Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (51 page)

‘I do.’ James lifted the lid and played a few soft chords. In the darkened room, watching James play the piano, I felt a million miles away from all of it. From the pictures on the website, from Alex, from Mary. I placed my fingers on the cool piano keys and stared at the keyboard.

‘You play?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I can’t even play the recorder.’

‘You sing?’ he asked.

I looked up into his dark blue eyes and laughed out loud. ‘No, I can’t sing,’ I spluttered. ‘Oh my God, stop it. Didn’t we come here to do an interview?’

‘Yes.’ He closed the piano lid. ‘I just feel a bit of a fraud doing the whole “ac-tor” interview thing with you. It’s the journos that create the persona, you know. It’s their questions that bring on the whole “I love the smell of the ocean at midnight” bollocks.’

‘Can I quote you on that?’ I asked. ‘Because I don’t have any questions about the smell of the ocean at any time and that sounded pretty good to me.’

‘OK, let’s do it this way,’ James said. ‘You ask me a question and then I’ll ask you a question. That should take the pressure off?’

‘And give me some ideas for more questions,’ I agreed, rummaging in the bottom of my (full of rubbish but never a pen when you needed it) bag. ‘Since you threw my Dictaphone in the Pacific Ocean, I have been reduced to shorthand, so go slow.’

‘I’ll go however fast or slow you want me to go.’

I refused to blush. Refused.

‘So, old Jim Jacobs,’ I cleared my throat and put on my most professional face. ‘Desert Island Discs time. Your three favourite albums?’

‘Easy and, I’m sorry to say it, not that original.’ James gave me a mock yawn. ‘The Smiths, The Smiths, Nirvana, Nevermind and Pulp, Different Class. Because I know you’re going to make a big deal of me being from Sheffield.’

‘You could have gone for Def Leppard,’ I replied, scribbling down his answers and wondering whether or not they would actually be on his ‘most played’ list if I checked out his iPod. Like they would be on mine.

‘My turn,’ James stretched his arms out above his head, stretching out his moment. ‘Angela Clark, why are you so bothered about what other people think?’

‘You could just ask me my three favourite films,’ I stalled.

‘Answer, please.’

‘Easy and, I’m sorry to say, not that original,’ I mirrored his stretch and pulled my hair back into a ponytail before letting it fall back down. ‘I’m not bothered. My turn.’

‘I don’t think so.’ James shook his head. ‘Do you think I didn’t notice you freaking out when those girls were looking at us outside the yoghurt place? And even though I’ve told you about a million times that your job is safe, you’re still worrying about the interview, about the magazine. So don’t tell me you’re not bothered.’

‘You didn’t tell me I had to be honest.’ I pulled a stray strand of hair out of my lip gloss. I would never be a lady. ‘You just said I had to answer your question and I answered.’

‘OK then. Your turn.’

‘Right,’ I said, surprised. I hadn’t really expected to get off that lightly but I wasn’t about to push my luck. ‘Three things you can’t be without when you’re travelling.’

‘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 you 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?

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?’