Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (53 page)

‘Maybe,’ I said doubtfully. Talking to the paparazzi just didn’t seem like a good idea. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Did you speak to Alex yet?’ Jenny asked. ‘What did he say?’

‘Not since yesterday,’ I admitted, carefully studying the dessert menu to avoid Jenny’s glare. ‘He isn’t answering his phone.’

‘Tell me you’re joking?’ She slapped the menu down onto the table. ‘He hasn’t called you?’

‘Don’t,’ I said. I really didn’t want to get into this again.

‘If that asshole doesn’t call you in the next ten seconds to say anything other than “I know everything I read online is bullshit and I’m so lucky to have a girlfriend like you”, I’m on the next flight back to New York to kick his ass.’ She stared me down.

‘Jenny, look at it from his point of view,’ I said, taking back the menu. If only because there was a tiramisu on there I desperately wanted to get involved with. ‘I’m away in Hollywood, interviewing this actor with a horrible reputation, and after two days there are pictures all over the internet of him carrying me into a limo and me hanging around his hotel room in a dressing gown.’

‘There weren’t any pictures of you in a dressing gown,’ Daphne raised a perfectly pencilled eyebrow, ‘were there?’

‘He’s just been so perfect since we got back together.’ I changed the subject quickly. ‘And then I get here and it all goes tits up. It’ll be fine when I get home.’

‘Out of sight, out of mind.’ Daphne offered a saccharine smile, which did not help matters.

‘Or maybe he’s missing you so much, he can’t bear even to speak to you.’ Jenny clasped her hands to her heart. ‘Oh, Angie, it’s all too romantic. And bullshit. He’s being a dick. His boy genes have kicked in again.’

‘Thanks for making me feel so much better, both of you.’ I frowned. ‘It doesn’t really matter now, does it? Whatever the problem was before I was branded an international super-slag by Perez Hilton, as far as he’s concerned, he’s got a solid-gold reason to be pissed off with me. And you know his ex cheated on him; he’s not the world’s most instantly trusting man. Once I’m back in New York, he’ll be fine. I’m sure.’

‘So what, you can’t leave the city without him freaking out that you’re cheating on him? Sounds like a dream relationship,’ Daphne said into her wine glass. ‘And if he’s going to give you shit for something you didn’t do, you may as well do it, is all I’m saying.’

‘You’re not being fair,’ I said, sinking half a glass of red wine. ‘And, God, I’m not entirely innocent, am I? I suppose I have sort of been … well, James has been … I can hardly say it … maybe we’ve been flirting a bit. And I haven’t done anything but I have to admit, I’ve seriously thought about it.’

‘Angela, first of all, I don’t care if you blew the entire cast of Gossip Girl. If you told Alex you didn’t, and he didn’t believe you, he’s getting his ass kicked when we get back.’ Jenny took my hand. ‘And second of all, you need to elaborate on “flirting”.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ I tried to backtrack, quickly. ‘It’s just brushing my hair away from my face, holding my hand, saying stuff.’ Daphne was staring with wide-open eyes while Jenny toyed with her dessert spoon. ‘And after that thing at Teddy’s, he sort of suggested I stay at the hotel.’

‘And you didn’t?’ Daphne looked impressed. ‘Angela, you deserve some sort of award, not some asshole boyfriend who believes everything he reads.’

‘He probably just meant because of the paparazzi,’ I said, knowing full well that wasn’t what he’d meant at all. ‘I’m just reading too much into everything because the Alex thing is messing with my head. I’m completely rubbish at boys, I never know what they’re thinking.’

‘Not one girl on this planet does.’ Jenny shook her head at me. ‘But I still cannot believe you came home on Monday night. You had James Jacobs, People magazine’s fifth sexiest person in the world, and my personal third, throwing himself at you and you said no. Angela Clark, you are stronger than strong.’

‘Who’s first and second?’ I asked, filling up my glass from the bottle of red in the centre of the table.

‘Christian Bale at one, Jake Gyllenhaal at two. The ranking is fluid depending on whichever’s doing the tough guy movie at the time.’ Jenny opened up the menu. ‘You’re the one that likes guys skinnier than you. Which I’m guessing is the only reason you passed up James Jacobs. God, even after that whole scene in Teddy’s I would struggle to pass that up. And don’t try and change the subject on me again.’

I finished the wine by topping up Jenny’s glass. ‘What’s it going to take to shut you up?’

‘Come out after dinner,’ Jenny bargained. ‘Out out. Dancing, drinking out. And enjoy it.’

‘I refuse to commit to enjoying it,’ I shrugged. ‘But a drink wouldn’t hurt right now.’

‘Score.’ Jenny and Daphne high-fived. If people weren’t looking at us before, they certainly were now.

One hour, two desserts and three martinis later, our car was still sitting in the valet parking lot at Dominick’s and we were in a cab on our way to Bar Marmont. Everything in me (aside from the martinis) said it was a bad idea, but I was having so much fun with Jenny and Daphne, it was starting to seem silly to go back to the hotel just because some photographers might be out and they might recognize me. Besides, I was just about drunk enough to feel a dance coming on.

‘So, Jenny,’ I clung to the hanging strap in the back of the cab as we motored around an uneven corner, ‘where’s Joe this evening?’

‘Working.’ She gave me a stern look. ‘Obviously, he would be here with me if he weren’t.’

‘But you haven’t …?’ Surely I would have had every nasty detail if she’d finally done the deed.

‘No, we haven’t,’ she pouted and reapplied her lip gloss. ‘I think maybe he’s sick. But we will. He must be sick, right?’’

‘You’ve only got four more days,’ I reminded her. ‘Better work fast, Lopez.’

‘Unless you stay longer,’ Daphne said quietly as we stopped suddenly.

‘Not now,’ Jenny said, pushing her out of the door.

I looked from Daphne to Jenny. What was that supposed to mean?

‘You’ve only got four more days,’ Daphne sang as we started up the stairs to the door of the bar. I wasn’t sure what to be more concerned about, the weird tension that had just shot up all around Jenny, the photographers lining the street below or the huge man with the clipboard staring at us. And, quite frankly, if I didn’t get to a toilet very soon, we were about to have a very embarrassing incident at the door. Just not the one that the man with the clipboard was expecting.

‘Good evening ladies.’ He looked us up and down and blocked the door. ‘We’re real busy tonight. You staying at the hotel?’

I panicked, the velvet rope was not my friend. Daphne, however, seemed very well acquainted with it.

‘We’re with James Jacobs,’ she said smoothly. ‘He’s staying here.’

‘You’re with James Jacobs?’ He didn’t even bother to raise an eyebrow.

‘Well, I’m not “with him”,’ Daphne said, stepping to one side. ‘But she is.’

The doorman looked at me, presumably not having noticed me hiding behind Jenny’s enormous hair, and a slight flicker of recognition passed over his face. But not in a particularly good way. I gave him my biggest please-let-me-in-so-I-can-pee smile, but it seemed to be lost in translation. Or possibly I just looked drunk.

‘Mr Jacobs is already inside, maybe I’ll go ask him if he’s expecting guests.’ He stared at me, then passed the clipboard to a lesser, slightly smaller door-boy behind him.

‘Please do,’ Daphne smiled, as sweet as sugar. I felt myself starting to sway a little, from the martinis, the beat I felt through the floor and the implausible height of the heels Jenny had made me trade with her in the cab. Apparently she was quite hot enough in flats but I needed the help. And about twenty coats of mascara and enough eyeliner to embarrass a raccoon. Before the bouncer could leave his post, a familiar face appeared at the door.

‘Angela!’ James yelled over the music that was pulsing inside. ‘What happened to your early night?’

‘Hello!’ I squeaked, pushing past the doorman (ha!) and letting James pull me into a very short hug before I squirmed free, scanning the place for the bathrooms. The relief was immense, we were in and I was moments away from being able to pee.

‘James, this is Daphne and you remember my friend, Jenny? Back in a minute.’ I waved behind me before pelting off down a narrow hallway to join a short queue of girls. As far as I could tell, girls only queued for two things in the US, sample sales and the bathroom, so unless someone was hawking Jimmy Choos in the back, this was where the toilets were.

For a fancy club, the toilets were not classy, I thought as I slammed the stiff door of the shabby cubicle closed behind me, but the bar was painfully hip. From the pretty butterfly wallpaper to the red-fringed lampshades, Bar Marmont reeked of understated glamour. And the crowds milling around the bar were hardly letting the side down. I wondered if we’d accidentally wandered into the auditions for America’s Next Top Model. If America’s Next Top Model started accepting male models. And not-so-model males with black Amex cards. But above all, it felt safe. And I didn’t just mean the bolt on the toilet door. The bar felt comfortably exclusive.

Maybe James was right; maybe the Chateau and its shabby chic bar were safe. Safe enough for me to drink myself into not thinking about Alex for a couple of hours at least. Except there he was, in the corner of my mind, smiling, brushing my hair out of my eyes while his fell across his cheek. I could smell his deodorant, his sweaty post-gig T-shirt, and I could hear his soft lullabies in my ear over the buzzing bass of the bar. Maybe I should just send a text. Just to remind him I was still here. My oversized clutch seemed like the Tardis. Where was my phone? I washed my hands then leaned against the wall, frantically searching through my bag and spilling lip gloss after lip gloss on to the floor as the cubicle started to spin slightly. Who needed so many lip glosses? Was I even wearing lip gloss? Ah-ha, there was my phone, hiding under the reams of toilet roll I’d stuck in my bag in case there wasn’t any left later. Before I could second-guess myself, I tapped out a quick message.

‘I know you’re angry but it’s all bollocks. Miss you. A x’

I stared at the screen as the send icon blinked a couple of times. Sending. Sending. Sent. Another couple of seconds to see if he was going to text back. And a couple more.

‘Come on, I’m dying out here,’ a not very ladylike voice yelled from outside. The lock on the toilet door wouldn’t hold up to more than one good kick, and if she felt anything like I had two minutes ago, she would do that in about thirteen seconds. I tossed the phone back into the bottom of my bag. There was only one thing for it. More drinks. It was going to take a couple more mojitos to get me into a dancing mood now, but I was quite committed to making sure that happened.

I shuffled back through the bar without getting so much as a second glance from the gorgeous people all around me. Which was oddly nice. Jenny and Daphne had already set up shop with James, Blake and a small crowd of hangers-on, but even they didn’t turn to wave as I walked over. I was invisible. I had thought that the only way to become anonymous in LA would be to adopt the uniform – blonde hair, big boobs and a super-tanned, size zero stick figure – but apparently I could just hang out in a very cool bar full of beautiful, beautiful women and then no one would even bat an eyelid. Might still be worth getting the boob job, though.

No one in the entire place even batted a heavily made-up eyelid as I sat down, except for James who immediately pushed Blake up from the seat next to him to make room for me. Either he really wanted to sit next to me or he thought my arse was too big to fit in the tiny space between him and Jenny. He would have been right, of course. I squeezed in and raised my hand to everyone around the table. Jenny gave me a blinding smile over the rim of her martini glass and Daphne winked over the shoulder of a tall, skinny guy with the most impressive afro I had ever seen. And glowering in the corner was my old friend Blake, offering me his welcoming grimace.

‘Good evening, madam.’ James sported his usual uniform of indecently tight jeans, fitted black shirt and matinee idol eyes. ‘Jenny tells me she lured you out against your will.’

‘Hmm.’ I eyed Jenny to my left. She raised her glass in return, before turning back to the beautiful Joe-a-like sitting opposite her. ‘There was some coercion involved.’

‘And some martinis?’

‘She mentioned that, did she?’

‘Well, I didn’t know what you wanted to drink.’ James passed me a very full martini glass. ‘And I don’t know what you like.’

‘Thanks,’ I smiled and sipped.

‘Apart from me, of course,’ he added.

I frowned and chugged.

‘So did you get hold of that boyfriend of yours or what?’ James asked, leaning in close so I could hear him over the music.

‘Nope.’ I finished my drink, and carefully placed the empty glass on the table in front of us. ‘But it’s fine.’

‘If he’s still being a knob about the photos, I could call him,’ James offered. ‘Although I’m guessing I’m the last person he’d want to speak to.’

‘If I thought he’d answer the phone, I would love you to call him.’ I closed my eyes and found James’s arm draped casually across my back instead of the wooden frame of the booth. A hot hand curled around my shoulder in a half-hug.

‘Well, if I’m honest, I’m not sure anything I have to say to him would make him feel better,’ James said into my hair. ‘I’m really glad you came here tonight.’

I turned too quickly to look at James but his face was altogether too close and I bumped my nose against his. He brushed his lips over mine, almost too gently to even feel.

‘Don’t,’ I coloured up. ‘I mean, I’m sorry, but no.’

James gave me a half-smile and pushed up off the booth, striding down the bar. The beautiful people instinctively cleared a path and stared after him. It was funny how they recognized one of their own.

Watching his denim-clad backside vanish in the crowd as they melded back together, I desperately tried to clear my mind. Daphne was knocking back shots of vodka straight from the bottle, and I wondered how she was going to manage her Rachel Bilson shoot tomorrow. And how Jenny was hoping to get all the different stains out of that leather dress. And just when was Blake going to actually get up out of his seat and kick the living crap out of me rather than just stare at me. Oh, about now.