Paparazzi Princess (6 page)

‘It’s a shame there aren’t going to be many people around to appreciate it,’ I said as we stood and gazed at the scene for a few moments.

‘
We
appreciate it,’ said Meg. ‘Stuff the richies.’

I laughed. She was right. Why was I worrying about who wasn’t there to see it when I was?

Alisha came out to meet us in the hall of the Lewises’ apartment and whisked us up to her bedroom before we had a chance to see how they’d decorated for Christmas. I didn’t mind though, I love Alisha’s bedroom. It’s almost as big as the whole ground floor of our house and is decorated in shades of gold and ivory. On the wall above her bed is a larger than life portrait of her. It was taken by the famous Italian photographer, Alonzo de Cosima, and shows her in profile looking down at something in her lap. She looks so peaceful and thoughtful in it and it’s beautifully lit, as if she’s sitting by a window with the late afternoon sunshine pouring in and turning her skin to dark honey. She also has her own bathroom to the left and walk-in dressing room to the right. I tried not to be jealous the first time I saw it but it was hard not to be when I saw that she had a whole wall just for her shoes. She has every pair of Converse in every pattern and shade that they’ve ever made. On the other three walls, her clothes are hung according to colour: blue, black, white, red, pink. It’s awesome. I have a tiny wardrobe from Ikea in the corner of my room and my clothes are shoved in there in an untidy mess. I dream of having a room like Alisha’s where everything looks like it has just come back from the dry cleaners. Which it probably has.

‘Been shopping?’ asked Flo.

I followed Flo’s gaze and saw that along one side of the room were designer carrier bags and a stack of parcels wrapped beautifully in expensive-looking paper with perfect ribbons and flowers. I spied some of the labels: Chanel, Cartier, Jo Malone, Tiffany, Gucci.

Alisha nodded. ‘Presents. I got something for all of you.’

I glanced at Pia and she raised an eyebrow. I knew she got what I was thinking, what could we get for our rich mate that she couldn’t buy a million of herself? I couldn’t give her
another
music CD so what
could
I get her that would be special? The sort of things that the girls and I bought each other would seem pathetic to JJ and Alisha – a bar of strawberry-scented soap from the market just didn’t measure up to Chanel or Dior, a pretty hair clip from Accessorise wasn’t the same as one from Gucci or Prada.

I went and sat on the velvet chaise longue near the window and looked out. I would have to think of something original to give her, but what?

Way down below, I could see the homeless man in his usual doorway. He’d made an effort for Christmas and was wearing a Santa hat.
Weird
, I thought,
here’s me up on top of the world in this luxury apartment, a place where the decorations in reception cost thousands and there’s that man down there with nothing but a cardboard box.
The thought made me feel really uncomfortable
.

‘So, peeps, down to business,’ said Alisha. ‘My friends in LA have been brill at getting back with answers to your questions, Jess. They want your results too. Seems you’re not the only girl out there who feels she has a lot to learn.’

‘Cool,’ I said. ‘Maybe I should publish my findings as a book for other unfortunate girls! We could call it,
How to Be a Winner in Love
or something like that.’

‘Good idea,’ said Alisha. ‘A friend of my dad’s owns a publishing house in New York. I could take it to him.’

I’d been joking but I was learning fast that with the Lewis family and their connections, anything was possible. Visions of a glamorous launch party flooded my brain. Book signings. My face up on billboards over London, New York, Hong Kong. Talk shows. Jess Hall – boy expert. I could be an international celebrity and the paparazzi would be after me as much as the Porchester Park A-listers.

‘Dad might not let me though,’ said Alisha with a sigh. ‘Probably not right for his image to have a daughter pushing a book on how to get a boy. Sometimes being me sucks. Everything I do, I have to think how it might reflect back on Dad.’

‘Ditto,’ I said.

Alisha gave me a quizzical look.

‘Not
your
dad, dozo,’ I said. ‘Mine. Since we moved here, I have to be ultra well-behaved in case I do anything that reflects badly on Porchester Park.’

‘She had to give up being a pole dancer
and
a drug dealer,’ said Pia in a solemn voice.

Alisha laughed. ‘Me too,’ she said and joined the palm of her hands in the prayer position. ‘Now I’m as pure as snow. Sadly always was. I’ve never had the chance to really misbehave. If I tried, there would always be someone watching me – like a minder.’

‘I have a feeling that Riko Mori feels like that,’ I said. ‘I saw her checking out the exits the other day.’

‘Yeah,’ said Alisha. ‘To us, a day just cruising the shops without anyone chaperoning us would be heaven. Maybe she’s lonely, like I was when I first got here. If all her mates are at school, who’s she supposed to hang out with over the holidays?’

‘I hadn’t thought about that. Maybe we should include her when we do things?’ I said.

‘I would, but she’s not very friendly,’ said Alisha. ‘I saw her in the lobby the other day and tried to start a conversation but she wasn’t interested.’

Pia shrugged. ‘Maybe she was fed up. Holidays without a mate are no fun at all. Maybe she’ll have some insight about boys to share. She looks pretty cool. I bet she’s sussed about them. We should ask her.’

‘What did your friends in the States say, Alisha?’ I asked.

Alisha got up and went to her computer. ‘Lots,’ she said as she found the page she wanted. ‘Casey says that you just have to be yourself with them. She asked her brother what he thought and he said he likes girls who are natural and don’t try too hard.’

‘Easier said than done,’ I said. ‘I agree with her but if I like a boy, I go stupid and although I’d like to be myself, I can’t be, I get nervous and act like I have no brain.’

‘That’s because you don’t,’ said Pia.

I ignored her.

‘You have to chill,’ said Alisha. ‘Remember, boys can get nervous too, so they might not even notice that you’re ill at ease.’

‘I guess,’ I said and I told myself that if I saw JJ later, I would relax and be myself.

‘What none of you realise,’ said Pia, ‘is that we are
girls.
That alone is enough for most boys. Show a bit of cleavage, have shiny hair, smell lovely and they are putty in your hands.’

‘Yeah, but I don’t want a boy to like me because of my body or my looks. I want a boy to like me for
me
,’ said Meg.

‘Pia’s right though,’ I said. ‘I read somewhere that boys are primarily visual. If they like what they see, then they’ll make an effort to get to know you.’

‘That’s so shallow,’ said Meg.

‘Not really. We’re the same, aren’t we?’ I asked. ‘Like, would you snog Jacob West?’ Meg pulled a face. ‘Exactly. And he’s really a nice guy so why don’t you get to know him. He can’t help the fact he looks like a potato with ears.’

Alisha cracked up laughing. ‘I think Jess is right. We have to make the effort, girls. Lure them in by being bee-ootiful. Any girl can be with a good haircut, a bit of lip gloss and a pair of great shades.’

‘Easy for you with a hairdresser, manicurist and stylist on hand – not to mention wardrobes of designer clothes,’ I said.

‘Money can’t buy style, guys. Some girls I knew back home had a ton of money but never looked the biz. Other girls looked great because they had attitude and confidence.’

‘That’s true,’ said Pia and she lay back on the bed Cleopatra-style. ‘I don’t have the dosh but I
do
know how to put together a look.’ She did too. She had a great eye for colour and knew how to finish an outfit off with the right jewellery.

‘Style can’t always be bought,’ I said. ‘It’s being creative. I love what Riko wears, it’s insane but it works.’

‘It works because she works it. She’s confident. I know this sounds all LA-speak again,’ said Alisha and she stuck her tongue out at me, ‘but tough, I’m gonna say it anyway, it’s not just the clothes, it’s attitude. If you walk tall and are confident, people will respond to that. Act like a loser and put that out and people will pick up on it. Why wouldn’t they?’

Pia looked pointedly at me. ‘Exactly,’ she said with a nod.

‘Hard for me to walk tall at my height,’ said Meg. ‘But I get what you’re saying.’

‘I wish I could be more confident and give it some attitude,’ I said, ‘but I’m totally rubbish at the whole thing. I like Tom. I
think
he likes me but he’s also a player, so I’m not sure he’s interested in having a proper girlfriend.’

‘And Charlie hardly even knows I exist,’ said Flo, looking up from the glossy magazine she’d had her nose in since we got up to Alisha’s room.

‘Ah,’ said Alisha. ‘So move on. I know I haven’t had much experience but I think you should find a boy who isn’t going to mess with your head. Thing is, sometimes if a boy is really good-looking, like Tom is, then they know they can get away with playing the field – but not all boys are like him, some do want a steady relationship. Like my brother JJ: he’s nice-looking but he doesn’t mess girls around. He’d rather be with one girl that he can get to know than a different girl every night.’

Pia grinned like an idiot and looked pointedly at me again. I went bright red. Subtle is not a word in Pia’s vocabulary and I wondered if Alisha had guessed that I liked JJ. Luckily, she didn’t seem to notice my blushing.

‘And Flo,’ Alisha continued, ‘I reckon you should let Charlie know you like him.’

‘Oh, he knows,’ said Flo. ‘He just chooses to ignore it.’

‘He’s more into music and hanging with his mates,’ I explained and Flo sighed. ‘Girls just aren’t high up on his list.’

‘Maybe I should learn how to play the guitar,’ she said.

‘Not a bad idea,’ said Meg. ‘You write great poetry. Why don’t you write some lyrics and send them to him?’

‘I think boys like Tom, who get off with loads of girls, are trying to prove something. They’re just insecure,’ said Pia.

‘I hardly think Tom is insecure,’ I said. ‘He’s a natural babe magnet. What else did your friends say, Alisha?’

‘One said that it’s a good idea when you want to break up with a boy to lie about how strict your parents are. You can use your mum or dad as your reason for breaking up, like – Dad says I have to cool it because I have to knuckle down and study for my exams, or Mum says I’m too young to be in a serious relationship.’

‘But that’s a cop-out,’ said Pia. ‘Why not just tell the truth?’

‘Yeah. All very well if you have a boyfriend to break-up
with
,’ I said and Flo nodded.

‘We’ll get there,’ said Alisha. ‘She also said those excuses only work when followed by a boy-free period, not if you dive straight into the arms of another boy.’

‘Sounds like your friends have a lot more experience that we do,’ I said. ‘
Another
boy? It took me ages to meet one boy I like, never mind think about another one.’

Out of Alisha’s eyeline, Pia held up two fingers and silently mouthed, ‘Two boys. You like
two
boys.’

I ignored her again.

‘Yeah, but it’s still good advice not to break up with one boy and start snogging his best friend in the vicinity of the broken-hearted old boyfriend and vice versa,’ said Meg. ‘That’s what my sister did last year and she really hurt the first boy. She said it was was very difficult to behave when her hormones were raging. She said that hormones and lust can lead girls astray and cause them to forget their manners. Just like boys. I think she’s just a slut.’

I laughed. I’d met Meg’s sister. She’s the total opposite of Meg, a curvy girlie blonde who lives for boys and usually has a new one each week.

‘We should add that to your list of questions, Jess,’ said Flo. ‘We’ve been so busy thinking about how to get a boy to notice us, we haven’t even thought forward to how to break-up with one if we don’t get on.’

‘A swift karate chop to the neck would do it, I reckon,’ said Meg. We all cracked up. I
think
she was joking.

I made a note of the question to be added. What
is
the best way to break up with a boy?

Alisha suggested that we went down the kitchen to get snacks and drinks so we all trooped after her.

‘Someone going somewhere?’ asked Pia, when she saw a suitcase in the hall.

Alisha looked at the case. ‘Yes and no. That belongs to Carly. She just got here from the States.’

‘Carly?’ I asked, as we went into the vast marble kitchen where JJ was sitting at the breakfast bar sipping a Coke and flicking through a magazine. It’s a fab room. A huge American fridge freezer, that I knew from previous visits holds every type of juice imaginable plus a range of other yummy-looking goodies; an enormous range cooker; gleaming surfaces and a glass wall at the end with a view over Hyde Park.

JJ looked up. ‘Hey girls.’

‘Hey JJ,’ we chorused.

‘Where’s Carly?’ asked Alisha.

JJ indicated the cloakroom to the left.

‘JJ’s girlfriend,’ whispered Alisha, ‘they were sweethearts back home. She’s come to spend Christmas with us.’

Girlfriend!
I thought, as my heart sank.
Since when did JJ have a girlfriend? God, this Christmas is just getting worse and worse.

A beautiful girl appeared moments later and Alisha did the introductions. She was perfect: perfectly straight white-blonde hair; a slim perfect body in an immaculate white T-shirt and jeans; flawless skin; a perfect smile that showed perfectly even white teeth. She looked like she’d been cracked out of styrofoam that morning. With my hair that refused to stay straight, my old jeans and scruffy blue shirt, I couldn’t hope to compete. It all clicked into place in a nano second. So
this
was who JJ had meant when he’d said he was going to spend Christmas with someone special. He’d never meant
me
at all. How could I have even thought that for a second?
I am so hopeless at reading boys
, I thought as I fixed a smile on my face in an attempt to hide my disappointment.
First Tom and now JJ. Once again I take the prize. Love loser of the year.