Shopaholic Ties the Knot (Shopaholic #3)

Shopaholic Ties the Knot (Shopaholic #3) Page 126

“Hi, Mum,” I say at last, digging my nails into the palm of my hand. “It’s… it’s Becky. Listen, I’ve got something to tell you. And I’m afraid you’re not going to like it—”

MR. JAMES BRANDON

Ridge House

Ridgeway

North Fullerton

Devon

2 June 2002

Dear Becky,

We were a little bewildered by your phone call. Despite your assurances that all will be clear when you have explained it to us, and that we must trust you, we do not really understand what is going on.

However, James and I have talked long and hard and have at last decided to do as you ask. We have canceled our flights to New York and alerted the rest of the family.

Becky dear, I do hope this all works out.

With very best wishes, and with all our love to Luke—

Annabel

SECOND UNION BANK

53 Wall Street

New York, NY 10005

June 10, 2002

Miss Rebecca Bloomwood

Apt. B251 W. 11th Street

New York, NY 10014

Dear Miss Bloomwood:

Thank you very much for your wedding invitation addressed to Walt Pitman.

After some discussion we have decided to take you into our confidence. Walt Pitman does not in fact exist. It is a generic name, used to represent all our customer care operatives.

The name “Walt Pitman” was chosen after extensive focus group research to suggest an approachable yet competent figure. Customer feedback has shown that the continual presence of Walt in our customers’ lives has increased confidence and loyalty by over 50 percent.

We would be grateful if you would keep this fact to yourself. If you would still like a representative from Second Union Bank at your wedding, I would be glad to attend. My birthday is March 5th and my favorite color is blue.

Yours sincerely,

Bernard Lieberman

Senior Vice-President

Twenty

OK. DON’T PANIC. This is going to work. If I just keep my head and remain calm, it’ll work.

“It’ll never work,” says Suze’s voice in my ear.

“Shut up!” I say crossly.

“It’ll never work in a million years. I’m just warning you.”

“You’re not supposed to be warning me! You’re supposed to be encouraging me!” I lower my voice. “And as long as everyone does what they’re supposed to, it will work. It has to.”

I’m standing at the window of a twelfth-floor suite at the Plaza, staring at Plaza Square below. Outside, it’s a hot sunny day. People are milling around in Tshirts and shorts, doing normal things like hiring horse carriages to go round the park and tossing coins into the fountain.

And here am I, dressed in a towel, with my hair teased beyond recognition into a Sleeping Beauty style, and makeup an inch thick, walking around in the highest white satin shoes I’ve ever come across in my life. (Christian Louboutin, from Barneys. I get a discount.)

“What are you doing now?” comes Suze’s voice again.

“I’m looking out the window.”

“What are you doing that for?”

“I don’t know.” I watch a woman with denim shorts sit down on a bench and snap open a can of Coke, completely unaware she’s being watched. “To try to get a grip on normality, I suppose.”

“Normality?” I hear Suze splutter down the phone. “Bex, it’s a bit late for normality!”

“That’s not fair!”

“If normality is planet earth, do you know where you are right now?”

“Er… the moon?” I hazard.

“You’re fifty million light-years away. You’re… in another galaxy. A long long time ago.”

“I do feel a bit like I’m in a different world,” I admit, and turn to survey the palatial suite behind me.

The atmosphere is hushed and heavy with scent and hairspray and expectation. Everywhere I look there are lavish flower arrangements, baskets of fruit and chocolates, and bottles of champagne on ice. Over by the dressing table the hairdresser and makeup girl are chatting to one another while they work on Erin. Meanwhile the reportage photographer is changing his film, his assistant is watching Madonna on MTV, and a room-service waiter is clearing away yet another round of cups and glasses.

It’s all so glamorous, so expensive. But at the same time, what I’m reminded of most of all is getting ready for the summer school play. The windows would be covered in black material, and we’d all crowd round a mirror getting all overexcited, and out the front we’d hear the parents filing in, but we wouldn’t be allowed to peek out and see them…

“What are you doing now?” comes Suze’s voice again.