How Not to Be Starstruck

by Portia MacIntosh

  ‘That was seriously cool of her,’ Luke says.

  ‘Some people are so desperate for attention,’ I hear a female voice say rather loudly from behind me, but I’m too happy to care.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  The Mess

  You know that feeling of relief when you’re having a nightmare and you wake up to find it was all a dream? Well I just had that, but in reverse. In my dream we were all at work, even Vicky, and we were all getting on great – something which probably should have tipped me off that it wasn’t real. I woke up from my realistic dream to read that I had resumed my romance with Dylan King. I’ve got to hand it to the Daily Scoop, when they set out to ruin you, they really go for it.

  After last night’s red carpet awkwardness, someone had the bright idea to dig out the photo of me leaving Dylan’s house back when I first arrived in London – before Crystal had taken him back. Why am I making excuses? Nothing happened. I went over to try and sort things out and then he gave that false statement. Oh God, and I practically gave that pap his photo because I thought it might force Dylan’s hand and make him tell the truth. Instead, I gave them ammunition. They have a photo of my leaving Dylan’s house and I have no way of proving when it was taken. Even if I tried, who would believe me?

  The new and exciting twist in the tale is that I am supposedly cheating on Luke with Dill. They dug up Scott Hale’s blog about me and the TFTR boys, and because I am living with Luke now, in the world of journalism, that absolutely makes him my boyfriend. So, I’m cheating on Luke with Dylan, who is cheating on Crystal with me – what a small world. I would imagine Crystal knows Dylan and I haven’t been getting up to anything because, as far as I know, she doesn’t let him out of her sight, but I don’t think she’ll be rushing to defend me anytime soon.

  The rumours of my sex life have been greatly exaggerated. Supposedly I’ve had sex with various members of TFTR in the space of a couple of nights on tour, I’ve been having an affair with Dylan King, I am in a relationship with Luke Fox and we spend our days smoking, snorting and injecting things. So, how much of that is true? Well, I didn’t have sex with anyone on the TFTR tour, let alone multiple people, Dylan and I haven’t had an affair, Luke isn’t my boyfriend (despite our night of passion before he decided to split his head open and crack his ribs) and now, when we’re not working, we spend our time watching movies and playing video games and caffeine is our drug of choice. If you believe what you read in the papers, then I’m having the time of my life. The reality is that I don’t have a boyfriend, I’m scared to go out too much in case the paparazzi harass me and I spend most of my time chained to the computer, guest-writing articles for various magazines or replying to email interviews.

  So, what is happening tonight? Well, Luke is ordering pizza while I scan his DVD collection for a movie. Then we’re going to get an early night – in our separate beds. I wish I was having half as much fun as the press were making out.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

  It is the most wonderful time of the year, so why do I feel so crap? I have always loved Christmas and, come December, I am usually up for anything remotely festive. It was only last year that Emily and I went to visit Santa in town. I sat on his knee and told him that I wanted Ugg boots (I got them, although they were from my mum and dad) and had my photo taken with him. I thoroughly enjoyed it – I think Santa did too, which was kind of creepy.

  I have just completed all of my Christmas shopping, but as hard as I tried I just couldn’t get into the festive spirit. This is, to put it simply, because my life is fucked. The grass is always greener – it’s a cliché, but it’s true. I spent so many nights sitting in my little Leeds flat writing about famous people and envying their lives, but now I’m getting a taste of it all I want to do is spit it out. Here’s another cliché: be careful what you wish for. I always thought I’d achieve my Paris Hilton lifestyle by falling in love with a rockstar, making me some kind of rock WAG – details that I should have made clear every time I wished for the high life because I may have the fame side, but my reputation is always going to precede me, and we all know what kind of reputation I have. That said, I do have supporters now. My fanbase is made up of people who love me for swearing on a show watched by their grandmother, or Kelly Parker fans – I suspect no one actually believes I’m innocent because they certainly didn’t before my little flip-out on TV. Anyone who was starting to believe me certainly won’t now, since the Scoop stepped up their little campaign against me, making out like Dylan and I had rekindled our romance – the one that never even started. Oh well. At least I have managed to stretch out my fifteen minutes of fame, because if it wasn’t for the work Frank was getting me, I would be unemployed.

  With few friends there and no job to rush back for, I’m not going back to Leeds anytime soon – suddenly there’s not that much to go back for. Jake is forwarding me all my post and sending me the things from my flat that I need. Now that it’s common knowledge that I’m living in London, my little flat has drifted back into anonymity, with not so much as a drunk idiot pressing the buzzer in the middle of the night. My flat is getting about as much action as I am – probably more, because at least Jake is popping in and out of my flat.

  As much as I miss my flat, I’m loving living with Luke – although it was never going to be a long-term thing. He has been behaving, but only because at first he was too ill to misbehave and now because I am watching him like a hawk. I can’t be around all the time though, and now he’s back on his feet it won’t be long before he’ll be back on the blow (heard it called that in a film we watched the other night, can’t stop calling it that now) and bringing girls home – I don’t think I could stand that. I’ve got to get out of here, and the sooner the better.

  I’m having coffee with Kelly, and I’ve told her everything about what happened with Dylan – pretty much every last detail, well, what do I have to lose? As great as Luke has been at listening to me whinge, it feels like a huge weight has been lifted by telling Kelly. I may get on better with boys, but some conversations were made to have with girls.

  ‘So, what are your options?’ Kelly asks, sipping her coffee. I can’t quite remember what kind it was, but it took her about five minutes to order it, probably because she insisted on having all the fun (calories) sucked out of it. I keep glancing down at my full-fat gingerbread latte guiltily, maybe I should be on the low-fat, low-calorie, low-fun stuff now that I’m a superstar, darling.

  ‘Well I can go back to Leeds, try and find a job; my flat is still there waiting for me. I could stay here, keep doing the crappy interviews and try to find a place to live. Although it would be a long time before I could afford anywhere here, to be honest, and I can’t stay with Luke forever.’

  ‘I’m sure. If he’s anything like his sleazy friend, you need to escape while he’s too weak to hold you down.’

  I laugh, but jump to their defence. ‘Luke’s been great with me and Eddie is lovely really. He was probably just trying to look cool in front of you. I do need to get out of there though.’

  I neglect to tell her that I’d go crazy with jealousy the second I saw Luke with another girl. One of the only things I didn’t tell Kelly about was my history with Luke. I’m not ready to tackle that one yet.

  ‘My only other option is to be with my family. Throughout this whole thing my mum has told me over and over again that I can go live with them in France if I want to. I spoke to her this morning, and she said I could be there by tonight if I wanted to.’

  ‘And do you want to?’ she asks.

  ‘I suppose I do.’

  Kelly seems almost as surprised to hear me say this as I was when I realised it was true. I just want to get out of this situation.

  ‘But, Nicky, you’re turning into a little star here, you don’t want to give up. You’ve got a platform, you can do anything. Not many people get this opportunity you know.’

  ‘I know.’ I hate being cal
led Nicky, but it’s Kelly Parker, she can call me what the hell she likes.

  I pause to think about what she’s saying, but I’m fast reminded of the harsh reality of my situation.

  ‘Let’s be honest, everyone hates me. I’m OK for the gossip pages while the whole Dylan thing is still raw, but pretty soon everyone will stop caring, Dylan will carry on playing happy families and I’ll go back to being nobody with zero credibility. I’ve got to get out of here, Kelly.’

  ‘Won’t you stay for Christmas? You can celebrate it with me.’

  Yet another thing that, a few months ago, would have been music to my ears, but not now.

  ‘I’m not feeling very Christmassy.’

  ‘But you did your Christmas shopping.’ She nods towards my bags.

  ‘Yeah, but if my life were a film I’d be carrying them down the street, through a blizzard, all alone, tears freezing on my cheeks, to the tune of “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas”.’

  She laughs. ‘Oh, I can tell you’re a writer. I hear you though.’ She places an arm around me and rubs my shoulder. ‘Well I’ll miss you, Nicole Wilde. We could have been great friends. You’ll keep in touch, won’t you?’

  I had read interviews with Kelly in the past – I’d even written news articles about her – and I’d jumped to the conclusion that she was probably a stuck-up cow. I couldn’t have been more wrong, and I absolutely will keep in touch with her. I’d love nothing more than to stick around, playing with my famous friends and getting paid for talking about Dylan, but how long would it last? I can’t force people to believe me and they’re going to lose interest if I don’t bang another celebrity soon. I don’t have much choice, I have to go to France and the sooner the better.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  The Christmas Party

  Arriving back at the flat, I can hear lots of noise before I even put my key in the door. Finally managing to get it open with all my bags in my hands, I stumble through and come face to face with the last thing I need right now...happy people. Luke, Eddie, Mark, Ben, Carla – a few other people I recognise, and then a whole bunch of people I don’t know.

  ‘Nicole Wilde!’ Eddie calls out enthusiastically, he’s clearly wasted. ‘We’re having a jam, come and join us.’

  Whenever you party with bands – even when you’re not on tour – you can guarantee that someone will break out a musical instrument at some point.

  ‘I’ll pass,’ I say, a little blunter than I had intended.

  ‘Aww, Nicole, come on. Join in.’ He counts Ben in and they launch into a beautiful rendition of ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’, the last song I needed to hear right now. Maybe it’s just the way I’m feeling, but it annoys me that Eddie can be so smashed and still sing this song so beautifully. These guys really do deserve all the success they’re getting, and things are only going to get bigger and better for them. I couldn’t feel more tragic and out of place if I tried.

  ‘Hey,’ Luke greets me with a kiss on the cheek and glass of something.

  ‘I didn’t know you were having a party.’ I take the drink anyway.

  ‘It was a last-minute thing, I thought I’d surprise you.’ He gives me that grin I’ve always been a sucker for, but all it does is remind me of how things were.

  ‘I’m not really in the partying mood. I actually need some air, I’ll be on the balcony if you need me.’ I don’t give him chance to say anything, I just push my way through the happy people and once I’m outside I close the door behind me. It isn’t long before Luke joins me.

  ‘What’s the matter? Has something happened? You’ll freeze out here, Nic. Can we go inside and talk?’

  ‘I don’t want to go back in there,’ I sob, turning to face away from him so that he can’t see me crying, although it’s probably a bit late for that.

  ‘Hey, don’t cry.’ Standing behind me, he wraps his arms around me to keep me warm. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘I’m beat.’

  ‘You’re tired? I can clear this lot out in no time, you can go to bed. Things won’t seem so bad in the morning.’

  ‘No, Luke, I’m well and truly beat. I give up. I appreciate you letting me stay here for as long as I have.’ I wipe my eyes and turn to face him.

  ‘You’re leaving? Don’t go. I’ve got used to having you around. Don’t go back to Leeds.’

  ‘I’m not going back to Leeds, I’m going to France to live with my parents for a while.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  Of all the things I could have told him, I actually think that was the last thing he was expecting me to say.

  ‘I need a fresh start, somewhere where I don’t have such a bad reputation. And, to be honest, you’re better off not associating with me. You guys are still quite new, you don’t want my bad rep rubbing off on you. You’re harbouring a home-wrecker.’ I laugh through my tears.

  ‘Nicole, I don’t care about that. You can’t go, you’re winning people over, more and more people every day, don’t give up now,’ he pleads.

  ‘I was, until this new story. I can’t beat them and I’ve run out of energy to keep trying. My mind is made up, I’m going to France.’

  ‘When?’ he asks, unable to hide his disappointment.

  ‘Tomorrow, if I can get a flight. My mum is going to try and sort me one out. If not tomorrow, then the day after that.’

  ‘Your mind is made up?’ Luke asks me. I’ve only just realised that he isn’t drunk or high like most of the people at the party. Maybe his accident did knock some sense into him after all.

  ‘My mind is made up.’ I don’t want to go, but I really have no choice now.

  ‘I’ll be absolutely devastated if you go, Nicole.’ He squeezes me tightly, so tightly it must cause him pain in his ribs. As soon as he is alone in his flat again, he’ll be glad to have a bit of privacy back, I’m sure of it.

  ‘Will you sleep on it before you arrange anything final?’ he asks.

  ‘OK, I’ll sleep on it,’ I lie. I’m out of here as soon as possible.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  The Parcel

  I woke up in Luke’s spare room, freezing cold. He is almost as useless at playing house as I am. Right on cue he barges through the door (without knocking, although it is his flat and he has seen it all before) with a parcel in one hand and a coffee in the other.

  ‘Before you complain, the heating is on now. I have a coffee for you, to speed up the process, and a package arrived this morning.’ He drops the big, brown envelope down on the bed. It must be from Jake, he told me he was going to send me my post from the past few weeks. I rip it open and begin sorting through it all, separating it into two piles: ‘I don’t care’ and ‘I really don’t care’. As I near the end of the pile, a handwritten, padded envelope catches my eye. Curiosity gets the better of me and I rip it open. It didn’t occur to me until after I opened it that it might have been something horrible, like a dead rat or something even more disgusting from a disgruntled Dylan fan. Luckily it’s nothing grizzly, just a letter and one of those little USB memory sticks.

  ‘So, have you thought any more about staying?’ Luke asks, but I’m too caught up to pay any attention. ‘Oi, Nicole,’ he says loudly, and I snap out of my trance.

  ‘Sorry, it’s this letter. It’s from Scott Hale.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Luke asks, confused.

  ‘Scott Hale. He’s that horrible blogger, the one that put up a story about me and you guys on tour, remember?’

  ‘Oh yeah, the bloke with the fantastic imagination. Well, what does he want?’

  ‘I can’t read it.’ I set the letter down on the bed and stare at it like I would have done if it really were a dead rat.

  ‘I’ll read it,’ Luke says, snatching it up and reading it out loud.

  ‘Dear Nicole, just like you, I have been played by Vicky Mason.’

  We stare at each other for a second. ‘Keep reading,’ I rush him.

  ‘It was your so-called friend Vicky
who gave me the story about you and Two For The Road. She told me that she got the info from your best friend and I don’t know how much she exaggerated, but I certainly put my own spin on the story to make it juicer. I had promised her that I would buy her stories if she got me one big scoop, and she did. Plastic Rap, the sexual predators. Information she also got from your best friend. You might want to investigate this leak of information. It is my understanding that she also leaked this story to the Daily Scoop, who put it up before me, taking all of the credit. Anyway, that story was great, so I started paying her for more. She promised me something huge, something to do with Dylan King, but we couldn’t get anything. You didn’t come back with any stories from his wedding, and he seemed to really clean up his act. Then he turned up at your door, and so Vicky came to me. She told me where he was staying and I had one of my spies at The Châtaigne plant a camera in his room.’

  Luke pauses again, and stares at me in disbelief. I laugh, almost hysterically.

  ‘You mean he taped us? He has a tape of me and Dylan in his hotel room? The hotel room where nothing happened!’ I say excitedly. ‘Keep reading, keep reading!’

  Luke continues reading as instructed, although now he has a huge smile plastered across his face. ‘We’d hoped to catch him drinking or doing drugs – anything to get him in trouble with his wife. As you know, nothing remotely interesting happened that night, but Vicky got lucky with those photos of you outside. Very lucky. So lucky that she realised she could get much more money for them if she went to a tabloid, and so she stabbed me in the back. Just like she did with you. After that email you sent me, I didn’t see why I should help you, but then I saw you on TV and I felt sorry for you. You have done nothing but tell the truth, and have remained classy when story after story came out about you. I am not being selfless, I want to bring Vicky down and discredit her as a journalist. I have included a memory stick, on there is the video of that night, dated. I ask you don’t mention that you got it from me, but feel free to use it to clear your name and dirty Vicky’s in the process. Thanks, Scott.’