big unhappy pimples, I prayed that the function would be in a dark, moody bar. Of course, thanks to Murphy, that rotten prankster, and his foul laws, they would always be in rooms entirely themed in white, or in a science lab with cruel fluorescent lighting or a courtyard flooded with natural light.
Today was a prime example. In this sky-lit palace there’d be no missing the twins.
Yasmin had stopped outside to take a phone call so I walked through to the function solo. A handful of beauty girls, all anti-pants and pro-frock, were scattered throughout. I wasn’t friendly enough with any of them to make conversation. I saw Fiona pouring herself some coffee. I decided to
make her like me.
I walked over to her. She was wearing a black cinched-waist dress, black pumps, and some exhilarating red lipstick. She looked very chic. As always.
‘Hi, Fiona!’ I said with gaiety, like we were old friends.
‘Oh, hey,’ she said. And went back to her coffee preparation.
No
. Had she really just done that?
‘So, uh, how’s your day been so far?’ God. Was I trying to pick her up? I should’ve just asked what a pretty girl like her was doing at a launch like this.
She shrugged her shoulders, concentrating on her sugar-spooning. She said nothing, but she didn’t need to. Her indifference screamed.
‘Oh-kaay,’ I said quietly to myself, wondering what to do next. ‘Well, um, I’d better go take a seat.’ She was diabolical. I needed to abort. Where was Yasmin?!
I watched as Fiona took a long sip from her cup,completely entranced, before turning away. That was it. I was done with her.
‘Sorry, I’m no one’s friend until I’ve had some coffee.’
Facing the room, I closed my eyes and smiled with relief. So she
wasn’t
a total cow. I turned back to her and, feeling extremely congenial all of a sudden, decided I needed a coffee too. Being not-psychotic together could be the glue that would bond us. I tried to do my best ‘Oh, me too’ face.
‘Know what you mean. I’ve already had one, but another won’t hurt.’ There was a pregnant pause. She’d missed her cue. Time for me to prompt. ‘So…um…do you think they’ll be launching that new serum today? I saw an amazing write-up of it in
WWD Friday
last month.’
‘Imagine so. Have you tried that three-in-one cleanser of theirs?’ She spoke vaguely; she was still totally engrossed in her coffee, holding it up to her face, taking desperate, scalding little sips every ten seconds or so.
‘Mm-hmm, it’s actually really nice. The exfoliating beads are really tiny and soft, you know, so you can use it every day. I never usually believe it when they say that, but—’
She half laughed. ‘Do you still try everything you’re given? I love it. Adorable.’
I wasn’t sure whether she was mocking me, so I shrugged and laughed with my mouth closed.
‘You’ll get over it,’ she said knowingly. ‘Trust me, I’ve been in the industry for a thousand years, and soon you’ll stick to the brands you know work. No matter which celebrity or bloody dermatologist swears by it.’
‘Mmmm.’ But I couldn’t allow myself to agree, no matter how much I wanted her to like me. I knew that for as long as my skin could cop it, I would try every last product thatarrived clad in tissue paper in my office.
Suddenly a dark figure landed beside me, furiously clanging coffee cups and pots with the kind of wild abandon coffee addicts think nothing of. Yasmin had finally come in. ‘Hey, Fi. Hannah, can you pass the skim? And then can we sit down? These shoes are fucking murder.’
All three of us took care to balance the weight of our handbags with our precariously balanced cups and saucers as we sat down on a large white-leather ottoman. All very, very dangerous for our attire and their furniture.
As we sat sipping, and Yasmin detailed the drama of her photo shoot last night – ‘The model was so fucking hungover, no amount of coffee or make-up could do anything, so
Today was a prime example. In this sky-lit palace there’d be no missing the twins.
Yasmin had stopped outside to take a phone call so I walked through to the function solo. A handful of beauty girls, all anti-pants and pro-frock, were scattered throughout. I wasn’t friendly enough with any of them to make conversation. I saw Fiona pouring herself some coffee. I decided to
make her like me.
I walked over to her. She was wearing a black cinched-waist dress, black pumps, and some exhilarating red lipstick. She looked very chic. As always.
‘Hi, Fiona!’ I said with gaiety, like we were old friends.
‘Oh, hey,’ she said. And went back to her coffee preparation.
No
. Had she really just done that?
‘So, uh, how’s your day been so far?’ God. Was I trying to pick her up? I should’ve just asked what a pretty girl like her was doing at a launch like this.
She shrugged her shoulders, concentrating on her sugar-spooning. She said nothing, but she didn’t need to. Her indifference screamed.
‘Oh-kaay,’ I said quietly to myself, wondering what to do next. ‘Well, um, I’d better go take a seat.’ She was diabolical. I needed to abort. Where was Yasmin?!
I watched as Fiona took a long sip from her cup,completely entranced, before turning away. That was it. I was done with her.
‘Sorry, I’m no one’s friend until I’ve had some coffee.’
Facing the room, I closed my eyes and smiled with relief. So she
wasn’t
a total cow. I turned back to her and, feeling extremely congenial all of a sudden, decided I needed a coffee too. Being not-psychotic together could be the glue that would bond us. I tried to do my best ‘Oh, me too’ face.
‘Know what you mean. I’ve already had one, but another won’t hurt.’ There was a pregnant pause. She’d missed her cue. Time for me to prompt. ‘So…um…do you think they’ll be launching that new serum today? I saw an amazing write-up of it in
WWD Friday
last month.’
‘Imagine so. Have you tried that three-in-one cleanser of theirs?’ She spoke vaguely; she was still totally engrossed in her coffee, holding it up to her face, taking desperate, scalding little sips every ten seconds or so.
‘Mm-hmm, it’s actually really nice. The exfoliating beads are really tiny and soft, you know, so you can use it every day. I never usually believe it when they say that, but—’
She half laughed. ‘Do you still try everything you’re given? I love it. Adorable.’
I wasn’t sure whether she was mocking me, so I shrugged and laughed with my mouth closed.
‘You’ll get over it,’ she said knowingly. ‘Trust me, I’ve been in the industry for a thousand years, and soon you’ll stick to the brands you know work. No matter which celebrity or bloody dermatologist swears by it.’
‘Mmmm.’ But I couldn’t allow myself to agree, no matter how much I wanted her to like me. I knew that for as long as my skin could cop it, I would try every last product thatarrived clad in tissue paper in my office.
Suddenly a dark figure landed beside me, furiously clanging coffee cups and pots with the kind of wild abandon coffee addicts think nothing of. Yasmin had finally come in. ‘Hey, Fi. Hannah, can you pass the skim? And then can we sit down? These shoes are fucking murder.’
All three of us took care to balance the weight of our handbags with our precariously balanced cups and saucers as we sat down on a large white-leather ottoman. All very, very dangerous for our attire and their furniture.
As we sat sipping, and Yasmin detailed the drama of her photo shoot last night – ‘The model was so fucking hungover, no amount of coffee or make-up could do anything, so
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