Blondetourage by Allison Rushby Page A

because
...' I let my sentence peter out, unsure of what to
say.
    'Sorry, I didn't mean it to sound like that. It came
out the wrong way. I just meant that I didn't want
to talk about Romy. Can't we talk about something
else?'
    'Um, sure. Like what?'
    There's a pause as Rhys looks away, then turns
back to me with a shrug and a smile. 'I don't know,'
he says. 'We've done me, so how about you?'
    Right then. Maybe finding out what Romy's
really good at can wait for just a tiny bit longer.

Fashion
face-off
    I was right. Rhys is funny and really, really
nice. And obviously still has that 'if lost,
return to Ashleigh' label somewhere on him,
judging by the looks that get thrown my way
during our grassy picnic lunch. I make a note to
myself, though – seek out Ashleigh sometime soon
and have a proper chat. Try and sort things out.
But, for now, with every bite of my yummy crusty
baguette, I almost have to pinch myself. I'm sitting
next to the Eiffel Tower eating a filled baguette
lunch with people and a cat who aren't Frau Braun.
It doesn't get much better than this. As I take
another bite of my sandwich, I think about Romy
again. It might not get any better than this, but if
I don't think up some way to help Romy be a little
bit happier pronto, there might not be a whole lot
more of this. I wonder for a second or two whether
I should just tell everyone about my little midnight
chat with Romy, but as soon as I think of this,
I realise it doesn't feel right. The things Romy
told me, drugged up to the eyeballs or not, were
personal. I wouldn't feel right broadcasting her
words to everyone. Especially the stuff about her
dyslexia and her thinking about leaving the show.
For now, anyway, I'll just have to go it alone.
Hopefully I can help her find something she's good
at. Something that will keep her happy that she
can also combine with the show. Even if it is just
for this season.
    'Well hey there,' Toby comes over and plonks
himself down beside me on the grass, breaking my
train of thought.
    'Hi, Toby!' I uncap my bottle of water and take
a sip. 'How's it going?' I notice that George, sitting
over with Melinda, glances over at me and then
quickly looks away again. Interesting. For a second
there, her eyes had a very distinctive Ashleigh-type
'he's mine' flicker to them.
    'Good, good,' he says, absentmindedly. And
then proceeds to talk, in a roundabout way, about
George for approximately ten minutes. It's astounding,
actually, how he can make every topic that
either of us brings up come right back around to
George. He asks me about Vienna, only to tell me
about the time he and George had a Vienna coffee
together. He asks about JJ, only to tell me about
what George has thought about each chef they've
had. Toby's brain is obviously stuck on the George
channel. It's very sweet, actually, and every so
often I give George a sly look and a wiggle of one
eyebrow. George, that is, who is pretending not to
watch me, but is actually watching me like a hawk.
    Eventually, we pack up, throw our rubbish in
a bin and start the walk back to the apartment. It
doesn't take George long to catch up with Fluffy
and me and, when she does, we fall back a step or
two behind the others so we can chat. 'So ...' I start.
'Toby, huh?' I can't help but grin a huge grin.
    George is instantly defensive. 'What about
Toby?'
    I shrug. 'Why don't you tell me?'
    'Because there's nothing to tell!'
    'Really?' my eyebrows rise at this one. 'He told
me a lot about you. It was George this, George
that, the whole time he was talking to me.'
    George's eyes hone in on mine now. 'What do
you mean? What did he say?'
    'So now you're interested?'
    I get an evil stare for this one. 'No. Yes. No. I
mean, of course I'm interested if people are talking
about me. It's completely normal.'
    I rearrange Fluffy in my arms. He's getting
heavy. 'Yes. They're completely normal feelings
to have. Normal ... urges. The kind Fluffy here
would have if he weren't neutered.'
    'Oh, shut up!' George