Chapter Eighteen
WEEK FOUR
I had just taken half a sleeping tablet when Mandy appeared in the premium economy cabin on the plane. She was wearing the plush first-class loungewear and looked worried.
‘I wondered if we could have a little chat?’ she asked pensively, as the guy I was sitting next to involuntarily snorted in his sleep. ‘Shall we go somewhere private?’
‘Like where?’ I asked, looking around me. The baby in the bassinet on the row to my right hadn’t stopped wailing for the last forty minutes, and most of the passengers who were awake, which was most of us, were now gawping at Mandy.
‘No way. That’s Mandy Sykes!’ I heard a woman in the row behind whisper loudly.
‘Who?’ replied the man sitting next to her.
‘This is hell,’ Mandy muttered.
I wonder if she’s referring to not being recognised or being this far back on a plane?
‘Come to the front. They won’t mind if we have five minutes, they’re looking after us so well.’ She smiled broadly, so as many people as possible could hear.
I felt a little disgruntled that I didn’t even make it to business with Jimi for this flight, although I knew it wasn’t justified – I was just staff, and premium economy was at least one step up from the economy cabin where Mona always sat me.
We moved through the plane, passing Jimi in business. I tried not to obviously stare, but noticed he was lying flat on his bed, arms folded casually across his broad chest, eyes closed, his lush, dark curled eyelashes long enough to windsurf on. Dreamy.
‘So, Amber, how are we going to handle the styling?’ Mandy asked when we reached her mini suite in row one of the plane. She moved the four-hundred-thread-count bedding out of the way and indicated for me to join her and sit. An attendant approached and offered me a drink.
‘Champagne?’ Mandy asked.
I politely declined. Although I generally enjoyed working with Mandy, there was often a sense that she was playing with me; that she might dangle something tantalising and then disapprove if I took her up on it.
‘This pregnancy,’ she confided, ‘it’s new territory for me and I’m nervous.’
‘That’s natural,’ I reassured her. ‘I’ve not been pregnant myself, but I imagine every mum-to-be must feel the same.’
‘So how do you suggest we work it, style-wise?’
I’d been thinking about this a lot, so I was prepped.
‘I think we should approach it with complete authenticity,’ I said assertively.
‘We can embrace maternity brands, but also let your audience in on the insecurity you feel about your changing body and worries about dressing for your evolving shape. Let them come on the journey with you as we figure out your identity as an expectant mum.’
‘But stretch marks, cellulite, swollen ankles, the big-ness … there’s nothing sexy about it,’ she muttered.
‘Some people find pregnancy sexy as hell,’ I replied. ‘It’s the most beautiful gift and there’s nothing more stunning than a woman’s body in pregnancy, I think. Anyway, if you’ve managed to avoid morning sickness – as far as I know – maybe you’ll be lucky with the rest of your pregnancy?’
She bit her bottom lip. I got the impression Mandy was toying with saying something, but didn’t, so I continued.
‘I think we can show pregnancy can be an empowering time when it comes to dressing. Plus, I think we need to up the sustainability angle too – look for ways to break into the fashion press, for all the right reasons.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mandy asked. ‘The most sustainable thing I’ll ever do for the human race is bring a new life into the world. Do I really need to wear compostable dresses while I do it?’
‘I’m not suggesting that.’ I giggled. ‘I’m just thinking we have a great opportunity to create a fashion moment here, something that will go viral for all the right reasons.’
The word viral made her nose twitch, a habit I noticed Mandy had when something caught her attention.
‘Remember that image of Demi Moore, naked, on the cover of Vanity Fair ? Or when Kim Kardashian wore Marilyn Monroe’s dress to the Met Gala?’
She nodded.
‘Both sustainable fashion choices that set the internet on fire. I know an incredible vintage shop in Beverly Hills called Decades, I’m sure they will have something to fit the bill. And if you fancy doing a Demi, well, that would grab attention.’
‘Are you suggesting I go naked?’
‘Would you consider it? Demi showing her bump in all its glory was the most powerfully dramatic symbol of femininity. People were talking about it all over the world. It was also a stunning work of art that conveyed a potent message about female liberation. I think that image could do with a 2025 reboot. What do you think?’
Mandy thought for a moment. ‘I’ll consider it. When the bump is big enough. For now, go to this Decades store when we land and find something sustainable. Something that isn’t a fig leaf.’
‘You got it, boss.’ I yawned, my eyes started to feel heavy.
‘I think you’d better get some sleep,’ she advised. ‘It’s going to be a busy few days.’
Touching down in Los Angeles instantly filled me with nostalgia for the balmy awards season I spent out here two years ago. The weather was a warm twenty-seven degrees and the smell of dry concrete and exhaust fumes outside LAX instantly transported me back.
Jimi and I rode together in a car from the airport.
I was glad of the opportunity to indulge myself in the scenes around me – him included.
Once we hit the highway, I took in the wide roads backed up with traffic at every time of day, the blue skies, palm trees, and actual Americans at the wheel of large SUVs and Teslas.
It was all so different to the UK. So big .
I lowered my window and the heat from outside hit me like a wave rolling in from the sea at Santa Monica.
April was as hot as a day in August back home.
As we neared Sunset Boulevard, I appreciated the iconic Hollywood Hills in the distance above us.
It was as intoxicating and exciting as the very first time I came here.
‘You look like a kid in a candy store,’ Jimi commented, looking across at me amused.
‘I feel like it,’ I replied. ‘I love this place. Do you?’
‘Not so much.’ He sighed.
‘Why’s that?’
He frowned. ‘We lived here when I was young, until about the age of ten, when we moved to Miami. It was a turbulent time.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s for another day. You just enjoy the view – and the fumes.’ He leant against the side of the car and closed his eyes, signalling the conversation was closed.
The winding road leading to Mandy and Jose’s mansion high up in the Hills was decorated with ancient eucalyptus trees, their leaves gently rustling in the breeze like they were whispering the secrets of old Hollywood as we wound our way around them, climbing up so high my ears popped.
Our chauffeur navigated the curves with practised ease as we reached a cul-de-sac and the Sykes’ mansion materialised before us, a sleek futuristic building protected from view by large, high black gates.
If the Surrey home was palatial, t his was a modernist’s dream, straight from the pages of Architectural Digest .
‘It’s a ground-up,’ Jimi announced as the gates opened automatically using state-of-the-art iris recognition triggered by the chauffeur. I looked at him confused. ‘That means it was dust when they bought the plot. You’ll understand why Surrey’s such a struggle when you see inside.’
The gates silently glided open to reveal a glass facade shimmering in the afternoon sun. I watched Mandy step out of the car in front of us, her heels sinking into the polished gravel driveway. The air smelt of jasmine.
A further iris scanner opened the front door, and we were greeted by an expansive hallway with black-and-white floor tiles and bone-white walls.
A large, modern clear-crystal-and-gold chandelier, which could have been plucked from a high-end hotel foyer, hung like a frozen waterfall in the middle of the room.
Beyond the hallway, floor-to-ceiling windows framed a circular central atrium full of lush tropical foliage, and a curved infinity edge pool highlighted the emphasis on indoor–outdoor living, perfectly suited to the Southern Californian climate.
‘God, I have missed this pool!’ Mandy declared, kicking off her heels. ‘This house was two years of hell in the making, Amber, but worth it.’
I struggled to contain a gobsmacked expression on my face as I took it all in.
‘And you moved to Surrey, from this ?’ I remarked.
‘Madness, as it turns out.’ Mandy laughed. ‘It’s good to be home. Hola, Louis!’ She turned to warmly embrace an immaculately groomed older man, who had silently appeared with cold towels on a tray. The Hollywood equivalent of Philippa.
‘Hola, Mandy, Jose, Jimi,’ he said, and they all greeted him jovially.
‘This is Amber’ – Mandy turned to me – ‘my stylist. She’s staying here too and can take the second guest suite.’
‘Very well, it’s ready,’ Louis replied, bowing his head compliantly, then turning to offer me a towel too.
I don’t mind if I do.
My room was far better than any hotel room I’d ever stayed in. It had a small terrace overlooking the twinkling lights of Beverly Hills beneath. Later on, as the sun nearly dipped below the horizon, I took a photo of the view.
I wish you were here , I typed into WhatsApp and sent to Vicky. Then I copied and pasted the same message, sending it to Rob. He hadn’t called me back after I missed his call before we left, and though it would be the middle of the night back home, I wanted him to know I was thinking of him.
After she had shared her news with us, Mandy’s pregnancy bump seemed to pop out overnight.
When I met her as instructed in her spacious dressing room early the next morning, she was already in a flap about the day ahead.
I began familiarising myself with the cacophony of open shelving displaying designer handbags, and shoe carousels crammed with strappy sandals in all colours.
It was barely conceivable that none of the items in here had made it to Surrey.
The pregnancy announcement had been moved forward to this morning, so as to attract maximum traffic from all corners of the globe, which meant we didn’t have time to go to Decades.
‘It’s no problem. We’ll go shopping in your wardrobe!’ I smiled brightly, trying to sound a lot less nervous than I felt.
Mandy’s LA-based glam squad, a make-up artist called Sandy and hair stylist Ace, was working on her makeover in the bedroom while I prepped the clothes.
Jimi popped in to offer me a coffee, which I gladly accepted.
I had felt a little shy around him since the night of the party, though he didn’t seem to act any differently, which made me question whether I had imagined the connection between us.
But there was little time to dwell on it right now.
Mandy had the dream closet, and I went through her wardrobe, getting acquainted with the designer goods in there, considering items, pulling out possibilities, and curating my choices into ‘maybes’ and ‘definitelys’.
Once complete, I hung up the ‘definitelys’ carefully at one end of the wardrobe to be reviewed by Mandy, as we made the final selection for her baby reveal look.
With her caramel waves tousled to perfection, Mandy came and surveyed my selection.
She tried a figure-hugging Hervé Léger peach dress and a striking Saint Laurent silver slip, and we even pondered a stunning cropped, tuxedo-style dinner-jacket and trousers combo by Dolce & Gabbana.
But nothing felt right to Mandy. I shuttled to and from the wardrobe adding more to the ‘maybe’ pile, but still she wasn’t convinced by any of my choices, and to be honest, neither was I.
Her bump was now clearly there, and she was feeling self-conscious, getting changed in the en-suite bathroom each time, instead of in front of me, as she had been happy to do previously.
‘We can at least save the Hervé Léger for the Baby Mom launch,’ I suggested optimistically, when she emerged for the fifth time complaining that the stretchy, body-hugging design was too dressed up for the purposes of this announcement.
Yet, the empire-line creation I had dressed her in before was too relaxed.
Finally, with time ticking, I suggested we take a break and regroup in ten minutes, by which time I would have pulled out even more options. As Mandy cautiously left the bathroom, I held up a white bathrobe for her to thread her arms into, feeling like a waiter in a posh restaurant.
She slipped out of the towel underneath and moved across to the huge, full-length mirror at one end of the dressing suite.
She stood there quietly surveying herself as, right on cue, Jose came and stood behind her, taking in his wife’s beauty.
He put his arms around her waist and spontaneously created a heart shape with his fingers over her bump.
‘You look beautiful, my babies,’ he swooned. Mandy lifted her face and twisted to kiss him on the lips, before placing her hands on top of his.
‘That’s it!’ I called, in a flash of inspiration. ‘Stay there!’ It didn’t matter that the scene around them was full of discarded clothes, including a couple of bras, in fact it added to the ambience.
‘The robe is perfect! Quick, Jimi, bring the phone!’ I called out.
‘Sandy, flick out her hair just slightly. Ace, a touch more powder on both.’ I moved around the couple, both of them barefoot, Jose wearing white joggers and his trademark white T-shirt, a chunky silver chain bracelet around his wrist. I darted around the front and loosened the dressing gown belt around Mandy’s waist to accentuate her middle even further.
Mandy cupped my face with her hands. ‘You’re a genius, Amber!’ She smiled contentedly.
Jimi crashed into the room, iPhone in hand. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes, shoot some video too!’ Mandy commanded.
In just thirty seconds, the perfect social media content was created: an intimate moment between a pregnant couple marvelling at the miracle they had created.
It did not require an expensive fashion photographer, assistants, lighting rigs, or management barking orders, it felt completely natural.
The resulting video and stills were relaxed, romantic, and real. Within minutes, Jimi had edited it into a ten-second video, set it to a song Mandy had recorded several years ago, aptly entitled ‘Ooh Baby’, and uploaded it to YouTube, TikTok, Instagram, X, and Snapchat simultaneously.
We busied ourselves tidying the room and waited.