Page 30 of Bad Influence
‘I will,’ said Mandy and we all chorused after her. ‘I will.’
Jimi went next, asking for our commitment to partaking in social media shoots with enthusiasm as required, and imbedding a solid fitness routine as part of our daily life, followed by some motivational words on enjoying exercise because it takes very little willpower to do something you enjoy.
Then it was my turn. I felt nervous as all eyes fell on me expectantly.
‘Your clothes tell your story,’ I began, ‘they represent a powerful way to let the world know who you are and what you have to contribute. Fashion helps you to grow, to fall in love, to get through challenging times and, most importantly, find joy.’ I paused, scanning the room to take in their reactions. Philippa looked confused, but, if I wasn’t mistaken, Blair’s eyes had moistened, and Mandy looked as if she was concentrating on what I was saying. ‘All I ask for,’ I continued, ‘is your complete authenticity in working with me as the stylist. Fabulous clothes only do half the job you see – it’s what’s underneath that enables you to own them.’
This was directed at Mandy who, as far as I was aware, was my only client within the house.
‘But what about glamour and grabbing attention – I thought that was the point of fashion?’ asked Mandy.
I nodded gravely. ‘That’s valid,’ I said, buying myself a small window to think. ‘Fashion can be about fantasy, of course, but you and I need to work closely to decide how much of yourself you are ready to reveal. I don’t mean literally, of course, I mean on a deeper level. The tide has turned, audiences connect when someone is truly themselves. Fashion is not just about wearing an amazing dress – it’s about making the dress come alive becauseyouare embodying it. So, the question is, are you ready to be the real you, Mandy?’
‘Oh, I’m real, all right. Well, except for my boobs and filler, all the rest is a hundred per cent Mandy y’all,’ shedrawled. Sometimes she seemed to play up her southern Florida accent. ‘I’m ready!’ she squealed. ‘And we can filter the shit out of anything afterwards, anyway!’
Philippa flashed me a crooked smile.
Mandy’s last comment frustrated me – it also belittled my skills as a stylist. She seemed to read my mind. ‘You okay, doll?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not a fan of filters or manipulation,’ I said, surprising myself by how forthright I was. ‘I mean, there’s influencing, and then there’s being a bad influence. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you need any manipulation. You should be proud of the real you. And I think you have so much more to give, Mandy.’
Jimi made a slow clapping sound.
‘Amber’s nailed it,’ he said, ‘that’s what the Brits want, Mands. Truth, authenticity, and realness all the way.’ He put his hand on his heart as if swearing an allegiance to my proposal.
Is he ridiculing me or being supportive?
‘So can we all commit to supporting Mandy in this process?’ I asked.
‘I will,’ they each replied. All except for Mandy.
‘Jury’s out on this one,’ she muttered, perhaps regretting her own ceremony. ‘I thought I’d hired a stylist, not a therapist.’
I bowed my head.Me and my big mouth. Maybe I should have kept quiet.
Yet I knew I was right; I stood by my words. I wondered why Mandy was finding this hard. Or if she understoodwhat it meant to be truly herself. I imagined this might be my greatest challenge in styling her. If she was to connect with a British audience, it was time to shed the filters and manipulation of images. That kind of gloss wouldn’t wash on cynical Brits, and besides, that look was well past its sell-by date. It was time to unveil the real Mandy, the woman beneath the public persona, in a way that was honest and true.
‘I’m sure we can find a way to work in your cowboy boots though,’ I added, to soften the blow. She flicked me a cool half-smile in return.
Philippa muttered something about getting more wood for the fire and left the room. A cynic might say this whole exercise was a subtle way for the couple to communicate how Mandy wanted things to go in the house.
I looked at her, sat close to the roaring fire, her eyes reflecting its flicker. Things didn’t seem to be going very well between us so far.
As if reading my mind, Mandy turned to me. ‘Don’t look so nervous, baby girl.’ She tilted her head. ‘It’s only a bit of fun. I’m sure we’re all going to get along fine.’
Alone in my bedroom a few evenings later, I watched raindrops slide down the window. I had been drenched each of the several times I dashed across the courtyard between the annexe and the main house. I would have to find a place to store Mandy’s clothes nearer to her, as I couldn’t be getting them wet, or risk dropping something in a muddy puddle each time I needed to prepare an outfit,if the weather continued like this. Outside the air smelt of damp earth and crushed herbs. I stopped for a moment to breathe it in.
The first few nights I missed Rob like crazy. Though we had a romantic phone call, it wasn’t the same as falling asleep with his heavy arm across my middle. The arm that I felt sure would hold me in the night forever. I had really begun to imagine my whole life would have Rob in it. Yet despite the fact I was living in a house full of people, I felt alone when I finished work and a persistent feeling of not fitting in with the ‘family’ – a sentiment which had dogged me for most of my life thus far reared its head.
On the third evening, I distracted myself by taking a bath and sat on my bed scrolling through the camera roll on my phone. I found myself revisiting photos of Rob and me from the eighteen months we’d been dating. Aside from the ones of the two of us at the top of the Empire State Building, where he asked me to officially move in with him when we got back to London, the ones that made me pause the most were the insignificant moments, the candid snaps where one of us was caught looking tenderly at the other, just before we realised an image was being taken. The selfie outtakes and the shots I sometimes stole of him when he wasn’t aware. The simple, everyday times that were not perfect enough to make it onto an Instagram square, but reflected who we were as two individuals who had joined together to make a couple.
I moved slowly through images of Christmas Day – December had marked the first Christmas we spent together,staying with my parents from Christmas Eve until Boxing Day. Rob’s face lit up in one photo as he opened my gift to him – tickets to a music festival we planned to go to over the summer; me smiling as I opened his gift to me – a necklace with our initials on it; a selfie in front of the fire as we watchedThe Holiday. And then my gaze hovered on an image I hadn’t paid any attention to before. It was of Rob looking intently at his phone. It must have been taken when Nora kidnapped my phone, because it was just before a string of close-up images of the back of my hair, which she had been plaiting on Boxing Day afternoon. I didn’t remember seeing this photo at the time, but now it caught my attention because of the serious look on Rob’s face. I zoomed in, curious to know what he was looking at on his phone that could have triggered such a reaction. It looked like Facebook Messenger was open, and I zoomed in as far as the phone would allow and could make out that the person he was messaging had a first name beginning with E and the surname an F. There was a lot of writing on the page, which indicated a number of messages back and forth. I felt a warming sensation in my face. A quick investigation revealed the slightly blurred image next to it wasn’t any old E. F. It was Rob’s ex-girlfriend, Emily Furlow. His ex-fiancée to be precise, the ex with whom he had a pregnancy scare when we were in LA, before the two of us got together.
I could vividly remember the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when we were walking together at Runyon Canyon, when Rob told me the news that his then girlfriend might be pregnant. Every word he said cut me deeper as Irealised the intensity of my feelings towards him. Rob had no idea how hard it was for me to hear about Emily at the time, because he just saw me as a mate. He learnt later, when it became impossible to hide my massive crush on him, but I could easily remember the moments back then when I physically ached for him to feel the same way about me as he did about her. It had been the biggest turnaround in events when it transpired that Emily wasn’t pregnant, and Rob eventually called off their engagement. It turned out he had feelings for me too. It was a dream come true – our story could have been so different, and I was fully aware of the small miracle that had occurred when we fell in love with each other.
But the photo?Rob had told me recently that he had had no contact with Emily since the day they broke up. He said it was better that way as there was nothing more to say to each other. So why would there be so many words between them, right there, open on the screen? I suddenly felt so distant from him, thinking that he was messaging with her on Boxing Day.Of all days, a day when you’re meant to be with the ones you love.I felt an uncomfortable insecurity about our whole relationship, knowing Rob was capable of lying to me. It was quite incredible how one person could make the entire world feel full one minute, and then completely empty the next.
Chapter Eight
