Ruby Parker: Hollywood Star

“That’s how what is, Dad?” I said, standing too.

“You and your mum against me.” Dad sounded bitter.

“No!” I started to feel cross. “No, Dad, that’s not how it is. It’s you that wanted to go. It’s you that wanted to be on your own and have a so-called girlfriend. It’s you, Dad, who didn’t even think about how Christmas would be for me and Mum when you left us. I suppose you’d be happy if all we were doing was sitting around an empty table, Just the two of us, feeling miserable and missing you! Would that cheer you up?”

“You used to be such a sweet little thing,” Dad said and he looked at me as if he didn’t know me. “But you’ve changed.”

“It wasn’t me that changed, Dad!” I shouted. “It was my life and you changed it. All I’m doing is my best to live with those changes, and if you don’t like me, then, well then…I’ll be gone tomorrow!”

And I ran out of his flat and slammed the door and ran back home. And I sat outside for quite a long time, cried for a bit and wondered how it was that my dad, with his terrible jokes and silly hair, had got so angry with me for something that he had done. It wasn’t fair. And then I wiped my tears, put on a smile and went indoors. I didn’t want Mum to know we had argued. She was feeling bad enough about taking me away for Christmas as it was.

“Your dad phoned,” Mum said as I went upstairs to double-check my packing. “He says he forgot to say something to you.”

“I’ll ring him later,” I said. But I didn’t.

And for all of the eleven-hour flight, and most of yesterday and last night and this morning, I didn’t feel bad about it at all. It was only when Jeremy started buying us presents that I felt awkward, as if accepting gifts that Dad could never have afforded to give me or Mum in a million years was taking me another step further away from him.

So all I got was an iPod, three dresses, two pairs of jeans, some trainers and a great big pair of sunglasses with little diamantes sparkling round the rims, just like you see real film stars wearing on TV. Well. I thought it would be rude not to get anything, even though my heart wasn’t really in it.

As we got back in Jeremy’s car I put the sunglasses on with the tag still attached and flapping in my face. Then I rolled down the window and shouted, “Watch out, Hollywood, here comes Ruby Parker!”

I expected Mum to tell me off, but she didn’t. She was too busy looking in her shopping bags and gazing adoringly at Jeremy. I pushed the button to close the window and put her unusual lapse in making sure I kept my feet firmly on the ground down to jet lag and excitement. After all, it had been a mad day. People stopped Jeremy every few minutes, some to get his autograph but more because they knew him, worked with him or were extremely famous themselves. We even got followed by the paparazzi for a bit and they took Jeremy’s photo, and even mine and Mum’s, when we went for lunch.

Mum and I thought it was rather funny to be followed around by press photographers when they couldn’t have known who we were. We made a game of changing hats, sunglasses and tops as we went from shop to shop, getting snapped in a new outfit each time we came out.

“Just ignore them,” Jeremy told us. “They take photos of me but they never get printed. I’m far too boring to make a tabloid story.”

And after a while the photographers disappeared in search of the snap that would earn them their fortune. I didn’t think I’d ever see one of the photos they took of us in print.

But I was wrong.

People’s Choice Magazine

IN THE KNOW brought to you by Valentina Brown. Bringing you all you need to know about Top Celebrities on a need to know to basis!

We love the English, and especially those Hollywood Brits. For years now IN THE KNOW has admired one Brit in particular, legendary actor Jeremy Fort. But is it possible that Mr Fort has recently lost the plot (just like his latest action movie)?

Yes, it’s incredible but true – IN THE KNOW can exclusively reveal that Jeremy Fort has ditched stunning supermodel Carenza Slavchenkov for a British mom and we’re not talking Madonna! (photo top left).

Our sources tell us that Janice Parker is the mother of English child actress wannabe Ruby Parker who features alongside Fort in the soon to be released The Lost Treasure of King Arthur. (And the studio’s hoping it does get lost!) Apparently, an onset friendship soon turned to romance over tea and English muffins, and good old Jerry has brought his ready-made family to La-La Land for the holidays. IN THE KNOW can confirm he was really splashing the cash on Ruby and her mom on Christmas Eve to the tune of $10,000.

It just goes to show that the British are the most eccentric race in the world. Only an Englishman would swap leggy lovely Carenza for a middle-aged fashion-disaster nobody. Perhaps next time you get out your credit card, Jeremy, you should treat Mrs Parker to a little nip and tuck for New Year?

Then again, perhaps other old Brit, William Shakespeare, summed it up best when he said, “Love is blind!”

Chapter Two (#ulink_a2dd10d9-242d-51a9-85d1-e2a8f446a113)

The first week in Hollywood passed in a flash. Before I knew it, it was nearly New Year’s Eve.

Until then Christmas had been nice. Or perhaps I should say wonderful because of all the effort that Jeremy and Augusto and Marie put in. But the best I can say is nice, because it was so different from the kind of Christmas I was used to and it would have taken a lot longer than one day to get used to it.

It wasn’t at all like being at home with Mum and Dad and Everest. Mum always used to insist that we all opened only one present before breakfast and then saved the rest till after lunch. But not in Jeremy’s house. We opened all the presents at once, first thing in the morning, creating a whirlwind of shiny paper and ribbon and lots of glittery sparkles that drove David mad.

The Chihuahua even had several gifts of his own, most of which were food-based. One was a sort of royal-blue satin throne bed with a little gold-painted wooden staircase leading up to the mattress. But David was more interested in ripping up the paper than lounging on the bed, which made him seem a bit more dog-like and a lot less evil nemesis.

As I opened my gifts I found the things I had picked out on Rodeo Drive and a whole lot more besides that somehow Mum and Jeremy had chosen without me knowing. Clothes, shoes – some even with a low heel and a bit of a pointy toe – and best of all a make-up set. I stared open-mouthed at my mum who never, ever let me wear make-up except for work or the occasional event.

“That’s from me,” she said with a smile. “I thought it was about time you had something to practise with. But not to be worn outside the house unless I say so, OK?”

“OK, Mum,” I said and immediately put on some green sparkly eyeshadow. I didn’t look exactly how Anne-Marie did when she wore it, but I was happy anyway.

And then Mum handed me something she had brought from home. I could tell because it was wrapped in normal penguin-in-a-bobble-hat Christmas paper, not covered in tons of ribbons and bows.

“From your dad,” she said. I took a breath and opened it.

It was a blue top from Miss Selfridge that I had shown Dad the last time we went out for lunch. I looked at it and suddenly I realised how much I missed him. My dad who went into a girls’ shop to buy a top he especially knew I wanted all on his own with no one to help him. The top probably cost a fraction of any of the other gifts that I had, but along with my make-up set it was the best one there.

I wanted to ring Dad and thank him. I looked at my watch and then at my mum. It was Just after ten in the morning here so it would be about teatime at home.

“Go on,” she said with a smile. “Call him and say Happy Christmas from me too.”

But when I dialled Dad’s number the phone just rang and rang, and I imagined his horrible, cold, empty grey flat all those thousands of miles away echoing with the sound. I tried his mobile next, but that went to voicemail. I supposed he couldn’t hear it at Granny’s. I didn’t leave a message because I thought that after the last time we spoke a message wasn’t right, so I padded back downstairs.

After presents came Christmas lunch. It was a bit like I imagine having Christmas at Buckingham Palace would be and was about as different from lunch at home as it could be. Jeremy’s dining room, with its mile-long shiny wooden table that could seat about thirty, was a universe apart from our kitchen table with the wobbly leg and the giant cat permanently installed under it in the hopes of pinching scraps. David did race up and down underneath the table, yapping for treats and nipping toes, but it wasn’t the same. I wondered what Everest would think of David and I decided that he would probably eat him.

Lunch was delicious though. Augusto and Marie, who were married but didn’t have any children yet, ate with us, which was really nice. The adults drank champagne and Augusto turned out to be very funny, telling us all about the famous neighbours and what they get up to when they think no one is looking. When I asked him how he knew all of these stories he looked very solemn and told me it was Chef’s Code and he could not reveal his sources.

“When chefs get together they are like a bunch of old women gossiping,” Marie said, chuckling.

After lunch Jeremy took us for a walk around his gardens. I trailed a little bit behind as he and Mum walked on ahead hand in hand, while David ran in and out of his legs, threatening to trip him up. They really did look comfortable, like a couple who had been together for years. It was strange: the more time I spent with Jeremy like this, off a film set and just sort of hanging about with him, the less I saw him as that dynamic, daring actor I admired so much. I mean I still admired and looked up to him, but it was like he was splitting into two people. Famous Jeremy Fort, former dater of supermodels, and just Jeremy, my mum’s middle-aged, slightly balding, easy-going boyfriend. If he had been an accountant he would have been a lot easier to get used to.

By the time I went to bed I was exhausted, but also glad that the day was over. Because as nice as it had been, I still missed that last Christmas with Mum and Dad and the stupid paper hats and Mum trying not to swear when the turkey wasn’t cooked on time. I wished I’d known it was going to be the last one we’d all have as a proper family, because I would have been more careful to remember every detail.

Just before I went to sleep I thought about trying to phone Dad again, but I decided it would be too early in the morning at home, so instead I climbed into my massive bed and stared at the ceiling. Then, after a while, I took all my pillows and piled them down at the bottom of the bed. I decided to sleep upside down. Perhaps it would help me get that holiday feeling back again.

It wasn’t until New Year’s Eve that we saw the column about Mum and Jeremy in People’s Choice Magazine. After a week of sightseeing and more shopping trips, we were having a quiet day before Mum and Jeremy went out to a party at a neighbour’s house. (And by neighbour I mean Catherine Zeta-Jones!) I had been invited but I decided to stay at home with Marie and Augusto, because as exciting as it might have been to get dressed up and see how many famous people I could spot (a lot), when it came down to it, it would still be an adult party with no one there for me to talk to. And Augusto and Marie were a lot of fun, plus Marie promised to make me her extra-special hot chocolate drink to toast the New Year in, if I could stay up that late. I said I’d try.

In fact, Mum and I had been picking out a dress for her to wear when we found out about the article. We might not have seen it at all (and things would have been so different if we hadn’t) except for Jeremy’s publicist, Michael White. I’d seen him around before on the set of The Lost Treasure of King Arthur, but I never really paid any attention to him because Jeremy seemed to think of him as more of a necessity than a boon and much preferred to deal with Lisa Wells, who was assistant director on the shoot. We were all in the main living area, with Mum parading up and down in various frocks, Jeremy reading through scripts and giving us his opinion every now and then, and me pretending that I was Tyra Banks on America’s Next Top Old Model when the doorbell chimed ‘God Save the Queen’. David went bananas, flying at the door like a four-legged spitfire.

Jeremy sighed when he realised it was Michael and he apologised to us as he got up and went to greet him. I noticed he let David nip at Michael’s ankles for quite a long time before calling the tiny dog off.

I watched them out of the corner of my eye while Mum tried to pick accessories for a bright pink silk dress that was her current favourite. Michael and Jeremy were talking as if they didn’t want anybody to hear what they were saying, their heads close together. Then Michael handed Jeremy a magazine and watched as he read it, rubbing his chin with his hand. Jeremy’s face grew red and he threw the magazine across the polished tiled floor so that it skidded to a stop by my mum’s feet.

“Ridiculous rag!” he bellowed. “This is outrageous. Janice isn’t a celebrity – she’s not putting herself in the spotlight! How dare they attack her?”

“Me?” Mum said with a puzzled smile. She put down the evening bag she had been carrying and picked up the magazine. Her eyes widened as she took in what she saw there.

“What is it, Mum?” I asked, but she Just stared at the magazine, her confusion turning into a look of horror.