kitchen showroom. The room smelled of citrus and herbs from one of those sprays that cost a small fortune in South Molton Street. ‘Not a cook, then,’ Maggie said drily.
A skinny young woman in jeans, high-heeled boots and a skinny-rib sweater clattered in through the door at the far end of the kitchen. ‘Stephanie?’ she said, looking at Maggie.
‘I’m Stephanie,’ I said. ‘This is Maggie, my agent.’
Flustered, she nodded frantically. ‘I’m Carla. I’m with George’s agency.’
‘Ah. New girl, eh?’ Maggie smiled. ‘You’ll soon pick it up.’
Carla gave a frightened rabbit smile. ‘Scarlett and George are waiting for you in the den.’ She led us down a wide hallway that opened into a white cube with a sunken seating area arranged round a fire pit where gas-fuelled flames flickered. The room fragrance here was more floral but just as fake.
Scarlett and her agent were lounging on white leather sofas with cow-hide throws. The walls featured decorative displays of longhorn skulls, interspersed with sub-O’Keeffe Western landscapes. A long way sub. It felt much more Essex than Texas. If I’d been Scarlett, I’d have stripped it right out. All it did was draw attention from her, and that’s never what minor celebrities are aiming for.
But Scarlett was what I was interested in, so I dragged my gaze from the décor to her. Her hair had been expertly coloured, highlights and lowlights coming together to produce a natural-seeming cascade of dark-blonde hair. To my surprise, she wasn’t slathered in make-up – just a slash of dark-red lipstick and a coat of mascara to emphasise the blue of her eyes. The spray tan, which I assumed was top-to-toe, filled in the rest. She was wearing a red muscle T-shirt that showed off full breasts and the rise of her pregnant belly. Her legs were covered in loose grey sweatpants. Her feet were bare, but her toenails were painted the same shade as her lipstick. She didn’t look like a reality TV show slapper. From somewhere, Scarlett had dredged up a whiff of sophistication.
George struggled to his feet as soon as we walked in, but Scarlett didn’t budge, making us come to her. George ran through the introductions with his usual urbanity. Scarlett slipped warm, dry fingers into my hand and withdrew them almost as quickly. She didn’t say anything, just tipping her head and squeezing out a meaningless smile. I think I’m pretty good at pulling something useful from first impressions, but with Scarlett, I got nothing to add to what I’d already gleaned from my research. I was intrigued, and that was enough to stifle my anxiety. Never mind the cat, curiosity’s always killed my collywobbles.
‘So, what we’re here for is to iron out the fine print of our agreement,’ George said once we were all settled in the enveloping sofas and Carla had been dispatched to produce coffee.
‘Well, not quite, Georgie boy,’ Scarlett said, the hard drawl of her Leeds accent noticeable even in those few words. ‘The first thing we’re here for is to see if I want to work with Stephanie. ’Cos if we don’t hit it off, there’s not gonna be no agreement.’ She was much more assertive than I’d expected.
It was George’s turn for the meaningless smile. ‘Naturally, my dear. Stephanie, perhaps you could outline your working methods for Scarlett’s benefit?’
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Scarlett said. ‘Me and Steph here, we need to get to know each other without you two breathing down our necks. Georgie, you and Maggie might as well go back to London and sort yourselves out there. I’ll take care of Steph.’ She stood up and made a shooing motion with her hands. ‘Go on. Bugger off, the pair of you.’ She turned to me and jerked her head towards the far end of the room. ‘Come on. Let’s get our kit off and get to know each other.’ And off she walked, as if there was no need for further discussion.
4
I t turned out a lot less scary than it sounded.
A skinny young woman in jeans, high-heeled boots and a skinny-rib sweater clattered in through the door at the far end of the kitchen. ‘Stephanie?’ she said, looking at Maggie.
‘I’m Stephanie,’ I said. ‘This is Maggie, my agent.’
Flustered, she nodded frantically. ‘I’m Carla. I’m with George’s agency.’
‘Ah. New girl, eh?’ Maggie smiled. ‘You’ll soon pick it up.’
Carla gave a frightened rabbit smile. ‘Scarlett and George are waiting for you in the den.’ She led us down a wide hallway that opened into a white cube with a sunken seating area arranged round a fire pit where gas-fuelled flames flickered. The room fragrance here was more floral but just as fake.
Scarlett and her agent were lounging on white leather sofas with cow-hide throws. The walls featured decorative displays of longhorn skulls, interspersed with sub-O’Keeffe Western landscapes. A long way sub. It felt much more Essex than Texas. If I’d been Scarlett, I’d have stripped it right out. All it did was draw attention from her, and that’s never what minor celebrities are aiming for.
But Scarlett was what I was interested in, so I dragged my gaze from the décor to her. Her hair had been expertly coloured, highlights and lowlights coming together to produce a natural-seeming cascade of dark-blonde hair. To my surprise, she wasn’t slathered in make-up – just a slash of dark-red lipstick and a coat of mascara to emphasise the blue of her eyes. The spray tan, which I assumed was top-to-toe, filled in the rest. She was wearing a red muscle T-shirt that showed off full breasts and the rise of her pregnant belly. Her legs were covered in loose grey sweatpants. Her feet were bare, but her toenails were painted the same shade as her lipstick. She didn’t look like a reality TV show slapper. From somewhere, Scarlett had dredged up a whiff of sophistication.
George struggled to his feet as soon as we walked in, but Scarlett didn’t budge, making us come to her. George ran through the introductions with his usual urbanity. Scarlett slipped warm, dry fingers into my hand and withdrew them almost as quickly. She didn’t say anything, just tipping her head and squeezing out a meaningless smile. I think I’m pretty good at pulling something useful from first impressions, but with Scarlett, I got nothing to add to what I’d already gleaned from my research. I was intrigued, and that was enough to stifle my anxiety. Never mind the cat, curiosity’s always killed my collywobbles.
‘So, what we’re here for is to iron out the fine print of our agreement,’ George said once we were all settled in the enveloping sofas and Carla had been dispatched to produce coffee.
‘Well, not quite, Georgie boy,’ Scarlett said, the hard drawl of her Leeds accent noticeable even in those few words. ‘The first thing we’re here for is to see if I want to work with Stephanie. ’Cos if we don’t hit it off, there’s not gonna be no agreement.’ She was much more assertive than I’d expected.
It was George’s turn for the meaningless smile. ‘Naturally, my dear. Stephanie, perhaps you could outline your working methods for Scarlett’s benefit?’
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Scarlett said. ‘Me and Steph here, we need to get to know each other without you two breathing down our necks. Georgie, you and Maggie might as well go back to London and sort yourselves out there. I’ll take care of Steph.’ She stood up and made a shooing motion with her hands. ‘Go on. Bugger off, the pair of you.’ She turned to me and jerked her head towards the far end of the room. ‘Come on. Let’s get our kit off and get to know each other.’ And off she walked, as if there was no need for further discussion.
4
I t turned out a lot less scary than it sounded.
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