Jemima J. (45 page)

“Are you fucking crazy?” says Simon in disbelief, who had been surreptitiously listening to the entire conversation. “She wanted you, mate. You turned down Alexia Aldridge. You’re fucking nuts.”

“Simon!” admonishes Ben in a whisper. “You heard her, all that rebirthing, healing shit. She may be Alexia Aldridge but she’s a woman from another planet.”

“So fucking what? I can’t believe it.” Simon shakes his head. “Alexia Aldridge and you turned her down.”

“Okay,” says Ben, gathering up his stuff. “She’s gorgeous.
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She’s beautiful. But she’s full of crap. Even if I did stay for dinner, what would we talk about? Past-life regression therapy? I don’t think so. All she would have been is a great story to tell your friends, and I’m not interested in that.”

“You’re not interested in a shag?”

“Not with someone I can’t even talk to.”

Simon frowns at Ben. “You know what? You’re weird, you are. Anyway, that stalking story was the business. Well done.” He claps Ben on the back. “I think, after that, we all need to go and get very drunk indeed. Sandy?” He walks over to the assistant, who’s still hovering in the room. “Do you have any suggestions for bars or restaurants where we could go tonight?”

“Surely. What kind of thing are you looking for?”

“Somewhere fun, somewhere laid back.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Santa Monica.”

“Why don’t you try Schatzi on Main? It’s Arnold Schwarzenegger’s restaurant and it’s really fun, and I hear the food’s great.”

“Great. Thanks.” And with that they thank her for her trouble and leave Alexia Aldridge’s house.

“I still don’t understand you,” says Simon, driving back to the hotel.

“What’s to understand? At first I thought she was gorgeous, but as soon as she started talking that drivel I went right off her.”

“Still.” Simon thinks for a minute. “She is supremely shaggable.”

“If you’re into that whole celebrity shagging bit.”

“Which I am.”

“In your dreams.”

“That’s about the only place,” Simon admits, as Ben laughs. “And tonight we’re going to get very drunk and try and shag some celebrities.”

“You mean
you
’re going to get very drunk and shag some celebrities.”

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“Yup. Female, though. Before you get worried I’m not interested in you.”

“Bloody glad to hear it.”

“How are you feeling now?” We just got back home after a heavy dose of retail therapy. For Lauren, that is. I, needless to say, couldn’t even afford a baseball cap at this precise moment in time, and, even though Lauren offered to buy me a sweater I fell in love with, I declined. She’s been far too good to me already.

“Lauren, will you stop asking me how I’m feeling every five minutes!”

“I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

“I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.”

“So you’re up for going out tonight?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay. You know where I thought might be fun? Schatzi on Main. It’s Arnold Schwarzenegger’s restaurant, and apparently it’s a good place for single women.”

“But you’ve got Bill.”

“Which still leaves you. And anyway, just because I slept with him last night.” She stops talking, closes her eyes and licks her lips. “Mmm, but just because of that it doesn’t mean I’m attached.”

“You mean you haven’t planned your wedding day yet?”

“No, but after all, tomorrow is another day.”

The crew have opted out of Schatzi on Main. “Too posh,” they moaned, when Simon told them where they were headed, so the cameraman and soundman have discovered an authentic British pub, and they’re jumping for joy at the prospect of authentic British ale.

Simon’s not happy. He doesn’t want to let his crew down, but on the other hand he goes to authentic British pubs every night of the week at home, and he just can’t see what the big deal is.

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“Don’t worry,” says Ben, when Simon knocks on his door to tell him they’re leaving. “We can always go to the other place later. I’m nearly ready,” he says. “I just have to make a phone call,” and he picks up the phone and leaves another message for Jemima.

“Who’s the bird?” asks Simon.

“You wouldn’t be interested,” says Ben with a smile. “She’s just an old friend who’s out here,” and as he puts down the phone he suddenly has a very clear picture of Jemima in his head, and he realizes just how much he wants to see her.

They leave the car behind and walk to the pub, and within minutes they’re hugging their pint glasses and sitting in a cluster around a chipped round oak table in the corner.

“This isn’t so bad,” says Ben, who’s beginning to like it here.

“It’s fine,” says Simon, who knows he doesn’t have a hope in hell of spotting any stars, let alone shagging them, in a place like this.

So, four men together, they sit and talk about Alexia Aldridge, and then fill in the rest of the time with TV gossip. They talk about Ben’s copresenter, fellow researchers, producers, even Diana Macpherson, and, although they tease Ben about the rumors, he keeps his mouth very firmly shut.

And every twenty minutes or so one of them gets up, goes to the bar, and gets another round for the boys.

At ten o’clock the cameraman starts yawning. “Bloody jet lag,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “I’m heading back.”

“How about it?” Simon asks Ben. “Still up for Schwarzenegger’s place?”

“I don’t think so,” says Ben, who’s caught the cameraman’s yawn. “I think I’m about ready for bed too.”

“Oh come on, Ben,” says Simon. “You can’t let me down now.”

“Okay,” says Ben reluctantly. “But just for a quick drink.”

It is a quick drink, because truth to be told Simon’s not feeling so hot either. They stand at the bar, unable to get bar stools, and have a quick whiskey.

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“God,” says Ben, looking round the room. “The women here are amazing.” Simon follows his glance as it rests on two women sitting in the corner of the room. Both have their heads down, deep in conversation, and then the blond, this gorgeous, tanned, smiling blond, throws back her head and laughs.

Funny, thinks Ben. I’m sure I’ve heard that laugh somewhere before. He shakes his head, trying to remember what’s so familiar about the laugh, but he doesn’t remember, and there’s no way he knows this woman. Unfortunately. He keeps glancing back at her anyway, because she is truly lovely, but she doesn’t look up at him, not once, far too immersed in the conversation with her friend. Probably got a boyfriend waiting at home, thinks Ben, because she is so obviously not there to pick up men.

“Right,” he says, finishing his drink. “Shall we make a move?”

I’m not as fine as I say I am, but I’m not that bad either. Amazing how spending some money, especially when you haven’t got it, can perk you up. And being with Lauren is fun, actually, it’s a hell of a lot more fun than being with Brad, and every time I think about the way he held me, the way he kissed me, I then have to think about how one-dimensional he actually was, how he never felt like a real person.

And tonight, sitting here at a corner table in the bar of Schatzi on Main, is perfect. Exactly what I needed. I know Lauren planned to get as drunk as we were the other night at the Pepper, but it’s turned out to be a far more mellow evening. Yes, we’ve had some stares, but I suppose two single women in a busy bar will always get attention, but no one’s bothered us, and it’s nice to just sit, have a few drinks and chill out, as they say.

And the more time I spend with Lauren, the more I like her. She’s so open, so warm, so loyal, and I honestly feel as if I’ve known her for years. She seems to understand exactly what I’m thinking, as if she picks up my mood before I’ve even
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opened my mouth, and she always seems to know exactly the right thing to say and do.

Take tonight, for example. Given her drunken debauchery the other night, I was worried she’d spend the night flirting, but to be honest she’s hardly looked at any of the men in here, and there have been some gorgeous ones. I know, I’m facing into the room. Not that I’m paying that much attention, I’m too busy laughing at her stories and telling her stories of my own.

But then the weirdest thing happens. I’ve just finished telling her about the Sophie story, the night of Ben’s farewell party and how Sophie pretended to be Ben’s girlfriend, when I look up and see two men, just walking out of the restaurant.

My heart completely stops because one of them, the taller of the two, looks exactly like Ben.

“What is it?” Lauren asks me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No, it can’t be.” I stand up and try and see him more clearly, but there are so many people, and by the time I manage to get a good viewpoint all I can see is his back disappearing through the door. Same build, same hair, but of course it’s not Ben. Ben’s busy being a television star at home. “It’s nothing,” I sigh, sitting down again and wishing with all my heart it
was
him. “I just thought I saw someone I knew, but I was wrong.”

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Ben Williams slept like a baby last night, and this morning he wakes up feeling fantastic. The only vague blot on his horizon is that Jemima hasn’t called him back. He knows he’s been remiss in their friendship, he knows he should have kept in touch, and, although part of him worries he’s got the wrong number, the other part worries that perhaps she hasn’t forgiven him for just walking out of her life.

But he’s not
that
worried, it just would be nice to see her, and he’s leaving tomorrow. He wonders whether to call again, but three phone calls, he decides, would be just a touch excessive.

So today is his free day in Los Angeles, and he knows what he should be doing, he should be doing something incredibly touristy like Disneyland or the Universal Studios tour, but when he asked at the front desk they said he’d definitely need a car to get there, and Simon’s taken the car to an edit suite, so he’s a bit stuck on his own.

This is ridiculous, he thinks, when he’s had his shower. He’s in the most glamorous city in the world and he doesn’t
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know what to do, so in the end he decides to go down to the beach.

The Rollerbladers are out in full force, and Ben wonders whether to hire blades and try it out for himself, but making a fool of yourself in Hyde Park on a Sunday morning when everyone else is also an amateur is one thing; making a fool of yourself in Los Angeles when everyone on skates looks as if they’ve been born on them is another. So he just walks along the beach, and goes down to the pier.

On the way back he walks past a bookstore, and, despite his bad luck the other day, something about this bookstore says it’s much more his kind of place, that there is likely to be decent fiction, and Ben walks in and within the first three minutes he has found two books
‌
—two first-time novels by young American writers that he cannot wait to get stuck into.

And, as he walks over to the desk and waits for the cashier to check his Visa card, he does a double-take. Surely not, it can’t be. . . . But of course, it is. The very same beautiful blond he saw last night, this time on her own, just leaving the bookstore. He almost wouldn’t have recognized her, but he saw her smile, and it’s a smile that, even after a brief glimpse last night, he can’t seem to get out of his head.

Hurry up, hurry up, come on, come on, he thinks, as the cashier dawdles behind the desk. Ben looks impatiently at her, then back at the blond, who’s stopped just by the door to pick up a book on display. This is fate, he thinks. Of all the bookstores in all of Los Angeles she has to be in this one. And more to the point, a bookstore! She likes books! She could be brainy as well as beautiful! He looks up again. She’s gone.

Ben grabs his books, grabs his card, and runs out the door. There she is, those gorgeous thighs striding along the street. He dodges the people meandering along, just in time to see her climb into a car, and in a way it’s probably not a bad thing because why is he following her so frantically, what would he say to her if he stopped her, caught her? Damn, he curses. That’s it. I’m never going to see her again.

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“Thanks for lending me your car,” I shout, tossing the car keys on the table in the living room.

“No problem. Did you get what you wanted?”

“I just went browsing in the bookstore, bought a couple of new novels.”

“Hey, JJ?”

“Yup?” I walk into
[“into”]
Lauren’s bedroom and sit on the bed as Lauren tries on the new outfits she bought yesterday.

“Remember that scarf you were wearing when I first met you?” Her voice has a pleading tone in it already.

“Which one? The green silk one?”

“Yes . . .” Lauren whines hopefully.

“You want to borrow it tonight?”

“Yes . . .” Another whine, with a cheeky smile.

“Okay, but guard it with your life, it’s one of my favorite possessions. I suppose you want me to get it for you now so you can see what it looks like?”

“Would you mind?”