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Without the paparazzi chasing me, the ride back to The Hollywood seemed to take for ever. Eventually, we rolled up to the door and I rolled through the lobby and up to my room, dog-tired and desperate for sleep.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’

Sleep, I was apparently not going to get. Jenny was standing in the middle of my room, looking absolutely wild.

‘Jenny.’

‘Don’t you fucking “Jenny” me,’ she ranted, stamping her tiny foot. ‘You left me in that club! Left me on the floor to run off with that asshole. I cannot believe you.’

‘I didn’t run off, I was carried off,’ I started, afraid to get too close. Jenny was holding her shoes in one hand, which made her both quicker than me and in possession of a deadly weapon. I’d done enough damage with a pair of stilettos in my own time to know how dangerous they could be. ‘Jenny, I feel horrible, I’m so sorry. But James said you’d be OK and honestly, you didn’t want to be with us—’

‘Oh “James said”?’ she yelled, throwing one of the shoes at me. I dodged; at least she was one weapon down. ‘Well, if James said, then I’m sure it was fine that you left me on the floor of a club, soaked through with some dick’s drink. I don’t believe this. You spend one day with some sonofabitch movie star and you’re acting like a total bitch?’

‘OK, that’s not too harsh? I didn’t have any choice in the matter of leaving you. Unless you didn’t notice, I didn’t exactly swan out of there on my own feet. And I think you’re mistaking James for that dickhead, Joe. He was the one throwing drinks around.’

‘Only because that Blake asshole was getting in his face.’ Jenny brandished the other shoe. It was not fun being on the other end of this. ‘They were both being totally rude to Joe the whole evening. They were totally looking down on him because he’s a barman, even though it’s so obvious they’re just jealous. Joe could so be bigger than James Jacobs if he wanted.’

‘How are you coming up with this stuff?’ I asked, throwing my bag down on the bed and kicking off my own shoes … but keeping them close in case we ended up duelling with them later. ‘Joe had a problem with James and Blake, especially Blake, from the second he got in the car. Before then, even. He was being weird about them this afternoon; I only invited him for your sake.’

‘You think I need you to get me pity dates? Like, Joe only came because you asked him? Oh my God, who do you think you are?’

‘Jenny,’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t do this. I’m tired and you’re being ridiculous. Why don’t we just go to bed and talk about this tomorrow?’

‘Now I’m ridiculous?’ The other shoe flew past my head and hit the door. ‘What’s ridiculous is you. We’ve been in LA two days; you’ve blown me off twice and then you left me on the floor of a club in front of dozens of people. That is ridiculous. You are ridiculous.’

‘Jenny, I’m sorry,’ I really, really wanted to sleep. ‘I’m sorry I blew you out but I was tired and a bit drunk. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back for you but we got chased by the paparazzi and I was stuck in the hotel. And I’m sorry you think I’m blowing you off for James – I’m absolutely not, but it’s my job to interview him. That’s why we’re here, remember? So I do have to spend time with him. I wish I could just hang out with you instead. I really do.’

‘Whatever,’ she bristled, hands planted on her hips. ‘I cannot believe you left me. That Blake guy is an ass-hat.’

‘And Joe was totally out of order with Blake.’ I stood my ground. Hurricane Jenny just needed a slap sometimes. ‘And he got you back OK, didn’t he?’

‘If you mean, he dragged me up by my wrist and tossed me in a lift to find my own way back here, then yes,’ she pouted. ‘If you’re asking if he apologized for his pig-headed behaviour and then brought me back to the hotel, then no.’

‘I’m sorry, Jen, but Joe was being a bit of an idiot. But I know Blake can be difficult too. I’m sorry. I should have … I don’t know what I should have done. But I shouldn’t have left you.’

‘No, you shouldn’t.’ She dropped her arms to her sides. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have blown up. I’m tired, I guess. And cranky.’

‘Me too,’ I said, slowly crossing the room and sitting on the bed. Jenny collapsed backwards beside me. ‘Seriously, though, you need to sort out your temper. Do you think Oprah kicks off like this?’

‘Yeah, whatever,’ she said, wriggling out of her dress and under my covers. I was forgiven then. ‘But I’m telling you, Blake is a total asshole. And James should so ditch him. Joe says—’

‘Please, can we not?’ I sighed, pushing myself up and slipping off the dress to hang it. ‘Don’t go mental, but have you thought that Joe might be a bit jealous of James and was just taking it out on Blake?’

‘Whatever,’ Jenny yawned. ‘I’m still pissed but I’m also super-tired. Let’s talk about this tomorrow. Let’s do something fun.’

‘Uh, yes?’

‘Damn straight, yes,’ Jenny muttered into her pillow, flicking out the light without asking.

‘Night Jenny,’ I whispered, asleep before my head had even hit the pillow.

My alarm was set for nine, so I was completely confused as to what was making all the noise when the little alarm clock next to my bed said eight-twenty.

‘Turn off your freaking phone,’ Jenny mumbled into her pillow.

‘Who would be calling?’ I croaked, still shattered.

‘Meh? Alex?’

Oh shit, Alex.

I rolled out of bed and grabbed my bag from the floor. It was a 212 number but not Alex’s landline.

‘Hello?’

‘Angela Clark, would you like to explain to me what is happening over there?’ It was Mary. ‘Angela? Are you there? Or are you still too tired from your night of fucking up our lives to talk to me?’

‘Mary, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I rubbed my eyes. Ew, last night’s mascara.

‘I suggest you check, oh I don’t know, Perez Hilton, TMZ, maybe any other website in the entire world and then call me back with a really good excuse as to why I shouldn’t fire your ass.’

I blinked at the dead phone. What was she talking about? Crawling across to my computer, I quickly logged on and flipped to Perez. Which I may or may not have added to my bookmarks during my bout of James Jacobs research/worship.

And there it was. Or rather there they were. A picture of me and James sitting on the beach in Santa Monica. A shot of us eating at 25 Degrees. Him carrying me out of Teddy’s. James putting me in the car at Chateau by the supposed secret exit. Well, it turned out James was right: the pictures did look pretty bad. Especially when built into a completely fictitious photo-story of our alleged affair.

Sigh, Hollywood’s favourite British export, James Jacobs, is breaking our heart again! It must be at least a week since he was pictured getting hot and heavy with some skank in Hyde, but no, despite popular opinion, it hasn’t shrivelled up and fallen off. Looks like James is in love! The Casino Night star hit up several romantic LA hotspots with a new lady love yesterday. Word of advice, James – when you’ve gone to all the trouble of wooing a girl all day long, it’s not cool to get her in and out of your Chateau Marmont bungalow within an hour. Word on the set of his new movie, The Big Time, is that James takes longer to get his scenes in the can than anyone else on the film. At least he’s taking time to make sure the job is done better in at least one area of his life. Sorry, honey, James is all about his ‘craft’.

Oh shit. At least they hadn’t got the photo of me in James’s dressing gown. Yet. Scrambling into the bathroom, I dialled The Look and waited to be put through to Mary, not having a clue what to say.

‘This had better be good,’ she answered.

‘Mary, look, I’ve seen the pictures,’ I breathed in deeply, ‘and they’re not what it looks like at all. Honestly.’

‘That’s the best you can do?’

‘It’s the truth.’ I pulled a towel down from the rail and wrapped it around my legs. ‘Everything was above-board, it’s just how it looks on the internet. I don’t know what else to tell you. It’s rubbish, total rubbish.’

‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’

‘Yes?’ I pulled my shoulders up around my ears.

‘Well,’ Mary said after a long moment’s pause. ‘I guess this is what happens when we put inexperienced reporters on important assignments. What were you thinking going on a date with the story, Angela?’

‘A date? Me and James Jacobs? Come on, Mary,’ I tried to laugh. ‘The beach thing was part of the interview, James wanted to go do it there – do the interview there – and there were three other people with us at Teddy’s. Mary, I really don’t want you to think I’m mucking this up. The interview has been going great, honestly.’

‘Adding “honestly” to the end of every sentence isn’t going to stop me having to work my ass off to keep you on the interview. The only reason you’re not on a plane back right now is because we had an email from James’s people reiterating the fact that he wouldn’t speak to anyone else from the magazine.’

‘Seriously?’ I was surprised. When had he done that? Why had he done that?

‘So you can see why everyone in the entire office thinks that you’re, well, more than interviewing him.’ Mary did not sound at all impressed. Or convinced. ‘Angela, whatever’s happening over there, just be incredibly careful. This has not helped you here.’

‘Hones … Mary,’ I really couldn’t believe this was happening, ‘I am going to deliver the best interview you ever read. I promise. And there is nothing happening with James. You know me, I would never.’

‘Fine, just don’t let me down, Angela,’ Mary warned before hanging up.

Well, wasn’t this just perfect? I rested my suddenly thumping head against the cool glass screen of the shower and closed my eyes. And there was me worrying that I’d get fired because I’d upset James. But instead, every single person at The Look thought I’d boffed him and they wanted to sack me for that instead. What was I supposed to do? Before I could make a decision, my phone beeped into life again. Please don’t let Mary have changed her mind …

‘Hello?’

‘So, there are some real interesting photos online this morning,’ Alex said.

‘Yes, yes there are …’ This was so not the best-ever start to my day. I really hadn’t had time to think about how to broach this with Alex. I was still trying to work out what I was going to do about the ‘three little words’ situation. So I went for three different ones. ‘Isn’t it stupid?’

‘I don’t know, is it?’ He wasn’t exactly giving me a belly laugh.

‘Alex, you know those photos aren’t what they look like. It’s all just been part of the interview, that’s all, but I suppose that doesn’t make a very good story and God, I don’t know, maybe there isn’t enough news in the world this morning.’

‘I suppose not,’ he said without any emotion. It was horrible: he could at least have the decency to shout or call me a slag or something.

‘Seriously, it’s ridiculous. The magazine just called to say we might sue.’ OK, so not entirely true but I couldn’t stand this. ‘The whole thing is ridiculous. James got into a big fight with Jenny’s friend Joe in the club and that’s why we had to run out. And I got a drink spilt all over me and so James got my dress dry cleaned. This is what was happening when I called you last night. This is what I was trying to tell you about.’

‘That would be the phone call at four this morning?’

‘That would be the one,’ I said slowly. ‘I was having a horrible evening; I just wanted to talk to you. Sorry.’

No response.

‘How was your open mic thing?’

‘It was good.’ His voice was still measured and flat. ‘So what are the plans for today? Shopping for engagement rings? Quickie wedding in Vegas?’

‘Alex, there’s nothing going on with me and James. I know those stupid photos look like … something, but really there is nothing going on. All that I’ve done since I’ve got here is fail miserably as a interviewer, row with Jenny and try to call you. And to top it off, I’m this close to getting sacked.’ I felt sick saying it all out loud.

‘Just a tip on the interviewing thing – I’m pretty sure you don’t have to go back to the guy’s hotel room at one a.m.,’ Alex replied evenly. ‘I’ve always managed to keep my pants on in interviews.’

‘Really? Because I didn’t think you had such a great history at keeping your pants on.’ It was out before I’d thought about it. Such were the perils of being so bloody quick.

‘Right, there are pictures of you on the internet, whoring yourself all over LA with some asshole actor you just met, and you’re bringing up my past?’ At least I’d got his attention now. Shit. ‘Is this where I mention the part where you were dating someone else behind my back when we met?’

‘No, this is the point where you calm down and realize that this is all really stupid and that I wouldn’t ever cheat on you and that sometimes, just sometimes, trashy websites print things that aren’t true.’ How dare he be on the other side of the country for our first row. I could practically hear him thinking down the line but he still didn’t say anything.

‘Look, Alex, all I’m asking is for you to trust me and not the internet. That shouldn’t be too hard, should it?’ I was not happy. These kinds of conversations had not gone well for me in the past. Plus, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t considered crossing a very unprofessional line with James, which wasn’t exactly helping my argument ring true.

‘I’m sorry, this is all just too weird,’ Alex said, finally. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to say that stuff,’ I sniffed. ‘I’m just being all paranoid because we haven’t really spoken since I got here and then all the pictures and stuff and then Mary called and now you’re freaking out—’

‘Angela, hey, hold up,’ Alex interrupted. ‘I meant, I’m sorry I can’t really talk about this over the phone. We’ll only end up saying dumb stuff. More dumb stuff.’

‘So what, we’re not going to talk until I get back?’

‘You’re back on Sunday.’

‘But it’s Tuesday …’ I bit my lip. ‘Can’t I just call you later?’

He sighed loudly. ‘I’m sorry. Just, well, let me call you, OK? Bye.’

I looked at my phone, just to check. Yes, he had hung up. This really was the perfect start to the perfect day. If I’d known I was going to get into such a mess anyway, I would have just shagged James senseless when I had the chance. Bloody stupid bloody conscience.

‘Angela, you’re on the internet!’ Jenny shrieked from the bedroom. ‘You’re freakin’ famous!’

Brilliant, just brilliant.

It took me far too long to convince Jenny to back away from the laptop and not email my details directly to Perez Hilton. She felt very strongly that I should be making the most of my potential new-found fame, or at the very least sign up for reality TV shows and get us both into gifting lounges. I, however, felt very strongly that I should go back to bed and sleep until everyone in the world stopped reading celebrity gossip or the internet broke down, whichever came first. But I couldn’t. I had things to do. I had a blog to write, and tomorrow, assuming James was still on for it, I had to drag my arse out of the hotel and carry on with the interview. He might have emailed the magazine but he wasn’t answering his phone to me. Swearing I would meet her for brunch as promised, I sent a still slightly pissed-off Jenny on her way and settled down at my laptop.

The Adventures of Angela: Valley of the Woes

Hmmm. So my LA adventure isn’t exactly going according to plan. Since you’re reading this, I’m assuming you’re fairly familiar with the internet and the pages full of wonderful, wonderful things it contains. Like net-a-porter.com. Unfortunately, it turns out there are some pages of not-so-wonderful things and lots of those pages are made right here, in LA.

Now, I did sort of know that before I got here because who hasn’t whiled away a few harmless minutesours/entire working days on Perez Hilton or WWTDD? Come on, there isn’t a person alive who doesn’t want to see the private mobile phone pictures of a Disney starlet, right? But what I didn’t know was, despite all the evidence out there, sometimes not only are the things on these websites not entirely truthful, sometimes they are as familiar with reality as I am with Brad Pitt. That is, not familiar at all. Goddamn it.

I guess a lot of people think it would fun to be on one of these websites, to be pictured hanging out with celebs in some swanky Hollywood nightclub but, well, just like the websites themselves, sometimes things aren’t what they seem.

Hopefully, I’m still in for a Hollywood ending … and I’m still waiting for your recommendations as to where to get one. Email me at notacompleteslapperhonest@thelook.com

After emailing the blog to Mary (and praying to every conceivable deity I could think of, including the genie from Aladdin), I searched through mine and Jenny’s wardrobes twice, searching for a ‘I really haven’t done it with James Jacobs’ outfit; but now, for some reason, everything looked as if it was right out of the Playboy Mansion.

Who in their right mind would believe I was sleeping with an A-list movie star? This was me we were talking about: mismatched underwear, not capable of curling my eyelashes without catching my eyelid, dodgy muffin top in all but one pair of my jeans, Angela Clark. Slightly useless, can’t even change a plug at twenty-seven, not a seducer of superstars, dress-shedding über-minx, Angela Clark, international super-slag. I settled on my jeans (sadly not the non-muffin-top pair) and stripy Splendid rugby top. Buttoned up. Every wanton inch of me covered. Sweating like a bee-hatch in the seventy-five-degree weather but covered from head to toe.

‘So I get that you didn’t love The Beverly Center,’ Jenny said, adjusting her sunglasses and spinning out of The Hollywood’s valet parking lot. ‘And I’m guessing that you’re gonna be freaking out about those photos for pretty much the whole day, right?’

‘Probably,’ I agreed sombrely. I was still so numb from my conversation with Alex, I didn’t even have the energy to be scared of Jenny’s driving.

‘So what can we do to get you out of your funk?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ I traced a finger along the edge of the car door. At least since we were in the convertible my hair would look like crap whether I’d done anything with it or not. Which I hadn’t. And, joy, the sun was out. If I was really lucky, I could get burnt again.

‘God, you’re going to make this hard work, aren’t you?’ Jenny slapped the steering wheel. ‘I know, Angela, if someone said “LA” to you, what would you think of?’

‘What?’

‘What would you think of? What would you associate with Hollywood?’ she pressed on.

Paparazzi. Blonde hair. Breast implants. ‘Sunshine?’

‘Anything else?’ she asked.

Feeling completely out of place. Missing Alex. Worrying about James. ‘Movies?’

‘Which movies?’

‘Jenny,’ I really wanted to just go back to bed. ‘Are you getting at something?’

‘Honey, I’m just trying to distract you. This is all gonna be over by tomorrow. Sometimes life throws you a curveball and you’ve just got to run with it.’ Jenny pulled up outside a row of shops. Sparkly, shiny, lovely looking shops.’ Or shop for it.’

‘Where are we?’ I asked, blinking up at the prettiness. Everything was so white. And big. ‘What are we doing?’

‘We’re about to spend an obscene amount of money,’ Jenny grinned.

Once the car had been safely handed over to the valet parking assistant (I would never get used to that), Jenny pulled me along the wide, sunny street past designer store after designer store.

‘Never before in my life have I wanted to be a hooker so badly,’ I clutched at Jenny’s hand, my mouth wide open. ‘But oh, would you look at that bag?’

‘I know, hello Pretty Woman,’ Jenny squeezed my hand back. ‘Even I would sleep with Richard Gere for that dress and, hello, so old now?’

‘So this is Rodeo Drive?’ I marvelled. ‘Why on earth did you take me to a mall yesterday?’

‘Because we can’t actually afford anything here.’ She pulled me away from the Louis Vuitton window, leaving my sticky paw prints all over it. ‘But I thought it might distract you for a while.’

‘We can’t afford anything?’ I fought the urge to go into the closest shop and buy a giant hat. And gloves. ‘Really?’

‘Angie, when we go shopping in New York, where do we go?’ Jenny asked.

‘Bloomingdale’s? Bergdorf’s?’ I couldn’t stop staring at the pretty things. Things I’d seen in magazines, in The Look, but that were now right here in front of me! In a shop! To buy!

‘Not where do we go to try things on but never buy them unless they’re in the sales. Where do we actually go shopping?’

‘Um, Century 21 and Filene’s,’ I admitted. ‘When you’re not there to stop me, Gap.’

‘Exactly. And I killed my credit card at The Beverly Center yesterday, so no, we really can’t afford anything.’ Jenny fished around in her handbag for some lip gloss, slicked a completely unnecessary layer on top of her already shiny lips and then added a desperately needed pop of colour to mine. ‘But no one needs to know that, right? There’s nothing like trying on thousands of dollars’ worth of couture to take your mind off your problems.’

If my only issue with LA was still that it wasn’t nearly as glossy and glamorous as I’d been expecting, then Rodeo Drive would have solved all my problems. From the dramatic white marble store fronts, the palm trees sprouting up out of the glossy pavement, right through to the serious-looking doormen that stood sentry outside each designer destination, this was everything I’d been expecting.

Yes, the Ugg boot girls were still everywhere, but they had been watered down by a new breed of LA woman. I couldn’t help but stare. They were tiny, just like the platinum blondes, but they seemed so much glossier, so much more expensive, and I could not tell you how old a single one of them was. You couldn’t actually see any discernible designer labels on anything they wore, unless you checked out the shop assistant carrying the stiff paper bags out behind them, but they reeked of money. One of them stepped right out in front of us without looking, making me jump back. She paused, looking at me and Jenny in the same way I sometimes looked at the puppies in the window of the pet store near Bloomingdale’s, as if we were cute but she really didn’t want to get too close in case we slobbered on her. Or worse.

‘So what do you want to try first?’ Jenny asked, completely oblivious. ‘Dior? D&G?’

‘Oh, there.’ I pointed across the road to a gorgeous window display, full of beautiful ballerina-style dresses in pretty petal colours. ‘Miu Miu me up.’

After my second glass of champagne, I was more than ready to accept that Hollywood had its charms after all. Jenny was head to toe in couture, a gorgeous bronze dirndl skirt cinching in her tiny waist and five-inch platforms forcing her onto her tippy-toes.

‘How do they feel?’ The inordinately attractive salesman cupped my foot in his hand and slipped the ankle strap of a beautiful, sequin-covered sandal through the little tiny silver buckle.

‘They feel lovely.’ I was almost too afraid to stand on the delicate little heels. When would I feel more like Kylie and less like Lily Savage when I tried on a girlie outfit?

‘You know, I think we just got one of the matching purses in today. It’s in the back,’ he whispered. ‘I have to see how it looks with the shoes.’

‘Me too,’ I agreed, staring at my feet. Why would anyone ever put their foot inside an Ugg in LA? In New York, it snowed, it was cold, you needed their sheepskin-lined goodness; but here, you could feasibly walk around in nothing but fairy-spun Miu Miu creations all year round. In fact, you didn’t even have to walk; this was the perfect place for Limo Shoes. Maybe that was why everyone drove everywhere.

I flicked around my BlackBerry, while my New Best Friend, the shoe salesman, was bag hunting. The BlackBerry was still a bit of a mystery to me. I’d got into enough trouble with just a mobile, without being able to respond to work emails whilst out and about. Out and about meaning drunk. Before I could cast it back into the bottom of my (very jealous to be surrounded by all these younger Miu Mius) handbag, it started to buzz in my hand.

‘Hello?’ I answered automatically.

‘Angela, it’s James.’

Oh, James. Bugger. I’d been so distracted by the prettiness, for fifteen minutes I’d managed to forget all about everything.

‘Angela, are you there?’

‘I am.’ I waved manically at Jenny. I couldn’t do this alone. Even in eight-hundred-dollar sandals. Especially in eight-hundred-dollar sandals.

‘I wanted to say I’m so sorry about the photos. Blake is trying to get them taken down right now.’ He sounded genuinely worried. But then he was an actor. ‘Are you OK? And we’ve spoken to the magazine. It’ll all be fine.’

‘Well, it was a bit of a shock—’ But before I could finish, Jenny snatched the phone out of my hand and sprinted down the shop.

‘James? Jenny,’ I heard her begin before she vanished out of hearing range. I fumbled with the teeny tiny buckles on my sandals but apparently they had been crafted by elves and my lumbering sausage fingers (swollen from the LA heat, surely?) couldn’t unfasten them quickly enough.

‘I don’t know, she’s kind of messed up,’ she said, slinking back up the store. ‘But I’m trying to take care of her. We’re shopping.’

‘Jenny,’ I hissed, ‘give me the bloody phone.’

‘We’re in Miu Miu,’ she winked, holding me at arm’s length. ‘Yes, I think she’d love that. OK, I’ll put you on to someone.’

By the time I’d found my way out of the shoes, my BlackBerry was in the hands of my lovely sales assistant who had returned holding something long and disarmingly sparkly. ‘But of course Mr Jacobs,’ he gushed, hanging up and giving me the phone. And the pretty sparkly thing. I felt like a kitten with a ping-pong ball. BlackBerry or shiny bag. BlackBerry or shiny bag.

‘What was that all about?’ I asked Jenny, unable to take my eyes off the bag. It was long and slender and round, like a pencil case I’d had in Year Eight. But, unlike the pencil case I’d had in Year Eight, it had a tiny five-hundred-dollar price tag, hidden discreetly inside the beautiful lining, and was covered in glittering, golden iridescent sparkles. Oh, and a little leather strap to slip around my wrist so that I would never, ever, ever lose it. Even in my sleep. ‘Jenny?’

‘We’ll take the bag and the shoes, thanks,’ she said, snatching the bag out of my hands and passing it back to the assistant. His eyes were shining almost as much as the sequins. ‘And ring up these bad boys.’ She pointed at the yellow and black Mary Janes on her feet and dropped onto the padded bench beside me.

‘You should get your photo taken with some more famous people.’ She slung her arm around my shoulders. ‘James wants to pay for your shoes. Actually, our shoes. But if he asks, both pairs are yours. He said to charge them to his account and he’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ I asked, watching the bag and the shoes being whisked away behind the counter while the staff whispered intensely amongst themselves. ‘He can’t do that. We can’t let him do that.’

I pouted, wondering just for a second what Mary would have to say about me accepting handbags and shoes from James. And right up until the assistant replaced my empty champagne glass with two huge, ribbon-tied cardboard carrier bags, I really thought about refusing to accept them. Sort of.

‘Oh Angie, Angie, Angie.’ Jenny ruffled my hair and gave me a huge grin. ‘He can and we can. And I could not be happier. Where next?’

Jenny’s talent for shopping was matched only by her talent for eating, so after Miu Miu, after Dolce & Gabbana, Cavalli and Gucci, she finally gave in. I couldn’t enjoy even La Perla on an empty stomach.

‘Tiffany’s shouldn’t be part of a shopping centre,’ I said, spearing the omnipresent lettuce leaf on my plate. ‘I don’t care how posh a shopping centre. It’s just not right.’

‘Yeah, whatever …’ Jenny leaned back, smiling up at the sunshine with her eyes closed. ‘Eat your crab cakes and stop bagging on LA.’

‘I’ll leave LA alone if you’ll tell me about the last time you were here,’ I gambled. ‘I want to here all about your dancing. And how on earth the Pussycat Dolls managed to let you slip through their fingers.’

‘Shut up,’ Jenny carried on staring upwards. ‘Is that a humming bird?’

‘It is and even though that might be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,’ I replied, watching the tiny bird as it darted by our table and hovered by a floral display beside us, ‘you’re not going to distract me. Did you really dance?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you strip?’

‘It wasn’t stripping, it was burlesque.’

‘So you did strip?’

She sighed and looked back at me. ‘There was no nudity in my routine.’

‘So how come you came back to New York so quickly,’ I stirred my Diet Coke with my straw, ‘if you and Daphne were so amazing? Couldn’t the dancing have led to other stuff?’

‘Probably,’ she laughed quietly. ‘It led to Daphne doing other stuff. Other stuff for guys who came to see us dance. Other stuff for money.’

‘Daphne did it for money?’ I asked. According to the people at the next table who dropped their cutlery, altogether too loudly. ‘Daphne was a prostitute?’ I added quietly.

‘I don’t think she would say that,’ Jenny said diplomatically. ‘Maybe a private call girl. She seemed to think it was pretty glamorous at the time.’

‘But you didn’t?’ I asked. ‘Think it was glamorous, I mean? I know you would never do that. Would you?’

‘Trust me, there was nothing glamorous about those guys,’ she said.

‘So you didn’t, right?’ A dozen humming birds doing a synchronized dance routine couldn’t have got my attention at that moment.

‘Of course I didn’t,’ Jenny said, ‘but it was tempting. Suddenly Daphne had all this money, she stopped doing auditions, started missing gigs. Eventually, she stopped dancing altogether and I felt weird doing it alone. Especially since Daphne had kind of gotten us a reputation. I guess it would have been easier to just do it, but I couldn’t.’

‘So you came home?’ I wasn’t used to watching Jenny squirm. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as I’d thought it might be.

‘I went back to New York, yeah.’ She looked up and gave me her brightest smile. ‘And thank God I did, or you would have been screwed.’

‘She’s not still doing it, is she?’ I couldn’t help myself, even if Jenny was clearly trying to change the subject. ‘Not still, you know …’

‘Angie, it scares me that you can’t even say the words at your age. And no, she isn’t. She quit, like, right after I left. She started seeing some rich old guy and I guess she didn’t need the cash any more. And she’s making good money as a stylist now so …’ She trailed off.

‘Do you miss living here?’ I asked, even though I didn’t want to. She was my Jenny, my ‘I’m walkin’ here’ New Yorker Jenny, not Daphne’s LA private dancer.

‘It’s different now; it was so long ago. I’m not twenty-two any more; everything is so different.’ She gave me a little smile. ‘It is nice to be out in the sunshine again, though. I don’t know, I don’t want the same things I wanted the last time I was here. I don’t know what I want.’

‘You’ll work it out,’ I said, watching her pretend not to be bothered. ‘You always do.’

‘Yeah.’ Jenny pulled out her bright yellow Miu Miu shoe. It was all sorts of beautiful. ‘I always do, don’t I?’

‘I can’t believe you had this big crazy life.’ I was always amazed by Jenny. I’d never ever known anyone like her in my life. It didn’t matter how long we spent together or how long we talked, one way or another, she surprised me every single day. Some days it was with a packet of peanut butter M&Ms, others it was with the fact that she used to be a burlesque dancer while her friend was a high-class hooker. ‘How do you stand behind that concierge desk every day without going mad?’

‘I don’t know.’ She pulled a couple of curls out from her ponytail and held them out to inspect for split ends. ‘I guess I had Jeff to keep my mind busy for a while but sometimes, yeah. I don’t know.’

We ate in silence for a few minutes, Jenny concentrating on her salad, me painfully aware that the waiter was still judging me for asking if the crab cakes came with fries. They didn’t.

‘What are you going to do about James?’ Jenny asked eventually.

‘What do you mean?’ I stalled, not actually knowing the answer.

‘Seems to me that if your boyfriend already thinks you’re sleeping with a super-hot guy who is so clearly into you, you may as well,’ she reasoned.

‘He’s not clearly into me,’ I replied sternly, but I couldn’t help a tiny internal smile at the thought that he might be. ‘Just because he got a couple of shops to give us some free stuff. It’s nothing to him, Jenny; it’s like you letting your friend crash in an empty room at the hotel or something. A perk of the job.’

‘I could totally get used to these kinds of perks,’ she held up the shoe again. ‘But honey, I’m telling you, just from what I saw last night. He likes you.’

‘No, he doesn’t and, even if he did, which he doesn’t …’ I fished around in my handbag for my wallet. Expenses be damned, this was going on the work credit card. ‘… I wouldn’t be interested.’

‘Yeah you would. If you didn’t have a boyfriend,’ Jenny said, stealing a bite of crab cake from my plate.

I considered my answer carefully, knowing she would jump on whatever I said. ‘If I didn’t have a boyfriend and I wasn’t working and he wasn’t this ridiculous actor. Maybe.’

‘Oh my God, you’re totally hot for him.’ Jenny clapped her hands together. ‘I knew it! I could so tell last night. Angie, how often do you get a chance like this? How often does anyone get a chance like this?’

‘That doesn’t matter.’ I blushed from my cheeks down to my toes. ‘And it doesn’t matter how hot he is or if he likes me. It’s just work. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now, it’s work.’

‘You forgot the “I already have a boyfriend” bit.’ Jenny raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d have thought Alex was quite enough of a reason. That’s interesting.’

‘No it isn’t interesting,’ I corrected. ‘That just goes without saying.’

‘So things are OK? He hasn’t freaked out about the pictures?’

There was no point hiding this stuff from Jenny. It would only come back to bite me on the arse when I needed her help later, which I always did. ‘He wasn’t best pleased about them,’ I admitted. ‘But it’ll be fine.’

‘I figured as much,’ Jenny nodded. ‘He’s totally the jealous type.’

‘No, he so isn’t. Is he?’ I asked. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Come on, Angie.’ She wiped her hands on a napkin and then redid her ponytail. ‘Alex is all deep and meaningful muso boy. You don’t get the love songs, the random three a.m. booty calls because “he just had to see you” without a touch of possessiveness. I just can’t see him being OK with you running around Hollywood with a some hot, slutty guy with all the world watching. Can you?’

‘I said he wasn’t best pleased about it,’ I mumbled, giving the waiter my credit card without even looking at the bill. ‘But it’ll be OK, won’t it?’

‘He’s your boyfriend, I don’t know,’ she said, passing me her lip gloss. She really was a stickler for detail. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think we should stop talking about boys, go and get the car, then go for a swim.’ I took my card and the receipt back from the waiter. ‘And if there’s a spa or something, we should get massages. This is still your vacation, after all, and I don’t have to be anywhere until eleven a.m. tomorrow.’

‘Got to say, Angie,’ Jenny stood up and started grabbing our many bags, ‘I have always loved the way you think.’