Chapter Thirty-Six Netta
Chapter Thirty-Six
NETTA
‘So, are we going for sleek femme fatale?’ Marieke, the stylist, held up a fitted, floor-length, one-shouldered, electric blue velvet dress. ‘Or are we going to deck you out like a Christmas tree?’ She wrestled a second dress, covered in sequins and fringing, from the rack.
‘I love them both,’ said Netta from her post on the bed, where she was wrapped in a hotel robe, her hair and make-up already done. ‘But I think I need something a little less out there.’
‘Hmm, okay,’ mused Marieke. ‘How about this?’ She unzipped another cloth bag and pulled out a red satin slip dress.
‘I think I’ll have enough scarlet woman vibes going on,’ said Netta. ‘I think I need something simple. Classic. Definitely not red.’
‘Aha. I have just the thing.’ Marieke tugged a bulging bag from the rack and laid it on the bed.
Carefully, she unzipped it to reveal the softly shining folds of a voluminous black dress.
She pulled it out and held it up, shaking it gently to release the layers of the underskirt.
‘It’s vintage Chanel,’ she said, turning it to show Netta the scooped back.
‘It’s stunning,’ breathed Netta. Her insides were a washing machine, the thought of stepping into the spotlight spinning them dry at warp speed.
But, even so, this day of makeover magic had been a dream come true—the wedding day treatment she’d never had.
And the dress was incredible. ‘Do you think it’ll fit me? ’
Marieke motioned for her to stand up. ‘Only one way to find out!’
Netta stripped off the robe and let Marieke help her into the dress.
‘Like. A. Glove,’ said the stylist as she zipped the bodice over Netta’s waist. She stepped back and cast an approving eye over Netta. ‘It just needs …’ She scurried away to her huge kit bag and returned with a pair of spectacular earrings and a sparkling bracelet.
Netta put the jewellery on and went to the mirror. She gasped. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘I look …’
‘Beautiful,’ finished Marieke.
Netta’s hair had been set into old Hollywood waves and her make-up was understated and classic, her complexion creamy and her lips rosy pink.
She looked so different, like the very best version of herself had finally been excavated: a shinier, sparklier Netta Phillips.
The styling team had given her a sharp outline, where normally she kept the edges blurred to fit in, to not draw attention.
But now, looking at her reflection, Netta had to concede that Marieke was right. She did look beautiful.
Marieke smiled, assessing her handiwork. ‘I’d say Morrison Maplestone is going to be outshone tonight.’
Netta scoffed. ‘Hardly. His suit is pretty amazing and the rest of him isn’t exactly awful.’
‘Yeah, but he’s still not a knockout woman in vintage Chanel, now, is he?’ Marieke stepped back to examine Netta’s outfit once again. ‘Shoes,’ she said. She opened a suitcase full of boxes and rifled through them until she found what she was looking for. ‘These should work. Let’s try.’
Netta slid her feet into the velvet peep-toe heels and teetered a little. ‘I’m not used to wearing shoes this high anymore.’
‘You’ll be right,’ said Marieke. ‘I just want to …’ She vanished head-first into her kit bag again and emerged with two glittering brooches. ‘Take them off for a tick,’ she instructed.
Netta slid out of the shoes and watched as Marieke clipped the ornaments to them.
‘There,’ said Marieke, smiling. ‘Perfection.’
Netta slid back into the shoes and held one foot out to admire them.
‘You look fabulous,’ said Marieke. ‘My work here is done.’
‘You’re like a fairy godmother,’ Netta said, taking in her reflection once more. ‘I feel like Cinderella.’
Marieke grinned broadly. ‘It’s not all the dress, you know. Oh, I forgot something. Rhona asked me to give you this.’ From her handbag she produced a bottle of Bollinger. ‘Here. She said one glass to relax before you leave, the rest to celebrate when you get home.’
Netta poured herself a glass as soon as Marieke was gone.
Mo would arrive soon, but she had long enough for some liquid courage.
She took the glass back over to the mirror.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling so perfectly put-together before.
If she couldn’t face the music looking like this, there was no hope.
She took a sip of champagne and straightened, giving herself a steely glare in the mirror.
‘You’ve got this,’ she said aloud. Marieke had shown her some go-to red-carpet poses and she took a few moments to practise them.
She felt idiotic but had to admit, even the craziest one was better than her standard huge-grin-and-awkward-hands pose.
Her phone rang from inside the rhinestone-encrusted clutch Marieke had left for her to use.
‘Mo,’ she said, her pulse galloping. ‘Are you here?’
‘I am. You ready?’
Oh God, that voice.
‘As I’ll ever be. I’ll come down.’
‘No, no—wait there,’ he said. ‘I’ll come up.’
Netta put the phone back into her bag and clipped it shut.
She spritzed some perfume into the air and walked through it as she swallowed the last mouthful of Bolly in her glass.
Her lungs suddenly felt too small. This moment, she realised, was a far cry from the first time she’d opened that door to him, when she was in a dressing gown and still half asleep.
It was impossible to believe it had only been four days ago.
His knock was a quick double tap. Netta took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping back to let him in. ‘Hi.’
Mo didn’t move a muscle. He just stood there, unblinking, his lips parted. ‘Netta,’ he breathed. ‘You look …’
‘Like a proper grown-up?’
‘You look beautiful.’
Netta’s cheeks bloomed under her make-up. ‘So do you.’
That was an understatement. He’d gone from hot to scorching and looked every bit the celebrity.
His suit had definitely become ‘at one’ with him, as Valerie had suggested.
His hair had been combed into submission and his stubble tamed.
And he smelled incredible. Netta could practically feel her ovaries going into overdrive, pumping out every egg she had left like machine guns.
She squeezed her thighs together, mercifully hidden under the full skirt of her dress.
‘Should we go?’
‘Nah, let’s just stay here and get pizza,’ Netta joked.
‘Ha! I wish. C’mon, let’s get this thing over and done with.’ He stepped back as Netta swooshed through the doorway, then offered her his elbow. ‘Madam, your chariot awaits.’
As they reached the lobby, Netta remembered her promise to Audrey. ‘One sec,’ she said. ‘I promised my friend I’d show her my outfit before we left.’ She left Mo waiting while she made her way to Audrey’s room.
‘Oh, Netta!’ Audrey cried as she opened the door. ‘You look absolutely radiant! Stunning! You’ll be the most beautiful woman there. I’d put money on it.’
Netta grinned. ‘I’d better get going. Just wanted to show you.’
Audrey dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Is your rock star here?’ ‘He’s in the lobby.’
‘Oh, we mustn’t keep him waiting! I’ll walk with you. Make sure you get there okay.’ Audrey closed the door behind her.
Mo turned as they approached.
‘Audrey Farrington,’ announced Audrey, extending her hand to Mo. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
Netta stifled a laugh. Forget Beyonce, next time she needed courage, she was channelling Audrey.
‘Morrison,’ said Mo, smiling and taking Audrey’s hand. ‘And I’m pleased to meet you too.’
Audrey fixed him with a shrewd glare. ‘You’ll take good care of this precious woman tonight.’
‘I certainly will.’
***
Outside, a small crowd had gathered around the limo.
‘The stretch always brings out the rubber-neckers,’ Mo murmured as he peered through the hotel’s door.
‘But no paps. They’ll already be hovering around The Royal Albert Hall like mosquitos.
’ He slipped his jacket off and handed it to Netta.
‘Still, might be best to cover up in case someone out there gets a shot and posts it. We don’t want anything getting out early and pissing Charlie off. ’
Netta hooked the jacket over her head, being careful not to ruin her hair, and let Mo guide her to the car. The driver opened the door for them in a comically fluid motion and shut it with a reassuring clunk once they were safely inside.
‘You can come out now,’ said Mo with a smile in his voice. ‘Tinted windows.’
Netta removed the jacket and handed it to him, self-consciously smoothing her hair.
‘Still perfect,’ said Mo.
Netta’s heart flipped and heat rose in her cheeks again.
In the quiet of the car, with only centimetres between her and Mo, she felt a new visitor in her belly.
Excitement. She’d not been expecting that.
Foreboding dread and crippling fear? Sure.
But excitement had not been on the radar.
Netta felt fortified by Mo’s company, despite heading directly for the lion’s den.
She smiled. Maybe tonight might be good, after all.
‘So, Rhona’s going to meet us there,’ said Mo as the car pulled away.
His knee moved closer to her as he turned to speak, reducing the centimetres to millimetres.
‘UK Yeah has set up a pretend red carpet for our photos. I know, it’s weird.
But whatever. Then you’ll go inside with Rhona and I’ll go and do the real red carpet, and I’ll meet you inside after.
We’ll be together all night, except when I’m on stage, slaughtering my career with that fucking song.
’ He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
‘You can stay in the audience to watch, or you can come backstage with me and watch from there. Whatever you’d rather. ’
‘Okay.’
‘You nervous?’
‘Yep.’
‘Me too.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. I’m always nervous about going on stage. And red carpets kill me. But, you know …’
‘It’s all part of the job?’
‘Exactly.’