by Matt Cain
‘And how about this one?’ asked Latona. ‘It’s by Hermès and is very popular at the moment.’
Billy leaned forward and pretended to sniff it.
‘Mmm that’s the one! I’ll take your biggest bottle please.’
Latona nodded and began unrolling the gift wrap. As Billy took out his card he casually glanced at the crowd of customers gathering around to stare at him.
‘Excuse me,’ came a voice, ‘but may we have a photo?’
A pair of shy young men approached, one of them covered in freckles, the other wearing Harry Potter glasses. They were holding hands and clearly a couple.
‘Well of course you can, boys,’ Billy beamed, used to the attention of his gay fans. Even though he wasn’t remotely camp, he deepened his voice a little just to be on the safe side. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
The one with the freckles slipped in next to him. ‘He takes such terrible photos,’ he told Billy, loud enough for his boyfriend to hear. ‘Try not to cut my head off this time!’ he called out teasingly.
The boyfriend shot him a look of mock offence but genuine affection.
Billy was touched by how much they clearly loved each other but felt a flicker of sadness when it reminded him of what was missing in his own life.
‘You know, we’ve only been in LA for a week,’ said the one with the freckles, ‘and already we’ve met our favourite movie star!’
As Billy smiled for the camera, he cast his mind back to his own first week in the city. Shortly after his experience in Arizona, he’d told his parents that he’d fallen in love with a former lesbian he’d met in gay rehab and wanted to go and say goodbye to her before she left her home in LA to do some work on a Christian mission in Africa. Once he’d arrived in the city he wrote his parents a letter explaining that there was no lesbian, he was definitely gay and, what’s more, he was never coming home.
He’d then dipped his toe into the gay area of West Hollywood, still only tentatively as he was just growing comfortable with his sexuality after so many years of being told it was sinful. But for the first time in his life he’d felt free, exploring gay bars, shops, clubs and gyms and even going on a few dates with prospective boyfriends. It had all been intoxicating and he’d been blown away by the discovery that his sexuality was something to be celebrated rather than a source of shame. But unfortunately, this happy time had lasted only a few months. To his utter shock, everything had changed once he’d pursued his dream of becoming an actor.
Billy had been lucky enough to land himself a top agent relatively quickly and before he knew it he was being offered small parts on television. But when he’d told his agent that he was gay, the agent had freaked and Billy had felt like he was coming out to his parents all over again. Men he’d dated had had to be paid off and he was forced back into the closet after only a few months of freedom. He soon came to realize that his sexuality was even more of a problem in LA than it had been at home in Mississippi.
‘My turn!’ cheeped the young man in the Harry Potter glasses as he thrust the phone into his boyfriend’s hand. ‘You know we’re such big fans of yours Billy, we’ve seen all your movies! We saw Stroke of Midnight on our first date!’
‘Well I’m glad it worked out so well for you,’ Billy replied, smiling for the camera but starting to feel a little uneasy.
Can they tell that I’m gay too? he wondered.
He imagined what they’d say if he just came out with it. Of course, there was no way that he would; he’d learned long ago to keep his sexuality strictly under wraps. And the more successful he became, the more important it was not to let the secret out. Over the last few years, as his profile had grown bigger than he’d ever imagined, his sexuality had begun to feel like a permanent burden weighing heavily on his shoulders – the only cloud ruining an otherwise bright blue sky. Only a few people in the industry knew that he was gay, including his agent and publicist and a handful of close friends such as Mia Sinclair. Which meant that he had to live life permanently on the defensive, worrying about ever letting slip the slightest clue.
He looked at his watch and realized that he had to make a move soon before the paparazzi arrived. Billy couldn’t help feeling on edge around them, worried that they could see through his façade – or that they’d pounce and out him as gay if they spotted the slightest chink in his armour.
‘Well, nice meeting you, boys,’ he said to the young couple, anxious to wind up the encounter, ‘and I hope you go on enjoying the movies!’
He gave them each a hug and a manly pat on the back. The boys backed away slowly, eager to prolong the experience as much as they could.
As he paid for the perfume, Billy spotted a couple of paps pretending to browse in the lingerie section as they shot him across the crowded store. There was one he vaguely recognized with a bald head and little sticky-out ears. Just being in their presence made him bristle with anxiety and he could feel an air of aggression beginning to spread its way around the store. He reached onto his head and pulled down his face-swallowing sunglasses. I really need to get out of here.
He thanked Latona for all her help. ‘It’s been a real pleasure to meet you, ma’am.’
‘You too, Mr Spencer. Come back soon!’
As he turned to leave he wondered how long it would take to get to his car. Now that the paps had arrived the fun was most definitely over.
‘Excuse me, Mr Spencer!’
He stopped and turned back. ‘Yeah?’
Latona was holding out his bag of perfume. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘Oh yeah, erm, sorry.’
He took it off her and dashed out. ‘Thanks!’ he called out behind him.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see the paps shooting away.
*
Once Bob had worked his magic on Mia and Serena, they said their goodbyes and moved downstairs to have lunch in the garden.
Mia’s garden was set out like a Spanish hacienda with a tiled patio, bougainvillea trailing along the walls and Mediterranean palms providing the odd spot of shade. Its immaculate green lawns stretched out onto an expansive view of the city while a full-sized infinity pool added an undeniable wow factor. When Mia had first seen it, when she’d stopped shooting back-to-back movies for long enough to buy her own place, her jaw had practically cracked the patio tiles.
Now Mia and Serena were sitting at a long dining table under an awning at the back of the house, with Bogie and Bacall lounging at their feet. Ramona was busy in the outdoor kitchen grilling fish and steaming vegetables for lunch.
Today was the first day of Mia’s crash diet to get back in shape for a new sequence they were shooting for her upcoming film War of Words. Principal photography had taken place months earlier, before which Mia had put herself through hell to diet and exercise her way down to a size zero – a strict stipulation of her contract. Now that they were about to start shooting again, she’d have to match her previous weight exactly. Which meant working out with her trainer every day and eating nothing but grilled fish and vegetables for the next two weeks. She knew from previous experience that this was going to be tough.
Mia wished that she could be one of those girls who ate what they wanted, did no exercise and still managed to be stick thin. But biology was working against her; her mother and grandmother had been naturally hefty and her only aunt back in Cleveland had always been a big girl too. There was no doubt about it, Mia had to work hard at her figure. And today the hard work was about to start all over again.
‘So what did the producers say?’ she asked Serena, munching on a stick of celery. ‘What exactly am I doing in these new scenes?’
‘OK, here’s the deal. They’ve test screened the picture and audiences loved it. They loved it, Mia – the studio said they’ve not had a movie get such high scores in more than ten years.’
‘Brilliant! So what’s the problem?’
She paused and took a breath. ‘They loved the picture but hated the ending.’
‘Oh no. But what about my big crying scene, all that grief on the battlefield?’
‘I’m not going to bullshit you, Mia – they want to cut it.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding! But isn’t the whole point of the movie that it’s a weepie?’
Serena raised her eyebrows.
‘Oh no. Don’t tell me I have to reshoot a happy ending? Jeez, not again.’
‘Not exactly. What they want to do is work out the tension that builds up during the love story. Remember how Billy’s character is always dismissive of the books your character writes?’
‘Yeah, there’s that big scene where he says there’s no place for romance on the battlefield.’
‘OK. Well what they want to do is end with you discovering that he’s been shot and killed but then you find a romantic poem he secretly wrote for you before he died. Do you see? So it’s still a sad ending but—’
‘But love wins through. Love conquers all, yet again. Great. Now they’ll never quit calling me the First Lady of Love.’
‘Well you’ve got to admit, it is kind of clever. And if it’s giving audiences what they want . . .’
‘Oh don’t get me wrong, Serena, I like it – it’s a brilliant ending. I just thought that for once I’d get to do something different.’
‘Oh come on, Mia, this is different. Your character just gets to feel loved at the end, that’s all.’
Mia reached down for Bogie and settled him on her lap.
‘Hmm, maybe that’s why I find it so hard to take. It kind of rubs salt into the wound, I guess.’
‘Now you do realize that you’re only saying that because you’re feeling sorry for yourself . . .’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’
Mia gazed out at the garden, stroking the cat.
‘Well at least I’ll get to hang out with Billy again . . .’
Serena gave a wry smile. ‘And you know they’re already promising a big Oscar campaign . . .’
Ramona broke in, plonking what looked like a thoroughly lacklustre lunch on the table. ‘¡Buen provecho, chicas!’
‘Gracias,’ chirped Serena.
Mia ignored the food and carried on stroking Bogie.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘You win – I’ll do it.’
‘That’s my girl!’
She looked at the food and rolled her eyes. She was dreading surviving on nothing but this for two whole weeks. ‘All I have to do now is get down to a size zero. All over again.’
‘Well look on the bright side – it’ll take your mind off trying to find a man.’
‘Hmpf! I’ll be way too hungry to get a man.’
‘Yeah, well be careful, sister. Hunger can make a girl do funny things . . .’
3
‘Man, this job sucks!’
Leo and Ronnie were crouching in an overfull skip at the side of La Cienega Boulevard, somewhere between West Hollywood and Beverly Hills. The sun was beating down, the skip stank of rotting fish and there was some kind of metal skewer poking into Leo’s back.
‘Definitely not one for the top ten,’ huffed Leo. ‘What’s she doing in there?’
The two of them were doorstepping Mia Sinclair after receiving a tip-off that she was working out with her trainer in celebrity gym The Ab Lab. What they were really hoping for was a shot of her coming out of the gym looking sweaty and bedraggled but they knew that they wouldn’t nail this if Mia had even the slightest inkling they were outside. Which is why they found themselves hiding in an overflowing skip stinking of rotting fish with no protection from the blazing sun.
‘Man, it’s so freakin’ hot in here,’ whistled Ronnie, ‘I’m sweating like a virgin on a date with a porn star.’
‘Yeah well, Mia’s been in there all morning – she can’t be much longer now.’
‘Dude, I sure hope not – I’m starting to get real grouchy.’ He reached for his cigarettes and lit his fifth smoke of the day. ‘Which smart-ass came up with this idea anyway?’
‘OK, OK, guilty as charged. Maybe I do get a bit carried away sometimes. But you know what I’m like about nailing the best shots.’
‘What, like the time you had us disguised as Mexican mariachi to pap Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin on their honeymoon?’
‘Yeah and if you remember, if your comedy moustache hadn’t fallen off we might have got away with it!’
‘Or the time we blacked up as refugees in Darfur to snap Angelina Jolie handing out food?’
‘Yeah and we would have pulled that off too if you didn’t have a tattoo that said “I love Rosie” on your arm!’
With a cheeky grin, Ronnie held up his hand as if he weren’t listening. ‘You know, it’s about time you faced it, bud. The thrill of the chase really swings your balls. You’re a junkie, Leo – a serious adrenaline junkie.’
Before Leo had time to come back at him, the two of them heard text alerts coming from their mobile phones. It was their agency Shooting Stars tipping them off that Destiny Diament, a washed-up reality TV star with a serious prescription drug habit, would be having open-air sex on a quiet beach in Malibu with her new boyfriend Hank Haslam, an ageing bodybuilder turned actor who hadn’t had a hit movie in years and had recently earned the nickname Hank Has-been. Apparently Destiny was about to launch a discount underwear range and was pulling out all the stops to ensure she got maximum publicity. Any snappers taking on the job were promised they wouldn’t be disappointed. Destiny and Hank might not be big stars but for a pap this was an easy assignment. As the whole thing was set up, the job would be over and done with in half an hour.
‘What do you reckon, buddy?’ asked Ronnie, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘Malibu Beach sure has to beat this stinking dumpster.’
‘OK, I’ll toss you for it.’
‘Well I’m heads. And I’m going to whip your ass!’
Leo smiled and took out a quarter. He flicked it, caught it on his palm and then slowly revealed the head of George Washington.
‘Ker-ching!’ beamed Ronnie. ‘Looks like I’m off to Malibu Beach.’
‘Go on, mate, you enjoy it.’
‘Well you’ve got to admit, it sure makes a change. It’s usually you who has all the luck.’
‘Yeah but aren’t you forgetting it’s me who just split up with his girlfriend?’
‘Well in that case you could do with some quality healing time on your own.’
‘What? In a skip?’
‘In America we call them dumpsters, Limey. And you’d better start healing ’cause I’m out of here.’
As Ronnie leapt out of their hiding place Leo wriggled around, stretching out to fill the extra space.
‘Go get ’em, partner!’ he shouted after him.
As he settled into his new position he realized that the skewer was no longer poking into his back but he was now sitting on what felt like some kind of hat stand. He really hoped Mia wouldn’t be much longer.
*
Inside The Ab Lab, Mia was hanging from a steel cube attached to the ceiling balancing a hula-hoop on the end of her big toe.
‘Are we done yet?’ she croaked.
‘Not yet – another thirty seconds!’
Cole was an exceptional trainer but sometimes Mia wondered why she put herself through this. So far today she’d done half an hour of Pilates on his new reformer machine, half an hour of skipping, hopping and jumping on a treadmill, and was now suspended in his own patented cube holding excruciating yoga positions for what seemed like an eternity. She was exhausted. And she hated exercise.
‘Are you sure your watch isn’t broken?’ she gasped. ‘I don’t think I can do this much longer.’
Cole smirked and shook his head. ‘Five-four-three-two-one. And relax, girlfriend!’
He stepped forward to help her down and she practically crumpled into his arms. The sheer size of Cole never ceased to amaze Mia; his chest was more than the width of a double wardrobe and she was sure his neck was thicker than her waist. But there was nothing remotely
threatening about him – far from it. He insisted on working out to dance remixes of Madonna or Britney, minced around the studio in spangly silver hot pants, and had such a squeaky voice that he sounded like somebody was permanently standing on his foot.
‘Now then, girlfriend, time for some serious fun!’ he trilled.
She tried not to groan as he attached weights to her wrists and ankles until she was shackled like a convict. She then had to haul herself up into the cube, balance her core along a cushioned platform and hold out her limbs in a star shape for a whole ninety seconds. Even as she assumed the position she was in such pain that she knew her face must look like a chewed-up blood orange.
‘Atta girl. Now off we go!’
Mia often worked out with Cole at home or in her garden but today he’d dragged her to the gym where he kept a fully equipped studio and could vary her routine. Unfortunately, every time Mia walked into the studio her heart sank – it looked like some kind of serial killer’s lair lifted straight out of a horror film. There were bands, cubes and straps hanging from the ceiling and Cole liked to keep the room heated to a sizzling 40°C. As usual, the sweltering atmosphere was making Mia sweat buckets and giving her shockingly bad hair frizz. To make things worse, the rest of the gym was packed at the moment; she really hoped that nobody could see into the studio. Next door was the hardcore free weights studio where it was currently Power Hour, during which heavy metal was played at teeth-loosening volume and the serious weightlifters could work out with their shirts off. Mia could hear their grunts and growls through the wall. She desperately hoped that none of them peeked in and recognized her.
‘And relax, girlfriend!’
‘Oh thank God.’ She struggled down and he helped her to her feet. ‘I’m not sure I can do much more of this, Cole.’
‘We’re nearly done, I promise. And I’ve saved the best till last.’
He nodded over to Mia’s least favourite piece of equipment – a studded trapeze covered in leather hand-grips with chains hanging off it from every angle. Apparently Cole had appropriated the contraption from the set of the last Bourne film, on which he’d worked as cast trainer and in which the trapeze had served as a prop in a toe-curling torture scene. Mia knew just why.