Angels
Page 56
I related the story, while Emily did her usual stunt with the make-up and hair slides and stuff. I ended up wearing the same black dress I’d worn to Dan Gonzalez’s bash – I’d nothing else – but Emily did something to me with a chiffon neck-scarf and said my look was ‘very Halston’. Then came the moment of truth: we finally removed the tights from my head – and my fringe was as flat as Holland. I owed those boys.
At half-seven, as Emily clacked out the door, a fragrant, glittery vision, she paused and turned back to me. ‘Just in case you were thinking… about Troy. A word of advice. Human Teflon.’
‘That’s two words.’
‘Wonderful to have around, but… he’s non-stick. Enjoy yourself, but don’t expect anything. Promise?’
I promised, then promptly forgot about it. I had to take my enjoyment where I could find it.
22
The Freeman was new, the most glamorous hotel in a town crammed with glamorous hotels. We could hardly get into the noisy lobby, so jammers was it with people meeting for drinks, waiting for dinner and tripping over sculptures. Everyone was astonishingly good-looking – and most of them were staff. It took a long time to get anyone’s attention – like Troy muttered, they hadn’t been hired for their ability – but eventually we were directed to a special elevator, which was policed by two bouncers who frisked us for cameras and tape-recorders.
The elevator shot us straight to the top floor, playing havoc with my already swoopy stomach. And when the lift doors opened, straight into the penthouse, I nearly got snowblindness. It was all white. White walls, white carpet, white tables and huge, white-leather sofas. I got a fright to see a disembodied blonde head floating in mid-air above one of the couches –then I realized it was just a girl whose white-leather catsuit had merged in with the white leather of the couch.
Troy and I stepped reticently from the lift and exchanged a nervous smile. ‘Where’s Cameron?’ he murmured.
I looked around: there were only about a dozen people there, but never had I seen such a condensed distillation of gorgeousness. It was like walking into an episode of Beverly Hills 90210 – girls displaying lots of bare, tanned, toned flesh and boys with square teeth and noticeably well-cut hair, all laughing and holding Martini glasses. What on earth am I doing here?
This impression intensified when my sweep across the room landed on Cameron Myers. And I have to say that, despite my excitement-facility not operating at full capacity, I did go a bit dizzy and starstruck, as though a plane had flown just two inches over my head. He was on his knees in front of a plain white hole in the wall, a very modern fireplace.
‘Hey!’ He scrambled to his feet when he saw Troy – and I must admit he did look much shorter and dinkier than he does on screen. ‘You came!’
‘Happy birthday, man. Thanks for inviting us. This is Maggie.’
‘Hello.’
I was almost on a level with Cameron Myers’ perfect symmetrical face, with the white-blond hair, the blue, blue eyes, and the tight, evenly tanned skin. He was nearly as familiar to me as one of my family, and yet…
Wait till I tell them back home. They’ll never believe me.
I realized I was staring, so I shoved four orange orchids at him. ‘These are for you.’
He seemed genuinely touched. ‘You brought me flowers!’
‘But it’s your birthday.’ I gestured at the room. ‘I’m sorry they’re not white.’
He laughed a sweet laugh and I had the urge to pick him up under my arm, start sprinting and not stop until I had him safely locked in a cage. He was so cute, like a puppy.
‘There’s frosty drinks in the kitchen. Help yourselves.’
‘I’ll get them,’ Troy said, and headed off across the room, leaving me alone with Cameron Myers.
‘Hey, do you know how to do this?’ He gestured helplessly at the instant-fire packets at his feet.
‘Er… yes, it’s easy.’
‘I love a real fire. It’s kinda homey. Will you help me?’
What could I say? It was July. It was Los Angeles. It was eighty degrees out there. But he was Cameron Myers and he wanted a fire.
‘OK.’
Once the fire was crackling brightly and Cameron had rung down for marshmallows, Troy handed me a Martini, murmured, ‘How about this place,’ and took me on a walkabout. It was huge. The ‘reception room’ (as they say) must have been sixty foot long, and there were three enormous bedrooms, so full of dazzling white cotton it hurt to look at them. There was a kitchen, an office, countless bathrooms – even, would you believe, a screening room. All around were dotted soft, white, cashmere throws, white, suede cushions, white porcelain vases. Maybe it was good Emily hadn’t come. She might have been tempted to start nicking stuff.
‘Who are all the other people here?’ I whispered. ‘Any of them famous?’
‘Don’t think so. Wannabes, Maws –’
‘Maws?’
‘Model-actress-whatevers. Another word is “mattresses” –models-actors-waitresses. Now, get a load of this!’ He opened a door on to a roof garden. ‘Wow.’
We stepped out into the sultry night – far hotter than in the air-conditioned rooms – the air dense and musky with the smell of flowers. There was a hot-tub, steaming into the night. But most impressive was the astonishing view.
‘No smog tonight,’ Troy observed, as we leaned over the balcony, staring, awestruck. Far below us were pristine Spanish-style homes, neatly parked cars, the springy tops of palm trees and the jewel-bright turquoise of underlit swimming pools. The pools were like stars – at first I only noticed one, then another, then suddenly, popping up out of nowhere, there were too many to count. They dotted away randomly into the distance, until they became too small to see. Beyond the nearby streets, the megalopolis of Los Angeles was laid out like a grid of Christmas lights, a city of the future which stretched for miles until it blurred into a horizon of electric colour.
The odd thing was that I couldn’t see a single human being. But they were out there – countless hopefuls caught on the grid, like so many flies in an endless spiderweb. Infinitesimally, I felt the collective weight of all the dreams on that net of light: the beautiful girls waiting tables, while waiting for their one big break; the would-be actors, writers and directors who’d poured into this reclaimed desert from the four corners of the globe; hundreds of thousands of individuals hoping that they’d be one of the pitifully few who made it. Such longing, such dogged determination: I imagined I could nearly see it, rising into the night sky like steam.
At half-seven, as Emily clacked out the door, a fragrant, glittery vision, she paused and turned back to me. ‘Just in case you were thinking… about Troy. A word of advice. Human Teflon.’
‘That’s two words.’
‘Wonderful to have around, but… he’s non-stick. Enjoy yourself, but don’t expect anything. Promise?’
I promised, then promptly forgot about it. I had to take my enjoyment where I could find it.
22
The Freeman was new, the most glamorous hotel in a town crammed with glamorous hotels. We could hardly get into the noisy lobby, so jammers was it with people meeting for drinks, waiting for dinner and tripping over sculptures. Everyone was astonishingly good-looking – and most of them were staff. It took a long time to get anyone’s attention – like Troy muttered, they hadn’t been hired for their ability – but eventually we were directed to a special elevator, which was policed by two bouncers who frisked us for cameras and tape-recorders.
The elevator shot us straight to the top floor, playing havoc with my already swoopy stomach. And when the lift doors opened, straight into the penthouse, I nearly got snowblindness. It was all white. White walls, white carpet, white tables and huge, white-leather sofas. I got a fright to see a disembodied blonde head floating in mid-air above one of the couches –then I realized it was just a girl whose white-leather catsuit had merged in with the white leather of the couch.
Troy and I stepped reticently from the lift and exchanged a nervous smile. ‘Where’s Cameron?’ he murmured.
I looked around: there were only about a dozen people there, but never had I seen such a condensed distillation of gorgeousness. It was like walking into an episode of Beverly Hills 90210 – girls displaying lots of bare, tanned, toned flesh and boys with square teeth and noticeably well-cut hair, all laughing and holding Martini glasses. What on earth am I doing here?
This impression intensified when my sweep across the room landed on Cameron Myers. And I have to say that, despite my excitement-facility not operating at full capacity, I did go a bit dizzy and starstruck, as though a plane had flown just two inches over my head. He was on his knees in front of a plain white hole in the wall, a very modern fireplace.
‘Hey!’ He scrambled to his feet when he saw Troy – and I must admit he did look much shorter and dinkier than he does on screen. ‘You came!’
‘Happy birthday, man. Thanks for inviting us. This is Maggie.’
‘Hello.’
I was almost on a level with Cameron Myers’ perfect symmetrical face, with the white-blond hair, the blue, blue eyes, and the tight, evenly tanned skin. He was nearly as familiar to me as one of my family, and yet…
Wait till I tell them back home. They’ll never believe me.
I realized I was staring, so I shoved four orange orchids at him. ‘These are for you.’
He seemed genuinely touched. ‘You brought me flowers!’
‘But it’s your birthday.’ I gestured at the room. ‘I’m sorry they’re not white.’
He laughed a sweet laugh and I had the urge to pick him up under my arm, start sprinting and not stop until I had him safely locked in a cage. He was so cute, like a puppy.
‘There’s frosty drinks in the kitchen. Help yourselves.’
‘I’ll get them,’ Troy said, and headed off across the room, leaving me alone with Cameron Myers.
‘Hey, do you know how to do this?’ He gestured helplessly at the instant-fire packets at his feet.
‘Er… yes, it’s easy.’
‘I love a real fire. It’s kinda homey. Will you help me?’
What could I say? It was July. It was Los Angeles. It was eighty degrees out there. But he was Cameron Myers and he wanted a fire.
‘OK.’
Once the fire was crackling brightly and Cameron had rung down for marshmallows, Troy handed me a Martini, murmured, ‘How about this place,’ and took me on a walkabout. It was huge. The ‘reception room’ (as they say) must have been sixty foot long, and there were three enormous bedrooms, so full of dazzling white cotton it hurt to look at them. There was a kitchen, an office, countless bathrooms – even, would you believe, a screening room. All around were dotted soft, white, cashmere throws, white, suede cushions, white porcelain vases. Maybe it was good Emily hadn’t come. She might have been tempted to start nicking stuff.
‘Who are all the other people here?’ I whispered. ‘Any of them famous?’
‘Don’t think so. Wannabes, Maws –’
‘Maws?’
‘Model-actress-whatevers. Another word is “mattresses” –models-actors-waitresses. Now, get a load of this!’ He opened a door on to a roof garden. ‘Wow.’
We stepped out into the sultry night – far hotter than in the air-conditioned rooms – the air dense and musky with the smell of flowers. There was a hot-tub, steaming into the night. But most impressive was the astonishing view.
‘No smog tonight,’ Troy observed, as we leaned over the balcony, staring, awestruck. Far below us were pristine Spanish-style homes, neatly parked cars, the springy tops of palm trees and the jewel-bright turquoise of underlit swimming pools. The pools were like stars – at first I only noticed one, then another, then suddenly, popping up out of nowhere, there were too many to count. They dotted away randomly into the distance, until they became too small to see. Beyond the nearby streets, the megalopolis of Los Angeles was laid out like a grid of Christmas lights, a city of the future which stretched for miles until it blurred into a horizon of electric colour.
The odd thing was that I couldn’t see a single human being. But they were out there – countless hopefuls caught on the grid, like so many flies in an endless spiderweb. Infinitesimally, I felt the collective weight of all the dreams on that net of light: the beautiful girls waiting tables, while waiting for their one big break; the would-be actors, writers and directors who’d poured into this reclaimed desert from the four corners of the globe; hundreds of thousands of individuals hoping that they’d be one of the pitifully few who made it. Such longing, such dogged determination: I imagined I could nearly see it, rising into the night sky like steam.
