Private Lives

Sam glared at him.

‘Or there’s always the possibility that she is genuinely heartbroken about being cheated on and wants nothing more to do with me. Besides, I think splitting up was maybe for the best . . .’

His team looked at him, their eyes wide.

‘How is this for the best, Sam?’ said Jim.

‘Because I’m not sure I was ever in love with her.’

Silence rang around the room.

Valerie whistled between her teeth. ‘I hope the press aren’t bugging this room.’

‘Have you actually said this to her?’ asked Eli.

‘I mentioned it in Cape Cod.’

Jim Parker went pale. ‘Mentioned it. Sam, this is your career.’

‘This is my life,’ he snapped, feeling his chest tighten.

Helen looked down at her notes, tapping the page with her gold pencil.

‘Okay, well, if a reconciliation is out of the question, we need to think rehabilitation. Ideas, everyone?’

Sam looked at Helen as she took control of the meeting. She was certainly impressive. His agent, manager and PR were the best in the business, ass-kickers all, but they were deferring to Helen Pierce without a murmur. Sam had met plenty of players in his time – Hollywood was the natural home of arrogant egotists – but this woman had something more: control and authority. You felt she knew what she was doing and, more importantly, that she could make it happen.

‘I think we send him to Hazelden,’ said Jim Parker. ‘Six weeks in rehab could be just what we need.’

‘Rehab?’ said Sam, appalled. ‘What for?’

‘Who cares? Booze, drugs, sex,’ said Jim. ‘It’s a strong move because it shows you’re admitting you have a problem and that you want to put it right.’

‘Hazelden’s great but is mainly substance abuse,’ said Valerie. ‘I know another clinic. Very small. Very discreet. Sex addiction is their specialty.’

‘But then people will think I’m a sex addict!’ protested Sam.

Eli patted his arm. ‘There’s worse things to be, buddy.’

‘But it’s not true. Before that girl Katie, I’d only had sex twice in the last six months. Me and Jess weren’t exactly active in that department.’

Valerie looked up at the light fittings. ‘I hope to God we’re not being bugged.’

‘I agree with Sam,’ said Helen. ‘If we can, we want to stick to the “one night of madness” story. I’ll be frank, I don’t think the public – and women in particular – really buy the sex-addict story. Michael Douglas got away with it because it was a new angle, but we’ve since had Duchovny, Charlie Sheen, Tiger Woods; it’s become the get-out clause for anyone caught with their pants down.’

‘We need to do a high-profile interview,’ said Valerie. ‘The biggest possible numbers. Letterman’s already been in touch, so has Ellen DeGeneres.’

Helen nodded. ‘We need to present Sam as penitent. I’m thinking Hugh Grant after Divine Brown. Can you do tears, Sam?’

‘Can he do tears?’ scoffed Eli. ‘Sam is one of the greatest actors of his generation.’

‘Yes, I like this,’ replied Valerie. ‘We can go with how you didn’t know she was an escort, you thought she was just a nice ordinary girl. You love Jessica, but you were lonely because you spend so much time apart. And you’re just an ordinary boy who made a big fat lousy mistake.’

Sam could see the sense of what they were saying, but he had stage fright just thinking about it.

‘I don’t care what we do. But can we just be careful that I don’t end up looking more of an arsehole than I already do? And can we keep Jessica out of this as much as possible? This is my fault, not hers.’

‘That’s exactly it,’ said Valerie enthusiastically. ‘That’s what your public want to hear – you’re sorry, but you still care.’