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‘Pick up the phone, pick up the phone,’ I chanted, pacing up and down my room waiting for Alex to answer. My laptop lay open on the bedroom table, pictures of me and James kissing, him throwing me in the car, the look of shock and anger on my face already mistaken all over the internet for impatience and passion. Of course he wasn’t picking up the phone.

It was probably for the best, I thought, throwing my phone across the room. For a shocking change, I really hadn’t worked out what I was going to say to him. ‘Alex, the world-famous movie star that the entire world knows has done it with dozens of gorgeous women, is actually super gay. Only it’s a secret so please don’t tell anyone.’ Nope, it just didn’t have a ring of truth to it. I had to think about how I was going to explain before he called back.

Unless he called back right away.

‘Alex?’

‘Angela.’

‘Alex,’ I took a deep breath, ‘I had to speak to you before you saw the pictures.’

‘Angela, I already saw the pictures, remember?’ Alex said slowly. ‘And we were going to talk about it when you get back.’

‘Well, yes, but,’ I looked back at the computer, ‘they were the ones from yesterday.’

‘Meaning?’

‘There might be some more?’

I sat down on the bed and stared at my toenails. Given that I was only a couple of floors above Hollywood Boulevard at midnight, the room was very quiet. They really should mention that on their website. Total selling point.

‘From the same night?’

‘No, but I can explain.’

‘What site are they on?’ Alex asked, his voice completely flat. ‘Or is it just all of them again?’

‘Alex, please don’t look, just let me explain.’ I winced at the sound of clicking keys down the line. Of course he was by his computer.

‘Gotta say, you look good,’ he said eventually. ‘And how many guys actually get to see their girlfriends cheat on them in real time? God bless the internet.’

‘Alex, just stop.’ I stood up; drama always felt more manageable when I was vertical. The carpet was also very soft. Maybe I could get a job as The Hollywood’s copywriter after Mary fired me. ‘It’s not like it looks. James is—’

‘Totally out of your league? Yeah, you’ve done really well there, Angela.’ He didn’t even sound like my Alex.

‘Please stop it and just let me explain.’ I tried to find the right words but my head was totally empty.

‘What do you want me to say?’ At least he was starting to sound a little bit angry now. But it turned out that wasn’t as much consolation as I had hoped.

‘First there are all these photos of you practically dry-humping the first celebrity you ever meet, then you’re not answering your phone, then you’re calling me at four in the morning and saying, well, whatever. What am I supposed to think? What do you want me to say?’

‘Don’t make out like I’m the one who’s been ignoring you! I’ve been trying to talk to you since I got here,’ I protested. ‘You were the one who didn’t want to talk to me. You were the one who wasn’t answering his phone.’

‘And the fact that I actually have things to do here without you holding my hand means you get to fuck around behind my back?’ he yelled.

I almost dropped my phone. ‘What?’

‘What do you mean what?’ he asked. ‘One day you’re holding hands on the beach, leaving his hotel room in the middle of the night, and the next you’re kissing him outside a club? You’re gonna tell me there’s nothing happening there at all?’

There weren’t many times in my life I’d been stunned into silence but they were racking up tonight.

‘Tell me you haven’t slept with him.’ Alex’s voice was rough and low. ‘Say it. Now.’

‘I–I haven’t slept with him,’ I stuttered. He hadn’t asked if I’d thought about it; he’d asked if I’d actually done it. I heard a sigh and more keystrokes. ‘Please stop looking at the pictures. I haven’t done anything, Alex, I would never. Please just believe me.’

‘And that’s where we have a problem,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t think I do believe you.’

My phone was burning hot against my ear but I couldn’t put it down. Long after Alex had hung up, I was still standing in the middle of the hotel room, clutching the tiny piece of plastic as it cooled slowly. Did he really just say that? After what seemed like a lifetime, my brain flicked back on and I redialled. There was no way I was leaving it like that. But Alex’s phone didn’t even ring; instead I got a ‘cannot be connected message’ right away. I tried again from my room phone just to make sure but it wasn’t happening. He must have taken the battery out or something.

I sat down at the desk and flicked through the pictures online. I scrolled through the galleries that had already sprung up across the gossip sites, dedicated to me and James. It was so weird. And not just because most of them were slaughtering my outfits and the size of my arse, although they were all taken from extraordinarily bad angles. Honest. The strangest thing was that to hundreds – if not thousands – of girls around the world, it must look like a dream come true. Ordinary girl is sent to interview hot movie star, hot movie star falls for ordinary girl and whirlwind romance ensues.

It certainly was far more romantic than the truth: ordinary girl is sent to interview hot movie star, falls for hot movie star’s clichéd fake flirting, lets hot movie star kiss her then discovers he’s gay but is plastered all over the internet, gets dumped by actual love of her life and ends up with no one. Yeah, who was going to pay to read that? Flipping down the lid of my laptop, I wondered if anyone was going to pay to read anything I wrote ever again. Surely this was going to push Mary over the edge. If ever I needed Jenny Lopez, it was now, but she was nowhere to be found. Again. Probably still pissed off after our face-off in Bar Marmont. I stared at my mobile, frustrated. And then almost crapped myself when it started to ring. It was Louisa.

‘Hello?’ I answered cautiously. A lecture was absolutely guaranteed. Louisa loved to make a drama out of a crisis.

‘Hey, Angela!’ she chirped. ‘I just had to call you. We had the most amazing meal ever last night. We went to that Alta place you told us about, oh my God. I had to call you. There were these prawns, God, honestly.’

I listened to her rapturous restaurant review, silently confused. She wasn’t going to even ask about the photos?

‘And then we had this cheese thing for dessert. Honestly. Wow. I don’t think I can ever eat again. Are you having fun in LA, babe?’

I really didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know. Louisa had never been much of a one for celebrity gossip, but then before I moved to New York, neither had I. It was hard to avoid it in America.

‘Ah, not really,’ I said slowly. It was actually very nice not to be shouted at for two minutes. ‘I’m having a bit of trouble with the interview. And Alex and I are having a row.’

‘Oh honey,’ Louisa said down the crackly line. ‘What about?’

‘He thinks I’ve cheated on him.’ With James Jacobs, I added silently.

‘But of course you haven’t! You would never do that. Why on earth would he think it?’ It was reassuring that, after everything, Louisa would automatically believe I was the wronged party without even getting half the story. But then, she hadn’t seen the photos. Or the video on TMZ. Or the E! News bulletin.

‘No, I haven’t,’ I agreed. ‘But he’s seen a photo that sort of makes it look like I did. And he just doesn’t want to listen to me.’

‘Oh babe, just let him calm down and then talk to him,’ she reasoned. ‘I’m sure it will blow over once you’re back in New York. Just concentrate on getting your job sorted out.’

‘You’re probably right,’ I said, wishing the issues weren’t quite so interwoven. ‘Anyway, you didn’t call to listen to my problems. I’m really glad you liked Alta.’

‘Loved Alta,’ she corrected. ‘We should definitely go when I come back to visit you.’

‘Definitely,’ I agreed. Unless I lost my job and my visa and then we’d be going for dinner in Nandos in Wimbledon.

‘Call me if you need me, babe, got to run. Love you.’ She blew me a kiss down the phone.

‘I will, love you too.’ I hung up. Well that was weird. But just as weirdly, what she said made sense. I had to concentrate on getting things back on track.

Tomorrow wasn’t going to be fun and even less so with the hangover I’d just guaranteed. Flicking on the TV (was Friends ever off television?), I pulled my worse-for-wear-but-still-the-best-thing-I’d-ever-owned bag up onto the bed. When everything else was going wrong, at least a girl could still rely on Marc Jacobs to make her smile. Dredging through the crap in the bottom, I eventually found a pen and notepad, scowling at my BlackBerry as it blinked at me.

‘Sometimes I just want to write things down, OK?’ I told it. Before looking around to check that no one had just seen me go completely insane and talk to a phone. Just Ross and Rachel, thank goodness.

1.?Call Mary

2.?Call Alex or Alex’s friends

That would prove trickier, since the only phone number of any of Alex’s friends I had ever had was Jenny’s ex, Jeff, and Jenny had made me delete it after a healthy night in our apartment of Ben & Jerry’s, red wine, and burning everything he had ever come into contact with, including an old brush they had used to tease their hair for a hilarious Eighties fancy dress party. The brush nearly took the entire apartment block with it when Jenny tossed it in the burning bin. It turned out to be not only disgusting but also a very dangerous fire hazard. But there was a chance I’d written it in the back of my diary – I was just too drunk to work that out at that exact moment.

3.?Speak to James

As much as I wanted to just call The Sun and tell them that James was as gay as a goose, I just couldn’t do it. Damn that stupid misguided sense of dignity. Or was it pride? Or maybe just the idea of me stretched across the front page of the News of the World in a pair of La Senza lace shorts with everything padded, pushed and teased under the headline ‘James Jacobs’s Beard Tells All!’ was just too much. Actually, the News of the World wouldn’t say beard, they’d probably go straight to ‘Pathetic fag hag, Angela Clark spills the beans on James Jacobs’s late-night gay orgies in Hollywood’s public bathrooms …’ My mother would be so proud.

4.?Sort things out with Jenny

It was just too much that things were weird between us, especially with everything else going on, but I had a horrible feeling that things were going to get weirder before they got better. Or was that just a horrible feeling that I was about to throw up? Dropping the pen and pad, I raced to the bathroom to double up over the toilet just in time.

When would I learn?

‘Jesus Christ, Angie, what the hell happened to you?’

I woke up slowly, my face cold and seemingly stuck to something hard, a flip-flopped foot in my blurry eye-line. Trying to move my head hurt far too much, and for some reason my left arm was completely paralysed.

‘Angie, can you hear me? Did you take something?’ The voice carried on but it sounded so far away. ‘How long have you been on the bathroom floor?’

Ahh, that made sense, I was still on the bathroom floor. Which was why it was cold. Which was why I couldn’t move my arm. Which was why Jenny’s feet were almost touching my nose.

‘For Christ’s sake, Angie, are you thinking your answers instead of saying them again?’

Yes, I thought.

‘Mmhuh,’ I said.

With the help of Jenny and a towel rail not meant to be used to hoist ten stone of incredibly hungover girl up off the floor, I was soon sitting, or slumped, on the toilet seat. I readily accepted the glass of water she held out to me, not bothering that it came from the bathroom tap, and glugged it down. Which was my first mistake.

After I’d thrown the first glass of water up, I slowly sipped a second, Jenny shaking her head at me from the edge of the bath.

‘I cannot believe you, Angie.’ She pushed my hair back off my face. ‘What happened after I left?’

‘What happened?’ I closed my eyes again. It didn’t help. ‘You want to know what happened?’

‘Yeah,’ Jenny said, taking my empty glass and refilling it from the bath tap. Was it weird that it tasted like heaven? ‘I mean last night. What happened to “I would never cheat on Alex, even if we’re on a break?”’

‘I remember, I wasn’t that drunk,’ I replied, despite the fact that that was clearly a lie. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The photos of you and James?’ Jenny gave me her ‘duh’ face. ‘The ones that Erin and Vanessa and Gina all emailed over today? I kinda didn’t expect you to be here. Did he leave already or did you just come back to the hotel after you did the deed?’

‘Oh my God.’ I suddenly felt very, very sick again. ‘It’s so not what you think.’

‘You didn’t, did you?’ Jenny asked, her annoyingly healthy face lit up like Christmas.

‘Jenny, he’s gay,’ I said into the palms of my hands.

She scoffed. ‘If he said no, you can just say so.’

I looked up, my attractive white pallor apparently adding to my serious face.

‘No. Way.’

‘Yes.’

‘No. Way.’

‘With Blake.’

‘Really? That’s hot.’

‘Missing the point entirely, Jenny.’ I pulled a flannel from the towel rail, ran it under the cold water and pressed it against my face. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘Well, you’re gonna take a shower first,’ Jenny said, standing up and pulling the shower curtain across behind her. ‘Then you’re going to explain to me every last little detail of how you uncovered this juicy, potentially financially rewarding piece of gossip, and then you’re coming with me to go shopping for Tessa DiArmo’s award show tonight.’

‘You’re seriously doing that?’ I asked, peeling off my sweaty dress and stepping into the shower. Ahh, the sweet relief of running water.

‘Don’t ever doubt me, Angela Clark,’ Jenny called, closing the bathroom door. ‘Get your ass clean and be downstairs in ten minutes.’

Ten minutes was always going to be a stretch but, fifteen minutes later, I emerged from the lift with a very roughly blow-dried bob, hastily applied make-up and my satchel thrown across my body. Jenny looked my jeans and T-shirt up and down and sighed.

‘That’s so not the ensemble to be photographed in, honey,’ she said, wrapping her arm around my shoulders and guiding me out to the car. ‘Where’s the big hat? The dark glasses?’

I pulled my sunglasses triumphantly out of my handbag. ‘I’m wearing the exact same outfit as you,’ I protested. But of course I wasn’t. My baggy boyfriend jeans and little pink American Apparel T-shirt couldn’t compare with Jenny’s skintight Sevens and clingy, white, deep V-neck. At least our black Havaianas were identical.

We picked up iced coffees en route, me thankful for any reason to get out of the car-slash-death-trap, Jenny ecstatic to be able to demonstrate her ability to sip a Frapuccino whilst driving, and I filled Jenny in on the James/Blake situation. Once I’d finished the story for the third time, I tilted my head back and stared up at the beautiful blue, cloudless sky. At least if I looked up there, I couldn’t see Jenny running red lights.

‘So what are you going to do?’ Jenny asked, swerving around a tight corner onto Melrose Avenue. ‘Did you make everything OK with Alex? Did you speak to Mary?’

‘I spoke to Alex but it didn’t go that well.’ And that’s putting it mildly, I added to myself. ‘I have to call Mary but I’ve been sort of putting it off. I’m guessing the fact that she hasn’t called me yet is not a good sign.’

‘It all sounds pretty clear to me, honey,’ Jenny said, swinging the car into a car park beside a building that seemed to be covered in grass. ‘You just have to tell her the truth. It’s just gonna sort this whole thing out.’

‘I know but, well, actually, I don’t know …’ I pulled my frizzy hair into a loose ponytail and wrapped a band around it. ‘I can’t just out him, can I? Obviously he’s hiding it all for a reason.’

Jenny stopped the car with a jolt. ‘Are you fucking with me?’

‘Jenny—’

‘This ass-hat makes out with you in public, allows photos of the two of you to be published all over the internet, effectively destroys your relationship and costs you your job and you don’t want to casually drop into conversation that he’s the new Clay Aiken?’

I wrinkled my nose. ‘Yeah, well.’

‘Great argument,’ she climbed out over the locked car door.

‘They do open, you know,’ I grumbled. ‘Where are we anyway?’

‘And I thought I’d made a shopper out of you.’ Jenny held her arms out in a flourish. ‘This, my British friend, is Fred Segal. Fashion emporium and Los Angeles institution. And where we’re meeting Teresa inside in a half-hour, so we need to get our shit together.’

‘Tessa’s really coming?’ I asked, pulling off my sunglasses and following Jenny past a row of tables and chairs, already packed with pretty people. ‘Jenny, that’s incredible.’

‘I know, crazy right?’ Jenny smiled and nodded at the man holding open the door for us. ‘She texted me this morning to say she’d meet us here. Daphne is going to freak out when she finds out. Tessa DiArmo is a big get for a stylist.’

‘I’m sure she’ll be happy for you,’ I lied. ‘Where did she go, anyway?’

‘Uh, she went home with that guy she was … talking to,’ she muttered into a clothes rail.

The store appeared to be split into lots of different little sections but, unsurprisingly, Jenny knew exactly where she was going. It was as if she had inbuilt shopping GPS: I was fairly sure I could drop her in any major shopping capital in the world and she’d be able to find the nearest Starbucks, bathroom and Marc Jacobs concession. It was a talent I very much hoped to develop when I grew up.

‘Well, if she’d stayed maybe she would be styling Tessa,’ I said in my least judgemental voice. Which was still fairly judgey. ‘But anyway, I wanted to talk about last night. About what you said before you … left.’

‘I called ahead to set up a room for Tessa DiArmo?’ Jenny confidently accosted a passing salesgirl. ‘Can you please make sure that it’s ready? We’re going to be sending things over soon. Thanks.’

The girl looked us up and down once, nodded and then rushed off to the back of the store. Jenny kept her back to me.

‘Do you think this would suit Tessa?’ She held out a Twenty8Twelve T-shirt dress. ‘Too casual for an awards show, though, right? But maybe with heels and the right jacket …’

‘Jenny, you realize I’m not going to let this go, don’t you?’ I said, pushing the dress away. ‘What you said last night? And no, it wouldn’t suit Tessa. It would suit me though.’

She tossed the dress towards me. ‘I have to find like ten outfits before Tessa gets here, so can we not do this now?’

‘We are doing it now; you do your clearest thinking when you’re shopping.’ I passed the dress on to the assistant that had appeared back at Jenny’s side. ‘I thought this trip was all about you getting laid. What’s happened with Joe?’

‘Turns out maybe it wasn’t as easy as I’d thought. Or at least he isn’t any more,’ she said, turning her attention to a grey strapless Hache mini-dress. ‘The folds on this are really interesting. This could look gorgeous with – like – a little leather jacket and some chunky heels?’

‘Yes, it would,’ I agreed, passing it to the assistant at her elbow. ‘So that’s the problem? Joe? Because you could get men loads better than Joe, you know.’

‘Yeah, for sure. Except it turns out maybe I don’t want to. What about this?’ She pulled out a gold sequined tank dress.

‘Jeff?’

‘Jeff.’

‘Oh, Jenny.’

I watched her lips press into thin, colourless lines as she systematically flicked through the rail of clothes in front of her, from left to right.

‘I’m gonna get you guys some water,’ the salesgirl said eventually, backing away from the awkward silence. I nodded and smiled as she scuttled away.

‘You know, I’m not the best person to be giving out relationship advice, but you will get over it eventually. That is actually a fact. And I’m pretty sure one you told me once,’ I picked out a red Hervé Léger number and held it up to Jenny. ‘I wish you’d just talked to me about this. Practise what you preach and all that?’

‘Yeah, except I’m not that good at taking my own advice,’ she said, nodding at the red dress. ‘He’s moving in with his new girlfriend, you know? He called me to tell me in case I found out from Alex. I guess, even after everything, I really thought we were supposed to end up together. Now I’m not so sure.’

‘This new girlfriend could be a total rebound thing,’ I suggested. ‘You don’t know.’

‘I’m not sure any more.’ She finally turned around. Silent tears tracked down her face. ‘Maybe I need to get away for a while. Jeff is everywhere at home, I just can’t move on.’

‘You’re thinking about leaving? New York?’ I didn’t know what to do.

‘Maybe. For a while. I don’t know.’ She took my hand. ‘Angie, I really want today to go good. Can we just talk about this later? I don’t want to be all blah when Tessa gets here.’

‘Of course,’ I said, giving her a quick but tight hug. ‘But as soon as you’re done and you’re ready, we’ll talk. Dinner?’

She nodded quickly. ‘Definitely dinner; but please don’t freak out, honey, there isn’t anything to talk about yet. And we’ve still got a world of trouble to get you out of.’

I pulled a face. ‘Do you know, for five very short minutes, I’d almost forgotten about all that?’

Jenny laughed. ‘Good luck with that.’

‘I’m going to try and give Alex another call.’ I pulled a silver puffball dress off the rail and passed it to her. ‘Get her to try this on. I’ll be back in a minute.’

Fred Segal was like a very fashionable labyrinth. Each little salon led into another dead end, a cul-de-sac of couture. Eventually, I followed the sunlight out to the door we’d come in and managed to snag a table in the café. Holding my phone to my ear, I closed my eyes. All I needed to do was press one button. Instead I ordered a smoothie. And checked my emails. And looked at Perez Hilton on my BlackBerry. I just didn’t know what to say to him. Last night’s call was so awful, I didn’t see how I could salvage things over the phone and, after seeing the look in Jenny’s eyes, seeing how broken she was at the realization that she’d never be able to make it work with Jeff, the prospect of losing Alex for good was painfully real.

When my phone actually rang, I answered automatically, and even though I must have pressed a button to connect it, I was still surprised.

‘Angela? It’s James.’

And immediately I wished I hadn’t.

‘Angela, are you there?’ He did not sound good.

‘Clearly I am,’ I replied, frozen to the spot.

‘Are you OK? Where are you?’

‘I’m fine actually,’ I said. ‘I’m just waiting to go on the Ryan Seacrest show to out you. Then I’m going on E! News.’

‘Please, I really want to sort this out,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Please don’t go on air.’

I sat and looked around the café. I was getting the odd look but most people were trying very hard to look as interested as possible in nothing at all.

‘As much as that’s what you deserve, you can calm down,’ I sighed. ‘I’m not going on the radio to out you. I’m just wandering up and down Melrose handing out flyers. I like the personal touch. Much more effective.’

‘You’re on Melrose? Will you come to the hotel? We really need to talk,’ he rushed.

‘We really don’t,’ I replied evenly. I was so incredibly angry with him; just hearing his voice focused my mind completely. It was a much easier emotion to manage than the big ball of blah that took over when I tried to think about Alex. ‘There’s no way on God’s green earth I’m coming over to your hotel.’

‘But if we meet outside the hotel, we’re going to get photographed,’ James said. ‘I thought—’

‘I’ve been told that you’re not good at thinking.’ I slurped my smoothie. It really was delicious. ‘I’m not coming to your hotel. I’m calling my editor and telling her everything and then I’m going back to New York to attempt to salvage my relationship.’

‘Angela, please, if you say anything to your editor they’ll out me.’

‘I really don’t give a shit.’

‘Please Angela,’ he whined. ‘It’s everything. Everything I’ve ever worked for. Please don’t do it.’

‘It’s not my problem, James.’ No time to be weak now. So what if I outed him? And destroyed his career? And ruined his life? Meh. ‘I’ve got my own concerns. I’m going to have to make my money somehow given that you’ve probably cost me my job.’

‘Come off it, you’re not a kiss-and-tell girl,’ James stammered. ‘Just come and meet me. Please? We’ll meet anywhere you like. We’ll work out how to save your job and everything, but please just don’t say anything to the magazine. Not yet.’

I should have just hung up. I should have direct-dialled the News of the World and told them to get the La Senza matching set out. But I didn’t. ‘Where?’

‘Definitely not the hotel?’

‘Definitely not the hotel. The opposite of a hotel. As far away from a bed as humanly possible. The most public place on earth would be preferable.’

‘Disneyland?’

‘You’re not kidding, are you?’ I realized I was holding my empty smoothie glass against the edge of the table at a dangerously smash-and-slash angle. And the couple sitting next to me were looking awfully nervous. ‘No, I don’t think The Magic Kingdom is going to be able to sort this, James.’

‘It is the happiest place on earth.’ I could hear a hint of a smile in his voice. How dare he think he was off the hook with this?

‘And I would hate to get blood on those character costumes. I bet they’re a bitch to get dry cleaned.’

‘Right, OK,’ he said, considerably less pleased with himself. ‘You’re on Melrose? And you want to meet somewhere without any even vaguely sexual connotations. Where are you exactly? I’m sending a car.’

‘Fred Segal.’ I placed the glass back on the table and put my hands in my lap, offering an ‘I’m not crazy, honest’ smile to the people beside me, but they were too busy tapping away on their BlackBerrys and Sidekicks to acknowledge my sanity.

‘Because that’s the place to keep a low profile,’ he said. ‘Bumped into Paris yet?’

‘Do you want me to come or not?’ I snapped. Seriously, how come no one looked over when I was trying to be nice but as soon as I raised my voice, I had everyone’s undivided attention? ‘And there’s no way it’s just me and you. Blake comes too.’

‘Oh, Angela, I don’t think so,’ James said quickly. ‘He’s really not in a very good mood.’

‘And he’ll be in a better mood if I out the pair of you?’

Silence.

Sighing.

‘Fine. Just stay there and I’ll send the car.’

Hanging up, I pulled out my make-up bag. Wherever James went, so went the paps. Things were already bad enough without my under-eye circles making the news. I stared at myself in the mirror of my powder compact. How bizarre was this? How did I manage to go from not being able to get served in the Slug and Lettuce in Wimbledon without shouting at a barmaid, to having to worry about whether or not I was going to end up on the gossip page of some tabloid with big red circles drawn all over my many, many imperfections? All I wanted was to crawl into bed and not come back out until all this had gone away. Maybe I’d come out for Christmas dinner but then I’d be going right back in.

Bags banished and blusher blended, I took a deep breath. Time to bite the bullet.

‘Mary Stein’s office.’

‘Hi Cici,’ I said bravely. ‘Is Mary about?’

‘Oh, Angela,’ Cici managed to stretch out my name to last about three minutes. She must have been loving this. ‘I’m not sure she’s gonna be able to speak to you right now. She’s on a conference call with the publisher. You know, because of you.’

‘Right, well, it’s really important,’ I said through gritted teeth. This bit was even worse than actually talking to Mary. ‘Can you try and put me through?’

‘Uh-huh.’ The glee in her voice was unbearable. ‘But if she can’t talk to you right now, I can fill you in on what I’ve heard so far. You know, about you.’

‘Appreciated. Can you please just try and put me through?’

The hold music kicked in for what felt like forever.

‘Well?’

‘Oh, Mary,’ I was a little bit surprised. Mainly because I didn’t think Cici was even going to try and put me through, since she clearly really wanted to tell me all the lovely things that were being said about me in the office. ‘Hi.’

‘No, not hi, well?’ Mary sounded livid. Even though I couldn’t see her, I knew I’d got her full attention, which wasn’t ever a good thing. Mary was much less frightening if she was clicking away on her giant Mac while she was talking to you. ‘You realize you have fucked up on a massive, massive scale?’

‘Mary, please just let me get this out. I know it looks bad—’ I started.

‘Looks bad?’ she interrupted before I’d even finished my first sentence. ‘It is bad. You’re absolutely over.’

‘Mary, please,’ There wasn’t enough blusher in the world to put the colour back in my cheeks. ‘Let me finish. I know exactly what it looks like, but it isn’t. There’s nothing going on with James. And seriously, I have the best interview. I’m sure once you get my copy … once everyone sees my copy, they’re going to love it. And James is going to do the photo shoot. It can be saved, can’t it?’

‘Angela, I think the sun has fried your brain. Do you really think the magazine wants to publish your interview right now? You’re splashed all over the internet as a two-timing star-fucker. We’d get more readers for an interview with your ex right now.’

‘Jesus, will everyone stop saying he’s my ex?’ I groaned. ‘I haven’t bloody done anything.’

‘Unless you’re gonna take an internal exam live on TV to prove you’re still a virgin, I don’t think anyone’s going to believe that,’ Mary replied. ‘Or maybe you could do it on the radio. I’m pretty sure they did that on the Howard Stern Show once.’

‘Mary, honestly, you work in the media. How can you believe the internet over me?’ I was determined not to cry. Not here.

‘I learned not to believe everything I read a long time ago.’ Mary relented slightly. ‘But it doesn’t matter what I believe. People don’t care about what’s true and what isn’t; they care about being entertained, they care about who has the best story. And your interview with James isn’t the best story any more. You are.’

‘I’m not a story,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m just me.’

‘Well, I’m telling you what the publisher told me,’ she went on. ‘So don’t flip out on me. It’s like this. The blog is suspended for a couple of days. We’re not taking it down; we just need to decide what direction we’re going in.’

‘I don’t understand, direction?’ I wasn’t quick on the uptake at the best of times. ‘It’s just my blog. My diary.’

‘It is right now,’ Mary agreed. ‘But there’s been a massive spike in traffic since yesterday, and obviously the new readers want all the details about you and James. But the publishers don’t want to give that away for free online.’

‘And there aren’t any details for them,’ I said.

‘OK, Pollyanna, have you finished?’ She didn’t wait for a response. ‘The publishers want your exclusive story – either you and James or just you in next week’s issue of Icon – and then they want to change the direction of the blog to fit your new … status.’

‘But Mary, it’s not like that.’ This wasn’t happening.

‘This is the best offer you’re going to get, Angela,’ Mary said. ‘If you don’t play it their way, you’re out.’

‘What am I supposed to do? It’s not true. And what about Alex? I have to sort things out with him, Mary, and there’s no hope in hell of that if I’m mincing around in a magazine declaring my love for James.’

‘How are you going to sort things out with him from the UK?’ Mary asked. ‘Because if you lose your job here, you know you lose your visa.’

‘You’re blackmailing me?’

‘Angela, honey,’ Mary sighed. ‘This isn’t a game. If you say you’re not with James, I believe you, but this has happened now. It’s not about the truth, it’s not about you; right now it’s about what sells magazines. An interview with you and James in Icon will sell more magazines than an interview with James in The Look. And a blog about you as a celebrity’s girlfriend will be more popular than a blog about your life in New York. You’re not stupid, you must be able to understand that.’

I paused. It was everything I could do not to be sick on the spot. Maybe losing my visa was the best option. I could just go home. Pretend none of this had ever happened.

Unless I had another story. One that was far more interesting and a whole lot more exclusive.

‘Mary, I can prove that I’m not sleeping with James,’ I started slowly. ‘But I can’t tell you why just yet. How long do I have to sort something out?’

‘For fuck’s sake, Angela, I know this is shitty but will you just get over this? They’re going to run something whether you’re part of it or not,’ Mary barked. ‘I’m trying to help you out by giving you some control.’

‘Fine,’ I breathed out for the first time in what felt like hours. ‘If I can’t sort this out I’ll do the interview. Please, Mary, please just hold it off until the end of today, and if I can’t work it out, I’ll do whatever you want. Photos, interviews; everything. Me and James.’

‘You’ve got until the end of today,’ Mary said quietly. ‘I’ll be in my office. Call me when you’ve got the loaves and the fishes.’

‘Loaves and fishes?’

‘Angela, you’re going to need a miracle.’