I Heart Hollywood

  ‘A small donkey, Michael Caine and toenail clippers.’ James stared back at me, completely serious. ‘My turn.’

  ‘You’re not funny.’

  ‘The fifty million people that saw my last movie would disagree with you.’

  ‘I’m writing that down if you don’t give me a serious answer.’

  ‘You give me one then.’

  I sighed. ‘Fine. I am a little bit bothered.’

  ‘Thank you. Now tell me why?’

  ‘Why? It would be easier for you to tell me why you aren’t more bothered. How does the whole thing not faze you? Even if this happens to you every single day, twice a day even, I don’t understand how you can just laugh it all off and expect everyone else to do the same.’

  James leaned over, brushing my hair behind my ear.

  ‘Because it’s not real,’ he said quietly. ‘I know those photos aren’t real, the people I love know they’re not real; it’s all just another character. Even this interview, as much fun as it is and as much as I’m loving hanging out with you, what goes in the magazine will end up being an interview with a character we create. The questions you ask me aren’t supposed to find out about the real me, not the cold, hard facts. They’re supposed to find out things your readers want to know, about the James Jacobs they’ve seen in all those stupid romcoms I’ve done.’

  I didn’t really know what to say. He wasn’t wrong.

  ‘Angela, it doesn’t matter if everyone outside this club thinks we’re at it like rabbits in here, we know we’re not and that’s what matters. And no one with half a brain believes what they see on celebrity websites.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought too.’ I chewed on the end of my pen, looking back at the bar. ‘Can we get a drink?’

  ‘Someone thinks the photos are real.’

  Despite the fact it would mortify my mother, I clambered underneath the bar and poured myself a drink. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is it your mum?’

  Oh my God, I hadn’t even thought about that. I doubled the shot. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘The boyfriend?’

  ‘The boyfriend.’ I poured a Diet Coke on top of the vodka but there was only room for a third of the bottle.

  ‘I can’t believe he called you a liar.’ James followed me over to the bar.

  ‘What?’ I mixed my drink without a straw. ‘He didn’t say that.’

  ‘He thinks the photos are real,’ he said. ‘And you said they weren’t, so I’m fairly sure that means he called you a liar.’

  ‘Not exactly.’ I took a long swig, pulled a face and added some more Coke. ‘He was just a bit—well, not very happy about it. Which is completely understandable.’

  ‘But you told him nothing was happening and he didn’t believe you?’ James pressed on, settling on a bar stool. ‘Beer for me, please.’

  ‘Great, now I’m a barmaid,’ I muttered, grabbing a Corona from the fridge. ‘I told him they weren’t what they looked like. That doesn’t mean he didn’t believe me. He was just a bit annoyed. His ex cheated on him so, you know, it’s hard for him to trust people sometimes.’

  ‘But you’re not his ex,’ James squeezed a chunk of lime into his beer. ‘And you haven’t cheated on him.’

  ‘No but, well, I was dating someone else when we met, but no I haven’t cheated on him. On anyone. Ever.’ I slipped a napkin under his bottle. At least I’d have experience in bar work for when I lost my job at The Look. ‘I would never cheat on Alex.’ I looked up confidently. ‘I would never cheat on him.’

  ‘Then he’s got no right to make you feel bad about some paparazzi shots,’ James reasoned. ‘He should just take your word for it and think himself lucky that he has such an amazing girlfriend.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far as amazing.’ I sipped my drink. ‘Just common or garden perfect would do it.’

  ‘Do you always make jokes about yourself?’ James set his bottle back on the bar. ‘Because you are amazing, you know. And your boyfriend should never make you doubt that.’

  ‘I don’t make jokes about myself and I’m not amazing.’ The bar was so quiet, I could hear my heart thudding. This didn’t feel as though it was essential to the interview. ‘Really. Anyway, I have more questions for you.’

  ‘You’re cute, you’re clever, you’re funny, you clearly love this idiot even though he doesn’t deserve it,’ James carried on, pushing the lime right down the neck of the bottle. ‘If you were my girlfriend, I would never let you be miserable. Ever.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, examining my fingernails. ‘I don’t think anyone can make me feel better about the fact that I’ll never be America’s Next Top Model.’

  ‘Yeah, you don’t ever make jokes about yourself,’ James replied.

  The longer we sat in silence, the more awkward it became.

  ‘Has he ever cheated on you?’ he asked. ‘The boyfriend?’

  ‘No. Of course not,’ I said quickly. ‘He wouldn’t.’

  James studied me silently while he drank his beer.

  ‘Can we get back to the interview?’ I asked, my stomach dropping.

  ‘Because if you were my girlfriend—’ James started again.

  ‘The interview?’ I interrupted. Too much. This was just too much.

  ‘My video iPod, running shoes and a copy of The Great Gatsby.’ He knocked back the rest of his beer.

  I looked up.

  ‘The three things I can’t be without when I’m travelling,’ he shrugged. ‘What else have you got?’

  We passed another hour discussing James’s favourite designers, his favourite holiday spots, his favourite restaurants, and everything else a Look reader could feasibly want to know about her favourite actor, until my hand was cramping and my pad was full.

  ‘Do you know what?’ I said, jotting down his favourite place to buy bagels. ‘I think we’re done. You are released.’

  ‘You mean I have to go back to Blake?’ James asked, with mock horror. At least it seemed like mock horror; I would have been genuinely terrified. ‘You don’t want to do something this evening? I cleared my schedule.’

  I smiled and shook my head. ‘I actually just want to go back to the hotel and sleep. The last few nights have been late ones and I really should go and write all this up, send it over to the magazine. Prove we’re actually working.’

  ‘Fair enough. I can wait until tomorrow,’ James stood up and stretched. He really was very tall. ‘As long as you are going to be working and not just going into hiding. Promise me you won’t let anyone make you feel shit about those pictures?’

  ‘Brownie Guide promise,’ I saluted. ‘You’re right. I’m sure I’m just overreacting.’

  ‘Good. And if your boyfriend hasn’t sent a dozen roses to your hotel when you get back, he’ll have me to answer to.’ He opened the door back into the bustling sunshine. ‘I’m not having him making you feel rubbish for no reason.’

  ‘If I didn’t know you were a hateful, ego-driven movie star, I could be fooled into thinking you were actually quite nice,’ I said, shielding my eyes and looking up into his. ‘You must be a very good actor.’

  ‘Make sure you put that in the interview,’ James said, dialling his driver. ‘I am good but I mean it. You should never let anyone make you feel crap. I don’t have those people around me any more.’

  ‘No, you only have really positive people like Blake,’ I said, watching the limo appear around the corner. ‘He really makes your life easier?’

  ‘I know he seems like hard work to everyone else,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know what I’d do without him. Even if he is going to lose his mind after we binned him off again today.’

  ‘It’s fine, I’m sure he’ll just blame me,’ I replied. ‘Again.’

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ James agreed. ‘I’m sorry. Thank you for putting up with him. And me.’

  ‘Thank you for making this so easy for me,’ I slid on my sunglasses to get a better, slightly hidden peek at him.

  ‘I know y
ou won’t believe it,’ he said, pulling out his own shades. ‘But I’m having fun. Hanging out with you reminds me of something I don’t have any more.’

  ‘What’s that?’ More than three per cent body fat?

  ‘I don’t really know,’ James said, pushing my sunglasses up onto the top of my head and looking down at me. I could feel his stare right in the pit of my stomach. ‘But it’s there.’

  ‘Then I’m choosing to believe it’s a good thing,’ I said, pushing them back down as the limo pulled up beside us. How was him being an absolute angel as well as all kinds of gorgeous, while Alex was being a total arse, helping me anyway?

  Chapter Nine

  Jenny was nowhere to be found back at the hotel, which left me free for the world’s longest nap. But after an hour of staring at the ceiling, I was forced to accept that sleep wasn’t coming. There was just too much on my mind and, to be honest, the vodka I’d necked at The Dresden hadn’t helped me clear it up.

  If I could just sort out one of the dramas in my mind, maybe I’d be able to get half an hour’s sleep. OK, first, Alex. Staring at my phone, I tried to replay our conversation but it all sounded so much worse in my head. If he would just call, if he would just tell me it was all right. If he would just bloody say that he loved me. But that wasn’t about to happen any time soon. And hello? How sad was I that I needed my boyfriend to tell me he loved me to make me feel better? OK, very, but it didn’t stop it being true.

  I added another pillow to the stack already behind my head and grabbed my BlackBerry from the nightstand. No missed calls, no new emails. Nothing from Mary about the blog entry I’d sent over that morning. No matter what James said, my job was still on the line. Once the interview was over, he wouldn’t have any pull at the magazine and if Mary thought I was going to shag every person I worked with, there wouldn’t be any more work. Plus Jenny was still in such a strange mood, she wasn’t exactly helping me out.

  And if that wasn’t enough, I had the most unexpected problem of them all to deal with. James was definitely flirting with me. Definitely. What was I supposed to do? My job was hanging by a thread, my boyfriend wasn’t talking to me, my best friend was one missed call away from kicking my arse and here was this insanely beautiful man—not even a man, a movie star—telling me I’m amazing, stroking my hair and asking me to stay the night. It wasn’t fair. I was only human, unlike him. Stupid Greek God of a man, how dare he try it on with me? Seriously, what was a girl supposed to do?

  It had taken me six months to sort my life out after arriving in New York, amazing friends, wonderful boyfriend, the perfect job. And it had only taken me four days in LA to screw it all up. Wow, that must be some sort of record. Really, there was only one thing to do.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Dad, it’s Angela.’

  ‘Angela, love, it’s midnight, what’s wrong?’ Dad yawned. At least they clearly hadn’t seen the photos.

  ‘Sorry, I hadn’t thought about the time difference,’ I apologized, looking at the blinking clock on my nightstand. ‘Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to have a quick word with Mum, is she up?’

  ‘She is now,’ he muttered.

  ‘What’s wrong? Angela, are you coming home?’ The classic motherly panic. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘No, Mum,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to have a bit of a chat. I’m working in LA this week, aren’t I?’

  ‘I never know where you are from one day to the next,’ she sighed. ‘And you haven’t wanted a bit of a chat for months, let alone at midnight. So what’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s only four here, sorry, I wasn’t thinking,’ I said. How true was that?

  ‘No, thinking hasn’t been your strong point since you moved away, love,’ Mum agreed. ‘What’s wrong now?’

  She’d been awake for four minutes and she was already having a go at me. Why hadn’t I called her earlier?

  ‘Nothing really, I just wanted to call you about, well, some pictures,’ I tried to work out how to rephrase ‘the internet is crawling with suggestive photographs of your only child’ for my fifty-nine-year-old mother, but it just wouldn’t come out. Couldn’t think why. ‘I’m in some pictures.’

  ‘You’re in the pictures? Is that why you’re in LA; you’re going to be in a film?’

  ‘No, Mum, I’m interviewing someone, I’m not in a film.’ I closed my eyes. ‘It’s just someone took some photos of me and the person I’m interviewing, he’s an actor, and they’re saying that we’re…going out together.’

  ‘You’re going out with an actor?’ I heard running water and opening cupboards. If she was making tea, this could go on for a while. ‘I thought you were going out with that man with the guitar?’

  ‘I am going out with that man with the…oh, his name is Alex, Mum,’ I could actually really use a cup of tea. Or something stronger. ‘I’m not going out with the actor, I just wanted to let you know that the photos make it look like I am going out with him. But I’m not.’

  ‘Just a minute love, I’m making tea. I suppose all you drink is coffee now. Can’t beat a good cup of tea though, can you? Those Americans might make more sense if they all had a cup of tea for a change. Coffee gives me the jitters.’

  ‘Of course I still drink tea,’ I sighed. ‘And you can get tea here.’

  ‘Coffee gives your dad the runs, of course,’ she went on. ‘Now what’s all this about you going out with an actor?’

  ‘OK, let me start again.’ I sat up in bed. ‘I’m not going out with an actor but there are some photos on the internet that make it look like I am. And I don’t want you to get upset when you see them.’

  ‘Why would I get upset? And where on the internet, let me have a look,’ she slurped her tea. ‘Where are my glasses?’

  ‘You’ve got the internet?’ I crossed the room to my laptop. ‘When did you get a computer?’

  ‘Your dad’s been doing a course. I thought I’d be able to send you emails but I haven’t quite worked that out yet. Your dad’s been doing that Facebook thing though. All the pictures from Louisa’s weddings are up there, you know.’

  ‘Dad’s on Facebook?’ I asked, logging on and searching. Oh my, there he was. Not a good picture.

  ‘That’s the one. Now what’s the name of this website?’ she asked.

  ‘Mum, I don’t think you need to look at the pictures. I just wanted to let you—’

  ‘If I just Goggle you, will they come up?’ she interrupted.

  ‘If you what?’

  ‘Goggle, oh, it’s wonderful Angela, you just type in anything and it comes up,’ she went on. ‘I got this really lovely recipe for an apple crumble. It’s so much better than your Auntie Susan’s one. Oh, here you are, here’s your picture.’

  ‘No, that’ll be my blog, Mum.’ I was talking so quickly, I wasn’t sure what I was saying. I just could not cope with her seeing those pictures. ‘The pictures didn’t have my name on but I thought someone might see them and recognize me and tell—’

  ‘Well, it says it’s you,’ she carried on talking over me. ‘You and James Jacobs? I’m sure I’ve seen him in something; he’s very good looking, Angela.’

  ‘Wait, what website are you on?’ The photos had my name on them now? I typed my name into Google Images. And there I was. There we were.

  ‘They’re on lots of websites, Angela. Well, you do make a very good-looking couple.’ She sounded oddly proud. ‘When do we get to meet him?’

  ‘Mum, I’m not going out with James Jacobs,’ I repeated. ‘These photos aren’t real.’

  ‘That’s not you being carried into that big black car then?’

  ‘Well, yes, it is but not—’

  ‘And that’s not you coming out of the hotel?’

  ‘Yes but—’

  ‘That’s a lovely dress, Angela. If you’d dressed like that when you were living with Mark, he might never have left you for that tart from the tennis club. All those bloody jeans and sloppy jumpers…’

  ‘Mum!’ Really.
Why did I call her?

  ‘Never mind, I dare say Mark will be feeling pretty silly when he sees that you’re going out with a film star, won’t he? Malcolm, what was that film we saw about the casino? Angela’s new boyfriend was in it,’ she shouted without taking the phone away from her mouth.

  Suitably deafened, I turned my attention to the first website that came up.

  Updated: We finally have confirmation on the identity of James Jacobs’s new lady love! She is none other than Angela Clark, fellow Brit, journo and, according to our sources, currently dating lead singer of New York rockers, Stills, Alex Reid. Way to trade up, journo girl. That said, we always thought Alex Reid was kind of a cutie; obviously no James Jacobs, but if he’s looking for someone to help him through the heartache, we are available…

  There, beside a new shot of James carrying me out of Teddy’s, this one showcasing my pants fabulously, was a picture of Alex, all bundled up, heading into Bedford Avenue subway station. I didn’t know if it was new or if it was old, but he looked gutted. ‘Oh shit,’ I breathed.

  ‘Angela, language.’

  ‘Mum, I’m sorry for waking you up,’ I said, rubbing my eyes. No time for a nap now. ‘I’ve got to make some calls. I’ll give you a ring later.’

  ‘OK love. And I shouldn’t worry about those pictures. You know what they say, today’s newspaper is tomorrow’s fish and chip wrapping. Just try not to show your pants in the next ones. Speak to you soon.’

  ‘There had better not be any next ones,’ I muttered to myself, hanging up and redialling. I hated it when my mother was right.

  ‘Alex, it’s me…’ Seriously, would I never ever learn to think about what I was going to say on voicemail before I called? ‘I know you said not to call but I had to. Can you call me please? I just want to speak to you; these photos are just stupid. I spoke to my mum and, yeah, you don’t care that I spoke to my mum, do you? Anyway, please just call me back?’

  Not my finest work but far from my worst. That accolade was firmly attached to the photo of my pants that was currently circulating the internet.