Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (37 page)

‘So … Mark?’

‘Erm, yes, and … well.’

‘Mark and … her?’

Even six months after finding out my boyfriend had been cheating on me, I still couldn’t actually say her name. As happy as I was with Alex, as pleased as I was to be out of that relationship, girl logic prevailed – he was an evil cheating scumbag and she was a nasty skank.

‘Oh, Lou,’ I massaged my temples. ‘Seriously?’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Louisa insisted. ‘You won’t have to see him, will you? Unless, I mean, unless you want to?’

‘That’s not even funny.’ My brain was spinning. ‘Why would I want to even see him?’

‘Well, it has been ages and you two were together a long time,’ Louisa said slowly. ‘Maybe you’d feel better if you did see him?’

‘Do you remember what happened the last time I saw him?’ I could feel myself getting angry, and angry was not my best look. Hence the hand-breaking incident at Louisa’s wedding. ‘And what happened the last time you didn’t tell me something? What’s going on, since when were you Mark’s biggest fan again?’

‘All right, yes, Mark asked Tim to ask me if I would get you to meet him,’ Louisa rushed. ‘But I said he had to get in touch himself if he wanted to see you. Because if you don’t want to see him then you don’t have to and I said I wasn’t going to try and trick you or guilt-trip you or anything. He’s a tit.’

I stared at Alex’s bathroom ceiling, feeling the entire last six months slip away. Of course it would make sense to meet with Mark. We had been together for ten years, grown up together really. And it would make me the bigger person; help prove to everyone that I had really changed in the last six months. And it would all be on my terms: New York was my home now, after all, and he’d never even been to America. And of course I really wouldn’t want to but, if forced, I would be able to flaunt my beautiful new super-cool boyfriend. Nothing intimidated a money man like a guitar boy. They didn’t understand them.

But of course none of that would matter if I wasn’t in New York when Mark arrived …

‘Angela, are you still there?’

‘I am, lovely, but I have really bad news.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m actually going to LA on Saturday for work. I forgot.’

‘You’re what?’ Louisa said.

‘I’m going to LA to interview James Jacobs, so I won’t be here.’

‘And you forgot that?’

‘Yes.’

‘You forgot you were flying out to LA this Saturday and interviewing one of the most famous men in the world?’

‘He’s not that famous,’ I protested. Wow, Louisa was pissed off.

‘Is this because Mark is coming? Because you’re better than that, you know.’

I paused before answering. ‘Actually no, it’s not just that,’ I said. ‘It’s really something I have to do. It’s an amazing opportunity, isn’t it? I mean, I’m not going to lie, I’m a bit relieved that I’m not going to see him, it’s not top of my list of things to do this weekend, but I do have to go to LA. I’m gutted that I’m not going to see you though.’

‘Right.’

‘Lou, please don’t be mad?’ I begged.

‘I’m not mad,’ she sighed eventually. ‘I’m just sad that I won’t get to see you. But yeah, it’s no contest really, is it? I can see why you’d rather nip off to LA and meet James Jacobs than hang around in freezing New York for the week.’

And for the first time, so did I.

‘You’re amazing,’ I smiled, excitement and relief bubbling up in my stomach. ‘I’m going to email you with all the incredible places you have to go and you call me if you get stuck for anything to do at any time, OK?’ We said goodbye and I hung up, breathed in deeply and then pressed speed-dial without even looking. ‘Cici? Can I come in later and book my flights? I go on Saturday, right?’

Saturday came around altogether too quickly for me and not nearly quickly enough for Jenny. After calling in a few favours at work to get the week off, she had spent the entire week waxing, scrubbing and fake-tanning, in between sending increasingly indecent text messages to Joe at The Hollywood and throwing increasingly indecent bikinis into a tote bag. I took a more stressful approach to preparing for the trip.

After my not-so-fun phone call with Louisa, I’d headed back to bed to tell Alex I’d changed my mind about going LA. A sleepy smile and ‘cool, bring me back something carb-free’ wasn’t strictly the response I’d been hoping for, but I wasn’t going to let my hot boyfriend paranoia ruin LA for me. Admittedly, not so secretly, I had been hoping he would hate the idea of me taking off to interview the gorgeous man with an appalling reputation in sunny sparkly Hollywood and beg to come with me but not so much. He’d barely even acknowledged it.

And to make matters worse, he’d been ‘working’ all week and I’d hardly seen him. The band had just started writing their new record, which meant hours locked away in his apartment and a couple of unannounced arrivals at my place at random times in the night, with fevered eyes and a new song to play. And, well, everything else that came along with a two a.m. drop-in. Which wasn’t so bad, but being with Alex all night and writing all day had not left me looking my best. By Friday evening, Jenny looked like a Playmate, all buffed, bronzed and big hair, while I looked more like an inmate, bedraggled, bloated and big bags under my eyes.

At eight in the bitter morning, Jenny stood impatiently on the corner of our street, huddled in her down-filled parka and even bigger sunglasses, while I lingered in my goodbye hug with Alex.

‘So let me know when you get there.’ He pulled at the slightly longer side of my bob, curling it around his finger. ‘Just text or something.’

I nodded. ‘If I’m not too busy bailing this one out for sexual harassment.’ Jenny was reading her text messages with a wicked smile. ‘Possibly literally bailing her out.’

‘Well, as long as you’re not sexually harassing anyone but me.’ He leaned in for a warm kiss, his fringe brushing against my frozen nose, making me sneeze. ‘How do you feel about phone sex?’

‘You must be freezing,’ I said, ignoring his question, ‘and Jenny’s about to get in a cab without me.’ Oh, and I love you by the way, I added silently. ‘Um, I’ll call you later?’

‘For the phone sex,’ Alex nodded with deadly seriousness. ‘Don’t forget you’re three hours behind me.’

‘Well, you’re always up three hours later than me anyway.’ I nodded at Jenny to wave down a passing cab.

‘This could be the perfect thing for us then.’ Alex passed me my battered leather weekend bag. It looked pitiful next to my (sigh, so pretty) Marc Jacobs handbag. Maybe it would find a new friend in LA. ‘We could be the first couple to ever make a long-distance relationship work.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’ I tried to laugh. Trust a boy to say something stupid just before you got on a plane. God, I should just say it. ‘Alex?’

‘Angela?’

‘I … I …’ I paused, not really knowing what I was waiting for. Alex shivered expectantly, his breath fogging up between us, hands stuck deep into his jeans pockets. ‘I’ll be back next Monday. Don’t get too used to being on your own.’

Congratulations on wimping out. What a great example of a strong, modern woman I was turning out to be.

‘You’re only going away for a week. I think I’ll survive.’ Alex kissed my frozen nose and shut the door. ‘And again with the phone sex.’

‘Bye, Alex.’ I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.

‘You’re not exactly down with the phone sex then?’ Jenny asked as we pulled away.

‘Shut up,’ I replied pleasantly, watching our building – and Alex – vanish out of sight.

From the second we stepped out of the airport, it was completely obvious that California was going to be very different to New York. As we headed out onto the freeway, I couldn’t quite believe we were in the same country. The city was wide open, cars streaming up and down the highways with their tops down, the skyscrapers of downtown sparkling in the distance rather than constantly pressing down on us and, bejesus, the sunshine.

Despite the bitching and moaning I’d done about the steamy New York summer at the time, one morning I had woken up and it had gone. The weather teased me with a couple of weeks of creamy, cardigan-appropriate autumn before dissolving into burns-your-nose-when-you-breathe winter. It wasn’t like New York didn’t try its best to win me over – the shops were soon full of cute jumpers, flattering opaque tights and massive quantities of delicious hot chocolate –?but by Christmas, when I had been snowed in twice and lost a pair of suede shoeboots to an unforeseen storm, I was dying for a little bit of sunshine. And here it was. Hiding away in LA all this time.

‘Oh my God,’ I blinked once. Twice.

‘I know,’ Jenny patted me reassuringly on the back.

‘But it’s sunny.’ I looked up at the clear blue sky.

‘I know,’ Jenny sighed.

‘In March?’

‘Can we please just shush?’

‘Jenny, look!’ I pressed my nose up against the cab window, watching billboards and fast-food restaurants whizz by. At least taxi drivers still drove like psychos – London, New York, LA, all the same. It was oddly reassuring.

‘Yeah,’ Jenny muttered, touching up her make-up. A little Touche Eclat, some bronzer, a dash of lip gloss and, ta-da, she looked perfect.

I was avoiding even catching my reflection in the cab window. Even though I had spent the flight cleansing, moisturizing and then moisturizing some more, I knew I looked like crap. My skin felt like sandpaper and my hair hung around my cheeks, limp and lifeless. What was more annoying was that Jenny had done nothing for three hours but slump against the window, watch half a series of America’s Next Top Model and drink as many free glasses of wine as they would give her, occasionally slapping away my attempts to moisturize her against her will. And bless the man in the seat next to us for only complaining once when one of my misdirected paws full of Beauty Flash Balm accidentally landed slap in the centre of his forehead.

‘Did you see that?’ I pointed at a strip-mall. ‘There’s a shop called Condomania? Wow. And IHOP! I’ve heard of IHOP!’

‘Angela, you’ve been living here for –?like – nine months or something. Why are American stores and restaurants still a total revelation to you?’ Jenny pointed with a mascara wand for emphasis. ‘If this entire trip is going to be like the time you saw Twinkies in the corner store, then goddamn it, we are going home now.’

‘Sorry,’ I said, trying not to point out the Wal-Mart to our left, ‘but it’s exciting! You see this stuff on TV but then they don’t have it in New York – I’m just a bit giddy. I can’t believe I didn’t want to come. Maybe it’s the sun.’

‘Yeah, whatever,’ Jenny muttered. ‘You know you have to interview a celebrity tomorrow, right?’

‘It’s just an interview; he’s just a person, isn’t he?’ I wrinkled my nose at Jenny’s incredulous head-shake. ‘I mean, Alex is a bit famous, he’s in a band and that doesn’t bother me. They’re just people, aren’t they?’

‘Yeah, that’s what I said when I started at The Union,’ Jenny sighed. ‘Until Christian Bale checked in and I spent three days sneaking around his room and stealing his underwear.’

‘Please tell me you’re kidding.’ I tore my eyes away from a Taco Bell.

‘They’re under my bedside table,’ Jenny smiled happily. ‘Thank God he never complained. I’d only been there a week; they would have fired me for sure. You’re going to lose your mind when you actually see him.’

‘Jenny, really, I’ll be fine,’ I said, trying not to doubt myself. What if she was right? ‘He’s just a person. I’ve talked to people before.’

‘Good luck,’ she said. ‘Celebs aren’t like normal people; it’s impossible not to get fazed by them. They just have this, like, charisma.’

‘But you see celebrities every day,’ I argued. ‘And you do nothing but slag off Angelina Jolie for wanting a special kind of tea.’

‘Oh, yeah, I meant celeb boys,’ Jenny conceded. ‘I don’t give a shit about the girls. You’re going to lose it over James Jacobs, honey.’

I shook my head and smiled, turning to look back out the window. ‘I’ve never even seen one of his films. I thought it would be better not to get caught up in the movie-star thing and just concentrate on getting to know him.’

‘What’s to know? He’s super hot, he’s a movie star so he must be super rich, and he’s super talented. Jeff and I saw that one about the casino …’ She trailed off for a moment. The ‘J’ word. ‘He was pretty good.’

The rest of the cab ride was awkwardly silent but mercifully short. I was terrified of setting Jenny off with a mention of her ex: nine times out of ten it ended badly. Once I had tried to cheer her up after a shitty day at work (she’d mixed up Mischa Barton and Nicole Richie’s dry cleaning – all hell broke loose) with a surprise Ben & Jerry’s, only to get a weepy, slightly icky story about her, Jeff, the kitchen floor, a tub of Chunky Monkey and New Year’s Eve 2007. Another time when she thought she’d seen him on the subway, I’d tried to distract her with several bottles of wine, but the evening had ended at four a.m. with Jenny in her PJs in a drunken rage, railing against all men. And then throwing up out of our third-floor window. Happy memories.

Soon we were off the freeway and passing stores and coffee shop chains I recognized. An American Apparel, a Starbucks, the Gap, a Starbucks and, eventually, actual people walking up and down the streets. Clutching Starbucks.

‘We’re here,’ the driver barked, swerving sharply into a small circular driveway. ‘Seventy-five bucks.’

‘Seriously?’ I whispered to Jenny, as I pulled out my wallet and handed over my precious ‘expenses’ cash from The Look.

‘Cabs here are insane,’ Jenny said, hauling herself out onto the street. ‘Everyone in LA drives. Why do you think all the celebutards are always getting served with DUIs out here? No cabs.’

‘Can’t they walk if they know they’re going out to get trashed?’ I asked, crawling across the back seat after trying the door with no success. If it was possible, it was even sunnier at the hotel than at the airport.

Jenny looked at me as though I was completely backwards. ‘This is not New York, Angela. Don’t you know anything about LA?’

I didn’t know anything about LA.

If it was possible, the lobby of The Hollywood was even swankier than The Union. The dim lighting was just as flattering, the dozens of candles were just as chokingly scented, but there was an extra layer of gloss on everything, from the shining gold surfaces to the hair of the girls behind the concierge desk. The only thing missing were the packs of well-to-do tourists huddled around their suitcases, mummified inside North Face down jackets. In their place were what seemed to be half a dozen extras from 90210. Tall, gorgeous and half naked, they lounged against furniture – not quite sitting on it, just against it. While Jenny checked us in I tried to remain staring at the floor to avoid mirrored surfaces, but I could see myself reflected in their gaze quite clearly. And no amount of flattering lighting was going to help.