Blondetourage by Allison Rushby

Just to check that
it's all real. That I'm in Paris. With people. People
other than Frau Braun.
    Rhys laughs at me. 'You know, it's nice to see
someone who's impressed by something for once.
I think we're all a bit jaded. Living the Rich Girls lifestyle must do that to you.'
    As we walk towards the Tower, I get to ask
Rhys a little bit more about his life – about how
he and his dad, the show's personal trainer, came
to be keeping Anouschka's thighs skinny, where
he and his dad used to live (LA), his family and
generally everything Rhys. It doesn't take long
for me to see that there's more to Rhys than his
good looks (though I won't be stopping looking at
him any time soon). He's funny and really, really
nice. As Melinda leads us slowly over the green
grass of the Champ de Mars, towards the base of
the Tower, I steal glances at both Rhys and the
looming structure getting closer to me. They're
both quite a sight.
    Finally, we stop and I simply stare (yes, at the
Tower now, I'm not that much of a hussy that I'd
stop and simply stare at Rhys!). Mainly for my
benefit, everyone gets the Eiffel Tower speech,
which, from the sighs that this produces, makes me
think they've probably had it several times before
– even Fluffy sits down with a huff. Melinda may
as well be talking about the price of French oeufs, however, because all I hear, through my dazed stare,
is the basics – 324 metres, 108 storeys, 7300 metric
tons, made of iron, Gustave Eiffel and so on. Seriously,
all I can do is stare upwards. Of course I've
seen hundreds of pictures of the Eiffel Tower and
had to unlock my eyes from its structure every time
I used the bathroom over the past few days, but up
close – it looks completely different. I thought it
would be really black. Black and steel-like. Plain.
But it's not. It's actually kind of grey tinged with
red and is very intricate – all flounces and curls.
It's very – I can't quite find the word for it. Not
ornate, not delicate, um ... French? The fact that
I can't find any other way to describe it makes me
smile.
    Eventually we move on again and I'm dragged
away. We're not going up the Tower itself, unfortunately.
Maybe some other time. What we are
doing, Melinda informs us, is taking a brisk walk
around the Champ de Mars in order to wear us
out and send the final remnants of jet lag packing.
As we set off at a faster, businesslike pace, I'm
reminded of other business. Business from last
night. Romy! She had been at the back of my
mind since we'd left the apartment, but now I
remember I need to give her some serious thought.
I take a step closer to Rhys and lean in conspiratorially.
    'Can I ask you something?' I have to concentrate
on keeping up with his longer legs. I try not
to puff as I'm sure it wouldn't impress him.
    'Uh huh.'
    'You must know Romy and Anouschka pretty
well, right?'
    Rhys shrugs. 'Sort of. It depends how you
define "know", I suppose. Why?'
    'I need to know ... well, what Romy's good at,
really.'
    Rhys looks over at me and frowns. 'What she's
good at? You mean, like shopping?'
    'Isn't that Anouschka's forte?'
    Rhys pauses. 'Er, I guess you're right. I don't
know. Food? She likes food?'
    My ears prick up at this. That's true. She's always
hanging around the kitchen. And she's always interested
in what JJ's cooking. Maybe she could be a chef
too? There's something about this, however, that
instantly doesn't sit right. Last night, Romy seemed
interested in eating the food, but she didn't seem so
interested in the preparation, or the ingredients. And
that's what JJ's into the most – the creative side of
things. Dreaming up new dishes and trying new ways
of doing things. Hmmm. So maybe she's not a chef
after all. 'Anything else?' I ask Rhys.
    He shrugs again. 'I don't know. What do you want
to talk about Romy for? I'm not interested in Romy.'
    Now it's me who pauses. 'Oh. I ...' I'm not sure
where to look. But before I can drop back away from
Rhys, he catches my arm. 'I was just asking