Looking for Andrew McCarthy (13 page)

Julia tried to stare out of the window, but it was miles away. All there was to stare at was a small child trying to catch her attention by kicking the side of her chair. He seemed to be conserving quite a lot of energy in his kicks, though, and looked like he was heading for a long distance endurance record.

‘I think these people hate us,’ said Ellie, watching a grim stewardess performing a safety demonstration.

‘Look at the expression on her face. I think she wants us all to die.’

‘What do you expect during the safety demonstration – a cabaret? I just want her to get it over with, so we can get on with the true fun of air travel – being allowed to drink at absurd times of the day. And I really think I need one NOW.’

Julia had already reset her watch.

‘It’s four o’clock in the morning in Los Angeles,’ she said. ‘That seems to me a perfectly reasonable time to be out drinking.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Ellie.

They eventually managed to clink the first of their plastic glasses of double gin and tonic together.

‘We’re on holiday!’

‘To holidays!’

‘To Andrew!’

‘To finding … things …’

‘Do you think I’ll get back that twenty-inch waist I had at sixteen?’ said Ellie.

‘Only if you start wearing braces again. It’s a mysterious power trade-off.’

‘Huh, you can talk, Mrs Pimple Head.’

‘You were always one for the snappy nicknames, weren’t you?’

‘Snappy nicknames, snappy knicker-elastic,’ said Ellie. ‘Can’t beat either of them.’

‘I hope they caught that flight,’ said Siobhan, moodily sipping her Cosmopolitan at Elms that evening. ‘Although Patrick paying for tickets that nobody used would also have its appeal.’

Loxy winced and explained what had happened at the airport.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Siobhan, patting him.

Loxy shrugged. ‘Forget it. How have you been today?’

Siobhan shrugged in return. ‘I think I’ve come through the white hot revenge mode, unfortunately.
I’m kind of getting into the hours of insane crying. They BETTER have a good time, that’s all I can say.’

‘Hmm,’ said Loxy, staring into space. ‘Not
too
good.’

‘Well, obviously,’ said Siobhan. Then she tapped Loxy on the arm. ‘Don’t worry about Julia. You know she’ll be incredibly sensible.’

‘Wha’ time is it?’ slurred Julia fifteen hours later, staggering across the concourse.

‘Dunno. You’ve got … bags …’

‘Lossa bags. An … still gaw this.’

Julia held up two full plastic miniatures of gin.

Ellie rubbed her gritty eyes and clumsily reached for one. Julia punched her on the shoulder.

‘You shouldn’t; you
shouldn’t
have said communist, to nice man, no, shouldn’t.’

‘People should … take … a bloody joke …’

‘Look! Nother man!’

A gigantic guy wearing a yellow jacket was ushering people into cabs. They staggered up to him and he bundled them into one speedily.

‘Where you goin’, pliz?’ said the cab driver without looking at them.

Ellie looked at Julia, whose head had flopped to one side. With effort, she straightened up again.

‘79a Balham Park Road,’ said Julia in her best posh voice, enunciating every syllable.

‘Huh?’ said the driver, turning round.

‘No!’ said Ellie. ‘No! Los Angeles!’

‘Yes pliz. Where in Los Angeles, pliz?’

Julia took one look out of the window, her head flopped again and she fell asleep instantly, and all Ellie’s shunting, or the frantic honking of the cabs behind them, couldn’t wake her.

Ellie fumbled through her handbag, but couldn’t see anything that looked like a hotel address, even with one hand held over her eye. And she knew, even in her fuddled state, that the chances of getting into Julia’s password-protected Palm Pilot were infinitesimal.

She sat up and stared at the lights in the distance for a second trying to think of somewhere she knew in Los Angeles.

‘Take me back to the Hotel California,’ she said woozily.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know that address, ma’am.’

Ellie blinked heavily and forced herself to try and think of a hotel.

‘The Ritz, please,’ she said finally, and sank back into unconsciousness.

Pitch dark it may have been, but Ellie awoke anyway
on the stroke of 6am, staring at the ceiling and trying to identify where the hell in the universe she was and what on earth she might have been doing. Perhaps, she speculated, she’d been in a car accident and was now in hospital. That would explain the headache and exonerate her from having done anything embarrassing. Still, she was fully clothed at least. With intense effort she stretched out her arm and managed to turn on the bedside light.

‘Fuck!’

The ornate and overdone surroundings gradually filtered into view under the warm lighting. On another double bed, Julia was snoring soundly, tucked up in crisp white sheets. Their bags were very carefully lined up against the wall.

‘Arse!’ said Ellie, and decided to wish for death. In a hideous flashback sequence reminiscent of
Altered States
, she recalled various choice scenes from the night before, which included somebody falling up some steps (the presence of a rather large bloodied scab on her knee seemed to indicate that it might have been her), the desperate waving of a credit card; some overtly solicitous room staff. And, oh God, oh God, she was wearing a crisp pair of cotton pyjamas. Ellie had never owned a crisp pair of cotton pyjamas in her entire life. Either these were magic pyjamas, or the alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

She pondered whether to wake Julia or not. Get the
agony over with quickly, or give her a happy hour or two more of oblivion. The problem was solved by a desperate need to go to the bathroom and the rather sudden rediscovery of the scarred knee and what felt suspiciously like a twisted ankle.

‘Christicles!’ she shrieked, on attempting to stand up.

Julia’s eyes blinked open immediately in alarm

‘What? What is it? Ohmigod. Chuffing hell.’

She clasped her head tightly.

‘What the Jesus fuck is going on?’

‘I don’t exactly know,’ said Ellie, hopping about on one leg and yelping, ‘but I’m hoping they’ve got plenty of Red Bull in the minibar.’

Julia shook her aching head.

‘Oh, Jesus Christ. Where are we?’

‘We’re in America.’

‘Yes, thank you, I remember that much. Ouch.’

Ellie put the kettle on, and examined the china cups tentatively.

‘We’re in LA …’

‘God, I must have fallen asleep in the cab. Jet lag.’

Ellie snorted loudly.

‘Jesus. And what the hell am I wearing?’

‘Magic pyjamas,’ said Ellie quickly.

‘Did you get me changed?’

‘Umm, yes, that would have been more logical.’

‘Into pyjamas that say …’

Julia gradually took in her surroundings.

‘This is a bit bloody nice for a Holiday Inn,’ she said slowly.

‘I didn’t realize it was such a different chain over here.’

‘Ah,’ said Ellie.

She winched back the curtains a little and, sure enough, the sun was starting to come up. Over the ocean. The famous view of endless palm trees stared back at them through the sunny windows of the thirty-fifth floor.

‘Well … welcome to America.’

Julia was staring miserably into space. Ellie would have been staring miserably into space had she not just been distracted by the largest plate of pancakes she’d ever seen in her life being set down in front of her.

‘So you’re telling me,’ said Julia slowly, pulling on her fourth orange juice, ‘that we just spent half our allocated holiday budget on the best hotel in the world and we don’t remember a thing about it?’

‘I think,’ said Ellie carefully, licking maple syrup off her fingers, ‘that that shows a certain amount of style.’

‘I think,’ said Julia, ‘that that shows we have just burnt hundreds and hundreds of dollars.’

‘Well, it’s not like it’s real money,’ said Ellie. ‘That’s probably only about a fiver.’

‘It is a
bit
more than a fiver, Hedgehog! Jesus. Why the hell couldn’t you have learned the name of the hotel we were supposed to be staying at? Why couldn’t you just have barked out “Holiday Inn”? That would have been at least
logical
.’

‘I don’t know. Why couldn’t you have kept yourself from passing out in the gutter, like the first time we ever got into Fat Sam’s and you discovered Cinzano and lemonade and thought you were being chatted up by one of A Flock of Seagulls?’

They had found a diner across the road, after realizing that having breakfast at the Ritz would cost the same as their car hire. They had, however, had to hail a taxi to get them across the road. The suited bellboys had given them knowing looks as they stumped in crushed combats through the sumptuous lobby.

‘Oh my God,’ whispered Ellie. ‘Do you think they took photographs?’

‘I know they
took
photographs,’ Julia whispered back, ‘what’s worrying me is, do they
sell
photographs?’

Colour mounting, they walked through the held-open doors into warm sunshine and waving palm
trees. Beautiful blonde people were rollerblading down towards the sand. The sky was a hazy blue.

‘Ow,’ said Ellie. ‘The sun’s hurting my eyes.’

‘And I wish all these people would get the fuck out of our way,’ said Julia.

Now they were sitting sulkily in the little diner, trying to see at what point the waitress’s indefatigable good will would be tested beyond endurance with their endless free coffee refills.

‘This your first time in LA?’ she had asked when they came in. They had nodded, trying not to disturb their hangovers too much.

‘This the first time you’ve tasted a cup of cwaffee?’ she asked now, testily, after being summoned to refill Ellie’s mug for the seventh time.

‘What are those funny stars up there that look like tiny suns and yet shine in the day?’ asked Ellie, pointing to the overhead lights. Julia kicked her hard on her sore ankle and smiled winningly at the waitress.

‘Are you an actress?’ she asked, interested. The woman looked like the type who goes out with footballers and sells their stories to the tabloids. Her fingernails were frightening and her hair a candyfloss-textured blonde. Every time she leaned over to refill their coffee cups, her breasts stayed where they were.

‘No, I really am your waitress. Years of college. It’s a wonderful job.’

‘I thought Americans weren’t supposed to have a sense of irony,’ said Ellie.

‘You’re using irony in the wrong sense. Ironic, isn’t it? And that’s your last cup of coffee,’ said the waitress. ‘Now, excuse me. I’ve just got to go and schmooze those disgusting middle-aged men over there, because yup, lucky me, I am indeed an actress.’

The table-full of overweight guys in sunglasses grinned and waved, pointing out the waitress’s breasts to each other.

‘Whatever happened to dumb blondes?’ said Ellie.

‘They just write the parts that way,’ said the waitress. ‘Coming, sweeties!’ she cooed to the men’s table.

‘Well, well,’ said Ellie. ‘We’re learning already.’

‘We have to check out of that hotel,’ said Julia. ‘We’re going to be here a long time. Our credit cards might not hold out.’

‘I think mine is looking a bit wobbly already.’

‘Well you shouldn’t have bought all that stupid shit on the plane then. You don’t even wear perfume. And you don’t need two watches.’

‘Course I do. London time and LA time. I’m
international
.’

‘And what about the aeroplane-shaped pencil case …’

‘Okay, okay.’

‘And we’d better pick up a car. I have a funny
feeling their underground system might not be up to much.’

‘Then we can start our quest!’ said Ellie excitedly.

‘Or go lie on the beach …’ said Julia.

‘Quest! Quest! Quest!’

‘Oh, well, okay. We should get hold of a phone book.’

‘A
phone
book?’

‘Yes. How else are we going to find him?’

‘A
phone
book?! That’s … the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Anyway, I don’t think big movie stars are in the phone book.’

‘No, big movie stars aren’t. He probably is though.’

‘Don’t be mean. I think we should go to somewhere cool, where the stars hang out. We’ve got to let this happen naturally. Ehm, excuse me?’ Ellie beckoned the waitress over.

‘No,’ said the waitress. ‘That much caffeine can’t possibly be good for you.’

‘Not that,’ said Ellie. ‘Although, now you mention it …’

The waitress sighed. ‘Well, it’s your coffee breath …’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t want to be kissing you. Unless you’re a producer … ?’

Ellie shook her head.