Shopaholic to the Stars
Page 102
“I will. I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything.”
I ring off and instantly start texting Dad.
Dad. Where are you? Call me!!! Becky xxx
God, what a drama. What is Dad doing? I send the text and turn round, wondering why I can hear laughter. At once my heart plunges in horror.
Sage is posing for the cameras in an exaggerated starlet way, and Minnie is copying her perfectly. Her hand is on her hip, her head is cocked at an angle, and she’s tilting her shoulders back and forth, just like Sage. Everyone is roaring and the cameras are snapping.
“Stop!” I say furiously. I scoop Minnie up and press her head against my chest, out of sight. “Please don’t use those pictures!” I say to the photographers. “She’s only a little girl.”
“Want do waving!” Minnie struggles to escape from my grasp. “Want do WAVING!”
“No more waving, darling,” I say, kissing her head. “I don’t want you waving at those people.”
“Becky, relax!” says Sage. “She’d better get used to it, right? Anyhow, she loves the limelight, don’t you, cupcake?” She ruffles Minnie’s hair. “We need to get you an agent, munchkin. Aren’t you launching your own family reality show, Becky?” she adds to me. “That’s what Aran said. Smart move.”
“I don’t know,” I say, feeling harassed. “I need to talk it over with Luke. Look, I’d better take Minnie inside.”
“Sure,” says Sage gaily. “We’ll talk soon, OK?”
As Sage disappears off in her SUV, I hurry into the house and shut the huge front door. My heart is thumping, and my thoughts are all confused. I don’t know what to focus on first; my brain is skittering about so madly. Dad. Reality show. Minnie. Press. Sage. Lois. Dad.
I can’t believe Dad is coming to L.A. It’s insane. Dad doesn’t belong in L.A.; he belongs at home. In the garden. At his golf club.
“Bex!” Suze comes into the hall and eyes me in surprise. “Are you OK?”
I realize I’m backed up against the front door as though I’m sheltering from attack.
“My dad’s coming to L.A.”
“Oh, brilliant!” Her face lights up. “And your mum?”
“It’s not brilliant. He’s run off and only left a note for Mum.”
“What?” She stares at me incredulously. “Your dad ran off?”
“There’s something going on.” I shake my head. “I don’t know what. It’s all to do with this trip he went on when he was much younger. He’s trying to track down one of his friends from it.”
“What trip? Where did they go?”
“I dunno.” I shrug. “Round California and Arizona. They had this map. They went to L.A.… Las Vegas … maybe Utah too. Death Valley!” I suddenly remember. “I’ve seen pictures of them in Death Valley.”
I wish I’d listened a bit harder now. Every Christmas, Dad used to tell me about his trip and pull out his old map with the red dotted line showing where they’d been.
“Well, I expect he’ll turn up,” says Suze reassuringly. “He’s probably just having a midlife crisis.”
I shake my head. “He’s had that. He took guitar lessons.”
“Oh.” Suze thinks for a moment. “Is there such thing as a later-life crisis?”
“God knows. Probably.”
We head into the kitchen and I open the fridge to pour us each a glass of white wine. I don’t care what time it is; I need it.
“Juice,” says Minnie at once. “Juuuuuuice! Juuuuuuuice!”
“OK!” I say, and pour her a cup of organic carrot-and-beetroot juice mix. They got her into it at the preschool. It’s the most revolting thing I’ve ever tasted, and it costs $10.99 for a tiny carton, but apparently it’s “detoxing and low sugar,” so we’ve been asked to provide it instead of fruit juice. And the worst thing is, Minnie loves it. If I’m not careful, she’s going to turn into some junior Juicing Nazi and I’ll have to hide all my KitKats from her and pretend that Chocolate Oranges are macrobiotic.
“So, where’s Tarkie?” I ask as I hand Minnie her juice.
“Do you have to ask?” Suze’s jaw tightens. “You know he’s started going out at six A.M. every day for a personal-validation session with Bryce? I barely see him anymore.”
“Wow. What’s personal validation?”
“I don’t know!” Suze erupts. “How would I know? I’m only his wife!”
I ring off and instantly start texting Dad.
Dad. Where are you? Call me!!! Becky xxx
God, what a drama. What is Dad doing? I send the text and turn round, wondering why I can hear laughter. At once my heart plunges in horror.
Sage is posing for the cameras in an exaggerated starlet way, and Minnie is copying her perfectly. Her hand is on her hip, her head is cocked at an angle, and she’s tilting her shoulders back and forth, just like Sage. Everyone is roaring and the cameras are snapping.
“Stop!” I say furiously. I scoop Minnie up and press her head against my chest, out of sight. “Please don’t use those pictures!” I say to the photographers. “She’s only a little girl.”
“Want do waving!” Minnie struggles to escape from my grasp. “Want do WAVING!”
“No more waving, darling,” I say, kissing her head. “I don’t want you waving at those people.”
“Becky, relax!” says Sage. “She’d better get used to it, right? Anyhow, she loves the limelight, don’t you, cupcake?” She ruffles Minnie’s hair. “We need to get you an agent, munchkin. Aren’t you launching your own family reality show, Becky?” she adds to me. “That’s what Aran said. Smart move.”
“I don’t know,” I say, feeling harassed. “I need to talk it over with Luke. Look, I’d better take Minnie inside.”
“Sure,” says Sage gaily. “We’ll talk soon, OK?”
As Sage disappears off in her SUV, I hurry into the house and shut the huge front door. My heart is thumping, and my thoughts are all confused. I don’t know what to focus on first; my brain is skittering about so madly. Dad. Reality show. Minnie. Press. Sage. Lois. Dad.
I can’t believe Dad is coming to L.A. It’s insane. Dad doesn’t belong in L.A.; he belongs at home. In the garden. At his golf club.
“Bex!” Suze comes into the hall and eyes me in surprise. “Are you OK?”
I realize I’m backed up against the front door as though I’m sheltering from attack.
“My dad’s coming to L.A.”
“Oh, brilliant!” Her face lights up. “And your mum?”
“It’s not brilliant. He’s run off and only left a note for Mum.”
“What?” She stares at me incredulously. “Your dad ran off?”
“There’s something going on.” I shake my head. “I don’t know what. It’s all to do with this trip he went on when he was much younger. He’s trying to track down one of his friends from it.”
“What trip? Where did they go?”
“I dunno.” I shrug. “Round California and Arizona. They had this map. They went to L.A.… Las Vegas … maybe Utah too. Death Valley!” I suddenly remember. “I’ve seen pictures of them in Death Valley.”
I wish I’d listened a bit harder now. Every Christmas, Dad used to tell me about his trip and pull out his old map with the red dotted line showing where they’d been.
“Well, I expect he’ll turn up,” says Suze reassuringly. “He’s probably just having a midlife crisis.”
I shake my head. “He’s had that. He took guitar lessons.”
“Oh.” Suze thinks for a moment. “Is there such thing as a later-life crisis?”
“God knows. Probably.”
We head into the kitchen and I open the fridge to pour us each a glass of white wine. I don’t care what time it is; I need it.
“Juice,” says Minnie at once. “Juuuuuuice! Juuuuuuuice!”
“OK!” I say, and pour her a cup of organic carrot-and-beetroot juice mix. They got her into it at the preschool. It’s the most revolting thing I’ve ever tasted, and it costs $10.99 for a tiny carton, but apparently it’s “detoxing and low sugar,” so we’ve been asked to provide it instead of fruit juice. And the worst thing is, Minnie loves it. If I’m not careful, she’s going to turn into some junior Juicing Nazi and I’ll have to hide all my KitKats from her and pretend that Chocolate Oranges are macrobiotic.
“So, where’s Tarkie?” I ask as I hand Minnie her juice.
“Do you have to ask?” Suze’s jaw tightens. “You know he’s started going out at six A.M. every day for a personal-validation session with Bryce? I barely see him anymore.”
“Wow. What’s personal validation?”
“I don’t know!” Suze erupts. “How would I know? I’m only his wife!”
