‘Eighteen. I went to study drama in London and never went back,’ he said, beeping the car’s alarm. ‘My parents moved away and there wasn’t much opportunity for an actor up there. Well, there was panto at the Crucible but the less said about that, the better.’
‘Panto?’
‘The less said about panto the better,’ he repeated sternly. ‘It is weird people don’t know where I’m from, I suppose. I got my break here and everyone just assumes I’m from London. Are you going to out me as a northerner?’
‘Can I?’ I asked, hopeful that I would have something to write.
‘I’ll do you a deal,’ he replied. ‘You can have that if you promise not to mention the word panto in relation to me – ever.’
I thought carefully for a moment. ‘Hmm, well …’
‘Angela …’ It was more of a warning than anything else, but I did like hearing him say my name.
‘Fair enough.’
Back at the car park, I quickly checked my phone to find a couple of missed calls from Jenny. I bit my lip, my phone must have been buzzing all the time we were sitting on the sand and it hadn’t even occurred to me to check it.
‘Boyfriend?’ James asked, looking from my phone to my slightly strained expression. ‘If you need to give him a ring, I can amuse myself for a minute.’
‘No,’ I said, dropping the phone back in my bag. I was working, after all; Jenny would understand that. ‘It’s fine. Should you call Blake? I bet he’s going mental.’
‘I bet he is.’ James looked away and smiled. You could almost mistake him for normal people until he cracked out the teeth. Talk about a Hollywood smile. ‘Huh, just the twenty missed calls from Blake.’
‘Really?’
James nodded. ‘He worries constantly. It’s his job.’
‘Shouldn’t you call?’
‘He’ll wait. Now strap yourself in, I drive like a maniac. Apparently.’
‘You don’t say,’ I clicked my seatbelt. ‘Where are we off to now?’
‘Honestly? You’ve got me completely worked up,’ he said, gunning the ridiculously loud engine. ‘So there’s only one thing to do …’
‘Oh my God,’ I moaned. ‘I think I’m in heaven.’
‘You’re amazing.’ James looked so shocked. ‘I can’t tell you the last time I had a meal with a girl that ate the bread. Or even the burger.’
‘Well you might want to prepare yourself,’ I warned him, reaching across the table for a giant handful of fries. ‘I’m about to go into carb overload.’
There appeared to be several perks to hanging around with a movie star. You could leave work and go straight to the beach in the middle of the afternoon; you could talk your way out of a speeding fine by signing an autograph for the policeman’s fourteen-year-old daughter; and you could get a table at 25 Degrees, the most amazing burger restaurant in the entire world, just by smiling at the waiter. I had tried not to feel smug as we cruised past all the people waiting for a table, but it was hard. Yes, it was the James Jacobs, and yes, he was with me. I knew that he was only with me because it was sort of his job but it was still a little bit lovely.
What wasn’t as lovely was panicking about what kind of state I was in when all these people were staring. I hadn’t so much as touched up my lip gloss since we left the studio. And while I wasn’t completely unused to people whispering behind their hands about the man I was with, this was on another level. Loads of people knew who Alex was in Brooklyn, but the difference was that you could be standing in line for coffee in the Starbucks nearest to Alex’s apartment and three of the five people in front of you would also be in bands. While here, as far as I could see, no one else in the restaurant had been nominated for the Best Fight, Best Kiss and Best Actor at the MTV Movie Awards last year. And I was absolutely certain there wasn’t another contender for Heat’s Torso of the Week within a hundred-foot radius.
‘I just have to …’ I couldn’t quite finish the sentence; nothing seemed particularly appropriate. So I just shuffled along the leather banquette clutching my (beloved but now slightly sandy) handbag. James nodded, blissfully lost in his giant burger. The restaurant was long and narrow, making it impossible to hide from the dozens of pairs of eyes that followed me all the way out to the toilets. And I couldn’t really blame them: I would have stared too.
‘Are you seriously James Jacobs’s girlfriend?’
What I wouldn’t have done was follow me out, grab my arm and ask a really rude question. But then I wasn’t a huge, angry-looking girl with bright red dyed hair and a bum-bag.
‘What? Are you retarded or something?’ she demanded, arms now folded, her face absolutely enraged.
‘Sorry, no, I’m …’ I paused and looked back. James was still scarfing his dinner, absolutely oblivious to the attention he was receiving. ‘No, I’m not his girlfriend.’
‘Yeah, I totally said there was no way you were his girlfriend,’ the girl looked visibly relieved. ‘But my sister …’ she paused to point over at a skinny girl with matching dyed hair waving from a small table opposite the bar. ‘She said you were because she heard you talk and you were British. Are you his sister? You don’t look like his sister.’
‘I’m interviewing him,’ I said, completely flustered. Now I just really needed a wee. ‘So no, I’m not related to him or going out with him. Excuse me, I’m just off to the bathroom.’
‘I’ll wait here, you totally have to introduce me,’ the girl yelled after me. I couldn’t believe it, did Blake have to put up with this all the time? I couldn’t help but wonder what that girl would have done if I had been his girlfriend. I’d dealt with the fact that there must be girls that had crushes on Alex (and the less pleasant fact that, before we’d met, he’d been a bit of a slag), but that was all ancient history. The threat from Alex’s groupie following was incredibly limited compared to that of an actor. And James was something else altogether; every woman with eyes knew who he was. And once you combined his celebrity with his looks and the hateful fact that he was actually really, really nice, it was difficult not to have a bit of a crush on him. Not that I did. Honestly. Well, not that I’d ever cheat on Alex.
And I knew Alex would never cheat on me. Would he. Would he? No, of course not. Not even if I was away in LA and he was back in New York without me, writing his new album, getting all excited out and about in Brooklyn, maybe having a drink with the rest of his band who were all single and surrounded by that limited but not inconsiderable number of groupies I was just thinking about.
Couldn’t hurt to give him a call.
I sank into one of the velvet couches in the gorgeous lobby. 25 Degrees was nestled inside The Roosevelt; it was such a gorgeous hotel and I felt as though I was letting it down in my simple jersey dress, even in the middle of the afternoon. Glancing around, I counted no less than eight people making calls around me. No need to worry about a tut and a sigh, then. In fact, I couldn’t think of a venue I’d been to yet where people weren’t on their phones. I speed-dialled Alex and let it ring. It was
