The A-List Collection: Hollywood Sinners / Wicked Ambition / Temptation Island. Victoria Fox
was tempted to stuff it back in his pocket but some faint intuition told him to pick it up.
‘Brock, hi.’ He tried to focus-drunk comics were such a cliché.
‘You’re drunk,’ said Brock.
‘I’m not.’ Jimmy nodded as the barman refuelled his glass.
‘Where are you?’ Brock asked suspiciously.
‘At home.’
‘Aha! I just called you there and no answer.’
‘I was taking a dump. What’s this about, Brock?’
‘You’ve got a casting next week.’
Jimmy was confused. ‘Have I?’ It had been ages since he’d been called for anything. His last film was a terrible commercial effort in which he’d had to gussy up as a range of overweight characters, hilarious, of course, because he was naturally so thin. It had bombed–fat wasn’t funny–and now Jimmy had all but given up on an opportunity to redeem himself. He’d been humiliated.
‘I’ll send over the script,’ said Brock.
‘As long as I don’t have to eat fifty chilli dogs or whatever.’
‘No chilli dogs. Or doughnuts.’
‘Fine.’
‘And remember Harriet Foley’s party on Friday. You should go–she likes you.’ Harriet Foley was the quite terrifying US editor of major fashion magazine In. She was extraordinarily well connected.
‘I’ll be there.’
‘Good. I’m bringing Chloe French,’ said Brock, loudly chewing gum. ‘I thought you two might get on–y’know, the Brit thing.’
Jimmy remembered seeing her at the Romans’ wedding. Young, arresting, with all that wonderful hair.
‘I gotta go, Brock. I’ll call about the script.’
‘You got it.’ Then, before he hung up: ‘And, Jimmy?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Go home.’
Jimmy closed his phone, downed the final shot and put a fifty on the bar. He could feel the rot of depression sinking in and told himself to climb up out of it.
Something needed to happen. Something good. Something, he decided, called Chloe French.
Chloe awoke early in her Malibu apartment to a beautiful Friday morning. She swam forty lengths in the pool and then fixed herself a breakfast of blueberries, oatmeal and a poached egg white. Since arriving in LA she’d felt well: sunshine, good food and no booze was definitely the way forward.
Brock Wilde had told her that literally everyone in LA had a personal trainer, so after throwing on some clothes she hailed a cab. The other day she’d spotted a fitness club downtown called Bench, which looked smart and the least intimidating–nothing to do with the fact that she thought she’d seen Robert Downey Jr disappearing through the doors.
At Bench she was greeted by a pretty blonde woman with astonishingly toned arms.
‘I’m Bonnie,’ she said, delivering a firm, rather painful handshake. Her teeth were too big for her mouth.
After some quick tests they got down to it with some weights and cardio work. Chloe tried to keep fit but after half an hour she was knackered.
‘Sorry,’ she wheezed beneath the weights, ‘this is harder than I thought! ‘
‘Need to rest up?’ asked Bonnie with a knowing smile.
Chloe nodded. She sat up and downed a litre of water.
‘Are you an actress?’ enquired Bonnie, passing her a towel. Chloe remembered that she wasn’t yet well known over here. It was rather nice.
She nodded and took the towel gratefully.
Surprisingly Bonnie didn’t look that impressed. ‘Come on, then. All the more reason to get back to work.’
What? That was a break?
‘You don’t want to lose any more weight, you know,’ said Bonnie, tweaking the equipment as her client lay back down.
‘I know,’ said Chloe.
‘I’ve gotta say it–I see too many young girls go that way.’
‘It won’t happen to me.’ Chloe decided she liked Bonnie. Even if, she thought as she settled into a series of tough arm reps, she was a hard taskmaster.
‘I’ve got this party on Friday,’ she went on. ‘I want to be ready for it.’ Chloe had read In magazine religiously throughout her teens, had appeared in the UK edition once or twice, and was hoping to impress its editor. People said Harriet Foley could make or break a career.
Bonnie never pressed for detail. She couldn’t stand name-dropping. ‘I’m sure you’ll be great,’ she said as Chloe finished up. ‘The guys there are gonna have their tongues hanging out.’
Chloe shook her head. ‘I’ve got a boyfriend, actually.’
Bonnie raised a cynical eyebrow.
‘What?’ Chloe laughed.
‘It doesn’t stop most people.’
‘Well, it stops us,’ said Chloe firmly. ‘We’re happy.’
‘I’m glad.’
As she padded to the changing rooms, Chloe felt a flurry of excitement. She’d missed Nate these past few days. She couldn’t wait to see him.
When she dialled his number less than an hour later, a sleepy voice answered.
Chloe held the phone under her ear, sliding a knife into a buttery avocado. Was he still in bed? It was past midday.
‘Nate?’
‘Whozat?’
Chloe frowned. ‘It’s me,’ she said patiently.
‘Oh, hey, babe.’ Yes, she’d definitely woken him up. She knew what he sounded like in the morning, all mussed-up and sexy.
‘Are you busy today?’ she asked, twisting the halves of the avocado apart.
‘Are you?’ he countered.
Chloe took the phone in her hand. ‘Don’t be like that,’ she said gently. ‘I did have stuff on yesterday. I couldn’t get out of it.’
‘Right.’
‘I’m sure you found something to do instead.’
‘Sure did.’
Chloe dropped a bag of salad into a bowl. ‘D’you want to meet? I can come over.’
‘Er, yeah …’ There was a rustle on the other end. Chloe thought she heard a woman’s voice in the background.
‘Who’s there?’ she asked, straining to hear.
‘One of Chris’s birds,’ said Nate quickly. There was another shuffle then the sound of a door closing. ‘Come over in an hour?’
Chloe grinned. ‘I will. Can’t wait.’
‘Me neither, babe, me neither.’
An hour later, after Chloe had eaten and showered and changed into a cute Adam playsuit, she took a cab to Nate’s downtown apartment. The record company had put them up in a nice block with its own pool, but it wasn’t as smart as her own place. She chided herself for making the comparison.
‘Hey,’ he said nonchalantly when he opened the door. He stepped back to let her inside,