I Heart Hollywood (17 page)

‘We’ll take the bag and the shoes, thanks,’ she said, snatching the bag out of my hands and passing it back to the assistant. His eyes were shining almost as much as the sequins. ‘And ring up these bad boys.’ She pointed at the yellow and black Mary Janes on her feet and dropped onto the padded bench beside me.

‘You should get your photo taken with some more famous people.’ She slung her arm around my shoulders. ‘James wants to pay for your shoes. Actually, our shoes. But if he asks, both pairs are yours. He said to charge them to his account and he’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ I asked, watching the bag and the shoes being whisked away behind the counter while the staff whispered intensely amongst themselves. ‘He can’t do that. We can’t let him do that.’

I pouted, wondering just for a second what Mary would have to say about me accepting handbags and shoes from James. And right up until the assistant replaced my empty champagne glass with two huge, ribbon-tied cardboard carrier bags, I really thought about refusing to accept them. Sort of.

‘Oh Angie, Angie, Angie.’ Jenny ruffled my hair and gave me a huge grin. ‘He can and we can. And I could not be happier. Where next?’

Jenny’s talent for shopping was matched only by her talent for eating, so after Miu Miu, after Dolce & Gabbana, Cavalli and Gucci, she finally gave in. I couldn’t enjoy even La Perla on an empty stomach.

‘Tiffany’s shouldn’t be part of a shopping centre,’ I said, spearing the omnipresent lettuce leaf on my plate. ‘I don’t care how posh a shopping centre. It’s just not right.’

‘Yeah, whatever…’ Jenny leaned back, smiling up at the sunshine with her eyes closed. ‘Eat your crab cakes and stop bagging on LA.’

‘I’ll leave LA alone if you’ll tell me about the last time you were here,’ I gambled. ‘I want to here all about your dancing. And how on earth the Pussycat Dolls managed to let you slip through their fingers.’

‘Shut up,’ Jenny carried on staring upwards. ‘Is that a humming bird?’

‘It is and even though that might be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,’ I replied, watching the tiny bird as it darted by our table and hovered by a floral display beside us, ‘you’re not going to distract me. Did you really dance?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you strip?’

‘It wasn’t stripping, it was burlesque.’

‘So you did strip?’

She sighed and looked back at me. ‘There was no nudity in my routine.’

‘So how come you came back to New York so quickly,’ I stirred my Diet Coke with my straw, ‘if you and Daphne were so amazing? Couldn’t the dancing have led to other stuff?’

‘Probably,’ she laughed quietly. ‘It led to Daphne doing other stuff. Other stuff for guys who came to see us dance. Other stuff for money.’

‘Daphne did it for money?’ I asked. According to the people at the next table who dropped their cutlery, altogether too loudly. ‘Daphne was a prostitute?’ I added quietly.

‘I don’t think she would say that,’ Jenny said diplomatically. ‘Maybe a private call girl. She seemed to think it was pretty glamorous at the time.’

‘But you didn’t?’ I asked. ‘Think it was glamorous, I mean? I know you would never do that. Would you?’

‘Trust me, there was nothing glamorous about those guys,’ she said.

‘So you didn’t, right?’ A dozen humming birds doing a synchronized dance routine couldn’t have got my attention at that moment.

‘Of course I didn’t,’ Jenny said, ‘but it was tempting. Suddenly Daphne had all this money, she stopped doing auditions, started missing gigs. Eventually, she stopped dancing altogether and I felt weird doing it alone. Especially since Daphne had kind of gotten us a reputation. I guess it would have been easier to just do it, but I couldn’t.’

‘So you came home?’ I wasn’t used to watching Jenny squirm. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as I’d thought it might be.

‘I went back to New York, yeah.’ She looked up and gave me her brightest smile. ‘And thank God I did, or you would have been screwed.’

‘She’s not still doing it, is she?’ I couldn’t help myself, even if Jenny was clearly trying to change the subject. ‘Not still, you know…’

‘Angie, it scares me that you can’t even say the words at your age. And no, she isn’t. She quit, like, right after I left. She started seeing some rich old guy and I guess she didn’t need the cash any more. And she’s making good money as a stylist now so…’ She trailed off.

‘Do you miss living here?’ I asked, even though I didn’t want to. She was my Jenny, my ‘I’m walkin’ here’ New Yorker Jenny, not Daphne’s LA private dancer.

‘It’s different now; it was so long ago. I’m not twenty-two any more; everything is so different.’ She gave me a little smile. ‘It is nice to be out in the sunshine again, though. I don’t know, I don’t want the same things I wanted the last time I was here. I don’t know what I want.’

‘You’ll work it out,’ I said, watching her pretend not to be bothered. ‘You always do.’

‘Yeah.’ Jenny pulled out her bright yellow Miu Miu shoe. It was all sorts of beautiful. ‘I always do, don’t I?’

‘I can’t believe you had this big crazy life.’ I was always amazed by Jenny. I’d never ever known anyone like her in my life. It didn’t matter how long we spent together or how long we talked, one way or another, she surprised me every single day. Some days it was with a packet of peanut butter M&Ms, others it was with the fact that she used to be a burlesque dancer while her friend was a high-class hooker. ‘How do you stand behind that concierge desk every day without going mad?’

‘I don’t know.’ She pulled a couple of curls out from her ponytail and held them out to inspect for split ends. ‘I guess I had Jeff to keep my mind busy for a while but sometimes, yeah. I don’t know.’

We ate in silence for a few minutes, Jenny concentrating on her salad, me painfully aware that the waiter was still judging me for asking if the crab cakes came with fries. They didn’t.

‘What are you going to do about James?’ Jenny asked eventually.

‘What do you mean?’ I stalled, not actually knowing the answer.

‘Seems to me that if your boyfriend already thinks you’re sleeping with a super-hot guy who is so clearly into you, you may as well,’ she reasoned.

‘He’s not clearly into me,’ I replied sternly, but I couldn’t help a tiny internal smile at the thought that he might be. ‘Just because he got a couple of shops to give us some free stuff. It’s nothing to him, Jenny; it’s like you letting your friend crash in an empty room at the hotel or something. A perk of the job.’

‘I could totally get used to these kinds of perks,’ she held up the shoe again. ‘But honey, I’m telling you, just from what I saw last night. He likes you.’

‘No, he doesn’t and, even if he did, which he doesn’t…’ I fished around in my handbag for my wallet. Expenses be damned, this was going on the work credit card. ‘…I wouldn’t be interested.’

‘Yeah you would. If you didn’t have a boyfriend,’ Jenny said, stealing a bite of crab cake from my plate.

I considered my answer carefully, knowing she would jump on whatever I said. ‘If I didn’t have a boyfriend and I wasn’t working and he wasn’t this ridiculous actor. Maybe.’

‘Oh my God, you’re totally hot for him.’ Jenny clapped her hands together. ‘I knew it! I could so tell last night. Angie, how often do you get a chance like this? How often does
anyone
get a chance like this?’

‘That doesn’t matter.’ I blushed from my cheeks down to my toes. ‘And it doesn’t matter how hot he is or if he likes me. It’s just work. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now, it’s work.’

‘You forgot the “I already have a boyfriend” bit.’ Jenny raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d have thought Alex was quite enough of a reason. That’s interesting.’

‘No it isn’t interesting,’ I corrected. ‘That just goes without saying.’

‘So things are OK? He hasn’t freaked out about the pictures?’

There was no point hiding this stuff from Jenny. It would only come back to bite me on the arse when I needed her help later, which I always did. ‘He wasn’t best pleased about them,’ I admitted. ‘But it’ll be fine.’

‘I figured as much,’ Jenny nodded. ‘He’s totally the jealous type.’

‘No, he so isn’t. Is he?’ I asked. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Come on, Angie.’ She wiped her hands on a napkin and then redid her ponytail. ‘Alex is all deep and meaningful muso boy. You don’t get the love songs, the random three a.m. booty calls because “he just had to see you” without a touch of possessiveness. I just can’t see him being OK with you running around Hollywood with a some hot, slutty guy with all the world watching. Can you?’

‘I said he wasn’t best pleased about it,’ I mumbled, giving the waiter my credit card without even looking at the bill. ‘But it’ll be OK, won’t it?’

‘He’s your boyfriend, I don’t know,’ she said, passing me her lip gloss. She really was a stickler for detail. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think we should stop talking about boys, go and get the car, then go for a swim.’ I took my card and the receipt back from the waiter. ‘And if there’s a spa or something, we should get massages. This is still your vacation, after all, and I don’t have to be anywhere until eleven a.m. tomorrow.’

‘Got to say, Angie,’ Jenny stood up and started grabbing our many bags, ‘I have always loved the way you think.’

Chapter Eight

Right up until the moment James’s limo pulled up outside The Hollywood at four minutes passed eleven the next morning, I’d been waiting for the phone call from Blake to say that they weren’t coming and the interview was off. But there they were and there I was, Jenny’s giant sunglasses on, Starbucks in hand, and (beautiful but looking more battered by the day) Marc Jacobs bag over my shoulder. Taking a deep breath, I sucked it up and opened the car door. If I thought Alex had been upset and Mary was angry yesterday, then I needed a new word for Blake.

‘This is why these fucking “day in the life” interviews never, ever work,’ he ranted as the limo pulled away from the hotel, staring me down. ‘You don’t speak until we’re back in the hotel. This is why we should have met for one hour in a hotel suite with a publicist and a security guard and this would never ever have happened.’

I couldn’t argue with his logic.

‘Would there have been bottled water?’ James asked.

‘Of course.’ Blake seethed in my general direction.

‘And those tiny pastries?’

‘No because you’re carb-free this month.’ He folded his arms and gave me an intensely filthy look.

‘Blake, calm down, it’s not Angela’s fault.’ James placed a careful hand on his assistant’s shoulder. I slid off my sunglasses and tried my hardest to look innocent.

‘No, the pictures were your fucking fault, I already told you that,’ Blake replied, not taking his eyes off me. ‘And it’s your fault that she’s still here. But I’m telling you both, this is it. I’m not leaving your side from now on.’

‘I get it, Blake,’ James smiled easily. ‘We’re absolutely going to play by your rules. But if we’re going to be doing a full hour’s talking, I’m going to need a coffee. Coffee Bean is just round the corner, can we get something? You know I hate the coffee at the hotel.’

‘Fine,’ Blake said, eyes still locked on me. I thought about putting my sunglasses back on. ‘She can go get your coffee.’

‘You want Angela to get out of a limo and order my favourite coffee at my regular coffee shop?’ James reached across the seat and took my hand. I resisted the urge to giggle. Nerves, just nerves. ‘Really, Blake, you’d just be fuelling the fire. This place is always crawling with paps.’

‘Crawling,’ I croaked.

‘I said not a word out of you until we get to the hotel,’ Blake shot back, climbing out of the limo.

I held my breath until the door slammed shut. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I choked. ‘I know it’s not funny.’

‘Angela, just a sec. Hey, Jack,’ James squeezed my hand then pressed the mic button to speak to the driver. ‘I think I saw some photographers as we pulled in. Can we make a move? Uh, Pinkberry on Beverly Drive?’

A shadowy nod through the tinted glass and we were off.

‘Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it?’ James sighed, stretching his arms out along the back of the seat. ‘Honestly, Blake’s been going crazy since those pictures were posted.’

‘And he’s not going to go even more crazy now?’ I panicked. ‘We have to go back for him! He’s going to call the magazine, honestly, James, I’m so close to getting fired right now. If he calls them—’

‘He’s not going to call them.’ James picked some nonexistent fluff from his dark blue shirt. ‘How many times do you need telling? Blake can’t cancel anything. And the magazine can’t fire you. I emailed them as soon as the pictures were posted yesterday. I’m only doing this interview with you and they know that.’

‘You just don’t make any sense.’ I rubbed my temples and tried not to think about how his shirt was exactly the same colour as his eyes. ‘All I’ve done is cause you trouble. You could have a real interviewer; you could just do that one-hour hotel room thing Blake was talking about and save yourself all this hassle. And the photos, aren’t you upset? Or at least annoyed?’

‘Did you do no research before you met me?’ James shook his head. ‘There have been much worse pictures of me leaked online. Pictures, videos. God, things I could never show my mother. And why would I want to sit in a room giving the same old spiel about my next movie, what I like about living in LA, what I miss about the UK, blah, blah, blah, when I could be eating burgers and talking about actual real things with you?’

‘Fair point,’ I conceded. ‘But you’re not even a little bit bothered by the photos?’

‘I’m only bothered that they bother you,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m used to them. The women that are in them with me are usually used to them.’

He didn’t even blush. So I blushed for the both of us.

‘And I’m sorry, I should have said something at the time. Once you’ve spotted the photographers, it’s usually too late,’ he said, peering out the window. I looked past him, onto the Beverley Hills sign set against a spotlessly manicured lawn. Not quite the Hollywood sign but still, terribly glam. ‘How was your friend when you got back?’