Dazzled

  Very green? Oh crap!

  Lilia raised her eyebrows and seemed to be trying to rein in a smile. Rhonda’s mouth snapped shut so hard I thought she’d break a tooth. Or a tusk.

  “Shall we go? Miles?”

  Lilia was waiting for something, staring at me expectantly.

  “Miles,” snarled Rhonda. “I think Lilia would like to take your fucking arm!”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  “Now listen: when you get to the venue, get out of the car first then stand aside and let Lilia get her shots on the red carpet. She’ll let you know when she’s done, then you’ll offer her your arm and escort her inside. Got that, Miles? It’s not rocket science. Follow her lead: at least Lilia knows what the fuck she’s doing.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got the picture.”

  She softened slightly. “I know you haven’t done this before, but you’ll be fine.”

  “You’re not coming with us?”

  Suddenly, I felt panicky.

  “I’ll meet you there, Miles. No one wants pictures of my wizened ass.”

  Which was true. I’d actually pay money not to see photos of Rhonda’s ass, in any state.

  We walked to the hotel entrance and I could feel every eyeball staring, or popping, possibly. Several flashes of light followed us as people took snaps with their camera phones. I couldn’t help tensing up.

  “Just keep smiling, Miles,” whispered Lilia, out of the corner of her mouth.

  Easier said than done when I felt like puking.

  I helped her into the limo that was waiting for us. I found myself missing Earl. The new driver didn’t speak, just pulled out into the evening traffic. My stomach rumbled again, and Lilia looked at me quizzically.

  “Yeah, sorry. I haven’t had a chance to eat today. I’m starving.”

  “Hmm, they probably want to keep you mean and lean. There’ll be canapés tonight, but nobody ever eats them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, the whole possibility of getting caught on camera with food in your teeth or crumbs on your clothes; plus, everybody is on a diet.”

  Oh.

  “Except you.”

  Oh.

  The journey was short, mercifully, because I had no idea what to say to Lilia. She stared out of the window, frowning slightly, and I really, really wished the limo had a drinks cabinet.

  As we approached the hotel hosting the awards ceremony, the sound increased block by block. Soon, the yelling was appalling and I was on my last nerve by the time the limo slowed to a halt. Plus, driving up to a face full of flashing cameras was just damn scary. I felt like a Christian arriving at the Coliseum. Lilia was relaxed, but my heart was racing like I’d just met scary Miley Cyrus in a dark alley.

  Lilia leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “You’ll be fine.”

  And with the touch of her lips, my heart rate spiked. It was possible I’d have a stroke, right there on the red carpet. I wondered how much the paparazzi would get for photographs of that. I guess it depended on whether or not Lilia would give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

  A valet opened the door and I stepped out first, then turned to help Lilia. I was nearly blinded by all the camera flashes. I tried to smile, but my face was impossibly frozen.

  Lilia posed and pirouetted for the cameras, and I stood there, as useful as a ham sandwich at a Bar Mitzvah.

  Eventually she signaled for me to join her. Another barrage of lights flashed our way and this time the paparazzi yelled out.

  “Who’s the guy, Lilia? Are you two dating? What’s the story?”

  She smiled without replying, and towed me into the hotel, then turned and waved to her adoring public. And right then, with my cheek still burning from her kiss, I was one of them.

  Inside we were met by Rhonda. She must have come in the back exit. Her and her wizened ass. I really wished she hadn’t said that: I just couldn’t get the picture out of my mind. It was going to give me nightmares.

  She escorted us toward a group of well-oiled men poured into expensive tuxedos. I recognized Donald Hyde from Rhonda’s quick show-and-tell, and I guessed the rest were the other studio chiefs.

  Lilia air-kissed them all and soaked up the compliments. I was really going to have to learn how to do that. Then it was my turn. I didn’t air-kiss, of course: I wasn’t that much of a moron. I shook hands in a manly way.

  “This is our young British star, Miles Stephens.”

  That was fucking funny! Star? HA! Rhonda really knew how to talk the talk.

  We chatted superficially and I managed not to open my mouth to insert a foot. Rhonda gave me a small nod: it had gone well.

  I would have loved to say I relaxed after that, but once I’d been paraded, I was left by myself – Johnny no mates. In other words, I was completely ignored. Lilia was off being, well, Lilia – movie star, and Rhonda was schmoozing. Occasionally, she marched over and trotted me off to shake hands with some other suit, or kiss some woman with the shiny, stretched face of the over-botoxed brigade, which I was beginning to recognize.

  It was pretty cool though, for a lad from the wrong part of north London. I mean, there were a lot of serious stars there. I felt like I’d walked into a Hollywood who’s who of living waxworks.

  I swiped a passing glass of champagne and knocked it back. Big mistake. It went straight to my head, reminding me I hadn’t eaten for 24 hours. Lilia was right about the canapés: they were thin-looking things, the size of a dime, and designed to be eaten in one go. I vacuumed up half a tray, ignoring Rhonda’s warning stare then made my way to the men’s room. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t follow me.

  I pushed open the door and wandered in, one hand already on my zipper. My eyes bugged out and I think I spat out a few crumbs. Fuck me! I could not believe I was seeing that! And I really wished I hadn’t!

  A Very Famous Actor, well known for his ‘warm and affectionate marriage’ to a TV starlet, was in the throes of getting a blow job from a young, skinny woman in a shiny, sequined dress. Yeah, I noticed the dress.

  He came loudly while I was frozen to the spot. He opened his eyes and saw me. He gave his trademark, white-toothed grin.

  “Sometimes it’s great being me!”

  And then he winked.

  I tried to smile, backed out still apologizing, and reversed into Lilia.

  “Ouch! Watch where you’re stepping, Miles! Wow, you look pale – I mean, even paler than usual. Are you okay?”

  I couldn’t speak, and then the Very Famous Actor walked out followed by the skinny woman who looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, or anything else.

  “Oh,” said Lilia, a smile of understanding crossing her face. “Yeah, he does that. He’s known for it: it’s kinda his thing. Don’t worry about it.”

  I wasn’t worried – just in awe.

  I shook my head and she smiled at me sympathetically.

  “You having fun?”

  “Truthfully? Not as much as I thought I would. You know, meeting all these celebrities. No offence.”

  She laughed. “We’re just people, Miles. No more or less interesting than anyone else – just more famous. Sometimes it’s a real drag. I mean, we’re all so damn conservative. We can’t be seen to put a toe over the line or it’s professional suicide.”

  “Mr. Joe Blow doesn’t seem to care about that.”

  She smiled.

  “He’s a nut job. It’ll catch up with him one day – then all the rats will come out of the sewers. You’ll see. It’s all about how long you can get away with it. It’s a game for people like him. But no one gets away with it forever.”

  I found her words faintly depressing. Nothing was real here – especially not the smiles.

  And I was still hungry.

  Home Alone

  Clare

  I was trying hard to concentrate on my studies and the two essays I had to write: a structural comparison of Austen and Brontë, Charlotte; and… well, I won’t bore you with all that.


  Jess and Colin were sitting with me in the cafeteria drinking coffee. She was on the same course as me and Colin was studying… actually, I had no idea what he did. Mostly, he was a lazy tosser.

  It was supposed to be an informal study group, me and Jess, but we weren’t doing much work. It was near the end of term and we didn’t have exams, just those damned essays. Instead, Colin was editing Jess’s Facebook page with fictional updates and she was squawking away and giggling. It was irritating, you know, to be the third wheel. Again.

  I tried to find a more comfortable way of sitting on the hard chair and to lose myself in ‘Persuasion’. It was my favorite Jane Austen – about second chances, love second time around.

  “Hey, Clare!” Jess’s shrill voice set my teeth on edge. “Isn’t that your mate, Miles? Wow! He looks… wow! I mean, more than usual!”

  “What?”

  Jess’s eyes were nearly popping out of her head and even Colin looked slightly stunned – although he may have been slightly stoned; it wasn’t always easy to tell the difference, and what’s a vowel between friends?

  Jess swiveled her laptop around so I could see the video clip. It was some sort of Hollywood film awards. There was a red carpet, camera flashes going off and… holy shit! She was right. It was Miles – looking unbearably suave in a sharp, gray suit, polished shoes and… very, very blond. He was smiling, although I could tell he was uncomfortable, and he was leaning in toward some size zero airhead who was showing too much of her cleavage – what she had of one. Tramp.

  “That’s Lilia Purcell he’s standing next to!”

  Jess’s voice was awed.

  What? Who? What!

  Even I’d heard of Lilia Purcell.

  “You didn’t mention anything about this.” Jess’s voice was accusing.

  I was too hurt to tell the truth – that I hadn’t known – so I adopted a dismissive tone.

  “I wasn’t allowed to say anything. All very hush-hush.”

  “So, are they, like, dating?” Jess cut to the chase.

  “No!” My voice was too loud, and Jess blinked. “They just met… at some event. Miles is out there auditioning for a film part.”

  “Cool! She’s a babe.”

  That was Colin’s contribution to a conversation that sliced through me. Why didn’t Miles tell me? Why hadn’t he been in touch again?

  Because his life is a damn sight more interesting that yours. I couldn’t help thinking that. Sod it. Sod him.

  I made my excuses and left them drooling over the short clip and scanning websites for further information. I didn’t want to know. That was a lie. I did. Very much.

  Back home I turned on my laptop and decided to torture myself by Googling everything I could find about Lilia Purcell and watching that clip over and over again.

  I scowled at the screen and felt like slamming the laptop shut, unable to bear the way the slut had her arm hooked around Miles’ waist. But taking out my pique on a piece of harmless technology wasn’t really the answer.

  Suddenly an email dropped into my inbox. It was from Miles. My stomach jolted pleasantly and I felt like all my innards had been rearranged. I was irritated by my own reaction: Miles isn’t, wasn’t and never would be mine. Get over it!

  To: CMilton93

  From: Milesb4isleep

  Sent: Tuesday 3 PM

  Subject: Holy Shit!

  Hey hon!

  His casual use of that endearment both thrilled me and chilled me.

  So I got around to using the email you set up for me. Im here in la-la land hanging out with the rich and famous. Seriously! Can you believe it? Ive attached a foto from last night. My agent got me an invite to this swanky awards thing and it was unbelievable. A real red carpet – the works! You have no idea how short so many famous people are in real life. And the women!

  I’m not sure I wanted to read the next sentence.

  They take the whole size zero to a new level – there all skin and bone and up close its really unattractive. I wonder if they ever eat? Im starving – there wasn’t any real food at this thing. You would of hated it.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I wondered if he thought I was fat. Well, I was fat – compared to the lollipop-head clones. I hated diets – they made me depressed, and hungry.

  Rhonda, my LA agent, made me spend the whole afternoon in a effing beauty salon. Can you believe it?

  Not really. He was so beautiful already…

  Ive had my first ever manicure…

  I’ve never had a manicure…

  And they even waxed my bleedin eyebrows!

  What?!

  But I got a wet shave and hot towels, too, which was flippin fabulous. Oh, and they dyed (sp?) my hair blond. It feels wierd but I dont have to look at myself so Im not gonna stress it.

  I could look at him all day.

  But the best thing – the most amazing thing – is that I met Lilia Purcell. I had my audition with her. She was a bit of a cold cow at first, but she really liked what I did in the audition and shes told the studio heads that she wants me for the role! Can you believe it?

  Yes. Harlot. And I bet that’s not all she wants.

  And I really liked Jo-Anne Moody, the director. The whole idea of the makeover was to show that I scrub up okay, I think. If I get this job Ill have to shave every day. What a pain.

  Do you shave every day? ;)

  Love ya!

  Mx

  I love you, too, Miles, you annoying, irritating, stupid, stupid man! And when are you going to learn to spell?!

  Miles

  Day four in LA.

  I was woken up by Adelita, Rhonda’s maid, banging on my door.

  “Mr. Miles! Mr. Miles! Telefon! Telefon!”

  She opened the door and peered in. Shit! I was sleeping naked. Some privacy, please! She crossed herself again and scuttled out, pulling the door behind her, but it was still ajar and she was still yelling at me. I scrabbled around in a heap of clothes and pulled on a pair of jeans.

  Adelita was waiting at the door, clutching a cordless phone. She shoved it into my hand and backed away from me, looking as if she thought I might assault her virtue, or that my head might start revolving.

  “Hello?”

  “Miles. Get your pale, limey ass over here now,” Rhonda bawled down the phone. “I’ve sent a car for you. Take a shower. Wear the suit. You’ve got four minutes. And have a fucking shave!”

  The phone went dead and I was still trying to think what came after ‘hello’. Finally my brain connected with the parts that moved and I hustled. Rhonda sounded as cheerful as a hungry grizzly with poison ivy up its jacksy.

  Earl was waiting for me with the same sardonic smile on his face.

  “Hi, Earl,” I wheezed, skidding to a stop at the car. Nine minutes, and I didn’t cut my throat shaving – not bad.

  “Another day in Paradise,” he said, holding back a smile.

  I smirked and climbed into the back seat.

  “Got something special for you, son,” he said, and pressed a button on the steering wheel.

  I listened for a moment.

  “Bud Shank?”

  He chuckled quietly. “White boy – like you.”

  Ten minutes later, we were pulling up to the security gate at the studio. Earl flashed some ID, the barrier was raised, and we were through. I felt the familiar tensing of my stomach muscles, the tremor of nerves, and I had to remind myself, don’t talk shit, don’t talk too much. I wished Clare was here – she’d say something to help chill me out. But she wasn’t. There was no one. I had no friends in LA, only people I worked with, or rather people I might work with. And that was a whole different ballgame.

  Earl was cool. So maybe…

  Perched at the reception desk was a permatanned woman with a cloud of peroxide hair, and candy pink fingernails that flexed like talons. Despite her seriously scary appearance, she gave me a reassuring smile. It reminded me of mum.

  I tried to smile back but my face was f
rozen in what was probably an expression of abject horror. Or maybe I just looked like my usual moronic self.

  A size-0000000 assistant, who had overdone the perfume big time, showed me up to ‘Mr. Hyde’s office’. I wondered, absently, if Mr. Jekyll was in the room next door. I must NOT say that out loud.

  “There he is! Come on in, Miles.”

  Rhonda welcomed me warmly. It was unnerving. She seemed… what was the female of ‘avuncular’? Aunticular? Clare would know – but I didn’t. I realized that the thought alone meant that half my brain was in terrified denial. I tried to tell myself, it’s just another fucking job, but I was a sodding awful liar. Yeah, and a third rate actor, my Id spat at me, the sour-faced git. My balls had shrunk in terror at the sound of Rhonda’s not-so-dulcet tones.

  Donald Hyde stood and offered me a firm, practiced handshake. He’d had a manicure, too.

  “Welcome, Miles. Good to see you again. I hope you had a pleasant evening last night. Please, take a seat.”

  Rhonda was beaming. It was eerie. Then I spotted Jo-Anne Moody on the other side of the room, and she winked and gave me the international hand gesture where her thumb and forefinger made a circle. I thought it meant ‘okay’ – either that or ‘butt monkey’, depending on which country you were in.

  “So, we’ve reviewed the screen test,” said Hyde, “and we think you’re the guy who’s gonna bring Nuriel to life for us. Congratulations, Miles, I think you’ll dazzle us!”

  I stared back. Was it possible to be recklessly speechless? Oh, he made a joke – I should laugh.

  “I think you could say he’s a little overwhelmed,” said Rhonda, kicking my ankle hard.

  Rhonda’s sudden assault took me by surprise. It must have looked like I’d just tried to dive onto the floor.

  “Er, thanks,” I managed to cough, while rubbing my ankle. “That’s… really…”

  Disbelief, gratitude, awe and sheer blind panic flooded through me.

  “Well done, Miles,” said Jo-Anne, strolling over and smiling down at me. “I’ll be finishing pre-production this week and we can start shooting in a month. We’ve really taken it to the thirteenth hour trying to find our Nuriel: I’m glad we got there at last! I’ll messenger over a copy of the final script this evening.”