Oh, jetlag, you filthy mistress, you.

What goes up, must come down, and no coffee, no matter how impressive the froth on top was, could save me from hitting a wall, yawning with each fold of my clothes I retrieved from my suitcase. I showered, pressing my forehead against the Mediterranean tiles in the impressive shower cubicle that was bigger than my bedroom back home. I washed away the grime from being trapped in an enclosed space for thirteen hours, not that I had remembered a lot of it.

As I walked through the living room, towel-drying my hair, the delicious aroma of onions and spices filled my dulled senses. Billie was stove-side, working on a feast for lunch; fresh lettuce, tomatoes and avocados were strewn over the kitchen countertop. She was making my favourite: Mexican. I shook my head; how would any other day live up to the epicness that was my first day in LA? A relatively painless flight, a Mustang escort – well, that wasn’t exactly painless; maybe I should have knocked back my final sedative to make the silence a whole lot more bearable. Since the moment I had closed the door on Jay, I couldn’t help but wonder what his deal was.

Wrapping my hair in a turbanesque twist and firming the tuck of the towel wrapped under my arms, I padded towards the fridge, which I guessed was my fridge now too.

‘So, what’s the go with Jay?’ I had to raise my voice over the sizzling of the frying pan and the exhaust fan over the stove.

Billie turned. ‘What?’ she said, frowning and reaching for some seasoning. ‘You might want to put some clothes on.’

I was a little taken aback. Billie wasn’t a prude; surely I could walk around in a towel?

‘I said, what’s the deal with the hottie next door?’

Billie turned from the stove; her eyes popping.

Oh God, she had turned into a prude.

‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, he sure is nice to look at, but he needs a personality transplant.’

‘Abby!’ Billie seemed really distressed; if she’d been wearing a pearl necklace she would have been clutching it. Who was this woman before me? She had the perviest mind of anyone I had ever known; her observations usually made me squirm. Had America tamed her wicked ways? Surely not. And as unsettling as it was to think that my friend was uncomfortable with what I was saying, I kind of enjoyed pushing her buttons and watching her mouth gape.

I shrugged. ‘What? I’d fuck him!’ I said, grinning from ear to ear until I saw her horrified eyes flick over my shoulder.

A chill swept over me, and it wasn’t due to the fact I was merely wrapped in a towel; there was something in Billie’s face, the sheer look of utter shock that made my insides twist.

Oh God, he’s right behind me, isn’t he?

I slowly turned to see the very image of my nightmares standing in the alcove of the dining room, seemingly entranced by the placemat on the table. But there was no mistaking the twist to his mouth.

He had heard every single word.

I wanted to die.

I could throw myself over the balcony. Or get the next drug-induced flight home. It wasn’t enough that I had to completely humiliate myself with my gutter mouth and insults, I had to be standing there, wrapped in a tiny pink towel, with no make-up and no dignity.

‘Um, Jay said you left your bag in the car,’ Billie stammered, gripping the wooden spoon intensely, looking like she wished the ground would swallow her up too.

My widened eyes dipped to the bag he was holding. My bag.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

Jay cleared his throat, not really knowing quite where to look as he placed my bag on the table. ‘I’ll just leave it here.’

‘Yeah, um, great, well, I’m just going to, ya know …’

I side-stepped out of the kitchen, not daring to lift my gaze to the dining area, then raced to my room, tightly gripping my towel. The very last thing I needed was to do a nudie run.

I shut my door and resisted the urge to slide the chest of drawers across it to barricade myself in. My Hollywood dream had turned into a Hollywood nightmare. I mean, Christ, I was joking! Surely they knew that? I was totally taking the piss, deliberately trying to shock Billie.

I covered my face with my hands. ‘Oh my God.’

Why hadn’t she tried harder? Flung herself across the kitchen and slapped me with a wooden spoon? My hands fell to my side; I bit my lip, whimpering in despair.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad. I could just head back out there, tell them I was kidding and have a good ol’ laugh about it. A memory flashed vivid in my mind.

He needs a personality transplant.

I cupped my burning cheeks, shaking my head. What must he think of me? First, I had flashed him a rather shady-looking pair of undies at the airport, and now I had insulted him while talking like a horny construction worker.

A half-naked one.

I felt the bile rising at the back of my throat.

In order to put on my big-girl pants, I would first have to put on some pants … and a top. But where to from here? Putting on a full face of make-up seemed over the top, and blow-drying my hair wasn’t something I did for an afternoon at home. Still, we had company; that’s if he hadn’t already headed for the Hollywood Hills. Opting for the fresh-faced, casual-California-girl look, I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed, thinking and overthinking what I might say. Maybe I could pretend that I knew he was there the whole time. Yeah, I could get away with that – use the old ‘You should have seen your face!’ line.

But before I could work up the courage to show my beetroot-red face again, I heard the condo’s front door open and close. I placed my ear to my bedroom door, listening intently for the sound of voices.

There were none, only the distant clattering of kitchen utensils and running water.

Had he gone? He was obviously too mortified to stay.

I didn’t know how I felt about that; I certainly didn’t feel any less nauseated. I heard Billie’s voice call from the kitchen. ‘Abby, the coast is clear!’

I whipped the door open so fast that the kickback of air pushed my half-wet hair back across my shoulders as I padded out into the lounge.

‘Seriously, could you not have told me he was behind me?’

‘I tried to stop you.’

I sat on the stool near the kitchen bench, burying my head in my hands. ‘Next time just yell at me to shut up.’

Billie laughed. ‘Next time?’

My head snapped up. ‘Please tell me he’s not coming back.’

Billie salted the pan in front of her before stirring some more. ‘Nope.’

I sighed. ‘Good.’

‘I am guessing this is more to do with your humiliation than not liking him, because you have only known each other, what, seven hours?’

Yeah, seven hours too long.

Billie watched the contemplative musings in my expression with great interest. ‘He’s a good guy, Abby.’

I shrugged, tucking a wet strand of hair behind my ear. ‘Clearly not a fan of actors, though.’

‘Oh, I think he’s just a little jaded, that’s all.’

My ears pricked up; was Jay a washed-up actor? Well, where he had failed I was sure to succeed.

‘He’s kind of surrounded by all that, all the time at work. Lots of part-time actors and actresses waiting to hit the big time.’

‘Uh, he does know he is living in Hollywood? If he has such an attitude about it maybe he should move elsewhere. What does he do, anyway?’

‘He’s the owner-manager of the Saloon Bar.’

I did a double-take. ‘Owner?’

Billie smiled. ‘Yes.’ She always loved to shock me.

I knew of the Saloon Bar – hell, everyone did. Its VIP corners and wild, high-class parties made it synonymous with the Hollywood Strip. No wonder Jay was driving a Mustang.

‘You seem surprised – you didn’t think he was living next door due to the kindness of another ageing actress, did you?’

Whatever I had thought, this was definitely not it. Now I really had lost my appetite.

How could someone, seven hours in, have got so under my skin? And, more importantly, how had I managed to show him so much of mine?

‘Well, if I don’t see him in a really, really long time, that would be quite alright with me.’

Billie rolled her eyes. ‘Uh-huh. Lunch is ready.’