“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.
“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.
“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 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.”
Chapter 30
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 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.
“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 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?”
I open my suitcase and dig through the pile of clothes. It’s not there. I open the drawer I’m using for my underwear. It’s not there. I look in the bathroom, the bedroom, and the kitchen. I look under the sofa, over the sofa, and behind the sofa. It’s not there.
“Oh shit.” With a sinking feeling, I realize I know exactly where it is. It’s hanging behind Brad’s bedroom door.
“Have you lost it?” Lauren walks in from the bedroom.
“No. The bloody thing’s at Brad’s.”
“Don’t worry.” Lauren’s face falls. “I don’t really need it.”
“Never mind about you! That’s my favorite scarf.”
“Do you want me to call him?”
“Oh my God, you’re such an angel. Would you?”
Even knowing that Lauren’s going to be talking to him makes me feel slightly sick, and as I watch her walking over to the phone I start shaking. She has a brief cool conversation with him in which he says he does have the scarf and he’ll leave it at the gym for her. I hear her say, “Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh. Okay. I’ll tell her. Bye.”
“What did he say? What did he say?”
Lauren has a huge smile on her face. “Jemima Jones, this must be your lucky day.”
“Why?” I’m still shaking.
“You’ve had a message, you’ve had a message,” Lauren starts singing, getting up and dancing round the living room in time with her odd little tune.
“Who from?”
Lauren stops and pauses for dramatic effect before announcing in her best Johnny Carson impersonation, “From . . . Ben WILLIAMS.”
My mouth drops open.
“And not just that. HE’S IN LOS ANGELES! And not just that, HE’S AT SHUTTERS ON THE BEACH!”
“I knew it,” I scream. “I bloody knew it. I’d know that haircut and that back anywhere. He’s here. He’s round the corner. Give me that phone. NOW!”
The shakes, if anything, have got worse, but Ben’s here! My Ben! My love! I wait for the hotel to put me through, praying that he’s still there, that he won’t have gone back home, because I have never wanted anything more in my life than I want to see Ben Williams right this second.
And the phone rings, and rings, and rings. And just as I’m about to give up hope the receiver’s picked up and a breathless voice, a voice I used to know as well as my own, says, “Hello?”
I swallow, feeling my heart pounding, wondering why I’m so out of breath when I haven’t been anywhere, and I try to speak slowly, calmly.
“Ben? It’s Jemima.”
“Jemima! You’re still here!” And is it my imagination or does he truly sound delighted to hear from me?
“I can’t believe you’re here!” I say, for want of something better.
“I can’t believe I haven’t spoken to you for so long,” he says, for want of something better.
And then we both start talking at once, I’m so excited, he’s here! He’s here! He’s round the corner.
“What are you doing here?” we both say in unison, before stopping and laughing.
“I’m not telling you on the phone,” says Ben. “Look, are you around this afternoon?”
“Yes.” I’m around for you anytime, Ben.
“How about meeting up?”
“I’d love to.”
“How about meeting up now? We could spend the rest of the day together.”
“I’d love to.”
“Where shall we meet?”
I think for a minute, then suggest a café round the corner from his hotel. “See you there in fifteen minutes?” I say.
“Done.”
Oh my God, I’m whirling round Lauren’s tiny apartment like a dervish. What to wear, what to wear? I pull on some skintight black trousers, a crisp white linen shirt, and a pair of white sneakers. I loop a crocodile belt around my waist and tip my head upside down to give my hair that sexy, tousled, just-got-out-of-bed look.
“I’m seeing Ben!” I keep shrieking to Lauren, who seems to have caught my enthusiasm, and at this very second is bouncing up and down on the bed and clapping her hands.
“Has he seen you like this?” Lauren suddenly says, while I apply the finishing touches of lipstick.
“Like what?”
“Thin.”
No. Oh God. He has no idea. I’m so nervous, what will he think, what will he say? I just shake my head.
“He’ll be speechless,” she laughs. “I’ll drop you off. Come on. You’ll be fine. Remember, it’s only Ben, he’s your friend.”
“Exactly. It’s Ben!”
We jump in the car and Lauren puts her foot down, and three minutes later I climb out of the car, seriously worried that the butterflies in my stomach are making me feel nearly as sick as my binge the other night.
Ben’s not there. I sit at a corner table for a while and look at my watch, putting my sunglasses on to hide the nerves, to stop Ben seeing right through to the churning emotions inside, and eventually, after I’m bored of sitting with nothing to do, I walk over to the counter to order a cappuccino. I’m standing there as I hear the creak of the door opening and I turn my head slowly to see who it is and it’s him. It’s Ben. And my heart turns over.
Is it possible that Ben has got better looking? That television has groomed him, given him an air of confidence that he was missing before? For one tiny moment at Lauren’s flat I thought that perhaps, once I’d actually seen him in the flesh, perhaps I wouldn’t feel the same way, perhaps I’d just look at him, admit he’s good-looking but not have it affect me, but no, no, no. I feel exactly the same way as I did six months ago, and all of a sudden I know I’m going to act
like a lovestruck teenager. I’m not going to know what to say, how to be.
And I can’t go over to say hello, my feet are rooted to the spot, so I just watch Ben looking round the café, ignoring the guy behind the counter who’s trying to hand me my cappuccino, which I can’t take because I can’t bloody move!
And then finally, finally, Ben sees me, and when he does he starts to smile.
He knows me, he’s recognized me! I start to walk towards him, the sunglasses still shielding my eyes, not breaking his gaze for a second, and I forget everything around me except for Ben, my love. Then suddenly he’s standing right in front of me and we’re both smiling. I don’t say anything. I don’t have to.
“I never usually do this,” says Ben, as confusion crosses my face. “But I saw you last night in Schatzi on Main, and again today in the bookstore. I’m meeting a friend here in a few minutes, but I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever seen.”
Is this a joke? What is he talking about? What’s going on?
Ben blushes. “I’m really sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” and with a shrug and a smile he turns away and sits at the table I was going to sit at, and I don’t know what to do, how to tell him it’s me.
“Excuse me? Excuse me? Your cappuccino?” The words float over my head, and I know that I can’t go over there, not after what he’s just said, I can’t just say, actually it’s me, Jemima Jones, and as soon as I realize this I also know that I have to leave, except my legs are still shaking, and Ben’s buried his head in a newspaper and I have to leave.
And eventually, on autopilot, I walk slowly out the door and go home.
“What happened?” Lauren asks. “What are you doing back here?” And I tell her.
“Go back, you’ve got to go back there.”
“I can’t,” I moan. “What would I say?”
“Are you completely nuts?” Lauren’s shaking her head in disbelief. “The man you were completely in love with, you’re still completely in love with, has just told you he thinks you’re the most amazing woman he’s ever seen and you didn’t have the balls to tell him it was you? This is unreal. Get your ass back there.”