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stores and restaurants still a total revelation to you?’ Jenny pointed with a mascara wand for emphasis. ‘If this entire trip is going to be like the time you saw Twinkies in the corner store, then goddamn it, we are going home now.’
    ‘Sorry,’ I said, trying not to point out the Wal-Mart to our left, ‘but it’s exciting! You see this stuff on TV but then they don’t have it in New York—I’m just a bit giddy. I can’t believe I didn’t want to come. Maybe it’s the sun.’
    ‘Yeah, whatever,’ Jenny muttered. ‘You know you have to interview a celebrity tomorrow, right?’
    ‘It’s just an interview; he’s just a person, isn’t he?’ I wrinkled my nose at Jenny’s incredulous head-shake. ‘I mean, Alex is a bit famous, he’s in a band and that doesn’t bother me. They’re just people, aren’t they?’
    ‘Yeah, that’s what I said when I started at The Union,’ Jenny sighed. ‘Until Christian Bale checked in and I spent three days sneaking around his room and stealing his underwear.’
    ‘Please tell me you’re kidding.’ I tore my eyes away from a Taco Bell.
    ‘They’re under my bedside table,’ Jenny smiled happily. ‘Thank God he never complained. I’d only been there a week; they would have fired me for sure. You’re going to lose your mind when you actually see him.’
    ‘Jenny, really, I’ll be fine,’ I said, trying not to doubt myself. What if she was right? ‘He’s just a person. I’ve talked to people before.’
    ‘Good luck,’ she said. ‘Celebs aren’t like normal people; it’s impossible not to get fazed by them. They just have this, like, charisma.’
    ‘But you see celebrities every day,’ I argued. ‘And you do nothing but slag off Angelina Jolie for wanting a special kind of tea.’
    ‘Oh, yeah, I meant celeb boys,’ Jenny conceded. ‘I don’t give a shit about the girls. You’re going to lose it over James Jacobs, honey.’
    I shook my head and smiled, turning to look back out the window. ‘I’ve never even seen one of his films. I thought it would be better not to get caught up in the movie-star thing and just concentrate on getting to know him.’
    ‘What’s to know? He’s super hot, he’s a movie star so he must be super rich, and he’s super talented. Jeff and I saw that one about the casino…’ She trailed off for a moment. The ‘J’ word. ‘He was pretty good.’
    The rest of the cab ride was awkwardly silent but mercifully short. I was terrified of setting Jenny off with a mention of her ex: nine times out of ten it ended badly. Once I had tried to cheer her up after a shitty day at work (she’d mixed up Mischa Barton and Nicole Richie’s dry cleaning—all hell broke loose) with a surprise Ben & Jerry’s, only to get a weepy, slightly icky story about her, Jeff, the kitchen floor, a tub of Chunky Monkey and New Year’s Eve 2007. Another time when she thought she’d seen him on the subway, I’d tried to distract her with several bottles of wine, but the evening had ended at four a.m. with Jenny in her PJs in a drunken rage, railing against all men. And then throwing up out of our third-floor window. Happy memories.
    Soon we were off the freeway and passing stores and coffee shop chains I recognized. An American Apparel, a Starbucks, the Gap, a Starbucks and, eventually, actual people walking up and down the streets. Clutching Starbucks.
    ‘We’re here,’ the driver barked, swerving sharply into a small circular driveway. ‘Seventy-five bucks.’
    ‘Seriously?’ I whispered to Jenny, as I pulled out my wallet and handed over my precious ‘expenses’ cash from The Look .
    ‘Cabs here are insane,’ Jenny said, hauling herself out onto the street. ‘Everyone in LA drives. Why do you think all the celebutards 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.