Chapter Eleven
T o say the shoot went badly would be an understatement.
As the day progressed, rails of my carefully chosen pieces from top British brands ranging from Burberry to Rixo remained untouched, as it became clear that Mandy was much more Florida than London Fashion Week.
It was challenging to ask her to wear anything with a high neck, below the knee, or made of silk.
Julie-Ann’s brief to make her style more English rose than the Kate Middleton was frankly a joke.
At any given opportunity she’d insist on a last-minute change into a Bardot-style off-the-shoulder neckline, or on adding big gold hoops, or aviators.
At Mandy’s request, music blared from the Sonos system, and a stream of explicit rap rang out in all rooms of the house.
Mandy would get lost in the vibe of the music, throwing herself around.
Jimi wasn’t being much help, goading her on, encouraging her to pose seductively on the bed.
The neutral bed linen and William Morris vibe of the house jarred with the unashamedly garish celebrity before us.
Even Mart – the so-called creator of dreams, who had worked for the coolest stars and fashion magazines – was struggling to find a workable theme here.
I was thinking on my feet, making suggestions like adding a faux fur jacket to some of the looks to introduce more softness. This proved a mistake because Mandy became obsessed with the texture, burying her head in it like a kitten on heat.
‘It’s so soft! Feel it,’ she purred, her pupils large as her eyes glowed with excitement. ‘Oh, I could lose myself in this jacket, I’d like to live in it. Can I keep it, Amber? Do you think you could ask them if I can?’
I feigned excitement, it was all I could do. ‘Isn’t it amazing, Mandy? Sure, I’ll ask the PR.’
Her behaviour was bizarre on every level.
I had one ear trained on Julie-Ann, and could hear every word she was saying as she peered over Mart’s shoulder to see thumbnails from the shoot as they appeared on a laptop in real time.
‘The styling is a disaster ,’ she quipped. ‘Britain is not going to bond with this brash American, who has not won the right to hole up in one of our most historic homes. This is a mess.’ It made my insides tighten and a prickly heat rose through my body.
The styling is a disaster. Five words no stylist ever wants to hear. Five words that could end a photoshoot. A job. A career. A bonus.
I was standing to the side of the bedroom, a soft brown cashmere rollneck dress laid carefully over my left arm, as I cautiously suggested a compromise – keeping the snake-print boots, but teaming them with the cashmere dress, rather than the skin-tight, scoop-neck, python-print mini dress from her own wardrobe that she was currently sporting.
‘Where are the body chains?’ Mandy snapped at me, her scowl broadcasting her disdain at my choice of clothing once again.
‘Fashion is all about putting on an act, grabbing attention, creating moments that will stop the scrollers in their tracks. You’ve got to fake it ’til you make it. C’mon, girl! Where’s the glamour?’
I felt humiliated and looked across the room in desperation, trying to get Blair’s attention with my eyes, then scanning right to Lola, who was standing a couple of feet away, to Jimi in the wings, and then across to Julie-Ann and Mart by the laptop station.
They all looked away, suddenly busy with something. Why was no one backing me up?
Surely, they knew what Mandy was like, and could see what was going on.
She was manipulating me – going against everything I had been briefed and that we had previously discussed.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have the right clothes for Mandy, it was that she didn’t want to wear them.
I felt hopelessly alone as they all avoided eye contact. No one knows how to handle her.
‘OK.’ I smiled, taking a deep breath.
I can either give up or stand up for myself.
There was nothing for it, but to be relentlessly positive.
I took a breath. ‘What about looking at this another way?’ I began.
‘What if we stop letting the clothes do the talking, and you become the star of the photos? I’d like to see you steal the scene here, Mandy – and I’m pretty sure I’m talking on behalf of not just everyone in this room – but all of your British fans. I’d like to see the real you.’
Mandy was quiet for a moment, like she was at least listening. I held my breath as I waited for her response. The silence seemed to grip the whole room. Half of me wanted to crumble like a dry sandcastle, but deep down I was proud I had stood up to her. My stomach was in a knot.
Slowly and silently, Mandy sat up on the bed on which she had been posing seductively just a few seconds ago.
She shimmied until her legs were hanging over the edge, then she leant forward, reached for the heel of one of the boots which she firmly tugged and pulled off, throwing it onto the floor.
The second one quickly followed. Then the corners of her mouth rose upwards, and she threw her head back.
‘The real me?’ she roared. Then she began laughing.
The tiny dress rode up her legs, revealing a large expanse of puckered skin on her ample thigh. It was pale in comparison with the lower section of her leg which had seen a hefty amount of instant tanning lotion applied to it by Lola.
‘Cellulite, muffin top, belly fat? Oh, I’ve got plenty of that!’ she exclaimed, prodding her side. ‘You think people really want to see this?’
‘You look fantastic,’ I replied. ‘Don’t be ashamed of who you are.’
I looked around me and noticed that Julie-Ann had a sceptical look on her face.
‘Don’t you think this will lose me followers rather than gain them?’ she continued. ‘This is absurd.’
‘Not at all,’ I replied. ‘Fashion is changing. I mean it’s always been about making someone look their best but, for maximum appeal, that best must now be real – it should be raw, unfiltered, authentic. Show them you’re as vulnerable as the rest of us.’
Her eyes laser-focused on me, like I was a strange specimen she hadn’t seen before, and she couldn’t work out whether I was friend or enemy. But she seemed to be listening at least.
‘But what is real ?’ she asked.
‘Well, who are you, Mandy?’ I continued. ‘And I don’t mean your profession, your wealth, or your personal status as a wife and celebrity. Who are you?’
The question seemed to flick a switch inside her.
Mandy turned her head and looked out of the window. It was a simple question, but it demanded deep consideration.
After a pause which felt like an eternity, she whispered, ‘I don’t know.’
She hung her head. This felt like a private moment, except the room was full of people.
‘Think back to the past, if it’s easier,’ I probed, gently. ‘What comes to mind?’
Mandy looked upwards, I could almost hear her brain ticking.
‘I guess if I think of myself as a little girl,’ she began, ‘I remember the self-confidence I had. I used to disco dance and I would wear this kind of all-in-one leotard. I loved the whole performance aspect of it. I was so blissfully unaware of how I looked and what people might think of me. It was so freeing.’
‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘That little girl grew up.’ She shrugged. ‘She realised that everyone has an opinion. Young women are expected to be a certain way, and society has a beauty standard – it judges you harshly against it. She gave up dancing because she felt fat in those leotards.’
‘What would you tell that little girl now?’ I asked.
‘I’d tell her not to give up. That she shouldn’t listen to what other people think, but enjoy how dancing makes her feel.’ She smiled wistfully to herself.
I took a step back to give Mandy the space this moment deserved. You could have heard a pin drop in the room as thirty seconds passed.
‘So, who are you , Mandy?’ I asked again, softly.
Her whole demeanour seemed calmer now.
‘I am enough,’ she said.
‘Hold it. Right there,’ Mart announced, camera in hand and springing into action.
He waved his free hand, to signal for his assistant to move the softbox closer, quickly.
Mandy lay there gazing out of the window as he began clicking his lens, a gentle tap as flashes of light from the softbox caught her small movements on the bed.
Occasionally she would gently shift her position to be more comfortable. ‘This is beautiful ,’ Mart purred.
We continued like this for a few moments, with Mandy tweaking her position very slightly, chin raised and turned a fraction, then back again.
Her hair undone, dress twisted, flesh exposed.
The music had stopped, and Mandy didn’t notice, she seemed fully in the moment.
While Mart photographed her, all of us watched in awe.
It felt as though a bit of magic was happening before our eyes.
‘I think we’ve got it,’ Mart declared just a couple of minutes later.
He was then joined by Julie-Ann, Lola, and Blair in a huddle around the laptop. The blood coursing through my veins picked up speed. Were they happy? What did Julie-Ann think? Would Mandy push to have me fired?
‘Let’s all take five,’ Julie-Ann announced, sensing correctly that we needed to come up for air.
I let out a huge sigh and took the opportunity to call Lucy.
‘How’s it going?’ Lucy’s voice on the other end of the line was a comfort.
‘I’m on a shoot so I can’t be long,’ I whispered, as I left the room and went into the hallway, away from the rest of the team. ‘I just thought I’d check in; see if you’re all okay.’
‘How’s the shoot going?’ she asked.
‘Other than Mandy refusing to wear anything I’ve prepared, and fearing that I will be sacked at any moment, it’s going brilliantly.’
‘That sounds tough,’ she replied, ‘but what is it you’d say to me – you can do tough things? It’s not as if you’re not used to working with difficult people. Remember?’
‘I remember all too well,’ I said. ‘In fact, I still have PTSD. Why do I always attract the strong personality types?’
‘Well, what did you expect from a Leo?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Checking her star sign was the first thing I did when you told me you were working with Mandy. This is me, sister.’
‘Care to share any tips on how to handle the leader of the animal kingdom?’
‘Always be honest and make her feel special,’ she replied. ‘Fiery she may be, she’ll be loyal once you win her trust. Show her you can listen.’
‘I feel like I’ve had a little breakthrough with her just now,’ I replied. ‘Anyway, I didn’t mean to call the Mystic Meg hotline. I wondered how you’re doing?’
‘I’ve actually got a bit of news to share with you,’ she said.
My heart rate sped up.
‘I caved, and we found out the sex of the baby yesterday. We’re having a boy!’
‘Oh, Lucy!’ I exclaimed, my heart swelling. ‘This is amazing news! I’m so happy for you all. How are you feeling?’ My voice trailed off into nothing, as I noticed out of the corner of my eye Mandy standing in the doorway.
Got a minute? she mouthed coolly.
‘Luce, I want to talk more, but I think I’m needed. I’ll call you again later.’
‘Okay, good luck.’
I walked slowly towards Mandy.
‘Is everything okay?’ I asked.
‘Have you got a new job already?’ she quipped, as I joined her by the entrance to the bedroom. The rest of the team had disappeared to the kitchen for refreshments.
‘Er, no,’ I replied, biting my lip. ‘Should I?’
‘Julie-Ann’s read me the riot act. I come in peace.’ Her eyes looked warmer, and she held out her hand to meet mine, giving it a gentle squeeze and then letting me go.
‘It’s okay.’ I gave her a wary smile.
‘What’s the news then?’
‘My sister – she’s having a baby boy,’ I said. ‘It’s her second.’
‘How lovely for her,’ she said unconvincingly. A moment passed between us. She looked as though she was going to say something else and then thought better of it.
‘Yes, it’s great news. We thought she’d stop at one.’ I smiled.
‘She’s lucky,’ Mandy murmured and turned back to join the crew, signalling the conversation was closed.
The shoot went much more smoothly after that.
We ripped up the tear sheet for aristocratic styling and put Mandy at the centre of every photo.
The conversation we had shared earlier seemed to have had an impact and she appeared much more thoughtful.
Although she’d still be giggling for no reason one minute, the next she appeared spaced out, or she’d get obsessed with a little detail on an outfit.
I felt equally perplexed by Mandy’s push-me, pull-me attitude.
One minute telling me her secrets, the next making me feel like I was for the chop.
As I watched her, I couldn’t get the ovulation stick I found this morning out of my mind and had a pang of regret for telling my sister’s baby news to her so flippantly.
Mandy may have thought I was being insensitive.
It may be a fertile window for her, but with Jose away, it was unlikely to yield the result she was looking for.
There were so many things about her that I couldn’t get a handle on.