The Valentines

by Holly Smale

  I breathe deeply. Hello, world. It’s me, Hope.

  Somewhere, one of these lights must be Jamie. I bet it’s the brightest one.

  ‘Happy?’ Dad asks, putting an arm round me.

  Smiling, I look around and feel the fluttering sensation that anything is possible. It’s going to be pretty difficult to tear my father away from this beautiful location and send him back to a spot just outside the M3, but I’m going to do it anyway. Maybe I’ll start tomorrow.

  ‘The happiest,’ I beam, resting my head against Dad’s arm.

  ‘Welcome to Hollywood, little one.’

  HOPE wakes late the next morning (tight frame round her eyes). Confused, her eyes widen. THE CAMERA pans out as A SLOW SMILE spreads across her face. She remembers.

  SHE IS IN LOS ANGELES.

  Grinning, HOPE yawns and spreads out luxuriously across an enormous bed covered in cream silk sheets.

  ‘Computer,’ I say loudly. ‘Open the blinds.’

  With a click, the room fills with warm yellow sunshine. ‘Computer, play some Californian music?’

  ‘Now playing “Wouldn’t it be Nice” by the Beach Boys.’

  A cute guitar starts plinking.

  Beaming, I swing my legs out of bed and wiggle my toes. ‘Computer, warm the floor up and switch the shower on?’

  There’s the sound of running water.

  ‘Computer?’ I pad across the marble floor to the bathroom. ‘Why is it called an on sweet? Is it because when you’re finished showering you’re cleaner and sweeter?’

  ‘Checking for definition,’ Computer says in a melodious female voice. I wonder who got that acting job. ‘It is French for then, later or next.’

  ‘Didn’t really answer the question but thanks!’

  Dad synced me up and showed me how to work the Smart House last night. As far as I’m concerned, this morning I am an A-list movie star just before Oscar night and this house is my obsessive fan. I’m going to make it do everything.

  ‘Computer,’ I say, poking my head out of the shower. ‘Turn on the coffee machine, warm up some towels and make me a croissant? With butter and jam. Ooh, and some orange juice.’

  ‘Demand not recognised.’

  ‘Computer, please?’

  ‘Demand not recognised.’

  ‘Toast?’

  She ignores me.

  So I dry myself, make my own breakfast and get dressed all on my own. I’ve got a lot to do today and would ideally have saved my energy and focus for more glamorous matters, but whatever.

  ‘Computer?’ I say when I’m ready. ‘Sorry if I was rude earlier. Could you please tell me the largest UK hit single of 1997?’

  ‘The biggest UK hit single of 1997 was “Candle in the Wind” by Elton John.’

  I clap, delighted. ‘Computer, please program “Candle in the Wind” to play every morning in Bedroom One at six am.’

  ‘Music set.’

  What else? ‘Computer, please start playing The Heart of Us on the television in the living room at nine every evening.’

  ‘Film set.’

  Quickly, I unzip one of my five overstuffed suitcases and tug out Mum’s favourite printed silk Liberty dressing gown. I hang it gently on the back of Dad’s bathroom door. A blue scarf she loves is draped on the sofa, her favourite white linen shirt on the dresser, a gold heart necklace over a mirror.

  Beautifully framed family photos go on top of the piano and the coffee table in the living room, also on the kitchen worktop and outside by the pool. I found an insanely cute Polaroid of Mum and Dad kissing each other on my director’s chair in the nineties, so I stick that on the fridge.

  Finally – stroke of sheer genius – I spray Mum’s signature scent heavily on Dad’s pillow. Everyone knows that memories are stored in our sense of smell, so this should definitely make him pine for home.

  Done.

  Now it’s my turn for romance.

  ‘Computer,’ I say, flinging myself on to my bed in a star shape. ‘What’s the horoscope for Cancer today?’

  ‘A Mars–Jupiter rendezvous at twenty-four degrees of Scorpio results in an extremely positive encounter. The lunar twilight zone causes a brief pause while we wait for a friendly Libra moon to arrive. Good news – life’s on your side!’

  I beam at the ceiling. Obviously it is.

  ‘Computer, can you send a text message to Jamie Day, please?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replies, very politely considering I’m holding my mobile in my left hand. ‘What would you like the message to say?’

  I’m here I’m here I’m in Los Angeles and we’re going to see each other again isn’t this the most romantic gesture ever made by anyone ever SUURRRPPPRIIIISSEEE!

  ‘Umm …’ I consider thoughtfully. ‘Write— No. Don’t write umm. Wait, I don’t want you to send—’

  ‘Sending umm right no don’t right umm wait I don’t want you to to Jamie Day.’

  Oh shoot.

  My phone beeps almost immediately.

  LOL what are you talking about? xx

  Haha oops I sat on my phone here in England where I am right now! xx

  Good evening, beautiful. It’s morning here. You’re so far away. :( xxxx

  Grinning all over, I squeak and kick my legs on the bed.

  Not as far as you think, Jamie Day.

  So what are your plans for today?? I’ll imagine I’m there too instead of England where I actually am. x

  Finish school at 3 then heading to Dogtown. xx

  Have a fun day! I guess I’ll just be right here, staying in London all day, as per usual. x

  Wow, I am so good at pretending. There’s no way the poor boy can suspect I’m anywhere other than London.

  Overwhelmed, I roll over and squeak into my pillow. Then I hop off the bed. Hair, make-up, styling, lighting, soundtrack, transport, lines … I’ve got less than three hours to prepare my star for the biggest romantic scene of her entire life.

  And that star is me, so I’d better get a move on.

  FADE IN …

  A BEAUTIFUL GIRL’S HIGH HEEL appears out of a banana-yellow convertible Lamborghini. Background extras stare curiously to see Who It Is.

  HOPE VALENTINE appears, more flawless than she has ever been before. She is wearing matching black satin trousers and a black satin camisole. Her make-up is perfect and her posture is even better than normal and frankly it was pretty good to start with.

  Behind her, DOGTOWN shines: glamorous and sophisticated.

  As the car zooms away, HOPE strolls through the shiny crowds of Hollywood agents who all want to sign her, but she is too focused and humble to notice.

  JAMIE is … doing something in DOGTOWN, maybe drinking a milkshake or shopping or whatever. He is lost in thought, doing whatever that something is.

  SOMETHING makes him stop and turn round.

  HOPE and JAMIE stare at each other in silence, cheeks flushed, hearts beating in harmony.

  Then JAMIE’S FACE LIGHTS UP. He drops his milkshake. Wordless, they run towards each other.

  SWELL OF MUSIC.

  HOPE JUMPS and JAMIE CATCHES HER. He swings her into the air as she laughs, sun sparkling behind her. Then he puts her down, slowly.

  JAMIE

  (holding her face in his hands)

  I can’t believe it. I thought I’d never see you again.

  HOPE

  Oh, Jamie. I never doubted us for a single second.

  JAMIE

  I never should have. I never will again.

  JAMIE leans towards her slowly, tenderly brushing a single stray hair out of her face.

  HOPE

  I thought about you all the time we were apart.

  JAMIE

  I was a fool. A fool, I tell you. Hope, we can make this work. I know we can.

  HOPE

  Distance means nothing when our hearts are joined together.

  THEY K—

  ‘Hope?’

  THEY KI—

  ‘Hope?’

  THE
Y KIS—

  ‘Hope, are you OK? Have you got period pains? There’s Tylenol in my handbag.’

  Frustrated, I spin towards Roz.

  No, Roz, what I have are people who keep ruining my best kissing scenes with body-function-related images.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

  ‘Um … you were muttering to yourself and holding your face in your hands.’

  Oh dear, she clearly doesn’t understand dramatic process, despite being in The Business.

  ‘I have a very intense inner world,’ I explain. ‘My imagination is always on the go – twenty-five seven. It’s well known that creative people function in a way that others find confusing.’

  Roz smiles. ‘That is well known.’

  I’m trying to be as gracious as I can about Roz’s dusty grey Ford, but my big entrance would really have been enhanced by the Lamborghini.

  ‘Now.’ Roz frowns and pulls into a smaller road lined with vivid painted buildings. ‘Are you sure you meant Dogtown, Hope? You definitely want to visit Dogtown? Not … a spa in Santa Monica or shopping on Melrose Avenue?’

  I nod enthusiastically.

  ‘Dogtown, please. I am a huge fan of dogs. Dalmatians, Labradors, Boston terriers, Boxers, those little curly ones. Any dog, really. I firmly believe that it is a doggy-dog world and we should celebrate them all.’

  Roz smiles, glances at me, then back at the road.

  ‘You know, I just had a thought. Why don’t I come with you? We could rent a bike, ride down the—’

  ‘Umm.’

  HOPE and JAMIE and ROZ cycle along together, wind blowing romantically in their hair.

  ‘No. Thank you, but I would very much like to be a tourist on my own today, without reuniting with anyone I’ve met before in my life.’

  Roz glances at me again.

  ‘And the dogs,’ I add because she just frowned. ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Okaaaaaaay,’ she says slowly, doing the glasses-nudge. ‘In that case, do me a favour? Stick to the boardwalk, don’t talk to strangers and don’t wander the backstreets alone. I’ll pick you up here at six before it gets dark. Sometimes Los Angeles is a bit of an ironic name, if you catch my drift.’

  I nod. Los Angeles is French for the City of Angles because in Hollywood it’s very important to get the right angle for a shot. Also to find the best angles for your face when you’re in front of a camera. And you can get very lost in angles because they point everywhere.

  Oh, Roz. So cautious. So sensible.

  Although the roads are kind of dirty here and there’s graffiti everywhere. The rubbish bins are overflowing and I can see a woman wearing tinfoil on her head and pushing a shopping trolley full of mannequin heads down the pavement. Maybe I will follow Roz’s suggestions for a bit, see how it goes.

  Roz drives up another small road and I’m relieved to see a beach. That must be where the dogs are.

  ‘And you’re definitely going to be comfortable in this lovely outfit?’ Roz says, putting the handbrake on with a loud crunch. ‘It’s very hot out there. I’ve got a clean gym kit in the trunk you could borrow?’

  I glance down at my black satin trousers and camisole. It’s Mercy’s and Stella McCartney and beautiful. Lace-trimmed, thin little straps, wide breezy legs and very, very flattering.

  ‘Black reflects heat,’ I remind Roz patiently. ‘Plus, you’ve got to live your best life, put your best foot forward. There is no dress rehearsal. And yes, you can reshoot, but it’s really expensive for the production team so it’s generally best to get it right first time.’

  She smiles at me. ‘I see.’

  Beaming graciously, I flick my hair and step out of the car. I’m immediately hit by a blast of heat so intense my entire outfit sticks to me like shiny, burnt chicken skin. My high heel wobbles on the scorching pavement, but I quickly manage to find my balance.

  Valentines Always Act With Class.

  ‘So you’ve got my number and I’ll see you at six, OK?’ Roz is leaning out of the window, chewing her lip. ‘Six o’clock on the dot. Call me whenever. Walk to the right. Don’t buy anything. Use the money I gave you for water. And, if you see a dog, just … don’t touch it.’

  ‘OK! Thanks! Bye!’

  Buzzing all over – Jamie is close, so very close! – I wait patiently until the dusty Ford putters slowly out of sight. Then I pull my shoulders back, lift my chin, neaten my hair, reapply red lipstick, pull down my sunglasses and try to face in whichever direction the sunshine is most flattering.

  This is my moment, and I’m not taking a single second for granite.

  And 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 –

  Action.

  HOPE VALENTINE sashays down the boardwalk. To her left, the sea glitters blue, and around her are Hollywood agents who—

  ‘EEEEEEEEEEYYYYY, HOTSTUFF! LOOK AT YOU AND YOUR FANCY-FANCY! YOU WANNA BUNNY? I GOT BUNNIES, A BAG FULL OF BUNNIES FOR YOU – BUNBUNS FIVE DOLLAR.’

  A man in a pink romper suit with orange wellies is waving at me. In one hand is a sack, in the other a kicking rabbit.

  Get out of my big scene, mister.

  ‘Umm.’ I wave back. ‘No bunnies for me today, thanks very much! Maybe another time!’

  HOPE VALENTINE recommences sashaying down the—

  PAUSE.

  Sweat is making my trousers stick to me so I quickly bend down and roll the legs up, then take both my earrings out, pierce the fabric and stick the backs on the inside. I’m now wearing satin shorts.

  Then I stand up again: nice save, Wardrobe Department.

  And …

  Roll.

  HOPE VALENTINE sashays down the boardwalk.

  ‘T-SHIRT? YOU WANNA T-SHIRT?’

  To my right is a row of scruffy but colourful buildings covered in graffiti, weird paintings and tiny items hanging from strings. There are tattoo parlours, pizza takeaways and sunglasses stalls. A man with a Mohican is holding up a pink I LOVE VENICE BEACH!!!! T-shirt.

  ‘No thank—’

  ‘Mind!’ A glistening, topless man swerves past me on a bike so I take a step backwards.

  ‘Watch it!’ A beautiful girl on roller-blades dips round me.

  ‘Lady, you wanna head? I got any kinda head, small, big, medium, extra medium, tiny …’

  To my left a man is holding up painted skulls.

  Next to him is another Day-Glo stall stacked with paintings of demons eating hamburgers, then one festooned with bamboo pipes and dreamcatchers; another with hundreds of pin badges and miniature skateboard key rings, one selling bracelets and necklaces made from feathers. A few more steps and there’s a stall piled high with tiny dolls and aliens wearing neon bandanas and YOUR NAME ON A GRAIN OF RICE.

  A man with electric-green hair is playing a guitar and singing while a bald lady snores next to him in a rainbow deckchair.

  But I can’t see any dogs. Like – none. And where on earth is Jamie?

  HOPE VALENTINE pauses by a skateboard park and watches guys shooting into the air and twisting round, but JAMIE is not one of them so she keeps walking.

  There’s a group OF VERY HOT SURFERS in wetsuits standing with boards under their arms, but JAMIE is very unfortunately not one of them so she keeps walking.

  Then she walks past a small outdoor gym and glances at the very big and veiny muscled men pumping iron and grunting. Obviously not Jamie.

  A handsome, ripped blond boy jogs past. HOPE spins optimistically, but it is still not JAMIE.

  OK, this is getting ridiculous.

  This is exactly why you hire professionalist location scouts. I can’t do everything by myself.

  Sweat collecting on my top lip, I get my phone out.

  Did you make it to Dogtown in the end? What are you doing there today, pacifically? xxx

  Then I press SEND and wipe my face.

  I’m going to need to reshoot this entire scene: my make-up’s dripping, my clothes are soaked in sweat. My feet are slipping in my heels so my sashay is getting a little more dramatic tha
n it’s supposed to be.

  Next time, I’m going to get a research assistant to find out a little more detail before I head out to my set. This lack of preparation is shocking – I’m considering having myself fired.

  Lifting my sunglasses, I squint at the beach on my left. It’s the largest, deepest beach I’ve ever seen: a sweeping expanse of golden sand with surfboards, sunbathers and little painted guard huts dotted here and there, and the sea is a dark blue shimmer in the distance. Except, surely if Jamie was there he’d have just said I’m going to the beach, right? Also, it’s gonna ruin my heels.

  I peer optimistically ahead, hand shading my eyes. There’s a massive silver playground at the edge of the path: gigantic climbing frames with hoops, ropes, horizontal poles, monkey bars. Half-dressed people are hanging from it – swinging, climbing, bouncing, balancing, swaying.

  On the grass next to it is a small group. Some of them are lying on the floor or standing in squats with their legs bent; the others are balancing precariously on top of them, sprouting from their shoulders, thighs or backs.

  I squint at them curiously. What the holy horoscopes are they doing? Then my heart jumps so hard it hits my teeth.

  Jamie?

  He’s standing at the side, arms crossed casually, wearing red board shorts with his top off: shining gold in the sunshine. Even from this distance, I can see the dazzling white of his teeth as he laughs, the glitter of his blue eyes, the spark of platinum in his hair. He’s never looked more Californian.