Sequins, Secrets, and Silver Linings Read Online Free Page B

been curledinto tight ringlets. Someone has decided it would be a good idea to give her lots of shiny green eye makeup. And whoever did the fake tan got more than slightly carried away. She is orange from the thighs down.
    Not so much a cherry tomato anymore. More of a traffic light.
    Jenny smiles nervously into the bank of flashing cameras. Fat bloke beside her (her father) takes her by the elbow and some men in black suits with walkie-talkies guide them both toward the red carpet. From the look on her face, it might as well be the guillotine.
    Once she’s there, Hollywood’s Sexiest Female Alive gives her a brief wave of acknowledgment. Her husband flashes a smile. Joe Yule, on the other hand, is suddenly busy signing things for a group of fans and talking into their phones.
    Jenny’s dad works hard, on the lookout for TV reporters to talk to and grinning madly at anyone with a camera, including the crowd. For a while, Jenny wafts around vaguely in his wake. Finally, she spots our frantic waving and gives us a bit of a smile. It’s hard to tell from this distance, but I would swear she looks almost tearful. Then suddenly the men with walkie-talkies are closing in and she’s ushered through the doors and into the cinema. It’s all over.
    “How d’you think she looked?” Edie asks. This is, after all, my area of expertise.
    I try for a few seconds, knitting my eyebrows with the effort, but nothing will come.
    When your best friend has just been standing outside the biggest cinema in Leicester Square, near one of the sexiest women in the world who happens to be dressed in formfitting Armani Privé, sky-high Manolos, and matching husband, and your friend looks like a traffic light, standing next to a fat, baggy guy with fake hair, there is no fashion vocabulary that can adequately capture the moment.

Chapter 6
    T he next day, I’m trying to catch up on some French grammar in the garden when I get a text: In Drchster 1/2 hr break, pls cm nw. HELP!!!!!
    Jenny’s doing her promotional tour. She’s installed in the poshest hotel on Park Lane, faced with a stream of journalists who’ve seen the film and want to talk to her about it. She gave me her list of instructions for managing their questions:
    • Don’t talk about Hollywood’s Sexiest Couple Alive, except as actors.
    • Don’t talk about Joe Yule’s girlfriend (rumors they are splitting up).
    • Don’t talk about that incident with the peanut butter, the honey, and the fire extinguisher in Egypt.
    • Make sure the film poster can be seen behind you at all times.
    • Tell the funny story about the monkey when you were on location in Morocco.
    • Don’t say what Hollywood’s Sexiest Female Alive said to the monkey.
    And so on for pages and pages. She’s already told the monkey story about fifty thousand times. And she didn’t find it funny the first time. And every journalist’s first question is always about Joe Yule’s girlfriend, so she has to start every interview saying she can’t comment, which she hates. I can imagine that she needs a quick shoulder to cry on, so I shove one of Crow’s skirts over my hot pants (I’m not sure if the Dorchester allows hot pants) and tell Mum where I’m going. Ten minutes later, I’m there.
    Edie obviously got a text, too. We meet at Reception. Edie’s in a gray, printed summer dress that covers her knees and matching ballet flats. I doubt she needed to change. She was probably wearing it to do her homework.
    “She’s on her way down,” says a tall bloke behind the desk. “You might like to wait outside.” He’s looking at mylegs. It turns out the petal skirt is transparent in daylight and I might as well not have bothered.
    But outside’s good. As soon as Jenny sees us, she flings her arms around us and takes us across the road to Hyde Park, where the sun is shining, the grass is endless, and the hot pants seem totally appropriate.
    Then she promptly bursts into floods of tears.
    She’s clutching