Page 96 of Kiss Heaven Goodbye

Somewhere between the spa therapists and the attention to the wine cellar, ‘the mix’ had been forgotten.

‘We need to sprinkle this place with stardust, Miles,’ said Chrissy, passion sparkling in her eyes. ‘At the moment it’s just Piers Jackson and his advertising cronies hanging out with your posh mates from Danehurst and a few rich kids from west London. That might make a decent New Year’s Eve party, but it’s never going to make people queue around the block. We want celebs worth their salt knocking at our door whenever they are in London.’

She paused.

‘Why don’t you call Alex Doyle?’

Miles couldn’t even pass a weak smile at that suggestion. He’d thought of that already, of course, but hell would freeze over before he begged Alex Doyle to bring his music crowd down.

‘That loser isn’t a big enough star,’ said Miles. ‘I seriously doubt he’s got Bono and Madonna’s numbers.’

Chrissy grabbed his hand and squeezed it. ‘Come on, let’s think. Who’s in town right now?’

Miles looked out the window. ‘Euan O’Neil is in rehearsals for a play at that theatre around the corner,’ he said. ‘He’s been in a couple of times for lunch.’ The handsome Irish actor had been one of the top names in Hollywood for a decade and was making headlines by daring to tread the boards in an edgy West End version of Hamlet.

‘Perhaps we can host a party here for the cast and crew?’ said Chrissy.

Miles shook his head. ‘One night’s hardly going to kick-start a revival of our fortunes.’

‘Well, we have to start somewhere,’ she said, waving the waitress over and ordering two large glasses of wine. ‘What do we know about him?’

Miles sighed. ‘He married that girl from that sitcom, what’s it called?’

‘After You.’

‘That’s the one – Jeanie Peters, standard blue-eyed blonde bimbo.’

‘Yeah, but I read in the Enquirer he was screwing loads of dark-haired, dark-skinned cocktail waitresses until Jeanie threatened him with divorce.’

Miles looked at her. ‘But how does that help us?’

‘I’m thinking, I’m thinking,’ she said as she clinked her glass against his.

In the corner of the bar, Euan O’Neil sipped his fourth Jack Daniel’s and Coke and wondered if he should call his wife. He glanced at his watch. It was gone midnight London time, which made it – what? – mid-afternoon in LA. She’d be on Rodeo Drive or getting a colonic or some shit, but he still better call. America might see Jeanie Peters as their favourite girl next door, but America had never been on the receiving end of one of her screaming tantrums. She hadn’t been happy about Euan coming to London in the first place – with good reason, he guessed – so he knew he ought to try and keep her sweet. Goddamn bitch had him by the balls. He pulled out his cell phone and dialled the number, but when it went straight to the answering machine he sighed with relief.

Euan had known eighteen months earlier that their marriage was over, but the truth was that he and Jeanie both realised that they were a more valuable Hollywood commodity together than apart. For now, anyway. That, in fact, was the main reason Euan had decided to take the risk of coming here to do the play. At thirty-seven years old he was still a big Hollywood star. But when his last two films turned out to be turkeys, he had decided it was time to regroup and refocus. He’d fired his agent and manager and agreed to a serious theatre role – six weeks in London, then a two-month run on Broadway. People thought he was insane, but it had been a savvy move: it was the biggest event in theatreland for decades, and if the press buzz was anything to go by, his acting credentials had been firmly re-established. Now he’d be offered Oscar-worthy roles, he’d be offered more money, and more importantly, thought Euan, as he let the amber liquid slip down his throat, he might finally be able to get rid of Jeanie.

He went out on to the roof terrace for a quick cigarette in the cold night air; the booze was making him sluggish. It’s a pretty cool place, he thought looking back into the club. Quiet. Discreet. He was glad to get a gold Globe Club member’s card delivered to him by courier this afternoon, especially as all the barmaids were so hot.

‘Could I have a light?’

He turned to face a stunningly beautiful woman with long raven hair and a black dress so tight it was like shrink-wrap around her body. He felt his cock stir. He hadn’t had sex in a month and it was getting to him – his wife might be a regular on People magazine’s ‘Most Beautiful’ list, but Halley’s Comet came around more often than she put out.

He held the flame of his Dunhill lighter up to the cigarette dangling from her glossy red lips.

‘You know, if I was auditioning for a film noir femme fatale, I’d cast you in a minute.’

She smiled. ‘Good job I’m not an actress then,’ she replied.

‘So what do you do?’

‘Spend my husband’s money,’ she laughed, blowing a smoke ring.

‘At least you’re honest.’

‘Oh, it’s not as if I don’t deserve it,’ she said, narrowing her chocolate eyes. ‘I go to parties, talk to people; I’m his eyes and ears around London. Last year I identified five investment opportunities for his company that have already doubled in profit. I’m recommending he looks into investing in this place, actually.’

‘I was just thinking LA could do with somewhere like this.’