Mini Shopaholic

‘You really think so?’

‘I know it. It’s going to be sensational.’ She squeezes my hands. ‘I’d better run, or he’ll see me.’

As the front door closes, my phone rings yet again and I look at it wearily. I’ve been on the phone so long today, I feel like my vocal cords are wearing out. At last I summon the energy to pick it up. I don’t recognize the number, which is no surprise.

‘Hello? Becky here.’

‘Becky?’ comes a soft, female voice. ‘You don’t know me, but my name is Sage Seymour.’

What?

A huge spurt of adrenalin shoots through me, like three cans of Red Bull and winning the Olympics, all at once. I’m talking to Sage Seymour? She knows my name?

Sage Seymour is sitting somewhere, holding a phone, talking to me. Ooh, I wonder what she’s wearing. I mean, not in a pervy way. Just in a—

Come on, Becky. Answer.

‘Oh. Oh hi.’ I’m trying desperately to sound cool, but my stupid voice has shot up three octaves. ‘Um, hi! Hi!’

I can’t seem to move off the word ‘hi’.

‘I’ve hired your husband to do some publicity work,’ she says, her lilting voice totally familiar now. ‘But I guess you know that.’

My mind scampers in panic. Do I know? I mean, obviously not officially. But if I say Luke hasn’t told me, does it sound weird? Like he’s not interested or never talks to his wife?

‘It’s so exciting!’ I swallow. ‘I’m a huge fan.’

I want to shoot myself. I sound so lame.

‘It was a bit “out there” as a choice. But, you know, I was so sick of Hollywood bullshitters. Your husband had more sensible ideas for me in ten minutes than any of those bozos.’

I feel a flash of pride. I knew Luke would do a good job.

‘So, I heard about your party,’ Sage adds casually. ‘Sounds like a big deal.’

G’uh? How does she—

‘Y-yes,’ I stutter. ‘I mean, pretty big …’

‘I went on YouTube. Awesome tributes. Then my assistant got the email from Bonnie. You need to distract Luke, right?’

‘Yes! It’s all got out on the internet, and it’s supposed to be a big surprise and—’

‘How about I keep him busy for you?’ says Sage calmly. ‘I could demand he comes to the set. Throw a diva hissy. I can put on a good show. Once he’s at the set we’ll take care of him. Show him around, keep him occupied till you need him. Then we’ll send him off in a car.’

‘Wow.’ I gulp. ‘That would be amazing.’

I am so jealous. I want to go to the movie set. I want to be shown around. I’m frantically trying to think of an essential reason why I should go there too, when she adds, ‘You used to be on the telly, right? Morning Coffee?’

‘Yes!’ I say in amazement.

‘I used to watch you when I was off work. You were funny.’

‘Well … thanks!’ I gulp.

‘We should have a drink some time.’

It’s like the world tips on its side. I grip the phone, wondering if I just dreamed that. Sage Seymour has suggested we have a drink? A top, Oscar-winning movie star has suggested we have a drink? My whole life I’ve fantasized about this moment. I mean, I always felt it was meant to be. Didn’t I say? Didn’t I know all along I was meant to mix with movie stars?

Maybe we’ll become best friends!

Maybe I’ll be a bridesmaid at her wedding. You know, if she gets married or anything. I wouldn’t need to be the one standing next to her. I could be three along.

‘That would be … great.’ I somehow manage to get the words out.

‘Cool. Well, don’t worry about Luke. It’s in hand. And good luck tomorrow! Bye, Becky.’

And just like that, she’s gone. Feverishly I save her number in my phone. Sage Seymour. In my phone. Sage Seymour. Just like she’s any of my friends.

Oh my God, this is so cool.

I’m just sending a quick text to Gary and Bonnie – Good news! Sage Seymour says she will take care of Luke tomorrow till party – when I hear the crackling sound of Luke’s key in the front door. I thrust my phone away and grab a magazine.

OK. Act natural. I have not just been chatting with my new best friend Sage Seymour.

‘Hi there!’ I say, glancing up. ‘Good day? How was Gary?’

‘Fuck knows.’ Luke shakes his head. ‘He was making no sense at all. I’ve told him he needs a holiday.’ He grimaces as he takes off his coat. ‘Bloody hell. My arm. I’ve had five thousand jabs.’