Private Lives

‘Rubbish. You’re the hottest, fittest guy in Hollywood.’

It wasn’t strictly true. Joe was pushing fifty; not even a facelift could stop the dying of his looks. But it was never a bad idea to suck up to industry grandees like him.

‘How about dinner? Catering wasn’t up to much today, was it?’

Jessica smiled prettily. What a wonderful idea. And if the paps spotted them, it would only add weight to the rumours of an on-set romance that were already fluttering around.

‘That sounds good,’ she said. ‘Just let me wash this blood off first.’

Maki Soba was a low-key Japanese restaurant off Melrose. Lit inside by glowing pink and yellow paper lanterns, it had the most flattering lighting this side of the studio lot.

‘Try the tempura,’ said Joe, pointing to the bowl with his chopsticks. ‘It’s so light.’

Dutifully Jessica popped some in her mouth and pulled a suitably ecstatic face. ‘This place is amazing,’ she said. ‘How did you find it?’

‘I’ve been coming here for years,’ said Joe. ‘It was a favourite of Sia’s.’

Jessica nodded solemnly. Sia was Joe’s ex-wife. They’d been married for twelve years – a lifetime in Hollywood terms – and only separated the previous spring. Rumour had it Sia had run off with her personal trainer and that Joe was still in mourning.

> ‘So what do you think about Judd landing Purple Skies?’ he asked, referring to the hot new project their director was attached to.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said honestly. ‘Do you think he’s sensitive enough to pull it off?’

‘Ah, so you’ve read it too,’ grinned Joe. ‘I didn’t think anyone else in Hollywood had actually heard of it. I love that book.’

‘Doesn’t everyone?’ She laughed lightly. In actual fact, she had only read the PEN Award-winning novel because Sam had practically forced her. He had gone on about how clever and moving it was, and she had finally given in.

‘Well that’s what I was worried about. Can Judd do it? When you have a property that delicate, that personal, it would be so easy to turn it into some hokey thriller, but I was at Tori Adams’s house at the weekend. Apparently she thinks Judd is the new Spielberg – that he can turn his hand to anything from Schindler’s List to Indiana Jones.’

Jessica wasn’t convinced. Not if the rushes of Slayer were anything to go by. But if Tori Adams rated him, well, that was a different matter. Tori, who was producing Purple Skies, was one of the most powerful women in Hollywood, notorious for her tight inner circle of influential friends, including studio bosses, directors and, of course, top stars like Joe, who all helped each other.

‘How long have you known Tori?’ she said casually.

‘Thirty years.’ Joe smiled, picking up a shiitake dumpling. ‘We shared a flat in Venice Beach when we were just starting out.’

‘I wonder who they’ll cast?’ she said nonchalantly.

‘I think Tori’s keeping a tight rein on it. At least Judd’s ego isn’t so big yet that she can’t still control him. She’s having a party on Saturday, so I’ll get the inside track on what she’s thinking then.’

‘What’s the occasion?’

‘Oh, you know Tori, she’s just dropped some huge bundle on three Matisse sculptures and she wants to show them off. We’re supposed to turn up and drool with jealousy. Which we will, of course.’

‘I never saw you as an art aficionado,’ said Jessica.

‘I started collecting five years ago. Mainly Twombly, Warhol, Clemente.’

‘I have a Francesco Clemente at the beach house,’ Jessica said, wide-eyed, happy to compete. She had worked out a few years earlier that collecting was a signifier of status, intellect, particularly when you didn’t have any, or were working on it.

‘You must just sit and stare at it for hours,’ Joe said earnestly.

Jessica shook her head sadly.

‘No, not any more. It . . . well, it reminds me of Sam too much, you know?’

He nodded, perhaps thinking about his own break-up.

‘Are you looking for a buyer?’