“Um, really? Wow, thanks, Laura. I appreciate that. It’ll be nice to have one person not yelling at me.”
She laughed, and it sounded real.
I felt a bit better after talking to her, one human being to another, but her good work was undone when she said to me, “Are you ready to be the new It Guy?”
“Pardon?”
She sighed. “Miles, I don’t think you realize how this is going to affect you. This role will change your life. Are you ready for that?”
My throat went dry. I couldn’t speak so I just shook my head. Her pitying look told me more than her words.
We were interrupted by the assistant producer’s voice, which seemed to come from a long way away.
“Two minutes, Mr. Stephens.”
My hands were ice cold. I noticed, dispassionately, that Rhonda looked worried. I guessed that wasn’t good.
The AP was waving at me to follow her, and I vaguely heard my name across the set’s microphones. Ellen was doing her intro.
“We’re about to meet the guy who’s going to bring us heaven on earth – or not, if the fans have anything to do with it. He’s no angel… he’s Miles Stephens!”
I walked forward, somehow my legs responding to the distant commands of my brain. Suddenly Clare grabbed me and kissed me.
“You look effing hot, Miles!”
Her words made me smile as I walked out onto the set, and I held them as a talisman against making a complete sodding arse of myself.
As I approached the stage, I could hear a few cheers and a lot of booing and catcalls. Bastards! How would they feel walking out to that? Hellfire! There were a lot of people in the audience.
Ellen gave me a big, friendly smile, and reached up to kiss me on the cheek. I half-fell into the armchair next to her and couldn’t help returning her grin.
Ellen: [ironic tone] I hope you enjoyed our warm welcome here, Miles!
Miles: Kind of reminds me of my last job.
Ellen: Oh really? How’s that.
Miles: I was fired.
Ellen: [laughs] Well, congratulations on the new film role – the male lead in Laura Dorien’s bestseller, Dazzled. Are you nervous? Playing Nuriel is a pretty big deal for the fans of the book.
Miles: I wasn’t, but, yeah, I’m pretty nervous now.
Ellen: The fan sites haven’t been very complimentary – how much does that bother you?
Miles: Usually people wait to see me act before they hate me. But no, I get it: everyone has their own view of what Nuriel should be like.
Ellen: I understand that Laura Dorien is a fan of yours?
Miles: I met her today for the first time and she was really nice. She talked to me about the book and my character… yeah, it helped a lot. She was great.
Ellen: There’s been quite a lot of negative press – you being a Brit, for one thing, and for not being pretty enough, which seems bizarre now we’ve met. How do you feel about that? I mean, it must be kind of upsetting.
Miles: Well, yeah, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll just play the role as best I can and hope the fans like it.
Ellen: And I believe Lilia Purcell who’s playing Esther is supporting you?
Miles: She’s great. I mean, I only met her at the audition, and once since, but I’ve been told that she said she wanted to work with me, which is pretty amazing. So, yeah, she’s… great.
Ellen: I have a feeling that when this film comes out a lot of women are going to be throwing themselves at you.
Miles: That would make a nice change. They usually run in the opposite direction, screaming.
Ellen: [laughs] Oh, I think there’ll be a lot of screaming.
Miles: I’m used to women screaming at me – I mean, in relationships I always seem to have a woman scream at me. Quite often they throw stuff, too. I’ve learned to duck.
Ellen: [laughs] I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that! And I think we should just get some details here – are you single?
Miles: Yep. Definitely single.
Ellen: Oh? Definitely single. Not just a little bit single?
Miles: I can’t remember the last time I had a date.
Ellen: I find that hard to believe. You’re not a relationship kind of guy?
Miles: Oh, yeah! I just can’t find anyone to commit to me. But then again a woman who commits to me probably should be committed.
Ellen: Well, just in case there are any ladies out there who’d like to commit, are you living in LA now?
Miles: I guess, sort of. I mean, everything is rented, even my phone. Oh yeah, even the sheets on my bed. I don’t own anything.
Ellen: Wow! That sounds kinda sad. Do you rent your car?
Miles: Actually, I’m still learning to drive.
Ellen: Seriously?
Miles: I never needed to before.
Ellen: So, what… you get the bus?
Miles: Sure… Oh, you think that makes me sound like a total loser?
Ellen: [laughs]
Miles: In London there’s no point having a car. I walk, get the bus or take the Tube. But I’ll definitely need to drive, living out here.
Ellen: Don’t take the bus, man! You need to try and, you know, own some stuff!
Miles: I haven’t even got an adaptor for my iPod yet. That’s the first thing I’ve got to do.
Ellen: What sort of music do you like?
Miles: Lots of things, I’m pretty eclectic when it comes to music, but jazz, mainly.
Ellen: Like Miles Davis, by any chance?
Miles: Oh yeah! My mum named me after him.
Ellen: That’s great. Your parents must be really proud of you.
Miles: I don’t think mum really knows what I do. She’s a bit bemused by it all. Mind you, so am I. Just generally dazed and confused.
Ellen: Or maybe dazzled? [laughter] I feel like that every morning when I wake up. [laughs] Well, Miles, I’ve got some questions here for you that viewers have emailed in. Mercedes from San Diego wants to know, ‘What is your idea of the perfect date?’
Miles: Anyone who’ll go out with me, pretty much. [laughter] Er, somewhere with music – and food. I’m a big fan of food, although I can’t cook.
Ellen: [laughs] Who’s taking care of you, man?
Miles: I don’t know! No one – oh, my best friend flew out for a few weeks. We’ll get takeout.
Ellen: Okay, here’s another one. Gina from Cleveland says, ‘millions of teenage girls have a crush on Nuriel: who did you have a crush on when you were 15?’
Miles: Hermione from the Harry Potter films.
Ellen: You like brainy women?
Miles: Definitely: someone has to have the brains in a relationship, don’t they?
Ellen: [laughs] That’s the rumor – works for me! [pause] Well, we have a tradition on Ellen that everyone gets a gift of Ellen underwear.
Miles: You’re kidding? Fantastic! Even my underpants are rented.
Ellen: Wow! Too much information! Well, these will come in handy. [Hands Miles a pair of Ellen boxer briefs, with the words ‘I’m no Angel’ printed on the ass end.]
Miles: Those are wicked! I mean, they’re great! Thank you very much! I shall wear them always.
Ellen: [laughs] Miles, it’s been a pleasure. You are one charming guy! I hope you’ll come back and talk to us once Dazzled has been released. Miles Stephens, ladies and gentlemen!
[Applause. Go to commercial.]
Clare
I was so proud! Miles had charmed the pants off Ellen (pun intended). His agent, Rhonda, was beaming with relief, and there were no more boos as he left the stage.
“Miles!” Rhonda was bellowing and rugby tackled him when he walked back into the green room. “You nailed it, baby!”
Suddenly, everyone was smiling and relaxed. Miles looked slightly dazed but delighted with his free gift. I tried to banish the thought of what he’d look like wearing them. Just them.
Rhonda’s phone buzzed. She had an intense conversation that se
emed to consist of ‘Uh-huh’.
Miles watched her anxiously.
Finally, she ended the call, closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them again, a broad grin stretched across her face.
“Miles, that was Hyde. You aced that interview: the studio is pleased. Twitter is trending that the audience loved you. Well done.”
Relief.
[Fade to black.]
The Color of Money
Clare
We celebrated with beer at a small bar not far from the apartment. It was one where they didn’t check ID until later on in the evening. I just couldn’t get used to that – back home, we’d been sneaking into pubs since Miles was 15. And it had been legal since we were 18. I would be legal to drink in the US just before Christmas, but Miles’ 21 birthday wasn’t until Easter next year. We were way underage. Oh well, I’d always wanted to be a bad influence.
The hostess greeted Miles by name, a hungry look in her eyes. As usual, he didn’t notice. As usual, I was amused and irritated.
And jealous.
As usual.
Then two hideously underdressed women of about my age came over ‘to say hi’. Yeah, right. They were all miniskirts, strappy t-shirts and enough mascara to make a drag-queen blush. Tramps. Oh, and they were fans of the Dazzled books and had just watched Miles’ interview with Ellen. They couldn’t wait to tell him that he’d won them over.
“You’re so cute! I love your accent!”
“Oh, me, too! It sounds so gentlemanly!”
Miles smiled shyly and they melted. The Miles Stephens’ effect, ladies. Join the queue.
Do women still swoon? I didn’t know – I was having a Mr. Darcy moment myself.
Miles hadn’t changed out of his sharp interview suit, although he’d loosened the tie and rolled up the shirtsleeves, exposing his muscled forearms. The women insisted on having their photos taken with him and, of course, Miles obliged, because he really was a gentleman. He couldn’t help it, bless him. My job, naturally, was to take the photos – otherwise I was wallpaper as far as those hideous hags were concerned. Eventually even their pea-brains seemed to realize that Miles wasn’t encouraging them, and they stumbled away on their sky-high heels that made their feet look like pig’s trotters. They seemed star-struck and were giggling to themselves.
Rhonda was uncharacteristically fuzzy. She kicked off her Manolos and was drinking beer from a bottle. I liked her a little bit more.
She peered myopically at her iPhone when it buzzed gently.
“I’ve had a text from Lilia’s agent, Todd Williams. You’re invited to a pool party at Lilia’s tomorrow. That’s good – give you kids a chance to get to know each other a bit more before filming.”
Miles looked surprised but pleased.
“She’s got a swimming pool?”
Rhonda sighed and shook her head, but she was still smiling.
“Miles, even janitors have pools in LA.”
“Yeah, but it’s cool! What time does she want us there?”
Rhonda frowned. “The invite is for you, Miles.” She threw a chilly look at me, “Not your friend.”
Okay, not liking her as much now, frosty faced troll.
Miles pouted. Damn, that was sexy!
“I’m not going without Clare.”
Really? Wow!
Rhonda was instantly back into pit bull mode.
“Look, Miles, you have to think of these opportunities as work. I’m serious – this movie is a multimillion dollar deal. Every time you leave your apartment, you’re on show. Get it?”
He started to protest, but she cut him off.
“Don’t be naïve. This is how it is. Just get your ass over there – and make sure you look good.”
He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.
“No. Not without Clare.”
I couldn’t help a small smile, and Rhonda scowled at me.
“Don’t blow this deal, Miles.”
Her voice was low, the warning implicit.
“Don’t tell me who I can have as a friend, Rhonda.”
Miles’ voice was quiet but authoritative, and Rhonda’s eyebrows hit her hairline. I could hug you, Miles! And kiss you. Maybe also…
Rhonda flung me an angry look.
“Fine. Fine. Just don’t get in his way, Clare. This is Miles’ chance – don’t screw it up for him.”
“As if I would!” Hairy-arsed hobbit!
“And for crissake, dress the part, can’t you?”
“It’s a fucking pool party, Rhonda, not a fashion shoot,” said Miles in a milder tone, his anger evaporating with her tacit agreement.
“My way or the highway, Miles. Clare needs to look the part – as much as she can.”
Cheek! What was I – chopped liver?
“That means a morning in the beauty salon, at least,” Rhonda growled.
A wicked grin spread across Miles’ lovely face. “Yeah! The beauty parlor! Payback time, Clare!”
“No bloody way!” My protest was overly loud, and several people turned to look at us curiously. But Miles wasn’t backing down.
“I had to do it, Clare, and you told me I was being a wuss. Aren’t you up to the challenge?”
Bastard. He knew me so well.
“Fine. I’ll do the bloody salon. But nobody, nobody, can make me wear a bikini!”
“Trust me, honey, we’ll all be grateful for that,” said Rhonda.
Snarky bint.
I was splayed out, legs open wide and feeling more than a bit vulnerable.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Bloody hell!”
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
I leaned up on my elbows, pain pulsing through me.
“Am I okay? Do I bloody sound okay?! I thought you were waxing my legs? Not…”
I couldn’t continue. The salon beautician was looking at me in complete bemusement. The sadistic bitch had just poured hot wax over my pubes and she was asking me if I was okay?!
“Do you want me to continue now, ma’am?”
“No! I only wanted my legs waxed! Can you just get it off?”
She sucked her teeth. “I don’t know: no one has ever asked me to.”
Bloody, bloody hell!
“Oh, for God’s sake – just rip it off then.”
She pursed her lips, applied the gauze and…
“Aaaaaaagh!”
I looked down at myself. It was a bizarre sight. Half my thatch had been shorn, the other half was as luxuriant and wayward as ever. Half my nether regions were glowing pink, unattractively speckled from having the pubes torn out, and as hairless as the day I was born.
“Do you want me to finish your Brazilian, ma’am?”
The cow was laughing at me.
“Well, I can’t go around looking like a monk with a bad tonsure!”
She smiled icily and ripped off another patch of hair. The pain was off the Richter scale. It was a Brazilian alright – a bloody Brazilian rainforest where there’d been illegal logging. I couldn’t believe men were turned on by this. Bloody perverts! Men didn’t go around having their balls waxed …or did they? Suddenly I wasn’t so sure – this was LA after all. I made a mental note to ask Miles, although he might not tell me. Hmm.
When I limped back into the reception area, walking like I’d just got off my camel, Miles was lounging in a chair reading a paperback, Running the Voodoo Down. About jazz. Again.
His eyes opened wide when he saw me.
“Blimey, Clare! You look…”
“I know, I know. You don’t have to rub it in.”
I’d been cut and styled, highlighted and blow-dried, primped, preened, spray-tanned and subjected to torture that ought to be forbidden under the Geneva Convention.
“No, no! You look… good!”
I blinked at him a few times. He seemed serious.
“Good?”
“Yeah, not like yourself at all.”
I watched the sudden color rising in his cheeks as he realized what he’d said. r />
“Thank you, Mr. Tact and Diplomacy.”
He winced.
“Oh come on, I didn’t mean it like that.”
I wished I could say that I swanned out of the salon, my head held high. The truth was I could barely walk without feeling an unpleasant burning sensation.
Miles frowned.
“What’s wrong with your feet?”
I stared down at my pedicure. “Nothing. Why?”
“You’re walking funny.”
I said nothing, but blushed the color of a fire hydrant.
Miles hailed a taxi and I climbed in awkwardly. I was wearing an unaccustomed dress. I mean, I wasn’t used to wearing a dress and it was a new dress: unaccustomed times two. So, what with the dress (unaccustomed as I was), and what with my recent deforestation, I was feeling more exposed than usual. I knew I was going to look plain and dumpy next to every woman at that pool party, and I hated the fact that I’d been forced to ‘make an effort’. I felt fake and irritated with myself and everyone else. I envied Miles his casual t-shirt and board shorts – damn he looked good. But it was really beginning to sink in now, what he’d been trying to tell me about living out in this weird fishbowl: the show was everything.
“What’s the matter?”
“I look like a friggin’ cupcake in this dress!” I snorted, tugging at the too-short, frothy skirt.
Miles smirked at me. “Nah, you look fine.”
Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he? If he wanted to keep his teeth attached to his jaw.
The taxi wound its way into the hills until it pulled up at the gates of an enormous faux chateau. You know the kind, you’ve seen it on Homes of the Stars: huge, synthetic, utterly tasteless. A bit like Lilia herself, now you mention it. Okay, okay, so I may have been a touch jealous of the frowzy mare.
Miles
It was weird seeing Clare dressed like such a girl. I knew she was a girl, obviously, but she’d always been like another mate. My best mate, but an honorary bloke. I couldn’t get over seeing her all girly – it just… wasn’t right. And I could tell it made her uncomfortable because she’d been twitching and shifting around in her seat the whole journey. Thank God we’d arrived – she was making me nervous.