for you wis Glenna. Please confirm the time. Fee is driving me to your new house to watch the magic ’appen.’
‘It’s not my house. It’s Remy’s.’ But Glenna Goodman? The stylist in Monaco? Olga recently hauled my butt over the coals for being unable to get an appointment for one of the residents. ‘Did he put you up to this—Remy?’ Is this another gift?
‘He asked.’ Only Charles could lift and drop his shoulder with such an attitude. ‘You have a gown to buy for the gala next weekend.’
‘I can shop for myself.’
‘H&M won’t do, mon petite canard,’ he answers, full of condescension as he makes as though to tap my nose.
‘I’m not your little duck,’ I retort, knocking his hand away. ‘I’m perfectly capable of picking up a gown for next Saturday. In fact, I found a cute little vintage designer store in Monaco-Ville last week.’
‘And?’
‘I tried on a couple of dresses that might work.’ Maybe. With a little alteration. ‘Plus, there’s a rent-a-gown place in Nice that Fee told me about. You can go to the store to try the dresses on or order online for delivery.’ So Fee said.
‘But your poitrine généreuse?’ he asks with such distaste, indicating my chest. No, not indicating but rather rubbing the air in front of them as though they were drawn on a whiteboard he’s trying to scrub clean.
‘They’re called boobs, Charles. Or breasts. You can use your big-boy words.’
‘I only say you need the help.’
‘I must need psychiatric help,’ I mutter, swinging my chair away from him. ‘Some friend you are.’ I begin to tap the keys of my laptop a little viciously.
‘You will see,’ he answers, unconcerned.
‘Anyway, what do you mean you and Fee are coming?’
‘What I said,’ he replies without turning. You will need moral support. And Fee and I want to see the magic ’appen. Glenna normally only styles for rich or royalty. You should be grateful.’
Maybe he’s right. Instead, I feel railroaded.
I don’t hear from Remy that morning so I assume he’s too busy for lunch today. Instead, I grab a sandwich and work through, trying hard to ignore my grumpy mood. More money. A house. A driver to take me to and from said house. What’s next? A elephant on a gold chain? A magic carpet?
With the last of those thoughts, I find myself sitting back in my chair with a wry grin. My life is a fairy tale—this is my once upon a time and maybe even my happily ever after. There are a lot of things to fight in this world; discrimination, gender equality, homelessness, poverty, and food security. As I sit, I realise, each of these has touched my life in some way. I’ve lived hand to mouth as a child, and as an adult, there have been times where I almost didn’t have a roof over my head. I’ve been touched and spoken to in ways no person should have. I am literally complaining my diamond shoes aren’t a good fit.
If my Prince Charming wants me to see Monaco’s most selective stylist, then I’ll make sure my underwear matches, open a bottle of champagne, and pretend I damn well enjoy it.
Pretend to enjoy it. Pretend, pretend, pretend.
Glenna Goodman and I, well, we don’t hit it off exactly. She complains about having to travel out to “the sticks”, as she puts it, and is mighty unimpressed when I don’t have someone there to help her wheel her wares into the house, despite having an assistant all of her own who followed her car here in a black Mercedes van brimming with fashion goodies. Tall and austere looking, she is, as you would expect, the kind of effortlessly stylish that reminds me of an older-era Lauren Bacall.
‘Usually, I spend the day with a new client getting to know them better, getting a feel of their lifestyle,’ she says in drawling, laconic tones. ‘How do they spend their day? What kind of movement their wardrobe requires?’
‘I don’t have a very physical job,’ I reply, just in case she thinks she’s getting me into something with elastic at the knees. ‘The most strenuous aspect of my day might be picking up something from Gucci for one of my clients. I slide Marco, Glenna’s assistant, a sympathetic smile.
‘I meant how often you’re required to move from the office to meetings, to functions in the evening.’
‘Oh.’ I nod, eyebrows riding high on my forehead. ‘My mistake.’
‘May I top up your champagne, Glenna?’ Fee asks from the sofa. I’m