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‘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—’
‘Angela?’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s four in the morning.’
‘I know.’
‘What do you want?’
I bit my lip. ‘I just wanted to speak to you. Tell you I missed you.’
‘Are you drunk?’
‘No,’ I frowned. ‘I’m just having a bit of a nightmare evening. We were out and James got into a fight and then there were loads of paparazzi—’
‘Seriously, Angela, I’m sleeping. Call me tomorrow, OK?’ Alex sighed.
I tried not to be stung. He was perfectly within his rights to be a bit peeved but I had been hoping he might have thought my spontaneous call was cute. He certainly seemed to think it was acceptable to turn up on my doorstep at all hours of the night. Surely just calling to tell someone you missed them at four a.m. was romantic? ‘OK,’ I muttered into the phone, ‘go back to sleep. I just wanted to say – I just thought I’d call and … well, I love you.’
‘What?’ he suddenly sounded considerably more awake.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow, go back to sleep. Bye.’ I hung up, threw my phone back into my bag as if it was on fire and clapped a hand over my mouth. How had that snuck out?
‘Did you say something?’ James asked, appearing back at my side.
Before I could answer, the hotel phone rang once and then stopped. ‘That’s your car,’ James said, taking my arm and leading me towards the back door of the bungalow. ‘So, we’re not meeting tomorrow, right? Unless you want to come and watch me in make-up testing?’
I shrugged. I had been known to enjoy a touch of guyliner. Had I really just told Alex I loved him?
‘So I’ll collect you Wednesday morning. Eleven OK?’
‘Fine,’ I said, stumbling the short distance between the back door and the open crack of the waiting car’s back door.
‘And don’t worry about anything,’ James said, closing the door behind me. ‘Tonight was just a standard Monday, as depressing as that is. Get some sleep.’ He leaned in the window, gave me a soft, warm kiss on the cheek and then slapped the top of the car.
If all my Mondays were this eventful, I thought drowsily as we pulled out of the hotel and onto Sunset Boulevard, I’d need to get more than ‘some’ sleep to make it through my week.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Without the paparazzi chasing me, the ride back to The Hollywood seemed to take for ever. Eventually, we rolled up to the door and I rolled through the lobby and up to my room, dog-tired and desperate for sleep.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’
Sleep, I was apparently not going to get. Jenny was standing in the middle of my room, looking absolutely wild.
‘Jenny.’
‘Don’t you fucking “Jenny” me,’ she ranted, stamping her tiny foot. ‘You left me in that club! Left me on the floor to run off with that asshole. I cannot believe you.’
‘I didn’t run off, I was carried off,’ I started, afraid to get too close. Jenny was holding her shoes in one hand, which made her both quicker than me and in possession of a deadly weapon. I’d done enough damage with a pair of stilettos in my own time to know how dangerous they could be. ‘Jenny, I feel horrible, I’m so sorry. But James said you’d be OK and honestly, you didn’t want to be with us—’
‘Oh “James said”?’ she yelled, throwing one of the shoes at me. I dodged; at least she was one weapon down. ‘Well, if James said, then I’m sure it was fine that you left me on the floor of a club, soaked through with some dick’s drink. I don’t believe this. You spend one day with some sonofabitch movie star and you’re acting like a total bitch?’
‘OK, that’s not too harsh? I didn’t have any choice in the matter of leaving you. Unless you didn’t notice, I didn’t exactly swan out of there on my own feet. And I think you’re mistaking James for that dickhead, Joe. He was the one throwing drinks around.’
‘Only because that Blake asshole was getting in his face.’ Jenny brandished the other shoe. It was not fun being on the other end of this. ‘They were both being totally rude to Joe the whole evening. They were totally looking down on him because he’s a barman, even though it’s so obvious they’re just jealous. Joe could so be bigger than James Jacobs if he wanted.’
‘How are you coming up with this stuff?’ I asked, throwing my bag down on the bed and kicking off my own shoes … but keeping them close in case we ended up duelling with them later. ‘Joe had a problem with James and Blake, especially Blake, from the second he got in the car. Before then, even. He was being weird about them this afternoon; I only invited him for your sake.’
‘You think I need you to get me pity dates? Like, Joe only came because you asked him? Oh my God, who do you think you are?’
‘Jenny,’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t do this. I’m tired and you’re being ridiculous. Why don’t we just go to bed and talk about this tomorrow?’
‘Now I’m ridiculous?’ The other shoe flew past my head and hit the door. ‘What’s ridiculous is you. We’ve been in LA two days; you’ve blown me off twice and then you left me on the floor of a club in front of dozens of people. That is ridiculous. You are ridiculous.’
‘Jenny, I’m sorry,’ I really, really wanted to sleep. ‘I’m sorry I blew you out but I was tired and a bit drunk. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back for you but we got chased by the paparazzi and I was stuck in the hotel. And I’m sorry you think I’m blowing you off for James – I’m absolutely not, but it’s my job to interview him. That’s why we’re here, remember? So I do have to spend time with him. I wish I could just hang out with you instead. I really do.’
‘Whatever,’ she bristled, hands planted on her hips. ‘I cannot believe you left me. That Blake guy is an ass-hat.’
‘And Joe was totally out of order with Blake.’ I stood my ground. Hurricane Jenny just needed a slap sometimes. ‘And he got you back OK, didn’t he?’
‘If you mean, he dragged me up by my wrist and tossed me in a lift to find my own way back here, then yes,’ she pouted. ‘If you’re asking if he apologized for his pig-headed behaviour and then brought me back to the hotel, then no.’
‘I’m sorry, Jen, but Joe was being a bit of an idiot. But I know Blake can be difficult too. I’m sorry. I should have … I don’t know what I should have done. But I shouldn’t have left you.’
‘No, you shouldn’t.’ She dropped her arms to her sides. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have blown up. I’m tired, I guess. And cranky.’
‘Me too,’ I said, slowly crossing the room and sitting on the bed. Jenny collapsed backwards beside me. ‘Seriously, though, you need to sort out your temper. Do you think Oprah kicks off like this?’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ she said, wriggling out of her dress and under my covers. I was forgiven then. ‘But I’m telling you, Blake is a total asshole. And James should so ditch him. Joe says—’
‘Please, can we not?’ I sighed, pushing myself up and slipping off the dress to hang it. ‘Don’t go mental, but have you thought that Joe might be a bit jealous of James and was just taking it out on Blake?’
‘Whatever,’ Jenny yawned. ‘I’m still pissed but I’m also super-tired. Let’s talk about this tomorrow. Let’s do something fun.’
‘Uh, yes?’
‘Damn straight, yes,’ Jenny muttered into her pillow, flicking out the light without asking.
‘Night Jenny,’ I whispered, asleep before my head had even hit the pillow.
My alarm was set for nine, so I was completely confused as to what was making all the noise when the little alarm clock next to my bed said eight-twenty.
‘Turn off your freaking phone,’ Jenny mumbled into her pillow.
‘Who would be calling?’ I croaked, still shattered.
‘Meh? Alex?’
Oh shit, Alex.
I rolled out of bed and grabbed my bag from the floor. It was a 212 number but not Alex’s landline.
‘Hello?’
‘Angela Clark, would you like to explain to me what is happening over there?’ It was Mary. ‘Angela? Are you there? Or are you still too tired from your night of fucking up our lives to talk to me?’
‘Mary, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I rubbed my eyes. Ew, last night’s mascara.
‘I suggest you check, oh I don’t know, Perez Hilton, TMZ, maybe any other website in the entire world and then call me back with a really good excuse as to why I shouldn’t fire your ass.’
I blinked at the dead phone. What was she talking about? Crawling across to my computer, I quickly logged on and flipped to Perez. Which I may or may not have added to my bookmarks during my bout of James Jacobs research/worship.
And there it was. Or rather there they were. A picture of me and James sitting on the beach in Santa Monica. A shot of us eating at 25 Degrees. Him carrying me out of Teddy’s. James putting me in the car at Chateau by the supposed secret exit. Well, it turned out James was right: the pictures did look pretty bad. Especially when built into a completely fictitious photo-story of our alleged affair.
Sigh, Hollywood’s favourite British export, James Jacobs, is breaking our heart again! It must be at least a week since he was pictured getting hot and heavy with some skank in Hyde, but no, despite popular opinion, it hasn’t shrivelled up and fallen off. Looks like James is in love! The Casino Night star hit up several romantic LA hotspots with a new lady love yesterday. Word of advice, James – when you’ve gone to all the trouble of wooing a girl all day long, it’s not cool to get her in and out of your Chateau Marmont bungalow within an hour. Word on the set of his new movie, The Big Time, is that James takes longer to get his scenes in the can than anyone else on the film. At least he’s taking time to make sure the job is done better in at least one area of his life. Sorry, honey, James is all about his ‘craft’.
Oh shit. At least they hadn’t got the photo of me in James’s dressing gown. Yet. Scrambling into the bathroom, I dialled The Look and waited to be put through to Mary, not having a clue what to say.
‘This had better be good,’ she answered.
‘Mary, look, I’ve seen the pictures,’ I breathed in deeply, ‘and they’re not what it looks like at all. Honestly.’
‘That’s the best you can do?’
‘It’s the truth.’ I pulled a towel down from the rail and wrapped it around my legs. ‘Everything was above-board, it’s just how it looks on the internet. I don’t know what else to tell you. It’s rubbish, total rubbish.’
‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’
‘Yes?’ I pulled my shoulders up around my ears.
‘Well,’ Mary said after a long moment’s pause. ‘I guess this is what happens when we put inexperienced reporters on important assignments. What were you thinking going on a date with the story, Angela?’
‘A date? Me and James Jacobs? Come on, Mary,’ I tried to laugh. ‘The beach thing was part of the interview, James wanted to go do it there – do the interview there – and there were three other people with us at Teddy’s. Mary, I really don’t want you to think I’m mucking this up. The interview has been going great, honestly.’
‘Adding “honestly” to the end of every sentence isn’t going to stop me having to work my ass off to keep you on the interview. The only reason you’re not on a plane back right now is because we had an email from James’s people reiterating the fact that he wouldn’t speak to anyone else from the magazine.’
‘Seriously?’ I was surprised. When had he done that? Why had he done that?
‘So you can see why everyone in the entire office thinks that you’re, well, more than interviewing him.’ Mary did not sound at all impressed. Or convinced. ‘Angela, whatever’s happening over there, just be incredibly careful. This has not helped you here.’
‘Hones … Mary,’ I really couldn’t believe this was happening, ‘I am going to deliver the best interview you ever read. I promise. And there is nothing happening with James. You know me, I would never.’
‘Fine, just don’t let me down, Angela,’ Mary warned before hanging up.
Well, wasn’t this just perfect? I rested my suddenly thumping head against the cool glass screen of the shower and closed my eyes. And there was me worrying that I’d get fired because I’d upset James. But instead, every single person at The Look thought I’d boffed him and they wanted to sack me for that instead. What was I supposed to do? Before I could make a decision, my phone beeped into life again. Please don’t let Mary have changed her mind …
‘Hello?’
‘So, there are some real interesting photos online this morning,’ Alex said.
‘Yes, yes there are …’ This was so not the best-ever start to my day. I really hadn’t had time to think about how to broach this with Alex. I was still trying to work out what I was going to do about the ‘three little words’ situation. So I went for three different ones. ‘Isn’t it stupid?’
‘I don’t know, is it?’ He wasn’t exactly giving me a belly laugh.
‘Alex, you know those photos aren’t what they look like. It’s all just been part of the interview, that’s all, but I suppose that doesn’t make a very good story and God, I don’t know, maybe there isn’t enough news in the world this morning.’
‘I suppose not,’ he said without any emotion. It was horrible: he could at least have the decency to shout or call me a slag or something.
‘Seriously, it’s ridiculous. The magazine just called to say we might sue.’ OK, so not entirely true but I couldn’t stand this. ‘The whole thing is ridiculous. James got into a big fight with Jenny’s friend Joe in the club and that’s why we had to run out. And I got a drink spilt all over me and so James got my dress dry cleaned. This is what was happening when I called you last night. This is what I was trying to tell you about.’
‘That would be the phone call at four this morning?’
‘That would be the one,’ I said slowly. ‘I was having a horrible evening; I just wanted to talk to you. Sorry.’
No response.
‘How was your open mic thing?’
‘It was good.’ His voice was still measured and flat. ‘So what are the plans for today? Shopping for engagement rings? Quickie wedding in Vegas?’
‘Alex, there’s nothing going on with me and James. I know those stupid photos look like … something, but really there is nothing going on. All that I’ve done since I’ve got here is fail miserably as a interviewer, row with Jenny and try to call you. And to top it off, I’m this close to getting sacked.’ I felt sick saying it all out loud.
‘Just a tip on the interviewing thing – I’m pretty sure you don’t have to go back to the guy’s hotel room at one a.m.,’ Alex replied evenly. ‘I’ve always managed to keep my pants on in interviews.’
‘Really? Because I didn’t think you had such a great history at keeping your pants on.’ It was out before I’d thought about it. Such were the perils of being so bloody quick.
‘Right, there are pictures of you on the internet, whoring yourself all over LA with some asshole actor you just met, and you’re bringing up my past?’ At least I’d got his attention now. Shit. ‘Is this where I mention the part where you were dating someone else behind my back when we met?’
‘No, this is the point where you calm down and realize that this is all really stupid and that I wouldn’t ever cheat on you and that sometimes, just sometimes, trashy websites print things that aren’t true.’ How dare he be on the other side of the country for our first row. I could practically hear him thinking down the line but he still didn’t say anything.
‘Look, Alex, all I’m asking is for you to trust me and not the internet. That shouldn’t be too hard, should it?’ I was not happy. These kinds of conversations had not gone well for me in the past. Plus, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t considered crossing a very unprofessional line with James, which wasn’t exactly helping my argument ring true.
‘I’m sorry, this is all just too weird,’ Alex said, finally. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to say that stuff,’ I sniffed. ‘I’m just being all paranoid because we haven’t really spoken since I got here and then all the pictures and stuff and then Mary called and now you’re freaking out—’
‘Angela, hey, hold up,’ Alex interrupted. ‘I meant, I’m sorry I can’t really talk about this over the phone. We’ll only end up saying dumb stuff. More dumb stuff.’
‘So what, we’re not going to talk until I get back?’
‘You’re back on Sunday.’
‘But it’s Tuesday …’ I bit my lip. ‘Can’t I just call you later?’
He sighed loudly. ‘I’m sorry. Just, well, let me call you, OK? Bye.’
I looked at my phone, just to check. Yes, he had hung up. This really was the perfect start to the perfect day. If I’d known I was going to get into such a mess anyway, I would have just shagged James senseless when I had the chance. Bloody stupid bloody conscience.
‘Angela, you’re on the internet!’ Jenny shrieked from the bedroom. ‘You’re freakin’ famous!’
Brilliant, just brilliant.
It took me far too long to convince Jenny to back away from the laptop and not email my details directly to Perez Hilton. She felt very strongly that I should be making the most of my potential new-found fame, or at the very least sign up for reality TV shows and get us both into gifting lounges. I, however, felt very strongly that I should go back to bed and sleep until everyone in the world stopped reading celebrity gossip or the internet broke down, whichever came first. But I couldn’t. I had things to do. I had a blog to write, and tomorrow, assuming James was still on for it, I had to drag my arse out of the hotel and carry on with the interview. He might have emailed the magazine but he wasn’t answering his phone to me. Swearing I would meet her for brunch as promised, I sent a still slightly pissed-off Jenny on her way and settled down at my laptop.
The Adventures of Angela: Valley of the Woes
Hmmm. So my LA adventure isn’t exactly going according to plan. Since you’re reading this, I’m assuming you’re fairly familiar with the internet and the pages full of wonderful, wonderful things it contains. Like net-a-porter.com. Unfortunately, it turns out there are some pages of not-so-wonderful things and lots of those pages are made right here, in LA.
Now, I did sort of know that before I got here because who hasn’t whiled away a few harmless minutesours/entire working days on Perez Hilton or WWTDD? Come on, there isn’t a person alive who doesn’t want to see the private mobile phone pictures of a Disney starlet, right? But what I didn’t know was, despite all the evidence out there, sometimes not only are the things on these websites not entirely truthful, sometimes they are as familiar with reality as I am with Brad Pitt. That is, not familiar at all. Goddamn it.
I guess a lot of people think it would fun to be on one of these websites, to be pictured hanging out with celebs in some swanky Hollywood nightclub but, well, just like the websites themselves, sometimes things aren’t what they seem.
Hopefully, I’m still in for a Hollywood ending … and I’m still waiting for your recommendations as to where to get one. Email me at notacompleteslapperhonest@thelook.com
After emailing the blog to Mary (and praying to every conceivable deity I could think of, including the genie from Aladdin), I searched through mine and Jenny’s wardrobes twice, searching for a ‘I really haven’t done it with James Jacobs’ outfit; but now, for some reason, everything looked as if it was right out of the Playboy Mansion.
Who in their right mind would believe I was sleeping with an A-list movie star? This was me we were talking about: mismatched underwear, not capable of curling my eyelashes without catching my eyelid, dodgy muffin top in all but one pair of my jeans, Angela Clark. Slightly useless, can’t even change a plug at twenty-seven, not a seducer of superstars, dress-shedding über-minx, Angela Clark, international super-slag. I settled on my jeans (sadly not the non-muffin-top pair) and stripy Splendid rugby top. Buttoned up. Every wanton inch of me covered. Sweating like a bee-hatch in the seventy-five-degree weather but covered from head to toe.
‘So I get that you didn’t love The Beverly Center,’ Jenny said, adjusting her sunglasses and spinning out of The Hollywood’s valet parking lot. ‘And I’m guessing that you’re gonna be freaking out about those photos for pretty much the whole day, right?’
‘Probably,’ I agreed sombrely. I was still so numb from my conversation with Alex, I didn’t even have the energy to be scared of Jenny’s driving.
‘So what can we do to get you out of your funk?’
‘Mmm-hmm.’ I traced a finger along the edge of the car door. At least since we were in the convertible my hair would look like crap whether I’d done anything with it or not. Which I hadn’t. And, joy, the sun was out. If I was really lucky, I could get burnt again.
‘God, you’re going to make this hard work, aren’t you?’ Jenny slapped the steering wheel. ‘I know, Angela, if someone said “LA” to you, what would you think of?’
‘What?’
‘What would you think of? What would you associate with Hollywood?’ she pressed on.
Paparazzi. Blonde hair. Breast implants. ‘Sunshine?’
‘Anything else?’ she asked.
Feeling completely out of place. Missing Alex. Worrying about James. ‘Movies?’
‘Which movies?’
‘Jenny,’ I really wanted to just go back to bed. ‘Are you getting at something?’
‘Honey, I’m just trying to distract you. This is all gonna be over by tomorrow. Sometimes life throws you a curveball and you’ve just got to run with it.’ Jenny pulled up outside a row of shops. Sparkly, shiny, lovely looking shops.’ Or shop for it.’
‘Where are we?’ I asked, blinking up at the prettiness. Everything was so white. And big. ‘What are we doing?’
‘We’re about to spend an obscene amount of money,’ Jenny grinned.
Once the car had been safely handed over to the valet parking assistant (I would never get used to that), Jenny pulled me along the wide, sunny street past designer store after designer store.
‘Never before in my life have I wanted to be a hooker so badly,’ I clutched at Jenny’s hand, my mouth wide open. ‘But oh, would you look at that bag?’
‘I know, hello Pretty Woman,’ Jenny squeezed my hand back. ‘Even I would sleep with Richard Gere for that dress and, hello, so old now?’
‘So this is Rodeo Drive?’ I marvelled. ‘Why on earth did you take me to a mall yesterday?’
‘Because we can’t actually afford anything here.’ She pulled me away from the Louis Vuitton window, leaving my sticky paw prints all over it. ‘But I thought it might distract you for a while.’
‘We can’t afford anything?’ I fought the urge to go into the closest shop and buy a giant hat. And gloves. ‘Really?’
‘Angie, when we go shopping in New York, where do we go?’ Jenny asked.
‘Bloomingdale’s? Bergdorf’s?’ I couldn’t stop staring at the pretty things. Things I’d seen in magazines, in The Look, but that were now right here in front of me! In a shop! To buy!
‘Not where do we go to try things on but never buy them unless they’re in the sales. Where do we actually go shopping?’
