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over Amy s accusation, kind of like how I always feel like I ve stolen
something whenever I see a sign in a store that says they prosecute
shoplifters. And being right while feeling guilty is never a good com-
bination for me.
If you d like to avoid these types of exchanges in the future, I d
advise you to tell your clients to be honest when they re being inter-
viewed, and not pass on the phone numbers of friends they re not
comfortable with speaking on their behalf, I say.
Excuse me? Amy says after a hostile pause. Are you trying to
tell me how to do my job?
The fact that she s getting snippy with me, rather than apologizing
for accusing me of making mistakes when I hadn t, pisses me off even
more.
It seems like in this case, you need to be told, I snap back.
Jesus Christ, she says, and just as my blood starts pumping for a
real knock-down-drag-out fight, she slams the phone down and I m
left hanging. I m always so surprised when I get hung up on that I m
usually still holding the phone by like the fifth time that computerized
female voice informs me that if I d like to make a call, I should hang
up and try again. I m tempted to devil-dial Amy right back to yell at
her for hanging up on me but part of me knows I ve just done some-
thing terribly wrong.
Everyone who does celebrity journalism knows that personal pub-
licists in Hollywood are insane, and that the important thing is to act
like they re not. Brian told me this on my second day at work, after a
publicist called and yelled at me for telling him that the Jim Carrey
write-around story I was doing was a cover story, even though I d
never said any such thing. Would you let a crazy woman yelling at you on
the bus make you cry? Brian asked at the time, and I shook my head,
even though this fictional crazy woman probably would make me cry
76 A N N A D A V I D
and anyone who has to ride the bus in L.A. should surely be continu-
ously crying anyway. Tears start to stream out of my eyes, which I don t
really understand, seeing as I m the one who won this fight.
I decide to pull it together and not go running to Brian and tell
him about what a crazy bitch Amy was to me. So I spend the rest of my
time at the office that day blasting Kane s and Linda Lewis s music
from my computer CD player and thinking about how it s a shame
that Amy Baker doesn t understand how important I am that I hang
out with important British magazine editors and am invited into the
homes of extremely famous musicians, even when they ve already de-
nied the magazine that right.
Kane has one of those video camera doorbell things that everyone
who makes more than half a million dollars a year in L.A. has, where
you look into this black box which surely distorts your face com-
pletely, like a rearview mirror and the person decides whether or not
to let you in. I m a potential appetizer being displayed before actually being
served, I think as I smile self-consciously into the camera.
Hello, there! Kane s exceedingly recognizable voice booms as
he buzzes the door. I push it open and see Kane standing on a porch at
the top of a flight of white stairs overlooking a tree-filled garden. A
man sits strumming or maybe tuning a guitar on the couch on the
porch and Kane casually introduces me as I walk up the stairs.
Greg, Amelia. Amelia, Greg. Greg gives me a simultaneous nod
and smile, managing to wordlessly communicate the fact that he
thinks I m Kane s plaything for the night and thus not worth shaking
hands with, or even acknowledging for more than about half a second.
The fact that Kane doesn t introduce me as Amelia from Absolutely
Fabulous is also duly noted. Whether Greg is an assistant, guitar
tuner, band mate, or roommate is likewise not addressed.
Would you like tea? Kane asks as he leads me into his gadget-
filled kitchen. He opens a drawer that seems to contain every type of
tea known to man, and even some that probably aren t. People from
England are way too damn obsessed with tea.
Do you have anything a little . . . stronger? I ask, feeling corny
and like I m reciting dialogue out of a made-for-TV movie starring
78 A N N A D A V I D
Tori Spelling. A beer? Or a drink-drink? It hadn t even crossed my
mind that he wouldn t offer me a real drink, even though this was a
follow-up interview and all. Of course, I interview people when I m
stone cold sober most of the time, anyway but this situation was
already feeling like it was veering into decidedly un-interview-like
territory and I was thus feeling like a drink was sounding mighty ap-
pealing, if not downright necessary.
I m afraid I don t, Sweetheart, he says. But I can make you a
strong tea.
Kane whistles as he throws a tea bag in a ceramic mug and holds it
under a boiling water faucet, motioning for me to sit down on the
couch in this sort of sitting room off the kitchen. The whole place is
loftlike and open, so I can hear Greg playing chords like he s sitting on
the same couch.
So, we didn t really get into too much detail about your child-
hood, I say, as Kane sits down next to me. He sighs and I don t really
blame him. What he had said had sounded intensely depressing Dad
abandoning the family, Mom drinking heavily, the usual ingredients
of a tragic childhood and I d been so uncomfortable about having to
make him pontificate about these things yesterday that I d changed
the subject altogether. But such details are Absolutely Fabulous s bread
and butter so I know there s no avoiding them now.
I notice that Kane is glancing at the tape recorder rather incredu-
lously, like he hadn t actually expected for me to bust it out. Am I the
stupidest person alive? Does everyone know that follow-up inter-
view at my house is actually code for come to my fancy house and
fuck me ?
Don t get me wrong. I really don t have any problem with sleeping [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
