Hollywood Heartbreak

by C. J. Duggan

  ‘She’s awesome! I pay her every week – much to her disgruntlement – and water the pot plants. Before Molly, I was this close to packing it all in and moving home, so I intend on taking full advantage of the card I’ve been dealt for however long it lasts.’

  I looked at Billie, slightly taken aback at her confession. I’d had no idea she had struggled here; she had never given that impression. But then again, everything in the online world had a giant filter – I could attest to that.

  ‘So, does Molly know I’m staying here?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, of course – she was actually thrilled. She constantly worries about me being on my own.’

  I slapped my hands on my knees. ‘Well, Miss Martin, be careful what you wish for because you are definitely not alone anymore.’

  ‘Yaaaaay!’ Billie clapped her hands together in delight. ‘Come on, I’ll give the grand tour: first stop, your new room.’

  My room was sparse compared to the living areas, but it mattered little as I stepped towards the sliding door to the small patio that overlooked the pool.

  ‘Ah, yeah, thought you might like this room.’

  I tore my eyes away from where Veronica and Sorscha still sat in the shady part of the courtyard. ‘It’s bloody awesome,’ I said, moving over to her and wrapping my arms around her. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. No friend of mine is going to stay on some flea-ridden couch.’

  I took in the space again. With white walls, plenty of light and a double bed, it was a blank canvas. Just what I needed for my new start in a new town – a new adventure.

  ‘Oh, and before I forget.’ Billie grabbed my hand and dragged me out of my room, through the living area and into the kitchen. ‘Look.’ Billie pointed to perhaps the most beautiful thing I had ever seen: an industrial coffee maker. ‘Please tell me you are still addicted?’

  ‘Worse than ever,’ I said, stepping closer and admiring its beauty. I had died and gone to heaven.

  ‘You can have coffee on your balcony and learn your lines,’ Billie smiled. It was as if she was trying to convince me to stay, but she seriously needn’t have bothered – I was already well and truly sold!

  Chapter Seven

  Oh, jetlag, you filthy mistress, you.

  What goes up, must come down, and no coffee, no matter how impressive the froth on top was, could save me from hitting a wall, yawning with each fold of my clothes I retrieved from my suitcase. I showered, pressing my forehead against the Mediterranean tiles in the impressive shower cubicle that was bigger than my bedroom back home. I washed away the grime from being trapped in an enclosed space for thirteen hours, not that I had remembered a lot of it.

  As I walked through the living room, towel-drying my hair, the delicious aroma of onions and spices filled my dulled senses. Billie was stove-side, working on a feast for lunch; fresh lettuce, tomatoes and avocados were strewn over the kitchen countertop. She was making my favourite: Mexican. I shook my head; how would any other day live up to the epicness that was my first day in LA? A relatively painless flight, a Mustang escort – well, that wasn’t exactly painless; maybe I should have knocked back my final sedative to make the silence a whole lot more bearable. Since the moment I had closed the door on Jay, I couldn’t help but wonder what his deal was.

  Wrapping my hair in a turbanesque twist and firming the tuck of the towel wrapped under my arms, I padded towards the fridge, which I guessed was my fridge now too.

  ‘So, what’s the go with Jay?’ I had to raise my voice over the sizzling of the frying pan and the exhaust fan over the stove.

  Billie turned. ‘What?’ she said, frowning and reaching for some seasoning. ‘You might want to put some clothes on.’

  I was a little taken aback. Billie wasn’t a prude; surely I could walk around in a towel?

  ‘I said, what’s the deal with the hottie next door?’

  Billie turned from the stove; her eyes popping.

  Oh God, she had turned into a prude.

  ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, he sure is nice to look at, but he needs a personality transplant.’

  ‘Abby!’ Billie seemed really distressed; if she’d been wearing a pearl necklace she would have been clutching it. Who was this woman before me? She had the perviest mind of anyone I had ever known; her observations usually made me squirm. Had America tamed her wicked ways? Surely not. And as unsettling as it was to think that my friend was uncomfortable with what I was saying, I kind of enjoyed pushing her buttons and watching her mouth gape.

  I shrugged. ‘What? I’d fuck him!’ I said, grinning from ear to ear until I saw her horrified eyes flick over my shoulder.

  A chill swept over me, and it wasn’t due to the fact I was merely wrapped in a towel; there was something in Billie’s face, the sheer look of utter shock that made my insides twist.

  Oh God, he’s right behind me, isn’t he?

  I slowly turned to see the very image of my nightmares standing in the alcove of the dining room, seemingly entranced by the placemat on the table. But there was no mistaking the twist to his mouth.

  He had heard every single word.

  I wanted to die.

  I could throw myself over the balcony. Or get the next drug-induced flight home. It wasn’t enough that I had to completely humiliate myself with my gutter mouth and insults, I had to be standing there, wrapped in a tiny pink towel, with no make-up and no dignity.

  ‘Um, Jay said you left your bag in the car,’ Billie stammered, gripping the wooden spoon intensely, looking like she wished the ground would swallow her up too.

  My widened eyes dipped to the bag he was holding. My bag.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

  Jay cleared his throat, not really knowing quite where to look as he placed my bag on the table. ‘I’ll just leave it here.’

  ‘Yeah, um, great, well, I’m just going to, ya know …’

  I side-stepped out of the kitchen, not daring to lift my gaze to the dining area, then raced to my room, tightly gripping my towel. The very last thing I needed was to do a nudie run.

  I shut my door and resisted the urge to slide the chest of drawers across it to barricade myself in. My Hollywood dream had turned into a Hollywood nightmare. I mean, Christ, I was joking! Surely they knew that? I was totally taking the piss, deliberately trying to shock Billie.

  I covered my face with my hands. ‘Oh my God.’

  Why hadn’t she tried harder? Flung herself across the kitchen and slapped me with a wooden spoon? My hands fell to my side; I bit my lip, whimpering in despair.

  Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad. I could just head back out there, tell them I was kidding and have a good ol’ laugh about it. A memory flashed vivid in my mind.

  He needs a personality transplant.

  I cupped my burning cheeks, shaking my head. What must he think of me? First, I had flashed him a rather shady-looking pair of undies at the airport, and now I had insulted him while talking like a horny construction worker.

  A half-naked one.

  I felt the bile rising at the back of my throat.

  In order to put on my big-girl pants, I would first have to put on some pants … and a top. But where to from here? Putting on a full face of make-up seemed over the top, and blow-drying my hair wasn’t something I did for an afternoon at home. Still, we had company; that’s if he hadn’t already headed for the Hollywood Hills. Opting for the fresh-faced, casual-California-girl look, I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed, thinking and overthinking what I might say. Maybe I could pretend that I knew he was there the whole time. Yeah, I could get away with that – use the old ‘You should have seen your face!’ line.

  But before I could work up the courage to show my beetroot-red face again, I heard the condo’s front door open and close. I placed my ear to my bedroom door, listening intently for the sound of voices.

  There were none, only the distant clattering of kitchen utensils and running water.

  Had
he gone? He was obviously too mortified to stay.

  I didn’t know how I felt about that; I certainly didn’t feel any less nauseated. I heard Billie’s voice call from the kitchen. ‘Abby, the coast is clear!’

  I whipped the door open so fast that the kickback of air pushed my half-wet hair back across my shoulders as I padded out into the lounge.

  ‘Seriously, could you not have told me he was behind me?’

  ‘I tried to stop you.’

  I sat on the stool near the kitchen bench, burying my head in my hands. ‘Next time just yell at me to shut up.’

  Billie laughed. ‘Next time?’

  My head snapped up. ‘Please tell me he’s not coming back.’

  Billie salted the pan in front of her before stirring some more. ‘Nope.’

  I sighed. ‘Good.’

  ‘I am guessing this is more to do with your humiliation than not liking him, because you have only known each other, what, seven hours?’

  Yeah, seven hours too long.

  Billie watched the contemplative musings in my expression with great interest. ‘He’s a good guy, Abby.’

  I shrugged, tucking a wet strand of hair behind my ear. ‘Clearly not a fan of actors, though.’

  ‘Oh, I think he’s just a little jaded, that’s all.’

  My ears pricked up; was Jay a washed-up actor? Well, where he had failed I was sure to succeed.

  ‘He’s kind of surrounded by all that, all the time at work. Lots of part-time actors and actresses waiting to hit the big time.’

  ‘Uh, he does know he is living in Hollywood? If he has such an attitude about it maybe he should move elsewhere. What does he do, anyway?’

  ‘He’s the owner-manager of the Saloon Bar.’

  I did a double-take. ‘Owner?’

  Billie smiled. ‘Yes.’ She always loved to shock me.

  I knew of the Saloon Bar – hell, everyone did. Its VIP corners and wild, high-class parties made it synonymous with the Hollywood Strip. No wonder Jay was driving a Mustang.

  ‘You seem surprised – you didn’t think he was living next door due to the kindness of another ageing actress, did you?’

  Whatever I had thought, this was definitely not it. Now I really had lost my appetite.

  How could someone, seven hours in, have got so under my skin? And, more importantly, how had I managed to show him so much of mine?

  ‘Well, if I don’t see him in a really, really long time, that would be quite alright with me.’

  Billie rolled her eyes. ‘Uh-huh. Lunch is ready.’

  Chapter Eight

  Angling my phone in the most ridiculous and unnatural angle, I snapped a picture of my torso and legs, slightly bent, the glistening pool beyond my feet, my stomach held in until I desperately needed air. On the fourth take I was satisfied enough to flick through the selections of filters, choosing the one that made my legs look tanned and the pool extra emerald. I smiled to myself, hitting next and captioning ‘This is what I call Monday’ #californiadreaming #Hollywood #sorrynotsorry.

  ‘Post.’ I smiled, smug as I placed my phone to the side and reclined on my sun bed, the view of blue sky and palm trees muted through my sunglasses. The first week I had been plagued with emotional doubt, jetlag and the unwavering anxiety that I had made the worst mistake of my life. I almost became nostalgic for front-cover exposés and cellulite snaps of me at the beach. There was comfort in the known, and getting used to my new situation was, well, a little uncomfortable.

  Making plans with Billie was not the easiest thing to do. Her work was often either long days or short, broken-up hours, depending on what she had booked. I was often alone, and that was strange. I spent my days by the pool and my nights surfing Netflix. I couldn’t wait for Ziggy to get to LA next week and not only wine and dine me but fill me with hope about my promising future. My ego was in desperate need of a stroke. I picked up my phone to check if anyone had liked my photo and got the feels I needed from the comments.

  ‘Damn gurl!’

  ‘I kind of hate you right now.’

  ‘You are so beautiful. Cassie and Damon 4EVA.’

  ‘Sooooo jelly!!’

  ‘Come back Cassie, Damon needs you!’

  And then there were the trolls, and a part of me delighted in their attention, too.

  ‘You’re so up yourself!’

  ‘You need to eat a burger.’

  ‘HOMEWRECKER!!’

  I flinched at the last word. It gutted me every time I saw it. I skimmed over it and moved on down the list, liking the comments that didn’t tell me I needed lipo. Then I paused at one comment.

  ‘Abby in the hood! Can’t wait to catch up, babes – we’ll paint the town red. Xo.’ OfficialSiennaBailey.

  Ugh, Sienna Bailey.

  Sienna was the golden girl of Ship to Sea, and a season favourite until she got killed off in a scuba-diving accident eighteen months ago. She was pretty and popular and vivacious, and it seemed that everything she touched turned to gold.

  I couldn’t stand her.

  She had been in LA for less than a month when she landed herself a prime role on an original Netflix series that had been an incredible hit. Now there were rumours about who she was dating every five minutes, and heavenly food snaps from exclusive restaurants. The shots of her hiking in the Hollywood Hills in activewear, without so much as a drop of sweat, made me sneer, as did the pics of her linking arms and toasting cocktails with her #LAfamily. Meanwhile, my LA family consisted of Eduardo the groundskeeper, who was scooping up what looked like a dead bird from the pool. Not the greatest start to my day.

  Just when I thought my mood couldn’t get any blacker, the screech of the gate sounded and a figure appeared in the corner of my eye.

  Oh shit.

  I quickly put my phone down and lay still. Eyes closed, I wished him away. I hadn’t seen Jay since utterly humiliating myself last week, for which I was incredibly thankful, but now his footsteps neared. I suddenly felt very exposed in my barely-there bikini. If I pretended to be asleep maybe he would walk on. He didn’t. Instead, a shadow came over me.

  I lifted up my glasses, and there he was, arms crossed and looking down at me with a sceptical curve to his brow that said ‘nice life for some’.

  And indeed it was, until he came along.

  ‘You’re blocking my sun,’ I said.

  ‘Shouldn’t an actress be worried about tan lines?’

  ‘What?’ I said, looking at the spaghetti strap at my shoulder, calculating how many hours I had been out here. ‘Well, thanks for your concern, but I think I’ll be fine. Besides, I happen to know a brilliant make-up artist.’

  ‘It would be good for her to get some practice in,’ he said.

  ‘I hardly think she needs me for practice – she’s doing it every day.’

  Jay said nothing, and I lifted my glasses again. Silence wasn’t a foreign concept for him but this time it didn’t sit right, and neither did the way he was looking at me.

  ‘She hasn’t told you?’ he asked.

  ‘Told me what?’

  Jay shifted. For the first time he didn’t look so confident; in fact, he looked decidedly unsure. ‘Listen, it’s not for me to say,’ he said, and with that he started to walk away.

  ‘Hey, wait a minute,’ I said, sitting up. ‘You can’t just leave it at that.’

  I scooped up my towel and phone and padded after him, trying to keep up. ‘Jay, stop!’ But he was intent on escaping to his condo. Breathless by the time I reached the top floor, I pushed on and threw myself in his path, blocking him along the breezeway.

  ‘You cannot leave me hanging like that. Why would she need practice?’ I stepped from side to side, mirroring his moves, blocking his path.

  ‘Abby,’ he warned. Hearing him say my name for the first time kind of threw me. He took advantage of my momentary lapse of concentration and dived past me, moving the final distance to his door.

  ‘Why would she need practice, Jay?’

 
; He opened his door with expert ease, not allowing me enough time to ask the question. Had I been wearing shoes I might have stuck my foot in the door; my dramatics knew no end.

  ‘I’m keeping out of it,’ he said. Surprisingly, he didn’t slam the door in my face; instead, he stood there looking down at me as if he wanted to say more. Just as I thought he was going to reveal all, his eyes glanced down, and up again quickly. ‘Ah, you, ah, might want to, ah …’

  I frowned, looking down.

  Oh my God!

  Worse than any red-carpet nightmare, there it was, loud and proud, coming out to say ‘HELLO, BOYS!’ My left breast. Of course, of all the times to have a nip slip, it had to be while I was arguing with an incredibly hot man.

  I. Wanted. To. Die.

  As I cupped my boob, mortified, Jay stared up at the ceiling, his face twisted like he too wanted to just disappear.

  I tucked myself into place and crossed my arms; if he found the ceiling fascinating, I found the floor intriguing. How do you exit such a situation? Why hadn’t he just slammed the bloody door in my face? I could scurry back to my condo and wait for Billie to come home to see if she was willing to relocate to save me from ever running into Jay again, or I could be totally mature about it. I mean, what was there to be ashamed about? I had nice boobs, an ample B, and they were real, which was not something that everyone could claim in this town.

  Jay, having moved on from his ceiling investigation, scratched the back of his neck and offered me a small, awkward smile.

  ‘Well, considering you’ve seen my boob, the least you can do is tell me about Billie.’

  Jay smiled more broadly. ‘Do you always extract information this way?’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh, sure. It’s a really useful interrogation method.’

  ‘It’s certainly a distraction. I don’t know how to end this now … it feels kind of wrong to shut the door on a girl who I’ve practically been to second base with.’

  ‘Pfft, second base, you should be so lucky.’

  ‘Hey, listen, it’s not my place to say, but maybe just talk to Billie. She could probably do with a sympathetic ear.’

  Jay seemed genuinely sincere. I hated to admit it but I kind of respected the fact he wasn’t going to divulge anything about Billie. I mean, who was I? He didn’t know me; sure, I was Billie’s roomie and friend from Oz, but I was just a stranger to him – albeit one who had just flashed him her assets. Still, I wasn’t going to give him credit for being a good guy.