Unlucky Break (5 page)

It wasn’t quite how Andie would have described it, but it seemed a strangely fitting way to describe her life.

‘It must be pretty terrifying to be here in La La Land,’ Jess continued gently.

Andie smiled a little. ‘You have no idea.’

‘How do you like our fair city?’ asked Jess.

Andie shook her head slowly. ‘Today I saw a rock star picking up his dog’s poop, which was weird – although very socially minded, I suppose. And an old woman in a fur jacket and hotpants, walking seven dogs down Rodeo Drive. Is that weird or normal for LA?’

Jess considered her answer carefully. ‘It’s weird and it’s normal. Eventually everything weird becomes accepted here. You kinda get used to it.’ She snorted. ‘But seven dogs? That is pretty crazy.’

‘You don’t think the fur and hotpants on a granny are weird?’

‘Nah. If you’ve got it, flaunt it. That’s the rule of Hollywood.’

‘Then I’m screwed,’ said Andie.

‘Why?’

‘I haven’t got anything to flaunt.’ She was at least half-serious.

Jess studied her for a moment. ‘You’ll find your thing,’ she said. ‘For me, it’s my looks.’

Andie looked at her, expecting to see at least a hint of irony on the girl’s face, but Jess was deadly serious.

Jess turned and walked through the house. After a moment, Andie followed her.

Through one of the huge windows, Andie saw a man cleaning the already-clean pool outside. As they passed the kitchen, she saw a woman pottering near the sink. Didn’t anyone do anything for themselves in LA?

Jess pushed open another set of doors to some kind of lounge. Andie tried not to gawk at the walls. They were filled with pictures of Jess – magazine covers, studio shots, even glamour shots, like the ones Andie had seen on offer at the local shopping centre.
What kind of person decorates her house with pictures of herself?
she wondered.

The furniture was white and low, and to one side was a huge, hanging egg-shaped chair, filled with yellow and white cushions.

Jess climbed into the chair. Andie sat on one of the lounges.

‘So. Twenty questions,’ said Jess, spinning the chair until she was a blur of red hair and white and yellow cushions. ‘You ask me first.’

Just then the woman from the kitchen came in with a tray of drinks.

‘Darling!’ squealed Jess at the maid. ‘How did you know we were thirsty?’

The woman smiled indulgently at Jess as she left the room, empty tray in hand.

Jess stopped the chair spinning. ‘Come on, ask me,’ she com-manded from her egg-shaped throne.

Andie paused. ‘Um, okay. How old are you?’

‘Eighteen.’

‘Full name – including middle name?’

‘Real or stage?’

‘Both.’

‘Real – Jessica Anne Stockowitz. Stage name is Jess Douglas.’

Andie thought. ‘How famous are you?’

‘Very, although obviously not in Australia,’ Jess answered. ‘I’m gonna get my manager onto that, asap.’

Andie laughed, but then she saw Jess was serious. She stopped.

‘Erm, I don’t know what else,’ Andie said. ‘I don’t know you well enough to know what to ask.’

Andie looked around at the pictures of Jess. She averted her eyes quickly from the giant semi-nude photo over the fireplace. Jess’s ample breasts were artfully covered by a Chinese fan, and she was draped in cloth. What on earth could they have in common?

‘Come on,’ Jess wheedled. ‘You’re a crappy interviewer.’

Andie frowned. ‘God, let me think. How about … how long have you been an actor?’

‘Since I was nine months old.’

‘Wow. So, it’s what you want to be doing?’

Jess looked at Andie, confused. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, does it make you happy?’ Andie asked, reaching forward and taking a sip of her drink. ‘Mmm, this is nice.’

‘It’s just Diet Coke, but with spherical ice cubes and a slice of lemon. That’s what makes it,’ said Jess.

Diet Coke had been a banned substance back home. Maybe if her mum had tasted it with spherical ice cubes and a slice of lemon, she wouldn’t have been so against it, thought Andie.

‘Of course it’s what I want to do,’ said Jess, returning to the questions. ‘Look at what I have.’

It wasn’t really an answer to the question, but Andie let it go. ‘Where are your parents?’ she asked instead.

‘I don’t have any parents,’ said Jess with a shrug.

Andie’s eyes widened. ‘You’re an orphan?’

‘Not exactly, but pretty much. I legally divorced my parents when I was fourteen. Kicked them out of my life. Goddamned vampires.’

Jess’s face was hard and Andie tried to think of the word to describe the look. Resolute? Defiant? She couldn’t decide.

‘Do you miss them?’ Andie asked next, thinking of her mother and feeling the pain flooding back.

‘No,’ said Jess with a toss of red curls. ‘But I do miss the six million they stole from me.’

‘Oh, god!’ said Andie, not quite sure if she believed her.

‘Yeah, well. God didn’t help me. They were all god-fearing but happily siphoned money from me like I was a freaking bank.’

Andie sipped her Diet Coke again. She sensed that the topic was closed. ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

‘Not at the moment,’ said Jess, and Andie saw a shadow of insecurity cross her face.

‘Did you have one?’ she asked gently.

‘Yes.’

‘What happened?’

‘He dumped me for a skank TV host.’ Jess took out an ice cube out of her drink and sucked on it.

‘Guys are such arseholes,’ said Andie vehemently, and they sat in silence for a moment.

‘So, are you acting in something right now?’ asked Andie.

Jess raised her chin, defensive. ‘I’m just waiting for the right script to come along.’

Okay…
thought Andie.
Clearly another minefield to avoid there
. She tried to think of a less volatile topic and remembered the foyer full of bags. ‘Why don’t you unpack your shopping?’

‘I don’t know. I never care about it once I get it home,’ Jess laughed breezily. ‘I know, right? Crazy. Besides, every couple of months my cleaners get sick of mopping around the bags and unpack them for me.’

Andie knew she wouldn’t be able to say anything nice about that, so she kept going with the questions. ‘Favourite book?’

‘American Vogue.’

Not a book,
thought Andie, but she didn’t bother to point that out.

‘Music?’

‘House, dubstep and Justin Bieber.’

Andie was incredulous. ‘Really?’

‘He’s amazing if you really listen,’ Jess said firmly.

Andie paused, trying to think of the right way to ask the next question. She’d wanted to ask it from the beginning, but it wasn’t really something you could open with.

‘Your boobs?’

Jess sat still, an odd look on her face. ‘Enhanced,’ she said finally, silencing Andie with the tone in her voice. ‘Okay, my turn!’ She spun again on her chair. ‘I’m really good at this. Age?’

‘Eighteen.’

‘Were you homeless in Australia?’

‘Huh?’ asked Andie. ‘Why?’

‘Because of what you wear.’

Andie frowned. ‘It’s called vintage.’

‘Sorry, that was rude,’ said Jess, looking genuinely remorseful. ‘I need to learn not to say what I think all the time. All right, let me think.’ She paused. ‘Do you have a boyfriend? I’m guessing not, with the “Guys are assholes” comment before.’

‘I dumped him before I came here.’

‘How come?’ Jess asked.

‘He cheated,’ Andie said quietly.

‘What an asshole.’

‘With my best friend.’

‘Oh my god. That sucks.’

Andie said nothing.

‘Are you a virgin?’ asked Jess.

‘No,’ said Andie. Just thinking about Cameron like that made her skin crawl now.

Andie looked up at Jess suddenly. ‘Are you?’

‘Your questions are used up,’ said Jess tartly. Then she relented. ‘But what do you think?’

Andie looked at her and then nodded. ‘Yeah, I reckon you are.’

Jess leant closer, eyebrows raised, her egg-chair tilting at a precarious angle. ‘Why do you say that?’

Andie shrugged. ‘Classic over-compensation.’

Jess’s eyes narrowed. Then she brightened, grinning widely. ‘I like you,’ she said with a firm nod. ‘You’re gonna be my new best friend forever.’

Only in LA,
thought Andie.

3

Andie went back to Cece’s several hours later. She’d had two more Diet Cokes and an amazing lunch of smoked salmon on rye, served up by Jess’s attentive housekeeper. Andie’s appetite was definitely back. Or maybe she just felt guilty at the idea of all that expensive salmon going to waste.

After lunch, Jess had shown Andie the episode of
True Hollywood Story
about her life. She gave a running commentary.
Who the hell has a TV biography at eighteen?
wondered Andie. It made her own life seem pitifully unaccomplished.

As Andie walked inside her aunt’s house, she saw Cece on the phone in the living area. She waved to Andie, who nodded and continued up the stairs to her room.

Cece said goodbye and hung up her phone. ‘How was your day?’ she called. Andie’s stomach twisted again. She sounded so much like Mum, despite that slight American twang.

‘Fine,’ said Andie, turning around.

‘How was the car?’

‘Great. Thanks so much again.’

There was a silence between them.

‘You met Jess, then?’ said Cece.

Andie laughed a little. ‘Yeah, apparently we’re BFFs now.’

Cece smiled. ‘She’s a lovely girl really. A little melodramatic, perhaps. Her parents weren’t the best role models. She did well not to end up with an addiction, or worse.’

Andie wondered what was worse than addiction, but didn’t ask. Instead she said, ‘Um, I put petrol in the car. I have the receipt for you.’

‘You don’t need to do that,’ said Cece.

‘Just so you don’t think I’m ripping you off or anything.’ Money was always tight growing up, so Andie was used to accounting for every cent.

‘I wouldn’t think that,’ said Cece quietly.

‘Okay,’ said Andie. Tiredness rolled over her all of a sudden, and she leant against the balustrade.

The sound of her phone broke through her thoughts and she pulled it out of her bag.

‘Hello?’ she said tentatively. Only Cece and Rene had her number.

‘BFF, miss me much?’

‘Hi, Jess.’

Cece smiled and walked back to the lounge.

‘Cece gave me your number. ’Sup?’

‘Since I left you ten minutes ago? Nothing.’

‘Hey, let’s go out tonight.’

Andie was tempted, but she was also exhausted. Although she knew the best way to cure jet lag was to get yourself on local time as quickly as possible. And the alternative was hanging out with Cece, trying to fill the awkward silences.

‘Um, hang on.’

Andie walked down the stairs looking for Cece, who she found lounging on a sofa, texting someone.

‘Cece?’

Cece looked up.

‘Can I go out with Jess tonight?’

‘Sure,’ Cece said casually, and went back to her text message.

‘Okay,’ Andie said into the phone.

‘Did you just ask your aunt?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘Dude, that’s so cute.’ Jess laughed. ‘Come over in an hour and bring your best clothes – non-hobo wear only.’

Andie hung up the phone and looked at Cece, who was trying to act nonchalant.

‘Oh no, we were going to have dinner, weren’t we?’ said Andie, remembering in a flash. ‘I’ll cancel Jess.’

Cece smiled. ‘No, no. We have all the time in the world for dinners, Andie. I’ll ask Rene to join me instead.’

Andie leant forward and gave her aunt a kiss on the cheek, which surprised them both. ‘Thanks, Cece,’ she said and ran up the stairs to her room. She opened her suitcases but they were empty. Marta must have unpacked for her.

Andie went over to the dressing room and sure enough, there were her clothes, hanging from the rails and folded neatly into drawers. Andie had taken everything she owned to LA and still the shelves were mostly empty, seeming to mock her.

She flipped through the clothes. A black shirt and jeans? She could pull out the flat black shoes she’d worn to her mum’s funeral. Jeans seemed too casual. Could she rock the vintage look here, though? She didn’t really have anything else.

She pulled out one of the few dresses she had brought with her – a sleeveless lime-green sixties A-line with a glittery collar. It was cute, although a little like something from a dress-up box.

She took a shower but didn’t bother to wash her hair. After she dressed, she put on some black eyeliner from the Smashbox make-up Cece had given her, and her signature red lipstick.

The black flats pressed against her toes. The pain reminded her of the day of the funeral and she gasped as the memories came flooding back.

Mum’s friends from the women’s group offering around organic cucumber sandwiches at the wake. An endless stream of people asking Andie what she was going to do now, and her vague answers. Just because she was eighteen, people thought she would be fine. None of them knew there were no plans made for her. That her mum had been talking as though she would leave the hospital right to the very end.

And Marissa’s hysterical tears. Even at the time, before she knew about Cameron and Marissa, Andie had thought it was too much. It wasn’t Marissa’s mother that had died, after all. Why did she have to be so dramatic?