Sunlight is glinting off all the shop windows and sunglasses and expensive watches on people’s wrists. Outside Dolce & Gabbana, a woman is piling a whole load of bags into a car, and she looks just like Julia Roberts, except with blonder hair. And a bit smaller. But apart from that, just like Julia Roberts! On Rodeo Drive!
I’m just trying to edge closer to see what bags she’s got, when my phone buzzes, and I pull it out to see Gayle on the screen. Gayle is my new boss at Dalawear, and we’re having a meeting tomorrow morning.
‘Hi, Gayle!’ I say in cheerful, professional tones. ‘Did you get my message? Are we still on for tomorrow?’
‘Hi, Rebecca. Yes, we’re all good this end …’ She pauses. ‘Except for one hitch. We still didn’t get your reference from Danny Kovitz.’
‘Oh, right.’ Drat. Danny is one of my best friends and is quite a famous fashion designer. He promised to give me a reference for Dalawear, only it’s been ages now and he hasn’t done anything about it. I texted him yesterday and he promised he would send an email within the hour. I can’t believe he hasn’t.
Actually, that’s not true. I can totally believe it.
‘I’ll call him,’ I promise. ‘Sorry about that.’
The truth is, I never should have asked Danny for a reference. But I thought it sounded so cool, having a top fashion designer on my résumé. And I’m sure it helped. They couldn’t stop asking me about him in the interview.
‘Rebecca …’ Gayle pauses delicately. ‘You do know Mr Kovitz? You have met him?’
She doesn’t believe me?
‘Of course I know him! Look, leave it with me. I’ll get the reference. I’m really sorry for the delay. See you tomorrow.’
I end the call and instantly speed-dial Danny, trying to stay calm. There’s no point getting cross with Danny; he just wriggles and becomes all plaintive.
‘Oh my God, Becky.’ Danny answers the phone as though we’re mid-conversation. ‘You would not believe what I need for this trek. It’s like, who knew you could get freeze-dried lasagne? And I have the cutest little tea kettle, you have to get one.’
This is why Danny is even more distracted than usual at the moment. He’s about to start training to do some celebrity charity expedition across the Greenland Ice Sheet. Every single person who knows Danny has told him he’s mad, but he’s adamant he’s going to do it. He keeps saying he wants to ‘give something back’ but we all know it’s because he fancies Damon, the lead singer from Boyz About, who’s also doing it.
Although how you get it together with someone on a Greenland expedition, I have no idea. I mean, can you even kiss? Do your lips stick together in the freezing air? How do Eskimos manage?
‘Danny,’ I say sternly, wrenching my mind away from an image of two Eskimos stuck together on their wedding day, flailing their arms around to break free. ‘Danny, what about my reference?’
‘Sure,’ says Danny without missing a beat. ‘I’m on it. How many pairs of thermal underwear shall I take?’
‘You’re not on it! You promised you’d send it yesterday! I’ve got to go and see them tomorrow and they don’t believe I even know you!’
‘Well, of course you know me,’ he says, as though I’m an idiot.
‘They don’t know that! This is my only chance of a job in LA and I have to have a reference. Danny, if you can’t do it, just tell me and I’ll ask someone else.’
‘Someone else?’ Only Danny can manage to sound mortally offended when he’s in the wrong. ‘Why would you ask someone else?’
‘Because they might actually do it!’ I sigh, trying to stay patient. ‘Look, all you need to do is send a little email. I’ll dictate it, if you like. “Dear Gayle, I can recommend Rebecca Brandon as a personal shopper. Signed, Danny Kovitz.”’ There’s silence down the phone and I wonder if he’s taking notes. ‘Did you get that? Did you write it down?’
‘No, I didn’t write it down.’ Danny sounds indignant. ‘That is the crummiest reference I ever heard. You think that’s all I have to say about you?’
‘Well—’
‘I don’t give out personal references unless I mean them. Unless I’ve crafted them. A reference is an art form.’
‘But—’
‘You want a reference, I’ll come and give you a reference.’
‘What do you mean?’ I say, confused.
‘I’m not writing three crappy lines on an email. I’m coming to LA.’
‘You can’t come to LA just to give me a reference!’ I start to giggle. ‘Where are you, anyway? New York?’
Since Danny hit the big time it’s impossible to know where he’ll be at any moment. He’s opened three new showrooms this year alone, including one in the Beverly Center here in LA. Which you’d think would tie him down, but he’s always scouting out yet more new cities or going on ‘inspirational research trips’ (holidays).
‘San Francisco. I was coming anyway. I need to buy sunblock. I always get my sunblock in LA. Text me the details. I’ll be there.’
‘But—’
‘It’ll be great. You can help me choose a name for my husky dog. We each get to sponsor one, but I may sponsor a whole team. It’s going to be, like, such a life-changing experience …’
Once Danny starts talking about ‘life-changing experiences’, it’s hard to cut him off. I’ll give him twenty minutes to talk about Greenland, I decide. Maybe twenty-five. And then I must go and buy my trainers.
TWO
OK, I officially have the coolest running shoes in the world. They’re silver with orange stripes and they have gel bits and mesh bits and I want to wear them all day long.
This sports shop is incredible! You don’t just buy a pair of trainers here. You don’t just put them on and walk around and say, ‘I’ll take them,’ and then throw six pairs of sports socks into your basket as well, because they’re on sale. Oh no. It’s all very technical. You do a special running test on a treadmill, and they take a video and tell you all about your ‘gait’, and find the perfect solution for your athletic needs.
Why don’t they do this at Jimmy Choo? They should have a little catwalk where you walk along to cool music and maybe strobe lighting, and they take a video. And then the expert would say, ‘We feel the black and white stiletto perfectly suits your awesome supermodel gait.’ And then you’d take the video home to show all your friends. I am so suggesting it, next time I’m in there.
‘So here’s the heart monitor I was telling you about …’ The sales assistant, Kai, reappears holding a little metal and rubber bracelet. ‘Like I said, it’s our most discreet model, new to the market. I’m excited to hear your opinion.’
‘Cool!’ I beam at him, and put it on my wrist.
Kai has asked if I’d like to join in a customer study of this new heart monitor, and why not? The only sticky moment was when he asked what heart monitor I was using currently and I didn’t like to say ‘none’, so I said ‘The Curve’ and then realized that’s Luke’s new BlackBerry.
‘Would you like some more coconut water before you start?’
More coconut water. That’s so LA. Everything in this shop is so LA. Kai himself is ripped and tanned and has exactly the optimum amount of stubble and bright turquoise eyes which I’m sure are lenses. He looks so like Jared Leto I wonder whether he went to a surgeon with a picture torn out of US Weekly and said, ‘This one, please.’
He’s already dropped into conversation that: 1. He’s modelled for Sports Illustrated; 2. He’s working on a script about a sportswear consultant who becomes a movie star; 3. He won Ohio’s Best Pecs three years running and has had his pecs specially insured. He asked me within about thirty seconds whether I worked in the film industry and when I said no, but my husband did, he gave me a card and said, ‘I’d love to meet with him to discuss a venture he might be interested in.’ The idea of Kai and Luke sitting at a table discussing his pecs nearly made me snort out my coconut water.
‘So if you’ll kindly step up here.’ Kai ushe
rs me on to the treadmill. ‘I’ll be taking a record of your heart rate, so we’ll raise it with some aerobic activity and then lower it with rest periods. Just follow the treadmill and you’ll be fine.’
‘Great!’ As I step up, I notice a massive rack of exercise clothes being wheeled on to the shop floor by two sales assistants. Wow. They look amazing – all different shades of purples and greys, with abstract logos and really interesting shapes.
‘What’s that?’ I ask Kai as the treadmill starts to move gently along.
‘Oh.’ He looks at it without interest. ‘That’s from our clearance fashion floor.’
Clearance fashion floor? No one mentioned a clearance fashion floor. Why didn’t I know about the clearance fashion floor?
‘Weird.’ He peers at his computer screen. ‘Your heart rate just spiked and we didn’t even start the intense activity yet. Oh well.’ He shrugs. ‘Let’s get going.’
The treadmill starts to move along more briskly, and I up my walking pace to match. But I’m distracted by the rack of clothes, because an assistant is putting sale tickets on every garment! I spot a ‘90 % off’ sign and crane my neck to see what it’s attached to. Is that a T-shirt? Or a mini-dress? Or—
Oh my God, look at that cardigan. I can’t help gasping aloud. That is stunning. It’s longline, in what seems to be grey cashmere, with an oversized, neon-pink zipper, all the way up the front and the back. It’s gorgeous.
‘So now we’ll rest for a moment …’ Kai is concentrating on his screen. ‘You’re doing great so far.’
The treadmill slows, but I barely notice. I’m feeling stabs of alarm. A pair of passing girls has seen the rail and fallen on it in delight. I can hear them exclaiming with glee, showing clothes to each other and dumping them in their baskets. They’re taking everything! I don’t believe it. The sale of the century is going on, ten yards away, and I’m stuck on this stupid treadmill. As long as they don’t see the cardigan. I will them silently: Don’t look at the cardigan …
‘OK, this is strange.’ Kai is frowning at his screen again. ‘Let’s pause the test.’
‘Actually, I need to leave,’ I say breathlessly, grabbing my handbag and shopping basket. ‘Thanks. If I need a heart monitor I’ll definitely get this one, but I must go …’
‘Rebecca, have you ever been diagnosed with arrhythmia? Heart disorder? Anything like that?’
‘No.’ I’m stopped in my tracks. ‘Why? Have you picked something up?’
Is he joking? No. His face is serious. He isn’t joking. I’m gripped with fright. What have I got? Oh my God, I’ll be in the Daily Mail health pages. My one-in-a-million heart condition was picked up in a simple store exercise test. Shopping saved my life, says Rebecca Brandon—
‘Your heart response wasn’t typical. It spiked, but not at the moments I was expecting. For example, it spiked just now when you were resting.’
‘Oh,’ I say anxiously. ‘Is that bad?’
‘Not necessarily. It would depend on a lot of things. Your general heart health, your cardio fitness …’
As he’s talking, my eye wanders over to the sale rack again, and to my horror I see that one of the girls has picked up my cardigan. No! Noooo! Put it down!
‘It’s happened again!’ says Kai in sudden animation, and points at the screen. ‘Do you see? Your heart rate rocketed!’
I look at Kai, and at the screen, and then at the cardigan with the neon-pink zip, and it all falls into place. Oh God, is that why my heart rate zoomed up?
This is so embarrassing. Stupid dumb heart. I can feel myself blushing bright red and I hastily look away from Kai.
‘Well!’ I say in flustered tones. ‘I have no idea why that happened. None! Just one of those mysteries. Mysteries of the heart. Ha ha!’
‘Oh. OK.’ Kai’s expression snaps as though in recognition. ‘Ooo-kay. I think I get it. I’ve seen this a couple times.’
‘Seen what?’
‘OK, this is a little awkward …’ He flashes me a perfect smile. ‘It was physical attraction to me, right? You don’t need to be uncomfortable. It’s normal. It’s why I had to give up personal training. The clients became … I don’t know, would you say “infatuated”?’ He glances complacently at himself in the mirror. ‘You looked at me and your response was beyond your control. Am I right?’
‘Not really,’ I say, honestly.
‘Rebecca.’ Kai sighs. ‘I know it’s embarrassing to admit, but believe me, you’re not the only lady to become attracted to me—’
‘But I wasn’t looking at you,’ I explain. ‘I was looking at a cardigan.’
‘A cardigan?’ Kai plucks at his T-shirt, confused. ‘I’m not wearing one.’
‘I know. It’s over there. It’s on sale.’ I point it out. ‘That’s what I was looking at, not you. I’ll show you.’ I take the opportunity to dash over and grab the cardigan, which, thank God, the girl has replaced on the rack. It’s super-soft to the touch and the zip is amazing, and it’s reduced by 70 per cent! I’m sure my heart is racing again, just from holding it.
‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’ I enthuse, heading back towards Kai. ‘Isn’t it fab?’ Suddenly I realize I’m not being very tactful. ‘I mean, you’re very good-looking too,’ I add encouragingly. ‘I’m sure I’d be attracted to you if it weren’t for the cardigan.’
There’s a pause. Kai looks slightly stunned, to be honest. Even his turquoise contact lenses seem a bit less sparkly.
‘You’d be attracted to me “if it weren’t for the cardigan”,’ he echoes at last.
‘Of course!’ I say, reassuringly. ‘I’d probably get infatuated, just like those clients of yours. Unless there were any other amazing clothes to compete with,’ I add, for honesty’s sake. ‘I mean, like a Chanel suit with ninety-nine per cent off. I don’t think any man could beat that!’ I give a little laugh, but Kai’s face has gone a bit rigid.
‘I never had to compete with clothes before,’ he says, almost to himself. ‘Clothes.’
I’m noticing that the atmosphere isn’t quite as easy and fun as it was before. I think I might just go and pay for my trainers.
‘Thanks for the heart test, anyway!’ I say brightly, and take off the bracelet. ‘Good luck with the pecs!’
Honestly. What a big-head that Kai is. I know he has stunning turquoise eyes and a great body, but he doesn’t have a neon zip, does he? Lots of men have stunning blue eyes, but only one cardigan has a cool oversized neon-pink zip. And if he thinks he’s never competed with clothes before, then his girlfriends have been lying to him. Every woman in the world sometimes thinks about shoes in the middle of sex. It’s a well-known fact.
Anyway. Don’t think about stupid Kai. On the positive front, I’ve got the best, most whizzy trainers in the world. And OK, they cost $400, which is a lot, but I’ll just have to think of this as an investment in my career. In my life.
‘So, I’ll box those for you,’ says the sales assistant, and I nod absently. I’m imagining standing at the start of the race with Sage, and her glancing down at my feet and saying, ‘Cool shoes.’
I’ll give her a friendly smile and reply carelessly, ‘Thanks.’
Then she’ll say, ‘Luke never told me you were such a serious athlete, Becky.’
And I’ll say, ‘Are you kidding? I love running.’ (Which isn’t quite true yet, but I’m sure it will be. Once I start this race, the endorphins will kick in and I’ll probably become addicted.)
Then Sage will say, ‘Hey, we should train together! Let’s meet up every morning.’
And I’ll say, ‘Sure,’ very nonchalantly.
Then she’ll say, ‘I train with some friends, but you’ll love them. Do you know Kate Hudson and Drew Barrymore and Cameron Diaz and—’
‘Will you be paying by credit or cash, ma’am?’
I blink at the assistant and fumble for my card. ‘Oh. Right. Credit.’
‘And did you choose your water bottle?’ the sales assistant adds.
‘I’m so
rry?’
‘We’re offering a free bottle with every shoe purchase.’ He gestures at a nearby poster.
Well. This $400 seems more and more of a bargain.
‘I’ll just have a look. Thanks!’ I beam at him and head towards the display of bottles. Maybe if I’m carrying a cool bottle, Sage will notice that, too! There’s a whole wall of them – chrome, matt black, and all sorts of silicon colours. As my eye travels upwards, I spot a label: Limited-edition print. I squint, trying to see – but they’re on the fifth shelf. Honestly. Why would you put the limited-edition-print bottles on the fifth shelf?
There’s a stepladder nearby, so I drag it over and climb to the top. Now I can see the bottles properly, and they’re amazing: all with gorgeous retro prints. I can hardly bear to choose – but in the end I narrow it down to three: one with red stripes, one with amber swirls, and one with black and white flowers. I’ll pay for the extra ones, I decide, because I can give one each to Minnie and Suze as souvenirs.
I carefully put the bottles down on the top step of the ladder and turn to survey the shop. I have an amazing view from up here. I can see all the aisles, and I can see that the woman at the cash register needs her roots touching up, and I can see …
What?
Wait a minute.
I stiffen in disbelief and peer more closely.
In the far corner there’s a girl I hadn’t noticed before. She’s incredibly thin, wearing pale skinny jeans, a grey hoody up over her head, and dark glasses that hide her face. And no wonder she’s dressed so furtively. Because she’s stealing.
I stare in utter shock as I see her putting a pair of socks into her oversized handbag (Balenciaga, this season), and then another. Then a third. Then she looks around, kind of shrinks down into herself and walks swiftly towards the exit.
I’ve never seen a shoplifter in action before, and for an instant I just feel stunned. But next moment a boiling outrage is rising through me. She took them! She shoplifted! She shouldn’t do that! People shouldn’t do that!