it real before?’ I asked. It had been everything I could do not to even think these things all day and now here I was, saying it all out loud. ‘And he walked away. And did God-knows-what with God-knows-who. Who’s to say I go away and he’s out with his friends and, well, you know. Have you seen him? He’s bloody gorgeous.’
‘Yeah, so over that and hello? He won’t cheat on you because he loves you.’ Jenny stabbed at me with a fry loaded with ketchup.
‘He hasn’t said so.’
‘Have you said it?’
‘Nope.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Huh. So you’ve been thinking it but not saying it?’
‘Er, yes.’
‘So what makes you think he isn’t thinking it but hasn’t said it either?’ Jenny reasoned.
‘But what if I say it and he thinks I’m moving too fast and dumps me again?’ I countered.
‘So you don’t say it,’ Jenny held up her hands. ‘Or you do. Whatever.’
‘Hmm.’ I nibbled a fry thoughtfully while Jenny wolfed down a whole handful. ‘You were there on holiday?’
‘Where, LA?’ Jenny asked through a mouthful.
I nodded, trying not to look at the big potato-ey mess. For a very beautiful girl, Jenny could be foul sometimes.
‘Way to change the subject. OK, don’t laugh, but before I decided to become the new Oprah and before Tyra frickin’ Banks beat me to it, I thought I might give acting a shot. So I spent a while in LA, stayed out for the pilot season, but it wasn’t for me so I came back to New York. It might be nice to go back out, see some friends. Maybe we could stay at The Hollywood. I could take a week’s vacation and you know, you can introduce me to James Jacobs.’
‘OK, OK, this is too much.’ I couldn’t help but grin at Jenny. ‘And don’t you dare try and change the subject—that’s my thing. You went to Hollywood to be an actress?’
‘And I’d have been a silver-screen goddess but the West Coast wasn’t for me.’ Jenny shook her head. ‘Can we leave it?’
‘Fine, I just—well, I can’t imagine you playing anyone other than Jenny Lopez,’ I said.
‘It’s the role of a lifetime.’ Jenny gave me a quick flash of jazz hands. ‘You do mean me and not the other one, right? Because I’d have to kick your ass.’
‘You’re more of a diva,’ I agreed. ‘So what’s The Hollywood?’
Jenny waved at the old silver-haired man behind the counter. ‘Sister hotel. It’s The Union in New York and there’s The Hollywood in LA, The Strip in Vegas and, uh, The Something Else in Paris. I can never remember. Scottie, could we get some more fries, please?’
‘How many times do I tell you, my name it is not Scottie, it is Igor,’ the guy behind the counter trundled over with more fries. ‘I buy this place from Scottie, this is why it is called Scottie’s Diner.’
‘Thanks, Scottie,’ Jenny gingerly picked up scalding hot chip and blew on it, ‘you’re good people.’
‘Are you sure we could stay there? The magazine said they would put me up in an apartment somewhere.’ I couldn’t believe the amount of crap Jenny could eat and never gain a pound. A true disciple of WeightWatchers, I had forgone almost all foods with a calorie content higher than that of a carrot for a whole year to slim into my ill-fated bridesmaid dress. Walking the streets of New York City every single day helped, but I could never be one of those girls who scarfed ice cream, pizza and chocolate all day long without putting on weight. A girl like Jenny, who only ever put on a couple of pounds—tops; which went straight to her already curvy curves and never ever to her tiny waist. If she weren’t such a great friend, I could really get around to hating her.
‘We are totally staying there. Tell the magazine you’re fixed,’ Jenny was already halfway through the new plate of fries. ‘As if I would let you stay in some skanktastic apartment. Who knows where you would end up. Besides, my friend Joe is managing the bar and I’m due a whole heap of vacation days. The hotel totally owes me. And Joe and I totally have history, he’ll look after us.’
‘By history, do you mean you shagged him? And by “us” do you mean “you”?’
‘Well, yeah.’ Jenny’s eyes glazed over slightly. ‘So if it doesn’t work out with me and James Jacobs, I can always call on Joe. I need to get laid already.’
‘Really? And Joe, this is Hot Joe who used to work at The Union?’ I asked, testing the waters. ‘You’re sure you’re up to seducing movie stars and bartenders?’
‘I’m fine,’ Jenny replied, without looking up at me. ‘Seriously, I’m all shiny and new.’
‘Good, because I’ve been worried.’ I slapped her hand away from the fries. ‘You haven’t been your usual irritating self for ages.’
‘It’s just winter,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve been out of it a little. I’ve been thinking about taking a break, so well done on the perfect timing.’
I smiled. Going to Hollywood with Jenny could be fun. ‘So, we’re off to LA then?’
‘Angie, honey, when have I ever steered you wrong? It will be awesome,’ Jenny replied, scooping up the last fry. ‘And I’m sure Alex is just delightful if you’re into skinny hipsters, but Joe is almost, almost as hot as James Jacobs. You organize the flights, I’ll organize the hotel and the booty call.’
‘Ick,’ I shook my head. ‘Just ick.’
I hopped on the L train at Union Square after abandoning my overexcited best friend outside the hotel. As the train trundled over to Brooklyn, Jenny’s giddiness started to wear off. I’d almost forgotten that this wasn’t a girls’ holiday, it was a job. It was a interview that, if I screwed it up, could cost me my job, my visa, everything. Climbing up the subway stairs, it just seemed like such a bad idea and, on top of everything, as tragic as it was, I really didn’t want to leave Alex. I couldn’t tell him I loved him in case he panicked and ditched me, but if I didn’t tell him, how would he know not to cheat on me with every groupie in Brooklyn while I was away?
And the potential destruction of my personal and professional life aside, what was in LA anyway? A seven-hour flight, a whole city full of super-hot, super-bronzed beach bimbettes and, most terrifying of all, a week-long interview with a real-life, genuine movie star.
Writing my blog was easy: there was always something interesting to talk about, and anyone could review some books and even a few CDs—that just meant winging a couple of hundred words. But there was no way I could bluff my way through this. There was no denying that it could be a great opportunity for me as a writer, but it was also a fabulous opportunity for me to fall flat on my arse. I was just an ‘amateur’, after all. The vision of me throwing myself off the ‘H’ of the Hollywood sign clutching a signed photo of James Jacobs played over and over in my mind until I reached Alex’s apartment.
‘Hey.’
