Shopaholic to the Stars

“Shouldn’t you get someone specially trained?” Suze is still looking dubious. “I mean, what do you know about it?”

“Loads,” I say, a bit offended. “I’ve picked up a lot from Golden Peace, you know, Suze. I’ve done conflict resolution and everything. To understand everything is to forgive everything,” I can’t resist quoting. “Buddha.”

“OK, if you’re such an expert, sort out this conflict.” Suze points at Wilfie and Clemmie, who are fighting desperately over some tiny plastic animal.

“Er … hey, Wilfie! Clemmie!” I call out. “Who wants a sweetie?”

Both children instantly stop tussling and hold out their hands.

“There!” I say smugly.

“Is that how you’re going to sort out Luke and Elinor?” scoffs Suze. “Offer them sweeties?”

“Of course not,” I say with dignity. “I’ll use a variety of techniques.”

“Well, I still think it’s risky.” She shakes her head. “Very risky.”

“One cannot refuse to eat simply because there is a risk of being choked,” I say wisely. “Chinese proverb.”

“Bex, stop talking like a bloody T-shirt!” Suze suddenly flips out. “I hate this stupid Golden Peace place! Talk about something normal. What are you going to wear for the benefit? And don’t say something stupid, like, Clothes are a metaphor for the soul.”

“I wasn’t going to!” I retort.

Actually, that’s quite good. I might drop that into a class at Golden Peace. Clothes are a metaphor for the soul.

Maybe I’ll get it printed on canvas to give to Suze for Christmas.

“Why are you smiling?” says Suze suspiciously.

“No reason!” I force my mouth straight. “So. What are you going to wear to the benefit?”

Suze can talk about shopping. She can talk about shopping!

Not only has she bought a new dress for the benefit, she’s bought new shoes, a new necklace, and new hair. New hair. She didn’t even tell me she was doing it. One moment she was “popping out to the hairdresser” and the next she was walking back in the door with the most luscious, glossy extensions I’ve ever seen. They stream down to her waist in a blond river, and what with that and the tanned legs she looks like a movie star herself.

“You look fantastic,” I say honestly, as we stand in front of my mirror. She’s in a beaded shift, the color of a glassy sea, and her necklace has a mermaid on it. I’ve never seen a mermaid necklace before, but now I’m desperate for one too.

“Well, so do you!” says Suze at once.

“Really?” I pluck at my dress, which is Zac Posen and very flattering around the waist, though I say so myself. I’ve styled it with my Alexis Bittar necklace, and my hair is in a really complicated updo, all little plaits and waves. Plus, I’ve been practicing how to stand on the red carpet. I found a guide on the Internet and printed it out for both of us. Legs crossed, elbow out, chin tucked in. I take up my pose, and Suze copies me.

“I look like I’ve got a double chin,” she says fretfully. “Are you sure this is right?”

“Maybe we’re tucking our chins in too much.”

I lift my chin and immediately look like a soldier. Suze, meanwhile, is doing a perfect Posh Spice pose. She has the expression and everything.

“That’s it!” I say excitedly. “Only smile.”

“I can’t stand like this and smile,” says Suze, sounding strained. “I think you have to be double-jointed to get it right. Tarkie!” she calls as he passes the open door. “Come and practice being photographed!”

Tarquin has looked shell-shocked ever since Suze appeared with extensions. Now he looks like a condemned man. Suze has forced him into a tailored Prada dinner jacket, complete with narrow black tie and dapper shoes. I mean, he looks very good, for Tarkie. He’s tall and strapping, and his hair has been artfully mussed by Suze. He just looks so … different.

“You should wear Prada all the time, Tarkie!” I say, and he blanches.

“Stand here,” Suze is saying. “Now, when you have your picture taken, you need to tilt your face at an angle. And look kind of moody.”

“Darling, I don’t think I’ll be in the photos,” says Tarkie, backing away. “If it’s all right.”

“You have to be! They photograph everyone.” She glances uncertainly at me. “They do photograph everyone, don’t they?”

“Of course they do,” I say confidently. “We’re guests, aren’t we? So we’ll be photographed.”