Free I Heart Hollywood by Lindsey Kelk

such a circus.’
    ‘Angie wanted a real LA experience.’ Jenny peered over the top of her sunglasses at me. ‘And she got it.’
    ‘This isn’t really what I was expecting,’ I said, switching my attention from the heaving crowds back on the pavement to Daphne. ‘I was thinking, well, I don’t know. Glamorous? Swanky? LA is weird.’
    ‘Yeah, get used to it,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind, I ordered. I’m fucking starving.’
    Given that the majority of The Ivy’s clientele appeared to be the exact same group of blondes I’d seen at Toast that morning, who had just about had time to go home and get changed into little sundresses and rich old men instead of Ugg boots and gym boys, Daphne stood out a mile. Just like everyone else here, she was undeniably beautiful but, unlike anyone else, she was a vision of retro beauty. Her black shiny hair was coiffed into a Betty Paige bob and her porcelain skin made my English-rose-slash-pasty-Brit complexion look as though I’d been in the Bahamas for six weeks. Teamed with the most precise eyeliner and perfect ruby red lips I’d ever had the privilege to behold, Daphne was an arresting sight. Jenny had told me she was an artist and a stylist, but I hadn’t figured that her talent with a paintbrush would run to her eyeliner. Next to her polished perfection, I felt as if I’d turned up in my decorating clothes.
    But weirdly, no one was giving Daphne so much as a second glance. Instead, every single person in the restaurant was pretending not to look at a tiny little brunette, skulking in the corner and wearing a ridiculous number of layers for such a sunny day, who was sitting with an incredibly average-looking man in a business suit.
    ‘Who is that?’ I asked quietly, joining in the pretending-not-to-notice game. ‘I feel like I should know her.’
    ‘You should,’ Jenny said, sipping one of the gimlets Daphne had ordered for us. ‘It’s Tessa DiArmo, the singer? She stayed at The Union just before Christmas. Pain in my ass.’
    ‘Everyone’s a pain in your arse,’ I said, giving in to curiosity and turning around for a good look. The girl was genuinely minuscule, with masses of wavy light brown hair and glowing tanned skin. Whatever ‘it’ was that celebs had, Tessa apparently bathed in it every morning. Without batting so much as an eyelash, she had the attention of every single person in the restaurant. ‘I never saw her in The Union. She’s so pretty.’
    ‘Wouldn’t cut it with us, huh J?’ Daphne said, sipping the fresh cocktail that had been silently replaced. ‘You can’t shake what ain’t there.’
    ‘Shake?’ I tried to register the looks that were exchanging between the two girls, Jenny seeming slightly startled and Daphne smiling innocently into her drink.
    ‘Jenny told you how we met, right?’ she asked.
    ‘No,’ I turned to look at Jenny. ‘She actually didn’t.’
    ‘Daphne,’ Jenny let out a warning shot. I had a sneaking suspicion that Daphne wasn’t going to be hushed by a stern tone of voice.
    ‘Chill, J, it’s so not a big deal.’ She pressed her lips together, refreshing her pout. ‘We used to work together. When J lived here last time?’
    ‘When she was acting?’ I asked.
    ‘When she was dancing.’
    I bit my lip and looked back at Jenny. Impossible. She was blushing.
    ‘Dancing? You danced?’ I really, really wanted Jenny to nod, smile and possibly demonstrate some tap moves.
    ‘Oh baby doll, I do not believe Miss J never told you about our act?’ Daphne pouted.
    ‘You had an act?’ This was too much.
    ‘Sure,’ Daphne said, as a waiter appeared with three giant salads. ‘A burlesque act.’
    Jenny’s blush faded until her clear caramel skin paled to a sallow sea green. Even behind her giant sunglasses, I could see her eyes were as big as the huge salad plates in front of us. Simultaneously, we both reached for our gimlets and drained the glasses.
    ‘Well,’ I finally managed, ‘Jenny