Shopaholic to the Stars(115)

And OK, maybe I did play up to it a bit. Maybe I did promise to come out tomorrow morning wearing a vintage Danny Kovitz outfit (i.e. two years old) which never even hit the catwalks, and let him take a picture of it. The thing is, I like having photographers outside the house. It’s boring not to have any around.

I’m in the kitchen preparing an A-lister-type supper when Luke comes in. Dad must have come back at some point and he and Tarquin have gone out sightseeing – they left a note – and Suze is nowhere to be seen, so I guess she’s with them too. All the children are in bed and I’ve sent Jeff and Mitchell out for supper, so it’s just me and Luke, which is nice.

Now that I’m a rising Hollywood celebrity, I have to cook appropriately. We’ll probably need to get a chef or private juice-maker or something, but for now I’m making a very of-the-moment dish. Grain soup. It’s the latest thing. All the A-listers have it, plus I need to look thin for all my forthcoming appearances, and apparently it’s got some magic combination that boosts the metabolism.

‘Hi!’ I greet Luke with a kiss and a wheatgrass smoothie, which is also very healthy and A-list.

‘What’s that?’ He sniffs it and recoils. ‘I’m having a glass of wine. Want one?’

‘No thanks,’ I say, self-righteously. ‘I’m trying to follow a clean diet.’ I ladle grain soup into two bowls and put it on the table. ‘This is totally organic and macrobiotic. It has chia,’ I add.

Luke looks dubiously at it and pokes it with his spoon.

‘OK,’ he says slowly. ‘What are we having with it?’

‘This is it! It has protein and sprouty things and everything. It’s a meal in a bowl.’ I’m about to take a spoonful, when I remember something. I push my chair back and start doing squats.

Luke stares at me in alarm. ‘Becky, are you all right?

‘I’m fine!’ I say breathlessly. ‘You should do squats before you eat. It boosts the metabolism. All the stars do it. Nine … ten.’ I take my seat again, panting slightly. Luke surveys me silently for a moment, then takes a spoonful. He munches it, but doesn’t say anything.

‘Isn’t it great?’ I say cheerily, and take a massive spoonful myself.

Argh. Blurgh. Akk.

Seriously? This is what the film stars eat?

It’s really watery, and what little taste it has is like a mix of mushrooms and sawdust and earth. I force myself to swallow it down, and take another spoonful. I don’t dare look at Luke. A bowl of this won’t fill him up. Nor me. It wouldn’t even fill up Minnie.

How do the A-listers stay so cheery when they have to eat grain soup the whole time? It must be mind over matter. They must sit there grimly, telling themselves, ‘I’m ravenous … but I’m in a movie! My stomach is rumbling and I feel faint … but I’m friends with Leonardo DiCaprio!’

I take another mouthful and try to chew it a hundred times, as recommended in the blog I read. But honestly. How can this be good for you? My jaws are aching and all I can taste is sprouty things. I would kill for a KitKat—

No, stop it. A-listers don’t eat KitKats. If I’m going to be in their crowd I need to learn to love grain soup.

‘Luke, maybe we should buy a yacht,’ I say, to take my mind off the grain soup.

‘What?’ He looks flabbergasted.

‘Just a little one. And then we could hang out with other people on yachts. Like Ben and Jennifer,’ I add casually. ‘Those kinds of people.’

Sage was talking about Ben today as though they’re best friends. Well, if she can be friends with him, why not me, too?

‘Ben?’

‘Ben Affleck.’

‘Ben Affleck?’ Luke puts his spoon down. ‘Why on earth would we hang out with Ben Affleck?’

‘We might!’ I say defensively. ‘Why shouldn’t we? We live in LA now, we’re in the movies … you’re bound to meet Ben Affleck at a party or something …’

‘I doubt it,’ says Luke, dryly.

‘Well, I will, then! Maybe Sage will introduce us. Or maybe I’ll style him or one of his friends.’

And I’ll become best friends with Jennifer Garner, I think secretly. I’ve always thought I would hit it off with her.

‘Becky, this conversation makes no sense.’ Luke is shaking his head and I look at him impatiently. He’s so slow sometimes.

‘Don’t you realize everything’s changed? I’m in the public eye now. I’m in a whole new zone.’

‘You’re hardly an A-lister,’ he snorts, and I feel a dart of indignation.

‘Well, I will be! I have paparazzi outside the house … Sage Seymour calls me all the time …’