Twenties Girl

The backstage area is mayhem. A woman in jeans is barking instructions and pushing models onto the stage. Girls are ripping clothes off, having clothes put on, having their hair dried, having their lips touched up…

I look around in breathless panic. I’ve already lost sight of my model. Where the hell is she? I start moving between all the hair stations, dodging rails of clothes, trying to catch a glimpse of her-when suddenly I become aware of a row at the door.

“This is Bill Lington, OK?” It’s Damian, and he’s obviously losing it. “Bill Lington . Just because he doesn’t have a backstage pass-”

“No backstage pass, no entry,” I can hear the bouncer saying implacably. “Rules of the boss.”

“He is the fucking boss,” snaps Damian. “He paid for all this, you moron.”

“What you call me?” The bouncer sounds ominous, and I can’t help smiling-but my smile dies away as Sadie materializes, her eyes dark and desperate.

“Quick! Come!”

I start to move, but Sadie vanishes. A moment later she reappears, looking wretched.

“She’s gone!” she gulps, hardly able to get the words out. “That model girl has taken my necklace. She was hailing a taxi and I dashed back to get you, but I knew you’d be too slow. And when I returned to the street… she’d gone!”

“A taxi?” I stare at her in horror. “But… but-”

“We’ve lost it again.” Sadie seems beside herself. “We’ve lost it!”

“But Diamanté promised.” I swivel my head frantically, looking for Diamanté. “She promised I could have it!”

I’m hollow with dismay. I can’t believe I’ve let it slip away again. I should have grabbed it, I should have been quicker, I should have been cleverer…

Massive cheers and whoops are coming from the main hall. The show must have finished. A moment later, models stream into the backstage area, followed by a pink-faced Diamanté.

“Fucking fantastic!” she yells at everyone. “You all rock! I love you all! Now let’s party!”

I struggle through the melee toward her, wincing as stilettos puncture my feet and shrieky voices pierce my eardrum.

“Diamanté!” I call over the hubbub. “The necklace! The girl wearing it has gone!”

Diamanté looks vague. “Which girl?”

Jesus Christ. How many drugs is she on?

“She’s called Flora,” Sadie says urgently in my ear.

“Flora! I need Flora, but apparently she’s gone!”

“Oh, Flora.” Diamanté’s brow clears. “Yeah, she’s gone to Paris for a ball. On her dad’s PJ. Private jet,” she explains, at my blank look. “I said she could wear her dress.”

“But she’s taken the necklace too!” I’m trying really hard not to scream. “Diamanté, please. Call her. Call her now. Tell her I’ll meet her. I’ll go to Paris, whatever it takes. I need to get hold of this necklace.”

Diamanté gapes at me for a moment, then raises her eyes to heaven.

“My dad’s right about you,” she says. “You’re nuts. But I quite like that.” She gets out her phone and speed-dials a number.

“Hey, Flora! Babe, you were awesome! So are you on the plane yet? OK, listen. Remember that dragonfly necklace you had on?”

“Anklet,” I interject urgently. “She was wearing it as an anklet.”

“The anklet thing?” says Diamanté. “Yeah, that one. My crazy cousin really wants it. She’s gonna come to Paris to get it. Where’s the ball? Can she meet you?” She listens for a while, lighting a cigarette and dragging on it. “Oh, right. Yeah. Totally… Of course…” At last she looks up, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Flora doesn’t know where the ball is. It’s, like, some friend of her mum’s holding it? She says she wants to wear the necklace ’cause it totally suits her dress, but then she’ll FedEx it to you.”

“Tomorrow morning? First thing?”

“No, after the ball, yeah?” says Diamanté, as though I’m very slow and stupid. “I dunno what day exactly, but as soon as she’s done with it she’ll send it. She promised. Isn’t that perfect?” She beams and lifts her hand to give me a high-five.

I stare back at her in disbelief. Perfect?

The necklace was two feet away from me. It was within my reach. It was promised to me. And now it’s on its way to Paris and I don’t know when I’ll get it back. How can this in any way be perfect? I feel like having a total meltdown.