I said, sinking back against the car seat. I felt as though I’d been kicked.
‘Bad news?’ James asked.
‘Until you say “Angela, I’d like you to organize my coming out interview in as public a forum as possible,” I think everything is going to be bad news.’ I frowned at him. ‘Don’t think you’re forgiven because your boyfriend dumped you. We’re not even yet.’
‘Tell me about Alex,’ James said, sliding his arm around my shoulders. It was weird how quickly that had gone from stomach-flippingly exciting to stomach-churningly irritating. ‘Tell me why he’s worth all this.’
‘This isn’t all about him,’ I said. ‘This is about you not being an arse and giving me my life back. I only just got one, for God’s sake, it’s hardly bloody fair that I should lose it so quickly.’
‘Just shut up and tell me about him.’
‘Fine. Alex is …’ I didn’t know where to start. ‘He’s kind, intelligent, he’s sweet, he’s thoughtful, creative—’
‘You haven’t mentioned hot yet. Or good in bed. Come on, you’re not describing him to your mum.’ James slapped my knee. ‘Sorry, carry on.’
I gave him as filthy a look as I could muster. ‘He’s just … he’s passionate about things. About his music, about me. That’s what was missing from my life for so long. Passion. Passion for something, anything really.’
‘I know this isn’t going to make me popular,’ James said. ‘But you know they say passion doesn’t last? They say that for a reason. You can’t seriously be asking me to throw my entire career down the shitter because you really like doing it with a boy in a band.’
Just when I thought we were making headway. ‘Passionate, not passion – there’s a difference; and besides, that’s not everything. I love him because he makes me feel like I can do anything. He makes me feel like the person I want to be.’ I tilted my head to one side. ‘I feel so sorry for Blake.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Don’t you feel the same way about him?’ I asked.
James didn’t say anything.
‘Excuse me,’ I leaned forward to speak to James’s driver, ‘could we please head back to The Hollywood?’
‘Yes ma’am,’ he nodded curtly.
James gave me a sideways glance and sighed.
‘So are you going to do it or not?’ I asked finally, as we pulled up outside my hotel.
‘You still don’t get what you’re asking me,’ James shook his head. ‘There’s so much more riding on this than your boyfriend.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘There’s my job, my visa, my apartment, my reputation, the respect of my family and friends. Oh, and your boyfriend.’
‘Don’t think this is easy for me,’ he closed his big blue eyes, the hollows underneath looking more pronounced in the dim light of the limo. ‘But, I’m sorry, I can’t do it.’
It took all my strength to push open the car door and step out on to the pavement. I really had thought he would come through, if not for me then for Blake. The limo pulled away quickly before I could get back in and beg James to change his mind, leaving me standing alone in the street.
Not knowing what else to do, I dialled Jenny. When it went straight through to her voicemail for the fourth time, I gave up. There was no point calling Alex again and Mary didn’t want to hear anything I had to say unless it was ‘can’t wait to whore myself all over Icon next week’. And as much as that was looking pretty inevitable, I just couldn’t bring myself to make the call.
I forced myself through the twilight of The Hollwood’s lobby and into the lift. The gold-tinted walls softened my reflection, but even the tiny security camera in the ceiling could see how pathetic I looked. My hair had frizzed out in the humidity and all the make-up I’d plastered on in Fred Segal had melted or been silently cried off in the last three minutes. I wasn’t sure it would be good or bad to see Alex at that exact second. He’d see what a mess I was in, but he’d also see what a mess I was. Not exactly love-of-his-life material. Why hadn’t I just told him I loved him? Why hadn’t I said it at Erin’s wedding? Or before I left for the airport? There had been so many opportunities.
Exhausted, I crashed through my bedroom door, pulled the curtains closed on the Hollywood Hills and rolled onto my bed. Nothing to do now but wait for Mary to call with the bad news.
I woke up a little bit disoriented, the seams of my jeans sticking into my legs, but it only took a couple of seconds and a quick look at the bedside clock to remind me why I was in bed on a Wednesday afternoon. It was six in LA, nine in New York. Time was up. There was no way now to sort things out before Mary agreed to the Icon interview and Jenny took over as my personal kiss-and-tell stylist. At least I might look half decent in the photos that would be ruining my life next Tuesday. I did need a new Facebook profile picture.
One of my favourite things about staying in good hotels was their ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policies. Even though housekeeping had replaced several vomit-tinged towels from the bathroom floor, they had happily restocked the mini-bar. In fact, there might have actually been more vodka in there than yesterday. Clutching my mobile, I sat cross-legged in front of the fridge. For the want of a better plan, I mixed a vodka Diet Coke and drank it down in one. And mixed another. And drank it down.
After making it through the rest of the vodka, the gin and the white wine, I grabbed hold of the counter and pulled myself up. Hmm. Too drunk to stand up easily without support, but not drunk enough to move on to the Jack Daniel’s miniatures. I slicked on some lip gloss and changed my T-shirt quickly before grabbing my room key and barrelling through the door. There really was only one place to go in times of trouble. The place where everybody knew your name.
‘Angela?’
Of course, in this instance, there was only one person who knew my name and that was Joe. But a bar was a bar and a drink was a drink.
‘Hey,’ I said, dropping onto a stool in front of him. The pool bar was practically empty, sun-worshipping hotel guests gone in to get ready for the night ahead, local party-ers not even nearly ready to come out yet. ‘How are you?’
‘Uh, I’m OK,’ Joe replied, not looking convinced that the same could be said for me. ‘So what’s going on with you?’
‘Fucking. Nothing,’ I said, bashing my hand on the bar with each word. ‘He’s a knob, Joe. Everything on the internet, it’s all shit.’
‘I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re talking about my good buddy James Jacobs,’ Joe said, passing me a cocktail menu and some nuts. ‘So you’re not, you know?’
‘Mojito please.’ I scarfed a handful of nuts. How long was it since I’d eaten? ‘And ew, not even. I’m too good for him anyway. Not that he
