Shopaholic to the Stars (6 page)

Yet again I scan the crowd, searching for another TEAM SAGE turquoise baseball cap, but the runners are too closely packed together to see much. She has to be here somewhere. I’ll just have to find her when we start running.

As I’m doing a leg stretch I catch the eye of a wiry black girl limbering up beside me. She looks at my baseball cap and her eyes widen.

‘You’re in the Sage Seymour team?’

‘Yes.’ I try to sound casual. ‘That’s right. I’m with Sage. We’ll be running together, and chatting, and … everything!’

‘Wow. You must be good. So, what time are you hoping to make today?’

‘Well.’ I clear my throat. ‘I expect I’ll take about … um …’

I have no idea. Ten miles. How fast can I run ten miles? I’m not even sure how fast I can run one mile.

‘I’m just hoping to improve my personal best,’ I say at last.

‘I hear you.’ The girl stretches her arms over her head. ‘What’s your race strategy?’

Meet Sage Seymour, talk about clothes and wangle an invitation to her house
, flashes through my mind.

‘Just … run,’ I say with a shrug. ‘To the end. You know. As fast as I can.’

She stares at me blankly, then laughs. ‘You’re funny.’

The runners are clustering together even more tightly. There must be at least a thousand people, stretching back as far as the eye can see. And despite my jet lag, I feel a sudden burst of exhilaration as I bounce lightly in my new hi-tech shoes. Here I am! Running in a high-profile race in LA! It just shows what you can do if you put your mind to it. I’m about to take a photo of myself and send it to Suze when my phone rings and it’s Mum. She always calls last thing at night, just to tell me that Minnie’s got off to sleep OK.

‘Hi!’ I answer the phone in delight. ‘Guess what I’m doing.’

‘You’re on a red carpet!’ exclaims Mum excitedly.

Every time Mum phones, she asks if I’m on a red carpet. The truth is, not only have I not been on one, I haven’t even
seen
one. Even worse: Luke had an invitation to a premiere last time we were here, and not only did he not go, he didn’t even tell me about it until it was too late. A premiere!

This is why I can’t rely on Luke to get me into anything cool. He has completely the opposite view of LA from me. All he’s interested in is attending meetings and being on permanent BlackBerry call – i.e., business as usual. He says the work ethic in LA is something he really relates to. The work ethic. Who comes to LA for the work ethic?

‘No, I’m running in a charity race. With Sage!’

Mum gasps. ‘You’re with Sage Seymour? Oh, Becky!’

‘I’m not exactly with her right this second,’ I admit. ‘But I’m going to catch up with her while we’re running. I’ve got a TEAM SAGE baseball cap,’ I add proudly.

‘Oh, love!’

‘I know! I’ll take a picture of it. Show Minnie. Is she OK? Fast asleep?’

‘She’s fine, fine!’ says Mum breezily. ‘All snuggled up in bed. So, who else have you met? Anyone famous?’

Lois Kellerton
flashes through my mind.

No. Don’t even think about it. I love my mum, but if you tell her anything, it’s all over Oxshott in a nano-second.

‘There are loads of celebs in the race,’ I say vaguely. ‘I think I just saw a guy from
Desperate Housewives
.’ It could have been him, or it could have been a different guy, but Mum won’t know.

A klaxon is sounding. Oh God. Is that the race starting?

‘Mum, I have to go,’ I say hastily. ‘I’ll call later. Bye!’

That
was
the start of the race. We’re off. We’re running. I’m running too! Feet and arms are blurring around me as the runners jostle for position and I breathlessly try to stay with them.

God, they’re fast.

I mean, it’s fine. I’m fast too. I’m totally keeping up with the others. My chest is already burning, but that’s OK, because the endorphins will kick in, any minute.

The most important thing is: where’s Sage?

As the crowd thins out, I’m able to get a better view of my fellow runners. I’m scanning the heads desperately for a turquoise baseball cap … She must be somewhere … I can’t have missed her, surely …

There! I feel a burst of joyous adrenalin. She’s right up at the front, of course. OK, time to make my move. I’ll sprint up to her casually, gesture at my hat and say, ‘I think we’re on the same team.’ And our close friendship will begin.

I’ve never really considered myself an athlete before, but as I charge forward, it’s like some invisible force is powering me. I’m overtaking the wiry black girl! I’m on fire! I’m exhilarated! But still the turquoise cap is bobbing along ahead of me, tantalizingly out of reach, so I put on an extra spurt of energy. Somehow I succeed in drawing level with her. My face is boiling and my heart is hammering in my chest, but I manage to point at my hat and gasp, ‘I think we’re on the same team.’

The turquoise baseball cap turns … and it’s not Sage Seymour. It’s some girl with a pointy nose and brown hair who just gives me a blank look and ups her pace. She’s not even wearing a TEAM SAGE cap, either, just a plain turquoise one. I’m so disconcerted I stop dead, and nearly get knocked over by a horde of runners.

‘Jesus!’

‘Out of the way!’

‘One-eight-four, what are you
doing
?’

Hastily I move to one side and try to catch my breath. OK, so that wasn’t Sage. But never mind. She’ll be here somewhere. I just have to keep my eyes open for turquoise … turquoise … Yes! Over there!

With a fresh surge of adrenalin I plunge into the race again and chase after another turquoise baseball cap. But as I draw near, I can see already that it’s not Sage. It’s not even a girl. It’s a skinny, Italian-looking guy.

Bloody hell. Panting hard, I head to a water station and take a sip of water, still desperately scanning the crowd of runners, refusing to give up. So I’ve had two near-misses. Never mind. I’ll find her. I will. Wait, there’s a flash of turquoise up ahead. That
must
be her …

An hour later, I feel like I’ve moved into a parallel universe. Is this ‘The Zone’? It feels more like hell. My lungs are pumping like pistons; my face is sweaty; I have blisters on both feet; I want to die … and yet still I’m moving. It’s as if some magic force is keeping me going. I keep seeing turquoise baseball caps in the crowd. I keep chasing them. I’ve approached one blonde girl four times now. But none of them is Sage. Where is she? Where
is
she?

And where are these bloody endorphins? I’ve been running for ages and haven’t had a single one. It’s all lies. Nor have I seen a single Hollywood landmark. Have we even passed any?

Oh God, I
have
to drink some water. I head to the next water stand, decorated with helium balloons. I grab one paper cup and pour the water over my head, then gulp at a second. There’s a crowd of cheerleaders in red costumes doing a routine nearby, and I look at them enviously. Where do they get all that energy from? Maybe they have special springy cheerleaders’ boots. Maybe if I had glittery pom-poms to shake, I’d run faster.

‘Becky! Over here! Are you all right?’ I straighten up, panting, and look around in a daze. Then I spot Luke on the other side of the barricade. He’s holding a Ten Miler flag and gazing at me in alarm. ‘Are you all right?’ he repeats.

‘Fine.’ My voice comes out rasping. ‘All good.’

‘I thought I’d come along to support you.’ He eyes me in amazement as I stagger towards him. ‘You’re making incredibly good time. I didn’t realize you were so fit!’

‘Oh.’ I wipe my sweaty face. ‘Right.’ I hadn’t even thought about how quickly I was going. The whole race has been a blur of chasing turquoise baseball caps.

‘Did you get my text?’

‘Huh?’

‘About Sage pulling out.’

I stare up at him blankly, the blood still pumping in my ears. Did he just say …

‘She sends her apologies,’ he adds.

‘You mean … she’s not in the race?’ I manage. ‘At all?’

I’ve been chasing all those turquoise baseball caps for
nothing
?

‘A friend of hers decided to take a bunch of pals on a trip to Mexico,’ says Luke. ‘She and her whole team are on a plane as we speak.’

‘The whole
team
have pulled out?’ I’m trying to make sense of this. ‘But they trained! They went to Arizona!’

‘Maybe they did. But they pretty much move in a pack,’ he says dryly. ‘If Sage says, “Let’s go to Mexico,” they go to Mexico. Becky, I’m sorry. You must be disappointed.’ He touches my shoulder. ‘I know you only ran the race to meet Sage.’

His sympathy hits a nerve in me. Is that what he thinks? I mean, I know it’s the truth, but it shouldn’t be what he
thinks
. Husbands should think the best of their wives, as a matter of principle.

‘I didn’t “only run the race to meet Sage”!’ I say, drawing myself up tall with an affronted expression. ‘I did it because I love running and I wanted to support the charity. I hadn’t even
thought
about whether Sage was in the race or not.’

‘Ah.’ Luke’s face flickers. ‘Well, then, bravo. Not much longer to go.’

As it hits me, my heart plummets. I haven’t finished. Oh God. I can’t run any more. I just can’t do it.

‘It’s four miles more.’ Luke is consulting a race map. ‘You’ll do that in no time!’ he adds cheerfully.

Four miles? Four whole miles?

As I look at the road ahead, my legs feel wobbly. My feet are aching. Runners are still pounding by, but the thought of getting back into the fray fills me with dread. A guy in a turquoise baseball cap powers by, and I scowl at him. I’ll be happy if I never see a turquoise baseball cap again.

‘I’d better limber up before I start again,’ I say, playing for time. ‘My muscles are cold.’

I lift up my foot to do a quad stretch. I count very slowly up to thirty, and then do the other side. Then I flop down and let my head dangle in front of my knees for a couple of minutes. Mmm. This is nice. Maybe I’ll stay here for a while.

‘Becky?’ Luke’s voice penetrates my consciousness. ‘Sweetheart, are you OK?’

‘I’m stretching,’ I inform him. I raise my head, stretch out my triceps, and then do a few yoga-type poses I’ve seen Suze do. ‘Now I’d better hydrate,’ I add. ‘It’s really important.’

I reach for a cup of water and sip it slowly, then fill another and hand it to a passing runner. I might as well be helpful, while I’m here. I fill a few more cups with water, ready to hand out, and straighten a stack of energy bars. There are empty wrappers everywhere, so I begin to gather them up and put them in the bin. Then I re-tie a couple of balloons which have come loose and adjust some streamers. Might as well make the stand look tidy.

I suddenly notice that the guy behind the water stand is staring at me as though I’m insane.

‘What are you doing?’ he says. ‘Shouldn’t you be running?’

I feel a bit indignant at his tone. I’m
helping
him. He could be more grateful.

‘I’m on a stretch break,’ I explain, and look up to see that Luke is surveying me quizzically.

‘You must be pretty well stretched out,’ he says. ‘Are you going to start running again now?’

Honestly. All this pressure to
run
the whole time.

‘I just need to …’ I interlace my fingers and stretch them out. ‘Mmm. I have a lot of tension there.’

‘Lady, you’re gonna miss the whole thing,’ says the waterstand guy. He gestures at the road. ‘That’s the last bunch.’

It’s true: the race is thinning out by now. Only the last few stragglers are left. The spectators are drifting away, too. The whole atmosphere is kind of melting away. I can’t put it off any more.

‘Right.’ I try to sound positive. ‘Well, I’ll just quickly run those last four miles, then. Shouldn’t take long. Great.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I’ll just get going, then.’

‘
Or
…’ says Luke, and my head jerks up.

‘Or what?’

‘I was wondering, Becky. If you didn’t mind slowing your pace to mine, maybe we could walk it? Together?’

‘Walk it?’

He puts his hand over the barrier and clasps mine. By now, we’re practically the only people around. Behind us, workmen are beginning to dismantle the barricades and pick up litter with special sticks.

‘Not often we get a chance to walk in LA,’ he adds. ‘And we’ve got the street to ourselves.’

I want to expire with relief.

‘Well, OK,’ I say after a pause. ‘I don’t mind walking. Although obviously I would very much have
preferred
to run.’

‘Obviously.’ He shoots me an amused little grin, which I ignore. ‘Shall we?’

We start to walk along, picking our way through the paper cups and energy-bar wrappers left everywhere. I tighten my fingers around his and he squeezes my hand back.

‘Come this way.’ Luke leads me to the right, off the street and on to the pavement, or sidewalk, as I must start calling it. ‘You know where we are?’

‘Hollywood? Los Angeles?’ I look at him suspiciously. ‘Is this a trick question?’

Luke makes no answer, just nods down at the ‘sidewalk’. And suddenly I get it.

‘Oh!’ I look down with a beam. ‘Oh my God!’

‘I know.’

We’re standing on the stars. The Hollywood Walk of Fame, which I’ve seen a million times on TV, but never for real. I feel as though Luke has put it there especially as a present for me, all shiny and pink.

‘Edward Arnold!’ I exclaim, reading a name and trying to sound reverent. ‘Wow! Um …’

‘No idea,’ says Luke. ‘Someone famous. Clearly.’

‘Clearly.’ I giggle. ‘And who’s Red Foley?’

‘Bette Davis,’ says Luke, pointing at another star. ‘Will that do you?’

‘Ooh! Bette Davis! Let me see!’

For a while I do nothing but dart backwards and forwards, looking for famous names. This is the most Hollywoody thing we’ve done yet, and I don’t care that we’re being total saddo tourists.

At last, we resume walking along, checking off famous names every now and again.

‘I’m sorry about your job.’ Luke squeezes my hand. ‘That’s bad luck.’

‘Thanks.’ I shrug. ‘But, you know, I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe actually it’s for the best. Bob Hope,’ I add, pointing at his star.