and my heart was catapulted to somewhere in my throat.
‘Well, I’d better let you go,’ I mumbled against his cool palm.
‘Sorry,’ James said, dropping his hand and his eyes. ‘I’d better let you go.’
This was absolutely, definitely going to be harder than I’d hoped, I thought as I staggered out of the restaurant. But maybe for completely different reasons than I had imagined.
The short walk from The Roosevelt to The Hollywood was just enough time to convince myself that the whole cheek-stroking incident hadn’t actually happened. And if it had, it was just because, as I had expected, James Jacobs couldn’t communicate with a girl unless he was trying to get in her pants. Except it hadn’t been that way all day. Looks aside, he was exactly the opposite of what I had expected. He wasn’t arrogant, he wasn’t rude and, irritatingly for Angela Clark, interviewer extraordinaire, he didn’t seem to want to talk about himself at all. Hmm. I’d been completely ready to fall in love with his beautiful face and expecting to grit my teeth and tolerate him being a total arse, but I wasn’t at all prepared for him to be nice. Even nicer than nice maybe. I needed a drink.
Standing by the barrier in The Hollywood’s rooftop bar, mojito in hand, the big white letters nestling in the hills didn’t seem any more real than they did on Saturday. If living in New York was like walking into a living movie, arriving in LA was like walking onto the set. It all seemed slightly artificial, as though the sky and the hills and the Hollywood sign could just pull away to make way for a more successful city if this one didn’t test well. I leaned over the balcony, and tried to take it all in. Nope, still not buying it.
‘Hey, English. Where’s Lopez at?’
‘Hi Joe,’ I smiled as he leaned against the barrier, his tight black shirt pulling against his arms. I didn’t remember them being so massive, but I guessed that was one of the perks of shaking cocktails all day. Insta-biceps. ‘I’ve been out all day, no idea where she is.’
‘Yeah,’ he held his hand up to shield the sun out of his eyes. ‘Jenny said you were interviewing James Jacobs. How’s it going?’
He stroked my cheek and I think he was going to kiss me and I really wanted him to and that makes me a horrible person because I have a lovely boyfriend but he hasn’t called me or texted me and isn’t it OK anyway because he’s a movie star? I thought.
‘OK, I suppose,’ I said.
Joe snorted. ‘Guy’s a douche. I’d love to hear what shit he’s spinning you.’
‘No really.’ I was actually a little bit surprised. I didn’t know Joe well but he didn’t seem like the kind of person to be jealous. ‘He’s not like you’d think. Not like he is in all the magazines.’
‘Please, I don’t read that kind of trash.’ Joe turned around, resting his back against the barrier. ‘I’ve met him and I’m telling you, he’s an asshole.’
‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Where? When? What did he do?’
‘You’re like a proper reporter now, huh?’ Joe laughed. ‘Who, where, what, why, when? You really have changed, English.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ I said, resting the chilled glass against my forehead. ‘Still haven’t got a blind clue what I’m doing.’
‘You seem to be doing pretty good to me.’ Joe draped an arm over my shoulders and gave me a half-hug. ‘You’ve been here, what, six months? And from nowhere, here you are, interviewing douche-bags in Hollywood. And, I might add, looking totally hot. I bet Lopez is pissed that she gave you such a great makeover.’
‘Thank you?’ It seemed like at least half a compliment. ‘But I think Jenny’s safe. She’s totally incredible anyway. And so ridiculously gorgeous,’ I added, marking it up mentally to score some points with Jenny if she was still mad later on.
‘Yeah, Lopez has always had it. But living with her looks good on you,’ he squeezed my shoulder. ‘Hey, whatever happened with you and that guy in Brooklyn? Is that still through?’
‘Alex?’ I was surprised Joe remembered. He’d moved to LA about a month after Alex and I had failed miserably the first time around and I hadn’t mentioned his name once after he broke it off. ‘We actually got back together.’
‘Too bad.’ Joe held my gaze a second too long before I broke off to stare back out at the hills. What was going on today? Did I have an ‘I’m easy and desperate’ sign taped to my back? Or was my dress still tucked in my knickers?
‘So tell me how you know James. Did he stay here?’ I asked. I might not be an amazing interviewer but I was very experienced in changing the subject.
‘Nah, I’ve met him out a couple of times.’ Joe frowned. ‘Guy’s got an attitude. He’s just kinda off. Thinks he’s something special, I guess.’
‘That’s so weird.’ I couldn’t quite believe we were talking about the same person. ‘He’s been such a gentleman to me.’
‘Maybe he’s different with the ladies,’ Joe shrugged. ‘And that fag he hangs out with. What an ass.’
‘Blake might be a bit highly strung,’ I said tightly, ‘but I don’t see how his being gay makes him an ass.’
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Joe held out his hands, ‘I got no issue with that, man. This is Hollywood, more than half the guys out here are gay. He’s just, well…He doesn’t play well with others.’
‘Why don’t you come out with us tonight?’ Two birds, one stone, I thought. Jenny will forgive me if I bring Joe and Joe gets to see that James isn’t, well, whatever he thinks he is. ‘We’re going to Teddy’s.’
‘With James Jacobs?’
‘And Jenny,’ I offered. ‘Come on, I’m sure we’ll hardly see James. He’s just going to get us in.’
‘I could have got you in,’ Joe sniffed.
‘Well, I’d really like it if you came. Jenny too,’ I said, squeezing his arm.
Joe paused, looked back at the bar he had been tending all day and then back at me. ‘What time?’
Since she’d blown back into my room around eight, Jenny had been in a much better mood than when we’d last spoke. But she hadn’t breathed a word about her whereabouts, waving me off with an insincere ‘just doing stuff’ in reply to any and all of my questions. Not too irritating. After what felt like a lifetime in the shower, she emerged a goddess, her masses of curls bouncing around her face like a halo, skin glowing with two days of sunshine and the most infectious smile I’d seen on her in months.
‘LA suits you then?’ I asked, as we jostled for space at the make-up mirror. I couldn’t help but feel as though she should have to apply her make-up blindfolded as a handicap. Where the sun had given her a golden sheen, the beach had left me blotchy and my hair was just an unmanageable mess.
‘I’d forgotten how much fun it was,’ she admitted. ‘Makes me feel like doing crazy stuff. Makes me feel—I don’t know—alive? Is that too cheesy?’
‘No. I know exactly how you feel,’ I said, sketching around my eyes with a jet-black Mac pencil. The aim was to draw attention away from my riotous mane and flaky nose. Not too big an ask, then. ‘Not about here, admittedly, but that’s how I feel about New York. Maybe you needed to get away, give yourself a bit of a kick-start.’
‘And now I need something else.’ She gave me a wink and started on her fourth coat of mascara. ‘Seriously, I know you can’t make a move on James Jacobs, but what’s the protocol on me taking him for a test drive? I’ll give you all the