Emily surgically attached herself to the phone and began a ringathon: that night we were having another party, a proper party, and this time we really had something to celebrate.
Meanwhile, the good news was criss-crossing amongst her friends, and those that hadn’t already spoken to her were ringing in, so call waiting was doing overtime. ‘Hold on a minute, the other line is going,’ I kept hearing.
And one of those call waitings was Shay Delaney. I knew immediately: the air molecules around Emily seemed to rearrange themselves into a guilt-filled configuration. What a terrible pity he hadn’t rung the previous night and left a message, because I could have wiped it and Emily would never have known. And what an even worse pity that I’d never have the guts to do something like that.
When the telephone frenzy had played itself out, Emily approached me as I sought out a clean T-shirt in my suitcase.
‘I invited Shay Delaney to come tonight,’ she said apologetically. ‘In the heat of the moment, it just slipped out. Do you mind?’
‘Bit late if I do,’ I said briskly, continuing to rummage in my suitcase.
‘I could uninvite him.’ As if.
‘I’ll do it right now.’
‘No, it’s OK.’ Tonight was Emily’s long-awaited celebration, I had no right to spoil it. And Shay Delaney was ancient history.
Emily decided the party should be catered. I was doubtful – my only experience of caterers was of acquiring dozens of sample menus, taking six weeks to deliberate over them, then finally deciding it would be cheaper to pay my mother to make ham sandwiches and apple tarts. But in Los Angeles, you just pick up the phone and say, ‘I want Vietnamese finger food, miniature pastries and pink champagne for forty.’ And four hours later, three buffed out-of-work actors are efficiently transforming your house into a white-clothed, crystal-glinting venue, bursting at the seams with Vietnamese finger food, miniature pastries and pink champagne. As smooth and speedy as Formula One engineers changing a tyre, they were, and the moment the last champagne glass was placed in the triangular configuration and the last sprig of coriander placed on the pile of glass noodle spring rolls, they were on their way again.
‘Off to save someone else’s party?’ Emily asked.
‘You got it.’
‘Well, thank you Super Caterers, how can we ever repay you?’
‘Just doin’ our job, ma’am.’
‘And the invoice is in the mail.’
‘And we know where you live.’
‘We’ll be back for the glasses and stuff in the morning. Enjoy!’
Once they’d gone, Emily decided we’d try the pink champagne. ‘Just to make sure it isn’t poisonous.’
We clinked glasses and Emily said, ‘I couldn’t have done it without you. To my lovely assistant, Maggie.’
‘To a brilliant script!’ I said gallantly.
‘To Larry Savage!’
‘To Chip the dog!’
‘To a cast of orang-utans!’
In the dreamy, happy silence that followed, I heard myself ask, ‘Does he know I’m staying with you?’
‘Who?’
‘Shay Delaney.’
‘No. Well, I never mentioned it.’
Just like that, my bubble burst and I was at the mercy of all the stupid feelings you get when someone was once your sole preserve but now you’re out in the cold, excluded and irrelevant.
And speaking of excluded and irrelevant, ‘Is Troy coming tonight?’
‘Yeah.’ Emily looked uncomfortable. ‘I know you don’t want to see him, but he’s been my friend for a long time and he’s helped me so much with the script. I couldn’t not invite him.’
I saw her point, but this put paid to my hope that Troy would have the decency to steer clear of me for the rest of my stay and thereby spare me any further mortification. It stung that I wasn’t even worthy of being avoided!
‘Well, if Troy’s coming,’ I said, whipping off my ‘Boys are Mean’ T-shirt, ‘I’d better find something else to wear.’
‘Why?’
‘In the words of the song: He’s so vain, I bet he’ll think this T-shirt’s about him.’
Shortly after seven, people started arriving. Justin and Desiree were the first to show up. Next, bearing a bottle of champagne, came Lou the commitmentphobe, who was swarthy, sexy and extremely pleasant. When I whispered to Emily how nice he seemed, she replied, ‘Oh, these guys are clever, I’m not saying they’re not.’
Then I saw Troy’s jeep parking across the road, and to my shame I immediately began wishing for the best: that he might take me to one side and whisper an apology about how he’d been too busy to ring me – even though I knew for a fact it wouldn’t happen.
And how right I was! As he alighted from his car, I got a pain in my stomach when I saw that he was accessorized by Kirsty. Then they were crossing the road and coming through the door. Before I had time to wonder how he’d behave, he was walking straight over to me. My heart constricted with hope… then he was planting a brotherly kiss on my cheek and saying, real goofy and friendly like, with none of the innuendo I’d come to expect, ‘So Irish, you were the one driving the getaway car!’
‘What?’ I asked shrewishly. Funny that, I’d meant to sound calm and cool.
‘You saved the day on Monday, right? Driving Emily across town to Empire. Even offered to do the pitch, yeah? If it hadn’t been for you, well, who knows… Oh, thanks,’ he took a drink from Justin. ‘Hey guys, how about we raise our glasses to Irish?’
Justin and Lou obediently raised their glasses with Troy and chorused, ‘To Irish!’
Interestingly enough, mind, Kirsty’s glass of low-fat water didn’t budge and her lips remained zipped.
‘Hey, we haven’t met – I’m Troy, Emily’s friend.’ Troy thrust his hand at Lou by way of introduction.
‘Lou,’ Lou replied evenly. ‘Emily’s boyfriend.’
‘Oh,’ Troy said. ‘Yeah, right.’ He was looking at Lou and Lou was looking at him – what I recognized as an Alpha-male moment. If they’d been lions they’d have been circling each other, sizing up their respective strengths.
‘So where is she?’ Troy looked around for Emily.
‘Here!’ she called, emerging from her bedroom.
Meanwhile, the good news was criss-crossing amongst her friends, and those that hadn’t already spoken to her were ringing in, so call waiting was doing overtime. ‘Hold on a minute, the other line is going,’ I kept hearing.
And one of those call waitings was Shay Delaney. I knew immediately: the air molecules around Emily seemed to rearrange themselves into a guilt-filled configuration. What a terrible pity he hadn’t rung the previous night and left a message, because I could have wiped it and Emily would never have known. And what an even worse pity that I’d never have the guts to do something like that.
When the telephone frenzy had played itself out, Emily approached me as I sought out a clean T-shirt in my suitcase.
‘I invited Shay Delaney to come tonight,’ she said apologetically. ‘In the heat of the moment, it just slipped out. Do you mind?’
‘Bit late if I do,’ I said briskly, continuing to rummage in my suitcase.
‘I could uninvite him.’ As if.
‘I’ll do it right now.’
‘No, it’s OK.’ Tonight was Emily’s long-awaited celebration, I had no right to spoil it. And Shay Delaney was ancient history.
Emily decided the party should be catered. I was doubtful – my only experience of caterers was of acquiring dozens of sample menus, taking six weeks to deliberate over them, then finally deciding it would be cheaper to pay my mother to make ham sandwiches and apple tarts. But in Los Angeles, you just pick up the phone and say, ‘I want Vietnamese finger food, miniature pastries and pink champagne for forty.’ And four hours later, three buffed out-of-work actors are efficiently transforming your house into a white-clothed, crystal-glinting venue, bursting at the seams with Vietnamese finger food, miniature pastries and pink champagne. As smooth and speedy as Formula One engineers changing a tyre, they were, and the moment the last champagne glass was placed in the triangular configuration and the last sprig of coriander placed on the pile of glass noodle spring rolls, they were on their way again.
‘Off to save someone else’s party?’ Emily asked.
‘You got it.’
‘Well, thank you Super Caterers, how can we ever repay you?’
‘Just doin’ our job, ma’am.’
‘And the invoice is in the mail.’
‘And we know where you live.’
‘We’ll be back for the glasses and stuff in the morning. Enjoy!’
Once they’d gone, Emily decided we’d try the pink champagne. ‘Just to make sure it isn’t poisonous.’
We clinked glasses and Emily said, ‘I couldn’t have done it without you. To my lovely assistant, Maggie.’
‘To a brilliant script!’ I said gallantly.
‘To Larry Savage!’
‘To Chip the dog!’
‘To a cast of orang-utans!’
In the dreamy, happy silence that followed, I heard myself ask, ‘Does he know I’m staying with you?’
‘Who?’
‘Shay Delaney.’
‘No. Well, I never mentioned it.’
Just like that, my bubble burst and I was at the mercy of all the stupid feelings you get when someone was once your sole preserve but now you’re out in the cold, excluded and irrelevant.
And speaking of excluded and irrelevant, ‘Is Troy coming tonight?’
‘Yeah.’ Emily looked uncomfortable. ‘I know you don’t want to see him, but he’s been my friend for a long time and he’s helped me so much with the script. I couldn’t not invite him.’
I saw her point, but this put paid to my hope that Troy would have the decency to steer clear of me for the rest of my stay and thereby spare me any further mortification. It stung that I wasn’t even worthy of being avoided!
‘Well, if Troy’s coming,’ I said, whipping off my ‘Boys are Mean’ T-shirt, ‘I’d better find something else to wear.’
‘Why?’
‘In the words of the song: He’s so vain, I bet he’ll think this T-shirt’s about him.’
Shortly after seven, people started arriving. Justin and Desiree were the first to show up. Next, bearing a bottle of champagne, came Lou the commitmentphobe, who was swarthy, sexy and extremely pleasant. When I whispered to Emily how nice he seemed, she replied, ‘Oh, these guys are clever, I’m not saying they’re not.’
Then I saw Troy’s jeep parking across the road, and to my shame I immediately began wishing for the best: that he might take me to one side and whisper an apology about how he’d been too busy to ring me – even though I knew for a fact it wouldn’t happen.
And how right I was! As he alighted from his car, I got a pain in my stomach when I saw that he was accessorized by Kirsty. Then they were crossing the road and coming through the door. Before I had time to wonder how he’d behave, he was walking straight over to me. My heart constricted with hope… then he was planting a brotherly kiss on my cheek and saying, real goofy and friendly like, with none of the innuendo I’d come to expect, ‘So Irish, you were the one driving the getaway car!’
‘What?’ I asked shrewishly. Funny that, I’d meant to sound calm and cool.
‘You saved the day on Monday, right? Driving Emily across town to Empire. Even offered to do the pitch, yeah? If it hadn’t been for you, well, who knows… Oh, thanks,’ he took a drink from Justin. ‘Hey guys, how about we raise our glasses to Irish?’
Justin and Lou obediently raised their glasses with Troy and chorused, ‘To Irish!’
Interestingly enough, mind, Kirsty’s glass of low-fat water didn’t budge and her lips remained zipped.
‘Hey, we haven’t met – I’m Troy, Emily’s friend.’ Troy thrust his hand at Lou by way of introduction.
‘Lou,’ Lou replied evenly. ‘Emily’s boyfriend.’
‘Oh,’ Troy said. ‘Yeah, right.’ He was looking at Lou and Lou was looking at him – what I recognized as an Alpha-male moment. If they’d been lions they’d have been circling each other, sizing up their respective strengths.
‘So where is she?’ Troy looked around for Emily.
‘Here!’ she called, emerging from her bedroom.
