Chapter Two #5
‘Mandy, I would really love this opportunity to work with you,’ I began, nerves kicking in as I held her gaze with mine.
It was the first time I’d noticed what an exquisite, pure shade of aquamarine her eyes were.
‘Not just because I think you are a fantastic personality, but because I believe we have an incredible, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here. You see, I don’t just love fashion – it goes much deeper than that.
I really believe in the power of fashion to influence how the world perceives you.
’ Mandy looked intrigued, so I took a deep breath and continued, ‘This isn’t new.
Sartorial choices have been on the front line of communication since ancient times – just ask the ancient Egyptians, where practically every colour, accessory, and garment a Pharaoh wore had meaning – but it has never been more important in modern times than now.
Today’s online world is crowded with unsolicited opinions, and how you present yourself is a form of art.
It has never been more critical to let your authentic self cut through the noise and shine through.
Your wardrobe is one of the things you have within your control.
Mandy, I want to help you step into not only some fabulous clothes, but to create stories with them – stories the world will fall in love with because they are one hundred per cent authentic to you.
To help spread influence in a really good way. ’
I stopped. I had surprised myself with the reference to the ancient Egyptians but felt relieved that not even Mandy could have a hotline to Cleopatra to check out the details.
I looked searchingly at the couple for a response.
‘Wow. Thank you, Amber,’ Mandy said after a beat. ‘I can see how much this role would mean to you.’ I nodded sagely in response. ‘And I’m glad you’ve said all this, because I wanted you here to discuss the whole of me.’
‘The whole of you?’
‘Not just what I wear, but what it all means.’ She paused and I wondered if she meant she was looking for a ghost writer as well.
‘I meant that figuratively,’ she clarified.
‘What I’m trying to say is, I like your idea of storytelling.
Fashion is about invention and fantasy. I’m looking for a stylist just like you, Amber. ’
She looked me straight in the eyes. She had now fully shed the cold demeanour I first witnessed. She appeared interested.
We smiled at each other slightly awkwardly, before she added, ‘Thank you for today. Jose will see you out.’
I glanced longingly at the open bottle of champagne she had left on the side, wishing I could take it with me. Turning down a free, cold glass of Veuve Clicquot was criminal in my book, but this was my signal to depart, and I had my desk to clear at Selfridges today.
I reached for my bag and Jose gave me a curt nod as he held out my coat the way waiters do, and ushered me towards the stairs. I glanced across at Jimi as I bade Mandy goodbye. He raised his hand casually but didn’t open his mouth. He seemed arrogant.
Jose was at the door of the suite.
‘We’ll be in touch,’ he said, opening it.
‘Thank you so much, Mr Marquez, I really enjoyed meeting you both.’
‘It was a pleasure, Amber.’ Jose smiled. This time it didn’t feel as though he found me slightly amusing. Instead, it was a smile which acknowledged I’d done a good job. ‘We’ll call Julie-Ann today and she will be in touch.’
Then he stretched out a soft, manicured hand and I held out my sweaty palm to meet it. Taking it, he moved his face to the side of mine and gently kissed the air on either side of my cheeks. ‘Ciao, bella.’
I was taken aback to be getting a kiss after an interview, but supposed it was the Latin American way.
And he does smell so good.
As I exited the Corinthia and began walking up Whitehall towards Trafalgar Square, on my way to the Tube, a black taxi pulled up at the traffic lights beside me.
At first, I thought my brain was playing tricks, but when I blinked and looked again, I could clearly see that it was covered in the tagline for Mandy’s YouTube channel, which was currently smashing audience figures.
Why is it that when you want something really badly, the universe shoves it right in your face?
‘What Mandy wants, Mandy gets … ’ it said, in big bright-pink text, next to an image of her in a crisp white shirt held together over her chest by just one button.
She was looking at the camera seductively, a coy smile dancing on her glossy lips, which were partly obscured by her raised forefinger, held lightly against her slightly parted lips in a pose which suggested Mandy had lots of secrets.
Her long mane, with caramel highlights, was tousled to perfection and blew out away from her face, thanks to the close proximity of a wind machine or hairdryer being held just out of shot.
I had been on enough photoshoots to know there would be a whole team of people just shy of the camera, each with a role to play to ensure every aspect of a publicity photo was perfect.
Collar up, no unsightly creases, shimmering tan on every visible morsel of flesh, baby hairs smoothed with lacquer.
The taxi pulled off revealing a further image of Mandy emblazoned on its back, this time she was waving. ‘See you soon, England!’ said the pink wording.
See you soon. I hope.
I crossed the road and into the Embankment underground station.
As I glided downwards on the escalator, my phone rang.
I hurriedly pulled it out of my bag thinking it was probably Rob wanting to know how the interview went, but to my delight it was an American number.
Could it be Julie-Ann already? ‘Hello?’ I answered.
The little bars indicating the level of reception were dropping by the second – three-two-one.
‘He-llo!’ I repeated. ‘Can you he—’ It went dead. Damn you, reception!
The end of the escalator was still a little way off. Panicked, without thinking straight, I turned around and began charging back up the escalator, my bag flying out to the side, knocking into people on the way past.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ shouted one man.
I knew immediately this was a bad idea, but I was committed to climbing the downward moving stairs now, and I had to make it to the top if only to save face. Panting, I strode upwards, taking the wide steps one by one, each steeper than the former.
‘Twelve, thirteen, fourteen …’ I reached the top, my legs shaking and my finger already on the little green ‘phone’ icon. Please answer, please answer.
‘Hi, Amber.’ It was Mandy. ‘Thanks for calling back. I wanted to discuss something,’ her voice purred as I caught my breath.
My heart was beating hard and fast.
‘Hi, Mandy. Is everything okay?’ It was a challenge to speak.
I was so out of breath. Surely, I hadn’t just risked my life on an escalator for the sake of Mandy asking whether the Missoni PR office might gift her the new resort collection?
You wouldn’t believe how many celebrities ask for freebies from their stylists, often putting us in the tricky position of having to beg someone on their behalf. It’s Awks with a capital A.
‘There is something about this potential position that we didn’t discuss,’ she said.
She’s right about that – the salary.
‘Julie-Ann will want you to sign an NDA before I can disclose the full details. I can’t say much, but – between us – I’m coming to the UK.
’ My mind flashed back to the ‘See you soon, England!’ line on the back of the taxi.
It made sense that UK streaming platforms and e-commerce sites would want to get in on the cash-cow that was the world of Mandy Sykes.
‘That’s great news. Do you need someone to get you ready for some promotional activity?’ I probed.
‘Honey, it’s not just the publicity I’ll need dressing for – I’m actually moving to the UK, so I’ll need my stylist with me twenty-four/seven. So, I’m asking if you’d be open to joining my in-house team and move in?’
I dropped my bag to the floor.
‘Move in?’ I repeated.
‘Ah-huh.’
‘Oh wow.’ I tried to take it in.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a Tube attendant waving at me. I turned away, pretending not to have seen him. I needed a moment to process what Mandy had just said.
‘So, are you offering me the job?’ I clarified. ‘And is it based in London?’
‘Well, I can’t say much, but it’s definitely somewhere in the UK,’ she replied. ‘It’s a secret location. And yes – I’d like to offer you the job of being my personal stylist. You’ll join my glam-squad-in-residence.’
I breathed an audible sigh of relief. In the last couple of years, I had lived with Mona in Los Angeles, and then in our basic New York studio, so I didn’t fancy moving back to America, not now that Rob and I were properly living together.
The Tube attendant was right in front of me now. ‘Excuse me, madam, but you’re causing an obstruction. I need you to decide if you’re going down, or coming through the ticket barrier. Which is it?’
I mouthed at him in response, Two seconds!
‘I can’t see that being a problem, Mandy,’ I replied, without having a moment to properly consider the words tumbling out of my mouth. ‘Count me in. Thank you.’ I paused. ‘Oh, and the salary – are you able to—’
‘Excuse me, madam, but I need you to move along,’ said the man, more frantically this time. ‘Not in two seconds. Now!’
‘Great news!’ Mandy trilled. ‘Welcome to the team, Amber Green! We’ll finalise the details from the Maldives and then you can meet my A Team. I’m sure you’ll get along great.’
‘Thank you, Mandy.’ I beamed.
‘Julie-Ann will give you a buzz about all the other details,’ she replied.
I had forgotten how averse celebrities can be about discussing important points like salary and start date.
‘No problem, I’ll speak to Julie-Ann. Thank you!’
A voice rang out from the station’s Tannoy: ‘Would the woman with the bag on the floor currently obstructing the downward escalators please vacate the area? See it. Say it. Sorted.’
‘Sorry – I mean, sorted!’ I shouted at no one in particular, as people turned to look at me. Then I stepped back onto the downward escalator, my head spinning, heart pumping – and a big smile spread across my face. The timing could not have been better.
The train carriage was busy, but I never minded being on the Tube – to me it was a place to observe fashion in action, spot trends and marvel at how people decided to present themselves to the world; it was a place where you didn’t know if someone was rich or poor by looking at them.
In fact, many of the wealthiest people in this city cared little about gaining status through the labels in their wardrobes.
In my observation, through working in fashion, many of those with the least to spend liked to wear a branded item like a designer cap or tote bag.
It always fascinated me how people used the currency of fashion to tell their story.
I wondered what conclusions people might jump to if they studied my clothing; if they would have any inkling that I was a personal stylist. And not just any stylist because, as of two minutes ago, I became the stylist to Mandy Sykes, A-list celebrity.
Well, perhaps more C-list, depending which gossip site you subscribed to, but still.
As I looked around me, I tried to process the conversation I had just had with Mandy.
This was a dream job for me. Sartorially speaking, there was so much potential.
There was still the small matter of my salary to be discussed, as well as the details around what ‘moving in’ with Mandy actually entailed, but I imagined Julie-Ann would soon be in touch and this kind of role was much better than earning nothing.
It was likely to be a rise on my paycheque at the store.
The headline news was that the feeling in my stomach right now was akin to the time I found a vintage Mulberry handbag grossly under-priced in a charity shop, so I took this to be a good sign.
As I sat on the Tube, I WhatsApped Rob and Vicky in tandem. I’ve got the job!!
Rob messaged back immediately. Amazing! Well done, baby, what did she offer you?
Fortunately, my reception faded again before I could reply to that one. I’d make it a priority to email Julie-Ann the second I re-emerged from the Tube.
Nora’s birthday dinner was going to be fantastic this evening, because there was so much to celebrate.
I caught the eye of a small, older woman squashed into the corner of the carriage not far from me, her deeply tanned face ingrained with lines that held thousands of stories. We smiled at each other. Perhaps in her brief assessment of me, she recognised my excitement.
As I left the carriage, she whispered something and pressed a piece of paper and a sprig of heather into my palm. In that second before the Tube doors closed behind me, I had nothing to give her in return but a big smile.
On the platform I opened and read the handwritten words on the piece of paper: Don’t just exist – live.
She would never know how much the words resonated with me. Mandy had handed me an opportunity to participate in life; to feel something new. Whatever the salary, I knew I had no choice but to take it.
On the platform, I looked down at the sprig of dry heather in my hand and snapped a photo of it. As I ascended the escalator at Bond Street, I uploaded the image to Instagram, with the caption, ‘Don’t just exist – live’.
It would be my new mantra. I liked the phrase so much, I even added it to my bio. Most of all I took the gift as a sign that everything was going to work out.
I had been asked to clear my desk at Selfridges today and now I was feeling good about it.
As I left the Tube station, I dropped a five-pound note into the hat of a busker.
Paying a kind act forward felt like the least I could do.
Then I did a full three-sixty twirl around a lamppost, and I didn’t care who noticed.