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Boyfriend
    Time: 8.07 am
    Hey babe. Just got up and saw your text. Why you up so early? Let me guess – at the office already? Wanna grab a quick bite tonight before you start at the bar? Italian? Xxxxxx
    Reply: OMG. Long story. Text you later OK? Mwa xxxxxx
    From: Harry Serino
    Title: Client–Managing Director for Converse
    Time: 07.01 am
    Morning! Received the images from last week’s shoot but they are only hard copies. Is that strange? Can you please call the photographer, get the disk, talk them through with Diane and get back to me ASAP. We know which ones we like and are keen to see if you pick the same. I have total faith in you, kiddo. HS
    Reply: All over it, Haz. Just quietly, I don’t really trust your creative opinion. Kidding! Will come back to you in no time. JL
    PS How did Lisa go with finding a dress? And stop calling me kiddo!
    From: Marlita Nikolovski
    Title: Talent manager, Raven
    Time: 08.09 am
    Have just arrived at Raven’s room and she has not had a good night’s sleep. In fact, she’s feeling awful. Any chance of moving the shoot?
    Reply: Unfortunately, Marlita, it is impossible to move the shoot. Look is paying for this time and they’re on deadline and going to print this afternoon. I have a limo waiting downstairs for you two and there is a team of people ready to make Raven look a million bucks. Please tell her everything will be fine and she still has this afternoon off.
    Call me with any problems.
    From: Peter Middleton
    Title: Director of Communications, Havu Island Bali
    Time: 04.23 am
    Elle McFearsome has arrived! V exciting! V diva! Call for details.
    Reply: Fantastic. A certain reporter is gagging for the goss. Will call lunchtime your time, J
    My sortie into the scintillating world of Outlook was interrupted by a text from Diane. My butterflies flooded back with force.
    I trust you worked out last night’s situation. Have just landed. Car better be ready.
    Shit! I hadn’t triple-checked the hire car. Or checked at all! Gah! I madly dialled Sam’s number. A number, sadly, I know by heart.
    ‘Hello, Mizz Lewis,’ he answered on the second ring.
    ‘Hello, Sam. Please tell me you’re at the airport?’
    ‘It’s your lucky day, Jazzy baby. I am outside the closest exit to her gate right now.’
    ‘Are her cigarettes at the ready?’
    ‘Of course. Waiting on the seat with an ashtray I polished personally before leaving HQ.’
    ‘And her short black?’
    ‘Done. Sans lid, naturally.’
    Bless this man.
    ‘Once again, Sam, you’re the man of my dreams. Can you please tell her from me that everything is fine and both the client and I are en route to our appointment?’
    ‘Will do.’
    ‘Love your work. Have a great day!’
    My butterflies stopped their fluttering. But only for a minute. Realising the time, I launched myself from my desk, Diane’s dirty laundry in my arms. Pausing for a micro second by Anya’s desk, I asked if she wanted to come along with me to the Look shoot. Safety in numbers and all that. She didn’t need a second invitation. To Anya, celeb status was worth more than a final season McQueen. She collected famous encounters like other people collect Muse magazine. It was as if she harboured some bizarre notion that ‘celebrity’ might one day rub off on her if only she could rub up against enough stars. I, on the other hand, preferred to think of fame as a sexually transmitted disease. It didn’t matter how many vaccinations they introduced for teenage girls, when it came to celebrities: vote one abstinence, I said.

Several years back, over two hundred and fifty stiletto-loving Sydneysiders put their best three-inch-heel-clad foot forward and ploughed up an eighty-metre race track at Sydney’s Circular Quay, breaking the world record for the most people running in a ‘stiletto sprint’. While I didn’t lace up my Louboutins and join them, if ever they repeated the stunt I was in serious shape to take out line honours given the speed at