Looking for Andrew McCarthy

by Jenny Colgan

  ‘No, look! I’m Molly in reverse!’

  ‘Molly in reverse,’ said Julia. ‘Now, why wouldn’t I have known that?’

  ‘Pink skin, red dress instead of pink dress and red hair! It’s fate I tell you.’

  ‘Fate for what?’

  ‘If I wear this dress tonight, I’ll meet Andrew. Don’t you see? It’s too coincidental.’

  ‘We’re definitely not going now,’ said Julia. ‘You’re delirious.’

  ‘It’s a sign.’

  ‘What if you meet Andrew in reverse? He’ll have a really wide chin and narrow forehead and you wouldn’t like him at all.’

  Julia had eventually managed to coax Ellie out of the red dress and into something which made her look less like a volcanic pustule, and now they were hanging behind the ropes at the Sky Bar on Sunset Boulevard, glancing at each other nervously.

  ‘You on the guest list?’ asked one of the alarmingly attractive bouncers.

  ‘No, but I love you both,’ whispered Ellie to Julia.

  ‘No,’ said Julia. ‘We’ve just arrived from London for a couple of days and we were really hoping we could go and, you know, take a look around.’

  The bouncers looked at each other and shrugged. It helped that Julia stood almost entirely shielding Ellie with her body. Julia’s blonde hair and long legs did the trick and one of the bouncers pulled back the rope, then did a huge double-take when he saw Ellie.

  ‘This your first day in LA?’ he said, looking aghast at her flayed legs and arms.

  ‘No, I’ve been here ten years. I like to do this every day.’

  Inside a woman surely too beautiful to be doing this for a living, asked to check their ID.

  ‘They think I’m under eighteen?’ said Ellie in disbelief.

  ‘It’s twenty-one here ma’am,’ explained the attendant.

  ‘You think I’m under twenty-one? Fantastic.’

  ‘No ma’am, we have to check everyone who looks under thirty.’

  ‘You think I’m under thirty?’ She dragged out her passport. ‘Well, better than nothing I suppose.’

  ‘She’s not,’ said Julia helpfully.

  ‘Yes, thank you, lifelong friend.’ They bounced up the circular staircase, and outside into the bar beyond. There they stopped and gaped.

  ‘Christ,’ said Ellie. ‘This is one up on the Dog and Duck.’

  In front of them was a large terrace, shrouded by trees which were dotted with fairy lights. The end of the terrace had huge pillars framing a vast view of Los Angeles, the lights endless. In the middle was a cool-watered marbled swimming pool. Beautiful people were being brought sticky coloured drinks by other beautiful people. It was a perfect fantasy of a Hollywood bar.

  The girls both gasped then attempted to look nonchalant.

  ‘Are you sure we haven’t stumbled onto an advertising set,’ whispered Julia. ‘For one of those products for people who are better than you are?’

  ‘I’m not sure … God, isn’t that xxx over there?’ said Ellie, naming a famous television star.

  ‘It can’t possibly be,’ said Julia dismissively. ‘He’s got his tongue down the throat of another bloke.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Ellie. ‘A gay actor. That could never happen.’

  ‘I still prefer to think of him as an army vet who solves crimes in his spare time, if that’s okay with you.’

  ‘Oh God. Look, that fifty-year-old guy’s snogging a teenager!’

  ‘Should we tell someone?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suspect that’s okay here.’

  ‘Yeah … who was it Catherine Zeta-Jones married again? Was it Michael Douglas or his dad?’

  They sat down – Ellie extremely gingerly – and were too relieved to be served Cosmopolitans to do the necessary currency conversion. If they had, they would have realized that there might be another downgrade in hotelling necessary.

  ‘It’s like the UN of beautiful women,’ said Ellie, in awe, looking at the multicultural perfection surrounding them. ‘Even if they don’t know what UN stands for.’

  ‘Is one of my breasts larger than the other?’ asked Julia, looking at her reflection in the water.

  ‘I think, while we’re here,’ said Ellie, ‘we should just get off this perfection kick. Just accept that in this currency we’re a couple of trolls and everyone else here can ignore us. And remember, anyway, if someone starts chatting you up it’s because they want to put you in a porn film.’

  ‘Thanks for that little vote of confidence,’ said Julia, slurping her drink.

  ‘That’s okay, troll-face.’

  Two Cosmopolitans later, they were experimenting with their new found invisibility. People’s eyes passed over them as they would over dog shit on the pavement. Ellie had already flashed both breasts (one at a time) and was trying to get Julia to pick her nose when a short, chunky guy came up to them. He had fine features and an all-American corn-fed glow, getting slightly older, on him. They’d noticed him before, being hailed by various groups of girls, but ignoring them and moving on.

  ‘Hey … you two new in town?’ he said, looking at Julia.

  ‘No,’ said Ellie immediately. ‘And we don’t want to make any porn, thank you.’

  ‘If that’s okay,’ added Julia, in case they sounded impolite.

  ‘Hey, I’m not in porn!’ he said, throwing his arms wide and giving a big laugh. He held the position for several seconds then gradually brought his arms down.

  The girls stared at him.

  ‘Jeez, if anyone in here is old enough to recognize me it ought to be you two.’

  ‘Hey! I’m practically under eighteen,’ said Ellie.

  ‘It’s the colour,’ said the guy sorrowfully, shaking his head. ‘Oh God, I’m so depressed.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Julia kindly.

  ‘Don’t you know who I am? From the movies?’

  They looked at him.

  ‘You were once inside a wookie suit?’ asked Ellie.

  ‘You were somebody’s best friend at college who treated women really badly but got his comeuppance at the end?’ guessed Julia.

  The man sat down beside them.

  ‘Soul Man?’ he said.

  ‘Oh my God!’ said Ellie. ‘You’re … you’re …’

  ‘C. Thomas Howell!’ said Julia, exultantly. ‘Our first real life movie star!’

  ‘It’s Thom now actually.’ He took a reflective draw on his beer. ‘Newsweek’s “New Star” of 1986.’

  ‘Oh my God! Do you want to come and join us?’

  ‘Yeah, whatever …’ he said, glancing around the bar. ‘You just arrived?’ he asked, looking pointedly at Ellie’s puce legs.

  ‘No, I was trying to change my skin colour to get into an elite college,’ said Ellie.

  ‘God, that movie was fun wasn’t it?’ Thom said this and shrugged casually, as though of course it was no big deal really, he almost couldn’t be bothered bringing it up.

  The girls made encouraging noises. Ellie’s left leg was twitching uncontrollably in excitement. Score! This wouldn’t have happened if she was still at Rooney & Co! Although they sold Rodney Bewes an apartment once.

  ‘So, what are you up to these days?’ asked Julia encouragingly.

  ‘Made three straight-to-video movies this year,’ he said, ordering them all beers.

  ‘Oh, that’s fantastic! They’re the best kind!’ said Ellie. ‘Do you do any where beautiful prostitutes get murdered?’

  ‘You’re still a movie star!’ said Julia, and he grinned very nicely, so they told him about their quest.

  ‘Yep,’ he said. ‘Actors know everything alright.’

  ‘Why is that?’ asked Ellie. ‘Pop stars are always being asked things too.’

  ‘Search me,’ he said. ‘You know, in the eighties they used to ask me about things like Star Wars.’

  ‘You were never in Star Wars,’ said Julia.

  ‘I mean the defence programme.’

  ‘No,’ said Ellie.


  ‘Absolutely. All the major political events of the day. It’s important to have input from celebrities don’t you think? In fact, why the heck doncha do your quest with me?’

  ‘But then we’d have to go home tomorrow,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Do you really think you could help?’ asked Julia tentatively.

  ‘Shit, I know nothing. But could be worth a shot.’

  Ellie looked at Julia suspiciously, who shrugged back.

  ‘Okay,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Okay,’ said Thom. ‘My yoga teacher taught me this.’ He sat back and crossed his legs.

  ‘Crossing your legs. You’re practically a guru,’ said Ellie. ‘Okay, here’s what we want to know. Is it just us or, after all the promises we got during the 1980s, is grown-up modern life disappointingly hollow?’

  Thom pulled on his beer and looked thoughtful. ‘Hmm. Interesting. I don’t know. Might be just you. Do you have a lot of personality flaws?’

  ‘Aha!’ said Ellie. ‘But perhaps I’m only responding to my disappointing environment!’

  ‘Neh,’ said Thom. ‘You’re just older, aren’t you. You just get older and you get cynical.’

  ‘Is that true?’ said Julia. ‘Seems to me these days everyone is cynical.’

  Thomas thought about this for a while.

  ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Well, you know. Why wouldn’t you be? I don’t know about Great Britain, but you know, we all grew up with Reagan as a president and he told us things were just going to be bully brilliant for ever.’

  ‘And they weren’t?’ guessed Ellie.

  ‘Well, look at it this way for starters. How many black Brat Pack stars were there?’

  They looked at him for a second.

  ‘Just me,’ he said.

  ‘And you’re not …’ Julia decided not to state the obvious.

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Didn’t want to mess up our nice little middle class America with any actual facts, did they?’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Ellie. ‘Please be very careful with my belief that Brat Pack movies are documentaries.’

  Thom laughed and slapped her on the back. Ellie bit her lip and managed not to scream.

  ‘Okay. Just pointing it out. It’s just, Hollywood only really likes poverty gaps when they look like Molly Ringwald. Or, I guess, me for a bit. They don’t really care much any more.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Ellie was intrigued. ‘But you’re doing okay?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’m still working. And I got out of the Brat Pack alive. And I’m not one of the billions of let down wage slaves who saw the jobs come and saw the jobs go and don’t trust anyone.’

  ‘Oh, we’re them,’ said Julia.

  ‘Huh,’ he said. ‘Yeah, my wife works in marketing. Well, until the next reorganization, which will probably be in about a month’s time. But for me, you know, I’m pretty good. That’s my best attempt to stifle my cynicism.’

  ‘Do you know?’ said Ellie. ‘You’re not a bad guru.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said solemnly. ‘And it’s good practice for me – in my next role I’m playing a psychiatrist tracking a serial killer who attacks beautiful prostitutes.’

  ‘You’re doing great,’ said Ellie. ‘And anyway, you’re famous. Society has pre-conditioned us to find you cool. And, um, do you know how we could get in touch with Andrew McCarthy?’

  ‘Oh, God, Andy.’ He shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen him for years. He’s not a mad party-scene person.’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t be,’ said Ellie dreamily.

  ‘Have you thought about trying the phone book?’

  ‘Yes thank you.’

  ‘Alright. Well, hey, great to meet you.’

  ‘And you,’ said Julia. ‘No-one at home will believe us when we tell them.’

  ‘Especially since when we tell them you’ll be John Cusack,’ said Ellie.

  Over by the pool there was a cacophony of overexcited screaming as various nubile teenagers were thrown into the pool, the girls often without tops on.

  Thom looked over with an expression of distaste.

  ‘The bikinis are back,’ he said. ‘The cocaine’s back.’ He sighed. ‘Here we go again …’

  And he kissed them politely and disappeared back into the crowd.

  ‘Well,’ Ellie was saying, back in their tiny, non air-conditioned bedroom. ‘I say that’s not a bad start.’

  Julia nodded wearily.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t think he was trying to chat me up?’

  ‘For the four thousandth time,’ said Julia. ‘He accidentally touched you on the leg when he was walking off and you screamed the place down.’

  ‘Our making friends with movie stars skills are clearly second to none,’ said Ellie, ignoring her.

  ‘Yes, although I think that was probably a kindergarten class …’

  ‘But a good one. Out of interest, does Loxy like Brat Pack movies?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Julia thoughtfully. ‘No, he can’t stand them. I just assumed he thought they were for girls.’

  ‘It hurts to lie down on these sheets, I’ll never sleep,’ said Ellie. ‘Snort. Zzzz.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Julia to herself, ‘we are definitely trying the phone book.’

  Siobhan stepped out of her car into the November drizzle and sighed. Suddenly she could do with a bit of sunshine in her days. And she was getting tired of having to referee the boys all by herself, especially on chilli night.

  ‘Hey!’ she shouted, feeling her way through Big Bastard’s dark and cluttered hall. The bulb had gone and there was obviously a Mexican stand-off going on in the building as to who was going to change it.

  ‘Hey! Anyone there!’

  Big Bastard grunted.

  ‘Don’t just grunt! You could come and … welcome me in or something.’

  ‘Hello sweetheart! We’ve all been here for hours,’ said Arthur, coming out of the kitchen. ‘We waited for you and tidied up the kitchen cupboards. I didn’t even think they made Crispy Pancakes anymore. Beef flavour. YUG.’

  ‘Well, you knew I’d be late,’ said Siobhan. ‘I’ve got a big job on …’

  ‘A big bathroom job,’ said Colin, sniggering.

  ‘Hello Colin,’ said Siobhan indulgently. ‘Taking a break from your Tonka trucks?’

  ‘What are Tonka trucks?’ said Colin. ‘Are they like Transformers? I’ve been helping Arthur clean out the cupboards and cook dinner.’

  Siobhan looked mischievously at Arthur.

  ‘Did you let him lick the spoon?’

  Arthur made a face at her and ushered her into the living room.

  ‘Loxy’s here. Go cheer him up.’

  ‘Ah yes. I am so good at cheering up boys. I give them the necessary moral fibre to go out and find somebody better than me. Let me at him.’

  Loxy and Big Bastard were slouched in opposite easy chairs. They didn’t look up when she walked in.

  ‘Hi guys!’ said Siobhan heartily. ‘How’s it going?’

  Loxy lifted his heavy-lidded eyes. ‘Have you heard from …’

  Siobhan shook her head. Loxy sighed.

  ‘Which means they’re probably having a great time,’ said Siobhan. ‘If they’re dead, I’m sure we’d have heard. Or, you know, if they get arrested they’re allowed one phone call …’ her voice trailed away. ‘How’ve you been?’

  ‘Fine,’ shrugged Loxy. ‘Apart from the non-sleeping, non-eating bits.’

  ‘What about your non-shagging bits?’ said Big Bastard suddenly, and choked with laughter.

  ‘Ellie was right,’ said Siobhan, ‘when she wondered what the point of you was.’

  ‘Merely adding to the gaiety of nations,’ said Big Bastard. ‘Oh no – that’s those two in there.’

  ‘Hasn’t she left a number telling you where she is?’ Siobhan asked Loxy softly.

  ‘No,’ Loxy shrugged. ‘At this point I don’t even know if she’s ever talking to me again. I can’t believe I went to the airport.’

 
‘It was a lovely thing to do,’ said Siobhan, sincerely. ‘Really romantic and honest. There’s not enough people around like you. Most of them are shits.’

  ‘You should take it as time off, mate,’ said Big Bastard. ‘Go out and get shagging. There’s some right tasty dark birds out there … I’d do that Naomi Campbell. Do you know her? Oww! Owwwww! What the fuck did I say?’

  ‘Now, unless you want the other stiletto, you shit,’ said Siobhan, ‘and reporting to the Equal Opportunities Commission, I’d recommend you get the fuck out of your own sitting room.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Big Bastard. ‘I think some people round here need an Equal Opportunities Shagging Commission, so they’ve got a chance of getting themselves fucked out of their DEMENTED MOOD-SWINGS. I’m going off to see what the fairy blossoms have gotten up to.’ He raised himself up heavily and lumbered off to the kitchen. ‘Hey … don’t throw those fucking crispy pancakes away …’

  ‘I brought a bottle of wine,’ said Siobhan, slumping onto the floor. ‘Want a glass?’

  Loxy nodded disconsolately.

  ‘You know, I don’t think I understand women,’ he said as she poured.

  ‘That’s because men’s brains are wired to their bollocks,’ said Siobhan. ‘The circulation doesn’t work right. Don’t worry. You’re doing okay. In fact, I wish I had someone …’ She tailed off.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. She’s lucky. At least you’re trying.’ They each took a sip and stared into space.

  ‘Chilli’s up!’ Arthur, Colin and Big Bastard came into the room, carrying a steaming pot and a motley selection of cutlery, chipped plates, and bread of varying textures and ages.

  ‘Wine for me,’ said Arthur. ‘Beer for Big Bastard. Shandy for the boy.’

  ‘I am old enough to drink, you know,’ said Colin crossly. ‘Ooh – did you make jigsaw toast?’

  ‘Can we borrow a phone book?’

  ‘Hey!’ said the waitress. ‘You still staying at that fancy place across the street?’

  ‘Nope,’ said Julia. ‘But you’re the only person in Los Angeles we know well enough to borrow a phone book from.’

  ‘Apart from C. Thomas Howell. We know him. In fact we had drinks with him only last night,’ said Ellie importantly.