Unlucky Break (7 page)

The delicate beaded fabric clung to Jess’s frame, but skimmed over her breasts, almost making them look demure. It showed off her legs perfectly and the delicate colour somehow toned down Jess’s vibrant tan to a more realistic shade.

Jess ran out to the dressing room and came back with a pair of silver T-bar heels.

Jess put them on and turned slowly in front of the mirror. ‘What do you call this look?’ she asked.

‘You’re Daisy from
The Great Gatsby
,’ said Andie.

‘Who?’ asked Jess.

‘The most beautiful, wealthy, spoiled girl in the world, who every guy wishes he could be with,’ said Andie, a smile playing at her lips.

Jess nodded and turned back to look at herself. ‘Yep, sounds about right. Okay, last thing for you,’ she said, opening a drawer and pulling out a small piece of plastic. She wet a facecloth and came over to Andie. Putting the plastic on Andie’s arm, she rubbed the wet cloth vigorously over it.

‘Ow,’ complained Andie. ‘What are you doing?’

Jess kept rubbing. ‘Done,’ she said, and slowly pulled the plastic away.

Left in its place was an image of a dandelion, its seeds being blown by the wind. Underneath was a latin phrase –
Nova Initia
.

‘I have no idea what it says,’ said Jess. ‘I don’t speak Italian or whatever, but it looks cool.’

Andie ran her fingers over it. ‘New beginnings,’ she said softly.

‘Hell yeah. New beginnings, baby!’ cried Jess joyfully.

And for the first time in what seemed like forever, Andie wasn’t thinking about Cameron, or Marissa, or her mother.

4

This G-string up my arse is beyond distracting
, thought Andie, as she tried to concentrate on what the guy opposite was saying to her. He was incredibly hot, but
jeez
he was boring. She wondered what he thought about the blonde she was tonight, with her sexy dress and Latin tattoo.

She and Jess had downed a few Jägermeisters before they left the house, so Andie was nicely buzzed to deal with the craziness of the Skyhigh Bar. She could see Rachel Bilson and Hayden Christensen hanging out with a crowd of friends on one side of the bar, and Adrian Grenier holding court at the centre of a circle of beautiful women nearby. In the middle of the deck outside, a pool glittered with blue lights.

Jess was on the other side of the lounge, deep in conversation with a pretty boy who was wearing more eyeliner than Andie.

When they’d arrived at the bar a couple of hours earlier, Andie was shocked to see how many paparazzi were lined up outside the entrance, even though Jess had warned her they’d be there. As they stepped out of Jess’s Porsche, Andie determinedly kept her legs together. On the way to the club, Jess had told her a morality tale about Britney Spears’s vagina.

As Jess’s driver pulled the Porsche away from the club, the men with the cameras called Jess’s name. She ignored them and put her arm around Andie protectively. ‘Just keep going, don’t stop. Pretend you can’t hear them.’

The bouncer grinned at Jess and waved them through the doors. Upstairs, they were descended upon by a crowd of people, each more beautiful than the last. Andie was offered drinks, coke and sex – sometimes all at once. She declined the drugs and sex politely, and settled for a glass of champagne and the handsome boy, who was now talking about an audition he’d gone for that day for a part in an avant-garde film about Mongolian goat-herders.

Andie nodded and tried to look interested, but all she could think about was how self-absorbed he was. He hadn’t asked her a single question during the entire conversation.

Eventually, he seemed to sense that she wasn’t interested in sleeping with him, and wandered off in the direction of some casting agent he said he recognised.

Andie stood and tottered to the bar in Jess’s stupid shoes. They cut into her foot at the back, but they were still nothing compared to the thong riding further and further up her butt.

‘You must be either an actress or a model,’ she heard and she turned to see an older man in a white suit in front of her. He had dyed black hair and a slimy look on his face as he scanned his eyes up and down her body.

‘Neither,’ she said politely.

‘Well, maybe I can do something about that. What’s your name, darlin’?’

‘Andie.’

‘Nice to meet you, Andie. So what do you do, if you aren’t using your good looks to get ahead?’

Andie tossed her blonde hair. ‘I’m a writer,’ she said. It was no bigger a lie than her hair colour, she thought.

‘Oh? Got a script I can read?’ he asked.

‘Not scripts. I write books.’

‘Well, anything I should option, then?’

Andie blushed a little. ‘I haven’t finished yet,’ she admitted.

‘Ah. Writer’s block, is it?’ He nodded as if he knew all about it.

‘Something like that,’ said Andie, sipping her drink and tossing her fake hair.
Faker, faker
, she heard in the back of her mind.

‘You know writer’s block is bullshit,’ said the man, looking over her head and waving to someone.

‘Oh? How so?’ asked Andie, trying to resist the urge to punch this smarmy, self-satisfied man in the face.

‘It’s always one of two things,’ said the man. ‘You’re either depressed, or your idea is shit.’

Andie felt her eyes widen. The man was awful, but his theory had struck a nerve. Was she depressed? Was that why the writing wouldn’t come like it used to? She had good reason to be, she thought bitterly. So maybe this guy had a point. And maybe he was less of a creep than she had imagined.

‘What’s happening, man?’ A smooth, deep voice cut into Andie’s thoughts. The speaker high-fived the man in the white suit, and Andie’s heart nearly stopped. It was James Hawthorn. Hollywood’s darling. Action hero extraordinaire, and the star of the most epic romantic trilogy ever made. Boyfriend of Nikki Morgan, one of
People
magazine’s most beautiful women last year.

‘I saw you at the airport,’ Andie blurted. She reddened, wondering if it was the wig or the alcohol that had made her so stupid.

James looked amused, but not in an unkind way. ‘Was I on a plane with you?’ he asked, running his eyes over her body. ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t forget a girl like you.’

Andie knew that for all his success, he was also the resident bad boy of Hollywood. Just weeks ago he’d been arrested for drink-driving, causing an accident. Although luckily no-one had been seriously injured, he was due in court soon. It was his third offence and people were talking about jail.

Andie knew this because Marissa knew all things James Hawthorn and had duly kept Andie informed.

Right now though, looking at James’s twinkling blue eyes and the light blonde stubble adorning his strong tanned jaw, Andie understood Marissa’s worship. The guy was a god.

Andie tried to say something, but found no words would come out of her mouth. James was still smiling in an amused way, as if this was a common reaction he encountered.

‘You an actor?’ he asked, putting her out of her misery.

‘No, a writer,’ she answered automatically.

‘But she’s in a block phase,’ said the man in white, winking at James.

‘So are you depressed, or is it just an idea that isn’t going any-where?’ he asked, locking his eyes on her.

‘That’s what he said,’ said Andie, gesturing with a nod to the man in white, but not taking her eyes off James.

The intensity of the look got too much for Andie and she glanced away, flustered. She felt her eyes drift to his chest. He was wearing a white shirt and worn jeans, a pair of ragged Converse on his feet and an armful of bracelets. Leather ones, metal and beaded. He had the best-looking forearms Andie had ever seen. She allowed herself a few moments of imagining those arms around her, caressing her, before firmly snapping herself out of it. It seemed that all it took was a few hours as a blonde to turn her into a star-fucking bimbo.

A blonde girl with a dress even shorter than Andie’s sidled up to them, and the man in white turned his attention to her. Andie and James drew away from them a little.

‘So, you write,’ said James, sipping a beer.

‘Yep, and you act,’ said Andie.

He looked at her and shrugged. ‘We’re all acting in one way or another,’ he said. ‘I just get paid for it.’

Andie laughed. ‘I know what you mean. I feel like an impostor most of the time. I guess it’s the same thing, really.’

‘What’s your accent?’ he asked, but before Andie could answer a group of girls walked up to him.

‘We love you,’ one of them gushed at him. Her breasts spilled dangerously out of her tight corset dress.

‘Thanks,’ said James politely.

‘Can we get a photo?’ another girl in some sort of jumpsuit asked.

‘Yep, sure,’ said James.

Andie felt a camera pushed into her hands and she realised she was supposed to take the photo. James stood in the middle while the girls milled around him. Andie looked through the lens and zoomed in on his face. He looked tired. And almost … embarrassed. She took the photo and handed the camera back to the blonde girl.

James nodded at the girls. He took Andie by the arm and guided her away to the corner of the deck. The girls looked disappointed.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said when they were out of earshot.

‘That’s okay,’ said Andie.

Their eyes caught and he opened his mouth as though he was about to say something. But then he bit his lip, seeming to change his mind.

‘What?’ asked Andie. ‘You were going to say something.’

James paused a moment. ‘Who’s your fictional hero?’ he asked.

She knew that hadn’t been his next question, but let it slide. Who was she to judge what people did or didn’t say?

‘Nick Carraway,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘
The Great Gatsby
,’ said James nodding. ‘He is a great narrator. The perfect observer, I suppose.’

Andie tried not to show her amazement, without much success.

‘You didn’t think I’d know who Nick Carraway was, did you?’ His eyes twinkled and he chuckled.

Andie noticed the way his throat made a sound as though it was preparing for the joke before the laughter came out. It was cute, she thought, and then mentally slapped herself.

‘You want to sit down?’ he asked. Andie nodded and they moved to a large cane sofa. The night was warm and a soft breeze came over them. Andie felt that she was in a dream.

‘So, what are the main influences on your writing?’ he asked, crossing his legs.

Andie shook her head. ‘Gosh, I don’t know. Other writers, definitely. I love Fitzgerald, obviously. Nature. People. I love people-watching. And … I guess, the way people cope with hard times. I’m fascinated by that.’ Andie said the last bit hesitantly. She’d never really shared that part of herself with anyone before. For some reason she felt okay revealing it to James Hawthorn tonight, though. Maybe it was the fact that she was hiding behind this blonde persona.

James locked eyes with her. ‘So … what’s the hardest time you’ve ever had to cope with?’ He sounded friendly, but the way he said it implied he didn’t think she’d have anything much to offer in response.

Andie shook her head and smiled in what she hoped was a light-hearted, mysterious way. ‘I’m not about to unload my sad story on you before you’ve even bought me a drink,’ she said coyly.

‘Fair enough,’ said James, looking at her intensely. ‘I’m sorry to hear you have a sad story, though.’

‘Oh, we all do, don’t we?’ she said a little too brightly, feeling properly drunk now.

‘Ha. Didn’t you know? I’m Hollywood’s latest bad boy. That title brings with it a multitude of sad stories.’

Andie detected the slightest bitterness in his voice. ‘The life of the tortured artist, huh?’ she asked gently.

‘Something like that,’ he said, and smiled genuinely at Andie again. He took her hand in his. ‘Just … Please know that not everything you read about me is true.’

A tingle shot up Andie’s arm. It was as sharp as when Jess had plucked her eyebrows earlier that evening, but more pleasant.
Way more pleasant,
she thought.

‘I haven’t really read anything about you,’ she said honestly. She’d never needed to, with Marissa keeping her informed, but she decided not to mention that.

‘Not interested in movie stars?’

‘I don’t know any,’ she smiled. Cece popped into her head. Was she lying? Perhaps not. She didn’t really know her aunt at all.

‘Just fictional men then, like Nick Carraway?’

‘Touché. Something like that.’

They laughed, and something passed between them, although Andie couldn’t say exactly what it was.

‘I think I’m a bit in love with Nick Carraway,’ she said, thinking aloud.

‘Lucky Nick,’ said James, grinning at her.

‘You know it,’ she said sassily. She wondered who she was at that precise moment, and who James thought she was.

He ran his finger over the tattoo on her arm. ‘New beginnings? New start?’ he asked.

Andie nodded, stunned into silence at her body’s reaction to his touch.

‘From what?’ he asked.

Andie looked into his eyes. ‘From everything before,’ she said, without thinking.

It felt intense, the heat between them. She couldn’t hear anything around her. It was just her and him on the sofa.