Imogene shakes her head and tuts. ‘Oh… how convenient.’
‘What?’
‘I said how convenient. I smell bullshit, Nora.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Well, you spent last year finding something wrong with every man in the greater Brigglesford area and now you tell yourself that a movie star might be your soulmate, someone so ridiculously, bonkersly out of reach that – surprise surprise – you don’t have to do anything about it. You can just mope around, retreat into your “hoooga cocoon” even more and tell yourself that maybe you found the one special person you’re obsessed with finding, but oh no! He’s taken and, oh no! He’s famous and OH NO, he lives on the other side of the world. And now no other man will ever match up? I mean who could match up to the most charismatic fella I, personally, have ever seen on a screen? He looks like if Adam Driver were a freaking cowboy. This is some psychological acrobatics, Nora, even for you. If it wasn’t so sad, it’d be funny. But it’s definitely sad.’
Her know-it-all face winds me right up. She doesn’t know everything about how I’m feeling, about how my mind works. Does she?
Is this psychological acrobatics? Is my mind playing mad tricks on me because I’m a bit more sad than I used to be? Am I like one of those women who fall in love with movie stars and boys in bands and prisoners on death row, people they can never have, people who can therefore never break their heart?
No. I’m pretty sure that’s not it. It can’t be. I’m not that person. I want to meet someone real. I want to have the magical kind of love Mum and Dad had. I want that more than anything else, pretty much.
‘I don’t think that’s what’s happening!’ I say eventually. ‘I don’t have a single clue why I’m feeling this way, but I do know that it’s a real feeling. People can’t help the way they feel. And it’s not just fancying someone.’ I clear my throat. ‘I… I felt a connection to him. I’ve never felt anything like that before. Never.’
Imogene blows the air out of her cheeks and runs both her hands through her hair. ‘Okay,’ she says eventually. ‘So prove it.’
I blink. ‘What? Prove what?’
‘Prove that you’re not bullshitting. That this isn’t another excuse for you to close yourself off.’
I fold my arms and pull a face. ‘And how do you propose I do that?’
Imogene places both arms flat on the table. ‘Go to LA,’ she says simply. ‘Find Gary Montgomery. See if this “connection” you’re talking about is as real for him as it feels for you.’
I start to laugh nervously. ‘Shut up, Imogene. You’re being stupid.’
‘I mean it. See this delusion through.’
‘I’m not delusional.’
‘PROVE. IT.’
I shake my head very quickly. ‘I can’t afford to just pop off to America, I have—’
‘I’ll pay. Two weeks. Frankly, I’m sick of your excuses and I refuse to let you get away with them any longer.’ She lifts her chin, face full of grim determination.
‘I’m not making excuses! And what about my job? And how the hell am I even supposed to find Gary Montgomery?’
‘Your job is remote so you can do that from anywhere. And surely if there is a “connection” with Gary Montgomery, fate will intervene, right? Mum and Dad were always saying how fate loves the fearless. You’ll find a way. And, at the very least, it’ll get you out of your house for more than a couple of hours…’
‘I… I can’t do that…’ I say. The thought of flying to another country, where I know no one, to meet a movie star I’ve just seen at the pictures, makes me feel like I’m going to break out in hives. ‘I can’t go to Los Angeles. That’s ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous, Imogene. I know I am, but you are too. I’m not a stalker. Going to Los Angeles to track him down sounds super stalkery! I’m not that crazy.’
‘Exactly what I thought you’d say.’ Imogene smiles smugly.
Ugh. I hate how she thinks she knows me better than I know myself.
‘Let me book you an appointment with the doctor on Monday,’ she continues. ‘I think you need to look at getting some counselling. Work your way through Mum and Dad’s death, finally talk about what happened. Maybe get some medication or something.’
I get a sharp memory of Imogene’s voice on the phone when I told her what had happened to Mum and Dad on the way to see me perform. I swipe the thought away with as much force as I can. Then I picture Gary Montgomery’s strangely familiar face. My whole body warms up in a lovely, pleasant way, like I’ve just stepped into a big warm bath on an icy winter’s day. I get a weird image of Gary and I swimming in a sparkling ocean, laughing at each other, our eyes squinting from the glare of the sun. It’s so vivid that I can almost taste the slight sting of the salt water on my lips. I feel a hot ache of longing deep in my core.
‘I’ll do it!’ I blurt out suddenly, causing a few of the surrounding diners to glance over to me in distaste, which is ironic considering they’re all about to spend the rest of the evening with explosive diarrhoea.
‘Good. I’ll call the clinic in the morning. It’s about time you—’
‘No, no, not that. I mean I’ll go to Los Angeles. I’ll prove that I’m not delusional.’
Imogene’s eyebrows almost shoot up into her hair. ‘Fucking hell. Right… Okay then! But when he turns you down, and I love you and I think you’re beautiful, but he will turn you down, Nora, then you’ll come back here and you’ll go to the doctors? Start dealing with… this.’ She waves vaguely towards me as if to indicate the mess that I am.
I swallow and it feels sharp in my throat. ‘Fine,’ I say in a nonchalant voice.
‘And you’ll go on a date with Roger Pepper.’
‘Ugh, really? No!’
‘He’s lovely,’ Imogene protests. ‘A real catch. He actually lives in this country and he actually knows who you are for a start.’
I take a deep breath. ‘Fine.’
Imogene holds her hand out. ‘Fine.’
I take her hand and shake it.
Um. What the fuck have I just agreed to?
Chapter Eight
Gary
Hey,
I guess that Tori and I just had our first fight. We’ve been together for just over a year and never fought before. Not once. I must be beat today, though, because I got angry and we just had a real live full-blown argument. I feel terrible.
Tori’s mom has been talking about how it’s time for Tori and I to get married. How we’ve been in a committed relationship for the right amount of time, and that it would be a great move for both of our careers, combining our audiences and, as Aileen calls it (I would never say this!), ‘Star Power.’ Barf. I thought Tori would be against the idea of me proposing in such an orchestrated, unromantic way. I thought she’d tell Aileen this, but she seemed big into the idea, which surprised me, I gotta say. She kept looking at me with these huge hopeful eyes like I was supposed to drop down on one knee immediately, in front of Aileen, and pop the question.
I mean, I want Tori to be happy. She deserves to have everything she wants. And I for sure wouldn’t have any of the success I have if it wasn’t for her. We met about a year after I moved to Los Angeles. I was the full budding actor cliché—waiting tables at a high-end restaurant and auditioning for shitty bit parts in commercials. I waited on Tori one night, we flirted a little and she asked for my number. I never expected her to call—she seemed way too fancy and accomplished to bother with some waiter wannabe, but she did call and we started hanging out as friends. Within a couple of weeks she introduced me to her mom Aileen Gould—one of the biggest managers in Hollywood. My friendship with Tori eventually turned to sex and because I’d been living with three other waiters/wannabes in a damp basement in Panorama City she invited me to stay in her Beverly Hills apartment for a nominal rent. Soon after that I signed with Aileen, started getting noticed and then, with Justice of The Peace, my career just skyrocketed. Thanks, entirely, to Tori. And everythi
ng has been great. Until today. After Aileen left the house earlier, Tori said that if I planned on proposing would I give her a heads-up about when I would do it because she would love to get someone to record the moment so she could share it on her Instagram account. Which I thought was a dumb idea, not to mention completely devoid of romance and sentiment. I told her that. And she got real pissed off and said I didn’t respect the nature of her career when all she ever did was support me in mine. Which is probably true. I mean, I understand the makeup artist part of her job, but the Instagram Influencing, sharing every bit of your life online? Well, that flies over my head a little.
Anyway, we got mad at each other, there was shouting and now I’m in the den writing it all down in the journal so I can cool off a little. Jeez. I know we’re both in the public eye, but there’s got to be some private moments, right? Some magic? Proposing to Tori is something I’ve been thinking a lot about. But I can’t just be hustled into it because it’s a smart move for our careers.
I dunno. I guess I just need time to think about it.
All right. Three great things that have happened today:
Someone posted a clip of me on YouTube, acting in my college production of Macbeth. I’ve never seen it before and I am so bad. So, so bad. It made me laugh and cringe so fuckin’ hard that I curled into a ball on the floor. Thank god I got more acting lessons.
I’ve decided I’m gonna learn how to surf. I sit and watch them all riding the waves out on the ocean and I feel jealous. They look so free out there. I want that.
Writing this has made me feel better. Huh. Ira’s a smart guy.
Chapter Nine
Nora
I have very very mixed feelings about what went down last night at the pictures and afterwards at Mama Romano’s. On the one hand, it’s fucking batshit. I am fully aware that the scientific probability of even getting to meet Gary Montgomery, let alone talk to him, let alone my soulmate prediction being an actual real thing, is ridiculously low. Mum and Dad always said that fate intervenes when it comes to dreams, that it loves the fearless, but this feels like a bit of a stretch, even to me, the ultimate believer in soulmates, fate and the notion of one true love.
Then there’s the idea of leaving my lovely, peaceful, safe, warm, cosy house and encountering, eek, other people, real-life people and real-life situations. The very thought makes all the muscles in my shoulders scrunch up and ache.
I stand up from the sofa and roll my head and shoulders in circles in an attempt to loosen the tightness.
California doesn’t seem like the best place for an introvert to visit. I bet it’s super loud there. I hate loud. I never used to mind noise, but after Mum and Dad, music, crowds, flashy lights, parties, all make me feel like my brain is itching.
I should definitely not go. It’s a terrible, stupid idea.
I amble into the kitchen to make a cup of soothing hot chocolate when I get the same massively vivid image I had last night. The one of me and Gary swimming in an ocean. My hand starts to tremble so much that the teaspoon clatters onto the countertops. I picture his eyes and I feel this strange, desperate sense of urgency. Like I need to get to him as soon as possible.
Taking a few deep breaths to steady myself, I finish making my hot chocolate, making the executive decision to add extra whippy cream from a can, on account of my nerves.
I head into my bedroom, sit cross-legged on my bed and sigh.
I can’t deny that the idea of a couple of weeks without Imogene’s well-meaning but annoying micro-management seems like kind of a relief. And it would be good to have something different to think about for a while, right? To go to bed with something else in my head other than the constant replay of the moment the police called me from Dad’s miraculously unscathed phone to tell me what had happened. I could do with a break from that chain of thought…
My phone vibrates, the screen glowing in the dim light of the bedroom.
Text from Imogene: I’ve booked you a non-refundable flight for tomorrow night. I know it’s super soon, but I’m not letting you wimp out of this. Check your email. I’ve sent the info there. You need to get an Airbnb booked asap. Less than $100 dollars per night. Dan would go nuts if he found out I was paying for accommodation too.
Fuck. She’s booked the flights? They won’t have been cheap, especially at such short notice. Shit.
Non-refundable too.
That decides it… right?
I nurse the rest of my drink and head back into the living room, suddenly noticing as I do that so much of my life is me walking from room to room in this house. Not that it’s a bad thing. Just… I don’t think I had quite realised how much I do it.
I wonder briefly what it would be like to walk into a new room. A room with possibilities… It makes me dizzy with nerves. Ugh.
Settling myself in at the kitchen table, I crank up my laptop. I skim-read Imogene’s email. The flight is leaving from Leeds Bradford airport at 9 p.m. tomorrow. Shit. That leaves me a teeny amount of time to prepare.
I dash off an email to my boss at Virtual Assistants 4U and let her know that I’ll be in LA for the next couple of weeks but still online and available for work, albeit on US time.
My next task is to find an Airbnb within a reasonable budget for two weeks at short notice and I don’t have a great deal of luck. Everywhere I find is either wildly expensive and fancy, or a treehouse, or twenty miles outside of LA, or the room is cheap but I’d be sharing with some dubious guy whose visitor reviews state that the house smells like mould and clammy balls.
I have a quick scroll of hotels, which are immediately out of the question due to the fact that most of them clearly cater for rich Hollywood types with endless budgets. And then I get a brainwave. SunshineKennedy90212… She lives in LA, I think? Her profile picture on the Harcourt Royals forum is a sunset behind a sign that says ‘Welcome to the City of Angels’. That’s LA, right? Maybe she has some intel on Airbnbs that don’t cost three months’ wages.
I log onto the forum, scrolling through the endless posts from fellow Crown Kissers and GIFs filled with excitement for the release of the next book. I skip over these and go directly to my inbox to message Kennedy.
Oh good, the little green dot next to her name indicates that she’s already online.
NoraHarcourtLove: Kennedy! Weirdly, I’m doing a last-minute trip to LA tomorrow. It’s very very very short notice, but do you know of any Airbnbs or hotels that don’t cost the same as car?
I take a deep breath before writing the next bit because I have gotten way out of the habit of meeting new people. But it would be such a shame to be that close to Kennedy and not attempt to meet up.
Also, maybe we could grab a drink while I’m there? My flight home is in two weeks, so I’m pretty flexible if you’re free at all? Would be brill to chat all things Esme and Bastian with an actual in-real-life human! No worries if you’re too busy though. Okay. Let me know!
She responds speedily.
SunshineKennedy90212: Fun! Wow, this is exciting. Why are you coming to LA?
NoraHarcourtLove: It has recently come to my attention that the man of my dreams is living in LA. I think that he… might be my soulmate, lol. We’ve never met in real life. I know this sounds crazy and, believe me, you wouldn’t be the first to think that. My sister is pushing me to visit LA in a bid to meet him and see if my instincts about him are right!
I neglect to mention that the man I’m referring to is a famous Hollywood actor.
SunshineKennedy90212: You’re right. That sounds absolutely crazy!
I sigh, a hot flush creeping over my cheeks. Then I read Kennedy’s next line and things start to brighten up.
It sounds just like something I’d do! I once learned how to play the trumpet to get the attentions of Paul Peter Macafferty, a very hot jazz musician in Silverlake, who looked a lot like Joseph Gordon-Levitt, but not quite as hot, obviously. Turned out he was only interested in dating men. You’d think that that’s where I would back
away politely, keep my dignity and let him be? Oh no. I turned up at Paul Peter’s house wearing a trench coat and only a trench coat and when he opened the door, I let my coat fall open, lifted my trumpet to my mouth and played Mariah Carey’s ‘Love Takes Time’. I hoped that my killer body and whole-hearted blowing technique would convince him that maybe he could be interested in women too. Of course it didn’t. He invited me in for an iced tea, wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and gave me the name of an excellent reflexologist who could help with my boundary issues.
And when I was in college, I had a crush on one of my journalism professors. I thought maybe she liked me back so I wrote an essay on how beautiful I thought she was and posted it under her office door. She told me she had absolutely no interest in me, that I was highly inappropriate and then she made me switch classes! Argh. We do dumb things for love, right?
I snort with laughter and continue reading.
Don’t get an Airbnb! I think I’ve mentioned before that I live with my brother Brandon in Venice Beach, but we have a small spare room that you could totally stay in. I love the idea of having someone to talk all things Harcourt Royals with. No one I meet in real life has ever heard of them!
I would, of course, need you to sign a declaration stating that you are not likely to murder myself or my brother and that you will never bring meat or animal products into the house as we are a strictly vegan, whole food plant-based household. But, other than that, we’re pretty easy-going.
Oh my goodness, what?!
NoraHarcourtLove: This sounds amazing. How much would you charge?
I wait nervously as the ‘typing’ symbol blinks on the screen. A reply pops up within a minute.
He Will Be Mine: The brand new laugh out loud page turner! Page 4