It was officially time to start panicking.
Even after living in Los Angeles for a year, she still hadn’t got used to the temperate climate. As she left the shiny office building that housed Klein Productions, Kitty stepped onto the pavement, feeling the sun warming her skin as she walked towards the parking garage. It was early December, but the temperatures were still in the mid-sixties, warm enough to walk about the town without a jacket. She couldn’t remember the last time it had rained. Over here, a bad day consisted of a couple of wispy clouds that occasionally obliterated the sun. No wonder everybody looked so healthy and tanned all the time. It was almost impossible not to.
In a desperate attempt to look festive, the shops and offices lining the street had decorated their windows, filling them with fake snow and tinsel, and trees that sparkled with hundreds of tiny lights. But even with the faux bonhomie it was almost impossible to feel Christmassy. For a moment she thought about London – of the wet streets, of the darkness that descended before four in the afternoon, of the roasted chestnut stands and the hot-chocolate sellers, all the sights and aromas that made the season feel right.
And none of them were here.
It was strange, really, that a city whose livelihood depended on selling the idea of the perfect American Christmas had to fake it for themselves.
Climbing into her small Fiat, she felt her phone buzzing in her pocket. She slid her keys into the ignition, leaving them dangling there, before lifting her mobile and checked the caller.
Cesca.
There was something about seeing her sister’s name that always made Kitty smile. As the youngest of four sisters, Kitty had always looked up to them, and even as adults she looked forward to speaking to them.
‘Hello?’
‘Kitty? How are things over there?’ Cesca’s voice was warm. ‘It’s pissing down here. I told Sam that next time he wants to film on location he needs to choose somewhere warm with a beach.’
‘I thought he was over all that lifeguard stuff.’ Sam Carlton – Cesca’s boyfriend – was an Italian-American actor, best known for his role in Summer Breeze – a movie franchise about a sexy teenage heart-throb. He’d met Cesca the previous summer, when they’d both been staying at a villa in Italy. She’d spent hours on the telephone telling her sisters how arrogant he was, and how much she disliked him, when they’d all known she was falling for him. The rest was Hollywood history. He’d declared his love for Cesca on a TV chat show then flown into London to sweep her off her feet.
One of the best parts of living over here in LA had been when Cesca and Sam were in town. Sadly, their visits to the city of stars were all too rare these days.
‘There’s only so much of the tortured, rain-soaked character movies I can take. Give me Sam in a pair of red shorts and nothing else any day.’
‘A million American girls would agree with you,’ Kitty said, smiling. ‘There was an outcry when he said he wouldn’t be starring in any more Summer Breeze movies.’
‘Yeah, well everybody’s replaceable, even Sam. And don’t tell him you said that thing about a million girls – his head is big enough already.’ Cesca’s voice lowered an octave. ‘And how are you? Have you had any news about your internship yet?’
‘I just left another interview,’ Kitty told her. She leaned her head back on her seat, her legs stretching out until her feet hit the pedals.
‘How did it go?’
‘About as good as the others,’ she said. ‘Which means terrible. I got all sweaty and panicky again, and said the stupidest things. I even made up an idiotic story about Lucy calling me a cat.’ It was time to face it, she was terrible at interviews. ‘Every time they asked me a question, I felt like an actor who’d forgotten his lines.’
‘Who was it with?’ Cesca’s tone was sympathetic. ‘Maybe Sam can have a word for you?’
‘It was for an internship with Everett Klein.’
‘Oh. Yeah, I don’t think Sam could say much to change that guy’s mind. I’ve heard on the grapevine he’s a bit of an arsehole.’
‘So have I,’ Kitty confessed. ‘But to be honest, I didn’t even meet him. It was his assistant who was supposed to interview me. But even he couldn’t concentrate on me, he was too busy talking to some screaming woman on his phone.’
Cesca sighed, her soft breaths echoing down the line. ‘Do you want me to talk to Sam about helping you with this? He must have connections, I bet he could help you find an internship in no time.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but no thank you.’ Kitty closed her eyes, blocking out the shaft of sun that had found its way through the gaps in the concrete wall. It wouldn’t feel right asking Sam for help. She didn’t want to be known as the girl who only found a job thanks to her sister’s boyfriend. ‘I
want to do this by myself.’
‘There’s no shame in asking for help,’ Cesca said softly. ‘I should know, I thought I could do everything on my own, and I just ended up digging my own hole.’
Cesca’s problems were well known among the Shakespeare sisters. At the age of eighteen she’d written an amazing play, and won a contest to have it staged in the West End. What had followed was a spectacular fall from grace, leaving Cesca destitute and depressed, barely able to support herself.
Thank goodness she was on the mend now. During her time in Italy she hadn’t only managed to fall in love with Sam, but she’d also written a new play.
‘I’m not at rock bottom yet,’ Kitty said lightly, though sometimes it felt as though she might be teetering on the edge. ‘I’ll keep practising – who knows, maybe I’ll be able to get through one without breaking out in a sweat. But if things get worse, I’ll let you know, OK?’
‘OK.’ Cesca sounded reluctant to agree. ‘But seriously, think about the offer. Sometimes all you need is a little step up.’