‘Everything’s a game,’ she says. ‘We’re playing the game. The long game,’ she adds.

‘Lois’s really smart,’ chimes in Sage.

They’re both nodding, as though that explains everything.

‘I don’t get it,’ I say, feeling more bewildered than ever. ‘I just don’t. You have to start from the beginning.’

‘Oh well, the beginning.’ Lois leads me into the kitchen, where a huge oak table is covered in laptops, magazines, coffee cups and take-out boxes. I even see a box of Krispy Kremes, which makes me double-take. I thought Lois hated white sugar? ‘That would be when we were … what, ten?’

‘We were on Save the Kids together,’ Sage nods.

‘Then we had a big fight.’

‘But we made up.’

I’m totally lost. ‘Was that recently?’

‘No! We were, like, sixteen,’ says Sage. ‘I was so mad at Lois, I trashed her car. Remember?’

Lois shakes her head ruefully. She’s a lot more composed than Sage. In fact, I can’t stop staring at her. Her nails are perfect. Her hands aren’t shaking one little bit as she makes coffee. She doesn’t look anything like a suicidal head-case.

‘Did you really try to commit suicide?’ I blurt out, and she gives another secretive little smile.

‘Becky, none of this is real!’ says Sage. ‘Don’t you realize that? You’re in on it too now.’ She gives me a squeeze. ‘Lois will tell you what to do. She has the whole thing planned.’

‘What do you mean?’ I say in bewilderment. ‘What whole thing?’

‘Redemption,’ says Lois. ‘Reconciliation … forgiveness … Camberly.’ She pauses, then says it again with relish, ‘Camberly.’

‘Camberly.’ Sage nods. ‘We just heard. We’re doing it, the two of us. A special. It’s gonna be huge.’

‘Huge.’ Lois agrees.

‘They’re gonna plug it everywhere. The big truce. Sage and Lois confront each other.’ Sage’s eyes are sparkling. ‘Who’s not going to watch that? Lois has this whole remorseful-sinner thing going on, too. You’re going to wear white, yes?’ she adds to Lois.

‘White shift and flats.’ Lois confirms. ‘Penitent angel. They may get the store owner on, apparently. So I can apologize to him.’

‘That would be good TV,’ says Sage. ‘I’m gonna offer Lois help,’ she tells me. ‘And we’re both gonna cry. I need to talk to you about a dress,’ she adds. ‘Something innocent-looking. Maybe Marc Jacobs? Maybe, like, a soft pink?’

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. It’s like they’ve practically written a script. They probably will write a script.

‘Do the Camberly people know about this?’ I stutter. ‘That it’s all fake?’

‘No!’ Sage seems shocked. ‘Nobody knows. Lois even fired her media team to keep them out of the way, so they have no idea.’

‘I knew we had a big chance,’ says Lois. ‘But my people would never have gone along with it. They’re so conventional.’ She shakes her head impatiently.

‘So …’ I rub my head, trying to get things clear. ‘So you’re not really a shoplifter? But I caught you red-handed!’

‘That was an experiment,’ says Lois. She sits down at the table, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. ‘I wasn’t expecting to get caught. But it all worked out.’

‘Lois’s really imaginative,’ says Sage admiringly. ‘The feud was her idea. She came up with the cancer-victim line. She came up with the two green dresses. I mean, those were just tiny little ideas between ourselves. They didn’t get us huge attention. But now this suicide thing is on a whole new level. Genius. It’s put us right back on the front pages.’

As I look at Lois’s calm face, I feel revulsion. She actually faked a suicide attempt?

‘But how could you do that? People have been really worried about you!’

‘I know,’ says Lois. ‘That’s the point. The farther you fall, the more they love you when you bounce back.’ She sighs at my expression. ‘Look. It’s a competitive world. We need exposure. All the public craves is a good story. Don’t you love a good story? Don’t you read US Weekly?’

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘Do you think every word is true?’

‘Well, no, but—’

‘So what’s the difference?’

‘Well, some of it has to be true!’ I say hotly. ‘Otherwise what’s the point?’

‘Why? Does it matter? As long as we entertain our audience?’

I’m silenced for a while, thinking about all the stories Suze and I have read in the gossip magazines. Does it matter if they’re true or not? Like, I’ve always taken it as gospel truth that the cast of Our Time all hate one another. What if they don’t? What if Selma Diavo isn’t really a bitch? I’ve read about the stars for so long, I feel like I know them. I feel familiar with their worlds and their friends and their ups and their downs. I could probably write a thesis on Jennifer Aniston’s love life.

But the truth is, all I really know is images and headlines and ‘quotes’ from ‘sources’. Nothing real.

‘Wait a minute,’ I say, as something occurs to me. ‘If everyone thinks you’re a suicidal wreck, how will you get any work?’

‘Oh, I’ll get work,’ says Lois. ‘The offers are already coming in. Lots of shoplifting roles.’ She gives a sudden burst of laughter. ‘I’ll be punished and then I’ll be forgiven. That’s how Hollywood operates.’

She looks so relaxed, I feel a spurt of anger. Does she realize how worried I’ve been about her? And I don’t even know her! What about her friends? What about her parents?

Oh, actually, her parents are dead. And she doesn’t have any friends. (At least, that’s what National Enquirer said. But who can I believe any more?)

‘I thought you were about to have a breakdown,’ I say accusingly. ‘You were shaking … you were collapsing … you couldn’t even breathe …’

‘I’m an actor,’ says Lois with a shrug.

‘We’re actors.’ Sage nods. ‘We act.’

I cast my mind back to the Lois I caught shoplifting all those weeks ago – the timid wraith in the hoody. The trembling hands, the whispering voice, the flinching expression … That was acting? I mean, OK, I know I shouldn’t be surprised. Lois is one of the top actors in the world. But still. She looked so real. I almost want to ask her to do it again.

‘What about Luke?’ I turn to Sage. ‘Does he have any idea?’

‘I don’t think so,’ says Sage, after a pause. ‘Although he’s smart. He asked me straight out, was any of this fabricated? Of course I told him no. Has he said anything to you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘He mustn’t know,’ says Lois. ‘He mustn’t know anything. Every attempt to fool the American public needs a level of plausible deniability.’

‘The President’s Woman,’ chimes in Sage, and high-fives Lois.

I knew I’d heard Lois say that somewhere before. It was when she played the Vice-President and wore all those pinstripe suits.

‘Luke is our level of plausible deniability,’ she’s saying now. ‘He and Aran both. They’re credible, they’re trustworthy …’

‘Luke’s great,’ says Sage, turning to Lois. ‘When this has simmered down, you should totally hire him. He has, like, all these ideas for strategy. And he’s such a gentleman.’

‘But Sage …’ I don’t quite know how to put it. ‘Inventing a feud with Lois can’t be part of Luke’s strategy, surely?’

‘So I had to go a little off the path.’ She tosses her hair back. ‘It worked, didn’t it? You mustn’t tell him,’ she adds. ‘You know what he thinks I should be doing? Charity work. Like, some trip to Darfur.’ She makes a disparaging face. ‘I told him I was researching landmines today. In fact, you can back me up!’ Her face brightens. ‘Tell him you called me and I was totally on the internet looking at charity websites.’

‘I can’t lie to Luke!’ I say in horror.

‘Well, you can’t tell Luke,’ retorts Sage.

‘Becky, you’re in this now,’ says Lois sternly. ‘And if you’re in it, you’re in it.’

That’s a quote from one of her movies, too, but I can’t remember which one. The Mafia one, maybe?

‘We’ll give you a break in styling,’ she continues. ‘You can dress us both for events. You’ll make contacts, it’ll be the real deal. But you cannot tell anyone.’ Her eyes are flashing at me. She’s got up from her chair and looks suddenly quite intimidating, like she did when she played that partner in a law firm who was also a serial killer. ‘You cannot tell anyone,’ she repeats.

‘Right.’ I swallow.

‘If you do, we’ll trash you.’

I have no idea what she means by ‘trash’ but it can’t be good.

‘Right,’ I say again, nervously.

Lois has already turned away and is tapping at a laptop. ‘Lois and Sage to appear on Camberly,’ she reads aloud. ‘It’s up! You should go, Becky,’ she adds to me. ‘Call your driver. The guard will let him in and he can back the SUV right up to the door. The press won’t see you. That’s what Sage did yesterday. And if your driver asks, tell him I wasn’t available. I was too ill. That’ll get around.’

‘Drivers know everything,’ chimes in Sage. ‘Hey, look, we made Fox News!’

The two of them are totally engrossed in the laptop. There’s no point me sticking around.

‘Well … bye then,’ I say, and reach for my phone. A few minutes later Mitchell and Jeff arrive at the front door in the blacked-out SUV and I slide in seamlessly, just as Lois described. It’s like the house was designed for discreet exits. As we make our way out of the gates, journalists start banging on the sides of the SUV and flashing cameras, shouting ‘Lois! Lois!’ until we manage to break free and drive off.

They thought I was her. The world has gone nuts. My head is still spinning and the blood is pulsing in my ears. What just happened there? What?

From: Kovitz, Danny