‘Why don’t you give me your number?’ he said finally. ‘Maybe I can get my manager to sort something out.’
‘Yes, thanks for phoning him. I appreciate it.’
‘I’ve phoned him already?’ He laughed nervously.
Katie pulled out an amateur-looking business card.
‘And here’s my number. In case you ever hear of a director wanting a hot, classically trained redhead.’
Without thinking, he reciprocated the gesture.
His phone began to buzz – a cue to move.
‘Listen, I’d better be off,’ he said. She moved in to kiss him, but he jumped up and made for the door. ‘I’ll definitely be in touch,’ he added, holding up her card. ‘And it was lovely.’
He slipped out of the room, cringing at the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, and walked quickly down the corridor. His mobile was still ringing, but the screen read ‘Withheld number’. Jessica? Possible, but unlikely. She was filming in Boston, and it would be the middle of the night on the East Coast. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time she had called to check up on him.
‘Ah sod it,’ he whispered and pressed ‘Accept’.
‘I hope you’ve been behaving yourself!’
Sam’s heart leapt into his mouth, before he realised that the voice was male.
‘Eli?’ he said, relief flooding in. His manager, Eli Cohen. No-nonsense, old-school, unshockable. Even so, Sam wasn’t at all sure he wanted to be on the end of one of Eli’s talking-tos.
‘Of course it’s me, ya schmuck,’ growled Eli. ‘Who the hell else d’ya think?’
‘Where are you?’
‘New York.’
‘Why are you calling me at this time? It must be five a.m. where you are.’
‘I’m an early riser. Especially when my favourite client is phoning me in the middle of the night to tell me he’s found the new Rita Hayworth, giggling like some lovestruck college kid. Is there anything I should know about?’
Straight to the point, like a surrogate father. Sam winced.
‘What do you mean?’ he said, doing his best to sound innocent. He felt guilty lying to Eli, but he didn’t want to make this situation any bigger than it had to be.
‘What do I mean? When you call at three a.m. London time, raving about some hot chick, I gotta worry what I’m gonna read in the papers.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Sam, as he reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘I was presenting this Rising Talent award, remember? One particular girl stood out.’
Eli grunted. He didn’t sound convinced.
‘So you’re sure you don’t have anything to tell me?’
‘No! I’m trying to help young actors!’
His voice echoed around the concrete stairwell.
‘Whatever you say. Just keep your dick in your trousers, kid. It’s not worth it.’
Sam felt himself flush.
‘Stop worrying. Look, I’ve got to go. Talk later, all right?’
He eased open the door to the lobby and scuttled out through a side door, gasping as the sunlight hit him, scrabbling his sunglasses from his jacket. He forced himself to walk slowly, nonchalantly. Just a normal hotel guest out for a morning stroll, scanning the opposite pavement for paparazzi. Nothing: that was something at least. Even better, a black cab was approaching and he raised his arm to flag it.