Charlotte and the Starlet (9 page)

The sudden stop caught Charlotte by surprise and she
flew over the horse's head and landed hard on her
backside. As she struggled to her knees, she could just
see the other riders disappearing in the distance. Cher
was standing there, smugly.

'You horrible, wretched, stupid beast,' she said as
she dusted herself off.

'If I'm so stupid, how come you're the one picking
dirt out of your teeth?' the horse replied.

Without thinking, Charlotte snapped back, 'You
had the element of surprise. You won't get that again.'

The horse was dismissive. 'Pull your breeches
down, your voice is muffled.'

'Very funny,' said Charlotte. 'You can't even talk.
You're a horse.'

Charlotte folded her arms triumphantly, convinced
she had won the argument. And then it dawned on
her what she had just said. This was a horse. It
couldn't talk. She must be imagining it.

'No, you're not imagining it,' said the horse, as if
reading her mind. 'I could talk a whole lot better
if you took this stupid bridle off.'

Charlotte pinched herself. She could feel it clearly.
Okay, she wasn't dreaming. But there must be a logical
explanation. She must have bumped her head when
she fell. Anxiously she felt over her head for blood.

The horse spoke again. 'You didn't fall. I threw you.'

Charlotte shook her head. She closed her eyes
and counted to ten. Then she slowly opened
her eyes. Cher seemed to be standing impassively
where she had been before. Tentatively, Charlotte
advanced towards her. With each step she took she
felt more confident that she had imagined the whole
episode. Cher continued to stand there, not moving.
Now she was right beside her. Charlotte sighed with
relief.

'I was imagining it.' She stopped to pick up her
helmet.

'No you were-en't,' came that annoying sing-song
voice.

Charlotte almost jumped out of her skin. No, this
was not happening.

The horse spoke up again. 'Will you hurry up and
get this bridle off? Come on. I'll tell you all about me.'

Without understanding what was truly happening
or why she was doing this, Charlotte complied and
removed the bridle.

'Much better,' said the horse when it was off. 'By
the way, the name is Leila. Not "Cher". And while I've
got your attention let's lay down a few ground rules: I
want burgers or pizza, none of that corn and hay stuff,
I am not to be disturbed before midday and never,
ever plait my mane. Now if you'll be so good as to find
a phone and call my producer ...'

The words were just a fog but Charlotte picked out
the word producer.

'Producer?'

'Don't you recognise me? I'm a movie star, for
goodness sake. People say it was J-Lo made curvy
butts fashionable again – uh uh. She got the idea after
she saw me in the powder room at the Four Seasons.
I don't mind, though, me and J-Lo are like that ...'

The horse who called herself Leila crossed her legs.
She continued. 'And take a look ... Familiar?' She
turned three hundred and sixty degrees, modelling.

Charlotte thought she could see a vague
resemblance. 'Barbie's Star?'

Leila nodded proudly. 'Of course, they screwed up
the legs, much too chunky. Look at these pins. Now,
can you tell me exactly where I am?'

By now Charlotte was no longer resisting. She felt
like Alice in Wonderland, embracing the madness.

'Australia.'

'I've never been interested in skiing but the aprèsski
bar had always appealed.'

'I think you're talking about Austria.'

Leila's eyes went the size of softballs.

'Australia! That place with killer spiders and ...
CROCODILES!!! Oh my God, I'm going to die. I'm
going to die.'

Charlotte folded her arms. The horse could talk but
it clearly wasn't that well read.

'There aren't any crocodiles in this part of the
country.' She saw Leila relax and took great pleasure
in adding, 'Snakes and poisonous spiders, yeah.'

'SNAKES!!!' yelled Leila. 'This is like being on
Survivor
without the cameras.'

Later, as they trudged back to the stables, Charlotte
was still shaking her head.

'A talking horse. No-one's going to believe this.'

'Exactly. 'Cause you're not going to tell them. And
even if you did, who is going to believe a rube like
you?'

'Rube?'

'Yeah. Doofus, schmuck, nancy no-friends. They
won't believe a word you say.'

Charlotte couldn't understand her attitude.

'Think of how famous you'd be.'

Leila pointed out she was already famous. 'You
think I need hypodermics in my butt, electrodes in my
brain and a lot of egg-head scientists prescribing a
low-fat diet? I'd be ready for the padded stall before
you could crack your whip. I'm sorry I even opened
my big mouth.'

That annoyed Charlotte.

'You can trust me, you know. In fact, we have to be
friends if we're going to make the JOES.'

Leila had had enough. She didn't need friends, she
needed an agent. And a little chilled strawberry
milkshake wouldn't go astray.

'Think you can rustle up a "shake du strawberre"?
I'm parched.'

Charlotte decided not to respond. Okay, a talking
horse was amazing but, if she thought Charlotte would
play the servant role, she had another think coming.

The other girls had long since arrived back and
now, as they came within the immediate vicinity of
the recreation area, Charlotte could smell barbecued
sausages and hear the strains of 'Kumbaya' floating
over the field. When she got closer she saw Miss
Strudworth was strumming an acoustic guitar
enthusiastically, bellowing out the vocals like an
auctioneer at the cattle sales. All the girls had
earphones in and were listening to those iPod things.
Charlotte would have killed for a sausage.

'I hope you're happy. I haven't eaten all day and
now I'm too late for the barbecue.'

'Believe me, you could do with a couple less
pounds.'

Charlotte led Leila to the stables, removed her
saddle and began brushing her.

'Up and to the left,' commanded Leila.

'We have to talk about the JOES,' began Charlotte.

'No hurdles, no stupid prancing ... and those leg-breaking
brick walls, no way. One scratch on this
flank and it's goodbye Melrose.'

'What?'

'It's a cool street in Los Angeles where gals like me
hang out.'

'I'm a good rider. You won't get hurt.'

The kid just didn't get it. 'I'll make you a deal. You
call my producer Joel Gold, tell him where to find me,
I'll get you a signed photo of Sarah-Jane Sweeney.'

'Who's she?' asked Charlotte.

'My point exactly. When I get out of here I'm
switching to serious drama. I got this idea: Nelson
Mandela as a filly ... daring, good looking and above
all, completely and utterly selfless. I wouldn't even
have to act.'

'Okay. I'll call your producer as soon as we make
the JOES.'

Leila snapped. 'What do you think I am? A charity?
I'm an actor, kid. I don't help anybody, I
entertain
, get
it? That's my gift to the world. It's much better than
actually
helping
.'

Charlotte folded her arms defiantly. 'Now, you
listen here ...'

But then she pulled up, sensing something was
different. She looked around to see The Evil Three
staring at her as if she were a dead bug in the soup.

'Who were you talking to?' asked Emma accusingly.

Charlotte couldn't admit to talking to a horse.
'Um ... myself.'

The others swapped the sort of looks that
Charlotte's dad and the other stockmen swapped
when they had to get into a pen with a mad bull.

'I heard two voices,' said Lucinda.

Rebecca was still half-deaf from last night's
experiment with Emma's phone but, wanting to be
useful, added, 'I saw her lips moving.'

'Two voices, one talking about acting or something.'
Emma's look bored into Charlotte.

'And you're the only one in here,' said Lucinda
weightily.

Charlotte was still trying to work out a plausible
answer.

'Are you schizo?' asked Emma.

Rebecca said, 'She could be possessed by the devil.
In horror movies that always happens.'

Charlotte glared at her. Rebecca shrank back.

Lucinda sighed. 'Look, we just came to tell you that
we think it would be better if you moved to another
room. And if you're schizo, well, you know, you might
need two beds anyway.'

The others nodded, as if this made sense. Charlotte
was very angry now.

'I'm not schizo, okay?'

Emma shrugged. 'Well, there's only you and the
horse. I guess she was the one talking?'

'Actually, she was.'

Charlotte regretted it as soon as it was out of her
mouth but she couldn't stop now. 'I know it's pretty
crazy. In fact, I thought it might have been you guys
playing a trick on me. But it's her. She can speak like a
human.' She turned to Leila. 'Go on, show them.'

Leila was horrified by this course of events. She
regretted having spoken up to the rube. Loneliness,
she guessed. Fortunately, this kid Charlie was seen as
the local fruitcake anyway so all she had to do was
keep quiet. Which she did.

Charlotte grew very angry.

'She's just doing this to annoy me. Come on, Leila,
tell them about your new project.'

When Charlotte looked back, the other girls had
already backed away to the stable's entrance. Then
they were gone.

'Now look what you've done,' she snapped at Leila.

Miss Strudworth straightened the bone china in the
cabinet that had occupied this room since old Tobias'
days. She was still a little wounded from that horrible
caricature. She glanced across at the large photograph
of her favourite royal, Princess Anne. You know what
it's like, she thought. She had met the Princess once.
In competition. That marvellous memory drew her
gaze to the big glass case in the middle of the room
where her wonderful pony, Zucchini, stared back at
her through glassy eyes. It was ten years now since
Zucchini had passed away. She'd had him stuffed and
placed here so that she'd always have at least one
companion. She moved over to the mantlepiece and
dusted the trophies she had won as a young girl. First
in dressage, first in jumps, first in cross-country.
There had been a time when Miss Strudworth had
hoped she might have had to scrunch up those
trophies to fit the trophies of a husband on the shelf
but, alas, it was not to be. Now at the age of forty-two,
she had resigned herself to being purely and simply
Miss Strudworth, the very best equestrian mentor in
the southern hemisphere.

A knock on the door derailed her train of thought.

'Enter.'

Three of the precocious princesses shuffled in.
Strudworth wondered what on earth this would be
about. A cable service not working? Poor reception on
their mobile phones? No wood-fired pizza?

'Yes?' she enquired, raising an eyebrow that said
don't waste my time
.

The Evil Three brought Strudworth up-to-date
with Charlotte's weird behaviour in the stables.

Rebecca was now going on about her brother and
sister.

'I mean, they're in therapy but that's only
because it's like ... cool, you know? They're not
actually mad.'

Strudworth pointed out that there was little
evidence to suggest Charlotte Richards was mad.

'I do applaud you all for your heartfelt concern for a
fellow student.'

'Yeah, great,' said Emma, 'but does that mean we
get her out of our room? What if she attacks us or
something?'

Strudworth said there was no reason to believe
Charlotte was violent.

Lucinda had seen her father wield the threat of the
law like an axe and now she demonstrated the family
lineage. She said that if Strudworth was prepared
to take that position in court, she supposed it was
her call.

'But you know, if the unimaginable
did
happen and
say we woke up and found she'd ...'

'Plucked our eyebrows without permission.'
Rebecca felt good about that addition.

'Right, or, you know, worse, taken a knife –' began
Emma.

'And cut a hole in our Dolce and Gabbana outfits
...' Lucinda suggested.

'But in a really
uncool
way,' added Rebecca, wanting
to emphasise the point.

'Then the damages bill would be – oh, think of a
seven-digit number?'

Lucinda smiled that killer smile of hers.

Strudworth felt the blood drain from her face. A
settlement like that would cost her Thornton Downs.
She barely met expenses as it was. What could she do?
She couldn't lose the place. No, they really gave her
no choice. Besides, Richards might be better off on
her own.

Charlotte stared at her new room. Bare concrete walls
and floors, if you didn't count the pipes that ran into
the ceiling. No windows. And it was hot and stuffy
from the boiler in the corner. Miss Strudworth
pointed brightly at the fold-up camp bed.

'Quite cosy, really. You can use the bathroom on the
second floor. And I'll get a clothes rack put outside for
you.'

The room might be the pits but it was better than
having to share with those witches. Charlotte put
down her backpack, saying nothing. Strudworth
coughed with embarrassment.

'But before you really settle in I'd like you to come
and meet Mr Hatcher, the academy counsellor. He
wants to know all about the, er, horse.'

Mr Hatcher was a balding, pudgy man with glasses
and a dirty bow-tie. His desk was cluttered with old
coffee mugs and saucers with crumbs on them. It took
up most of the small office, which was somewhere on
the ground floor near the kitchen area. Hatcher
rocked back on his big leather chair and looked over
the notes in front of him. Every now and again he
darted a lustful glance towards an open packet of
chocolate biscuits but he resisted taking one,
although he desperately wanted to hoe in.

Charlotte sat patiently on a small chair, wishing she
were riding Stormy through the red desert. Seemingly
satisfied with his notes, Hatcher looked up at
Charlotte.

'So, Leila ...'

'Charlotte. Leila's the horse.'

Hatcher was stunned at the response – and thrilled.
This much so soon!

'Ah, I see,' he said to himself as he scrawled 'dual
personality' on the pad in front of him. 'The
horse
is
Leila and
you
are Charlotte.'

He leaned in close, hoping to penetrate the
dissociative personality right off. But the girl simply
stared at him. 'Can you tell me, Leila ...'

'Charlotte,' replied Charlotte firmly.

'Just checking,' laughed Hatcher. 'Can you tell me
what triggered this episode?'

He smirked at his clever pun. 'Trigger' was, of
course, one of the most famous horses in the movies.

Charlotte was in a quandary. She didn't want to tell
Mr Hatcher the truth because he would almost
certainly not believe her, but her father and mother
had said you must always tell the truth. So she told Mr
Hatcher how she had asked Leila to help Charlie win a
place in the JOES, and Leila had refused, saying she
wouldn't because she was a famous Hollywood actor.

On his pad Hatcher scribbled 'delusions of
grandeur'.

'And did Leila ever say why she wouldn't talk to
anybody else?'

'Yes. She said she didn't want hypodermics jabbed
into her butt and electrodes in her brain.'

Hatcher managed a forced laugh. 'Our profession
doesn't do that any more.' He looked down at his
notes again. 'I see your mother died four years ago?'

Charlotte nodded.

'How did you feel about that? Did you shut yourself
away from the world?'

'No. I was sad but Dad said we had to go on,
because that's what Mum wanted.'

Hatcher thought he saw it all now.

'And that was when you first met Leila, right?'

Charlotte shook her head. 'No, I told you, I only
met her here.'

Leila looked at the oats once more, hoping if she
stared at them long enough they would turn into a Big
Mac with fries. Nope. No matter how long she stared,
it made no difference. Well, she couldn't wait any
longer, she would have to find a phone and call Mr
Gold.

Getting out of the stable was easy. But now she had
the problem of sneaking across the open lawn to the
big building where the phones would be. She looked
left and right – the coast was clear. She trotted across
the lawn and pushed open a fly-screen door. So far so
good. She made her way into a big room that looked
like an office of some sort. Good, a phone was on the
desk. Even better, it was covered in stickers with
numbers for Emergency and so on. One said
'International Operator'. Leila knocked the receiver
off with her nose, picked up a pen in her teeth and
used it to touch dial the number. A woman's voice
answered.

'Country, please?'

'USA. I'm looking for a Mr Joel Gold of Hollywood,
California.'

The woman asked Leila to hold a moment. Then
she came back on.

'I'm sorry, that number is private. I can't give it out.'

Can't give it out!!!

'Listen, sister, do you have any idea who you're
talking to –'

Clunk. She'd hung up on her! The nerve. Leila
thought hard. Whose number did she know that she
could call to pass a message onto Joel? Of course. Her
best friend, Hilary. Her number was easy to remember
because it was the same as Leila's birthday with a five
on the end. Leila dialled. The phone rang a few times
and then picked up. Leila nearly screamed with
excitement. She could just imagine Hilary sitting
poolside.