by Lindsey Kelk
‘Good, because I’ve been worried.’ I slapped her hand away from the fries. ‘You haven’t been your usual irritating self for ages.’
‘It’s just winter,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve been out of it a little. I’ve been thinking about taking a break, so well done on the perfect timing.’
I smiled. Going to Hollywood with Jenny could be fun. ‘So, we’re off to LA then?’
‘Angie, honey, when have I ever steered you wrong? It will be awesome,’ Jenny replied, scooping up the last fry. ‘And I’m sure Alex is just delightful if you’re into skinny hipsters, but Joe is almost, almost as hot as James Jacobs. You organize the flights, I’ll organize the hotel and the booty call.’
‘Ick,’ I shook my head. ‘Just ick.’
I hopped on the L train at Union Square after abandoning my overexcited best friend outside the hotel. As the train trundled over to Brooklyn, Jenny’s giddiness started to wear off. I’d almost forgotten that this wasn’t a girls’ holiday, it was a job. It was a interview that, if I screwed it up, could cost me my job, my visa, everything. Climbing up the subway stairs, it just seemed like such a bad idea and, on top of everything, as tragic as it was, I really didn’t want to leave Alex. I couldn’t tell him I loved him in case he panicked and ditched me, but if I didn’t tell him, how would he know not to cheat on me with every groupie in Brooklyn while I was away?
And the potential destruction of my personal and professional life aside, what was in LA anyway? A seven-hour flight, a whole city full of super-hot, super-bronzed beach bimbettes and, most terrifying of all, a week-long interview with a real-life, genuine movie star.
Writing my blog was easy: there was always something interesting to talk about, and anyone could review some books and even a few CDs—that just meant winging a couple of hundred words. But there was no way I could bluff my way through this. There was no denying that it could be a great opportunity for me as a writer, but it was also a fabulous opportunity for me to fall flat on my arse. I was just an ‘amateur’, after all. The vision of me throwing myself off the ‘H’ of the Hollywood sign clutching a signed photo of James Jacobs played over and over in my mind until I reached Alex’s apartment.
‘Hey.’ He opened the door, pulled me in and pushed me backwards against the wall, kissing me hard on the lips.
‘I am so cold,’ I breathed, shaking my scarf, mittens and coat off onto the floor. ‘Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t go to LA on Saturday.’
‘The pizza sucks?’ Alex muttered, hoisting me up onto his kitchen counter, pulling off my top two sweaters in one swift move.
‘That’ll do,’ I nodded, trying to kick my boots off behind his back but succeeding only in bashing him in the hip seven times.
‘That actually really hurts.’ Alex tugged the boots off for me.
I crossed my legs behind his back as he stumbled with me into the living room. ‘Yeah, it’s never like it is in films, is it?’
Alex’s place was just as dishevelled as its owner, with books, guitar strings and worn T-shirts strewn everywhere. Luckily, the beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the East River to Manhattan made up for the disgusting kitchen. Lying full stretch on the sofa while Alex strummed something new on his acoustic guitar (and I pretended not to be watching Gossip Girl with the subtitles on) was officially my new favourite way to spend a Monday night. I yawned, gazing out at the skyline. When you weren’t outside, New York was gorgeous in the snow. The sun, sea and sand could never compete.
The apartment was also about twenty degrees hotter than mine and now, thoroughly warmed up, I was perfectly happy wearing nothing but Alex’s T-shirt and my pants, moulding myself against his slowly rising and falling chest on the sofa, my bare legs tangled in his long, warm limbs. We hadn’t quite made it into the bedroom, something I was always proud of. I’d come a long way from the Angela Clark who spent five or so years tucked up in her winceyette PJs before her ex came home so she wouldn’t have to endure his huffing, puffing and generally uncomfortable fumblings.
‘So, any reason in particular I should be trying to talk you out of going to LA on Saturday?’ Alex asked, combing his fingers through my mussed-up hair. Between getting back together with Alex and the terrible weather, my do was very much a constant don’t. ‘That was a pretty random request, even for you.’
‘The magazine wants me to go and interview this actor.’ I waved a hand around, working very hard to come across as very casual about the whole thing. ‘But they want me to go on Saturday and I’ve never really interviewed anyone before so I don’t know. I’m sort of in two minds about it.’
‘Sounds like a great opportunity,’ he offered diplomatically. ‘LA’ll be warmer than New York.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, twisting my neck around to get a better look at him. ‘I know, it could be amazing. It’s just a long way and stuff.’
‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘But you never know, you might like it?’
‘Do you?’ I asked. ‘Like LA, I mean.’
‘Mehh,’ he held his hand up to mine. My small pale hands, with the nibbled-at fingernails filed down, palm to palm with his long, calloused, guitar-playing fingers. ‘I don’t love it.’
‘So you wouldn’t want to come with me?’ I asked, only briefly considering Jenny’s wrath. ‘It’ll only be for a week or something.’
‘However will I survive without you?’ Alex kissed my hand.
I paused for a moment to feel his heartbeat. Perfectly even. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know if I should do it. Even if it could be incredible.’
‘Then don’t go.’ Alex’s heartbeat started to slow, I could tell he was about to drop off. That was my only bedroom-based problem with the boy. He always needed a post-shag nap whereas sex left me wide-awake. And since I overthought every situation at the best of times, his post-coital narcolepsy wasn’t ideal for me. Depending on how the day had gone, I was either planning our wedding (I thought barefoot on the beach in Mexico; I’d never been but it sounded sort of fabulous) or panicking that the whole relationship was about to fall apart again.
I tried to toss and turn quietly, torn between running off to LA with Jenny and staying exactly where I was for ever and ever when my phone starting buzzing inside my beautiful bag. Slipping out of Alex’s arms, I shuffled down the sofa and answered.
‘Hello?’ I whispered, creeping into the bathroom.
‘Angela, it’s me,’ a voice crackled from a long way away. ‘Are you there? You’re so faint?’
‘Louisa! How are you? Is everything OK? You never call my mobile.’ Louisa was my best friend from for ever. We’d grown up together, gone to the same university, moved to London at the same time, basically done everything together—right up until I broke her husband’s hand at their wedding. But since we had resolved that tiny issue, our regular weekly phone calls could go on for hours. She wouldn’t mind if I had a wee while we chatted. I hoped.
‘I know, but you weren’t home and I couldn’t wait, it’s too exciting.’ I hadn’t heard her so giddy since she’d told me about her engagement. ‘Tim’s bank got taken over by some American bank this morning, did you see it on the news?’
‘Louisa, given that I was engaged to a banker for five years and couldn’t even tell you what his job title was, I think you’re probably going to have to fill me in on the details. Is Tim’s job OK?’
‘Yes, better than OK!’ Louisa was still gushing. ‘They’ve asked him and his team to go meet the US operation. We’re coming to New York for a week. Next week!’
I snapped upwards so quickly I almost toppled off the loo seat. ‘Louisa, that’s amazing! When do you get here? Do you know where you’re staying? God, there are so many places I’m going to take you!’
‘Angela, are you on the toilet?’
Yes. ‘No?’
‘Good, because that would be disgusting,’ she said sternly. ‘Anyway, we’re all flying out on Friday night, I’m not sure where we’re staying, Tim literally just
called me to tell me. Oh, Angela, I can’t wait to see you.’
‘Oh I know, you too,’ I said, trying to wash my hands and flush super quietly. ‘And Tim. Oh, I can’t believe it!’
‘There’s just one thing that might be…but well, it’s nothing really,’ Louisa’s excitement faltered slightly. ‘I mean, New York is a big city and everything, isn’t it?’
‘Louisa…?’
‘It’s just, well, like I say, nothing. Forget I said it. I’m coming to New York!’
‘Louisa Price!’
‘Fine, well, it’s not just Tim coming out.’ Louisa finally sighed. ‘It’s his whole team.’
‘So…Mark?’
‘Erm, yes, and…well.’
‘Mark and…her?’
Even six months after finding out my boyfriend had been cheating on me, I still couldn’t actually say her name. As happy as I was with Alex, as pleased as I was to be out of that relationship, girl logic prevailed—he was an evil cheating scumbag and she was a nasty skank.
‘Oh, Lou,’ I massaged my temples. ‘Seriously?’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Louisa insisted. ‘You won’t have to see him, will you? Unless, I mean, unless you want to?’
‘That’s not even funny.’ My brain was spinning. ‘Why would I want to even see him?’
‘Well, it has been ages and you two were together a long time,’ Louisa said slowly. ‘Maybe you’d feel better if you did see him?’
‘Do you remember what happened the last time I saw him?’ I could feel myself getting angry, and angry was not my best look. Hence the hand-breaking incident at Louisa’s wedding. ‘And what happened the last time you didn’t tell me something? What’s going on, since when were you Mark’s biggest fan again?’
‘All right, yes, Mark asked Tim to ask me if I would get you to meet him,’ Louisa rushed. ‘But I said he had to get in touch himself if he wanted to see you. Because if you don’t want to see him then you don’t have to and I said I wasn’t going to try and trick you or guilt-trip you or anything. He’s a tit.’
I stared at Alex’s bathroom ceiling, feeling the entire last six months slip away. Of course it would make sense to meet with Mark. We had been together for ten years, grown up together really. And it would make me the bigger person; help prove to everyone that I had really changed in the last six months. And it would all be on my terms: New York was my home now, after all, and he’d never even been to America. And of course I really wouldn’t want to but, if forced, I would be able to flaunt my beautiful new super-cool boyfriend. Nothing intimidated a money man like a guitar boy. They didn’t understand them.
But of course none of that would matter if I wasn’t in New York when Mark arrived…
‘Angela, are you still there?’
‘I am, lovely, but I have really bad news.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m actually going to LA on Saturday for work. I forgot.’
‘You’re what?’ Louisa said.
‘I’m going to LA to interview James Jacobs, so I won’t be here.’
‘And you forgot that?’
‘Yes.’
‘You forgot you were flying out to LA this Saturday and interviewing one of the most famous men in the world?’
‘He’s not that famous,’ I protested. Wow, Louisa was pissed off.
‘Is this because Mark is coming? Because you’re better than that, you know.’
I paused before answering. ‘Actually no, it’s not just that,’ I said. ‘It’s really something I have to do. It’s an amazing opportunity, isn’t it? I mean, I’m not going to lie, I’m a bit relieved that I’m not going to see him, it’s not top of my list of things to do this weekend, but I do have to go to LA. I’m gutted that I’m not going to see you though.’
‘Right.’
‘Lou, please don’t be mad?’ I begged.
‘I’m not mad,’ she sighed eventually. ‘I’m just sad that I won’t get to see you. But yeah, it’s no contest really, is it? I can see why you’d rather nip off to LA and meet James Jacobs than hang around in freezing New York for the week.’
And for the first time, so did I.
‘You’re amazing,’ I smiled, excitement and relief bubbling up in my stomach. ‘I’m going to email you with all the incredible places you have to go and you call me if you get stuck for anything to do at any time, OK?’ We said goodbye and I hung up, breathed in deeply and then pressed speed-dial without even looking. ‘Cici? Can I come in later and book my flights? I go on Saturday, right?’
Chapter Three
Saturday came around altogether too quickly for me and not nearly quickly enough for Jenny. After calling in a few favours at work to get the week off, she had spent the entire week waxing, scrubbing and fake-tanning, in between sending increasingly indecent text messages to Joe at The Hollywood and throwing increasingly indecent bikinis into a tote bag. I took a more stressful approach to preparing for the trip.
After my not-so-fun phone call with Louisa, I’d headed back to bed to tell Alex I’d changed my mind about going LA. A sleepy smile and ‘cool, bring me back something carb-free’ wasn’t strictly the response I’d been hoping for, but I wasn’t going to let my hot boyfriend paranoia ruin LA for me. Admittedly, not so secretly, I had been hoping he would hate the idea of me taking off to interview the gorgeous man with an appalling reputation in sunny sparkly Hollywood and beg to come with me but not so much. He’d barely even acknowledged it.
And to make matters worse, he’d been ‘working’ all week and I’d hardly seen him. The band had just started writing their new record, which meant hours locked away in his apartment and a couple of unannounced arrivals at my place at random times in the night, with fevered eyes and a new song to play. And, well, everything else that came along with a two a.m. drop-in. Which wasn’t so bad, but being with Alex all night and writing all day had not left me looking my best. By Friday evening, Jenny looked like a Playmate, all buffed, bronzed and big hair, while I looked more like an inmate, bedraggled, bloated and big bags under my eyes.
At eight in the bitter morning, Jenny stood impatiently on the corner of our street, huddled in her down-filled parka and even bigger sunglasses, while I lingered in my goodbye hug with Alex.
‘So let me know when you get there.’ He pulled at the slightly longer side of my bob, curling it around his finger. ‘Just text or something.’
I nodded. ‘If I’m not too busy bailing this one out for sexual harassment.’ Jenny was reading her text messages with a wicked smile. ‘Possibly literally bailing her out.’
‘Well, as long as you’re not sexually harassing anyone but me.’ He leaned in for a warm kiss, his fringe brushing against my frozen nose, making me sneeze. ‘How do you feel about phone sex?’
‘You must be freezing,’ I said, ignoring his question, ‘and Jenny’s about to get in a cab without me.’ Oh, and I love you by the way, I added silently. ‘Um, I’ll call you later?’
‘For the phone sex,’ Alex nodded with deadly seriousness. ‘Don’t forget you’re three hours behind me.’
‘Well, you’re always up three hours later than me anyway.’ I nodded at Jenny to wave down a passing cab.
‘This could be the perfect thing for us then.’ Alex passed me my battered leather weekend bag. It looked pitiful next to my (sigh, so pretty) Marc Jacobs handbag. Maybe it would find a new friend in LA. ‘We could be the first couple to ever make a long-distance relationship work.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’ I tried to laugh. Trust a boy to say something stupid just before you got on a plane. God, I should just say it. ‘Alex?’
‘Angela?’
‘I…I…’ I paused, not really knowing what I was waiting for. Alex shivered expectantly, his breath fogging up between us, hands stuck deep into his jeans pockets. ‘I’ll be back next Monday. Don’t get too used to being on your own.’
Congratulations on wimping out. What a great example of a strong, modern woman I was turning out to be.
‘You’re only going awa
y for a week. I think I’ll survive.’ Alex kissed my frozen nose and shut the door. ‘And again with the phone sex.’
‘Bye, Alex.’ I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.
‘You’re not exactly down with the phone sex then?’ Jenny asked as we pulled away.
‘Shut up,’ I replied pleasantly, watching our building—and Alex—vanish out of sight.
From the second we stepped out of the airport, it was completely obvious that California was going to be very different to New York. As we headed out onto the freeway, I couldn’t quite believe we were in the same country. The city was wide open, cars streaming up and down the highways with their tops down, the skyscrapers of downtown sparkling in the distance rather than constantly pressing down on us and, bejesus, the sunshine.
Despite the bitching and moaning I’d done about the steamy New York summer at the time, one morning I had woken up and it had gone. The weather teased me with a couple of weeks of creamy, cardigan-appropriate autumn before dissolving into burns-your-nose-when-you-breathe winter. It wasn’t like New York didn’t try its best to win me over—the shops were soon full of cute jumpers, flattering opaque tights and massive quantities of delicious hot chocolate—but by Christmas, when I had been snowed in twice and lost a pair of suede shoe-boots to an unforeseen storm, I was dying for a little bit of sunshine. And here it was. Hiding away in LA all this time.
‘Oh my God,’ I blinked once. Twice.
‘I know,’ Jenny patted me reassuringly on the back.
‘But it’s sunny.’ I looked up at the clear blue sky.
‘I know,’ Jenny sighed.
‘In March?’
‘Can we please just shush?’
‘Jenny, look!’ I pressed my nose up against the cab window, watching billboards and fast-food restaurants whizz by. At least taxi drivers still drove like psychos—London, New York, LA, all the same. It was oddly reassuring.
‘Yeah,’ Jenny muttered, touching up her make-up. A little Touche Eclat, some bronzer, a dash of lip gloss and, ta-da, she looked perfect.