I have to say, Spencer’s always been my kind of goy.
Ketchup turns out to be a pretty amazing spot. I order a pepper-seared Kobe with fries, Sorcha has a twenty-first-century cobb without the chicken, the bacon or the blue cheese – a grassbox, in other words – and Honor has a plate of sweet potato tater tots, which I’m pretty taken aback to see her eating with chopsticks – as in, her own personal set?
I can’t even eat with chopsticks.
‘I can’t believe you have her eating with those things,’ I go and Sorcha ends up nearly biting my head off. She tells me I don’t live here, so I have no idea how important the whole diversity thing is. She goes. ‘Poet, one of Honor’s playdates, is actually part Asian-American, Ross.’
I’d forgotten how sexy she can be when she loses it. But I’m also thinking how nice this actually is? As in, the three of us sitting here, back together as, like, a family again.
I’m there, ‘How would you feel if I told you I had a date tomorrow night?’
She looks all of a sudden serious. ‘Oh,’ she goes. ‘I mean, that was quick. Can I ask who?’
‘You’re not jealous, are you?’
‘No, it’s just – you only arrived, what, three days ago.’
‘I’ve always been a fast mover – you know that. And if you must know, she’s an actress.’
‘An actress? Oh my God, what’s she been in?’
She’s bulling – as in, seriously bulling.
‘Well, it’s early days yet. Obviously, we want to keep things below the rador for now.’
Honor all of a sudden storts crying, for no actual reason at all. Some people would say that’s women for you. She’s not only crying, roysh, she’s pretty much screaming the roof off, to the point where Sorcha has to take her out of her baby chair and sort of, like, bounce her on her knee.
‘Okay,’ she goes, ‘just answer me this, is it Jessica Stroup?’
‘I can tell you it’s definitely not Jessica Stroup.’
‘Torrey DeVitto?’
‘No, it’s not Torrey DeVitto.’
‘Hilarie Burton?’
‘Whoa, enough with the guessing already!’
‘I’m sorry,’ she goes. ‘But if it’d been any of those, I would have been jealous… Come on, Honor, what’s wrong?’
She offers her everything from her bottle to her Dora the Explorer doll to a spicy tuna roll, but there’s no calming her.
‘You’re saying you’re not jealous?’ I go.
She shrugs. ‘You’re a free agent,’ she goes, then she stares into space, obviously surprised at how badly it’s affecting her.
She stands up very suddenly and says she has to go to the restroom – and she actually uses that word. ‘See if you can do anything with her,’ she goes, plonking this bundle of basically noise in my lap. ‘You know, she’s been so irritable the last couple of days, which isn’t like her at all.’
That gets me suddenly thinking. I follow Honor’s line of vision and realize that, yeah, she’s staring straight at my Americano. All she basically wants is a sip of my coffee. So when Sorcha hits the jacks, I check that no one’s looking, then I hold the mug up to her lips. She immediately stops crying. She has, like, three or four sips – five at the very most – and she’s suddenly happy like you wouldn’t believe.
‘Oh my God!’ Sorcha goes, suddenly back from the can. ‘What did you do?’
I’m there, ‘I don’t know. Maybe I’ve just got, like, a way with her.’
She’s like, ‘You certainly do. I am, like, so impressed. So what do you want to do – do you want to hit one or two more shops in the afternoon?’
I’m there, ‘Hey, I’m easy like a Sunday morning.’
‘I am so excited about my plans for the shop,’ she goes. ‘Oh my God, I’m going to blow Coast and Reiss out of the water with the dresses I’m going to be bringing in. We’re talking Literature. We’re talking Bailey. We’re talking KLS. We’re talking Cash Lords. And a simple question – why is no one in Ireland doing Antik and Taverniti jeans?’
On the spur of the moment – and this is totally unrehearsed – I decide that that’s my cue to bring up, like, the whole Erika situation? It’s only a matter of time before she rings her anyway.
‘Speaking of antics,’ I go, ‘the major news back home involves Erika.’
‘Erika?’
‘Exactly.’
‘As in, my best friend Erika?’
She definitely thinks I’m going to tell her I was, like, with her – as in, with with? – so this might even turn out to be a bit of a relief to her. ‘Before you say it, it’s not what you think,’ I go. ‘No, the thing is, it turns out – now how random is this? – that she’s kind of, well, my sister…’
‘Your sister?’
‘Well, half-sister really. She found out that that dude Tim was never her old man…’
‘Hang on, Ross. I can’t take this in. Erika… is your sister?’
‘Yeah, her old dear came clean. Told her that her old man was a goy she had, like, a fling with in the seventies, eighties, whatever…’
‘Er, I know that, Ross? I talked to her at Christmas?’
‘Well, the goy she had the fling with turns out to be my old man…’
‘Oh! My God!
‘Exactly – poor focking girl. How would you feel finding that out?’
Sorcha suddenly bursts into tears. ‘Drive us home,’ she goes without even looking at me. ‘Now.’
‘I thought you’d love the story,’ I make the mistake of going. ‘Especially with all those soaps you watch…’
She totally flips at that.
‘She was, like, my Best Best Friend!’ she practically screams at me.
I’m there, ‘I dare say she still will be.’
‘How could you, Ross?’
‘What do you mean, how could I?’
‘How could you do it?’
There’s, like, silence in the restaurant. First Spencer and Heidi, now me and Sorcha – the drama never focking ends in this place.
I’m there, ‘Er, this is one of those things that isn’t my actual fault?’
‘And you kept it to yourself this long?’
‘Whoa,’ I go, ‘I only found out myself, like, four days ago.’
‘Why didn’t you say something the night you arrived?’
‘Because I knew I had to get the timing right. And you were pretty keen for me to try those hot dogs. Which I thought were amazing, I don’t know if I mentioned.’
Sorcha’s shouting is drawing quite a lot of attention our way now. ‘I never want to see you again,’ she goes, standing up and pretty much snatching Honor out of my orms.
‘Fair enough,’ I go. ‘Here, I’ll give you a lift home.’
She’s like, ‘Actually, don’t bother, Ross. We’ll get a cab,’ and then, just before she storms off, she takes one last look at me, narrows her eyes and goes, ‘And whoever it is you’re meeting tomorrow, she’s welcome to you!’
Then she’s suddenly gone, leaving me sitting there, picking my way through what’s left of her salad, looking for something edible and at the same time thinking, that could have gone a hell of a lot worse.
I’ve spent, like, an hour walking up and down the beachfront in Santa Monica and I can honestly say I’ve seen more meat on a focking Barbie doll.
Los Angeles is one of those towns that could give even me a complex – that is, if I hadn’t kept myself in such unbelievable shape.
This isn’t me being big-headed, but I am looking the port, it has to be said, with the sunnies and the old pink apple crumble, which shows off my pecs really well.
A bird goes by me on rollerblades and ends up nearly snotting herself while checking me out. I end up just going, ‘Drink it up, Baby – it’s full of goodness,’ though it’s not in a sleazy way, because she actually loves it.
I sit down on a bench for a rest because the heat over here would actually wear you out. I whip out the Wolfe and dial the number. He a
nswers on, like, the third ring.
I’m like, ‘Christian, my man!’
‘Ah, Ross,’ he goes, obviously really delighted to hear from me. ‘How the hell are you?’
I’m there, ‘Not bad, Young Skywalker,’ which he loves, of course. ‘Although the question should be, where am I? Because I just so happen to be in a little town that goes by the name of… Los Angeles?’
‘No way!’ he goes.
I’m there, ‘Yes way! You better believe it, Dude! It’s happened! Just fancied a couple of weeks away – see a bit of Honor, possibly even Sorcha…’
‘Oh, so you’re staying in the mansion?’
‘Not exactly. I’m in, like, a hotel. To be fair to her, Sorcha offered? But I don’t want to cause trouble between her and that tosspot of hers.’
He’s there, ‘Yeah, we stayed with them. Cillian’s an alright guy, Ross.’
‘But he went to, like, Oatlands.’
‘I know – but even so.’
I just laugh. ‘Maybe. Whatever. I’m putting him under serious pressure, though. He’s bought a Lamborghini.’
‘A Lamborghini? Not the kind of thing you’d expect from an accountant, is it?’
‘Obvious why, though, isn’t it? His girlfriend’s got the love of her life back sniffing around her. He’s feeling threatened. Thinks he’s got to prove his manhood.’
A bird walks by in literally just a bikini – a ringer for Hayden Panettiere. She has a good look – gagging for me.
‘Hey, I read what happened in Andorra,’ Christian goes. ‘A try against Ireland A? That must have been…’
‘Pandemonium – that’s being honest.’
‘Wow.’
‘It was literally the closest thing to, like, Beatlemania that I’ll ever know. They were, like, carrying me around the pitch, pretty much shoulder-high, after the final whistle.’
‘Really?’
‘Big-time. It’ll definitely go down in history as one of those moments – what were you doing the day when blahdy blah? Like the day – what was his name? – something Kennedy was shot?’
‘Did it feel weird, though? You know, conspiring against your own country?’
‘Well, we were ninety-something points down at the time. I don’t think Michael Bradley’s going to get the road for it. Oh, by the way – I did?’
‘What?’
‘Yeah, I got sacked.’
‘Why?’
‘Why do you think? Trying to dip the wick where it shouldn’t have been dipped. In other words, the boss’s wife. Still, you live and learn. Or at least that’s the general idea. So what are you up to – do you fancy a boozy lunch?’
‘What?’
‘A boozy lunch. I’m in Santa Monica. I’ll tell you what, you’d have some pole on you walking around over here, wouldn’t you?’
He goes, ‘Ross, we’re in Marin County.’
I’m there, ‘Oh. What would that cost you in a cab?’
‘It’s, like, a five-hour drive?’
‘Whoa,’ I go. ‘It’s a massive place, isn’t it?’ meaning the States.
‘And obviously I can’t just leave Lauren…’
‘Oh, I forgot – she’s about to drop, isn’t she?’
‘Yeah – and she’s finding the last couple of weeks pretty tough-going.’
‘It’s going to be some year for you,’ I go. ‘Baby. Then work-wise obviously…’
I don’t know if I mentioned that he’s the project manager for the new Star Wars-themed casino in Las Vegas.
‘Yeah, Mr Lucas loved my idea to style the helipad on the landing bay in the New Death Star. And to have, like, stormtroopers and royal guards escort the highrollers to the tables…’
I’m there, ‘Oh, it’s Mr focking Lucas, is it?’
It’s great to hear my best friend in the actual world so excited about something.
‘It’s only six months to go, though. And there’s, like, so much to do.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ I go, ‘you stay where you are. I’ll drive up to you – maybe next weekend…’
He’s there, ‘Er, cool.’
‘Tell you everything that’s happening. I haven’t lost it, just in case you’re wondering. I’ve got a sort of date tonight with an actress. Called – of all things – Sahara. She’s invited me over to watch her TV debut with her and her mates. Planning to have my sweaty way with her, I don’t need to tell you. The Rossmeister will never change, that much is guaranteed.’
In the background, I can suddenly hear Lauren asking him who’s on the phone. He puts his hand over the mouthpiece, but I can still hear him go, ‘It’s Ross. He’s in California. He wants to come up here…’
I don’t hear what she says. Lauren, it has to be said, has always been very fond of me. ‘Here, put me onto her,’ I go. ‘I’ll tell her some of the shit I’ve been up to since I got here.’
Christian’s like, ‘She’s, em, just going to have a lie-down,’ and I’m there, ‘Oh, cool – well, I’ll see her next weekend, won’t I? Say, Saturday?’
Who knocked Katherine Heigl into shape, Nia wants to know – like, she has to know? Corey says it was Harley Pasternak – the man is, like, a God? Then Sahara says the Five Factor Diet is supposed to be so amazing.
Me, I’m sitting here like Jack focking Nicholson in the Witches of Eastwick, wrapping the old lips around a passion-fruit daiquiri, thinking even my critics back home would have to admit, on the basis of this, that my away form is every bit as incredible as my home form.
I’m here, what, less than a week? Fock knows what that is in hours, but here I am, in an unbelievable aportment on La Cienega Boulevard, wedged between Sahara, who wants me bad, and Corey, who’s a banger for Odette Yustman, while Nia – if I had to compare her to someone, I’d have say Holly Madison – keeps giving me the old deep meaningfuls on the down-low, obviously thinking, I’ll finish anything they don’t.
And we’re watching Grey’s Anatomy, waiting to see Sahara’s big TV debut, while milling our way through a table of food.
Corey says the hummus is – oh my God – so amazing and Sahara says she wants to put more wholegrain crackers out, but she’s scared of, like, missing it?
‘Is it going to be soon?’ I go, getting a bit bored to be honest, and she’s like, ‘Yeah, it’s coming up in, like, two minutes.’
I’m wondering is she going to be, like, a nurse. A corpse would be a bit of a let-down, it has to be said, though I suppose you’ve got to think in terms of what this could, like, lead to? I mean, I’m looking at her Wolfe Tone there on the table, thinking, imagine the focking numbers she’s already got in there. The second she hits the shitter later, I’m going through it looking for Ellen Pompeo and Chyler Leigh. And Heigl, obviously.
Nia is giving me loads, by the way. She’s all, ‘So, Eye R Lind! That must be like, Oh! My God!’
‘You’d be surprised,’ I go. ‘The circles I move in are pretty cool – pretty much the same as here, actually. The rest of the country’s basically backward.’
From her reaction, I can tell she’s pretty taken aback by my, I suppose, honesty. She thinks about what I’ve said for a few seconds, then suddenly smiles again and goes, ‘So what do you think of WeHo girls?’
Of course I end up giving her a line that’d be, like, a trademark of mine back home? I’m there, ‘I know what I like – and I like what I see,’ which goes down unbelievably well.
‘I still can’t believe you’re all actresses,’ I go. Corey laughs at that, then tells me that everyone in this town is, like, an actor, actress – whatever! ‘Not all of us have got major credits,’ she goes, looking, you’d have to say, pretty proud of Sahara.
I’d say they definitely would if I put it to them?
All of a sudden, Sahara’s shushing us, going, ‘Here it comes! Here it comes!’ and at first, I think it has to be a mistake, roysh, because it’s not Grey’s Anatomy anymore? It’s, like, a commercial break and we’re suddenly sitting there watching an ad for what t
urns out to be – and this is going to sound disgusting – a contraceptive coil.
I’m like, ‘What the fock is this?’
It’s like, ‘Introducing Progestin-Plus – the new, no fuss contraceptive. Progestin-Plus is easy, dependable and reversible…’
‘Is that you,’ I go, ‘rollerblading?’
Sahara’s like, ‘No, wait.’
‘Progestin-Plus guarantees maximum safety and more bearable periods, offering you greater peace of mind…’
‘That’s not you bungee-jumping, is it?’
‘No. Ssshhh! ’
‘So why not talk to your physician or healthcare provider about Progestin-Plus…’
‘And that’s obviously not you talking,’ I go.
Corey goes, ‘Ross, that’s a man’s voice.’
‘That’s why I said it obviously wasn’t her?’
She’s like, ‘Oh my God, here it comes.’
We all automatically lean forward in our chairs.
A woman’s voice – the fastest I’ve ever heard – goes, ‘Must be fitted by a qualified medical practitioner. Candidates for Progestin-Plus are in a stable relationship and have no risk or history of ectopic pregnancy or pelvic inflammatory disease. Progestin-Plus does not protect against HIV or STDs. Ovarian cysts may occur and typically disappear. Complications may occur from placement. Accidental expulsion may result in loss of contraceptive cover. Missing periods or irregular bleeding is common in the first few months, followed by shorter, lighter periods.’
When it’s finished, Nia and Corey give her, like, a round of applause. I don’t, of course, because I’m seriously pissed off. I feel like I’ve been brought here under, I suppose you’d have to say, false pretences?
Corey’s like, ‘Oh my God, Sahara, this is only, like, the start for you?’
‘Yeah, this time next year,’ I go, ‘it’ll be rubber johnnies – you mork my words.’
But it’s like they can’t even hear me.
Nia’s suddenly all Tyra Banks, clicking her fingers and flicking her head, going, ‘You nailed it, Girlfriend!’
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