‘You can’t do that, just think of all the fans you would be letting down.’
‘Think about it, if I wasn’t famous there’s no way Crystal would have wanted to shag me. I wouldn’t even be in this mess. When I stormed out, I thought I might go to a club, but I couldn’t risk having my picture taken. I’d look like a total dick.’
‘I know things seem shitty right now,’ I down my drink for confidence, because I’m not entirely sure that I truly believe what I am about to say. ‘You’re just panicking because it’s all different. You just need to chill out, have a night off, and everything will seem better in the morning.’
‘You’re probably right,’ he reluctantly admits. I know I’m probably wrong, but what choice does he have now? Trying to divorce a pregnant woman a couple of weeks after your rushed wedding is bad enough, but for a celebrity like Dylan, it would ruin his profile completely, he’d be hated.
I grin at him. ‘I’m always right.’
‘I’m being a selfish shithead, aren’t I?’
‘You’re not being selfish, love. You’re just not used to this stuff.’
‘I’ll go back early tomorrow and beg for forgiveness, I guess.’
‘Good idea. Do you need a place to stay?’
‘I booked into The Chater – something.’
‘The Châtaigne?’ I ask, excitedly.
‘That’s the one.’
‘Oh, flashy!’ I say this to tease him, but it really is a nice hotel. All of the really big stars stay there when they come to town.
‘Don’t take the piss or I’ll get you with that hairspray. We could go back there and get drunk?’ he suggests with a sigh.
‘Way to make a girl feel welcome!’
‘Well we can’t go anywhere else, can we?’
‘Perhaps...’ I skip towards my office excitedly. ‘I’ll be back.’
I grab my phone to make a quick call.
‘Emily, hello,’ I say breathlessly as soon as she answers. ‘Listen, something has come up and I can’t come over tonight, can you let Jake know not to pick me up please?’
‘Yeah, course. What’s going on?’
‘I’ll tell you, but it’s top secret. Don’t even tell Jake.’
She promises, but it goes without saying that I can trust her.
‘Dylan is here! He needed to get away so he’s come here, but he’s going back in the morning.’
‘Oh my God!’ Emily squeals. ‘Is he staying at yours?’
‘No, no, he’s staying at The Châtaigne.’
‘Oh, flashy!’
‘That’s what I said!’ I said over-enthusiastically, quickly lowering the volume of my voice again in case Dylan hears me. ‘I’m going to take him to the foam party, cheer him up a bit.’
‘That’s nice but it won’t look very good if anyone sees him out partying, will it?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.’
‘How?’ she ask curiously.
‘A disguise!’ I announce proudly.
‘Won’t that look a bit weird?’
‘Emily, it’s Halloween.’
‘So?’
I laugh. ‘So everyone is dressing up tonight, you ditzy cow!’
‘Oh,’ she replies, sounding slightly offended. ‘Well I’ll let Jake know, have fun.’
The call ends abruptly, but she knows I’m busy.
Skipping back out into the main office, I grab the big box from underneath Jake’s desk and plonk it down in front of Dylan. ‘We’re going to a party! A foam party!’
‘We’ve been over this, I—’
‘Look inside the box,’ I insist.
‘Halloween costumes? Nicole Wilde, you beauty!’ he rubs his hands together and begins searching the box for something suitable.
‘We had them leftover from a photo shoot, I knew they would come in handy for something.’
Dylan pulls out a rubber Frankenstein mask and puts it on. It covers his head, eyes and nose and he is instantly unrecognisable. I grab the witch’s hat that Vicky wore during our Halloween photoshoot with Chillz. As far as witches’ hats go, it’s really pretty. It’s black, with a big, black, glittery bow and a black lace trim. This will do nicely.
I hand Dylan my compact and he checks out his disguise.
‘I think we might actually get away with this, you know.’ He grabs the bottle of vodka and fills our glasses. ‘We may as well finish this and then we’ll head over to the club. It’s a long time since I’ve been anonymous, I’m excited.’
He looks excited – well the bottom half of his face does, at least. I’m going to make sure we have a really good time, because as soon as the babies are born he won’t be able to do this any more. To be honest, after my conversation with Charles, I’m not sure I’m supposed to be doing this any more either.
Chapter Forty-Four
The Incident
I am covered in foam, I am drunk and life is good.
Dylan is also covered in foam, drunk and still wearing his mask. I can still see his mouth though, and I don’t think he has stopped smiling for a second tonight.
We’ve spent the entire night drinking and dancing in the foam. It’s been great hanging out in public with Dylan without being approached by anyone. No one has given us a second look all night, we just blend in with all the other monsters and witches.
I’m waiting for Dylan outside the little boys’ room and dancing in a way that a sober person couldn’t get away with. Dylan staggers through the doorway and falls into me, pinning me against the wall.
‘Caught you!’ I shout and we both find this absolutely hilarious.
‘I’m so hungry! There’s a seriously stacked mini-bar in my room.’
‘What are we waiting for?’ I yell.
As we make our way towards the exit, Dylan wraps an arm around my waist.
‘Don’t want you falling,’ he yells over the music, but he isn’t exactly steady on his own feet right now. We stumble out onto the street, which is crawling with people all wearing different costumes.
‘Sorry, mate,’ Dylan says as he stumbles into a lamp-post.
‘There!’ I point down the road towards the little side street where the hotel is located. ‘That’s where we need to be.’
We walk down the road slowly but surely. It’s for the best in these (drunken) circumstances.
Dylan is singing to himself in a high-pitched voice and we’re both laughing uncontrollably. I try to shush him as we approach the hotel because it’s so quiet outside. There isn’t a soul around, not even a doorman outside the hotel.
Just when I think we’ve made it in once piece, Dylan topples over and, because he is holding on to me, he drags me down with him. We fall really awkwardly and somehow Dylan manages to land right on top of me. We freeze for a few seconds before carrying on with our hysterical laughter. Dylan’s mask has fallen off and his hair has gone all flat so I run my hand through it to make it look less sticky and to make him look less like a drunk as he walks through the hotel lobby.
‘Are you OK?’ he whispers.
‘I am, but you’re squashing me. And your mask has come off.’
‘Shit.’ He stands up, still laughing, and looks around the floor for his mask, almost taking another tumble. ‘I think it went under that BMW.’ He points towards the car parked next to us. ‘I’ll get it.’
‘No, no, no, no,’ I beg. ‘Leave it. You might set off the alarm or something. I’ll never wear it, I assure you. It doesn’t go with anything I own.’
‘OK, let’s go eat!’ he announces, slapping his hand across his mouth when he realises just how loud his voice is.
‘Shhhh!’ I tell him, giggling and taking him by the arm. ‘Try and act sober, OK?’
Chapter Forty-Five
The Storm After The Calm
I’ve had some hangovers recently, but this one really takes the alcohol-soaked cake.
My memory of last night is hazy. Come to think of it, I’m having a lot of trouble with my memory at the m
oment. I’m beginning to think it has something to do with alcohol.
I’m right in the middle of a king-size bed and it’s oh-so-comfortable. If only I didn’t have this banging headache, it’s like my brain is trying to bash its way out of my skull – I think it’s had enough of me.
There’s a massive TV on the wall facing me, already switched on. I never get to watch much daytime TV because I’m always either asleep or at work, but for a moment I am totally captivated by a man – no, a woman – telling the story of his sex change. Her sex change? Either way, it’s fascinating. I hear a groaning noise coming from the bottom of the bed, which is so huge I actually have to crawl to the bottom just to see what is on the floor. Face down, sprawled out across the carpet (which looks surprisingly comfortable), is Dylan.
‘You all right?’ I extend a leg and give him a prod on the shoulder with my big toe. He doesn’t say anything, he just laughs at me.
‘Say that again,’ he demands.
‘What?’
‘What you just said, say it again,’ he insists, still lying face down on the floor.
‘You all right?’
‘I fucking love your Yorkshire accent.’
‘Oh God, what do I sound like?’
‘Yo’rite!’ he teases.
‘I don’t sound like that!’ I insist, with a sneaking suspicion that I do sound exactly like that. ‘You all right?’ I say to myself, smiling because I see exactly what he means.
‘Listen, you want to visit the village where I grew up and hear an old farmer talk with a proper Yorkshire accent, you’ll fast go off it.’
‘Go on then, how would they say it?’ He rolls over onto his back and puts his hands behind his head.
‘Y’alreyt?’
He laughs. ‘Sounds the same to me, babe.’
I give him the finger and he sticks his tongue out at me.
‘It’s hearing that dodgy accent that reminds me how much I miss spending time with you. Last night was fun.’
‘How much of last night do you actually remember?’ I ask, standing up and adjusting my outfit. There is nothing quite like the pain of falling asleep in an underwired bra.
‘Well, none of it, but it was good fun, I’m sure. Thank you for looking after me.’ He smiles sincerely.
‘You’re welcome. Can I use your bathroom?’
‘Sure. You leaving me?’
‘Yeah, I’m late for work, and you have to go home and grovel to your wife, remember?’
‘Ah, shit. I remember.’
I close the bathroom door behind me. Another nice big bathroom to remind me of how small and crap my own is, no pun intended.
‘What the hell are you watching?’ I hear Dylan shout.
‘God knows! It was on when I woke up.’
‘Oh God! They’re showing the surgery!’ I hear him cry.
‘Turn it off,’ I laugh. ‘It’s only going to scare you!’
Looking in the mirror, I am half-tempted to wear my witch’s hat on the way home, because not only does my hair looks awful, but it might distract people from my make-up-smeared face. I wet a towel and try to wipe the smudges off, careful not to wipe it all off because that would be as bad as going outside naked. Despite being late for work, I have no choice but to go home and smarten myself up, even though work is much closer.
‘How do I look?’ I give Dylan a twirl.
‘Like you spent a night in a hotel room with a rockstar,’ he says with a wink.
‘That’s what I’m afraid of. It’s like the walk of shame, without the shame.’
‘Would it really be a shame?’ he teases.
‘Shut up you!’ I lean forwards and give him a peck on the cheek. ‘Right, some of us have proper jobs to get to, so I must leave you here in your five-star hotel, poor you. Maybe you should tidy up a bit, the room is a tip.’
‘It looks like we gave the mini-bar a good bashing. I’ll see you soon, I promise,’ he calls after me as I walk towards the door.
‘I hope so,’ I tell him with a smile, but I’m not convinced.
As I go down in the lift, I look at my reflection in the mirrored walls and fidget with my hair and clothes until I look as presentable as possible. Stepping out, I look across the lobby and see a huge crowd gathered outside the hotel entrance. As I walk closer, I notice that that it’s the paparazzi with only a couple of hotel security guards to stop them coming inside. Armed with super high-quality looking cameras, I selfishly hope that whoever they’re waiting for doesn’t come out at the same time as me because I’d hate to get caught looking like this in the background of one of the photos – knowing my luck it would end up on the front of a national newspaper.
I wonder which celebrity they are waiting for. Whoever it is, I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for them. This is exactly what Dylan was telling me about last night. Dylan! As soon as I’m out of earshot, I’ll give him a call and warn him. They wouldn’t be able to believe their luck if they were waiting around for someone else and Dylan King strolled out. Two for the price of one!
I manage to walk out of the door and down the steps before one of them calls out, ‘There she is!’
I spin around to see which mega-star they are waiting for, only to have them all point their cameras at me.
‘Nicole, over here,’ one man calls out. I don’t know what to do so I turn around and run towards the main road. Looking over my shoulder, I realise they are all chasing me but I don’t have the energy or the right shoes to escape them. Shit, shit, shit. As I get to the main road I look left, then right. I don’t know where to go. The photographers catch up with me almost instantly and carry on snapping. Standing here helplessly with them all surrounding me, I have nothing to do but panic. They’re all shouting things at me, but I can’t work out what anyone is saying and instinctively hold my witch’s hat over my face.
‘Out the way! Move!’ I can just about make out a broad Yorkshire accent booming above the rest. I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders and sense myself being ushered away from the photographers.
‘Get in here. Quick.’
With the hat still held firmly over my face, I get in the car. I don’t know who this person is, but if he had both hands on my shoulders then he can’t have been one of the men trying to take my photo.
As I feel the car moving, I finally let go of the hat and gaze out of the back window, only to see the crowd of photographers try and chase the car for a few seconds before admitting defeat.
‘You OK?’ I hear the driver ask. Oh thank God, he’s a taxi driver.
‘Yes. I think so.’ I let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you for saving me.’
‘Wasn’t gonna stand by and watch them harass a young lass.’ I see him smile in the rear-view mirror. ‘Where can I drop you where you’ll be safe, love?’
I give him the name of the street where my office is because it’s closer than home. ‘What do I owe you?’ I ask.
‘You don’t owe me ’owt, happy to help.’
I key his driver number into my phone. He saved me and I can’t let that go by unacknowledged, although I’m not sure of the etiquette when it comes to saying ‘thank-you for saving me from the paparazzi’ because this type of stuff isn’t supposed to happen to me.
‘Love, if you don’t mind me asking, what is it you’ve done to have them chasing you?’
Looking into the rear-view mirror again, I make eye contact with my hero.
‘I wish I knew.’
Chapter Forty-Six
The Shit Hits The Fan
I leg it through the ByteBanter office without making eye contact with any of the geeks. Finally through the Starstruck doors, I am greeted by Jake and Emily and they look worried.
‘What the hell is going on?’ I cry out, assuming they already know.
Emily and Jake look at each other in a which-one-has-to-tell-her kind of way.
‘Tell me!’ I try to calm down. ‘Please.’
Emily hands me a copy of today’s Daily Scoop. I take the wr
etched tabloid in my hands and examine the headline.
‘Dylan goes Wilde!’ I read out loud. There is a large photograph underneath the headline showing me lying on the pavement with Dylan on top of me. We’re gazing into each other’s eyes and I’m running my hand through his hair.
‘Fuck!’ I throw the paper as far away from me as possible. ‘It’s not what it looks like.’ I feel tears roll down my cheeks.
‘We know,’ Jake puts his arm around me, but I noticed that Emily keeps clear. ‘Maybe if you just explain what actually happened—’
‘Are you kidding?’ I snap. ‘I was there, I know that nothing happened, and even I think it looks fucking dodgy!’
I’m not sure how I’m going to talk my way out of this one. The photos from last night show me arriving at the hotel and the photos they took this morning will show me leaving the hotel – it’s going to look like I spent the night with Dylan. I mean, I know I did spend the night in his room, but nothing happened. Neither of us did anything wrong, we didn’t even share the bed!
‘Why are you looking so sheepish?’ I ask Emily, noticing her picking up the paper that I threw. She’s being awfully quiet, or maybe I’m just being over-sensitive.
‘Tell her,’ Jake insists, and I’ve never heard him sound so forceful or so angry.
‘Tell me what?’
Emily fidgets with the newspaper, sorting the pages back into the right order.
‘Tell me what, Emily?’ I yell, making her jump. Never in my life have I shouted at Emily and doing so makes me feel even sicker than I already do.
Still not saying a word, she hands me the newspaper and points to the by-line.
‘Words and pictures by Vicky Mason,’ I read out loud. I can’t believe my eyes.
‘How?’ I look at Jake and follow his gaze towards Emily.
‘Emily, no. You didn’t.’
‘I thought I could trust her.’ Emily falls back into her chair and bursts into tears.
‘Why on earth would you think you could trust Succubus?’ I yell. ‘And I asked you not to tell anyone! I trusted you!’
It breaks my heart to shout at her when she’s crying like this, but look what she’s done. She’s made me look like a complete slag and she’s made Dylan look like an adulterer.
How Not to Be Starstruck Page 20