Home > Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)(11)

Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)(11)
Author: Sophie Kinsella

Standing on the sidewalk, all alone, is a woman who I guess is an actress, as she’s so tiny and made up. I don’t recognize her, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m just wondering whether to get out my phone, take a picture, and text—Who’s this?—to my best friend, Suze, when an older woman in jeans and a black tank top comes up to her. She’s wearing a maroon peaked cap and has long black braids and the coolest high-heeled boots.

Everyone else in the crowd is pointing at the actress, but I’m riveted by the woman with braids. I know her. I’ve read interviews with her. She’s a stylist called Nenita Dietz.

She’s holding a see-through plastic bag containing a stripy vintage-looking coat, which she carefully takes out and puts on the actress. She stares critically, adjusts it, then adds a necklace. And as I watch her, my thoughts are suddenly spinning in a new direction. Imagine having that job. Working on films; choosing outfits for actors; styling stars for appearances … Forget department stores, I should aim higher! That’s the job I should have. I mean, it’s perfect. I love clothes, I love films, I’m moving to L.A.… Why didn’t I think of this before?

Now Nenita Dietz is trying different pairs of sunglasses out on the actress. I follow every move she makes, utterly mesmerized. Nenita Dietz is amazing. She was behind that trend for boots with evening wear. And she’s starting a line of underwear. I’ve always wanted to design my own underwear.

But how on earth would I get into it? How do you become a top Hollywood stylist? Or even a low-to-medium Hollywood stylist? Where do I start? I don’t know anyone here, I don’t have a job, I don’t have any film experience.…

Now people across the road are shouting, “Quiet on set!” and “Rolling!” and “QUIET PLEASE!” I watch in fascination as the actress folds her arms and looks upward.


Cut? That was it?

All the film people are scurrying around again and I peer hard, searching for Nenita Dietz, but I can’t see her. And people are starting to press at my back. So at last I tear myself away, my mind whirling with fantasies. A darkened cinema. My name rolling down the screen in white letters.


And now, of course, it all falls into place in my head. Sage Seymour is the key. Sage Seymour is the answer. That’s how I’m going to get in.

1764 Beverly Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90210


Possible fashion trends to start:

- Tartan dress with neon PVC accessories

- Fake-fur coat belted with three different belts (Yes! Signature look!)

- Pink hair and distressed pinstripe jacket

- Diamanté brooches pinned to wellies

- Jeans cut up and made into arm warmers

- Carry two designer handbags at once (Yes! Start immediately!)

- Full-length tulle skirt worn over jeans

- Mismatch shoes for quirky, kooky look (Or will look as though have dementia??)

- Fresh orchids tucked into belt as corsage

- Bracelet made of fresh orchids

- NB: Buy fresh orchids

By 3:00 P.M., I’m standing in a crowd of runners, formulating a plan for my new career. All I need to do is meet Sage Seymour, start chatting about clothes, offer to style her for an appearance … and I’ll have an in. It’s all about who you know, and Sage Seymour is the perfect person to know. And this is the perfect event to meet her! I mean, I’m actually on her team! I have every reason to talk to her, and I can easily edge the conversation onto red-carpet trends while we’re sprinting along together. I haven’t seen her yet, but my eyes are swiveling around, and I’m poised for action as soon as I spot her.

A bell sounds, and all the runners start pressing more closely together. The cocktails I drank with Danny are starting to creep up on me, and I slightly regret that Malibu Sunrise now … but never mind. The endorphins will soon kick in.

It’s quite a spectacle, this Ten Miler race. It starts at Dodger Stadium, and it goes along Sunset and then onto Hollywood Boulevard. According to the welcome pack, the route passes many Hollywood landmarks, which is brilliant, because I’ll be able to sightsee as I run! I’ve already checked in, and I can’t believe how many people are doing it. Everywhere I look, I see runners limbering and jogging and adjusting their shoelaces. Music is playing through loudspeakers, and the sun is shining hazily through the clouds and there’s a smell of sunscreen. And I’m part of it! I’m standing in the middle of Group 1, about ten feet away from a massive great metal arch, which is the start of the race, with a number taped to my chest (184) and a special chip in my shoe. Best of all, I’m wearing the fab team baseball cap, which was waiting for me at the hotel desk. It’s bright turquoise, with TEAM SAGE in white letters. I feel like I’m in the Olympics!

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 on 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!”

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