I Heart Hollywood (31 page)

‘Do you have to ask me that every time I call you?’ I asked, draining my freezing cold coffee. Ick. ‘I don’t know, Mum. I suppose I might come home for Christmas this year if you’re not on a cruise again.’

‘I didn’t mean here,’ she tutted, as if I was the stupid one. Which, given the last week of my life, was probably fair. ‘I meant when are you going back to New York?’

‘Oh.’ I smiled at my flip-flops. Home. ‘Sunday.’

‘Don’t worry, Angela,’ Mum sighed dramatically. ‘We’ve quite got used to the idea that you’ve abandoned us. You’ve got your new life now with your boyfriends and your friends. How is Jenny? Now she’s a beautiful girl.’

‘She’s fine.’ I don’t know what I was expecting, really. ‘Mum, can I ask you something?’

‘What a silly question, of course you can.’

‘Have you ever kept a secret from Dad?’

She was silent for a moment.

‘A secret as in, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, or a secret as in, he still thinks I make my own Yorkshire puddings and don’t buy in Aunt Bessie’s?’

‘The first one.’ I was disgusted. Fancy buying in frozen Yorkshire puddings.

‘Then yes, of course I have,’ she said. ‘All relationships have their little secrets.’

‘Really?’ I had to admit to being a little bit curious about my mother’s secrets. As long as they weren’t dirty. Ew. ‘Like what?’

‘Well, obviously there’re the little white lies, like the Yorkshire puddings. And the roast potatoes. And once I used that powdered mashed potato for Sunday dinner because I’d been on the Blue Nun with your Auntie Les and he was none the wiser,’ she said. ‘But, well, there have been a few things that I’m fairly sure he’d rather not know about. You have to use your judgement, Angela—it’s part of making a relationship work.’

‘But don’t you think he deserves to know?’ I asked. ‘Shouldn’t you be honest about everything?’

‘Would you rather know?’ She was still speaking slowly, as if she was choosing every single word very carefully. Which was extremely weird for my mother. ‘Imagine if that fella of yours had—I don’t know—got a bit tipsy and kissed the girl from the bakery under the mistletoe at a Christmas party and maybe she’d thought it was a proper kiss and he hadn’t but maybe she’d kissed him on the lips instead of the cheek and—’

‘Mum, did you kiss Mr Owens from the bakery?’ I shouted down the phone.

‘And that reaction is why your dad doesn’t know about it,’ Mum said primly. ‘And so, whatever you’ve done, I suggest you don’t go telling that boyfriend of yours unless you want to peel him off the ceiling. Calm down, Angela.’

She was right. I hated when that happened.

‘I’m going to go, Mum. I’ve got some work to do before I go back to New York. We fly tomorrow; yes, I’ll call when we’ve landed,’ I promised, knowing full well I wouldn’t and that she’d have forgotten I’d even said that I would before she got back to Dad’s sandwich.

‘All right love.’ At least she was using her own voice again. ‘And just think about what I said. And don’t ever tell your dad about the Yorkshire puddings. I think he’d be more likely to forgive a kiss than using frozen Yorkshires.’

Hoovering down my muffin, I took one long last look at LA as the morning sunshine tickled it awake, stroking the rooftops of the city from Los Feliz below me, shining down on Hollywood, skipping over Beverly Hills and bouncing off the waves and the beaches of Venice and Santa Monica. I heaved myself up, dusted off my jeans and wandered off back to the car with something of a smile starting on my face. Surely if Mum could keep her frozen Yorkshires to herself, then there was no reason why I couldn’t just forget the Joe incident ever happened.

Forty hairy minutes later, I was pulling in at a Coffee Bean to pick up more coffees and muffins as a goodwill gesture for James and Blake and to break up the terrifying drive through LA. Once I’d prised my fingers off the steering wheel, I spotted my phone flashing in the bottom of my bag. Unlike everyone else on the roads of LA, I couldn’t drive and talk at the same time. I could barely even drive and think. There were two texts. One from James.

‘Couldn’t remember what we were doing so we’re coming to you. See you @ pool bar 9?’

Shit. What time was it?

8.40.

Shit.

And another from Alex.

‘Can’t believe you snuck out, I feel so used. Will hang out here till you’re back, got my swimsuit somewhere…’

Shit shit shit.

I threw my bag and phone into the back seat and turned on the engine. Never again would I take issue with Blake’s anal-retentive management of James’s schedule. And never again would I make arrangements with the monkey instead of the organ-grinder. I took a quick moment to think about how inappropriate that thought was and then rolled out into traffic.

I couldn’t get to the roof of the hotel soon enough. Jabbing the roof terrace button in the lift, I felt my newly acquired sense of calm slip away, picturing James confronting Joe. Alex confronting James. Blake confronting Alex. Joe telling Alex everything.

Tearing out of the lift as fast as my flip-flops would carry me, I could hardly bear to look. There they were, James, Blake and Alex, sitting at one of the tables, drinking coffee and, oh my God, laughing.

‘Hey!’ Alex stood up and leaned in for a quick kiss. I stared from one to the other, resting on Blake, who stared back with the smile of an angel. An angel that knew something I didn’t. ‘So I met James and Blake.’

‘So I see,’ I said, sitting down cautiously and accepting the coffee that James poured for me. On closer inspection of the bar, there was no sign of Joe. Phew. ‘And how’s that working out for you?’

‘Uh, I kicked his ass for upsetting you with the photo stuff, then he kicked my ass for being a dick about the photos, and then he said he really liked my band and now we’re having coffee.’ Alex squinted against the sunshine. ‘I think that’s about where you came in.’

‘Really? And now you’re best mates?’ I couldn’t stop staring at Blake. He looked so horribly pleased with himself. And uh, hello? Shouldn’t Alex still be angry on my behalf?

‘I believe you mean BFFs,’ James said. ‘We are in Hollywood, darling.’

‘And honestly, I’m not sure I could win in an actual fight,’ Alex whispered theatrically. ‘But I’ll take him on if you want?’

‘Oh, she’d love that,’ Blake said. ‘Get the two of you stripped to the waist and bare-knuckle boxing.’

‘Right. Well, this is lovely. Given that we were supposed to meet at your hotel,’ I glugged down the coffee, worrying about my dangerously high levels of caffeination. Worrying about what else Blake might decide to throw into the conversation. ‘But I suppose at least you’ve all met and I’d rather there wasn’t any violence.’

‘Yeah, lucky escape,’ Blake piped up. ‘There is usually violence involved when we meet your friends, huh, Angela?’

‘Did Jenny hit him?’ Alex asked.

‘No,’ I said quickly, cutting Blake off. Ooh, I knew he was still going to give me grief. ‘Long story which we don’t have time for right now. I don’t know if you remember but we have an interview to do and I don’t think it’s a very good idea to discuss such a sensitive subject out here where everyone can hear, do you?’

‘Let’s go back to the Chateau then.’ James sank his espresso. ‘Car’s downstairs.’

‘There isn’t time,’ I sighed. Stupid boys not doing what they’re told. ‘We’re going to have to do it in my room. Sorry Alex, are you OK up here for a while? We’ll just be a couple of hours.’

‘Sure,’ he nodded. ‘I was joking about my swimsuit, though. But there’s a pretty good record store not far from here; maybe I’ll go check it out.’

‘OK.’ As far as I was concerned, getting Alex out of the hotel was a great idea. Joe was nowhere to be seen right then, but still. ‘I’ll call you when we’re all done.’

‘Why don’t we all go for dinner tonight?’ James suggested. ‘It’s the least I can do, really. Let me take us all somewhere really nice.’

‘Sounds great,’ Alex agreed. ‘We don’t have plans, do we?’

‘What plans could you have?’ Blake asked, beaming at me again.

‘None.’ I pursed my lips. He was loving this. ‘Dinner sounds lovely.’

‘And you’ll bring Jenny, right?’ Blake put his arm around my shoulders as we headed back to the lift.

‘If she’s free.’ I didn’t want to seem too tense. It wouldn’t do any good to have Alex be suspicious of Blake and I didn’t want to piss James off before I got the interview logged.

‘And you know who else you should bring?’ Blake squeezed me in a half-hug. ‘That Joe guy. You know, prove there’s no hard feelings.’

‘Oh, Blake, really?’ James pulled a pained expression and slumped against the wall of the lift.

‘Do you want him selling a story on the back of the interview next week?’ Blake asked. James shook his head. ‘Then we should invite him. Angela?’

I felt like a hobbit in the middle of three six-footers, packed into such a tiny space, all staring at me. ‘Mmm-hmm.’

‘Great, we’ll make a res for six then.’ Blake smiled as the lift pinged at our floor. ‘Maybe Dolce?’

‘Whatever,’ I said, shepherding them out of the lift and turning back to Alex, who yawned noisily, oblivious to Blake’s meddling. Not that he could even know how much trouble he was causing. ‘I’ll see you later?’

‘Later,’ he replied in the deep, dark voice that made my stomach flip. Another quick kiss and then he was gone.

‘All right,’ James said, barely suppressing a big fat grin. ‘So I see what you see in him.’

‘Oh shut up,’ I said, marching off towards my room. ‘We’re so not doing boy talk.’

‘Then what’s the point in being out?’ James moaned, trailing along behind.

Four hours later, I stared at my final draft of the James Jacobs Coming Out interview. There were probably a few too many ‘I was so confused’ and ‘I went through some dark times’ quotes, but peppered liberally with James’s sense of humour and, as much as it pained me, his genuine love for Blake. Plus Blake’s carefully crafted, ‘I never thought of myself as gay, I just fell in love with a man; I think anyone can fall in love with anyone’ line. I had to admit, he was good at his job. Even when reading his coming out interview, thanks to Blake, James Jacobs’s legions of female fans would be able to cling to the hope that they could turn him back.

I attached it to an email and sent it through to Mary, crossing everything. Once it was gone from my sent box, I picked up the phone and dialled Cici.

‘Mary Stein’s office,’ she answered tightly.

‘Hi, Cici. It’s Angela.’

‘Oh, the girl who turned James Jacobs gay,’ she replied flatly. ‘I just want to say thank you so much for fucking your job up so royally that I have to work on Saturday.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ I didn’t really know what else to say. Apart from “HA”, which wouldn’t be very nice. ‘Erm, I just called to confirm my flights for tomorrow.’

‘Three-thirty out of LAX. And Mary wants you in the office at nine on Monday morning. And she said she’d call you once she’d looked at your interview. Which we only just got.’

‘It wasn’t late,’ I protested. ‘Mary said to get it to her for four o’clock your time.’

‘And we’ve all loved sitting in the office all day waiting for it,’ Cici replied. ‘I can’t believe you turned him gay.’

‘You know, he was actually gay before I got here.’

‘Sure he was.’

‘You do know there’s no Father Christmas, don’t you?’

‘Whatever, I’m emailing you the flight details now.’

‘Same deal with the tooth fairy.’

‘Bye girl who turned James Jacobs gay. Try not to bump into Jake Gyllenhaal on your way home.’

Hanging up, I re-read the article once more. It was sweet. I was happy. Flipping down my laptop, I moved over to the wardrobe and pulled out my travel bag. Packing would mean leaving. Leaving would mean never seeing Joe again. Never seeing Joe again would mean Alex could never find out what had happened. And that made me even happier.

Just dinner to get through, but what was I going to wear? Certainly not the jeans I’d filthied in the park, I noticed as I walked by the mirror. Seriously, was no one going to tell me I’d been walking around with dirt all up the backs of my legs all day? I pulled out the green Robert Rodriguez dress I’d worn to meet James. And put it away. No matter how beautiful it was, I didn’t really need to prompt James to tell hilarious stories about me throwing up outside his cottage. Hmm, probably better not wear the yellow Phillip Lim either. One by one, I packed up my new dresses, trying not to think about my credit card bill, until I was left with nothing but a couple of T-shirts and Jenny’s bikini. Not ideal for a sit-down dinner.

Without a better idea, I picked up the phone and called Jenny.

‘Hey honey, everything OK?’ She answered on the first ring for the first time in for ever.

‘Almost,’ I said, throwing unworn underwear in my bag. ‘James and Blake want to take us for dinner tonight. Will you come?’

‘Oh Angie, I don’t know,’ she crackled down the line. ‘Is that a good idea?’

‘Probably not,’ I admitted. ‘But James wants to apologize or something by buying us dinner. And Alex sort of accepted for me and I sort of accepted for you.’

‘So you’re actually calling to tell me I’m coming to dinner?’

‘Yes. But you know, it might be fun?’ I tried. ‘I’m sure we’ll end up somewhere nice and it’ll be good to have a proper night out before we leave LA. One where no one ends up on the front page of Perez Hilton.’

‘Hmm, yeah,’ she said vaguely. ‘It’s just…I was kinda hoping we could do dinner tonight, just me and you. I really need to talk to you.’

‘I know, I feel like I haven’t seen you properly in ages.’ I sniffed my black Kerrigan dress. Nope, couldn’t get another wear out of that. ‘Why don’t we have a goodbye LA drink before dinner. I’m sure Alex won’t miss us for an hour. I don’t suppose you have anything I could borrow to wear, do you, stylist extraordinaire?’

‘I’ll bring you something.’ I could hear a smile in her voice but she still didn’t sound too chipper. ‘What time’s dinner?’

‘Uh, eight?’ I looked at the clock. It was only just after one. ‘Jenny, are you OK?’

‘Let’s just talk later, OK?’ The line was breaking up. ‘I’ll come by your room at six? We’ll get you all hot and then grab that drink.’