Jessica Callan - Wicked Whispers

Confessions of a Gossip Queen

JESSICA CALLAN

MICHAEL JOSEPH

an imprint of

PENGUIN BOOKS

MICHAEL JOSEPH

Published by the Penguin Group
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Published in 2007

Copyright Jessica Callan, 2007

The moral right of the author has been asserted

All rights reserved.
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Set in 12/14.75 pt Monotype Bembo

EISBN: 9780141910055

For Mummy, Daddy and Jamie. Its not my fault.

Me, Polly, Angelina Jolie and Eva

Jostling for space in front of the mirror in the crowded ladies loo and re-applying my lip gloss for the tenth time that evening, I catch sight of the stress lines on my forehead and the panic in my eyes.

Where the hell is Tom Cruise? He should be here by now. What if he tells us to fuck off? What if I trip over in front of him and land on my arse? At least thatll get his attention, I guess. Bollocks, these high heels are killing me, I mutter nervously to myself, frantically trying to shove my make-up back into my bag.

The lip gloss falls to the floor and rolls away. I realize my hands are shaking slightly. What is wrong with me? I need to calm down, I am going to draw attention to myself if I carry on freaking out like this in the bathroom.

It is a warm July evening in 2000 and I am at the Odeon Leicester Square at the premiere of Mission: Impossible II with my new work colleagues, Eva and Polly. It is our first assignment for the Daily Mirror as the newly christened 3am gossip columnists. Our orders are to talk to Tom Cruise and somehow, through any means possible, get our photograph taken with the A-list actor.

Failure is not an option. Being dragged off by the police or one of the stars bodyguards is fine, apparently, as long as I have managed to get that shot. Forget about worthy war-reporting, uncovering government scandals, campaigning for the rights of the underprivileged. Whether I manage to pose for a picture with Tom Cruise and my two colleagues is just as important, a matter of life and death in fact. Which is why I am stressing out, because if I dont pull this off, or if my two partners in crime succeed and I dont because I am sprawled on the floor thanks to my high heels, then Ill be given my marching orders.

We had left the office in Canary Wharf at 5.30pm to head to the cinema, the words of our showbusiness editor, Richard Wallace, still ringing in our ears. Get alongside Cruise, flirt, chat away, shove your arms round him, smile for the cameras, and bang, bang, bang weve got him! hed barked. It sounded so easy and fun.

Wed been told that we had to glam up as best we could, and not look like the clichd scruffy tabloid journalists that we were. I was yet to take on board Rule Number One of becoming a successful gossip columnist: when in doubt, get em out. Or to put it politely, use your feminine wiles whether its by wearing a short skirt or a low-cut top.

Rule Number Two blag, borrow or steal glitzy gear to wear to awards ceremonies and parties clearly hadnt made an impact yet either. I looked pathetically unglamorous in my black Oasis top and knee-length, black flowery Top Shop skirt. At least Id managed the high heels, with a pair of black slingbacks from River Island.

Polly, Eva and I snuck away to the ladies loo on the newsroom floor, and I tried to work out how I could do my make-up without looking ridiculous. I was always a fan of the less-is-more look, but I knew I had to make some sort of effort so I hastily slapped on what I could, desperately trying not to look like Id been taking make-up tips from Worzel Gummidges girlfriend, Aunt Sally.

Right, lets get out of here, instructed Polly.

Eva and I looked at each other and tried not to laugh. Sergeant Major Graham was trying to boss us about and it was only day two. I had a feeling this was a taste of what was to come.

When Eva, Polly and I squeezed off the Tube at Leicester Square half an hour later and found ourselves caught up in the scrum of hundreds of screeching fans and baffled-looking tourists, we realized that our task was going to be a lot harder than we had expected.

This is a bloody mission in itself just getting past the gawkers, let alone actually getting into the cinema or tracking down Cruise, remarked Polly, elbowing several placard-waving kids out the way.

We stomped past the baying crowds and into the Odeon, waving our three tickets to the MI: II screening to the doormen. We had three tickets to the after-party as well in our handbags. The film company and the PR company hired to deal with the print press had been happy to oblige as a star like Tom Cruise loves publicity at his movie premieres. Albeit with the press at a safe distance.

Wed planned our assault on Tom with military precision. By a stroke of luck it had been his birthday a few days before, so wed bought him a birthday card to wave in his direction and hopefully catch his attention while we were kept behind the rope with the rest of the media. This was our first chance to prove that three girls could work together rather than bitch behind each others backs and plot to pull one anothers pigtails after work.

We waited impatiently in the foyer of the cinema. We were in a roped-off area at the top of the first staircase, the rest of the press the TV crews, print journalists and radio interviewers all crammed in with us. It wasnt called the press cage for nothing. Everyone was getting a little bit restless. Deadlines were looming. The diminutive star was in the middle of one of his four-hour marathon walkabouts among the crowds that were to become his trademark in order to prove he wasnt really a Scientologist weirdo. My feet were already beginning to ache.

The security guards arrived and started clearing the lobby of rubber-neckers who had managed to acquire tickets to the premiere corporate types who had shelled out to treat their clients to a starry night out so that Tom could flash that famous wide, white, cheesy grin for the press and say yet again how much he loved England and his English fans.

Could Cruise be heading our way soon? I was desperately trying to contain my growing panic, although it was adrenaline-pumping nervous energy which would keep me going until the end of the night. Or at least until we managed to complete our mission.

Cruise, however, was still busy giving high fives to practically every person squashed behind barriers, snatching mobiles out of the hands of teenagers, demanding they call their parents and hollering Hey wassup? down the phone.