Chapter Two #3
Our worlds were so far apart, the amount of money it took to stay in a suite like this was barely comprehensible to me. Yet I had to put this to one side – to make her see me as an equal, at least when it came to style – if this was going to work. I took a deep breath. You’ve got this, Amber Green.
I was beginning to feel quite hot, so I took off my biker jacket and set it down on the floor.
‘Here,’ said Jose, handing me a hanger. I had barely noticed him join us in the room.
I hung my jacket and slipped off my shoes, instantly feeling better in bare feet on the cream carpet.
‘There is plenty to work with here,’ I assured her, ‘you have great taste.’ The second part wasn’t quite true but, in this moment, I needed her to like me as well as respect my judgement.
My eyes darted from one thing to the next: a couple of patterned kaftans; three Hermès bags and a host of clutches; a row of formal dresses made from stretchy body-con fabrics, in vibrant colours that would make anyone stand out in a crowd; and a more sedate section of black, white, and neutral items. To the left were at least ten shelves containing a range of shoes.
Mandy was definitely not a flats person, or even a walking one – none of her vertiginous heels looked capable of taking the wearer much farther than a few steps from car to venue to seat.
But then again, Mandy was experienced at high-octane glamour.
Maybe she can run a half marathon in them.
I turned to her and said brightly: ‘I can see you love fashion, Ms Sykes.’
‘Call me Mandy, please.’ She smiled. ‘You’ve got that right.’
Rule Number One of winning a celebrity’s favour: flattery. Though they might try to tell you differently, celebrities thrive on compliments – it’s their equivalent of chocolate. After all, fame dies without adoration.
Mandy had turned away and was rifling through a drawer of body-con undergarments.
‘Spanx, Skims, Intimissimi … I’ve collaborated with them all,’ she said, as she artfully opened her gown and wriggled into a pair of sculpting mid-waist nude briefs, and then she dropped the gown and put on a matching bralette, keeping her back to me the whole time.
‘I loved your campaign with Skims, you looked incredible,’ I gushed, grateful for all the Insta-stalking I did last night.
‘That was fun. Kim Kardashian is such a doll.’
She’s warming to me, I can feel it.
Jose was now sitting on a chaise longue in the bedroom, a vantage point close enough to observe and record my progress, but not to interfere with the rapport we were building.
‘Okay, chica, scenario one,’ Mandy announced, turning around to look me in the eye. ‘It’s the amfAR Gala dinner, Cannes. What do I wear, stylist?’
‘You have two minutes!’ Jose called from the bedroom, before pushing a button on his expensive timepiece.
Feeling the pressure, I felt glad I hadn’t accepted any champagne. My pulse rate began to soar, and my hands felt clammy. I hadn’t yet eaten this morning – maybe I should have accepted a second coffee. It didn’t help that the Countdown theme tune was giving me an ear worm.
I sucked in my cheeks in an effort to pull myself into sharp focus. You got this, Amber, you got this. I had listened to enough self-improvement podcasts to know that your inner voice should be your greatest champion. You can do this. Focus.
AmfAR Gala.
What the hell is amfAR when it’s at home? Some kind of gathering of long-lost Americans?
Deciding against coming clean, I deduced that whatever it was, it was bound to be glamorous because it was a gala event at the Cannes Film Festival – which had to mean chic evening wear suitable for the French Riviera.
I set to work, strumming a row of gowns hanging on the centre rail in the closet.
For a moment I paused to closely examine a delicate black ruffled gown by Dior, marvelling over the craftsmanship of the tiered chiffon with lace trim.
It was a definite contender, but black struck me as too sombre for Mandy to make an entrance in sun-soaked Cannes.
Continuing down the rail, I was drawn to a stunning silk scarlet gown with a plunging neckline and soaring split.
With its low back and delicate straps, it would hug her curves and be sure to make Mandy stand out from the crowd.
‘This is a showstopper,’ I announced decisively.
‘It’s so striking you can let it do all your talking – I would keep your hair and make-up simple and minimal, just a smoky eye is enough.
For accessories, some diamond earrings and a tennis bracelet – we could borrow some jewels for an event like this.
A simple gold sandal would be best to set it off. ’
‘Ah, my Jessica Rabbit dress.’ Mandy smiled, giving me the sense that I had chosen well. ‘I wore it to a benefit in Venice last year, maybe you remember.’ I smiled reassuringly, unsure whether the fact she’d worn it before was a good thing in her mind, or not.
‘Oh, and sunglasses, mustn’t forget those!
’ I said cheerily, picking up a chic pair of large round black Chloé shades from a menagerie of accessories she had laid out on the dressing table.
‘The red carpet will most likely open in daylight, this being Cannes, and the sun doesn’t set until nine p.m. in summer, so you don’t want to be squinting at the paparazzi.
It’s chic and the perfect finishing touch.
If you wanted to take a clutch, I’d suggest this miniature gold one, to tie in with the sandals,’ I added, lifting a tiny box bag from a nearby shelf.
‘Time!’ Jose yelled over my shoulder, signalling my first test was complete.
Neither of them gave much away about how I had done, but as I wasn’t being handed my coat, I assumed okay.
I wondered whether Mandy would try the outfit on, but instead, she nodded approvingly as I hung up the one complete look, on the side of the closet.
She walked towards a section containing drawers. Again, she stood with her back to me as she emptied the drawers, turning to produce a handful of beachwear accessories from behind her back like a magician, then she grabbed some underwear and placed it all in a pile on the floor.
‘Scenario two. I’ve been invited aboard a top movie director’s yacht in Saint-Tropez for the day. We’ll lunch at Club 55. What do I pack?’
I sprung to life, all of my past experience returning in a heartbeat as I skilfully began sorting the jumble before us into accessories, underwear, and beachwear, because the first thing a stylist needs is order.
Surveying what was at my disposal, I then began putting some looks together.
Without really thinking about it too hard, I instinctively reached for a Dolce this was becoming fun.
Mandy had moved out of the closet area now and into the bedroom, where I noticed another person had joined us. There was a man younger than Jose, and he was sunk casually in an oversized armchair, looking at his phone.
‘This is my brother-in-law,’ Mandy informed. ‘He got in from Miami this morning.’
The guy looked up from his phone briefly to acknowledge me, more as a courtesy than with any real interest.
‘Ciao.’ He picked up a plate of croissants from the table next to him and offered it to me. ‘Croissant?’ His eyes sparkled.
‘Oh, no thanks,’ I replied. ‘Pleased to meet you … um?’ I looked at him blankly, panicked that his name had gone in one ear and straight out of the other.
‘She didn’t tell you my name,’ he responded, reading my mind.
If I wasn’t mistaken, he had a smug smile on his lips.
He spoke perfect English and if it wasn’t for the Latino lilt I would think he was an entitled British upper-class brat.
There was an awkward moment as we caught each other’s gaze – a fleeting appraisal – before quickly looking away.
His clothes smelt of money, a Ralph Lauren logo on his T-shirt, and a pair of box-fresh Nikes on his feet, that I’d bet were limited edition.
‘Seriously, where are your manners?’ Mandy said, swiping a croissant from the plate and nibbling it. Flakes of pastry instantly fell onto her chest, into her bosom cleavage and onto her dressing gown.
‘Where are yours ?’ he teased. He turned to me. ‘My name is Jimi.’
I took him in; it was impossible not to stop what I was doing and absorb him for a second.
He had a thick, curly mop of dark brown hair, flecked with sun-kissed, caramel-coloured highlights.
His wide face was framed by strong, defined cheekbones.
He had deep brown eyes, the colour of shiny conkers.
The sharp, zesty aroma of his aftershave floated around us and made my nostrils twitch.
Christ, he is ridiculously good-looking, and he smells amazing.
I felt a pang of something, which I tried to convince myself was just hunger. A hunger for what, I am not quite sure.
With her free hand, Mandy brushed the bits of croissant off her chest before waving for my attention.