I Heart Hollywood (14 page)

‘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 outside. 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?’

All six-foot-something of James Jacobs stood squarely between me and the door, staring me down with an intensity I usually saved for the person in the queue between me and the last espresso brownie in Starbucks. And I wasn’t sure if I was the person or the brownie. ‘Do you really want to leave?’

No no no no no no no no no no.

‘Yes.’ Wow, who knew I was so strong?

‘Then I’ll call a car to come to the back of the bungalow,’ he said, breathing out and letting his shoulders drop. ‘They should have something that won’t attract attention. I left the phone in the bedroom.’

I realized I hadn’t breathed out since I’d said I wanted to leave and the zip on my bag was cutting into my hand, I was clutching it so tightly. This was horrible. How could I even be thinking these things about James when Alex was at home in New York, just waiting for me to call. Probably. He just wasn’t desperate to call me. Or tell me he loved me. Or even come to LA with me. Whereas James seemed relatively keen for me not to leave for one reason or another. Surely ninety-nine out of a hundred girls in this situation would stay, boyfriend be damned. Maybe if I talked to the boyfriend quickly, it would be easier.

I released my vice-like grip on my bag and pulled out my mobile. Yes, it was four a.m. in New York, but he wouldn’t mind a quick call. And tough luck if he did.

‘Hello?’

‘Alex, it’s me,’ I gushed. ‘I’m sorry; I suppose I didn’t expect you to answer. I’m just having the most chaotic night and—’