I Heart Hollywood (27 page)

Not knowing what else to do, I dialled Jenny. When it went straight through to her voicemail for the fourth time, I gave up. There was no point calling Alex again and Mary didn’t want to hear anything I had to say unless it was ‘can’t wait to whore myself all over
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next week’. And as much as that was looking pretty inevitable, I just couldn’t bring myself to make the call.

I forced myself through the twilight of The Hollwood’s lobby and into the lift. The gold-tinted walls softened my reflection, but even the tiny security camera in the ceiling could see how pathetic I looked. My hair had frizzed out in the humidity and all the make-up I’d plastered on in Fred Segal had melted or been silently cried off in the last three minutes. I wasn’t sure it would be good or bad to see Alex at that exact second. He’d see what a mess I was in, but he’d also see what a mess I was. Not exactly love-of-his-life material. Why hadn’t I just told him I loved him? Why hadn’t I said it at Erin’s wedding? Or befo re I left for the airport? There had been so many opportunities.

Exhausted, I crashed through my bedroom door, pulled the curtains closed on the Hollywood Hills and rolled onto my bed. Nothing to do now but wait for Mary to call with the bad news.

Chapter Thirteen

I woke up a little bit disoriented, the seams of my jeans sticking into my legs, but it only took a couple of seconds and a quick look at the bedside clock to remind me why I was in bed on a Wednesday afternoon. It was six in LA, nine in New York. Time was up. There was no way now to sort things out before Mary agreed to the
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interview and Jenny took over as my personal kiss-and-tell stylist. At least I might look half decent in the photos that would be ruining my life next Tuesday. I did need a new Facebook profile picture.

One of my favourite things about staying in good hotels was their ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policies. Even though housekeeping had replaced several vomit-tinged towels from the bathroom floor, they had happily restocked the mini-bar. In fact, there might have actually been more vodka in there than yesterday. Clutching my mobile, I sat cross-legged in front of the fridge. For the want of a better plan, I mixed a vodka Diet Coke and drank it down in one. And mixed another. And drank it down.

After making it through the rest of the vodka, the gin and the white wine, I grabbed hold of the counter and pulled myself up. Hmm. Too drunk to stand up easily without support, but not drunk enough to move on to the Jack Daniel’s miniatures. I slicked on some lip gloss and changed my T-shirt quickly before grabbing my room key and barrelling through the door. There really was only one place to go in times of trouble. The place where everybody knew your name.

‘Angela?’

Of course, in this instance, there was only one person who knew my name and that was Joe. But a bar was a bar and a drink was a drink.

‘Hey,’ I said, dropping onto a stool in front of him. The pool bar was practically empty, sun-worshipping hotel guests gone in to get ready for the night ahead, local party-ers not even nearly ready to come out yet. ‘How are you?’

‘Uh, I’m OK,’ Joe replied, not looking convinced that the same could be said for me. ‘So what’s going on with you?’

‘Fucking. Nothing,’ I said, bashing my hand on the bar with each word. ‘He’s a knob, Joe. Everything on the internet, it’s all shit.’

‘I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re talking about my good buddy James Jacobs,’ Joe said, passing me a cocktail menu and some nuts. ‘So you’re not, you know?’

‘Mojito please.’ I scarfed a handful of nuts. How long was it since I’d eaten? ‘And ew, not even. I’m too good for him anyway. Not that he could, anyway. He wouldn’t know what to do with me if he had the chance. What’s that all about?’

‘I’m pretty sure I don’t know,’ Joe said with a grin. ‘But you are right, you’re too good for him.’

‘Yeah I am,’ I nodded enthusiastically, while Joe pounded away at the mint, sugar and lime. He really did have great arms. At least as good as James’s. ‘Are you OK, Joe? We haven’t seen you since Monday.’

‘I’m fine,’ he nodded passing the drink across the bar. ‘You get used to dealing with assholes in this town, Angela. But I guess you get used to dealing with assholes everywhere, right?’

‘Mmm-hmm,’ I agreed. It was a good mojito. ‘Everywhere.’

‘So, is there any chance I can convert you to LA?’ he asked. ‘Since the assholes are pretty much a global epidemic?’

I shook my head so violently, I had to grip the edge of the bar to keep from falling off my stool. ‘Nuh-uh.’

‘Still in love with New York, huh?’ Joe slipped another straw into my drink and took a long sip. ‘There’s nothing you like about LA?’

‘I don’t hate this,’ I said, bumping foreheads with him as I leaned in for another sip.

‘Me either,’ Joe said, holding my gaze for a moment. Nose to nose, eye to eye, I felt myself flush from head to toe.

‘I’m having dinner with Jenny later. You should come along.’ I pulled away, losing my balance again. ‘Or are you working?’

‘I actually get off at seven but you guys don’t want me along.’ Joe took out a pair of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. ‘You’re gonna be talking about your boyfriends and shoes and shit. What am I gonna add to that?’

‘Shut up,’ I slapped his arm, spilling the tequila as he poured. ‘We would totally want you there. And trust me when I say there will be no boyfriend talk. Jenny doesn’t have one, you know.’

Joe held out my hand and kissed it. After an impossibly long second, he sprinkled salt along the damp lip print. ‘On three?’

‘Three?’ I whispered.

‘The tequila?’ Joe put a full-to-spilling shot glass in my free hand.

‘If I do the shot, will you come to dinner with Jenny?’ I stared at the gold liquid. I had some sense of awareness that this was a really bad idea but the salt was on my hand now, what was I supposed to do? I had been brought up not to waste food. Or drink. Or condiments.

‘I’ll come to dinner,’ Joe nodded. ‘One, two, three.’

‘Eurgh.’ Ignoring the sting of the tequila in the back of my throat and the instant urge to retch, I bit down on the lemon wedge Joe held out for me. ‘I hate tequila.’

‘But you did it like a pro,’ Joe said, refilling the glasses. ‘One more and then I figure I can get out of here.’

I nodded, taking the glass. The sun was starting to set behind the Hollywood Hills, the lights on the hidden homes of the rich and famous starting to twinkle. If I were to sit on the roof of The Union at seven in the evening, in March, in jeans and a T-shirt and, oh, I’d forgotten to put on shoes, I would actually freeze to death.

‘Angela?’

‘Yu-huh?’ I snapped back. Joe held up his own shot glass.

‘I said three, like, five times.’

‘OK then.’ I necked the shot, shuddered and slammed down the glass. ‘Where should we go for dinner? I’m starving.’

‘You might want to change first,’ Joe said, logging out the till and handing over to a tall blonde girl in a matching black collarless shirt.

‘We’re going somewhere posh?’ I asked.

‘No, but your shirt is inside out and there’s make-up all over it.’ Joe scooped me up off my stool and carried me over to the door.

I giggled, slight hysterics overtaking me at being held off the ground. ‘What? This is what all the hipsters are wearing in New York.’

‘Well in that case…’ Joe set me down and peeled off his own shirt, turning it inside out and slipping his arms back through the sleeves. Thank the lord, he didn’t fasten it back up. ‘…Better?’

‘Much,’ I agreed, falling into the lift as the doors opened.

‘You so can’t come in my room,’ I said, fighting with the key card and lock. ‘I’ll be two minutes.’

‘I’ll behave myself,’ Joe said, pushing in close behind me before I could shut the door, ‘I swear.’

‘Yeah you will,’ I said, stepping over the pile of bottles, glasses and dirty T-shirts I’d created by the mini-bar. ‘But my main concern was you seeing what a shit-tip I’d left this place.’

‘Angela, this is a hotel, I have seen much worse.’ He stooped down and retrieved my mobile from the sticky mess of discarded bottles. ‘You have missed calls.’

I took the phone and scanned down the list, holding my breath. Mary, twice, Jenny, once. No James. No Alex. I tossed it on the bed and turned back to the wardrobe, determined not to cry. Or fall over.

‘Not the right person, huh?’ Joe said. I screwed up my face.

‘Angela, I don’t know exactly what’s been going down but I do know that you would never do anything to hurt anyone,’ Joe said softly, crossing the room and pulling me into a warm hug. ‘So whatever you’re beating yourself up over, you can stop it now.’

‘Nyuh,’ I agreed into his shirt, arms hanging helpless by my sides.

‘Do you remember when you first came to New York and we went out to karaoke?’ Joe asked, stroking my back, catching the very ends of my hair. ‘And Jenny sent me up to bring you breakfast. I remember her telling me all about your ex, about how he cheated on you and you caught him. You seemed so devastated.’

‘I was.’ My voice was muffled by Joe’s chest. ‘And I wouldn’t ever cheat.’

‘I know,’ Joe said. ‘You’re just not that kind of a girl. I know that.’

‘But Alex thinks I did,’ I said quietly. God, he smelled even better than James, if that was possible. ‘He’s gone away.’

‘Then he’s even more of a dick than I thought he was.’ Joe pushed me back slightly and tilted my chin up to face him. ‘I would never have let you come out to LA on your own. I would never let you out of my sight.’

‘He won’t even take my calls,’ I said weakly. I eyed the bed behind us. I really needed to be in it, alone. But surely I wasn’t supposed to be alone in such a time of crisis?

‘He isn’t taking your calls?’ Joe asked. ‘He doesn’t believe you?’

‘I would never cheat on him.’ I shook my head, my fingers curling around the open edges of his shirt. ‘His friend said he left. I…he…I tried to explain but…I think he’s finished with me.’

‘Then this isn’t cheating.’ Joe’s hands slid up my back and into my hair, pulling my face into his. His kiss was soft, warm and gentle, his chest hot and hard. I knew it was a bad idea, a much worse idea than the tequila but equally comforting. No, I was a bad, bad, bad person.

‘I was going to change my T-shirt,’ I mumbled, breaking away from the kiss. Woah. Dizzy. ‘For dinner.’

‘Let me help,’ Joe said, slipping his hands under the thin material of my shirt and guiding it up over my head and then hooking it back around my waist, holding me close to him. ‘You want to change your jeans too?’

My skin burned where he had touched me and my lips were desperate for more kisses but, really, my primary concern was just staying upright. Kisses were bad. Even if they felt delicious, they were bad. ‘I’m all right in my jeans actually,’ I managed eventually. Joe released his grip around my waist only for me to fall forwards into him. Stupid traitor legs.

‘You should definitely change.’ Joe dropped my T-shirt and found the waistband of my jeans. Why did I wear slouchy jeans today? If I’d have been in my skinnies, he wouldn’t have been able to get a toothpick down there, let alone an entire hand down the back of the waistband. Oh, and now down the back of my knickers. If the room would just stop spinning for a moment, I’d be able to sort myself out.

‘Nope, no, I’m fine,’ I insisted, pushing him away. Or at least I hoped I was pushing him away. There was every chance I was actually just thrusting myself into him. Everything was starting to get a little bit confusing. ‘I think I should go to bed.’

‘I think so too,’ he said, his breath hot on my neck, followed by his lips, followed by his fingers, all wrapped up in my hair. I tried not to close my eyes but it was hard. I tried not to let Joe push me back on the bed but with one slightly graceless shuffle, my resolve and my balance caved in.

‘Where were we with your jeans?’

‘I think I should call Alex,’ I whispered against the weight of Joe on top of me. Why was a big heavy man so much more preferable than a quilt when you’d had a drink? ‘This is not good.’

‘Not good?’ he whispered in my ear, planting a string of kisses from my throat up to my lips. Where was my T-shirt? Why was I in my bra? ‘Doesn’t it feel good?’

‘No?’ I protested weakly by holding my hands out in front of me. Apparently this was also a come-on. Someone laced their fingers through mine and pushed my hands up above my head. I was so tired and so warm and so…no, something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t just the fact that I couldn’t really see any more. ‘I have to speak to Alex.’

‘How about I be Alex?’ said the low voice in my ear. ‘And you just do what you’re doing.’

‘You’re Alex?’ I closed my eyes just for a moment. When did that happen? But yay, Alex. ‘Oh, I love you.’

‘Yeah, I love you too,’ the voice whispered back. ‘You’re not going to fall asleep, are you?’

‘Nope,’ I replied, closing them for a moment more. ‘I don’t think so.’ And it was true: passing out wasn’t exactly the same as falling asleep, was it?

Waking up with a throbbing head, a mouth like Gandhi’s flip-flop and the overwhelming urge to turn my stomach inside out was not something I’d ever planned on turning into a hobby, but here I was, the second day in a row, getting ever so good at it. As well as drinking enough to put an elephant down, I’d also apparently forgotten to close the curtains, and the painfully bright LA sun beamed through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Not nice.

I peeled my face off the pillowcase (drool was an amazing natural adhesive) and pushed myself into a semi-vertical sitting position. Which was when I realized that there was someone else in the bed. And I was in my bra. And, a quick shuffle confirmed, my pants. Thank Christ for that at least. Not that there was any guarantee that they had been on all night long.

As my heart dropped into my stomach, I felt it start to race, apparently in competition with my brain. But there was nothing. Complete blank. I leaned over the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb the clearly rumpled bedclothes, and groped around on the floor for my T-shirt. Whoever this was and whatever I’d done, I didn’t want to deal with it in my underwear. Even if he had already seen me in it. Apparently.