groomed and definitely waxed; all the signs were there. I tried not to think about my own less-than-worked-out figure. Yes, I had managed to keep my weight in check with lots of walking and the odd burst of WeightWatchers but I was nowhere near as toned and bronzed as the girls taking part in the competitive tanning over by the pool. I suddenly felt very pale and porky. And this was neither the time nor the place to suffer a crisis of confidence.
‘I think I’m starting to burn,’ I said loudly, inspecting a marble white arm, as one of the bikini girls turned over to display a tiny little bottom, tanning nicely in a silver thong. ‘I’m going to head in. Remember, I have to be up to meet Mr Movie Star at eleven.’
‘You sure?’ Jenny asked, making no move to come with me. ‘You don’t want to go eat?’
‘We have a great restaurant,’ Joe bargained. ‘I can get you a table.’
‘No, really, I think I’m just going to get some sleep for tomorrow. And I have to blog, call Alex.’ I kissed Jenny on the cheek and hopped off her stool. ‘Big day.’
‘OK, tell Alex hi,’ Jenny called after me. ‘And call me as soon as you’re free tomorrow.’
I wandered along the corridor to the lift, slightly buzzed from the two mojitos. Tracing the pattern of the embossed wallpaper with my fingertips, I tried not to be weirded out by the fact that they were using the same air fresheners here as on the East Coast. It was like the hotel version of a Lush store. Different city, exactly the same overpowering smell.
Pausing in front of the huge wooden-framed mirror propped against the wall, I slipped the T-shirt up over my head, taking a deep breath before opening my eyes. Well, it wasn’t that bad. I was never going to be a six-foot supermodel but I wasn’t looking awful. Yes I was pale, but I had only been in LA for a day. My light brown bob was probably in need of a trim, but at least New York’s miracle tap water kept it super soft. Leaving the hard water of London behind seemed to have cleared my skin up too, so that was OK and, joy of joys, working freelance meant No Early Mornings so my eyes, even though they might be suffering from some ‘late-night lovin’ bags, were super bright; even the fine lines I had pretended weren’t there for the last two years seemed to have retraced their tracks. Seriously, if there was ever a case for girls not having to get up before ten a.m., I was it. The bikini still didn’t exactly fill me with joy, but I would cope. At least nothing was technically hanging out or over, but I couldn’t strictly claim to have abs of any kind. Unless maybe I shaded them in. I did have an awful lot of bronzer with me …
‘Mirror, mirror on the wall,’ I tutted at myself, scooping the T-shirt up off the floor and slipping it safely back over my head. I had never really been one that considered ‘mirror time’ time well spent, and I had a nagging feeling that LA wasn’t the place or moment to change that if I didn’t want to develop an eating disorder.
I pulled a tub chair, identical to the one that Jenny had hauled twenty blocks home from The Union, over to the floor-to-ceiling window, and collapsed into a warm and slightly tipsy heap. Hollywood Boulevard literally buzzed beneath me, dozens of tourists wandering up and down the star-lined pavement. I reached out to press my bare toes against the glass and stared out. I might only be able to see the tops of their baseball caps but I would have bet anything that they were all smiling. Why wouldn’t they be, they were on holiday in Hollywood. And above them, past the world’s biggest Gap ad on the opposite corner, were the famous Hollywood Hills. I wondered how many celebs were sitting in their own homes looking back out at me at that exact second. Which superstars were practically within touching distance? How many MTV reality shows could I feasibly get in the background of in the next seven years?
New York and London were both full of actors, musicians and writers, but it wasn’t the same. For some reason, the idea of A-list celebrity was strictly Hollywood.
My phone vibrated quietly, snapping me out of a quickly developing bumping-into-Brad-Pitt fantasy. It was Louisa.
‘Hey,’ I said, and utched the chair right up to the glass to get better reception. ‘Are you in New York? Are you OK?’
‘Yes and yes,’ she laughed down the line. ‘We got in a couple of hours ago. Tim just went out to meet some people at the bar.’
‘Some people? Right,’ I smiled. Bless her for not mentioning my scumbag ex’s name. It actually pained me that he dared step foot in my New York. ‘Where are you going now then?’
‘I made Tim book that Balthazar place you were raving about for dinner,’ she crackled down the line. ‘And then I think I’m just going to have an early night. What are you up to? Met Tom Cruise yet?’
‘Yeah, I’m having cocktails with him and Katie,’ I said, happy that we were back on good terms. I hated falling out with anyone, dickhead ex-boyfriends aside. I couldn’t help it, I was a Libra. And a wimp. ‘We haven’t been here very long, I’m actually in a bikini.’
‘No way,’ I could hear her laughing all the way across the country. ‘I haven’t seen you in a bikini since we were about six.’
‘And you won’t see it again. There will be no photographic evidence, believe me.’
‘I’d give anything to be in a bikini,’ Louisa moaned. ‘It’s bloody freezing here.’
‘I did tell you,’ I replied, thankful for the sun still shining through the window. The unseasonal warmth made me feel slightly less shitty for not being in New York with Louisa. I was not going to win World’s Best Friend this year. ‘But you’ll be fine. Just stay in the shops and get lots of cabs. Seriously, cane Tim’s expense account as much as humanly possible.’
‘What expenses? He can’t spend a penny these days. We’re staying in a Hilton, for God’s sake,’ she sighed. ‘I suppose I should be relieved he still has a job. Anyway, I’ve got to have a shower, I’m disgusting.’
‘Never.’ Louisa was never anything other than perfect, eight-hour plane journey or otherwise. ‘But I do need to get some work done. Call me later.’
I ended the call, relieved at the lack of Mark-talk. There’s no way I would have avoided it in person. It was the first law of break-ups – the first time you saw someone, post-dumping, no matter how long ago it was or what had happened in the meantime, they wanted to rehash the whole event all over again. If I didn’t ask about him, I would know they were thinking that I really wanted to but was still too upset about the whole thing. And if they didn’t ask me about the break-up, I would know they were dying to tell me something, some fact or titbit to make me feel ‘a bit better’ and I really didn’t want to know. But I would have to ask, complete girl that I was. And for ‘girl’, read ‘masochist’.
I picked up my phone to dial Alex. It rang a few times before clicking off to his answer phone suggesting you not even bother to leave a message because he was pretty crappy at checking his voicemail but that he hoped you’d call back soon. I hung up and stared at the phone for a moment. So he wasn’t answering, I’d call back later. Just had to keep myself busy for an hour or so. Busy and awake. Glancing over at my laptop, I resigned myself to actually doing some work, crazy idea that it was. It wouldn’t hurt to show Mary how serious I was about this, given how ridiculously ungrateful I’d been when she first told me about the interview. Logging on to my TheLook.com account, my fingers hovered above the keyboard for just a second.
The Adventures of Angela: Hooray for Hollywood
So here I am in LA. Can you believe it? I’m such a jet-setter.
Albeit a jet-setter hiding in her hotel room full of two mojitos and no dinner. Not a good idea, just in case you were wondering. But, happier news, I’m staying in a gorgeous hotel, full of gorgeous people with gorgeous sunshine beaming down on me for the first time in what feels like for ever and I can’t recommend it enough. I’m not recommending putting on a bikini for the first time in what feels like for ever, though – what a cruel and unusual punishment. It does seem to be curbing my appetite though …