My thoughts are broken by the roar of a motorbike, and I look up to see a Harley speeding along the quiet residential street.
“Hi!” I wave my arms. “Here!”
“Hey, Becky!” The motorbike comes to a throbbing halt beside me. Danny pulls off a motorbike helmet and leaps off the back, a shoe box in his hand. “There you go!”
“Oh, Danny, thanks.” I give him an enormous hug. “You saved my life.”
“No problem!” Danny says, getting back on the bike. “Let me know how it goes! This is Zane, by the way.”
“Hi!” I wave at Zane, who is in leathers from head to foot and raises a hand in greeting. “Thanks for the delivery!”
The motorbike zooms off again. I take hold of the handle of my suitcase, which is filled with spare outfits and props, and pick up the armful of flowers I bought this morning to make the house look nice. I head toward number thirty-three, somehow manhandle the case up the steps, and ring the doorbell. There’s no answer.
After a pause I ring again and call “Fabia!” But there’s still no reply.
She can’t have forgotten it’s this morning.
“Fabia! Can you hear me?” I beat on the door. “Fa-bi-a!”
There’s dead silence. No one’s there. I feel a beat of panic. What am I going to do? Vogue will be here any—
“Cooee! Hello there!” A voice from the street heralds me and I turn to see a girl leaning out of the window of a Mini Cooper. She’s skinny, has glossy hair, a Kabbala bracelet, and a huge engagement rock. She has to be from Vogue.
“Are you Becky?” she calls.
“Yes!” I force a bright smile. “Hi! Are you Martha?”
“That’s right!” Her eyes are running up and down the storys. “You’ve got a gorgeous house! I can’t wait to see inside!”
“Oh. Er…thanks!”
There’s an expectant pause and I lean casually against one of the pillars. Like I’m just hanging out on my front steps. Like people do.
“Everything all right?” asks Martha, looking puzzled.
“Fine!” I attempt an easy gesture. “Just you know…enjoying the air…”
I’m thinking frantically. Maybe we could do the whole shoot out here on the steps. Yes. I could say the front door is the best feature of the house and the rest of it isn’t worth bothering with….
“Becky, have you lost your key?” says Martha, still looking puzzled.
Genius. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?
“Yes! Silly me!” I hit myself on the head. “And none of the neighbors have got one, and there’s no one in….”
“Oh no!” Martha’s face falls.
“I know.” I give a regretful shrug. “I’m really sorry. But if we can’t get in…”
As I say the words, the front door opens and I nearly fall into the house. Fabia has appeared, rubbing her eyes and wearing an orange Marni dress.
“Hi, Becky.” She sounds so drifty. Like she’s on tranquilizers or something.
“Wow!” Martha’s face lights up. “Someone was in! How lucky! Who’s this?”
“This is Fabia. Our…lodger.”
“Lodger?” Fabia wrinkles her nose.
“Lodger and good friend,” I amend hastily, putting an arm round her. “We’re very close….”
Thank God, down on the street a car has pulled up behind the Mini and is starting to hoot.
“Oh, shut up!” says Martha. “Becky, we’re just going to get some coffees. Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks! I’ll just wait here at home. At my home.” I put a proprietorial hand on the doorknob. “See you soon!”
I watch the car disappear, then wheel round to Fabia. “I thought you weren’t in! OK, we need to get going. I’ve got the stuff for you. Here’s the bag, and the top….” I hand her the carriers.
“Great.” Her eyes focus on them greedily. “Did you get the shoes?”
“Of course!” I say. “My friend Danny got a model to bring them over from Paris. Danny Kovitz, the designer?”
As I produce the box, I feel a dart of triumph. No one else in the world can get hold of these. I am so connected. I wait for Fabia to gasp or say, “You’re incredible!” Instead she opens the shoe box, peers at them for a few moments, then wrinkles her brow.
“These are the wrong color.” She puts the lid back on and pushes them toward me. “I wanted green.”
Is she color-blind? They’re the most gorgeous shade of pale sage green, plus they have Green printed in big letters on the box.
“Fabia, these are green.”
“I wanted more of a…” She waves an arm. “Bluey-green.”
I’m trying really hard to keep my patience. “Do you mean…turquoise?”
“Yeah!” Her face brightens. “Turquoise. That’s what I meant. These ones are too pale.”
I do not believe it. These shoes have traveled all the way from Paris via a fashion model and a world- famous designer and she doesn’t want them?
Well, I’ll have them.
“Fine,” I say, and take the box back. “I’ll get you the turquoise pair. But I really need to get into the house….”
“I don’t know.” Fabia leans against the door frame and examines a drawn thread on her sleeve. “It’s not that convenient, to be honest.”
Not convenient? It has to be convenient!
“But we agreed on today, remember? The people from Vogue are already here!”
“Couldn’t you put them off?”
“You don’t put Vogue off!” My voice rises in agitation. “They’re Vogue!”
She gives one of her careless shrugs, and all of a sudden I’m livid. She knew I was coming. It was all planned. She can’t do this to me!
“Fabia.” I lean close, breathing hard. “You are not wrecking my only chance to be in Vogue. I got you the top. I got you the bag. I got you the shoes! You have to let me into this house, or…or…”
“Or what?” says Fabia.
“Or…I’ll phone up Barneys and get you blacklisted!” I hiss in sudden inspiration. “That won’t be much fun if you’re living in New York, will it?”
Fabia turns pale. Ha. Gotcha.
“Well, where am I supposed to go?” she says sulkily, taking her arm off the door frame.
“I don’t know! Go and have a hot-stone massage or something! Just get out!” I shove my suitcase into the house and push past her into the hall.
Right. I have to be quick. I snap open my case, take out a silver-framed picture of me and Luke at our wedding and put it prominently on the hall table. There. It looks like my house already!
“Where is your husband, anyway?” says Fabia, watching me with folded arms. “Shouldn’t he be doing this too? You look like some kind of single mother.”
Her words hit me unawares. For a few seconds I don’t trust myself to answer.
“Luke’s…abroad,” I say at last. “But I’m meeting him later on. At six o’clock. At the viewing platform at the Oxo Tower. He’ll be there.” I take a deep breath. “I know he will.”
There’s a hotness in my eyes and I blink fiercely. I’m not going to disintegrate.
“Are you all right?” Fabia stares at me.
“It’s just…quite an important day for me.” I get out a tissue and dab my eyes. “Could I have a glass of water?”
“Jesus.” I can hear Fabia muttering as she heads toward the kitchen. “It’s only bloody Vogue.”
