Chapter Sixteen
I spent a pleasurable amount of time washing, blow-drying, curling, and re-curling my hair into tousled waves, dousing it in hairspray to hold all night.
I put on extra mascara, went for it with a shimmery cream blush, applied ample powder, and finished off with a glossy lip.
Then I spritzed my Le Labo fragrance into the air and walked through its wet cloud twice, a trick a make-up artist once taught me for ensuring your perfume lasts all evening because it clings to your hair and clothes more evenly.
I have no idea if it really works, but I enjoy the ceremonial aspect of getting ready for a big night out, or in this case a big night in.
It felt good to put so much effort into my look this evening. Although, feeling rebuffed by my own boyfriend, I couldn’t help but acknowledge that a little part of me knew I was doing it in the hope that Jimi might notice.
‘Babes! Love your outfit. What a colour!’ Blair squealed as I entered the lounge.
‘And look at you! So chic.’ I grabbed the end of the mustard-yellow feather boa flung casually around their neck, and admired the brown houndstooth suit Blair was wearing with nothing underneath. On their feet were a pair of iconic Gucci fur loafers.
‘I’m calling this look “country house meets Harry Styles with a touch of Dame Edna Everage”.’ I smiled.
‘Who?’ they said.
‘Never mind.’
‘Don’t let the clothes wear you, remember, babes!’ they replied, smiling.
I went to give them a hug, but on lifting my arms I noticed how tight and achy they felt.
‘You okay?’
‘Jimi had me on his Pilates torture machine earlier and it seems to have done something to arm muscles I didn’t know I had.’ I rubbed my right upper arm with my left palm.
‘Where is your handsome date?’
‘What?’ I felt my cheeks flush, assuming Blair was suggesting Jimi.
‘Rob. Your boyfriend?’ they clarified. ‘I was half-thinking you might sneak him in tonight. I want to see if he’s as hot as he looks on Instagram.’
‘Oh.’ My shoulders relaxed. ‘Partners are strictly NFI, remember? Anyway, who’s here?’
I scanned the room. Lights had been dimmed and there was a smattering of people I didn’t recognise in small groups.
Some background electronic music was playing.
Then I noticed Jimi was behind the decks.
Well, when I say decks, I mean he was standing behind a small table in the corner of the room on which there was an open laptop, and the distinguishing DJ feature was some large headphones around his neck.
He looked up for a second and smiled. I felt something leap in my stomach.
‘They’re all Julie-Ann’s clients,’ Blair continued. ‘Mandy is easily the most famous, so this was a hot ticket for most of them. See her over there?’
They nodded subtly to our right, towards a woman deep in conversation with Mandy, who looked incredible in the gold dress.
‘The one wearing the gloves?’ I asked.
‘Why do you think she’s wearing them?’
‘She’s cold?’
‘Wrong. She’s got the most expensive hands in Britain, probably the world.
She’s called Kate Santini, she’s a hand model – doesn’t take her gloves off for less than twenty grand an hour.
Seriously. She was the hand in the new Ryan Gosling coffee commercials.
She told me she had him in the palm of her hand.
’ They laughed. ‘Short life span, that career though.’ They elbowed me in the ribs.
‘You’re on fire this evening, Blair,’ I said sardonically. ‘I’ve got to hand it to you.’
And we both giggled at our crap jokes.
‘Mandy looks good, doesn’t she,’ I commented, looking across at her holding court with the hand model.
Julie-Ann had now joined them, with two striking young women who looked like identical twins.
Mandy shone like a real-life, polished Oscar statuette, the dress hugging her curves.
Her hair was tonged, glossy and perfect, her skin glowing. She looked like the superstar she was.
‘She’s radiant!’ Blair commented.
‘Everyone is so beautiful,’ I gasped. ‘I think I need a drink to cope. Any idea where the cocktails are?’
We were just about to leave the room to find out, when I felt a gentle yet firm arm around my back. It was Julie-Ann guiding me over to the opposite side of the room.
‘Come and mingle,’ she said. ‘Everyone loves meeting the stylist.’
‘They do?’
She led me over to where Jose was talking to a woman with blond hair scraped back into a high ponytail, her lips pink and pillowy.
She was introduced as Aneka, by way of Julie whispering loudly into the back of my neck.
‘Ageing model. Used to be massive, on the cover of all the foreign Vogues – except US and UK, obviously – reinventing herself as a life coach.’
‘Oh darling, I’ve been supporting a friend who has been crying for the past week,’ said the woman to Julie-Ann, as Jose took his cue to quietly disappear.
‘What about?’
‘The cruelty of life.’ She looked wistfully out of the window.
‘Have you met Amber, Ane? Ane meet Amber.’
The model ignored her.
‘Of course, there was a trigger for this. She could remember the moment so clearly. She saw herself in the Vogue social pages at the Annabel’s anniversary party, and it had happened.
’ She stopped, clocking my presence by looking me up and down.
I wasn’t sure if my green jumpsuit had prompted the look of disdain, or whether it was related to what she was about to tell us. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’
‘It’s Amber.’
‘It had happened, Amber,’ she repeated dramatically.
‘What had happened?’ I asked, noticing Julie-Ann had conveniently sidled off too, leaving me alone with Aneka.
‘She looked different,’ she said, earnestly.
I was confused about what she meant by this – had her friend’s aesthetic doctor messed up her latest round of fillers?
‘She had aged,’ she continued morosely. ‘She had tipped off the precipice of youth and into the cavernous realm of the “older” woman. That is what she meant by the cruelty of life.’
‘It’s going to happen to all of us,’ I offered, helpfully.
She looked at me intensely. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-six.’
‘You wait until no one gives you a second glance anymore. It literally happens overnight. No amount of “good light”, filtering, or make-up will help you in day-to-day life. Your whole reality changes. It’s a kind of trauma.’
‘Sounds intense,’ I muttered.
‘Oh, it is. That’s precisely why I am retraining. I want to help people like my friend come to terms with the ageing process. Many of them are in mourning.’ She sighed.
‘Mourning?’
‘For their old face.’
I offered a pained expression.
‘Can’t age be an asset?’ I asked after a pause.
‘Every age is an asset, of course,’ she replied. ‘The trick is being at ease with it. That’s the hard part. No one teaches you about that.’ She shook her head.
‘I’m sorry for your friend,’ I said.
As we looked at each other awkwardly I was saved by Jimi approaching.
‘Ane, have you met Jimi yet? He’s Mandy’s personal trainer. He helps her stay young.’
‘Pull up a pew,’ she said, squeezing his bicep without invitation.
Then, as if we were playing the human equivalent of pass the parcel, I kindly smiled and muttered, ‘It was lovely to meet you, Ane. Excuse me, I need to find the alcohol …’
As the evening progressed, I proceeded to get pleasantly drunk on strong martini-based cocktails.
I had a chat about the benefits of adding apple cider vinegar to absolutely everything you eat with Ro and Matty, two guys from the ‘Somerset Set’, who were dressed like Bjorn and Benny from ABBA; a deep conversation with a lady called Star who was over from California to promote her work as a self-made ‘orgasmic meditation guru’.
‘Julie-Ann has been the most incredible guide and mentor,’ she told me, with so many pregnant pauses between words I wondered if she was in a state of orgasm at that exact moment.
‘She’s got me on This Morning on Monday, and then we’re meeting with an events producer to see about bringing my one-woman show to London.
Can you imagine, Orgasmic Manifestation Live at the O2 ? ’
‘No, I mean, yes,’ I replied, unsure where to look.
‘Have you ever created an orgasm with your mind, Amber?’ she asked, looking right between my eyes.
‘It’s called “Thinking Off”. Unbeknownst to many, the brain is the largest erogenous zone in the human body.
You can bring yourself to orgasm by stimulating your mind with your biggest fantasies. You should try it some time.’
‘Yeah, I definitely will,’ I said unconvincingly.
‘I can show you now, if you like?’ Star offered.
I made an excuse to swiftly move on.
The party was well underway, and I was feeling a bit tipsy when I wandered outside into the garden to try and ring Rob again.
He hadn’t been far from my thoughts all evening, and I wanted to share some anecdotes with him about the strange array of guests Julie-Ann had brought, and whether the Somerset Set would fly back to their apple farm in one piece.
I couldn’t wait to tell him about the orgasmic guru – he would find that hilarious.
I paused on the thought of orgasms. The idea of being romantically close with Rob already felt a distant memory.
I missed pressing my body into his and waking up with his arm flung across me.
He didn’t pick up. Again.
Maybe he is expecting me to be busy .
Maybe he’s busy.
Maybe he’s asleep already.
Maybe he doesn’t want to speak to me.
Maybe it’s over.
I also needed some air because Mandy was holding court in there, being vivacious in such a loud, brash way, clinking glasses and saying ‘Cheers!’ in a phoney British accent at every opportunity, and it was starting to grate.
Coco and Philippa seemed to feel the same way, because I found them sitting in a dimly lit corner of the kitchen drinking wine as I wandered past, swiping three trout cocktail boats on my way.