Is. . .?
No, it can’t be. I shake my head to dismiss the thought but it pops right back up again like a faulty jack-in-the-box.
Is. . . my type the same as Violet’s type? Nah. I probably heard her wrong. I hit replay on Violet’s last sentence.Tall, dark and handsome. Good dresser. Buff AF.
Jesus weeps.
VIOLET AND I HAVE THE SAME TYPE?
AS IN. . . VOMIT? AND I?
THE SAME TYPE?????????!!!!!!!!!
Oh hell no. This is bad. Surely we can’t have the same taste in men? I cast my mind back to the last fewidiotsmen Violet has dated and sure enough, there they are. Practically clones of the guys I’ve dated, only more polished, better looking. . . bigger douchebags. There was Kris – already on dodgy footing given that he insisted on spelling his first name with a K – the City wanker with a penchant for showering Violet with red roses every time he forgot to keep his knob in his pants, who dumped her right when she thought it was getting serious. Jean-Luc, the ridiculously gorgeous model who never,ever stayed for breakfast. And AJ, who strung her along for one long summer of weddings before he stopped returning her calls.
OHMYGOD we have an almost identical dating history. Why have I only just seen that? I nod along as Violet talks animatedly about why her next conquest has to be the perfect fit, while all the time freaking the heck out.
Deep breaths. I focus on the azure sea circling below as I try to collect my thoughts. Violet and I have the same type in men and, let’s be honest, neither of us have much luck in that department. The only difference is that Violet’s still hell-bent on finding a new man who is the ‘perfect fit’, while Mila’s made it pretty clear that I am no longer allowed to date a boy who ticks all of my boxes. Wow. Maybe she had a point last night, after all?
I have been here for under twenty-four hours but I can already tell you that Cannes during the film festival is categorically bonkers. An endless conveyor belt of ball gowns and suits march down red carpets, camera lights flashing. There are so many celebrities that there’s a queue to stand in front of the photography pen at every single event. The sound of champagne corks popping and deals being brokered fills the air of every restaurant and bags upon bags of haute couture are carried into hotel foyers by harried staff. Statuesque palm trees jiggle in the gentle breeze, as if in collusion with the hustle and bustle of the streets below.
It is positivelyteemingwith people.
Which makes the fact that I just brushed against Jennifer Lawrence’s left boob marginally less excruciating? Maybe? Okay, no. No it does not. My face turned the colour of strawberry jam when I realised who I’d accidentally assaulted, all the while showering herwith apologies and then, in the throes of panic, I did a little curtsey before backing off. I don’t think it will go down as my finest Cannes moment.
Violet, on the other hand, is like a pig in shiz. She has VIP access to a whole tonne of parties thanks to her superstar blogger status. Though, please don’t tell her I called her that? Violet much prefers the term influencer because her job is about ‘so much more’ than the blog, these days. She is Violet Huntington offviolethuntington.com, the girl with twenty trillion unique users hanging off her every word, every single day of the week. She has more followers than a Harry Styles secret gig. If she says she likes a brand, then that brand will see their sales go through the roof. Hence the vodka sponsorship.
Right now, we’re heading into a club for one of the many parties Violet is scheduled to attend this evening. We’ve already been to a pre-party at her hotel and, after a quick change where I had to wrestle a skin-tight black dress over Violet’s naked bod, we’re back in the thick of it. Still sweaty from the outfit change (not mine – obviously I haven’t had time to change since I woke up in my hotelboxroom this morning), I pull up a corner of my grey t-shirt and swiftly dab at my shiny brow. I really am so glamourous in Cannes.
We wend our way into the sprawling, basement club bedecked with oversized disco balls, leather-clad booths and, wait, is that Leonardo DiCaprio surrounded by models? I nudge Violet but she’s turned her attention elsewhere.
‘Look!’ She gasps, grabbing me by the hand. ‘There’s the cast ofTotally Toffs, my absolute favourite reality show. I simply must go and say hello.’ She tosses a surreptitious look down at her chest to make sure she has the right amount of boob on show (Bruce would approve) before adding, ‘Why don’t you linger here? I’ll wave if I need you.’ With thatshe strikes off in the direction of a table full of quite drunk, extremely posh-looking people who are necking Jägers like there’s no tomorrow.
I cast around, panic rising. I’m in the middle of a very loud club full of the most beautiful people on this planet, wearing a t-shirt and jeans and feeling a million miles from my comfort zone. I’ve been on the go all day, would kill for a bath right now and, also, I am crap at mingling. When Violet walks into a party she looks so at ease, even when she doesn’t know a single person there. Just look at her now! On second thoughts, don’t. I fight the urge to cover my eyes as I spot my boss lying on top of theTotally Toffs’table like a butler in the buff while they take shots from her rubber-look bandage dress. Crikey. Clearly I don’t want to be in her exact position right now, but I am hopeless when it comes to meeting new people. I’d love to feel a bit more confident in myself.
In lieu of having any real-life humans to talk to, I grab my phone and message my best friend.
Cannes is CRAZY. At a party right now and I can see at least six proper Hollywood actors. I swear I just saw Gosling.
Holy shit! Go and get a photo!
Mila taps back instantly.
Um, NO?! Mortifying.
Well what are you doing instead?
Standing in the corner, about to play Scrabble on my phone.
You’re at a party with Gosling and you’re playing Scrabble?!!! What’s Violet doing?
Ibrave another look. She’s at least upright now and practically starring in her own ‘special’ kind of film with one very happy looking reality TV star. I doubt it will feature at next year’s film festival.
Grinding on one of the guys fromTotally Toffs. She’s on a mission to find a new boyfriend.
Does that mean you’ve got some down time? MAKE THE MOST OF IT! This is exactly what we were talking about the other night. Go and chat up a sort immediately.
Barf,
