m
maybe in love with someone else.’ She gave me a knowing look and then
craned her neck around to sigh loudly in Dan’s general direction. ‘But he
would not take it back. Idiot. But it’s so pretty. What do you think?’
I had nothing. I opened my mouth a couple of times and closed it again.
No snappy comebacks, no congratulations, not even an angry rant. I was
dry. All those years of working on zoning out and, finally, my brain was
doing it automatically. A-maze-ing.
‘Hey Ana, can I please get you on the bed to block out some shots?’ Dan
placed an arm in the middle of her back and guided her away.
‘You know you can get me on a bed to do anything,’ she purred at Dan
before casting me a filthy look. First-class flirt she might be, but she was
still pissed off she was having to block out her own shots and I could tell
she somehow knew this was my fault, even if she wasn’t sure how.
‘Thank you,’ I mouthed at Dan, sitting myself in the make-up chair. He
nodded and turned the cameras on Ana, who was already tossing back her
hair and contorting herself into positions entirely inappropriate for a
multipack of white cotton hip-huggers.
Don’t let this get to you, I told myself; this is just how she is. It’s not as if
I really want to tear off her eyelids with a Shu Uemura eyelash curler or
anything. Except I sort of did. How could anyone want to marry her? And
not just anyone, but someone who could afford to put on her finger a
diamond big enough to host an episode of Dancing on Ice. Ana was
beautiful but she was also a cheat, the world’s most fickle woman and – not
to be a bitch but – she was also really, really stupid. I was loyal, faithful and
not that stupid. I wouldn’t be challenging Stephen Hawking to a game of
Countdown or anything, but I wasn’t a thicko. Still, I couldn’t even hold
down a boyfriend who bought me a Nintendo Wii for Christmas. At least I
could understand her and Dan: they were the male and female equivalents
of each other. But imagine someone normal and rich wanting to marry her?
Trying not to freak out, I opened up my make-up case and concentrated
on pulling out various bits and pieces. Primer, foundation, concealer,
blusher, bronzer, highlighter … there was an awful lot of make-up involved
in making a girl look like she was naturally beautiful, and today it was
going to feel like awfully hard work.
Two cartons of Vita Coco, a Berocca and two ibuprofen later, I was feeling,
if not looking, something like human, and Ana was back in the make-up
chair, consider ably more subdued. She dropped her chin and looked at me
as if I was a three-legged dog.
‘Dan says you’re sad,’ she said, sporting her ‘concerned’ face. ‘And that
I’m not supposed to ask you about it.’
I gave her a half-smile, pushed back her hair and started cleansing as
gently as possible given my limited coordination.
‘So why are you sad?’ she asked after half a second.
‘I broke up with my boyfriend,’ I said, methodically sweeping at her face
with a cotton-wool pad.
‘Is that why you’re wearing a wig?’
God, Allah, Buddha, Angelina Jolie and all the saints, someone give me
the strength not to punch this woman in the face.
‘It’s not a wig, it’s my hair.’
‘Ohhh.’ She tugged on a strand just to make sure while a very highpitched
squeal went off in my brain. ‘Well, that sucks. And I’m here waving
my beautiful, beautiful ring in your face. I’m so dumb.’
‘You weren’t to know.’ I calmly moved on to moisturizer. And failed to
correct her.
‘It is definitely over?’ She peeped at me with one eye.
‘It is.’
‘Good,’ she clapped her hands together and giggled. Faintly heartless but
– as I’d already established – she wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.
‘You were with that guy for way too long,’ she explained, catching my
wrists in her hands. ‘I have so many boyfriends for you. Rich ones. Or hot
ones. I am not sure if there are any hot, rich ones who would want … be
your type. Which do you prefer?’
I breathed out and reminded myself how incredibly in control I was.
‘Ana, leave it.’
‘No, really, you should just like, totally hook up with some random guy,’
she went on. ‘You’re not ugly or anything. Just let me call one of my guys.
I’m a one-man gal from now on anyway. They’ll totally take you out if I
ask them to, don’t worry. You need a really good seeing-to, that’s all.’
‘For fuck’s sake, can you shut up?’ I asked her quietly.
‘Raquel?’ Ana looked up at me with wounded eyes. ‘I’m only trying to
help.’
‘Well, you’re not fucking helping,’ I said in a much, much louder voice.
So loud, in fact, that everyone in the room seemingly looked up at once. ‘I
don’t need you telling me what I need, you overpaid, oversexed, vacuous
cow.’
It was hardly a noisy set before I went the full Christian Bale, but you
could have heard a pin drop after I dropped the F-bomb. Ana cowered in the
chair in front of me.
‘Raquel?’
‘Oh, just fuck off.’ I threw my hands up into the air, showering her in
loose powder. ‘My name is not Raquel. It isn’t. You know it isn’t. My name
is Rachel. You know my name is Rachel. Why, oh why, oh why, do you
insist on calling me Raquel? You stupid, stupid woman. Have all those
laxatives finally eaten away at your brain?’
I’d seen Ana burst into tears over a broken nail twice, so I was relatively
impressed that it took her until my laxative comment to crack this time. Of
course that could be because that was the one that really hit too close to
home. With a quivering lower lip, she instinctively held a finger under each
eye to protect her eyelash extensions and ran wailing from the set.
‘What?’ I spun around, managing not to fall over. Score. ‘Have I missed
something? Is she off the laxatives?’
‘What are you doing?’ Dan was at my side in a heartbeat, as both stylists,
the hairdresser and even Collin ran after Ana. ‘What was that?’
‘Don’t,’ I warned. ‘She was totally out of order.’
‘No, you’re out of order, you can’t talk to the model like that – you know
that.’
We stared each other down for a moment. I had no idea what Dan was
thinking but I was genuinely considering kicking him in the balls. I’d had
enough.
‘But she can talk to me however she likes?’ Instead I kicked the loose
powder pot right across the set and slammed my open make-up kit shut.
‘Not any more. I’m not a doormat, Dan. Do you know how incredibly
boring it is putting up with everyone else’s shit?’
‘Oh what, so you’ve dyed your hair red and now you’re all feisty?’ he
scoffed. ‘Whatever.’
‘Maybe I’m just bored of smiling and nodding,’ I ranted. ‘Maybe I’m
bored of listening to her brainless shit. Maybe I’m bored of putting up with
your twatty attitude. Maybe I’m bored of being bored by all of this.’
He grabbed hold of my wrist as I turned to walk away. ‘Twatty attitude?’
Dan’s brown eyes were as wide as saucers. ‘I’ve got a twatty attitude? Can
you hear yourself?’
‘Forget it, Dan.’ I shook him off without a second thought. ‘I’m out.’
Grabbing my make-up case, I followed in Ana’s footsteps out through the
door, ignored the desperate sobbing coming from behind the bathroom door
and took a sharp turn to the right. It took a moment, but eventually I found a
quiet spot in the car park, hidden behind two giant SUVs, and just sat for a
moment. In the background, my brain was still whizzing around at a million
miles an hour but, right in the front of my mind, everything was blank. I
had no idea what I was doing and I always knew what I was doing. That
was my thing! But even though I was confused and scared and was almost
certain I was going to puke, somehow, somewhere, I felt good. I felt strong.
I felt as if I could do anything.
‘Yo, Red, what’s up?’
And as if by magic, the universe stepped in to trample all over my rage
buzz. Tina Morgan stood over me, packet of Marlboro Lights in one hand,
lighter in the other.
‘Having a fag?’ She and I had studied together, worked side-by-side at
shows and generally competed for work since college. I knew her shoe size,
her natural hair colour and her mother’s middle name, but she hadn’t
paused for breath long enough to find out I didn’t smoke.
‘Nope,’ If I refused to make eye contact with it maybe it would just go
away.
‘Hair still looks good.’ It was a compliment directed more at herself than
me.
‘Thanks.’ I knew I was being rude but I just didn’t have the patience.
‘Hot in there today.’ She kicked my foot repeatedly until I looked up, at
which point I was greeted with a big cheesy grin and a dramatic wave.
‘Earth to Rachel, ’kin hell woman, look lively.’
I smiled.
‘Gotcha, not in the mood.’ She parked her sizeable arse down next to
mine and sparked up. ‘Smoke?’
I shook my head.
‘I can’t be arsed today if I’m honest.’ She took a long drag and exhaled
upwards, a light summer breeze springing up just in time to blow it back in
my face. ‘Thank god I’m done for the day. I hate doing studio shit when it’s
nice out.’
I nodded.
‘Wouldn’t mind so much if I were you, though. Can’t believe you didn’t
tell me you’re working with him today.’ She gave a low groan that quite
frankly made me feel incredibly uncomfortable. ‘He’s bloody beautiful. His
arms are like the size of my thighs. And I do not have skinny thighs.’
I shrugged.
‘Seriously, you must have had a go on it, though?’ She pursed her heavily
coloured-in lips and narrowed her eyes in what I took to be an expression of
lust. God help any man on the receiving end of that face. It was terrifying.
‘Or is he a blondes man? He hasn’t replied to my voicemail yet.’
Combo shake and shrug.
‘He’s here today though?’ she asked, fluffing out her crop. ‘Maybe I
should just go and see him?’
‘Actually, you could do one better,’ I said, my brain suddenly
remembering what it was for. ‘I just got a call about a thing and I need to
leave. Could you fill in for me? Dan would love you for it.’
‘Seriously?’ Tina looked at her watch, at me and then back at her watch.
‘Why do you have to leave?’
‘My dog is dead,’ I said without thinking.
‘Shit, god, yeah, go.’ She stood up, stamped out her cigarette and hustled
me to my feet. ‘Was it sick?’
‘Yes. She had TB.’ My eyes were wide with wonder at my own lies. TB?
Really, Rachel?
‘Dogs can get TB? In London?’ Tina asked, following me back into the
studio. I passed her the make-up design sheet and threw everything into my
case. It wasn’t as if she was that bad a make-up artist. No really. Sort of.
‘Do you have it?’
‘No,’ I looked at her like she was stupid, then remembered I was the one
who had just lied about my nonexistent dog dying of TB. ‘Anyway, thanks
for this. I’ll make sure you get paid for it, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ she muttered, clearly regretting her magnanimous moment.
‘I’ll email you.’
‘Thanks so much,’ I said, dragging my half-zipped case out behind me on
one wheel. I just had to get out of there. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was
going to do but I had to leave. But of course, for that to happen, the
universe would have to be on my side in some small way. I had just made it
out of the car park, and was hiding beneath a staircase waiting for a cab,
when I spotted Dan stomping up the road, clutching a packet of Monster
Munch with a face like thunder.
‘What are you doing?’ He pointed to my case with his non-pickled
onion-y finger. ‘We’re not even nearly done and you’ve got some serious
apologizing to do before she’ll even come back out of the bog.’
‘I’m really sorry but I have to go.’ I clutched my phone tightly. Could an
iPhone double up as a weapon? I had a feeling there wasn’t a bludgeoning
app. ‘I can’t do this.’
‘Rachel, you’re working,’ Dan explained slowly. ‘You can’t just leave.
Remember? You make the model look pretty, then I take the photos and
then we all get paid.’
‘I found a replacement,’ I said, ignoring his hilarious tone. ‘She’s got my
directions, she’s fine. You’ll be fine.’
‘This morning you said you were fine,’ he countered, still not happy.
‘And now you’re screaming at supermodels. I can’t believe you’re being so
unprofessional.’
Which was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Stupid camel.
‘Shut up.’ I felt hot tears pouring madly down my face from nowhere. ‘I
turned up today, I did my best and I fucked up, I know, but I’ve sorted it
out, OK? Just let me go home, you arsehole. I can’t be here right now.’
‘Thank god you’re going,’ Dan shouted as I pushed past him to the shiny
black people-carrier that was pulling up on the pavement. ‘Seriously, I don’t
want you on my set in this state. Sort yourself out, woman.’
I turned to stare at him, open-mouthed. This was a new height of
dickishness, even for him. ‘Oh my god, you absolute bastard.’ I marched
over, yanked the bag of Monster Munch out of his hand and stomped on it
with what I hoped was a defiant and not-at-all crazy stare. Before I could
deliver what would doubtlessly have been an epic one-liner, he reached out
and pushed my hair back from my face.
‘Did he hit you?’ he said, touching my cheek.
‘What?’ I couldn’t help but be a bit confused. Did who hit me? Why was
he touching me? Why was my cheekbone tingling?
‘You have a black eye. Did he hit you?’ He let go of my face and made
fists with both hands. Very manly. ‘Your ex?’
If it was at all possible, Dan looked even angrier than he had before I trod
on his Monster Munch. I just wished I’d stolen them to eat in the car. My
stomach was screaming out for a tasty corn snack.
‘What are you talking about?’ I was very, very concerned that Dan had
gone insane, until I went to wipe wet face and came away with a handful of
Touche Éclat. Ah. Black eye.
‘No one hit me.’ I had been trying so hard not to touch my make-up, I’d
completely forgotten about the actual injury. Apparently YSL was not
waterproof. Which you’d think I’d know. ‘I’m a moron. I hit myself. With a
bag.’
Dan eyed me suspiciously for another moment. ‘That does sound like
something you would do,’ he relented. ‘But, you can’t just fucking leave.
Just have a minute and we’ll get this done as soon as, then you and I will go
to the pub and get hammered and,’ he reached out and took hold of my
hand, ‘we’ll talk.’
‘I told you, I got a replacement.’ I shook him off and pushed my case into
the back seat of the taxi. ‘I don’t need to get hammered, I just need some
sleep and I’ll be fine tomorrow.’
‘Rachel, you can’t go.’ He grabbed hold of the car door as I threw myself
in after my case. ‘I mean, if you go now, I don’t want you on my set
tomorrow.’
‘All right Dan, can we crack on?’ Tina hung out the door and pouted. ‘I
don’t know how much longer I can talk about The Hills with this brainless
tart.’
I shook my head at the speed of Ana’s recovery.
‘That’s your replacement?’ He didn’t even turn around to look at her.
‘Myra Hindley?’
I was fairly certain he was just making a very unfortunate reference to
her hairdo so I ignored him.
‘Did she tell you about her dead dog?’ I could see Tina was trying to look
sympathetic, but she was wearing so much make-up, she just sort of looked
like a sad tranny.
‘Get out of the car,’ Dan demanded, kicking the bumper with his Adidas
Sambas.
‘I’m sorry, I won’t do this again.’ I could feel the tears threatening again.
I wasn’t sure if it was the hangover, the humiliation or Tina’s face, but I had
to leave. ‘I’ll be back in the morning.’
‘No, you won’t, because you’re off my set.’ Dan slammed the door shut.
‘You’re fired.’
‘What?’ I spluttered out the window. ‘You can’t fire me.’
‘All right, maybe I can’t fire you, but I can throw you off my fucking set.
Now do you mind, me and Andy Warhol here are going to be busy
correcting your mistakes.’ He turned and vanished back inside, Tina giving
me a thumbs-up and following.
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