Ollie Quain - How To Lose Weight And Alienate People

‘You haven’t been online yet this morning?’ she asks, aghast. ‘Freakin’ hell, it’s half past nine! Silver’s Golden Rule Number Twenty-six: Get down with your day before the day gets you down …’

I turn down the volume on the television.

‘So listen, kiddo,’ she continues, ‘Clint Parks has conjured up a load of bull in his column about what happened last night … that Maxy got mad and lashed out like a crazy person.’

‘Which is what happened.’

‘Ha! Details, details. Anyway, there’s no doubt Parks will try to eek the most he can out of this non-story so he’ll probably come waving his grubby chequebook at you. You’re a sensible girl, though … am I right?’

No, not really, but selling a story to the press about a celebrity who had come into Burn’s would immediately result in me getting the sack. In fact, once word had travelled no private members’ club would ever employ me again. I could even end up employed by a chain of ‘lifestyle’ bars – collecting empty pint glasses and clearing up piles of pistachio shells as privately educated ex-school boys grapple each other whilst singing faintly racist/homophobic/misogynistic songs in front of giant screens beaming live sport. Shudder .

‘You don’t have to worry about me talking to anyone. It’s not my style, Ms Silver,’ I say toadily. ‘I know the score with these situations. Besides, I also do some acting myself.’

‘That’s neat,’ she replies. In the way that Rafael Nadal might react to someone who enjoys the odd gentle knockabout during the summer when the weather permits telling him they ‘also’ play tennis.

‘And besides, Clint wouldn’t put me in an awkward position. We’re mates.’

‘Mates?’ Her voice becomes thicker. ‘You’re close?’

‘Yeah, kind of. He’s always looked out for me. We met years ago when I was working as a wait—’

Barb interrupts. ‘Listen, I’ve had an idea. Why don’t you come and see Maxy at his place? I was going to apologise on his behalf but it’s occurred to me that you deserve a direct apology from the man himself. He actually suggested this to me earlier. I guess it’s a Buddhist thing … they dig all that sackcloth and ashes shizzle.’

‘I think that’s the Catholics.’

‘Ha! I bet it is. Makes more sense … attention-seeking as usual,’ she cackles. ‘Meet me outside The Lansdowne public house in Primrose Hill at two p.m. Don’t be late.’ She hangs up without waiting for my answer.

One hundred and fifteen minutes later, I have exfoliated so rigorously that my entire upper epidermis is probably sitting in the drain, and have applied a dense layer of St Tropez Whipped Bronzing Mousse all over my face and body. My tan is developing nicely. I’d say currently somewhere between Natural Cedar and Rich Teak on a generic DIY wood stain colour chart. After blow-drying my hair to a wavy mess, I switch on my special ghd straighteners with ultra-hot ceramic blades (not available over the counter – I bought them from a session stylist on an advertisement shoot) and the real work begins; parching each strand of any natural moisture or oils to get it poker straight. I’m also pleased with my make-up (all by MAC except Yves St Laurent Volume Effect mascara and Touche Eclat under-eye concealer), which I have applied then reapplied with Shu Uemura brushes in twenty-minute stages to achieve a natural yet hermetically sealed finish. Outfit-wise I have gone for a pair of my new grey skinny-leg trousers from ASOS and a brand-new Stella McCartney putty-coloured silky racer-back vest that I found in Adele’s cupboard. It’s baggy on me but that doesn’t matter because the Stella look is all about the billowing top, isn’t it? I also ‘borrow’ some barely worn flat gold sandals. Heels would look as if I had made too much effort. The last thing I want Maximilian to think is that I am some wide-eyed fan who is in any way overawed by the situation. To make absolutely sure of this I spend fifteen minutes in front of the mirror planning a nonplussed greeting. Next, some research. I go into the lounge to find Luke’s laptop.

Yes, I am aware that I am probably the last inhabitant in the developed world who does not own a computer themselves, but a long time ago my chunky Hewlett Packard was stolen as I travelled up the escalators at Oxford Circus tube station. Obviously, it wasn’t insured. Who takes out insurance on anything in their twenties? Actually, I haven’t got anything insured now, but anyway … I didn’t replace it. It was the right thing to do. I’d developed a problem with the internet. My days had become consumed by celebrity images, the hours nibbled at by Google Alerts, but I wanted to digest more . This over-consumption hit a high in the mid to late noughties … as it did with a lot of women. I dread to think how many times that decade – as a nation – we double clicked on ‘Nicole Richie’ to observe her head getting comparatively more enormous until it was perched on top of her delicate body like a Scotch egg on a cocktail stick. So, now I have a rule. I’m only allowed to use other people’s computers. Limited access is healthier. More people should give it a go.

I flip open Luke’s laptop, have a quick squizz at the ‘New In’ section on ASOS and then I do a search to find Maximilian’s account on Twitter, but I only find fake ones. Hardly a surprise, Maximilian Fry falls into the Jude Law/Robert Pattinson camp of scandal-embroiled/fiercely private actors who would shun any sort of social media. So, I log on the Internet Movie Database for some career statistics.

The son of glamorous diva Violet Carrington and millionaire playboy Harvey Fry, Maximilian Kavanagh Fry’s big break into movies came whilst he was studying at the illustrious Sturrow School for Boys, when he beat hundreds of young actors to play the young D. H. Lawrence in A Son and a Lover, by British director Charley Naylor. His acclaimed performance led to a place on the now iconic Vanity Fair gatefold cover of nude teen actors – ‘Naked Ambition’ – and a 17-million-dollar deal to star in the blockbusting trilogy based on the fantasy novel The Orc’s Progress by Irish writer Donal O’Hare. Fry then honed his skills in a number of small independent films including anti-war docu-drama Victim X, which caused controversy in the US. But he was soon propelled back into the spotlight as special agent Jack Chase in The Simple Truth – a low-budget action thriller that became a mega box-office hit on both sides of the Atlantic. The role secured him his first BAFTA Award and an Oscar nomination. Previously engaged to the American model Zoe Dano, Fry is currently single .

This is typical. The IMDB always concentrates on the career of the star as opposed to their private lives. ‘Previously engaged to the American model Zoe Dano, Fry is currently single’ was the succinct and non sue-able way of saying; ‘After years of persistent speculation that Maximilian’s fiancée Zoe Dano – labelled Zoe Can’t Say (Da) No by British tabloids – was sleeping with half the iTunes download chart she finally left Fry after an affair with Rick Piper, soap dodging guitarist from Seattle rock band Squalor, who were touring the UK at the time. Devastated, Maximilian Fry turned to drink and drugs. Following an arrest for disorderly conduct and an incoherent acceptance speech at the BAFTAs, he checked into a Swiss rehabilitation centre. Zoe Dano joined Squalor on their world tour where she appeared on stage with the band performing mercilessly weak back-up vocals and was booed by fans …’ .

Clearly, she’s a total bitch, but it has to be said – I Google image her – she does have to-die-for hair. Thick, long, defined, strong, glossy locks. I’d go as far as calling them tresses . According to Glamour magazine, the volume isn’t boosted with any extensions, either. The popular girls at school all had ‘tresses’. I can picture their blonde pony-tails swinging like gold pendulums as they skipped down the corridor giggling. Swish, swish, swish . I focused on the longest ponytail – always in the centre of the coven – the one that belonged to Kate Summers … and kept a safe distance behind.