‘Are you taking Jenny on for title of the next Oprah or what?’ I forced out a laugh but this was all getting a little bit too tense and I really wasn’t one for confrontation.
‘I’m gonna take a walk.’ Joe measured his breathing and draped his arm possessively around my shoulders. ‘You coming, English?’
James looked over at me but I really wasn’t sure what his dark blue eyes were trying to say. I opened my mouth to stall but Blake beat me to it.
‘Maybe that’s not a bad idea,’ he challenged Joe, taking a swig straight out of the vodka bottle. ‘Maybe you should both just go.’
‘Me?’ I asked, snapping to surprise. ‘What did I do?’
‘You brought this asshole,’ Blake replied. ‘As far as I’m concerned, the interview is over. In fact, James, we’re leaving.’
‘Great, why don’t you just move on, fag?’ Joe said into his beer bottle.
‘What did you just call me?’ Blake stood up suddenly, followed in a heartbeat by Joe and then James.
‘Hey, guys, come on.’ James pushed himself in between the two as they squared up. ‘This isn’t happening.’
‘No, this is bullshit.’ Joe pushed his way past the two of them, knocking Jenny off the edge of her seat and into me as he left. The weight of the Lopez wasn’t ever going to cause me trouble but the vodka soda she spilled all down my dress wasn’t exactly ideal.
‘Oh, shit,’ I said, leaping up, right into James’s waiting arms.
‘We have to get out of here,’ Blake said, pulling at James’s shoulder. I froze for a second, pressed against James’s chest, my wet dress soaking through against his shirt, until it was warmed by the heat of his skin. It wasn’t until he’d scooped me up, as if I weighed nothing, as if I was half an Olsen, let alone three strapped together, that I realized we were moving out of the club.
‘Angie?’ Jenny yelled over the music, still on the floor beside the wreckage of our table. ‘Wait!’
‘Jenny,’ I protested, preferring the view of James’s dark brown curls to the stares and whispers all around us. And, oh dear God, the camera flashes.
‘Blake, go back for her,’ James commanded, striding into the lift, leaving an incensed Blake standing stock-still. ‘Now I remember why I stopped going out.’
I didn’t know what to say. On one hand I felt awful about leaving Jenny—sick, actually—but on the other, I knew that the second James put me down, the interview, my job, possibly my visa and then more or less my entire life was over. I had to try and get this back on track somehow, otherwise Jenny wouldn’t have a roommate to be mad at.
‘James, I am so incredibly sorry,’ I said as we scrambled into the limo and tore off up Hollywood Boulevard. ‘I-I should just go back to my hotel and—’
‘That’s not a good idea,’ James said quietly. ‘Have a look out of the back window.’
Twisting against my seatbelt, I turned to look back, trying not to get dizzy at the speeds we were travelling. I don’t know what I was expecting to see but, whatever it was, the sea of bright lights and industrial-strength flashes was not it. True, I still had an issue with what side of the road we were supposed to be driving on, but these cars were literally all over the road. The honking, the screeching, even the screaming was so loud, so intense. It made a wander down our block in New York sound like an episode of Songs of Praise.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked, slightly dazed and very nauseous.
‘Paparazzi,’ James sighed. ‘My good friends, the paparazzi.’
‘How did they know where you were?’
‘Who knows? Maybe someone overheard us this afternoon and tipped them off. Maybe they were already outside Teddy’s on the off-chance someone would show up. Maybe someone called them when we arrived.’
‘But we were only there for half an hour?’ I couldn’t believe it, no matter how fast we went, they came at us faster until they were swarming all around the car.
‘Get away from the window.’ James pulled me into the centre of the limo, on the floor between the seats. ‘Some of the flashes are bright enough to see you through the tinted glass.’
‘Wow, this is glamorous,’ I said, trying to shuffle my dress around my thighs to avoid any further pant revelation.
‘Yes, the rock-and-roll life of a movie star.’ He held out an arm to steady me as we skidded around a tight corner. ‘But you’re all-over rock and roll, surely?’
‘Me?’ I squirmed across the floor of the car, trying not to nestle against his broad, warm and still slightly damp chest.
‘Your boyfriend, the rock star? Alan?’
Oh. ‘Alex. His name is Alex. He’s so not a rock star. There’s a pretty big difference between him and Bono.’ I fumbled around on the floor of the car looking for my bag. ‘What time is it?’
‘Not even twelve, what’s up?’
‘Just wondered.’ I pulled out my phone. Twelve here, three in New York. And a missed call from Alex. Just one. Twenty minutes earlier and no message. ‘Bugger.’ Just as I was about to redial, James snatched the phone out of my hand.
‘If you throw that out of the window, I will freak out.’
‘Sorry,’ he said, turning the phone off. ‘They’ll hack it.’
‘They’ll what?’ Could this get any more bizarre?
James nodded slowly. ‘They can hack your phone if you use it near enough. I don’t know how.’
‘But how do you call anyone, ever?’ I asked.
‘I don’t. It’s like living in Nineteen ninety-five.’ He shrugged. ‘If I really need to get hold of someone, Blake goes out and calls them for me.’
‘So you can’t text your friend to see what flavour muffin they want?’
‘Can’t go out and buy muffins. Can’t really eat muffins.’
‘And you can’t call a taxi when you’re hammered?’
‘To be fair I have a driver.’
‘What if you need to extend your credit limit to buy something amazing?’
‘Yeah, that’s not really a massive problem right now. Unless that something is a Bentley.’
‘I might be able to live with not having a mobile phone if I was you,’ I said, feeling less sympathetic by the second.
James nodded. ‘But if I wasn’t me, we wouldn’t be running away from the club now. The paparazzi wouldn’t be chasing us. And you wouldn’t be sitting on the floor of a car ruining your beautiful dress, not able to call your boyfriend.’
‘But if you weren’t you, I wouldn’t be in LA at all, I wouldn’t have met you and, well, I wouldn’t have been able to wear my beautiful dress in March anyway.’ I shuffled back up onto the seat as the limo twisted around some invisible corners and then slowed to a stop. The din from the paparazzi got quieter and quieter until I couldn’t hear anything but the ticking of the cooling engine as we climbed out.
James ran his hands down my sides, smoothing down the creased-up skirt. I breathed in sharply as they ran back up my bare arms. ‘It’s a great dress, did I tell you that already?’ he asked, towering above me. He was awfully tall. I hadn’t noticed how awfully tall. ‘Phillip Lim, right?’
‘Every so often, you throw me off completely, you know?’ I said, cricking my neck to get a better look at him. ‘If you weren’t all Hollywood, I’d think you were gay. Which would just about break Jenny’s heart.’
‘Good to know,’ he said, fumbling for keys in his jeans pocket. I was right, his backside did look great. ‘We should have just stayed here. You know what they say, if you’re going to get into trouble, do it at the Chateau.’
He wanted to get into trouble? Meep. ‘I really should go back to my hotel,’ I choked. ‘It’s late and I was supposed to be conducting an interview with someone tomorrow.’
‘I heard he’s a delusional egotist who likes to prance around in tights,’ James said, opening the door and pulling me inside. ‘So I think you’ll be fine. Besides, I can get that dress dry cleaned inside twenty minutes and then get you a car home once the paps have moved on o
utside. Come on, I’m dying for a cup of tea.’
Following him into the bungalow, I shrugged. I couldn’t argue with a well-thought-out plan.
‘Can I use my phone in here?’ I called from the bathroom, peeling off my damp yellow dress. The bathroom was full of products: Clinique, Anthony Logistics, Peter Thomas Roth. Sent over by PRs, I figured, but still, men with more moisturizer than me made me edgy.
‘The landline should be OK, but I’m keeping your mobile hostage until you leave.’ James knocked once on the door and then came in. Giving me just enough time to grab one of the robes hanging from the back of the door. But not enough time to put it on. ‘Nice knickers, Calvin Klein?’
‘Erm, yes,’ I said, trying to slide into the robe without revealing an inch of flesh or white lace. Not an easy task at the best of times, and even more difficult when you were a) ridiculous clumsy and b) in the hotel bathroom of a stupidly hot actor. A stupidly hot actor who had taken off his shirt. Oh. It was pretty.
‘Don’t tell your model friend, but I did a campaign for them last year.’ He took one arm of the robe, in theory to help me put it on, but in practice just to help me get even more wound up in the acres of jersey. ‘I think that’s the set Eva wore.’
Perfect. Who didn’t want to be compared to Eva Mendes in their underwear?
‘I’m so sorry about that,’ I said again. ‘I don’t know what his problem is. It’s just…God, Jenny is going to kill me.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be fine.’ James pushed his hair back off his face. Had his cheekbones always been so high? What else were those brown curls hiding? ‘And please stop apologizing for that knobhead. I’m just surprised you’re friends with him, to be honest. You did realize he was all over you? Do you know, I haven’t called anyone a knobhead for ages. You really do bring out the English in me.’
‘Thanks, I think.’ I pushed past him, moving very quickly through the bedroom, accidentally glancing at the rumpled bedsheets and settling in the living room. In an armchair. Made for one. Could he please just put a shirt back on? I was only human, for God’s sake. ‘And, just for the record, he’s absolutely not interested in me. I don’t even really know him; we’re not really friends. He and Jenny used to work in the same hotel in New York, that’s all.’
‘So they’re friends?’
‘Sort of,’ I wrinkled my nose. There was no way Jenny would be exploring their ‘friendship’ now. I was going to suffer for this one.
‘I see, friends with benefits?’
Before I could clarify, there was a knock at the door. James opened up and swapped my dress for a tray of drinks. ‘Thanks,’ he said to someone I couldn’t see. ‘Tea?’
‘Yes please,’ I sighed, realizing suddenly how tired I was. ‘I’d kill for a cup right now.’
‘I don’t want to know how you’re going to react to my HobNobs then,’ he said, producing a full packet of biscuits. ‘This really is the best hotel in the world.’
‘Don’t say that in front of Jenny,’ I said, taking a handful of crumbly biscuity goodness. ‘She’s all about The Union. Or at least she was; she hasn’t stolen anything in ages.’
‘So we’ve got twenty minutes to fill,’ James said, nursing his steaming mug. ‘What do you want to do?’
What did I want to do? Now there was a question. My head wanted to call Jenny, make sure she was OK and actually going to speak to me again. My heart wanted to call Alex and see how his gig went, hear his soft sleepy voice and have him put the phone on his pillow until he fell asleep so I could just listen to him breathe. But another, slightly less poetic part of me was absolutely burning to stand up, take that cup of tea out of James Jacobs’s hand and put all of his flirting to the test. To trace a finger up his abs, his sharply cut chest and over his full bottom lip. Just press it, just to see if it was as firm and plush as it looked. And then possibly nibble on it a little bit. And then—
‘You’ve got such a strange look on your face,’ James interrupted. ‘What are you thinking about?’
Pushing you backwards against the sofa and doing lots of very dirty things until my passport expires.
‘Nothing really.’
‘There’s something I wanted to say, actually,’ he carried on. ‘About this afternoon, at the burger place.’
Maybe just a quick nibble. ‘No need, really.’
‘Yes, there is. I’m sorry, I just get caught up easily. Really, it’s pathetic. I spend so much time spouting crap that’s written for me, I start coming out with it when they haven’t even given me a script.’ He rested on the arm of my chair. And smelt delicious. ‘I suppose that’s why Blake gets so angry. I get myself into so much trouble with all those photos.’
‘Photos?’
‘Of me. Well, if they were just of me it wouldn’t be a problem.’
‘Oh.’
‘They’re just photos, Angela,’ he said, looking down at me.
‘You don’t have to explain anything to me.’ I stared straight ahead. Trying not to be jealous.
‘Well, I do, you are the reporter,’ he said. ‘But I’m just saying. Although I can’t help but wonder what that interview is going to come out like.’
‘The interview.’ I covered my face. ‘I’m really not doing well, am I? I’m so going to get fired and then I’ll be deported. And homeless. And someone’s going to have to tell my mother…’
‘What are you talking about?’ James pulled away my hands with his own, warmed through by his hot tea. ‘Why are you going to get fired?’
‘Because Blake cancelled the interview.’ I looked at him as though he was slightly stupid. Very pretty but slightly stupid.
James looked back at me the exact same way. ‘Blake can’t cancel the interview.’
‘He can’t?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘I thought he did everything?’
‘Well he didn’t set it up,’ James explained.
‘He didn’t?’
‘No, Angela. I did.’
‘OK, I know I’m not very clever at the best of times, but I don’t understand…’
‘The interview, you, it was my idea,’ James said, looking really rather pleased with himself. ‘I’m not stupid, I know what people must think when they see all those photos of me and, well, every woman I’ve ever met. So I read some women’s magazines, checked out some of the writers and that’s how I came across you.’
‘You asked for me?’ I was confused. Not unusual, admittedly. ‘It was actually you?’
‘I asked for you. I loved your writing,’ he nodded. ‘But once I’d chosen you, I had to put everything through Blake, after I’d picked a magazine, otherwise it would have been weird. Actors don’t usually set up their own press. To be honest, Blake wasn’t completely convinced you were the right pick, so I would really, really appreciate it if you could at least attempt to prove him wrong.’
‘So the interview isn’t off?’
‘Well, you threw up on me yesterday, got me and my assistant into a fight today, I can’t wait to see what you come up with tomorrow.’ He shook his head and looked out of the window. ‘I’ll call for your car, you should be safe now.’
I sat back in the chair and watched the muscles in his back leave the room. James Jacobs had chosen me. The interview wasn’t off. Maybe I wouldn’t have to leave the country after all. Which meant Alex and I probably wouldn’t be breaking up because I had to go back to England. Which was a really, really good thing.
Unless Alex was still so busy getting it on with his groupies he didn’t even have three minutes to spare to leave me a voicemail. The battery indicator on my silent phone flickered in the bottom of my clutch. Obviously it wasn’t as though he was desperate to get in touch and tell me he loved me or anything. How come he couldn’t even tell me how he couldn’t bear to live a single second of his life without me when a global superstar—no, megastar—had handpicked me out of every single journalist in the entire world to interview him? I’d now been in his hotel twice. And twice I’d been out of my frock. That
had to be a sign. Another knock on the door interrupted my entirely unhelpful thoughts.
‘That’ll be your dress,’ James called from the other room. ‘Your car’s going to be about five minutes.’
I wrapped myself up in the dressing gown, trying not to trip over the hem and opened the door. There was my dress, all pristine, wrapped in shiny plastic. Twenty-minute dry cleaning had revolutionized my life. ‘Thank you,’ I said, taking the hanger.
‘No…thank you,’ said a voice behind a huge camera.
‘What the…?’ I stumbled backwards, holding my dress out in front of the rapid fire-flashes.
‘Angela!’ James yelled, sprinting across the living room. ‘Close the door, get away from the door!’
I slammed the door into the camera, heard a dull thud, a quiet ‘shit’ and then the sound of quickly retreating footsteps. Dazed, I looked at James, but he was already on the phone, yelling incoherently. For the want of something to do, I staggered into the bathroom and got changed. I checked myself in the mirror: nope, my skirt wasn’t tucked in my pants, not even a bra strap was on show. Impeccable. For me. And if you went for the ‘startled deer in headlights’ thing, I actually looked pretty good.
‘OK,’ I said, teetering back into the lounge and grabbing my handbag. ‘I think it’s best if I just go, I’ve caused enough chaos tonight.’
‘You can’t go out there now.’ James looked at me as if I was stupid. He and Jenny would actually get on really well. ‘I’ve just called security but they haven’t caught him yet. You can’t go anywhere until they’ve got that camera.’
I wanted to laugh but had a feeling that it wouldn’t go down well. ‘Seriously? James, all they’ve got is a picture of me holding some dry cleaning.’
‘Yes, maybe,’ James mused. ‘Or, they’ve got a picture of you, without your dress on, standing in the doorway of my bungalow at one a.m. What’s that going to be worth to your boyfriend? Or your editor? Or your mum?’
‘My mum would probably be quite impressed actually,’ I said, feeling a little bit sick. ‘But I see your point. I really can’t stay here, though. I have to see Jenny; I have to go back. Is there no way out without those arses getting a photo?’