Jemima J. by Jane Green Page A

I start to feel sorry for him because he really does look as if he doesn’t want to be here. “It’s fine,” I say again. “We’ll do it another time.”
    “Look,” he says, and I’m convinced he can see the disappointment in my eyes. “You don’t live far from me. If I finish early enough maybe we could meet up later for a quick drink?”
    “Great!” I say, too quickly to hide the enthusiasm in my voice, and mentally kicking myself under the desk for not being a bit more cool.
    “Okay. What’s your phone number?”
    I write it down and, idiot that I am, while I’m writing I try to keep the smile from my face. Unsuccessfully.
    “I’ll give you a ring when I’m finished,” says Ben, who is looking more and more pissed off at the prospect of having to work late. “Are you leaving now?”
    “In a little while. I’ve got a few things to clear up first.”
    He’s phoning me! He wants to take me out for a drink! I have a date with Ben Williams! I’m seeing Ben Williams by myself after work! He didn’t have to ask me but he wants to see me! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!
     
    But before I go home, before I allow myself completely to give in to the excitement that’s taken over my body, I have to meet Brad, and before I meet Brad I have to play my game, remember? If I connect to the Internet within 45 seconds, then Ben Williams will fall in love with me. Please, please, please connect within 45 seconds.
    p. 81 I watch the little clock on the bottom right of the screen. 33. 34. 35. 36. Still not connected. I can’t bear to look. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that when I open them again I’ll be connected. I open my eyes. 42. 43. Connected.
    Phew. Thank you, God.
    “I thought you weren’t going to make it :-(“ flashes up on my screen, as soon as I enter the LA Café.
    “I’m sorry. I was working on a big story.”
    “Can you send me a videotape? I’d love to see you in action.”
    “I’ll try,” and miracles will happen, “but everything’s a bit busy at the moment.”
    “So how was your day, JJ?”
    “Superb.” Now at least I ’ m telling the truth.
    “:-) That’s so English of you! I just came back from a workout which I didn’t feel up to at all. I had a late night last night.”
    “Did you have a hangover?”
    “No. Nobody in California gets drunk. Ever. Do you drink?”
    “No.”
    “Smoke?”
    “No.” Forgive me for I am sinning, but a little white lie never hurt anyone.
    “Good! Me neither. I can’t stand smoking, it’s the one thing I really hate.”
    “So tell me about your friends.” I ask to get him off this line of conversation, and is it just me or does he sound ever so slightly boring? Nah, must be just me, I mean he ’ s a genuine Hollywood hunk, for God ’ s sake, what ’ s boring about that? “What do you do socially?”
    “Just kinda hang out, I guess. I have friends from all walks, and a lot in entertainment.”
    “I’m surprised. I would have thought all your friends would be body-builders.”
    “LOL. No, I meet all types through the gyms. We have a load of celebrities who work out here, and some of them have become friends.”
    “Names, names, give me names.”
    “Okay , but don’t hold it against me. I know Jennifer & Brad p. 82 quite well, and a lot of the cast from ER. But a lot of my friends just work in the business, they’re the guys behind the scenes. What about you?”
    Think Geraldine, think Sophie and Lisa. Think anything but your own life.
    “I go out for dinner an awful lot, usually quite smart places, and occasionally to clubs, but not that often, I did that when I was younger.”
    “I’m trying to get a feel for who you are. What are you wearing right now? (I don’t mean underwear , I mean what is your style.)”
    Shit. I look down at what I’m wearing. Massive stretchy black leggings and a huge voluminous orange shirt.
    “An Armani shirt,” I type. “Fitted jacket, short skirt, and cream shoes. I have to look smart for