Shopaholic to the Stars

I’m here! I’m one of the in crowd! I’m in a top seat at a premiere! I have Nenita Dietz’s card and an invitation to call her!

So … why do I feel so hollow? What’s wrong?

My leather seat seems chilly, and the air-conditioning is making me shiver. As music starts blasting through the speakers, I jump. This should be the biggest treat ever, I keep telling myself. Suze’s voice is ringing in my ears, I hope you have the time of your life, and my own defiant reply, I will.

But the truth is: I’m not. I’m sitting in a cold, dark room full of strangers, about to watch a movie I don’t want to see, without any friends or family to share it with. I’m not famous. Everyone was calling me Betty. I’m not Betty; I’m Becky.

I finger Nenita’s card to reassure myself. But even that feels toxic in my fingers. Do I want to work with that scary witch? Do I want to be her? I feel as though I’ve reached the oasis mirage in the desert. I’m scooping up sand and I’m telling myself it’s fresh and pure water … but it’s not.

I’m breathing harder and harder; my thoughts are whirling round my head; I’m gripping the armrests of my seat until my fingers hurt. And suddenly I’ve had enough. I can’t stay here. I don’t want to be here. I have other, far more important things in my life than a red carpet and celebrities. I have my family and my friends and a problem to sort out and a husband to win back and a best friend to help. That’s what I have. And I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to see that.

I have to leave. Right now.

Muttering apologies to the people around me, I get up and make my way to the side of the auditorium. The seats are full by now and a man in a dinner jacket has just started making a speech at the front, and all the attendants are giving me odd looks … but I don’t care. I need to get out. I need to talk to Suze as soon as I can. She probably hates me. I don’t blame her. I hate me too.

Nenita is still standing in the lobby with Aran and a few others, and as I look at her anew, I feel a sudden revulsion. No, worse: outrage. How dare she try to curse me? How dare she dis Danny? As she’s turning away to enter the auditorium, I tap her on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, Nenita,” I say, my voice shaking slightly, “I’d just like to rebut a couple of things you said. Maybe I shouldn’t have betrayed Lois—but you should know, she isn’t exactly the girl you think she is. Second, I reckon people who try to give other people bad karma get bad karma themselves. Third, my dress is not dated. Danny Kovitz is a very talented designer and all the young fashion bloggers are going wild over it, so maybe if you don’t like it, you’re the one who’s dated.”

I hear a couple of gasps from Nenita’s acolytes. But I don’t care. I’m on a roll.

“As for us being similar …” I hesitate. “You’re right. When I know what I want in life, I go after it.” I look around at the PR girls; the cameras; the rows of glossy Big Top goody bags with striped handles, waiting to be collected. I would have gone wild about those goody bags, once upon a time. But now it feels as though they’re somehow contaminated. “And the truth is—I don’t want this.”

“Becky!” says Aran, with a laugh.

“I don’t want it, Aran.” I look him square in the eye. “I don’t want the fame and I don’t want the heat.”

“Sweetheart, don’t overreact!” He puts a hand on my arm. “Nenita was joking about your dress.”

Is that all he thinks I care about? My dress?

But then … why wouldn’t he?

Suddenly I can see myself as everyone else has seen me over the last few weeks. And it’s not a great sight. I have a horrible thickness in my throat, and I can feel tears rising. But there’s no way I’m losing it in front of Nenita Dietz.

“It’s not just about my dress,” I say, as calmly as I can, and shake off his arm. “Bye, Aran.”

A bunch of black-suited girls are gossiping in a clutch by the doors, and as I approach, one springs to life.

“Did you leave the movie already? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.” I attempt a smile. “But I need to go. It’s an emergency. I’m going to call my driver.”

I fumble for my phone and text a message to Jeff:

Can we go now? Thx love Becky x

I stand awkwardly by the doors for a while, wondering where Jeff will pull up—and then I can’t stand waiting any longer. I’ll go out and see if I can spot the car.

I push the doors open and head back out onto the red carpet. It’s empty now, littered with a couple of discarded programs and a Coke can and a cardigan that someone must have put down. I can see some white beads from Sage’s dress still glimmering on the red pile. I don’t know how I’m going to explain that to Danny. It was hand-sewn. It must have taken ages to make. All ruined in an instant.