Page 85 of Bad Influence
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
‘I’m really happy you’re going to be a mother, Mandy,’ I said.
‘I had been using a surrogate before, but she miscarried twice, the last one at twelve weeks.’ Her face dropped. ‘But Natalia fell pregnant at the same time, although we couldn’t be sure of anything until Jose had gone out to New York to see the baby for himself on a scan at sixteen weeks,’ Mandycontinued. ‘I didn’t want to believe it could be possible until then.’ I looked at the side of her face. ‘It’s common for people to use two surrogates,’ she said, ‘to double your chances. I couldn’t go to New York with him because we were so busy here with work. They FaceTimed me through the whole thing, and when I heard that little heartbeat’ – her eyes were moist with tears – ‘it was magical. It’s really hard to explain, but I felt as if I was now complete.’
‘I’m so happy for you, Mandy, genuinely, I am,’ I said softly.
‘It happened that evening, after the first photoshoot in the house,’ she revealed. ‘All day I was waiting for the call. It kept getting later and later and still nothing from Jose. I really thought my dream was over.’
My mind ticked over, remembering how bizarre Mandy had been that day. Her mood was all over the place, it made sense now. It wasn’t only the effect of the magic mushrooms. She must have been wracked with anxiety waiting for Jose to call; to know everything was okay with the pregnancy. And it also slotted into place why they announced the news to us straight after Jose was back from New York.
She continued, ‘Up until that point I hadn’t dared to believe it might actually happen for us. Now we’re nearly five months, I’m finally starting to relax and believe this is going to happen. It’s taken us years to get to this point, Amber. You can’t begin to understand how painful it’s been.’
‘I’m sorry you had such a struggle. It sounds really hard,’ I said quietly, as a tidal wave came crashing over my head, bringing with it a number of things that now made sense.The cryo chamber, the ovulation stick, drinking champagne, dancing on tables – all the things you’d be unlikely to partake in during the early weeks of pregnancy. And, thankfully, the magic mushrooms would not have caused any harm to the unborn baby.
‘The bump, though?’ I asked.
‘When you’re as famous as I am, people feel they have a right to scrutinise every aspect of your life,’ she said. ‘But you have helped me, Amber, more than you know.’ Mandy turned to face me, her expression was sincere. ‘Do you remember that moment, on the shoot, when you asked me who I am?’
I nodded cautiously. ‘No one has asked me that before. They all assume they already know. At that moment, all I wanted to do was scream, “I’m a mother!”, but I didn’t know for sure if I was or not. We couldn’t be sure of anything until we saw the scan. You helped me to see that whatever happens, I don’t need labels – I am enough. The universe has a strange way of working at times, but I feel it’s all going to be all right, no matter what life throws at me.’
‘That’s a huge thing to come to terms with,’ I said. ‘I’m so proud of you.’
I hadn’t been aware of having a protective instinct before that moment. I didn’t see my role as a stylist as being about rescuing people, but there was something about Mandy. As her large brown eyes gazed into mine, her honesty, and the revelation of her story, made me want to solve all of her problems and stop her from feeling pain. I didn’t see her asa global superstar in that moment, I saw her vulnerability – just the same as anyone else.
‘By the time that day was over, I was shattered,’ she continued. ‘I stormed off after dinner because all I could think about was whether I was about to become a mother or not.’
I bowed my head. ‘And there I was, banging on about a “self-love utopia”. I feel so stupid.’ I blinked, feeling tears emerge in my eyes.
Mandy smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s okay, Amber, you didn’t know. It was brave, your little speech, you are so passionate about what you do. You are so much more than a stylist – you give people a belief that they can do difficult things; that it’s not really about the clothes, but the wearer who makes them come alive – don’t ever lose that. But it’s not always as easy for your clients as you might think.’
‘I was naive,’ I said, hanging my head. ‘I’m sorry if I was too direct and I hurt you.’ I felt so much compassion for her.
We both found our eyes resting on the silicone bump, lying on the seat between us – a surreal mound of disembodied flesh. Mandy tenderly traced its curve with her fingers, as if it genuinely was carrying something as precious as her unborn baby.
She sighed heavily. ‘Surrogacy is a deeply personal process. Wearing the bump felt like a good way to maintain boundaries and avoid speculation. You see, society expects a pregnant woman to exhibit the physical signs, and wearing a fake bump means I can conform to those expectations andavoid awkward comments.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Although I have discovered that prying questions come thick and fast when you have a bump too. Women’s bodies are so rarely our own property. We’re objectified and commented on the whole time. It’s not right, is it?’
I shook my head. I thought of some of the other prominent women I have styled, Beau Belle, Jennifer Astley, Liv Ramone, even Wonder Winnie – all objectified in some form.
‘The bump allows me to control the narrative at least, and maintain privacy around the true circumstances.’
‘Will you continue to wear it?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘As you’ve just seen, it’s not the easiest disguise to keep up, especially in my line of work.’ She looked up and met my gaze. ‘What do you think I should do?’
This was the first time Mandy had directly asked for my opinion. It made me stop. I looked straight into her eyes. I considered how, until this moment, I had tried to be a patient voice of reason, gently goading her to try out some new looks and own her body, instead of wishing it looked like every other filtered image online. Until now, I had bitten my tongue every time she discarded one of my carefully curated looks and swapped in something else. It had been hard, but I did it, because she was the client, and I was just the stylist. But this time, I couldn’t let it go.
‘You really want my opinion?’ I checked.
She nodded.
‘Well,’ I began, ‘the fake bump allows you to create a certainnarrative, I can see that.’ I paused, taking my time to find the right words, because this felt like a really important moment in our relationship. ‘But would you consider revealing the true story? Imagine how powerful that could be.’
‘It’s not that easy,’ she muttered. ‘I feel a responsibility.’
‘For what?’
‘To be a certain way, to uphold an image.’
