How to be Famous
Page 28
‘Ideas,’ said Serena. ‘Thoughts.’
‘You write it all down?’
‘If I don’t write everything down,’ said Serena, ‘I forget.’
Briefly, Lynsey tried to imagine a world where she wrote down every thought she ever had. ‘That’s impressive,’ she concluded.
‘Not really,’ said Serena. ‘I just like to be organized.’
Lynsey reflected on this while she retrieved Serena’s latest batch of invitations and fan mail from the bottom of her tatty shoulder bag.
‘There’s some good stuff here,’ she said. ‘Vanity Fair want to profile you in their “top ten to watch”, Riley’s been on to me to get a follow-up for Junket.’ She offered Serena the relevant faxes but Serena waved them away.
‘No press,’ she said. ‘Nothing until Justice comes out.’
‘That’s months away,’ said Lynsey.
‘Exactly,’ said Serena. ‘Should give everyone the chance to forget me.’
‘Why would you want them to do that?’
‘So they can discover me again.’
Lynsey stuffed the rest of the press requests back into her bag. She wasn’t totally convinced that it was a good plan but it certainly made her job easier. ‘Now the good stuff,’ she said. ‘The parties!’ She waved a stack of invites like a wad of notes.
‘Nope,’ said Serena. ‘No more exposure, that means no red-carpet shots, no candid shots, no “here’s teenage starlet Serena Simon wearing vintage”, nothing.’
‘So are you just not going to leave the house ever?’ said Lynsey.
‘I’ll go to work,’ she said. Then, off Lynsey’s confused expression, ‘I just don’t want to get in people’s faces, look like some kind of publicity whore who’ll go to the opening of an envelope. I’m an actress now.’
Lynsey looked at the clutch of priceless invitations in her hand. She’d been hoping to accompany Serena to at least some of them. She’d already planned what to wear to one or two. Visions of happy freeloading nights, with nibbles and complimentary cocktails, fizzed away like the Alka-Seltzer that would have accompanied the following mornings. The disappointment was clearly etched on her face.
‘You have them,’ said Serena. ‘If you can get away with it.’
‘Oh, I’m not bothered!’ said Lynsey, not sounding very convincing and already tucking the invites away in her bag. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Anything else?’ asked Serena.
Lynsey groaned. Here came the complicated bit. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘We need to figure out what to do about you being a minor. At the moment it means that you’d only be able to work a certain number of hours every day, the shoot would have to employ a tutor or a chaperone, there’d be certain content you couldn’t do without permission, just basically a whole lot of extra hassle for anyone who employs you.’
‘A tutor?’ said Serena.
‘Exactly,’ said Lynsey. ‘But,’ she continued, ‘what we can do is apply through the courts for you to become an emancipated minor. It’s quite straightforward and very common. The guy I spoke to said they do it all the time over here with teen stars.’ She buried into her bag once more. ‘I have the information.’
‘A tutor would be cool. Could I finish high school?’
Lynsey looked up abruptly. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Is that something that you’d like to do?’
‘Well, yeah, sure.’
Lynsey could just imagine going back to Justice and asking for a designated tutor so that the actress they had on a two-year deal could finish her education. They’d say how admirable it was, how sensible, and then they’d say it was unworkable and go out and recast. All along Lynsey had assured them that Serena’s age would not be obstructive. Serena always seemed so obsessed with overcoming the youth she saw as a barrier to success that Lynsey assumed she’d be thrilled to be declared an adult in the eyes of the law.
‘Think about it, Serena,’ she said. ‘Do you really want your father having an element of control over your career?’
‘God, no,’ said Serena. ‘Where do I sign?’
‘I’ll set something up with you and the lawyer.’
‘Is he expensive?’
‘It’s okay. You’ve got plenty of money.’ Lynsey explained the exact payment structure of Serena’s deal and watched the excitement bloom on her pretty face. Serena looked at the four walls close around her and imagined the bigger place she would soon be able to buy. Somewhere large enough to enable her to bring her little brother out here, somewhere they could both call home. Just as long as she didn’t mess it up. If for any reason Justice didn’t like her, they could always fire her. She had a contract but Serena was smart enough to realize that termination clauses were there for a reason.
‘Thanks for coming over,’ she said. ‘But I have to get back to this.’ She indicated her Justice project.
‘Relax occasionally,’ said Lynsey. ‘Don’t work too hard.’
‘And how hard is that exactly?’ said Serena. ‘There’s nothing worse than being unprepared. I don’t like nasty surprises.’
‘I don’t think anyone likes nasty surprises, but there’s nothing wrong with a few good ones.’
Serena shuddered as if the very thought chilled her. ‘No, thanks. I like to be in control of my life, that way I can be sure to get it right.’
‘That’s impossible,’ said Lynsey. ‘Life’s not an exact science. You should take a break now and then, Serena. As your agent, I insist.’
*
After Lynsey had gone Serena thought about what she’d said. Perhaps the best way to approach this role would be to relax a little, to allow for more spontaneity. The directors would certainly have their own ideas and she didn’t want to appear to be inflexible. She had made a lot of progress, it was time to take a break. She chose to relax by putting a deep-conditioning treatment on her hair and watching one of Fabien Stewart’s best episodes again.
Fabien was exactly the sort of man Serena wanted for a life partner. He was talented and sophisticated, with symmetrical features and his own money. She went to her computer and started reading everything she could find about Fabien on the internet. By the time she had finished she knew his life story intimately and was enraptured. It never occurred to her that she didn’t actually know him at all.
27
Lynsey was poolside once more, working her way through Melanie’s considerable pile of unanswered correspondence. The sun was out and it really didn’t feel like work at all. This was what her dad might call a nice little earner. She sorted through her finances in her head. Serena’s deal was closed and Lynsey would be bringing in a steady ten per cent of that. With Melanie’s retainer it added up to a perfectly reasonable income. A bubble of glee floated through her stomach as she realized that it wasn’t far short of what she had been making at CMG but instead of being in an air-conditioned office, buried in paper for the majority of her daylight hours, she could work at her own pace in the fresh air with a fraction of her usual workload. She should have done this months ago.
Instinctively she had been putting Melanie’s mail in her usual three-pile system (respond immediately; throw away; keep for a year then burn) but she stopped herself and decided that she should start afresh with a new, more efficient way of working. She threw away the absolute junk and then turned to each letter in turn and drafted a response before moving on to the next one. It was a slower system, but certainly felt more productive.
The light was fading when she realized that she had been working solidly for almost four hours. This was something of a record for her new self-employed status. She felt the warm buzz of satisfaction. That was quite enough for one day and definitely enough to treat herself to a good night out. She wanted to have a few cocktails surrounded by strangers who might become friends. Or at least acquaintances.
She called Riley to see what was going on but his phone went straight to voicemail. She left a message and worked for a little while longer before she lost the light completely.
She was thinking of dragging herself back up to her room with the vague notion of taking a shower when a familiar figure cast a long shadow over the blue pool.
It was Toby. He looked exactly the same as the last time she saw him. Did he ever change out of his business suit, she wondered? It was a very nice suit but she was certain that Flamingo Park had never seen the likes of it before. She looked down at her own flip-flops and shorts ensemble and yet again thought how Toby so blatantly wasn’t her type. He’d asked her out again after the last time and again she had politely declined. It would seem that this boy did not give up easily.
‘Riley told me,’ he said, walking around the pool towards her. ‘But I didn’t believe it.’
‘What?’ said Lynsey, on the defensive immediately as she always seemed to be when this estate agent was around.
‘This is where you live?’
‘That’s right.’
‘As a professional, I have to say it has a certain… originality.’
‘Thanks,’ said Lynsey. She found that if someone was trying to insult her the best thing to do was take it as a compliment whenever possible. ‘I’d invite you in but I’m working.’ She indicated the pile of letters in front of her.
‘That’s weird,’ said Toby, ‘cos Riley just told me you left a message practically begging for a good time tonight.’
‘Why’d he tell you that?’
‘He can’t make it.’ Toby grinned. ‘So here I am.’
Lynsey inwardly groaned. Bloody Riley. He mentioned Toby all the time. He seemed determined for them to hook up. Giving out her address was bad enough but ridding her of any possible excuses to get out of what would surely be a mind-numbingly dull evening was almost going too far.
She had two options. She could fob Toby off with an obvious lie – something came up – or she could pull on her party frock and let him take her out on the town. She could always ditch him later in the evening if it came to that. Then she’d be free to hunt down Riley and hit him over the head for putting her in this position. How bad could it be?
Twenty minutes later, pulling away from civilization and high up into the Hollywood Hills, Lynsey thought that she should have taken the option of the obvious lie. She didn’t like to hurt people’s feelings but Toby was doing a whole ‘it’s a surprise’ number that was getting irritating, and the hard dance music from his top-of-the-range in-car stereo was tuneless and repetitive.
‘Can I change the sounds?’ she said, her hand already halfway there.
‘No!’
Lynsey pulled back sharply.
‘It’s just that it’s very temperamental,’ he said. ‘It took me ages to get the levels exactly right. Do you mind? We’re almost there.’
Almost where? she thought. They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, a residential area with nothing but the imposing gates of hidden houses. The view, where it could be seen, of Los Angeles spread out before them was impressive but the chances of there being a jumping nightspot in the locale seemed slim. A fearsome thought grabbed her; what if Toby was taking her to some look-out point for courting couples. Did that really happen? She’d thought it was only in the movies.
A lusty pink sunset dropped away behind them. ‘Don’t you think those colours are amazing?’ he asked.
‘It’s the pollution,’ she said.
The drive continued and Lynsey contented herself by looking at the eclectic mansions, imagining who lived in a house like that and what would be going on inside this one or that one. A massive mock-Tudor pile, complete with English roses tumbling over the wrought-iron gates and horse brasses nailed to the walls; a flamboyant hacienda that might think it looked like Gaudi but actually looked more like Vegas.
Eventually Toby turned onto a long gravel driveway.
‘Wait there,’ he said, and dashed out of the car to punch a few numbers on the electronic panel next to the gates. The gates eased open and they drove through. Toby killed the music – finally! – and they rolled on in silence.
The house that rose up to greet them was modest by Hollywood standards. A simple white boxy design that would look more at home in North Africa than here. Lynsey’s first thought was that this could be Toby’s house. He was taking her home for her big night out. But as they walked up to the front door he pulled a page of headed paper with instructions for the alarm from his pocket and she guessed that this was one of the places on his company’s books. Did he think this was the kind of place she could afford? Was he taking her house-hunting?
She stepped inside and was amazed.
The hallway was filled with candles and she was crushing rose petals beneath her feet as she walked. Best of all she could hear music, her kind of music, something with soul. She recognized the subterranean tones of Barry White. She turned speechless to Toby, who only smiled, and then she followed the sound.
She walked through the vast living space, more candles, more roses, and saw a perfectly laid table for two on a terrace overlooking the floodlit pool. White fairy lights trailed over the trellised walls like stars.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was a nice gesture, deeply romantic, but an obvious demonstration of the fact that Toby really didn’t know her at all.
A shadowy figure stepped out like an apparition, scaring her slightly. It was a formally dressed waiter who poured two glasses of champagne and retreated back into the dark recesses of the garden, finally breaking the laughter/tears deadlock. She started to giggle helplessly.
Toby was crestfallen. She wasn’t responding the way women were supposed to respond. She hadn’t softened in the candlelight, she hadn’t flirted or even thanked him. She’d just laughed. This was supposed to be romantic, not funny.
Lynsey paused to sip some champagne and then she spotted the floating roses on the surface of the pool and that set her off again. She caught his eye and seeing that he looked disappointed and slightly indignant she tried to rein in her laughter. But she was powerless against the tears that streamed down her face and she snorted champagne out of her nose.
Just as Toby was about to tell her to forget the whole evening and offer to drop her off somewhere she could have the kind of fun she craved Lynsey turned to him, her eyes sparkling.
‘This is fucking brilliant!’ she said.
He was confused. Her laughter unsettled him because it was so unusual. ‘You like it?’
‘Like it? I love it!’ She picked up a handful of rose petals from the crisp white tablecloth and threw them in the air, letting them settle like confetti. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘Then what’s so funny?’ he said.
‘Everything,’ she replied. ‘Just because something’s romantic it doesn’t always have to be solemn and sacred. Am I not allowed to laugh?’
She was infuriating, not least because what she said made sense. Cautiously, he smiled. She grinned back at him and sipped her champagne.
‘It’s sad – don’t you think? – when adults become like teenagers in angst-ridden love, thinking that what they feel is so damn important they forget to be happy. Then heartbroken when it doesn’t work out.’
‘I guess someone would have to be superhuman to break your heart.’
‘They’d have to have my heart first,’ she said. ‘And I’m a lot to take on.’
‘I’ll bet you are,’ said Toby.
‘Nothing’s too much for Superman,’ she said. ‘It’s a joke,’ she added, when he didn’t laugh.
The waiter served their dinner and then left them alone.
Lynsey attacked her plate of lemony chicken with enthusiasm. ‘This,’ she said, between mouthfuls, ‘is bloody lovely.’
It was an unconventional response to Spago’s famous signature dish, but by now Toby could not be surprised.
For a few minutes their conversation dipped into small talk while they ate. She told him about her new business, he told her how much this house was worth.
He was less nervous now and she was mellowing with the champagne.
When she’d finished Lynsey smacked her lips together like an Italian chef. She’d cleared her plate, which was a first for a date of Toby’s.
‘So,’ he said, ‘tell me what it takes for you to be serious about someone.’
‘Who wants to be serious?’ said Lynsey. ‘Serious sounds like bad news. It’s like when people say they’re in a serious relationship, what do they mean?’
‘Committed, long term, in love.’
‘Then why don’t they say that instead of making it sound as though all the humour has been sucked out?’
‘Relationships are a pretty serious business. Love is important to some people.’
‘Hey,’ said Lynsey, offended. ‘Love is important to me too.’
‘Are you kidding? You’ve just been telling me how it’s all about the fun.’
‘The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know. Someone makes me laugh, that’s a turn on; someone makes me happy, that’s love.’
‘But what about intimacy, romance?’
‘Well, this is pretty romantic,’ said Lynsey, indicating their setting. ‘And I’m having fun. Are you?’
‘And this?’ he said, reaching over to wipe a crumb from the side of her mouth and letting his fingertip linger.
‘Romantic,’ said Lynsey. She dipped her finger into her champagne and slipped it into his mouth. ‘This?’
‘Fun,’ he said. He reached across the table and held her hand.
‘Romantic,’ she said. ‘And a little bit corny, to be honest.’ With her free hand she reached under the table until