I Heart Hollywood

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘Shall we sit down for a while?’ I asked, kicking off my sandals and pulling out my ‘I’m a professional’ paraphernalia.

  ‘Jesus, I suppose so,’ James screwed up his face. ‘I know you’re a journo and everything, but can we at least attempt to keep it fun? I’ll let you in on a secret, I’m not a very good celebrity.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ I said wryly. ‘And I can let you in on a secret too: I’m not a very good journalist.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ he said. ‘I’ve read your stuff, you’re great.’

  ‘Don’t you have people to do that sort of thing for you?’ I asked, trying not to be too flattered. ‘Surely you don’t actually read for yourself?’

  ‘There’s actually just my manager, an accountant somewhere who makes sure I don’t go broke—and Blake. When I first moved here, I had dozens of people, but it just didn’t work. I’ve never been great at letting people think for me and talk for me, and I hate having dozens of people around me when I don’t know if they’re genuine or not. That’s one of the reasons we’re doing this.’ He tilted his head and looked squarely at me. ‘Blake is…Blake is great at running my life but I don’t think he’s the best person to put in front of journalists. All the media people out here are just, well, just too much. They have to know every single thing that you ever did or might do. There was just no privacy, ever. This, by the way, is off the record.’

  I held up the Dictaphone. ‘You want me to turn this off?’

  Instead of answering, he took it from my hand, turned it over a couple of times and gave it a considered look. Before throwing it hard and far into the sea. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Don’t ever ask to borrow my phone,’ I said, wondering how I would write that off as expenses. Shit. ‘So let’s just sort this out. The magazine told me we were trying to do a piece to explain to all your adoring female fans that you’re not some heartbreaking Hollywood lothario but just a misunderstood artist looking for your perfect woman. What was it that you were expecting?’

  ‘Well, that sounds good, let’s do that one. What do you need from me?’ he asked, concentrating on running streams of sand through his fingers. ‘I’m literally yours between now and the weekend.’

  I tried not to think about what ‘literally yours’ could amount to and concentrate on the job at hand. Ish. ‘I have a billion questions but, to be honest, I’ve never had to work off questions before. How about if we chat, I’ll check the topics we’re supposed to cover every so often, and when I write stuff up at night, you can check it before I send it to my boss?’

  ‘You’ll never work for Vanity Fair, you know that, don’t you?’ he shook his head. ‘But that sounds perfect.’

  ‘OK,’ I nodded. ‘Before we start properly, though, I have to ask you one thing. And yes, I know I can already hear Blake giving it some “not approved”, but since you just chucked my Dictaphone in the ocean, I’m asking it anyway. Where are you from?’

  ‘Well, Angela Clark, I went to drama school in London—’

  ‘Not the biog, thank you very much. Where were you born?’ I pressed. I was getting the honest answer to this if it killed me.

  ‘Fine, fine, I’m surprised it’s not common knowledge anyway,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m from South Yorkshire. Near Sheffield actually.’

  ‘No way,’ I laughed out loud. ‘My grandparents lived in Sheffield; I spent every summer there for years. I could hear you had an accent but I couldn’t quite place it.’

  ‘What did you expect? They don’t really go in for “it’s grim oop north” at RADA,’ he said, flicking a handful of sand at me. ‘Where’s your Yorkshire accent?’

  ‘Didn’t say I was from there, I just spent a lot of time throwing a tantrum on the floor of Redgates toy shop as a child,’ I said. ‘Happy memories.’

  ‘Ahh, Redgates. I got all my Star Wars figures there. That’s how I knew I wanted to be an actor, I wanted a little plastic figure of me, just like my Luke Skywalker.’ He made a little pile of sand between us, then pressed it flat with the palm of his hand. ‘I thought they made figures of everyone, you know? And when my mum said they only made them of people in films, I decided that was it. I’d have to be in films. God, I haven’t thought about Redgates for years. My mum would take me there on my birthday and then we’d go to the Wimpy on The Moor. How mad is that?’

  ‘Mad,’ I agreed. ‘Who would have thought: James Jacobs, the toast of Hollywood, Yorkshire born and bred.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t James Jacobs then,’ James grinned. ‘Just plain old Jim.’

  ‘Jim?’ I tried not to laugh. ‘Jim Jacobs?’

  ‘What’s your problem with Jim? My dad is Scottish.’

  ‘Nothing, I can just see why you changed it,’ I said, composing myself. ‘You don’t really hear people talking about Sexy Jim or Hot Jim, do you?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ he said, laughing at something he clearly wasn’t going to share. ‘It’s more of an Old Jim or Pervy Jim.’

  ‘Or Fat Jim,’ I added.

  ‘Did you just call me fat?’ He pushed me sideways, knocking me off my balance, back into the scorching sand.

  ‘No,’ I said, trying not to count up how many times he had already seen my knickers. ‘I called you Fat Jim.’

  ‘Come on, fat or not, just thinking about a Wimpy is making me hungry,’ he said, jumping up and pulling me with him. ‘Let’s go and get something to eat.’

  I nodded and followed, trying not to be distracted by his denim-clad rear as we strode across the sand. He was like a walking, talking Levis ad. There was no possible way he could have spent his formative years anywhere other than an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue. ‘So when did you leave Sheffield?’

  ‘Eighteen. I went to study drama in London and never went back,’ he said, beeping the car’s alarm. ‘My parents moved away and there wasn’t much opportunity for an actor up there. Well, there was panto at the Crucible but the less said about that, the better.’

  ‘Panto?’

  ‘The less said about panto the better,’ he repeated sternly. ‘It is weird people don’t know where I’m from, I suppose. I got my break here and everyone just assumes I’m from London. Are you going to out me as a northerner?’

  ‘Can I?’ I asked, hopeful that I would have something to write.

  ‘I’ll do you a deal,’ he replied. ‘You can have that if you promise not to mention the word panto in relation to me—ever.’

  I thought carefully for a moment. ‘Hmm, well…’

  ‘Angela…’ It was more of a warning than anything else, but I did like hearing him say my name.

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Back at the car park, I quickly checked my phone to find a couple of missed calls from Jenny. I bit my lip, my phone must have been buzzing all the time we were sitting on the sand and it hadn’t even occurred to me to check it.

  ‘Boyfriend?’ James asked, looking from my phone to my slightly strained expression. ‘If you need to give him a ring, I can amuse myself for a minute.’

  ‘No,’ I said, dropping the phone back in my bag. I was working, after all; Jenny would understand that. ‘It’s fine. Should you call Blake? I bet he’s going mental.’

  ‘I bet he is.’ James looked away and smiled. You could almost mistake him for normal people until he cracked out the teeth. Talk about a Hollywood smile. ‘Huh, just the twenty missed calls from Blake.’

  ‘Really?’

  James nodded. ‘He worries constantly. It’s his job.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you call?’

  ‘He’ll wait. Now strap yourself in, I drive like a maniac. Apparently.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ I clicked my seatbelt. ‘Where are we off to now?’

  ‘Honestly? You’ve got me completely worked up,’ he said, gunning the ridiculously loud engine. ‘So there’s only one thing to do…’

  ‘Oh my God,’ I moaned. ‘I think I’m in heaven.’

  ‘You’re amazing.’ James looked so shocked. ‘I can’t tell you
the last time I had a meal with a girl that ate the bread. Or even the burger.’

  ‘Well you might want to prepare yourself,’ I warned him, reaching across the table for a giant handful of fries. ‘I’m about to go into carb overload.’

  There appeared to be several perks to hanging around with a movie star. You could leave work and go straight to the beach in the middle of the afternoon; you could talk your way out of a speeding fine by signing an autograph for the policeman’s fourteen-year-old daughter; and you could get a table at 25 Degrees, the most amazing burger restaurant in the entire world, just by smiling at the waiter. I had tried not to feel smug as we cruised past all the people waiting for a table, but it was hard. Yes, it was the James Jacobs, and yes, he was with me. I knew that he was only with me because it was sort of his job but it was still a little bit lovely.

  What wasn’t as lovely was panicking about what kind of state I was in when all these people were staring. I hadn’t so much as touched up my lip gloss since we left the studio. And while I wasn’t completely unused to people whispering behind their hands about the man I was with, this was on another level. Loads of people knew who Alex was in Brooklyn, but the difference was that you could be standing in line for coffee in the Starbucks nearest to Alex’s apartment and three of the five people in front of you would also be in bands. While here, as far as I could see, no one else in the restaurant had been nominated for the Best Fight, Best Kiss and Best Actor at the MTV Movie Awards last year. And I was absolutely certain there wasn’t another contender for Heat’s Torso of the Week within a hundred-foot radius.

  ‘I just have to…’ I couldn’t quite finish the sentence; nothing seemed particularly appropriate. So I just shuffled along the leather banquette clutching my (beloved but now slightly sandy) handbag. James nodded, blissfully lost in his giant burger. The restaurant was long and narrow, making it impossible to hide from the dozens of pairs of eyes that followed me all the way out to the toilets. And I couldn’t really blame them: I would have stared too.

  ‘Are you seriously James Jacobs’s girlfriend?’

  What I wouldn’t have done was follow me out, grab my arm and ask a really rude question. But then I wasn’t a huge, angry-looking girl with bright red dyed hair and a bum-bag.

  ‘What? Are you retarded or something?’ she demanded, arms now folded, her face absolutely enraged.

  ‘Sorry, no, I’m…’ I paused and looked back. James was still scarfing his dinner, absolutely oblivious to the attention he was receiving. ‘No, I’m not his girlfriend.’

  ‘Yeah, I totally said there was no way you were his girlfriend,’ the girl looked visibly relieved. ‘But my sister…’ she paused to point over at a skinny girl with matching dyed hair waving from a small table opposite the bar. ‘She said you were because she heard you talk and you were British. Are you his sister? You don’t look like his sister.’

  ‘I’m interviewing him,’ I said, completely flustered. Now I just really needed a wee. ‘So no, I’m not related to him or going out with him. Excuse me, I’m just off to the bathroom.’

  ‘I’ll wait here, you totally have to introduce me,’ the girl yelled after me. I couldn’t believe it, did Blake have to put up with this all the time? I couldn’t help but wonder what that girl would have done if I had been his girlfriend. I’d dealt with the fact that there must be girls that had crushes on Alex (and the less pleasant fact that, before we’d met, he’d been a bit of a slag), but that was all ancient history. The threat from Alex’s groupie following was incredibly limited compared to that of an actor. And James was something else altogether; every woman with eyes knew who he was. And once you combined his celebrity with his looks and the hateful fact that he was actually really, really nice, it was difficult not to have a bit of a crush on him. Not that I did. Honestly. Well, not that I’d ever cheat on Alex.

  And I knew Alex would never cheat on me. Would he. Would he? No, of course not. Not even if I was away in LA and he was back in New York without me, writing his new album, getting all excited out and about in Brooklyn, maybe having a drink with the rest of his band who were all single and surrounded by that limited but not inconsiderable number of groupies I was just thinking about.

  Couldn’t hurt to give him a call.

  I sank into one of the velvet couches in the gorgeous lobby. 25 Degrees was nestled inside The Roosevelt; it was such a gorgeous hotel and I felt as though I was letting it down in my simple jersey dress, even in the middle of the afternoon. Glancing around, I counted no less than eight people making calls around me. No need to worry about a tut and a sigh, then. In fact, I couldn’t think of a venue I’d been to yet where people weren’t on their phones. I speed-dialled Alex and let it ring. It was almost five in LA, so almost eight in New York, too late for him to be asleep, way too early for him to be writing. Maybe he was just out. Maybe he was surrounded by groupies. Hot skinny blonde groupies plying him with compliments. And drugs. Oh God, they’re definitely giving him drugs—

  ‘Angela?’

  ‘Hey, I just wanted to…’ Check you weren’t in the middle of a drug-fuelled orgy with a bunch of groupies. Or Kate Moss. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, I can’t talk,’ Alex sounded as if he was outside and I was instantly homesick for the sound of sirens and honking horns. Groupies honking their horns at my Alex…‘I’m just getting on the subway.’

  ‘Going anywhere nice?’ Like Kate Moss’s hotel room?

  ‘We’re gonna try out some new stuff at an open mic night in the city,’ he said. ‘See what it sounds like live.’

  ‘Really?’ I was surprised at how upset I was. He was going to try out new songs without me? ‘Wish I was there.’

  ‘Did you want me to wait until you got back?’

  ‘Yes. Will you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You were kidding, right?’

  No, I thought. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘of course. Let me know how it goes?’

  ‘OK, talk later.’ And he hung up.

  ‘Yes, the interview’s going great. No, I’m not going to have an affair with James but it’s sweet that you’re worried,’ I muttered to myself as I redialled Jenny.

  ‘Angie?’ she answered.

  ‘You’re all right then?’ I asked, faking annoyance. ‘Where were you last night? With Joe?’

  ‘No,’ she sniffed. ‘Sorry Angie, I can’t talk, I’m busy. And you don’t want to get in trouble with your movie star.’

  I didn’t know what to say, she sounded slightly peeved. ‘Everything is fine with the interview. I wanted to check you were OK. I was worried when you didn’t come back to the hotel last night.’

  ‘Not worried enough to call before this afternoon or come out last night though, huh?’ she countered.

  ‘Miss J, come on!’ I heard Daphne yelling in the background. ‘Are you talking to that British chick?’

  ‘Sorry Jenny, I was so ill and I knew I was going to have to actually be able to think today. Can’t we go for dinner tonight?’ I asked. Moody Jenny was not fun.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll make dinner, we’re out,’ she said, vaguely. ‘I’m sorry, I know you’re working. I just hoped we were going to get to spend more time together. Where are you?’

  ‘The Roosevelt.’ I looked around at the beautiful interiors. ‘It’s so gorgeous here.’

  ‘Is James with you?’ Jenny asked, slightly more interested. ‘Could he get us on the list for Teddy’s?’

  ‘If I knew what that was, maybe.’

  ‘It’s the club in the Roosevelt.’ She sounded excited for the first time since she’d picked up the phone. ‘Go ask him and then call me back.’

  ‘I might have finished your burger,’ James said, not at all apologetically as I dropped back into my seat. ‘But if you wanted to order something else, I could absolutely help you with it.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, idly picking at a tasty chip. ‘Suppose we should really crack on with the interview.’
<
br />   James frowned. ‘Actually, I’m a bit knackered. How would you feel if we held off until tomorrow? I could do with an early night.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I nodded. An early night? Not very Hollywood hell-raiser. ‘I ought to get one myself but I have a horrible feeling I’m going to end up out with my friend.’

  ‘Do you know where you’re going?’ he asked, polishing off the last bit of my bun and starting on the fries. ‘There are some right shit-tips around here if you’re not careful.’

  ‘She said something about Teddy’s? That’s here, isn’t it?’ I really couldn’t bring myself to ask him to get us in. It was just too embarrassing.

  ‘Yeah, Teddy’s is fun,’ James chewed thoughtfully, ‘but—and don’t take this the wrong way—it’s really hard to get in. What time were you thinking of going?’

  I shrugged. ‘Don’t know—late, I think. Jenny is out doing…something.’ It bothered me that I didn’t know what that something was.

  ‘There’s no point really getting there before eleven. Tell you what, I’m going to go back to the hotel and then why don’t I come back and meet you here? I’m sure I’ll feel better later, and if I’m with the enemy, I’m less likely to get into trouble,’ he said before draining his Diet Coke.

  ‘The enemy?’ I was completely confused.

  ‘Journo,’ he nodded towards me.

  ‘Oh,’ I almost laughed out loud. ‘Sorry, I feel like I’m letting you down.’

  James set down his glass and pushed my hair back behind my ear, his hand lingering against my flushed cheek. ‘It is a shame,’ he agreed.