Wicked Ambition

‘They went out with the buckwheat blinis.’

‘And have they been tasted?’

Alexis looked harassed. ‘One of my girls said she ran them past you—’

‘Well I’m not going to do it, am I? Please! If I’d sampled every single canapé from every single party I’ve ever thrown I’d be the size of this house!’ She clamped her hands to her hips, bone on bone. ‘And if you turned up on time to your engagements then we’d be able to avoid these eleventh-hour issues, wouldn’t we?’

‘There are no issues, Ms White,’ said Alexis coolly. Alexis was tempted to reiterate that they’d arrived less than five minutes behind schedule, and that had only been because the ETV Birthday Brilliant! van and all its equipment had been blocking up the drive. The popular channel had agreed to come film because of the Kristin connection—Bunny wasn’t yet prominent enough—and Ramona was determined to put on a spectacular.

Bunny appeared in the doorway. Ramona’s attention switched, as automatic and unthinking as a shark thrown fresh bait. Alexis scuttled off.

‘Why aren’t you wearing the wig?’ Ramona demanded. ‘We bought it specially.’

Bunny looked to the floor. ‘I didn’t want to.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s itchy.’

Ramona rolled her eyes, exasperated. Not once did she tell Bunny how lovely she looked in her fairy-tale coral dress with delicate sash bow.

‘Wow,’ said Kristin, making up for it. ‘You look so amazing, Bun. Really grown-up.’

Bunny smiled shyly.

‘Go and put the wig on,’ snapped Ramona.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘You don’t want to? What do you want, then? For everyone to think you look like a silly little infant? You’re a woman now, Bunny.’

‘No, she isn’t,’ countered Kristin, her anger bubbling over. ‘And I don’t think she should wear the wig either. It makes her look like a drag queen.’

Bunny giggled. Kristin joined in.

‘Stop it!’ shrieked Ramona, close to the edge. ‘Don’t you ever dare laugh at me!’

The camera crew entered, a bunch of girls in DMs and guys with shaggy hairstyles and lumberjack shirts. Ramona composed herself.

‘We’ve done the interior shots,’ said the girl in charge. ‘OK if we step outside?’

‘Of course,’ said Ramona, eager to please, and just a touch paranoid that they might have witnessed the tail end of her outburst.

‘We’ve got a team out front,’ the girl went on, ‘so we can catch the celebrities as they arrive. Did you say you had a carpet you wanted to lay out?’

‘Oh!’ Ramona’s bejewelled hands flew to her face. ‘What am I thinking? I completely forgot!’ She acted the loveable ditz but the oversight secretly slayed her.

Kristin wanted to strangle her mother. Why couldn’t Bunny hang with her own friends, have a barbecue in the sun? This party wasn’t for her at all; it was for Ramona. Their mother was obsessed with having the best set, the best coverage and the best guests—where ‘best’ stood for ‘expensive’ or ‘most bankable’. There had been tears when Bunny had asked to invite her own friends, a request that had been swiftly declined because Ramona already had a list in place. That list comprised industry notables—celebrities known to Kristin, mostly—and none of whom meant anything whatsoever to the birthday girl.

Except for Scotty.

At least he was coming, and he’d also drawn Joey and Luke into attending, which Bunny would be thrilled about. In a few years’ time Kristin hoped her sister would get with someone like Joey—a sweet, kind boy who would adore her, and who understood the pressures of the industry. It was why Scotty was such an ideal boyfriend. As well as being madly handsome and talented and sexy, he ‘got’ the craziness of both their lives. You couldn’t explain it to someone on the outside.

‘Are you excited?’ Kristin asked, in an attempt to rally spirits. Their mother had darted off and Bunny was looking crestfallen, patting her hair self-consciously.

‘Maybe I should wear the wig,’ she murmured, adolescent gaze brimming with uncertainty and a longing for approval. ‘Do you think I should? Mom says my hair’s limp…and I just want to look nice, you know?’ She bit her lip. ‘‘Specially if the boys are here…’

‘You’re beautiful as you are.’ Kristin pulled her close. ‘Enjoy it, don’t let her get to you.’ But Kristin suspected that she didn’t know the half of what Bunny had to endure over the beauty pageants. At least by the time Kristin was eight Ramona had spawned another child to focus on: poor Bunny had been in the firing line since the day she was born.

An hour later the party was in full swing. The marquee shone like a pearl in the fading light, bordered by the dark silhouettes of trees, bright as a unicorn coming to rest in a leafy glade. Twisting canopies strewn with fairy lights sparkled above the guests like stars, a fantasyland made real. Singers, actresses and TV stars sipped pink champagne and nibbled at miniature lobster wellingtons, while producers, moguls and managers smoked and drank brandy, posing for photographs with their rake-thin wives whose names no one remembered. The pool shone ultramarine, bordered by jasmine-scented flickering candles and next to which stood Ramona’s pièce de résistance: Bunny’s birthday cake. It was a fourteen-tiered monster, studded with gold flakes and silver orbs and capped with a life-size moulding of Bunny’s very own head, her golden icing ringlets tumbling down the flanks. The head was wearing a glistening crown, which read, a touch prematurely:

MINI MISS MARVELLOUS—WINNER!

‘Bitchin’, huh?’

Kristin turned. She was relieved to be extricated from a stilted conversation with a French rap star and even more relieved when she came face to face with Joey Lombardi.

‘Hey!’ She hugged him. Joey was Italian-American with black, curly hair and twinkling brown eyes. As one fifth of Fraternity, he was easily second favourite to Scotty; girls went crazy for him. Up close he smelled of lemon sherbet. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Better now I’ve seen that.’ Joey raised an eyebrow at the cake. ‘It’s truly a thing of wonder. Did your mother make it?’

Kristin grinned. One of the things she liked best about Joey was his sense of humour.

‘If it was Bunny’s actual head on top then I might consider that a serious question,’ she said.

He laughed.

‘Where’s Scotty?’ she asked, searching over his shoulder.

Joey ran a hand through his unruly hair. Kristin remembered when Scotty had wanted to leave his to its natural wave (he straightened it) and the label had told him he couldn’t because curls were ‘Joey’s thing’. ‘Beats me,’ said Joey. ‘I haven’t seen him.’

Kristin spied Luke talking to a circle of Hollywood socialites, her mother hovering on its periphery and plunging into their conversation every so often like a wasp on food, rooting about a bit before buzzing off. Wouldn’t the boys have arrived together?

She checked the time. ‘He said he’d be here by now. You haven’t heard from him?’

Joey shrugged. ‘Nah, sorry. Can I get you a drink?’

Kristin was worried. ‘What if something’s happened?’

‘Like what?’

‘Maybe he’s crashed the Lexus.’

Joey touched her arm. ‘He’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘Scott knows what he’s doing. He probably got held up someplace; it wouldn’t be the first time.’

‘Oh?’ She was surprised. Scotty had always been punctual with her.

‘Sure,’ Joey replied easily. ‘He’s drifted behind schedule on a few things recently. Said he’s tired. It’s nothing to write home about.’