Drinks. Drugs. Women. God knows what else.
‘It’s probably a turn-on for him when he doesn’t have to pay for it.’ Mara grabs her phone back.
‘I’m sure he never has to pay for it.’
She ignores me. ‘The press are loving it. Typical. Your beautiful film premiers with the performance of a lifetime, and all the papers want to talk about is whether you and Josh Lander went home and had sex.’
‘Oh myGod.’ I sit up straight. ‘They inferred that from a dance?’
‘ThePostcalled you a “mystery starlet.” Mystery starlet my arse. These people are such fucking philistines. Well, that’llcome back to bite them on the arse. You’re about to become one of the biggest faces in the industry.’
‘What should I do? About…’ I gesture ineffectually.
‘Lap dance-gate? Ride it out. It’s amazing publicity—once the tabloids figure out who the fuck you are. Fuck’s sake. But no, babe, this is fantastic. I couldn’t have plotted it better myself.’
‘Please tell me you didn’t set this up.’ I wouldn’t put anything past Mara.
Her lips curve into a smile, and once again I wish I was as sexy and streetwise as her. Not in this lifetime.
‘I’m not that smart. Wish I was. Oh, holy fucking shit.’
‘What now?’ My stomach sinks.
‘Oh, it’s good.’ She holds out her phone screen for me to see. ‘Josh Lander just retweeted the video.’
I lean in and squint to read the tweet in the glare of the morning light. Josh (I’m calling him Josh in the same way that I would refer to Brad Pitt as Brad, because he’s so obscenely famous that he’s the only Josh that matters, not because I dare to presume to have any claim on him, despite lap dance-gate) has retweeted a tweet from gossip king Perez Hilton. Perez’s tasteful caption is@joshlander is having a good evening.How rude!
But it’s Josh’s response that gets me. He’s captioned the retweet with two words.
Busted, dude.
‘He must have been hammeredwhen he wrote it.’ Honor Chapman brandishes a glass of champagne as she perches on my sofa. ‘Hammered or high as a kite. You know what they say about him.’
Honor runs a cosmetics brand called, intuitively enough, Honor Chapman Cosmetics. She took a chance on me after my first film, in which I had a tiny part, and I’m now formally an ambassador for the brand. More specifically, I’m her newest ‘face’.
She also happens to be one half of a couple so famous that I’m completely in awe. Her husband, Jackson James, is a massive British action movie star, so Honor’s at the Film Festival with a variety of hats on. She’s in my suite this evening ostensibly to oversee the work of her talented Head Makeup Artist, Lucinda, but I suspect she’s come mainly for the gossip.
I’m fine with that. It’s comforting to have her here; she’s so kind and so well-versed in the machinations of this weird world I’m entering. She and Astrid Carmichael, her great friend, have taken me under their wing.
Astrid is a high-end fashion designer with a brand that epitomises upper-class British living. Like her brand, she’s classy and elegant. And, like Honor, she’s warm and generous with her time and advice. She started dressing me for events as soon as Honor introduced us, and this week I’m proudly flying the flag for the British fashion industry in not one but three Astrid Carmichael dresses. One for my premiere last night, one for the amfAR Gala tonight and one for the Closing Ceremony next Saturday, when I’ll know my fate.
‘Do you know Josh Lander personally?’ I speak through the side of my mouth, trying not to move my head as Lucinda ministers to my brows.
‘I think you’re probably on first-name terms with him now, darling, seeing as you gave the guy an erection,’ Astrid quips.
I let out a groan. ‘Please. Don’t even. I can’t believe he wroteBusted.Do you really think he’s a druggie?’
‘To answer your questions in order, yes, I’ve met him a fewtimes with Jackson, and yes, I’ve heard some chatter about substance abuse. But honestly, that’s equally true for most people in Hollywood. Everyone’s either permanently high or in NA, as far as I can tell.’
‘NA?’
‘God, you’re innocent. Bless you. Narcotics Anonymous.’
‘Oh.’ I make a mental note never, ever to live in Hollywood. It sounds like quite a messed-up place. And I’m not about to make any assumptions about a guy I don’t know beyond what I’ve gleaned as a lifelongDaily Mailreader, but Honor’s comments are another reminder that I’m out of my depth here. I should just chalk this tabloid coverage of last night’s antics with Josh Lander up to some fun memories of a very Cannes night.
CHAPTER 3
Josh
