Charlotte and the Starlet (6 page)

The other girls had selected their horses and
were already grooming them, oiling up their tack
and gossiping. Lucinda Hayes-Warrington had long,
lustrous black hair and had been riding since she was
six. Emma Cross wore a blonde bob, which was also
lustrous, and she'd won many pony club events.
Rebecca Portofino had thick curls of red hair but
otherwise her life was pretty much the same as the
other two. Like them she lived in a house so big she
could go days without bumping into her parents. And
their beach house was even bigger. Not quite as big as
Emma's father's beach house located in the next bay.
That had been so big that locals had taken up a
petition saying it blocked the sun on the beach. What
with skin cancer and everything, Emma said they
should have been grateful to have some shade.

Emma was showing Rebecca and Lucinda a brand
new mobile phone no bigger than a snack pack of
sultanas. It was her going away present from her
parents.

Lucinda groaned. 'Honestly, a mobile phone.
Haven't they any imagination?'

Emma waved off her concern.

'No, this is actually pretty cool. Rhinestone touchpad,
waterproof of course, world-wide coverage,
global positioning beacon, digital camera with, natch,
storage for one hundred and ten snaps, seven-language
diary, calorie counter and karaoke function.
Plus...' She pointed to tiny microphone holes at one
end. '... the eavesdropper. So sensitive you can hear
conversations a kilometre away.'

Rebecca said she had wanted that model but her
father had said she would have to earn it. 'I said, no
way am I doing the dishes.'

Emma shook her head in sympathy.

'Pathetic, isn't it? My dad tried that too, once.
I said, "Daddy, you're not the only one trying to
buy my affection. I can easily get that from my
step-father."'

Rebecca noticed a shabby looking girl enter and
look around. Obviously the stablehand. As she
passed, Rebecca spoke up.

'Could you oil my gate, please? It's got this
annoying creak.'

The girl looked at her blankly.

'Can't you do it?' she replied.

The three friends swapped a look. Talk about
attitude. Rebecca was not to be cowed.

'That's what stablehands are for, isn't it?'

The girl shrugged. 'I'm not a stablehand.' As her
father had always taught her to do, Charlotte
extended her hand. 'Charlie.'

The three girls looked at her as if she was an alien
life form. No-one made a move to take her hand and
Charlotte pulled it back, feeling embarrassed.

'Emma, Lucinda, Rebecca,' said the one with the
blonde bob and the three of them turned back to their
horses.

Charlotte didn't know what to do next. She felt
foolish standing there and had no choice but to push
on. She walked to the end of the stable, looking for a
free horse. There wasn't one. A man she took to be the
stable foreman was placing tack on one of the hooks
on the wall.

'Excuse me, I don't seem to have a horse.'

Bevans didn't even look at her.

'Try the second-last box on the left.'

Charlotte was sure she'd walked down there
already but she went for another look, just in case.
The stall door was closed. There was no horse
standing above it. She was about to go back again
when she thought she heard ... what was that?
Snoring?
She pushed open the gate gently and there
lay a beautiful bay filly on her back, fast asleep.

'Hello, beautiful. I'm your new best friend.'

The noise woke Leila. She had feigned sleep while
those annoying riding kids had come around looking
for horses to torture and must have drifted off for real.
Now some kid was pushing some geeky smile into her
personal space.

'We better give you a name. Let's see ...'

Leila could almost hear the hard drive whirring in
the girl's mind. Britney, she was going to pick Britney
... oh no, anything but Britney.

The girl smiled down at her.

'Cher. I'm going to call you Cher.'

CHER!!! Leila almost choked.

'My mum had all her CDs. She thought she was
fabulous.'

This rube obviously had never met Cher, thought
Leila, who vividly recalled the studio confiscating
Leila's trailer for Cher's second bedroom.

'Okay, Cher, let's get acquainted.'

Couldn't the kid just buzz off and leave Leila alone?
Leila let one eye flip open, shuddered at the rat's nest
hair that confronted her and closed it again. She'd go
away. Now, where was that dream she'd been in?
That's right, it was Oscar Night and she was partying
with that cute, Irish ...

EEEEEEEE!

Leila was suddenly wide awake, covered in
something cold and ... WET!!!

Water.

The last time she'd been hit with anything that cold
was playing water bombs at Hilary's pad. Hilary, now
there was a good little comrade to party with. Of
course, the water that time had been chilled Perrier.
But this wasn't Perrier, this was common garden
variety H
₂
O. Leila stood quickly and shook herself
dry. And that's when she saw the rube smiling at her,
holding an empty bucket.

'Thought that might get you awake. I'm Charlie.'

No, kid, thought Leila, you're dead meat.

The girl started drying her off. Mmm, well, that was
as it should be. She was rough, though, nothing like
those Korean girls in the bathhouse near the studio.
What did she think Leila was? Horsemeat?

'You're a pretty girl, aren't you?'

Duh. Course I'm pretty, you doofus.

'A bit podgy, but we'll get that off you.'

Podgy! From the look of her, this rube clearly
didn't even know how to use a cleanser or a lip-liner.
And here she was calling Leila
podgy
!

'Tomorrow I'll take you for a canter and we'll see
how you handle the jumps.'

Leila smiled at the naivety. Charlie thought she was
the boss? Well, let's see how she handled the old face-slap.

Whack! The horse's tail swatted Charlotte hard in
the face.

Charlotte was stung. It was almost as if the horse
had done it deliberately.

'I hope that was an accident, Cher,' she joked.

Whack, whack! This time, two swats.

'Oh, it's like that, is it? Then let's see how you like
the bridle.'

If there was one thing Leila hated it was a bridle.
But she didn't react. She let the kid get close. It was a
ruse Leila had used effectively in
Hoofbeat Hero
when
the bad guy was trying to escape from the police on
her. You relax, get them confident, then just as they
lean in and smile, like the rube was now, you suddenly
butt them in the chest.

Caught completely off guard, Charlotte was
knocked backwards, her legs collecting something
behind her. She tumbled over the stool and hit the
ground but it wasn't as hard as it should have been.
It was soft and squelchy and foul smelling. Yuck!
She had landed slap in the middle of a pile of horse
poo.

She had just gotten to her feet when the horsy
woman with the deep voice entered. She looked down
her very long nose at Charlotte.

'Finish up here, girls,' she announced. Dinner in
forty-five minutes.'

It took Charlotte a good five minutes to hose
herself off. Then she had to find her room. In awe,
Charlotte entered the large lobby. The floor, a dark
red-black polished wood that smelled of wax,
squeaked under her sneakers as she headed for the
room allocations, which had been pinned on a notice-board
at the foot of the most magnificent staircase
Charlotte could have imagined. The other girls had
vanished into the cavernous maw of the building by
now, though she could hear the occasional door bang
somewhere up above.

Charlotte located her name. She'd been allocated
the Princess Grace room with three other girls.
Charlotte noted the floor plan: upstairs, down the
corridor to the right, second room on the right. She
hoped her room mates were friendly. Slowly she
climbed the staircase, savouring every step. There
were pictures all along the panelled walls. Many were
of men in red coats with big moustaches, on sleek
horses. Then pictures she recognised as being of the
British royal family. She passed a couple of other girls
running down corridors but they didn't acknowledge
her. Eventually she arrived at the Princess Grace
room and could hear lots of excited girly chatter
coming from inside. She stepped in and her heart
sank.

Sitting at dressing tables crammed with beauty jars,
hair straighteners, curling wands and hair dryers were
the three girls she had encountered at the stables.

Tommy Tempest walked to the trailer and knocked
gingerly on the door. Inside he could hear Mr Gold
sobbing. Sniffling, Mr Gold opened the door
wearing his big quilted dressing gown and slippers
embroidered with his initials, though tonight they
were on the wrong feet. He hadn't shaved and his
eyes were red.

'Any news?' he asked hopefully.

Tommy Tempest shook his head. 'Leila has
vanished. The police say there's nothing more they
can do.'

This provoked a new bout of sobbing from Mr
Gold.

'This is costing me a fortune.'

Tommy Tempest knew Mr Gold wouldn't want to
hear the next bit but he had no choice.

'We need to get another horse for the part. Leila
could be in Timbuktu by now.'

Leila looked over the barn. What a dump! She could
be in Timbuktu for all she knew. No sign of a plasma,
not even a cappuccino machine and, by the looks of it,
she was expected to sleep on hay! She could hear
those other chumps hoeing into their oats as if it was
devil's food cake. Pathetic. At least there was no sign
of that black stallion. What a bully! This crew of nags
were still giving her the cold wither but big deal, like
she cared? Anyway, Mr Gold and Tommy Tempest
would be on the case, they'd track her down. Until
then, Leila was going to sit on her backside and do a
big fat nothing. These schmucks were all excited
about jumping over a fence. What the heck was that
going to get you but a broken fetlock?
Jumping over a
fence!
What did they think she was?

For an instant, the image of her mother gracefully
dancing in a big ring and leaping fearlessly over high
steeples came to her. Leila got a big lump in her
throat. But only for a moment. Life had taught her to
fight those emotions. She had cared for her father and
he had died doing a stupid movie stunt, and she had
cared for her mother and been left alone with nannies
and television while her mother had gone off with a
bunch of show ponies. She would not allow herself to
be hurt again, uh, uh. She had hardened her heart like
thick oats mixed with water and left in the sun. Her
mother would be lying around in a spa in Palm
Springs getting a pedicure, with a bunch of compliant
pintos nodding away at her as she talked her head off
about 'the tough old days at the dude ranch'. So it was
tough – get over it, lady! No point living in the past.

Leila lay down on her hay. Damn, it was itchy! She
longed for her wonderful rubber mattress with the
electronic back vibrator, for a well-made smoothie
and, yes, she hated to admit it, but she longed for
Feathers, that no-neck lump of sinew and fluff. She
shut her eyes. Maybe when she opened them up it
would be just like it was before – a big spacious trailer
with Leila being treated the way a star ought to be ...

Charlotte anxiously checked the clock on the wall of the
Princess Grace room. In five minutes she was supposed
to be dressed and at dinner and here she
was still in her underwear waiting for the bathroom,
clutching her towel and baby powder. Already dressed in
a very simple but gorgeous frock, Rebecca was blow-drying
her hair. She hadn't been too bad. Just ten minutes
in the shower. Lucinda had taken even less time but was
still applying make-up. Charlotte had never seen so
many products. Mr Jedley, the chemist at Goondowi
Downs, didn't have so much in his whole shop.

The real problem was Emma.

'My father is a barrister.' Lucinda added a touch
more mascara. Lucinda had been talking about where
they lived but Charlotte hadn't been paying attention.
Some suburb in the city Charlotte had never heard of.
'I guess you know Emm's papa is John Cross, who
owns all those TV stations?'

Charlotte shook her head.

'What does your father do, Charlotte?'

'He's a stockman.'

Lucinda brightened. 'Oh, Rebecca's mother and
father are both brokers. Mervin-Lynch or something,
isn't it?'

Rebecca shrugged. She was having particular
difficulty with her lip-liner.

'No, no,' said Charlotte, understanding the mistake
they were making. 'He's a stockman. He rounds up
cattle.' She could see the other girls trying to
comprehend. 'On a cattle station.'

There was a pause as the information wriggled into
the narrow room that was Lucinda's brain and flicked
a switch. 'Oh!'

Rebecca swung to her, still confused. 'What?'

'Like a cowboy,' translated Lucinda.

Rebecca nodded slowly. 'Right.'

'Does he own the station?' asked Lucinda.

'No, Mr Thomas owns it.'

Lucinda and Rebecca looked at each other for
guidance. Rebecca smiled at Charlotte.

'Doesn't matter, I suppose.'

Charlotte hadn't ever thought there was anything
the matter with that, but for some reason she felt
obliged to add, 'He's the head stockman.'

'Mmm,' the others hummed in unison.

Once more Charlotte felt quite uncomfortable.
These girls weren't easy to be friends with. She wanted
to retreat. Fortunately that opportunity was provided
when the bathroom door finally opened and a huge
cloud of mist poured out. Emma emerged through it,
wrapped in a towel.

'Sorry, Charlotte, but if you don't wait a minimum
of seventeen minutes between the conditioner and the
course2 shampoo you just don't get the sheen.'

Charlotte felt an urge to give Emma's head a
course2 wash in the toilet bowl but she told herself it
was important to make friends, so she simply smiled
and slipped into the bathroom.

As soon as she'd gone, Rebecca switched off the
hair dryer and said she felt sorry for her. 'I mean,
baby
powder
! I haven't seen that since ...' She thought a
long moment, then brightened. 'Since I was a baby!'

Lucinda shuddered at the thought. 'Obviously she's
poor but in my book there's no excuse for not at least
having a cleanser, scrub and foundation.'

The others nodded at the truth of this fact. Emma
slid into her designer outfit. 'To think for a moment
there I was feeling guilty about using up all the hot
water.'

In the shower, Charlotte shivered. It was only
partly because the water was freezing. It was equally
nerves at having to change into that frock for dinner.