I Heart Hollywood. Lindsey Kelk

are always getting served with DUIs out here? No cabs.’

      ‘Can’t they walk if they know they’re going out to get trashed?’ I asked, crawling across the back seat after trying the door with no success. If it was possible, it was even sunnier at the hotel than at the airport.

      Jenny looked at me as though I was completely backwards. ‘This is not New York, Angela. Don’t you know anything about LA?’

      I didn’t know anything about LA.

      If it was possible, the lobby of The Hollywood was even swankier than The Union. The dim lighting was just as flattering, the dozens of candles were just as chokingly scented, but there was an extra layer of gloss on everything, from the shining gold surfaces to the hair of the girls behind the concierge desk. The only thing missing were the packs of well-to-do tourists huddled around their suitcases, mummified inside North Face down jackets. In their place were what seemed to be half a dozen extras from 90210. Tall, gorgeous and half naked, they lounged against furniture—not quite sitting on it, just against it. While Jenny checked us in I tried to remain staring at the floor to avoid mirrored surfaces, but I could see myself reflected in their gaze quite clearly. And no amount of flattering lighting was going to help.

      ‘Come on Angie,’ Jenny squealed over by the lift. ‘We’re on the fourteenth floor, amazing views. And we have adjoining rooms! You’re just a door away from me.’

      ‘Does that door lock?’ I asked, trying to stop staring at the beautiful people in reception.

      ‘Why on earth would you want to lock the door on me?’ Jenny breezed into the lift and jabbed at the big round ‘14’ button. ‘Come on, the sooner we get unpacked, the sooner we can get in the pool.’

      ‘The pool?’ I dragged my wheeled case into the lift, while one of the girls in the world’s shortest shorts lowered her sunglasses and checked me out with a genuine look of horror on her face. I was certain that she was visualising the horror of me in a bikini. Just like I was.

      ‘Isn’t it amazing, Angie?’ Jenny squeezed my arm with slightly too much upper-body strength. ‘We’re in LA baby, woo!’

      As the doors slid shut, the lift shot up and my stomach sank.

      To make matters worse, I had not packed well. Or even vaguely appropriately. Standing by the bed, looking at my poor wardrobe choices in an American hotel room was familiar in the worst way. On top of the Egyptian cotton sheets were the entire contents of my weekend bag. Two pairs of Seven jeans, an assortment of American Apparel T-shirts (three-quarter-length sleeves), a couple of bargain cashmere cardigans I’d found at Century 21 and my long-sleeved, super-heavy Marc by Marc Jacobs shirt dress. Everyone had said it would be sunny in California, but it was still March, it couldn’t be that warm, could it? Of course it could. Bugger.

      And to make matters weirder, The Hollywood was absolutely identical to The Union. Same room layouts, same bed linens, Rapture Spa toiletries, same eight-dollar condoms in the ‘intimacy kit’ by my bed. Even the curtains were the same. I rubbed the heavy drapes between my fingers and peered out of the window. Down on the sunny side of the street, I could see people. Lots and lots of people. And every single one of them was strutting around in tiny shorts and even tinier tops. Shit.

      ‘I’m coming in,’ Jenny announced as she sailed through the adjoining door by my bed. At first she had been quite insistent that we should share a room, but she was equally insistent that she was going to give Joe a good seeing-to at his earliest convenience so, as much as I loved that girl, I really didn’t want to have to sit in the bathroom with my headphones on while that happened. This was not the sixth-form trip to Belgium.

      ‘What, you’re not ready?’

      Jenny’s week-long grooming had proved completely worthwhile. She glowed from her hot pink toenails to her long chocolate curls. Usually, her hair was tethered in a ponytail for work, or at least restrained by an industrial-strength Alice band. Seeing it freed, fluffing out around her face and bouncing way past her shoulders, reminded me why I had been so in awe of this glamazon when we first met.

      ‘Get your freaking ass into your swimsuit and get out this door,’ Jenny demanded, snatching off her sunglasses and staring me down. Which reminded me why I had loved her five minutes later.

      ‘Please don’t kill me…’ I slowly walked backwards to put a bed between us. I’d seen her motor in heels and so those flip-flops were not going to hold her back ‘But I didn’t actually bring a swimming costume. I didn’t have one and, well, I forgot to buy one.’

      ‘I knew this was going to happen. Didn’t I tell you, you were completely unprepared for this?’ She rummaged around in a giant metallic tote.

      ‘You told me I was an idiot to pass up a trip to LA; you told me you were going to shag Joe until you broke something; and you told me you’d been waxed to a terrifying degree—but I don’t remember you telling me I was underprepared.’ I pawed through all my clothes again—not that it would achieve anything, I knew for a fact I didn’t have a swimming costume. I hadn’t possessed a swimming costume since I was seventeen. They were bad things that hated women.

      ‘Yeah, I’ve definitely got it in there somewhere—but I’m pretty sure I didn’t say “shag”.’ Jenny pulled a basic black two-piece out from the depths of the bag. ‘What the hell are you going to do in that interview without me?’

      Oh, she was so going to make me put that on.

      Fifteen minutes and one very, very painful bikini-waxing incident later, involving an overenthusiastic Jenny, one pack of ‘at home’ waxing strips and a genuinely terrified me, backed into the corner of the bathroom, I finally found a difference between The Union and The Hollywood. The rooftop pool, the rooftop pool bar and the definitely-not-in-Manhattan view of the Hollywood sign, shouting out from the hills. I perched awkwardly on the edge of a sun lounger, frantically rubbing factor fifty into my English Rose-slash-pasty-pale skin, staring out at the bold white letters. But something didn’t feel right.

      ‘Mojitos.’ Jenny sat two enormous cocktails on the tiny table between the two of us. ‘Hooray for Hollywood, right?’

      ‘I thought the sign would be, I don’t know, bigger?’ I squinted through my sunglasses. ‘It just isn’t what I thought it was going to be.’

      ‘Hmm, I guess.’ Jenny was busy staring at the bar. ‘I suppose when you see it every day for a few months, you don’t really see it any more, you know?’

      ‘I guess,’ I nodded. ‘It’s weird, though. When I saw the Statue of Liberty I couldn’t believe it. It was amazing. This just feels weird.’

      ‘That’s because you’re a native New Yorker now, honey.’ Jenny passed me a mojito and clinked glasses. ‘LA is cool, but if you’re going to have fun, you’re going to have to get past your idea of what you think it’s going to be, because, honey, nothing ever really is.’

      ‘Reassuring.’ I pulled at the bandeau top of the bikini. I wondered if I had time for a quickie boob-job. ‘At least tell me the shops are good. We have to go shopping; I can’t fill this out like you.’

      ‘The stores are fine, we’ll get everything you need.’ Jenny peeked over the top of her sunglasses as a tall, dark-haired man appeared behind the bar. ‘Just as soon as I’ve got what I need.’

      ‘Ick,’ I shook my head and sipped my mojito. ‘Go get ’em, tiger.’

      Watching Jenny slink around the pool in her swimsuit, I leaned back into the padded sun lounger and concentrated on the Hollywood sign. It seemed so unreal, even though here I was with the sun on my face and a drink in my hand. It wasn’t possible that just yesterday I’d been in snow boots and earmuffs just to go out and buy milk, the sun was too lovely. But I had a sneaking suspicion that it would have been even lovelier had Alex been lying beside me. God, I’d got so tragic so quickly.

      Opening one eye, I peeked over to the bar. Jenny was already flipping her hair around and leaning backwards