I Heart Hollywood (3 page)

‘So basically an amateur not experienced enough to weasel out the details of his secret love child?’ I surmised, slightly relieved and slightly offended at the same time.

‘Yeah, pretty much.’ Mary had either missed or chosen to ignore the part where I was slightly offended. ‘The entertainment editor thought it was maybe because, you know, you’re British so he’ll trust you.’

‘Britain isn’t just this little quaint village where everyone makes jam and says good morning to their neighbours, you know,’ I grumbled half-heartedly. ‘Margaret Thatcher was British and no one trusted her.’

‘So, like I said, Cici will get you everything.’ Mary pointed towards the door, where Cici stood, clipboard in her hand, hateful look on her face. ‘And you’ll blog from LA, OK? You can say you’re doing an interview but it’s probably best not to give too much away. Save it for the magazine. It’ll be good for you.’

‘And people weren’t that mad on Tony Blair towards the end,’ I added thoughtfully. ‘And Sweeney Todd. Was he real?’

‘No, Angela, he wasn’t,’ Mary looked back across the desk. ‘Angela, they have asked for you. We are sending you. Against the wishes of the editorial team. Against the wishes of the publishing team. Do not fuck this up. You don’t want to lose your visa, do you?’

I bit my bottom lip. It was like getting told off by my mum. ‘Lose my visa?’

‘This is a major interview for the magazine and, if you do it right, could even go international,’ Mary explained. ‘If this goes wrong, the publishers are hardly likely to want to continue with your blog, are they?’

‘No,’ I said, suddenly feeling very sick.

‘Look, no one’s expecting a Pulitzer prize-winning article, just go out there and talk to this man. There are a lot worse ways to spend a week in March. You’re getting an all-expenses-paid trip to LA, plus you’re getting paid. Suck it up, go buy a bikini and interview the handsome man.’ She waved me out of my seat. ‘I’ll see you in two weeks. And don’t screw it up.’

I felt a bony grip on my shoulder and rose tentatively out of my chair. Please let it be Death, I prayed silently, gathering up my sweaters, gloves and coat.

‘Can we please hurry this up?’ came the snide voice attached to the Vulcan death-grip. ‘I have other things to do today.’

‘Oh, Cici,’ I said, trying not to be disappointed. She might be as bony as Death but Cici was a lot more dangerous.

‘And then, as if I wasn’t freaked out enough, she basically said they only want me because I’m an amateur.’ I dropped my head onto the table in Scottie’s Diner, across the street from our apartment, toppling the tomato sauce into Jenny’s fries. ‘Shouldn’t I be insulted?’

‘OK, firstly, you kinda are an amateur, aren’t you?’ Jenny gulped her Diet Pepsi and shrugged. ‘I just mean you’ve never interviewed anyone before, right? And uh, hello, you’re going to LA on Saturday?’

‘Yes,’ I started, ‘but—’

‘Shut. Up.’ Jenny held out her hand. ‘You’re being paid to fly to sunny, hot LA from cold, fugly New York. In March. To interview one of the hottest men in the entire world. Who has specifically asked for you. And they’re paying you for it. I see no bad here. It’s a massive step for your career, you’re interviewing one of the hottest men in the world. And you’re going to LA. With one of the hottest men ever. In LA.’

‘I can see that you’ve found a couple of positives.’ I frowned, sipping my hot chocolate. ‘But—and I know I sound like a whiny cow, but the more I think about it, it just doesn’t feel like a good idea. I don’t want to take on such an amazing opportunity and then cock it up because I don’t know how to interview someone, let alone some Hollywood super-stud. Plus, I don’t really want to disappear off to LA for a week on my own. Not at the moment…’ I tailed off and looked into my hot chocolate, painfully aware that I had said absolutely the wrong thing.

Jenny shook her head. ‘Uh-uh. You are not doing this: it could be my only chance to meet James Jacobs. And, you know, it would be nice to head out to LA again,’ she pointed with a floppy fry. ‘If you even suggest turning this down because you’ve just got back into Alex’s shorts, I will be so angry with you.’

‘Firstly, that’s not what I meant,’ I lied, pulling the fries across the table. Most days, I loved that Jenny knew exactly what I was really thinking, no matter what actual words made it out of my mouth, but sometimes it was just irritating. ‘And secondly, when were you last in LA? And thirdly, you’re coming with me?’

‘Firstly, yes I am, secondly a few years ago, I’ve so told you before and you never listen and, thirdly, that is exactly what you meant and it’s bullshit.’

‘It’s not that I don’t want to go, or at least not because of Alex. I-I don’t know. I’ll miss him. Is that the saddest thing ever?’

‘Yes, it is.’ Jenny gave me her best ‘you’re being ridiculous’ look. ‘You don’t think he’s going to cheat on you?’

‘No, of course not,’ I shrugged. The thought might have crossed my mind. ‘Things are just going really well right now. But things were going really well before and look what happened.’

‘Oh Angie,’ Jenny said, ‘it’s different this time. Any idiot can see it’s real between you two.’

‘Wasn’t it real before?’ I asked. It had been everything I could do not to even think these things all day and now here I was, saying it all out loud. ‘And he walked away. And did God-knows-what with God-knows-who. Who’s to say I go away and he’s out with his friends and, well, you know. Have you seen him? He’s bloody gorgeous.’

‘Yeah, so over that and hello? He won’t cheat on you because he loves you.’ Jenny stabbed at me with a fry loaded with ketchup.

‘He hasn’t said so.’

‘Have you said it?’

‘Nope.’

‘Do you love him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Huh. So you’ve been thinking it but not saying it?’

‘Er, yes.’

‘So what makes you think he isn’t thinking it but hasn’t said it either?’ Jenny reasoned.

‘But what if I say it and he thinks I’m moving too fast and dumps me again?’ I countered.

‘So you don’t say it,’ Jenny held up her hands. ‘Or you do. Whatever.’

‘Hmm.’ I nibbled a fry thoughtfully while Jenny wolfed down a whole handful. ‘You were there on holiday?’

‘Where, LA?’ Jenny asked through a mouthful.

I nodded, trying not to look at the big potato-ey mess. For a very beautiful girl, Jenny could be foul sometimes.

‘Way to change the subject. OK, don’t laugh, but before I decided to become the new Oprah and before Tyra frickin’ Banks beat me to it, I thought I might give acting a shot. So I spent a while in LA, stayed out for the pilot season, but it wasn’t for me so I came back to New York. It might be nice to go back out, see some friends. Maybe we could stay at The Hollywood. I could take a week’s vacation and you know, you can introduce me to James Jacobs.’

‘OK, OK, this is too much.’ I couldn’t help but grin at Jenny. ‘And don’t you dare try and change the subject—that’s my thing. You went to Hollywood to be an actress?’

‘And I’d have been a silver-screen goddess but the West Coast wasn’t for me.’ Jenny shook her head. ‘Can we leave it?’

‘Fine, I just—well, I can’t imagine you playing anyone other than Jenny Lopez,’ I said.

‘It’s the role of a lifetime.’ Jenny gave me a quick flash of jazz hands. ‘You do mean me and not the other one, right? Because I’d have to kick your ass.’

‘You’re more of a diva,’ I agreed. ‘So what’s The Hollywood?’

Jenny waved at the old silver-haired man behind the counter. ‘Sister hotel. It’s The Union in New York and there’s The Hollywood in LA, The Strip in Vegas and, uh, The Something Else in Paris. I can never remember. Scottie, could we get some more fries, please?’

‘How many times do I tell you, my name it is not Scottie, it is Igor,’ the guy behind the counter trundled over with more fries. ‘I buy this place from Scottie, this is why it is called Scottie’s Diner.’

‘Thanks, Scottie,’ Jenny gingerly picked up scalding hot chip and blew on it, ‘you’re good people.’

‘Are you sure we could stay there? The magazine said they would put me up in an apartment somewhere.’ I couldn’t believe the amount of crap Jenny could eat and never gain a pound. A true disciple of WeightWatchers, I had forgone almost all foods with a calorie content higher than that of a carrot for a whole year to slim into my ill-fated bridesmaid dress. Walking the streets of New York City every single day helped, but I could never be one of those girls who scarfed ice cream, pizza and chocolate all day long without putting on weight. A girl like Jenny, who only ever put on a couple of pounds—tops; which went straight to her already curvy curves and never ever to her tiny waist. If she weren’t such a great friend, I could really get around to hating her.

‘We are totally staying there. Tell the magazine you’re fixed,’ Jenny was already halfway through the new plate of fries. ‘As if I would let you stay in some skanktastic apartment. Who knows where you would end up. Besides, my friend Joe is managing the bar and I’m due a whole heap of vacation days. The hotel totally owes me. And Joe and I totally have history, he’ll look after us.’

‘By history, do you mean you shagged him? And by “us” do you mean “you”?’

‘Well, yeah.’ Jenny’s eyes glazed over slightly. ‘So if it doesn’t work out with me and James Jacobs, I can always call on Joe. I need to get laid already.’

‘Really? And Joe, this is Hot Joe who used to work at The Union?’ I asked, testing the waters. ‘You’re sure you’re up to seducing movie stars and bartenders?’

‘I’m fine,’ Jenny replied, without looking up at me. ‘Seriously, I’m all shiny and new.’

‘Good, because I’ve been worried.’ I slapped her hand away from the fries. ‘You haven’t been your usual irritating self for ages.’

‘It’s just winter,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve been out of it a little. I’ve been thinking about taking a break, so well done on the perfect timing.’

I smiled. Going to Hollywood with Jenny could be fun. ‘So, we’re off to LA then?’

‘Angie, honey, when have I ever steered you wrong? It will be awesome,’ Jenny replied, scooping up the last fry. ‘And I’m sure Alex is just delightful if you’re into skinny hipsters, but Joe is almost,
almost
as hot as James Jacobs. You organize the flights, I’ll organize the hotel and the booty call.’

‘Ick,’ I shook my head. ‘Just ick.’

I hopped on the L train at Union Square after abandoning my overexcited best friend outside the hotel. As the train trundled over to Brooklyn, Jenny’s giddiness started to wear off. I’d almost forgotten that this wasn’t a girls’ holiday, it was a job. It was a interview that, if I screwed it up, could cost me my job, my visa, everything. Climbing up the subway stairs, it just seemed like such a bad idea and, on top of everything, as tragic as it was, I really didn’t want to leave Alex. I couldn’t tell him I loved him in case he panicked and ditched me, but if I didn’t tell him, how would he know not to cheat on me with every groupie in Brooklyn while I was away?

And the potential destruction of my personal and professional life aside, what was in LA anyway? A seven-hour flight, a whole city full of super-hot, super-bronzed beach bimbettes and, most terrifying of all, a week-long interview with a real-life, genuine movie star.

Writing my blog was easy: there was always something interesting to talk about, and anyone could review some books and even a few CDs—that just meant winging a couple of hundred words. But there was no way I could bluff my way through this. There was no denying that it could be a great opportunity for me as a writer, but it was also a fabulous opportunity for me to fall flat on my arse. I was just an ‘amateur’, after all. The vision of me throwing myself off the ‘H’ of the Hollywood sign clutching a signed photo of James Jacobs played over and over in my mind until I reached Alex’s apartment.

‘Hey.’ He opened the door, pulled me in and pushed me backwards against the wall, kissing me hard on the lips.

‘I am so cold,’ I breathed, shaking my scarf, mittens and coat off onto the floor. ‘Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t go to LA on Saturday.’

‘The pizza sucks?’ Alex muttered, hoisting me up onto his kitchen counter, pulling off my top two sweaters in one swift move.

‘That’ll do,’ I nodded, trying to kick my boots off behind his back but succeeding only in bashing him in the hip seven times.

‘That actually really hurts.’ Alex tugged the boots off for me.

I crossed my legs behind his back as he stumbled with me into the living room. ‘Yeah, it’s never like it is in films, is it?’

Alex’s place was just as dishevelled as its owner, with books, guitar strings and worn T-shirts strewn everywhere. Luckily, the beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the East River to Manhattan made up for the disgusting kitchen. Lying full stretch on the sofa while Alex strummed something new on his acoustic guitar (and I pretended not to be watching
Gossip Girl
with the subtitles on) was officially my new favourite way to spend a Monday night. I yawned, gazing out at the skyline. When you weren’t outside, New York was gorgeous in the snow. The sun, sea and sand could never compete.

The apartment was also about twenty degrees hotter than mine and now, thoroughly warmed up, I was perfectly happy wearing nothing but Alex’s T-shirt and my pants, moulding myself against his slowly rising and falling chest on the sofa, my bare legs tangled in his long, warm limbs. We hadn’t quite made it into the bedroom, something I was always proud of. I’d come a long way from the Angela Clark who spent five or so years tucked up in her winceyette PJs before her ex came home so she wouldn’t have to endure his huffing, puffing and generally uncomfortable fumblings.

‘So, any reason in particular I should be trying to talk you out of going to LA on Saturday?’ Alex asked, combing his fingers through my mussed-up hair. Between getting back together with Alex and the terrible weather, my do was very much a constant don’t. ‘That was a pretty random request, even for you.’

‘The magazine wants me to go and interview this actor.’ I waved a hand around, working very hard to come across as very casual about the whole thing. ‘But they want me to go on Saturday and I’ve never really interviewed anyone before so I don’t know. I’m sort of in two minds about it.’