Confessions of a Hollywood Star by Dyan Sheldon

Author:Dyan Sheldon [Sheldon, Dyan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781406339239
Publisher: Walker Books Ltd
Published: 2011-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

As If Enough Things Aren’t Going Wrong, Sam Turns Against Me

As soon as I’d recovered sufficiently from my shock, horror, disappointment and frustration, I called Sam to see if he wanted to go to a movie that night.

He jumped at the chance.

“I thought you’d forgotten all about me,” said Sam. “We’re a little stretched right now, so I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

Another thing experience has taught me is that nothing is ever as straightforward as it seems. Not even me. Although I’d been so busy that I hadn’t even spoken to Sam since we went to Triolo’s and was really looking forward to seeing him, missing Sam wasn’t the main reason I asked him to go out. Just because I had actually been in the same room as Charley Hottle and had (stunningly) missed my opportunity to introduce myself didn’t mean it was all bad news. Maybe when Mr Creek said he’d just been talking about me, he meant he’d been talking about me to Charley Hottle. Maybe as he’d passed the ketchup Mr Creek had said, You know my boy’s girlfriend is a terrific actor. Maybe when Mr Creek said he wanted something what he’d wanted was to introduce me to a Hollywood icon. Charley, old buddy, this is the girl I was telling you about. At the very least I expected that, since Mr Creek and Charley Hottle were on a waving-goodbye basis, he might have some useful information to pass on to Sam.

“So,” I said once I’d wedged myself into Sam’s car, “did your dad tell you I saw him in the diner this morning?”

Sam said, “No.”

Personally, I think it’s totally astounding that it was men who invented telephones, televisions and computers, since on a day-to-day level they’re so abysmally bad at communicating.

“No?” I laughed just in case he was actually joking. “He didn’t mention me?”

Sam shook his head. “Nope.”

“Just what do you and your father talk about all day?” I asked.

“What do you mean, ‘what do we talk about’? We talk about cars.”

[Cue: the hopeless, frustrated sigh of every woman who has ever tried to understand a man.] “You mean he didn’t even say that he sat next to Charley Hottle at breakfast?”

“You don’t mean Charley Hottle the director, do you?” Sam gave me a thoughtful look. “Is that why you asked me to go to the movies? To pump me about him?”

I bristled with indignation. “Of course not. I missed you. I feel like I haven’t talked to you in ages. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

To get us off the obviously delicate subject of Charley Hottle, I told him what had been happening while we drove to town. I guess there must’ve been even more to tell than I thought because when Sam stopped in front of the cinema to let me out while he parked the car, he suddenly interrupted me right in the middle of a sentence and said, “Am I ever going to get a chance to say anything or is tonight going to be a one-woman show?”

I thought he was kidding.

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