Free Gimme More by Liza Cody

lunch with another fox if you happen to be feeling like a rabbit.
    I caught myself walking up Sloane Street, looking at expensive shop windows like an obedient office worker who has asked for and been granted time off. Obviously I wasn’t ready for Sasson.
    I turned into the Connaught Hotel to steady myself and adjust my mask. I was angry with myself. I used to be able to switch characters at the speed of light. It isn’t just your skin which loses elasticity as you get older.
    I followed two well-heeled American women into the cloakroom. There’s something reassuring about cloakrooms in big hotels: they’re designed to make you feel worth pampering. Even the tint and tilt of the mirrors give you a rosy view of yourself and your place in the world. You’re valued.
    I checked my reflection for weakness, spiritual flab and lumpy mascara. I found a hint of doubt in my eyes. Bad, very bad. I thought, I’ve been in this cold, cramped, soggy, snobby little country too long. I’m beginning to look as if I know my place.
    Behind me, the American women smoothed their non-iron garments and blotted their lipstick. I gathered that they were off to tour the public wing of Buckingham Palace, to trot through royal halls fast enough so that they could hit the stores afterwards and still manage tea at Brown’s. They wore energy and confidence like I wore
L’Air du Temps.
    In the mirror my eyes seemed to flinch. I envied the Americans their certainty and I knew I couldn’t meet Sasson with docile eyes. I turned my back on myself.
    â€˜Buckingham Palace?’ I say. ‘How lovely. Have you any connections there, or are you just doing the
public
tour?’
    The mark I pick is the taller of the two. She has honey beige hair to match her foundation. She stands securely on tennis player’s legs.
    â€˜Excuse me?’
    â€˜Oh, I’m sorry,’ I say. Very English. ‘I shouldn’t have butted in. But I was there only a few weeks ago – sublime, of course. I just wondered if you … But I shouldn’t have mentioned …’ I am playing with my own trepidation.
    â€˜No, go on,’ the beige mark says. ‘I didn’t know there was anything but the public tour.’
    â€˜Well, you have to make a special appointment,’ I say. ‘And it is quite expensive.’
    The other woman says, ‘I’m surprised my travel agent didn’t put me down for it. This is supposed to be a deluxe vacation.’ She is wearing sage green silk, a lot of gold and an avid expression. Whatever’s happening,
this
one won’t want to miss out.
    â€˜Well, never mind,’ I say. ‘Perhaps another time. It’s a shame though – it’s nice, occasionally, to be able to do something not everyone gets to do.’
    â€˜What should we ask for?’ the sage-and-gold woman says. ‘I mean, we’re going there anyway. We could get an upgrade.’
    â€˜It doesn’t work like that,’ I say regretfully. ‘You see, your guide would be a Royal Equerry.’
    â€˜A Royal Equerry,’ breathes sage-and-gold, a sturdy, gleaming fish nibbling my bait.
    â€˜So, you’ll understand that it isn’t simply a question of renegotiating at the box office.’ I return to the mirror and take a small gold powder compact from my bag. Delicately, I touch my face with the tiny puff. It is exact mimicry of what these American women were doing five minutes ago. I’m just like them except that I am English and, therefore, infinitely foreign.
    â€˜In fact,’ I say, smiling through the mirror at my beige mark, ‘the box office doesn’t come into it at all.’ I give the words ‘box office’ a little extra flick so that the bait will fly out into deeper water. I’m wondering why I’ve picked the beige one as my mark. I did it instinctively. She
is
the taller, slimmer one, but it isn’t always truethat