From Notting Hill to New York . . . Actually (19 page)

Peter stares at Oscar. Then he looks to me for verification.

‘He just bumped into Bradley Cooper a few minutes ago,’ I hurriedly explain. ‘It’s a long story.’

‘Ain’t that the truth,’ Oscar says, grabbing another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

‘Ah, yes, Mr Cooper, our star guest this evening. He seems to be quite
a hit with the ladies. And some of the men.’

‘From what I’ve seen of him, yes,’ I grumble.

‘Haven’t you met him yet then, Scarlett?’

‘No, you can’t get close to him, can you, with all the gold-digging stick insects hanging off him all night. God, I bet they don’t even know half the movies he’s been in, they’re too busy having their Botox topped up to have time to go to the cinema.’

A loud guffaw escapes Peter’s mouth. ‘I like your style, Scarlett.’ He thinks for a moment. ‘Do you mind if I borrow your friend for a while, Oscar?’

‘As long as you make sure she’s back before she needs renewing,’ Oscar jests. ‘It’s an English library joke,’ he explains when Peter doesn’t laugh.

‘Ah … of course.’

‘Hmmph … Americans!’ I hear Oscar moan as Peter guides me across the ballroom floor.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask him.

‘You’ll see in a minute,’ he says mysteriously as two burly-looking security guards step aside to let us through a door. ‘Now, wait here for a moment. I’ll be right back.’

It’s a good job I’ve had a few glasses of champagne. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t let a strange man drag me into an empty room in a hotel. But my brain is suitably warm
and fuzzy right now to allow it to happen and not care too much about the consequences.

I take a look around the room; there are a couple of comfy red velvet sofas, a glass table with three single orchids standing elegantly in a long vase. Some more champagne and canapés occupy another table covered in a white cloth, and here’s me standing like Mrs Awkward in the middle of it all. I’m about to head over to the champagne when a door on the other side of the room opens a little way and a head pops though the gap.

‘Is it safe?’ he asks.

I can feel my mouth opening, but there’s no sound coming out.
Work, damn you! Now is not the time to malfunction; you won’t shut up normally.

‘Safe from …?’ I manage to whisper to a head that looks remarkably like Bradley Cooper’s.

‘Er … how can I put it politely?’ He opens the door a tiny bit further and I’m allowed a glimpse of some more of the Cooper physique. ‘The female contingent that has been following me around all night.’

‘You mean all the Silicone Samanthas hanging off your every word, in the hope you might pass them your phone number or get them a part in your next movie?’ I immediately clap a hand over my mouth. Alcohol always did make me a tad too honest.

Bradley laughs. ‘Is that what they’re doing? And there was me thinking I was hilariously witty
and entertaining to be attracting that many women.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, blushing the same colour as the sofas. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. It just came out.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Bradley says, fully opening the door now and entering the room. ‘I like your honesty.’

Oh my: I’d thought when I’d bumped into Johnny Depp in Paris that time my legs had felt pretty weak, but seeing Bradley standing right in front of me like this, and in a black tux and white shirt too … he’s even untied his bow tie so it hangs loosely around his neck … I really do feel the need for one of the sofas right now.
Perhaps it’s all the champagne?
I wonder for a moment as I stagger back towards one of them.

‘Are you all right?’ Bradley asks, rushing over to me and grabbing my hand to assist me as I sit – well, it’s more like fall – down on the sofa behind me. I know he means well, but that really isn’t helping. I feel even more giddy now.

‘Yes, really, I’ll be fine.’

‘Let me get you some water.’ Bradley looks around the room and spies a jug on the table with the champagne and canapés. He leaps over to it, fills a glass, then comes back to the sofa and places it in my hand while he sits down next to me.

I sip on the water while trying to disguise the trembling of my hands. I don’t do very well.

‘You’re shaking,’ he says, seeing me. ‘Are you diabetic,
hypoglycaemic or something like that? Should I get you something to eat?’ He leaps up towards the table again.

‘No! No, really I’m fine. Please sit down again.’

Bradley takes a quick glance at the canapés as though he’s sizing up which one might be the sweetest should sugar be needed in a hurry, then makes his way back over to the sofa again. He waits until I’ve finished drinking.

‘So, what are you doing in here anyway?’ he asks. ‘Escaping, like me?’

‘I don’t know really. Peter brought me in here and said he’d be back in a minute.’

‘Peter … oh, you mean Pete Butler. Yeah, I think he’s gathering up people ready for the auction.’

‘Yes.’ At least I think we’re talking about the same person. ‘They’re having an auction?’

‘Yeah, and I’m supposed to be hosting it to raise more funds. Pete can be very persuasive when he wants to be.’

‘Yes, I can imagine.’

‘How do you know him?’

‘We’ve … bumped into one another a few times around New York.’

Bradley seems to accept this explanation and nods. ‘Yeah, Pete gets
about. He’s not your usual head of a TV corporation stuck behind a desk all day. If he was, I probably wouldn’t be here now.’

‘Wait, Peter is the head of TVA?’ I ask in astonishment.

‘Yeah, why, didn’t you know that?’ Bradley regards me suspiciously now. ‘Who are you, anyway?’

‘Scarlett,’ I say, holding out my hand again, this time for Bradley to shake. (Plus it seemed like a good excuse to hold his hand again.) ‘I can’t believe we haven’t been introduced before.’
Smooth, Scarlett, smooth …

‘I’m sure I would have remembered if we had,’ Bradley replies, adding his own layer of charm now, and enhancing the effect by locking his blue eyes onto my mine.

I can feel myself starting to come over all dizzy again, so I take another sip of water.

‘So you’re from England, Scarlett?’ he asks, still watching me intently.

‘Yes, originally Stratford-upon-Avon, but I live in London now.’

‘Stratford, that’s Shakespeare country. Land of the Bard.’

‘Yes, something like that.’

‘I’d love to do Shakespeare at Stratford someday.’

‘Would you?’ I ask, with a bit too much amazement. What was it with all these Hollywood stars that made them feel
a need to tread the boards? ‘But you make such great movies.’

Bradley smiles at me, and I have to take another large gulp of water to calm myself.

‘Do you think so? Which ones do you like in particular?’ he asks.

‘Er …’ Don’t say
The Hangover.
Don’t say
The Hangover.
‘
The Hangover
,’ I squeak, when nothing else is forthcoming.

Luckily Bradley smiles again. ‘Actually that’s one of my favourites too. We always had a great time when we were making them.’

Just as Bradley’s entire repertoire of movies suddenly springs to mind, and I’m about to launch into a full-scale, in-depth discussion of my specialist subject with one of the hottest actors in Hollywood, the door bursts open.

‘I told you this is where he’d be, Peter,’ a young woman in a vibrant yellow dress insists, marching into the room. She’s carrying an iPad and looks extremely harassed. ‘I’m so sorry, Bradley,’ she fawns. ‘We seem to have misplaced you for a bit there.’

‘I’m not a pair of glasses,’ Bradley replies, rolling his eyes. ‘Hi, Pete.’ He looks over the canary’s shoulder towards Peter, who has followed her into the room.

‘Bradley,’ Peter casually acknowledges him. ‘I see you’ve met Scarlett.’

I suddenly realise we’re still
holding hands, and hastily pull mine away.

‘I have, and what a refreshing change she is from all the,’ he turns to me, ‘what did you call them, Scarlett?
Silicone Samanthas
I seem to have spent most of my evening with.’

‘Did I say that?’ I begin to flush again.

‘I think you did …’ Bradley grins at me.

‘We’re ready for you to do the auction now, Bradley,’ the canary flaps, giving me a beady, birdlike eye before scrolling through pages on her iPad. ‘Otherwise the band won’t start on time and then we’ll overrun.’

Bradley stands up. ‘Excellent! I think I’m going to enjoy this now. Especially since I have a glamorous new assistant to help me out.’

‘And who would that be, Bradley?’ Peter asks with a knowing smile.

‘Scarlett,’ I hear Bradley say at the same time as an iPad crashes to the ground.

‘Lot Eight: this very elegant Tiffany necklace and earrings set,’ Bradley announces from
his podium, while I hold aloft the velvet case containing the jewellery.

The auction has been going incredibly well so far, and I seem to have picked up the demonstrating technique with some ease, I feel. I’ve watched them on the shopping channels often enough, displaying their goods, and it’s not so different from that, really, as I march up and down with my wares, flourishing my hands across the various lots, tickets and promises like a weatherman predicting storms and high pressure across a map of the British Isles.

Oscar, Jamie and Max had looked a mite surprised to see me when I’d first stepped nervously onto the stage beside
Bradley. In fact Oscar (after he’d stopped staring at Bradley’s crotch) had mouthed the words: ‘How the hell have you managed to get up there with
him
?’ and proceeded to point at Bradley in what he thought was a discreet manner by masking his pointing finger with his other hand – but was in fact quite obvious to anyone standing in front of him; i.e. us up on the stage.

‘Do you know that guy?’ Bradley had asked when he’d seen Oscar pointing. ‘Only I met him earlier in the gents’ toilet. I’ve never seen anyone stand quite so long at a urinal and not pee.’

I’d looked casually across at Oscar. ‘Never seen him before in my life. I expect you get some very odd types at these events. Act like they know you and everything.’

Bradley was about to agree when Peter had taken to the stage to introduce his star guest and his new assistant for the evening. I could actually feel the pain of all the daggers being cast in my direction with looks varying between jealousy, outrage and pure evil intent from certain members of the audience, and I’d wondered if I might need a bodyguard for the rest of the night after this appearance.

But once we’d got into the swing of it, and the bids had started coming in, I’d forgotten all about my safety and concentrated on helping Bradley raise as much money as we could.

We’re just in the middle of auctioning a VIP trip for two to have
dinner at the Top of the Rock when I happen to glance down in Oscar’s direction. Not only do I see the familiar faces of Max and Jamie standing next to him clutching glasses of beer now instead of champagne, but I see another face I think I recognise, though I’m not immediately sure where from. Then, when I see her laughing and chatting with Oscar, I realise who it is. It’s Jennifer, his sister.

I’ve only ever seen her properly in photos at Oscar’s house, and the only time we’ve ever come into contact – well, you couldn’t even call it that really – I was in a wardrobe and she was in a hotel room with Sean (you had to be there) and I couldn’t see her face.

What is
she
doing here, I wonder, as we move on to the next lot, a pair of cut-glass crystal vases.

‘Now then,’ Bradley asks. ‘What am I bid for this lovely pair of crystal vases donated by everyone’s favourite department store, Bloomingdale’s?’

As the bidding gets under way, I keep a close eye on Jennifer while I parade up and down with the vases. She appears to be chatting happily to Max, and now she’s moving onto Jamie … they’ve all formed a little circle together.

‘Scarlett, could you hold the vases up a little, please?’ Bradley asks from the podium.

I nod hurriedly and
thrust the vases in the air.

‘Gently, Scarlett, we want them in one piece, not thousands.’

There’s a ripple of laughter from around the room, and Jennifer looks up towards me. A flicker of recognition crosses her face, and then I see a different look as she fully appreciates the extent of the situation unravelling in front of her. She swivels on her heels, turns her back to me and begins talking one-to-one with Jamie. I see her flick her blond hair over her bare shoulder as she laughs artificially at whatever anecdote he’s telling her.

Jamie laughs now, too, and seems to be lapping up everything she’s saying to him. She even playfully rests her hand on his shoulder.

‘Scarlett,’ Bradley’s voice jolts me back to reality from the podium, ‘the vases?’

Startled by his voice, I jump, and as I do one of the vases slips from my grasp and flies through the air into the crowd. At the same time, out of the corner of my eye I spy a very agile Max dive across the floor below me like a rugby player catching a ball in mid-flight. He just manages to grab the vase and save it from smashing on the floor into a hundred mini-ashtrays.

A huge round of applause breaks out around the room as Max holds the vase aloft like a trophy, acknowledging the plaudits of the crowd. He passes it back up to me then
and whispers, ‘Concentrate, Scarlett, you’re part of the Wolf Pack now.’ Then he winks and returns to the others in his party who are all staring at me, aghast.

Jennifer looks disparagingly up at me, and I look equally disdainfully back down at her. How can you dislike someone you don’t even know, I wonder? But I do: I dislike Jennifer with a passion. It can’t just be because she’s Sean’s ex – can it?

‘… And I think we’d better close the bidding for the vases now, before Scarlett starts juggling with them again,’ Bradley jokes from the stage. ‘Now to our final lot for the evening, a luxury weekend stay in one of the top Tower Suites at the Waldorf Astoria hotel. What am I bid for this fabulous prize, ladies and gentlemen?’

‘Do you come with it, Bradley?’ I hear someone shout from the crowd. Thankfully it’s not Oscar.

‘Sadly no, madam, I’m afraid not.’