midday sun as Lex walked by.
‘Knock knock,’ he said cheerfully, pushing open the unlocked front door. ‘Kendall? I brought over some pictures from the shoot. You’re gonna love—’
The words died on his lips. Kevin Dacre, the sobriety coach Jack had hired for an extortionate fee to babysit Kendall while he was in England, staggered sheepishly out of the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his hips and two empty wine glasses in his hand. Behind him a visibly hungover Kendall, in a crotch-skimming kimono robe, carried an armful of empty bottles.
‘Oh, hi, Lex,’ she growled, her voice hoarse from the night’s excesses. ‘Lex, Kevin, Kevin, Lex. Kevin was just leaving.’
The sobriety coach did at least have the decency to blush scarlet, scurrying past Lex with a pleading ‘I couldn’t help it. Don’t tell!’ look in his eyes. Lex felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. Sometimes it seemed as if Kendall was determined to sleep with every man in Los Angeles other than him. Rock stars and actors were one thing, but this dweeb wasn’t even good-looking. It wasn’t until the sound of Kevin’s squealing tyres had died away that Lex recovered sufficiently to speak.
‘Jack’s gonna go ballistic. He’s not kidding about kicking you off the books, you know. He’ll do it if you keep pushing him.’
‘Screw Jack,’ said Kendall, lighting up a Marlboro red. ‘Managers are a dime a dozen.’
‘If you really felt that, you wouldn’t be living in his guesthouse,’ said Lex, grabbing the cigarette from between Kendall’s fingers and stubbing it out in one of the wine glasses. ‘Smoking fucks your voice. Don’t be an idiot.’
Kendall pouted but didn’t protest. Lex Abrahams was her best friend, one of the few people she’d allow to boss her around. Besides which, she didn’t want to fall out with Lex today and risk having him spill the beans to Jack. For all her bravado, Kendall had woken up this morning feeling guilty and nervous. What if Jack got home early? She’d better replace the wine she’d stolen. And buy some mouthwash and air fresheners.
‘Go take a shower,’ said Lex, wishing he weren’t able to smell the sex on her body. ‘And open some windows up there. I’ll clean up this mess.’
Kendall wrapped her arms around him. As she lifted them, the hem of her silk robe rode up, revealing two perfectly smooth peach buttocks. ‘You’re an angel, Lexy. I love you.’
It was all Lex could do not to weep.
An hour later, Lex dropped the car with a valet and he and Kendall walked into Joan’s on third. A well-known Hollywood hangout and brunch venue, Joan’s was a scene and the last place Lex would have chosen for their lunch date. But Kendall insisted, and when Kendall insisted, Kendall got.
‘I’ll have a big pot of coffee, cinnamon French toast and a side of bacon. And a blueberry muffin. And some frittata.’
In black Ksubi jeans, a black L’Agence T-shirt and ultra-dark Oliver Peoples shades, Kendall looked even tinier than usual. It was hard to imagine how so much food was going to fit into such a bird-like frame.
‘And I’ll have an egg-white omelette,’ said Lex. ‘Thanks.’
‘Health freak,’ grumbled Kendall. ‘You’re just showing off to make me feel bad.’
‘You already feel bad.’
Kendall groaned. This was true. Her face had turned a sickening shade of pale-green, her palms were clammy and her stomach kept flipping over like one of those wind-up toys kids get in their Christmas stockings.
‘You have to stop drinking, you know,’ Lex said seriously. ‘You can’t control it.’
‘I know, I know. And I will. I mean, I have. Last night was a one-off. You won’t say anything to Jack, will you?’
Lex looked hurt. ‘Why do you think I cleaned up your entire house? So he could catch you?’
‘Thanks.’ Kendall reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Through the window, a lone paparazzi snapped the moment.
‘Fuck off,’ snarled Lex. He knew they shouldn’t have come to Joan’s.
‘Oh my God, that’s so funny!’ Kendall laughed. ‘Now US Weekly’ll run a story saying the two of us are together. How hilarious is that?’
The food arrived and Kendall fell on it, shovelling down forkfuls of frittata and French toast like she hadn’t eaten for weeks. Lex watched her, picking intermittently at his omelette.
‘So,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘Are you ready for London?’
‘Sooo ready,’ mumbled Kendall through a mouthful of blueberry muffin. ‘I can’t wait to do those gigs, and I can’t wait to meet Ivan Charles. Everyone says he’s way more fun than Jack. Not that that’s hard. Root-canal surgery is more fun than Jack.’
Lex was used to listening to Kendall complain about the man who had made her a mega-star. But over the years he had also provided a shoulder to cry on while she sobbed her heart out about her unrequited love for Jack. Lex knew that Kendall’s bitching was just displaced adoration. He sympathized. Unrequited love sucked.
‘I’m not sure there’ll be too much time for fun in your schedule,’ said Lex. ‘You’re rehearsing every day you’re not performing.’
Kendall shrugged. ‘I’ll make time. I wanna see Buckingham Palace and the Tower of London. And I wouldn’t mind sleeping with Brett Bayley either.’
‘Brett’s married,’ said Lex disapprovingly.
‘Tell that to him,’ grinned Kendall. ‘How mad do you think Jack would be if Brett and I got together? We’re both Jester acts, after all; both Americans in London. Our paths are bound to cross.’
‘Stop being provocative,’ snapped Lex. Reaching into his messenger bag, he pulled out the photographs he’d brought her. ‘Take a look at these. You need to pick one for the album cover.’
‘Ooooo.’ Kendall leaned forward excitedly. ‘Has Jack seen them?’
‘Not yet.’ Jack, Jack, Jack. If only she knew how transparent she was.
‘Well, we can’t use this one.’ Kendall handed back the portrait shot. ‘I don’t look anything like myself.’
‘That’s exactly what you look like,’ said Lex. ‘The camera never lies, remember?’
‘Says the man who just had a sense of humour failure about the paparazzi,’ Kendall shot back. ‘I look like a twelve year old with TB. That’s a no.’
‘You look beautiful.’
‘Yada yada yada. Oh, now this I like.’ She picked up one of the thorn tree images. ‘Both of these. They’re sexy but classy. Like art.’
‘Like art?’ Lex sounded horrified. ‘They are art.’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Kendall. ‘They’re arty and commercial. The label’s gonna love them.’
