‘I never knew that, Tina. You’re beautiful. You should have—’
‘It’s a long time ago. And it didn’t work out, did it.’ Her shoulders slope again and she adds, with something more like her normal tone, ‘I came to LA, so sure I was going to be a star, you know?’ I nod. ‘But nothing was really happening, and a year later I had this done. It ruined everything, I was broke and ugly. No one wanted me. That’s when I started working for Byron.’
‘Is that what you really wanted? To be famous?’ I am fascinated at the idea of this new Tina, the gorgeous young beauty queen and the awkward, withdrawn woman she is now.
She hesitates. ‘It was all I ever wanted. Then. Of course, now it’s different.’
‘What do you want now?’
‘Now – you know what I want now?’ I shake my head. I literally have no idea. ‘I want a nice house, near the ocean. A good guy, a couple of kids, a normal life. And I want to stay working for you so I don’t leave that world behind, because I love it. That’s really all.’ My expression must be incredulous, as she laughs and says, ‘I like working for you, Sophie. You’re doing so well but you’re easy to get along with – you’re talented, and you’re not crazy. You need someone to look out for you. And forgive me, but you’re kind of naive about some stuff in this town.’
This is completely fascinating. ‘What stuff?’
But before she can answer, a husky voice calls from around a corner.
‘Hey, doll.’
We both jump as a thin shadow falls on the ground, advancing towards us.
‘All right, Tina. Hi. Sophie. Wow. The gang’s all here, yeah?’
I blink, sunspots dancing in front of my eyes.
‘Hi, Deena.’ I kiss her, inhaling the familiar scent of cigarettes, sweat and Giorgio Beverly Hills. ‘You got everything you need over there?’
‘Yeah. Nice painting in the bedroom. Is it new?’
‘Yes,’ I say shortly.
‘Cool. Cool. I like its vibe. It’s all good. Listen, kiddo. Just wanted to say thanks, OK? Thanks for having me. Damn air con. It broke and then the water tank went and the whole house was flooded.’
‘I thought it was—’ I begin, then stop. What happened to the roaches? Tina glances at me, and looks at the floor. ‘Hey. No problem. Stay as long as you want.’
Damn. As soon as the words are said I wish I could reach out and cram them back in my mouth. ‘Hey, nice one, kiddo,’ says Deena. ‘We gotta look out for each other, haven’t we?’ She tips the imaginary brim of a hat to me. ‘Listen, there’s no kettle in the guest house.’
‘Kettle?’ Tina frowns.
‘You guys don’t do kettles. It’s fine. Just wondering if you could put one in there for me.’
Bloody cheek. I sigh and look at Tina. ‘Er …’
‘I’ll talk to Carmen on my way out.’ Tina nods at me. ‘So – I’m off now. I’ll see you tomorrow. You have everything you need?’
I nod, trying to meet her gaze, but she’s already halfway down the drive. ‘See you tomorrow. Thanks again.’
‘Odd gal,’ Deena says, after Tina’s vanished. ‘So how’s tricks? You’re on fire, en fuego, at the moment, huh? Everything lining up for little Sophie Sykes!’ She gives me a big wink. ‘Hey, sorry! Sophie Leigh.’
She says this like she’s revealing a massive secret about me, like I was born and raised as a boy, when in fact you can see my name’s Sophie Sykes if you go on IMDb. It’s not even an interesting story: Mum made me change it when I was sixteen because she said Sykes was too common, much to my poor dad’s resigned amusement.
I’m trying to think of the right answer to this when Carmen appears at the French doors. ‘Sophie. I got your dinner here. You want it outside?’ She looks at Deena. ‘Ma’am, can I get you anything?’
Deena runs a finger thoughtfully over her teeth. ‘Hm. I don’t know. What you got?’
‘Anything,’ says Carmen. ‘What you want?’
‘You got some ham?’
Carmen folds her arms. Her brows lower into one bristling black line. ‘Sure. I got some ham.’
‘Can I get a ham sandwich? With … some chips on the side. And some guacamole. Can I get that?’
Carmen says briskly, ‘Sure. No problem.’
She’s just retreating inside when Deena adds hopefully, ‘And a beer?’
‘You want Peroni, Budvar, Tiger? We got—’
‘That’s fine, just bring her anything,’ I say. ‘And thank you, Carmen. Listen to me, Deena.’ I move inside through the French doors, motioning her to follow me. ‘It’s fine for you to stay. But I might be having someone from the UK over in a couple of weeks, so …’ I scratch my head, searching for a name, any name. ‘My friend … Donna? My friend Donna’s coming to stay, yeah, probably in July? Just so you know.’
Deena takes a Zippo lighter out from a pocket in her impossibly tight jeans and starts flicking it on and off. ‘Listen, kiddo, I don’t wanna outstay my welcome. I said two weeks, I meant two weeks. I’m busy, you know. I’ve got a lot of stuff on. It’s just while they’re …’ She falters, and I feel like a total bitch. ‘While they’re fixing the drains.’
‘Of course.’
She moves a little closer. She’s always looked the same, Marlboro Man’s girlfriend: jeans, silk shirts, tasselled suede jackets. I see the flecks of brown in her hazel irises, the shadows under her eyes as her gaze meets mine, but then she swallows and says, ‘Yeah, like I say, I’m busy. Got a TV pilot I’m auditioning for next week, did your ma tell you?’
‘I haven’t spoken to her in a while.’
‘Hm, I know, she said.’ Deena’s still flicking the lighter. ‘She calls me when she can’t get through to you, you know that? You should call her.’
I change the subject back. ‘That’s cool, what’s the pilot?’
‘Oh, it’s about this chick who lives down in New Mexico and … has a lot of fun.’ She smiles enigmatically. ‘And I’m working with a European director on a couple of projects. Made an advert for German TV a few months ago. It’s all good.’
I would love to follow Deena one day. Just see what she gets up to, how she makes a living. Whether she’s totally feral when no one’s watching, living out on the hills and heading into the city to feed off scraps from restaurant bins. Her last entry on IMDb is 2004, some straight-to-DVD thriller. But she always tells Mum she’s shooting a new pilot, or working with a European director. I am sure ‘European director’ is code for something.
Carmen brings in my tray of food. I make a vague gesture
