But as I look around at Alicia and all her disciples, I can’t help thinking: What about me?

For the next few days I’m in a total state of shock that Alicia Billington has turned up in L.A. Except she’s not Alicia Billington anymore; she’s Alicia Merrelle. It all gets worse, as I found out when I Googled her yesterday. She’s filthy rich and well known all over L.A. because she’s married to the founder of Golden Peace. The actual founder himself. He’s called Wilton Merrelle, and he’s seventy-three, with a goaty gray beard and those fixed, stretched eyes you get when you have too much plastic surgery, and they met on a beach in Hawaii. A beach. Who meets their husband on a beach? They have a daughter called Ora, who is a month younger than Minnie, and they are, according to one interview, hoping to expand their family.

As soon as I started Googling, I found all these articles about the super-stylish homemaker with her British wit and charm. I sent them to Suze and she sent back a one-word email—WHAT?????—which made me feel better. Suze has no time for Alicia. And neither does Luke (which is no surprise, bearing in mind she once tried to steal all his clients and ruin his company. Oh yes, whilst trashing my reputation in the newspapers at the same time. Luke and I actually split up because of it. It was awful). When I told him, he just grunted and said, “Might have known she’d land on her Manolos.”

But the trouble is, everyone else here thinks she’s adorable. I haven’t seen her again at Little Leaf, thank goodness, but I’ve had to endure about six conversations with other mothers about how great it is that Queenie and I are old friends (friends!) and isn’t she divine and am I coming to her spa party?

I can’t cope with an Alicia Bitch Long-legs spa party. I just can’t.

Anyway. Never mind. I don’t care. I’ll make friends another way. There are lots of other ways. And, in the meantime, I’m going to focus on my new career.

I have a plan at the ready, and it starts today. I’ve been totally inspired by the story of Nenita Dietz marching into the wardrobe department and landing herself a job. So today I’m going to do the tour at Sedgewood Studios, which is where Nenita Dietz works, and I’m going to sneak away and find her. Luke has even got me a free VIP ticket through some contact of his, although I haven’t mentioned my plan to him. I’ll wait till I have success first. Then he’ll see.

I’ve put together a collection of my work as a personal shopper: look books, photos of clients, even a couple of sketches, all zipped up in a leather portfolio. I’ve also put together a critique of some recent Sedgewood Studios films, to show that I’m movie-minded. (Like, for example, that alien film they made, Darkest Force. They really could have had better costumes in that. The space uniforms were so clunky. By the year 2154, surely we’ll be going into space in skinny jeans, with tiny little helmets designed by Prada or someone?)

I’ve also done extensive research on Nenita Dietz, because I want to make sure we hit it off straightaway. I’m wearing a really cool dress by Rick Owens, which is a label she likes, and I’m wearing Chanel No. 5, which is apparently her favorite scent, and I’ve Googled Martinique, which is where she goes on holiday. All I have to do is meet her and I’m sure we’ll get along.

As I wait to join the VIP tour, I feel a fizz of excitement. My life could turn a massive new corner today! I’m standing by the famous gates, which are huge and ornate, with “Sedgewood Studios” in iron letters at the top. Apparently if you kiss them, your deepest wish will come true, and lots of tourists are kissing them and filming one another. Honestly, what a load of rubbish. Like a gate could help. Like a gate could really have any secret powers. Like a gate could—

Oh, come on. I might as well. Just to be on the safe side. I’m kissing it and whispering, “Get me a job, please, please, lovely gate,” when a side entrance opens.

“Come forward for the VIP tour!” A girl in a headset starts ushering us through and scanning our passes. I follow the crowd of tourists and soon find myself on the other side of the gates, in the studio lot. I’m here! I’m in Sedgewood Studios!

I quickly look around, trying to get my bearings. There’s an endless road stretching ahead, lined with pretty Art Deco buildings. Beyond that is a lawned area, and I can see more buildings in the distance. I couldn’t track down a map of the studio lot online, so I’m going to have to find my own way.

“This way, ma’am.” A young man with blond hair, a dark jacket, and a headset is approaching me. “We have one more space on our cart.”

I turn to see that a whole fleet of golf carts have turned up, and all the tourists are getting on. The blond guy is gesturing to the backseat of a cart that seats six people and is nearly full.