Johnny Be Good

  Is that…Is that Lindsay Lohan?

  ‘Miss, can you move along, please?’ one of the security guards says to me.

  ‘Yes, of course, sorry,’ I apologise and hurry up the stairs into the foyer. I look around for Kitty.

  I spot her after a moment, ringletted black hair recognisable from her photo with Brad Pitt. I catch her eye, smile and wave, and we manoeuvre our ways through the crowds to get to each other.

  ‘Hi!’ she exclaims. ‘So nice to finally meet you!’

  ‘You too,’ I beam.

  ‘Wow! I love your dress,’ she gushes. ‘That necklace is amazing!’

  It’s then that I notice she’s wearing jeans. Am I overdressed?

  ‘I wasn’t really sure what to wear…’ My voice peters off.

  ‘I know what you mean. Imagine being a celebrity! Thank goodness no one cares what we mere mortals are wearing.’ She gasps, suddenly looking mortified. ‘But you look great! If we go to another one of these dos together, I promise I’ll make an effort, too! I’m a bit blasé about it all, these days.’

  I smile gratefully, but still feel a bit silly.

  ‘Shall we go in?’ she asks, changing the subject.

  The film is okay. Timothy Makkeinen plays a posh British knight who sweeps Serengeti’s character off her feet–literally at one point. I didn’t think much of his British accent, though. Much as I adore him, I thought someone like Jude Law would have been better in the role.

  Anyway, when we arrive at the aftershow party, which is being held in a mock castle up in the Hollywood Hills, we’re immediately greeted by themed knights in shining armour, holding trays of glittering beverages. Kitty opts for a green concoction while I go for a red number because I like the idea of it matching my necklace.

  I know, what an idiot, right? On the plus side, it tastes very nice.

  Three yummy little red numbers later, Kitty and I are feeling tipsy on our empty stomachs. We’ve only managed to nab one canapé so far and we’re both starving. The place is heaving, but there’s still no sign of Serengeti and co. Apparently, turning up too early is decidedly uncool.

  The crowd literally parts when the stars of the film do arrive. I’m struck once again by Serengeti’s beauty and feel on edge as I study the door to see if Johnny appears. He doesn’t.

  ‘Where is Johnny tonight?’ Kitty asks me.

  ‘He should be here,’ I reply, confused. We didn’t see him at the movie, either.

  ‘Hi, Kitty.’ I hear a voice behind us and turn around to see a skinny girl, about five foot five, with long, dead-straight chestnut hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

  It’s not often that this happens, but I take an immediate dislike to the girl. There’s something nasty about her eyes.

  ‘Hello, Charlie,’ Kitty answers, a little wearily.

  ‘Where’s Rod tonight?’ Charlie asks, her back to me.

  ‘He’s away on business,’ Kitty replies.

  ‘What sort of business? Not cheating on his wife again, is he?’

  ‘Well, his divorce has come through now, so no, he’s not cheating on his wife. Charlie, this is Meg.’

  She turns around, letting her blue eyes scan my profile. ‘Hello,’ she says. ‘And what do you do?’

  ‘She’s Johnny Jefferson’s new PA,’ Kitty interjects.

  Charlie’s eyes narrow. ‘Well, well, well. So you got the job?’

  ‘Yes.’ I really don’t want to get into conversation with this girl.

  ‘How?’ she asks.

  ‘My boss recommended me,’ I tell her, reluctantly.

  ‘Who was your boss?’

  ‘Marie Sevenou.’

  Blank expression.

  ‘She’s an architect in London. No one you know.’

  ‘Oh.’ She turns her nose up.

  Kitty taps a passing waiter on the shoulder. He stops and holds a tray full of canapés in front of us. Kitty grabs a serviette and starts to load it up with smoked salmon blinis.

  ‘When did you start?’ Charlie enquires, but this time I have a mouth full of blini. She looks at me impatiently while I try to swallow most of it.

  Kitty answers for me. ‘Sunday.’

  ‘Oh. Very wet behind the ears, then.’

  ‘Have another blini, Meg,’ Kitty suggests, offering me her serviette full of them.

  I grin at her as I take one. ‘Thanks.’

  She gives me a mischievous look as I pop it into my mouth.

  ‘Have you met Serengeti yet?’ Charlie asks.

  I nod, merrily munching away.

  Charlie looks at my mouth distastefully before continuing her interrogation.

  ‘I have, too. She’s lovely, isn’t she?’

  ‘Mmmhmm,’ is all I can muster.

  ‘So beautiful.’

  I take my time swallowing. Kitty looks like she’s struggling not to laugh.

  ‘How’s Isla?’ Kitty asks Charlie, giving me a break from the inquisition. I use it as an excuse to nick another blini from her.

  ‘She’s great, thank you. She’s in the VIP area.’ Charlie turns back to me. ‘Is Johnny in there?’

  I shrug, my mouth full. Now Charlie looks annoyed.

  ‘Goodness me, I can’t get a word in edgeways with those things!’ she exclaims.

  ‘You should have one,’ I suggest, helpfully. ‘They’re tasty.’

  ‘No, thank you. They’d go straight to my hips,’ she says, before giving mine the once-over. I tap another passing waiter on the shoulder and help myself to chicken satays.

  She sighs impatiently. ‘I’ll catch you later, then,’ she says, ‘when you’re able to talk perhaps.’

  ‘Okay!’ I say cheerfully.

  ‘Okay!’ Kitty echoes.

  Charlie walks over to two other girls sitting on stools on the other side of the bar. They all turn around and look at us as Charlie no doubt fills them in on what little information we’ve divulged.

  ‘Can’t stand her,’ Kitty says to me.

  ‘Can’t think why,’ I answer.

  She looks at me in surprise. ‘Sorry, I got the impression you didn’t like her either.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I answer, confused, then realise the problem. ‘I was being sarcastic,’ I explain.

  ‘Oh.’ She giggles. ‘I’ve just been a typical American, haven’t I? Forgetting about the British and their sarcasm.’

  I smile. ‘Who does Charlie work for?’

  ‘Isla Montagne. She’s…’

  I nod in recognition. ‘I know her. Well, know of her.’

  Isla Montagne is the spoilt daughter of very wealthy and very famous film producer Kerry Montagne. Kerry is a man, by the way. All Isla seems to do is get wasted and sleep around with rich young men. The tabloids back home are full of her exploits.

  ‘Always thought she was a silly cow,’ I add.

  ‘Charlie thinks she’s the bee’s knees,’ Kitty says.

  ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’

  We cut short our chat for a little while just to take in the scene around us. Serengeti’s nowhere to be seen.

  ‘All the stars will be in the VIP area now,’ Kitty tells me when I bring it up.

  ‘I’m surprised they even have a VIP area considering this is a private party.’

  ‘Yeah, they almost always have VIP areas as well. I know, it’s crazy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. And disappointing,’ I admit. ‘What’s the point of having tickets to a big premiere aftershow party when you can’t even mingle with the rich and famous?’

  ‘At least the drinks are free.’

  ‘True.’ I giggle and pick up another from the bar top behind us.

  ‘If Rod were here, he’d get us in. Maybe Johnny can?’ Kitty suggests eagerly.

  ‘If he ever turns up,’ I say, gloomily.

  ‘Yay! Speak of the devil!’ Kitty’s looking at the entrance.

  I spot him, wading through the crowd. He’s still wearing his biker jacket.

  ‘O
h my God, it’s Johnny Jefferson!’

  I hear an excited gaggle of girls next to us whisper frenetically and I quickly become conscious that Johnny is the focus of attention for almost everyone in the room. Partygoers and hangers-on stop him as he slowly progresses through the room, saying hi and shaking hands with people.

  ‘Call him over!’ Kitty nudges me gleefully.

  ‘No,’ I say, shaking my head and turning back to her.

  ‘Why not?’ she practically squeals.

  ‘I don’t know him well enough to do that.’

  ‘Don’t know him well enough? What are you saying? You work with him!’

  ‘Work for him, you mean. No, sorry,’ I say, glancing back in his direction and tearing my eyes away again as I see him kissing a stunning brunette in a green dress. ‘I can’t.’

  Kitty’s face is steeped with disappointment.

  ‘I thought you were blasé about this sort of thing now.’ I give her a knowing look.

  She smiles at me shyly. ‘I know,’ she says. ‘I’ve just got a bit of a crush on Johnny Jefferson, that’s all.’

  ‘Have you?’ I squeak.

  ‘Yeah,’ she nods. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘No,’ I fib. ‘He’s not my type.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’d still go to bed with him.’

  ‘No!’ My face must look quite shocked.

  ‘Come on.’ She giggles. ‘Just one night of passion…I bet you would.’

  ‘Bet you would what?’

  I spin around to see him, standing there in front of us. The gaggle of girls to his right nudge each other like maniacs.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, weakly.

  ‘Introduce me to your friend,’ he responds.

  Kitty’s face positively glows. ‘This is Kitty.’ They shake hands.

  ‘I recognise you,’ Johnny says. ‘I’ve seen you around.’

  ‘Have you?’ Kitty looks like she’s going to pass out with delight.

  ‘What were you talking about?’ Johnny enquires.

  ‘Nothing,’ I state hurriedly. ‘I didn’t see you at the film?’

  ‘I didn’t go,’ he tells me.

  ‘Oh. Really?’

  ‘Yeah. Serengeti’s going to be pissed.’ He grins. ‘Was it any good? Do you reckon I can get away with pretending to have sat with you if you fill me in on the details?’

  ‘I’m not lying for you, Johnny Jefferson.’ I pull a mock stern face.

  ‘Fat lot of good you are,’ he says, jokily. ‘I knew I should have gone with that Iranian chick…’

  We smile at each other for a moment before I remember Kitty and realise we’re leaving her out. I step back and am about to try to include her in our conversation when I see a flash of bronze behind Johnny and notice Serengeti approaching. I nod in her direction to warn him. He turns around, spots her, then glances back at me and raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Hi, honey!’ she gushes, clearly for the benefit of all those around them, because as she leans in to kiss him I hear her hiss, ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Just talking business.’

  ‘Sure you were, baby. Now, are you coming into the VIP section?’

  ‘Nah, I think I’ll just hang here.’

  ‘What? Why?’ she asks, confused.

  He shrugs.

  ‘Johnny,’ she says through clenched, albeit brilliantly white, teeth. ‘You didn’t make the screening so perhaps you can help me with this?’

  ‘I did make the screening, didn’t I?’ He stares at me, daring me not to lie for him.

  ‘Um…’

  Serengeti whips around and notices me for the first time.

  ‘Hi.’ She smiles graciously and holds out her hand. ‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced.’

  Johnny laughs and leans back on the bar top, folding his arms. ‘Serengeti, this is Meg. My PA. You met her earlier.’

  ‘Oh.’ She gives me the once-over, looking enormously unamused. ‘I didn’t recognise you.’

  ‘I’m wearing make-up,’ I say, stupidly.

  ‘And Versace?’ She nods at my dress.

  ‘No, TopShop.’

  ‘Top what?’

  ‘TopShop. It’s a shop in England…’

  She ignores me. ‘Are you coming or not?’ she asks Johnny.

  ‘I’ll meet you in there,’ he says, reaching backwards and grabbing one of the red cocktails from the bar. ‘Any good?’ he asks me, holding up his glass.

  ‘Very,’ I tell him.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Serengeti says in a huff, staring first at my necklace, then at my ever-so-slightly revealing neckline. Finally she glares up at my face and storms off.

  ‘Told you she’d be jealous,’ Johnny leans in and whispers in my ear, before lifting up his hand to get the attention of one of the hot bartenders. ‘I want something stronger,’ he demands. ‘A whisky?’

  I look at Kitty, whose face is still lit up like Regent Street at Christmas. ‘You okay?’

  She nods her head vigorously.

  A random guy behind me drunkenly shouts out, ‘Heeeeeeeerrrre’s Johnny!’ before cracking up laughing.

  ‘Fucking wanker,’ Johnny says, turning back to us and swirling caramel-coloured liquid around in his glass. ‘I hate it when people say that.’ He rests one elbow on the bar top. ‘So what was the film like? You’re going to have to fill me in now so I can pretend.’ He downs half his glass.

  I give him my best unimpressed-schoolmistress look and hold my nerve, but Kitty jumps at the chance.

  ‘Well, it was about…’ she starts to fill him in while I watch on with amusement. Johnny keeps glancing at me as Kitty gives him a blow-by-blow account.

  ‘Timothy Makkeinen’s English accent was awful,’ she says, which is funny because she didn’t really have a problem with it when we discussed the film earlier. Now she seems to be quite down on the guy.

  Johnny motions to the bartender again for a top-up.

  ‘Nice necklace,’ he says to me. Kitty’s voice falters.

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply, feeling a bit guilty about the interruption. ‘My grandmother gave it to me years ago.’

  ‘Cool.’ He downs his whisky.

  Kitty reaches behind her for another green concoction.

  ‘Want another, Meg?’ she asks.

  ‘Sure. Thanks.’

  ‘You can finish mine, if you like,’ Johnny offers. ‘Or have a new one, whatever,’ he adds.

  ‘Didn’t like it, then?’ I hold out my hand for it.

  He shakes his head and passes it over, wrinkling his nose. He looks surprisingly adorable considering he’s supposed to be a hip rock star. We grin at each other for a few seconds. He is a bit of a flirt, isn’t he? Is he always like this with normal girls? Probably.

  Oops. I suddenly remember Kitty standing there, sipping her drink quietly. I look at her quickly and smile. ‘So what else happened in the film?’ I ask.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Johnny chips in. ‘I reckon I’m in for it, anyways.’

  ‘Hey!’ A tall, good-looking guy in a fitted, light-grey suit and white shirt slaps Johnny on the back.

  ‘Hey, mate!’ Johnny turns around and they do that manly handclasp, back pat, half-hug thing that cool guys do. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages! Where the fuck have you been, man?’

  ‘Oh, here and there. Hey…’ He leans in and says something in Johnny’s ear that we can’t hear.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, cool, man,’ Johnny answers. ‘Catch you later.’ He gives us a half-wave and follows the guy through the crowd, looking down so as to avoid eye contact with anyone.

  ‘Nice meeting you!’ Kitty calls after him, then exclaims, ‘Darn! We forgot to ask if he could get us into the VIP section!’

  She starts to dissect her liaison with the gorgeous Johnny Jefferson, and I really try to concentrate. But it’s hard when I’m distractedly studying the glass he gave me to see if I can find the imprint of his lips.

  Chapter 4

  Johnny has been ‘poked’ seven t
housand nine hundred and eighty-one times and has had four hundred and fifty-nine requests to be a ‘pirate’ since anyone last checked his Facebook page. What the hell am I supposed to do about that?

  It’s Saturday morning and I’m in the office for want of anything better to do. I didn’t see Johnny at all yesterday. I’d assumed he finally caught up with Serengeti and one look at samsonsarky.com confirmed it. There was a picture of them both coming out of the aftershow venue together at four o’clock in the morning. I had wondered if Johnny managed to persuade Serengeti to go on his motorbike with him, but yesterday late afternoon I got a call from him, groggily asking me to track his bike down. He’d left it in a valet car park near the party venue, but wasn’t sure which one. After calling four garages and waiting on hold while the valet attendants searched the place for a bike of Johnny’s description–a description I first had to hunt out by interrogating Samuel, one of Johnny’s security guards–someone finally remembered Johnny Jefferson riding in.

  Samuel went to collect the bike for me. He’s a bit of a motorbike buff, I’d discovered, when Rosa pointed me in his direction. Just as well she did, because Paola’s manual mentions nothing about Johnny’s modes of transport. Tut tut.

  But back to Facebook. What am I supposed to do here? Poke seven thousand nine hundred and eighty-one people back? Join four hundred and fifty-nine pirate ships? What the hell does being a ‘pirate’ mean, anyway? I bloody knew I should have signed up to Facebook when I worked for Marie. But then, I suppose, if I had, I might not have been so efficient, and therefore might not have got this job. See? Told you I was a pragmatist.

  I know: I’ll call Bess. She’s a Facebook nut.

  ‘Hey, how are you?’ I ask.

  ‘Terrible. Some bloody bastard just gave me his seat on the tube,’ she replies.

  ‘Why does that make him a bastard?’

  ‘He thought I was pregnant, the wanker!’

  ‘Oh. Bugger.’

  ‘Yes, bugger,’ she says.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I took the seat,’ she says, flippantly.

  ‘Did you really?’

  ‘Anyway, enough about me, goddammit! Tell me about Johnny! Do you still fancy him?’

  ‘I never said I fancied him in the first place!’ I respond, voice rising an octave or so.