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‘I sound like some stupid desperate bitch who can’t even get a man by begging.’ Jessica threw the copy of US Weekly on to Sylvia’s desk in floods of tears.
‘It could be worse,’ said her publicist in her usual measured tones. She leaned over and tapped the paparazzi picture of Jessica in a bikini. ‘At least they used the Jeff Benton pictures. You look amazing.’
‘And what does that matter?’ Jessica sobbed. ‘The story says Joe turned me down; anyone reading that is going to ask themselves why. Because I’m disgusting to look at – or because I’m half-crazy.’
‘Come on, it’s not the end of the world,’ said Sylvia. ‘The rest of the press has all been supportive of you.’
Jessica barked out a laugh.
‘For a PR expert, you don’t seem to have much understanding of how these things work. I’m screwed and you know it.’
It was true that the magazines had got behind Jess during the Sam fiasco, but that had been weeks ago, and in celebrity terms, four weeks was a lifetime. The press needed a new angle and the Joe story gave it to them on a plate. Jessica wasn’t just heart-broken, she was desperate, unfuckable. Unlovable. Now all the stories about her bravery and strength would morph into stories about weeping fits and needy tantrums. She had seen it happen with so many other A-listers going through break-ups. The public’s sympathy was finite; they quickly became bored and wanted something else to gossip about.
‘Look, I can talk to Joe’s people,’ said Sylvia. ‘We can put a counter-story out there. Maybe how you too have become just close friends and he’s been supporting you through your ordeal.’
‘It’s too late for that. Millions of people have already read this shit.’ She snatched the magazine back and began reading out sections of the text.
‘“Jessica lured the Oscar-nominated actor back to her luxury Malibu home.” See? I “lured” him back there like some deranged serial killer. Or how about this: “Jessica split from her fiancé Sam Charles a month ago.” They don’t mention that the prick cheated on me; it’s like I drove him away! And they even say Joe’s trying to get back with his wife, like he’d prefer that old hag over me!’
‘We can spin this,’ said Sylvia. ‘To be honest, it’s good early press for Slayer. If people think there is chemistry between the leads, they’re more likely to go out and see it.’
‘The movie isn’t even released for eight months!’ cried Jessica. ‘And I want people to go see it because I’m a great actress, not because I’m part of some Brangelina-type sideshow.’
Sylvia looked at her, her eyebrows raised.
‘Did anything happen between you and Joe?’ she asked.
‘You’ve read the feature,’ snapped Jessica. ‘No, nothing.’
‘But . . . did you try to seduce him?’
Jessica looked away.
‘He’s about ninety, Sylvia.’
‘Come on now, Jess, this is me.’
Jessica glanced at her. Sylvia had been around the block three or four times, she had dealt with – and hidden – more celebrity scandals than you could imagine. It was no use lying to her.
‘I might have tried to kiss him,’ she croaked. ‘I’d had a drink, I was feeling emotional; about the end of the shoot, about Sam. It’s been hard for me, you know.’
Sylvia came over and put a motherly arm around her shoulders.
‘We’ll sort this, okay?’ she said. ‘We’ll get to the bottom of it.’
Jessica was now genuinely emotional. Everything that was happening to her was so unfair. She hadn’t done anything to warrant any of it.
‘He’s a complete bastard,’ she said, her hands balling into fists. ‘He’s just using me to keep the real story out of the press.’
‘What real story?’ said Sylvia, frowning.
At the time, Jessica had felt genuinely sorry for Joe. She could see how difficult it must have been for him trying to make it as a leading man when the industry still saw being gay as a problem. But that was before he had tried to screw her over.
‘You do know why he rejected me?’ she said.
Sylvia shrugged.
‘Because he’s a gentleman?’
