Page 11 of Are We Nearly There Yet?

We pause at traffic lights and a man who looks like Owen Wilson crosses in front of us, stopping in the road to flash us. Isy doesn’t react.

‘Wait,’ I say, pausing in the act of taking a picture. ‘Did you say Gloop? Do you meanGoop?’

Isy tuts. ‘Gloop is way better than Goop and far more open to alternativemedicines? Like the regularat-home coffee enemas they recommend? I’m detoxifying while also stopping myself getting any and all cancers ever?’

‘By squirting coffee up your anus,’ I mutter, deliberately without a question mark.

‘I’ll send you some links?’ she says, her face unmoving.

‘Fantastic!’ I reply, enthusiastically, waving cheerfully at Owen Wilson still in the road. The vampirerepellent doesn’t seem to be working.

Isy lives in athree-bed flat share in Santa Monica and as she unlocks the door and pulls me inside, still not helping with my bags at any point, she tells me there’s a pool in the complex. But – she adds superciliously – she doesn’t ever use it because it’s ‘full of actors with fake pecs’. Which, conversely, is the exact reason I want to check itout.

‘Aren’t you an actor?’ I say, confused.

She waves her hand dismissively at me because I clearly just don’tget it.

‘Yeah, but I’m aproperactor,’ she explains, rolling her eyes. ‘I’m a stage actor. They do adverts and shit like that. That’s why I used air quotes when I said actors.’

‘Aha,’ I say, nodding my head, resisting the urge to point out that she definitely didn’tdo any air quotes and does she actually know what they are. Usually I love pointing out Isy’s pretention, but I’m too tired right now.

It’s a small, sparsely decorated apartment, and as she shows me round, Isy keeps shouting the words ‘rent control’ at me. I don’t know what it means, but my noughties telly brainwashing remembers it as the reason Monica had that really huge place in New York.I still don’t get how they were allowed a monkey though.

I have a whole entire room to myself, which is nice because I was expecting a sofabed at best. And there’s a handy little washbasin in there, that I plan to use as a tall bidet, don’t tell Isy.

‘OK!’ she says suddenly, clapping her hands. ‘Dump that bag in your room, change into something nicer and let’s go.’

Go? Oh God, we’regoing out?

I nod enthusiastically, determined to be fun, even if it kills me. And it might? I got no sleep on the plane and it must be close to 5 a.m. in theUKby now. I briefly wonder how long it will be before I stop translatingUStime, and then I wonder if I should be bothered by that ‘change into something nicer’ comment. But Isy’s already moved on. My jet lag has me existing in a universeabout a minute behind real time.

‘We’re hitting up Chateau Marmont,’ she says, already picking up her handbag.

‘Chateau Marmont!’ I say, as jovially as I can. ‘Wow, even I’ve heard of that place.A-list celebs love it, right?’ I pause. ‘Is that nearby then?’

‘Yep!’ she says cheerfully, then pulls a face. ‘Well, no, not technically. It’s about ahalf-hour drive from here, but it’s reallyglam and you’ll love it! Plus, it’s just where I have to beseen, y’know? For work?’

‘Gotcha,’ I say, even though I don’t gotch anything, and obediently go change.

‘Oh my God, be cool, but that’s Brad Pitt over there,’ Isy is saying an hour later, as we arrive at the glitzyrestaurant-bar in Hollywood. She is barely containing her ownun-coolness as she nods over my shoulder.

Fucking hell, Brad Pitt! On my first night inLA! I can’t believe this, it isso... nope, that’s not Brad Pitt. Not even close.

‘Isy,’ I sigh. ‘I may bejet-lagged to buggery, but I’m pretty sure that is in no way Brad Pitt.’

‘It definitely is,’ she insists, ‘and I would know because he auditioned for a movie in a room near me one time.’

I cock my head at her, waiting, and she addsquietly, ‘Not at the same time.’ She glances over again and this time she fully squeals.

Several super cool fellow patrons look over judgementally.

She leans in, trying to compose herself as she hisses, ‘And shitting hell, Alice, that is Jennifer Aniston with him. I’m not kidding, it’s Brad and Jen, back together at long last. The press is going to have a field day with this! They’regoing to want to interview me! You can see the chemistry between them from over here. I’m totally callingTMZ.’

I turn around and squint at the pair in question properly. There is no doubt at all. It’s definitely not Brad and it’s definitely not Jen. It is, in fact, two men in theirmid-thirties, who are sipping wine and having a quiet chat by the bar.

‘Isy,’ I say slowly, trying not toslap her in the face. ‘I am a thousand per cent sure it’s not either of them. There is zero chance, I swear.’

She tuts, then sighs dramatically. ‘Dammit, really? Iknewmy laser eye surgery was too cheap.OK, fine, maybe it’s not Jennifer Aniston, but itreallylooks like Brad, doesn’t it?!’

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