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 voice-mail 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…
Well, I hope you’re having a fun weekend. I just wanted to check in and let you know that I have a super-exciting project while I’m out here in LA. Obviously I would never just hotfoot it to Hollywood to enjoy myself; everything thing I do is a massive sacrifice, as you know, but I’ll tell you more about that tomorrow. For now I’ll just turn up the A/C, roll into my giant hotel bed and get an early night before my big day.
Me? Smug? Never…
I pressed send and then rolled onto the bed. Even hinting at the interview made it feel all the more real. Picking up the remote, I decided to do a little research on James Jacobs. There was a chance I’d been taking the whole ‘go in with no preconceptions’ approach too far. What if he was a total diva and refused to talk to me because I hadn’t even seen one of his movies? Couldn’t hurt to watch one film, could it? I grabbed a ten-dollar bag of M&Ms and mixed a twenty-three-dollar vodka and Coke. Couldn’t hurt to have one more drink, could it?
‘Super-hot and super-talented James Jacobs…’ I said to my reflection in the giant mirror, launching backwards onto the ridiculously comfortable pillow-top bed with the same deliciously soft bed linen I enjoyed, only ever so slightly illegally, every night. Flicking through the movies-on-demand menu, I eventually found the casino movie Jenny had mentioned. At least, if I fell asleep halfway through, she would be able to fill me in on the bits I’d missed.
But I didn’t fall asleep. I sat up, staring at the screen, one hand clutching the comforter around me, the other systematically popping M&Ms into my mouth for two whole hours. I wasn’t sure if it was that last vodka, Alex not answering his phone, or all the flesh on display at the pool, but by the end of the film I had a very serious, very unhealthy crush on James Jacobs.
Leaning on the triple pillars of journalistic integrity—IMDb, E! online and Perez Hilton, I learned everything there was to know, drama school, RADA, bit parts in various soaps and then the big Hollywood break. And then there were the hobbies: talented painter, keen hiker and, oh yes, he liked the ladies. Lots of them. A Google image search provided dozens upon dozens of pictures of a ridiculously beautiful young man in various states of drunkenness or undress from the last three years. Falling out of a club with Lindsay, lunching with Scarlett, frolicking on the beach with Paris and even attending the opera with Natalie. I clicked on a red carpet pic and enlarged it. Wow, he certainly knew how to work a tux. And a bra strap from the look of it.
‘Angie?’
A dramatically loud hiss through the adjoining door made me jump.
‘Angie, are you awake?’
‘Yes, Jenny,’ I said, dragging myself off the bed and over to the door that separated our rooms. I opened it up and watched Jenny fall through onto my feet. ‘Fun evening?’
‘I forgot to leave the air-con on in my room, can I sleep in with you?’ she asked, crawling over to the bed and clambering in.
‘Yes?’ I rubbed my face and sighed, smiling. ‘Just get off my side.’ I pushed her bikini-clad body over to the other side of the bed but she was already asleep. ‘So much for my good night’s sleep.’
I’d had every intention of waking up for an early swim and a spot of tiny-dog watching before setting out to meet Mr Jacobs, but that was before Jenny decided to crash in my room and take up my entire bed. After rolling her back across to her side of the bed seventeen times in two hours, I’d climbed out of bed and made a den on the chaise longue and watched clips of James Jacobs on YouTube, transfixed by his pretty, pretty face. And after falling asleep at around three a.m., I woke up with the pillow glued to my face at ten. One hour before I was supposed to meet James Jacobs. The James Jacobs. Crap.
After a second’s panic, I shook Jenny awake to enlist her services as my personal stylist. I scrambled around in the bathroom while she rolled out of bed, irritatingly hangover free, and disappeared into her wardrobe. Somehow I managed to be out of the hotel inside thirty minutes, wearing Jenny’s jade green Velvet T-shirt dress, some pretty brown leather sandals and a matching wide leather belt. Three squirts of dry shampoo into my roots and approval for me to do my make-up in the cab; truly I had come a long way from when she wouldn’t let me walk out of our apartment without a full makeover.
‘Good luck, honey,’ Jenny said, opening the cab door and kissing my cheek. ‘I’m gonna pick up the