Rhino What You Did Last Summer

by Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

  I laugh. I’m there, ‘Dude, where I come from, that’s like asking Mo’Nique if she knows her way around the Dominos menu?’

  ‘A comedian, huh? Well, get this, Funny Man, if I take you on – and right now that is a neon if big enough to light up Times Square – you will do what I tell you at all times.’

  I’m actually more than a little bit terrified of him. ‘Dude,’ I go, ‘to be honest, I’m not a hundred per cent sure I need an agent?’

  He picks up my phone messages and waves them at me. ‘Who’s gonna return these calls? You?’

  ‘I was thinking of, like, ignoring them – like you do with birds you don’t want to see anymore?’

  ‘You got fifty calls today, Fly Boy. You gonna have a hundred and fifty tomorrow. Three hundred the day after that…’

  He walks over to the window. ‘And that crowd down there – who’s gonna manage their interest in you? Make sure they only know what you want them to know?’

  I’m there, ‘But it’s all horseshit. I’ve never even met Lauren Conrad? I accidentally stepped into the photograph…’

  ‘Who gives a fuck?’ he goes. ‘You’re famous now.’

  ‘But I don’t want to end up as one of these people who’re famous for being famous.’

  ‘Well, what do you want to be famous for? You sing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Act?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ever do any modelling?’

  ‘A lot of people would say I’ve got the body for it. I only lost out on the Magee job to a dude called Gordon D’Arcy.’

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  I laugh. I’m there, ‘I can’t wait to tell him that next time I see him. He’ll flip the lid.’

  ‘What I tell you about talking?’ he goes, sort of, like, baring his teeth at me. It’s like he’s on the point of belting me.

  ‘Sorry,’ I go.

  He stares at me for, like, ten seconds without saying a word, then he’s like, ‘You want to know about fame? Let me give you a flash here. Angelina Jolie’s famous because she’s got a perfectly symmetrical face. Alex Rodriguez is famous because his synapses are faster than ninety-nine-point-nine per cent of the human race. Both accidents of birth. You think that makes them any more deserving of fame than you?’

  I’m there, ‘I was just in the right place at the right time.’

  ‘So was Neil Armstrong when they shot his fucking rocket at the moon. Fame is an illusion. That’s right, Charlie. An illusion. You’re lucky enough to have it happen to you, you don’t question it. You suck on that little titty for as long as it’s in front of you. You like tits, don’t you? Women’s tits?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Big-time, believe me.’

  ‘Anyways, here’s the pitch, Kid. People are obsessed with celebrity lives. Jamie-Lynn Sigler partied the night away at Stride’s summer solstice party in LA’s Crown Bar. Jaime Pressly carried the crocodile Nuage Bag by Valentino at the CFDA awards. Mila Kunis wore a pair of Brian Atwood peep-toes to the Calvin Klein women’s wear fashion show in New York. Who gives a fuck? Well, let me give you a little hint – half the population of this planet.’

  ‘Including my wife,’ I go. ‘She gets, like, all that shit in text alerts.’

  He’s there, ‘You’re married? When the fuck were you going to tell me that, Screwball?’

  ‘Well, we’re actually separated?’

  ‘You on good terms?’

  ‘As in?’

  ‘Would she sell you out to the papers? Say you liked dressing up as a lady, domestic pets in the bedroom, that kind of shit?’

  ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Okay. You stay away from her for now. I don’t want you photographed with her – not until I’ve worked out how she fits into the story. You got kids?’

  ‘Two. A daughter by her – she’s here at the moment as well – then a son back in Ireland by another bird.’

  ‘And Fyon Hoola O’Carroll-Kelly’s your mother, right? The writer?’

  ‘Unfortunately.’

  ‘Hey, who’s she got representing her?’ he goes.

  Suddenly, roysh, my nose is weirdly out of joint. ‘Haven’t a focking bog,’ I go. ‘And anyway, I thought we were talking about me here?’

  ‘I’m just saying,’ he goes, ‘I seen her on TV. She got real star quality.’

  I’m there, ‘Well, what have I got, then?’

  He knocks back his champagne in one gulp, then holds his glass out to be filled again.

  He’s there, ‘The beauty of you is, no one in this town knows a damn thing about you. Means you’re a blank canvas. You can be whoever we want you to be.’

  He storts looking through my messages. ‘Abercrombie?’ he goes. ‘No, no, no. You know what I think when I look at you? I think Turnbull & Asser. You got that buttoned-down, preppy shit going on… Gatorade? You got to be kidding me. You’re doing Dr Pepper or you’re doing no one. You’re doing TAG Heuer. You’re doing Blinde wraparounds. That’s if you come with me…’

  I’m there just staring at this obviously mad focker, with his big, ugly mess of a face, thinking, I don’t even know anything about him, except that he’s pretty handy with a softball bat.

  ‘So I need an answer from you,’ he goes. ‘You with me, Flyboy?’

  ‘No prizes for guessing why you’re ringing,’ I go.

  Oisinn’s there, ‘Is it true?’ and of course I’m sitting there with a big focking smile on my face. I’m about to go, ‘Guilty!’ when he’s suddenly there, ‘Erika’s your sister?’ totally bursting my bubble.

  I’d very nearly forgotten.

  ‘That focking got around,’ I go. ‘Who told you?’

  He’s there, ‘We’re supposed to be arranging another Divorce Fair,’ which is, like, a business they have together? ‘This time in Cork. Except I haven’t seen her since Christmas and she’s not answering her phone. Then I run into her this afternoon coming out of Fallon & Byrne…’

  I’m there, ‘How did she look?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘As in, did she look well?’

  ‘I don’t know – is it relevant?’

  ‘Actually, no – forget I said it.’

  ‘She just burst into tears,’ he goes. ‘I had to bring her back inside, get her a glass of wine. Shit the bed, it was twenty minutes before she could even talk to me.’

  I’m like, ‘And she obviously blabbed? About my old man being her old man?’

  ‘Ross, she said you’ve turned your back on her.’

  ‘I haven’t exactly turned my back on her. I just told her, you know, I needed a bit of time to get my head around the fact.’

  ‘She said even Sorcha doesn’t want to know her.’

  Shit. Talk about guilt-tripping someone.

  ‘Yeah,’ I go, ‘she’s not a happy bunny about the whole thing. In fact, she flipped.’

  He’s like, ‘That doesn’t sound like Sorcha.’

  ‘My experience of women is you never know what they’re going to do.’

  ‘Ross, she’s on her own over here. She’s had a row with her old dear…’

  ‘Dude, I’m dog-sick hearing about that row. And anyway, she’s got her new so-called dad.’

  ‘He’s away.’

  ‘Yeah, him and Hennessy are still trying to work out how to launder the money they stashed.’

  ‘And she’s getting a hard time of it, Ross. I mean, it’s all over town. Of course, Chloe and Sophie and Amie with an ie are having a field day – saying this has finally cut her down to size.’

  ‘Sorry, how is being my sister – half-sister – being cut down to size?’

  ‘You know what they’re like,’ he goes. ‘Ross, she’s like a ghost wandering around the place. I rang her old dear. She’s very worried about her. Would you not ask her to go over to you?’

  ‘Bit difficult at the moment,’ I go, then I try to kill the subjec
t dead. ‘Hey, did you hear the other major news?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he goes, ‘Christian and Lauren had a little boy. I heard you disgraced yourself as well.’

  ‘Well, yeah, that’s true, but it’s not what I’m talking about. Brace yourself for this – I’m scoring Lauren Conrad.’

  He cracks on not to be impressed – possibly a little bit of jealousy involved?

  ‘In fact,’ I go, ‘in the last twenty-four hours, I’ve become huge over here. I can’t believe the news hasn’t reached Ireland yet.’

  ‘As in, Lauren Conrad from The Hills?’ he goes.

  ‘That’s the one. She’s gagging for me as well, although – you know me – I’m playing it cool. I’ve got myself an agent and all sorts of shit. There’s talk of, like, a fragrance deal and all sorts of endorsements. Hey, if you see Drico or any of the goys around town, make sure and tell them – as in, really rub it in.’

  He goes, ‘Ross, just make sure and ring her, will you?’ meaning Erika.

  I’m there, ‘I’d love to, Dude. But things are a little bit crazy at the moment.’

  Sorcha rings me at, like, nine o’clock in the morning, asking if I want to come looking at dresses with her? She says she’s thinking of doing Morphine Generation and Corey Lynn Calter and maybe even LaRok. Then she thought we might get lunch in Kokomo Café, which is the actual Peach Pit from 90210? I tell her I can’t.

  ‘This isn’t me being big-headed,’ I go, ‘but I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Trevion told me to stay in the room until he rings.’

  She’s there, ‘Who’s Trevion?’ and I think, Of course – she doesn’t know. It’s mad how quickly my life’s already changing?

  I’m like, ‘He’s my agent,’ and of course it’s impossible not to say it in a fock-you kind of way?

  She cracks on not to be impressed, obviously deciding that the way to handle the whole fame thing is to try to keep me grounded.

  ‘We’re having a movie night tonight,’ she goes. I think I mentioned, they’ve got, like, an actual cinema in the gaff? ‘Analyn and Mike are coming over. Elodine and Steve. And I think Josh and Kyle…’

  ‘A movie night?’ I go, thinking what a come-down that would be for me after the madness of the last twenty-four hours.

  ‘Yeah, we’re having, like, a foreign film season? All the 2007 Oscar nominees. Tonight it’s Pan’s Labyrinth…’

  To be honest, I’d rather have all my skin peeled off, then roll in salt.

  ‘I’m actually pretty busy tonight,’ I go.

  ‘Well, what about tomorrow? Promise you’ll come for Indigènes.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s not good either,’ I go. ‘Bear in mind, there’s going to be a lot of good shit happening for me. It looks like I’m going to be back in big-time demand.’

  ‘Oh,’ she goes, all disappointed. She’s quiet then for a moment, then she goes, ‘What about mornings? Do you want to come with me to Lisa Kline tomorrow? It’s on, like, Robertson again? They do Madison Marcus, Karta, C&C California. Even Lorick.’

  ‘The thing is,’ I go, ‘I’m going to have to level with you. Trevion’s not sure how you fit into the picture yet.’

  She’s there, ‘What?’ and she says it like she’s can’t believe what she’s just heard.

  ‘I don’t think he wants it out there that I have a wife, ex-wife, whatever you want to call it,’ I go. ‘It’s the same shit they do with all the boy bands, isn’t it?’

  She all of a sudden flips. ‘And has Trevion decided how your daughter fits into the picture yet?’

  I’m there, ‘Don’t be like that, Babes. You’ve always said you wanted to be famous yourself. You of all people should be happy for me.’

  ‘Well, as her father,’ she goes, ‘you might like to know that Honor bit a girl called Taylor in crèche today. And she drew blood.’

  ‘Jesus!’ I go. ‘Who calls their kid Taylor?’

  ‘Do you even care?’ she goes. ‘Do you actually care?’ and I don’t get a chance to answer, roysh, because she hangs straight up.

  The timing couldn’t be better either because it’s at that exact moment that Trevion knocks on the door of my room. The first thing he does, roysh, is he tells me to look out the window, which is exactly what I do.

  The press have all gone.

  ‘There’s, like, no one out there,’ I go.

  He’s like, ‘You want to know why there’s no one out there? Because you’re being managed! You got somebody controlling when these people get a piece of you and when they don’t…’

  Then he asks me if I know what day today is. I’m there, ‘Is it, like, Thursday?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Thursday,’ he goes. ‘It’s also the first of February. You know why that date’s important?’

  I’m there, ‘To be honest, no.’

  ‘Because it’s Lauren Conrad’s birthday. And that is why I’m paid the fucking greenbacks. To know this shit for you.’

  ‘That is pretty impressive,’ I go.

  ‘You bet it is. You know where you’re going tonight?’

  ‘I don’t know – is she having, like, a porty or some shit?’

  ‘A party?’ he goes, like he can’t believe how actually stupid I am. ‘You don’t even know this broad.’

  I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, but if I’m supposed to be, like, her boyfriend? Won’t it look a bit weird if I’m not there?’

  ‘No. Because I put a story out there – you told LC you wanted to see other people.’

  ‘As in, other birds?’

  ‘That’s right, Heartbreaker. So tonight, you’re having dinner at Geoffrey’s in Malibu. Valet parking. Food – sensational. You ever hear of Ptolemy Consuelos?’

  That could be my date or it could be something off the menu. I decide to bluff it. I never know how to say no to people who are, like, permanently angry. I’m there, ‘Big time,’ except of course he sees straight through it.

  ‘Ptolomy Consuelos is an up-and-coming actress,’ he goes.

  That is impressive.

  ‘I have to say, I like your style,’ I go. ‘Being seen out with another bird on my actual bird’s birthday. People are going to think I’m a player.’

  He’s there, ‘You bet they’re going to think you’re a player. Who is this kid? He doesn’t do nothing, he ain’t in movies, he ain’t pretty. But here’s the flash, fellas – he blows off Lauren Conrad! On her birthday! For who? Only the girl they’re calling the next Vanessa Britting…’

  He sits down on the sofa.

  I don’t know why – maybe I’m just, like, grateful for all the shit he’s doing for me – but I suddenly get it into my head that I should maybe mention Sahara and possibly even apologize for what happened that night, even if just to clear the air.

  ‘I just wanted to say about Sahara…’ I go.

  He’s there, ‘Forget about it.’

  I’m like, ‘No, no, I just want to say this to you. Just in case it’s any consolation, she was all over me like a drunk driver the day I met her. That’s why she had to, like, pretend I broke in? Out of guilt, I suppose.’

  He’s there, ‘Will you just…’ and for ten seconds it looks like he’s about to go totally ape-shit. Then he suddenly looks sad.

  ‘I knew you never broke in,’ he goes.

  I’m like, ‘How?’

  ‘Ah, I asked her, “Did he take anything?” She thinks for a bit, then she says, “The watch my mother gave me.” I says, “The watch your mother gave you? The little shit-fuck.” The next day, I takes her to Neiman Marcus on Wilshire. I says, “What kind of a watch was it?” She says it was a Storm Aphrodite – gold fucking plated.’

  I’m there, ‘Can I just say, I didn’t actually take it?’

  ‘The next day,’ he goes, ‘she says she’s been checking through her shit and she noticed her Sondra Roberts mini chain-bag is missing. I’m still feeling sorry for her – cos of her ordeal. I give her my Amex, ring my friend in Bergdorf Goodman and tell him, “Look after her.” She comes home six hours later…’ />
  ‘Did she buy the bag?’ I go. ‘Just as a matter of interest.’

  ‘Oh, she bought the bag,’ he goes. ‘She bought a lot of stuff. Once she got in the store she remembered that her Kara Ross earrings was in that bag. White quartz. Diamonds. Five fucking grand…’

  ‘And I’m guessing you smelled a rat.’

  ‘Sunglasses – Sama Eyewear. Two fucking grand. A Jennifer Fisher necklace. I don’t know how much. I asked her and all she said was Kristin fucking Davis had one…’

  ‘Dude,’ I go, ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I think you’re probably better off without her…’

  He shrugs, then pulls a face. ‘Ah, I know what you’re thinking…’

  I’m there, ‘Go on, what?’

  ‘Pretty girl, mid-twenties – what the fuck did that old guy think she wanted with him?’

  That’s exactly what I was thinking. With a face like that as well – it’s like a map of the focking London Underground.

  ‘She was a hooker when I met her,’ he goes, staring into the distance. ‘Can you believe that?’

  I actually can.

  ‘With an agency,’ he goes. ‘I mean, she wasn’t turning tricks on Hollywood Boulevard or nothing. She was fucking classy.’

  ‘I could see that.’

  ‘Anyways, I had to go and fall for her – stoopit bastit. I mean, what’d I think she saw in me, huh? A 75-year-old man with a talent agency full of nobodies. And this face…’

  I nod. I’m tempted to go, It’s not your best quality, in fairness, but in the end I don’t.

  ‘This is what I got fighting for my country,’ he goes.

  I’m there, ‘Were you in, like, the ormy and shit?’

  ‘You ever hear of the Korean War?’

  ‘Er, no. But that’s not saying very much.’

  ‘Well, I seen things would make your fucking teeth itch… Sahara, ah, she thought I was the man who was going to make all her dreams come true. Of course, I couldn’t. I mean, she couldn’t act for shit – all I could get her was that disclaimer work. Me, I never failed at anything in my life. You ever charge a machine-gun nest with a hole in your back so big your commanding officer can put his hand in and tickle your liver?’

  ‘I’d have to be honest,’ I go, ‘and say no.’