'We cause a diversion.' I think for a moment, then squeal, 'Oh my God! My Harry Winston earring! Please, everyone! I lost my Harry Winston earring!'
Every woman in the vicinity stops dead in shock. I can see blood draining from faces. You don't joke about Harry Winston in LA.
'Oh my God.'
'Harry Winston?'
'How many carats?'
'Please!' I say, almost tearfully. 'Help me look!'
About ten women bend down and start patting the carpet.
'What does it look like?'
'Frank, help! She lost her earring!'
'I lost my Harry Winston ring once, we had to empty the whole pool ...'
It's complete mayhem. There are women on their hands and knees, and people trying to get on to the maroon carpet, and men trying to chivvy their wives along, and the security guard keeps calling, 'Move along, folks! Please move along!'
At last he drops his rope barrier and comes striding on to the carpet.
'Folks, we need to keep moving along.'
'Ow! You trod on my hand!' cries out a woman.
'Don't step on the earring!' exclaims another.
'Did someone find the earring?'
'What earring?' He looks at the end of his tether. 'What the hell is going on?'
'Now,' I whisper in Suze's ear. 'Run!'
Before I can think twice, we're both careering up the maroon carpet, past the unattended velvet-rope check-point and on to the red carpet ... I can't help laughing out loud with glee. We're there! On the actual, proper, red carpet! Suze looks pretty exhilarated, too.
'We did it!' she says. 'Now, that's what I call red.'
I look around, getting my bearings, whilst trying to stand properly and smile. The carpet's definitely red. It also feels quite big and empty, which is maybe because all the photographers have turned away. As Suze and I move slowly along we're doing our best Hollywood poses, elbows out and everything. But not one cameraman is taking a picture. Some of them are still clustered around the young guy with spiky hair, and the others are chatting or on the phone.
I mean, I know we're not exactly famous, but still. I feel quite aggrieved on behalf of Suze, who looks absolutely gorgeous.
'Suze, do that bendy-back pose where you look over your shoulder,' I say, and then hurry over to a photographer with dark hair and a denim jacket who's leaning on the barrier, yawning. Yawning!
'Hey, take her photo,' I say, pointing at Suze. 'She looks gorgeous!'
'Who is she?' he retorts.
'Don't you recognize her?' I try to sound incredulous. 'You're going to lose your job! She's the latest thing.'
'The photographer seems unimpressed. 'Who is she?' he repeats.
'Suze Cleath-Stuart. She's British. Really, really hot.'
'Who?' He leafs through a printed crib sheet, with faces and names of celebrities. 'Nope. Don't think so.' He puts the crib sheet away, then takes out his phone and starts sending a text.
'Oh, take her photo,' I beg, all pretence gone. 'Go on! Just for fun.'
The photographer looks at me as though for the first time. 'How did you get on the red carpet?'
'We sneaked on,' I admit. 'We're visitors to LA. And if I was a Hollywood photographer, I'd take pictures of normal people as well as celebrities.'
A tiny, reluctant smile tweaks at the photographer's mouth.
'Oh, you would?'
'Yes!'
He sighs and rolls his eyes. 'Go on then.' He lifts his camera and focuses it on Suze. Yessss!
'Me too!' I squeak, and skitter over the red carpet to join her. OK, quick. Elbow out. Legs crossed. It's actually happening! We're actually having our photo taken, in Hollywood, on the red carpet! I smile at the lens, trying to look natural, waiting for the flash ...
'Meryl! Meryl! MERYL!'
In a blink, the lens vanishes from sight. Like stampeding wildebeest, every single photographer, including our guy in the denim jacket, has charged to the far side of the red carpet. I don't think he took a single shot of us, and now he's in the thick of the paparazzi, yelling and screaming.
'OVER HERE, MERYL! MERYL! HERE!'
The flashes are like strobe lighting. The clamour is extraordinary. And all because Meryl Streep has arrived.
Well, OK. Fair enough. No one can compete with Meryl Streep.
We both watch in awe and fascination as she makes her way graciously along the red carpet, surrounded by several flunkeys.
'Meryl!' calls Suze boldly as she comes near. 'Love your work!'
'Me too!' I chime in.
Meryl Streep turns her head and gives us a slightly bewildered smile.
Yes! We networked with Meryl Streep on the red carpet! Wait till I tell Mum.
As we enter the ballroom where the benefit is happening, I'm still on a high. Never mind if no one took our picture, this is exactly what I imagined Hollywood would be like. Lots of people in amazing dresses, and Meryl Streep, and a band playing smooth jazz, and delicious citrussy cocktails.
The whole place is decorated in pale grey and pink, and there's a stage on which some dancers are already performing, and a dance floor and loads of circular tables. And I can already see a goodie bag on each chair! My head is swivelling around as I try to catch sight of all the celebs, and Suze is doing the same.
I notice Luke by the bar, and Suze, Tarkie and I hurry over. He's standing with Aran and a couple I don't recognize. He introduces them as Ken and Davina Kerrow, and I remember him telling me about them last week. They're both producers, and they're making a film about the Crimean War. Luke and Aran are jockeying to get Sage considered for the part of Florence Nightingale. Apparently, Sage needs a 'change of direction' and 'rebranding' and being Florence Nightingale will achieve that.
Personally, I don't think she's at all suited to being Florence Nightingale, but I'm not going to say that to Luke.
'Sage is very interested in the role,' he's saying now to Ken, who is bearded and intense and frowns a lot. 'I would say she's passionate about it.'
Davina is also fairly intense. She's dressed in a black tuxedo suit and keeps checking her BlackBerry and saying 'Uh-huh?' when Luke is in the middle of a sentence.
'Sage feels this is a story that must be told,' Luke presses on. 'She really felt the role spoke to her ... Ah, here she is! Just talking about you, Sage.'
Ooh! There's Sage, approaching in a swishy red dress that sets off her treacly hair perfectly. I feel a small thrill of excitement at the idea of introducing her to Suze and Tarkie.
'I'd hope you are talking about me,' says Sage to Luke. 'Why else do I pay you?' She gives a roar of laughter and Luke smiles politely.
'Just talking about Florence,' he says. 'I was saying how passionate you are about the role.'
'Oh totally.' Sage nods. 'Did you see my new tattoo?' She holds out her wrist, waving her fingers playfully, and Luke flinches.
'Sage, sweetie,' says Aran evenly. 'I thought we said no more tattoos.'
'I had to have it,' says Sage, looking hurt. 'It's a swallow. It means peace.'
'That would be a dove,' says Aran, and I see him exchange a look with Luke.
'Hi Sage,' I say casually. 'You look lovely.'
'You're so kind.' Sage sweeps a dazzling smile over me, Suze and Tarkie. 'Welcome to the benefit. Would you like a photo? Aran, these people would like a photo, could you ...?' I stare at her, confused. She thinks I'm some random fan.
'It's me, Becky,' I say, turning red with embarrassment. 'Luke's wife? We met at the house?'
'Oh, Becky!' She bursts into laughter again, and presses a hand on my arm. 'Of course. My bad.'
'Sage, I'd like you to meet my friends, Suze and Tarquin Cleath-Stuart. Suze and Tarkie, may I present Sage ...' I trail off mid-introduction. Sage has turned away from us and is enthusiastically greeting some guy in a midnight-blue tuxedo.
There's a moment of awkward silence. I can't believe Sage has been so rude.
'Sorry,' I mumble at last.
'Bex, it's not your fault!' says Suze. 'She's quite ... um ...' She stops, and I can tell she's trying to be diplomatic.
'I know.'
Sage looks hyper to me. Is she high? Now she's talking loudly about Ben Galligan, who is her ex-boyfriend from about three years ago. He cheated on her while he was making Hour of Terror 5, and he dumped Sage at the premiere, and now his new girlfriend is pregnant. And Sage has never got over it.
It was all in People magazine and Luke says most of it is true. But then, annoyingly, when I asked him to tell me exactly which bits were true and which bits weren't, he said I should stop reading that trash and remember that celebrities are human beings.
'Is the rat here?' Sage is looking wildly around. 'Because I swear, I will tear his eyes out.'
'Sage, we talked about this!' says Aran in a low voice. 'Tonight you're an ambassador for world equality and justice, OK? You can be a pissed-off ex-girlfriend in your own time.'
Sage doesn't seem to be listening. Her eyes are darting wildly about. 'Suppose I throw a bottle of wine over him. Think of the exposure. It'll go viral.'
'That's not the kind of viral we want. Sage, we have a strategy, remember?'
'I really couldn't tell you who else is in the running,' I can hear Davina Kerrow saying to Luke. 'Although you can probably guess ...'
'It's Lois,' says Sage, who has overheard this, too, and is scowling. 'She's up for Florence, I know she is. Can you see Lois as a nurse? A nurse? This is the girl who said, "You don't get any acting awards for shaving off your hair," remember?'
'Not this again.' Aran closes his eyes.
'She could play a psycho-freak nurse. That would work. Or maybe a kleptomaniac nurse, right, Becky?' she says, flashing me a wild grin.
I feel a thud of alarm at the word kleptomaniac. Sage is talking really loudly, and the place is crowded. Anyone could overhear.
'Um, Sage.' I move close to her and drop my voice right down. 'I told you that about Lois in confidence.'
'Sure, sure,' says Sage. 'I'm only having some fun, right? Right?' She flashes me her smile again.
God, Sage is exhausting. She flips this way and that like an eel. I don't know how Luke does business with her.
I turn to make sure that Suze and Tarkie are OK, and see that Tarkie is in conversation with Ken Kerrow. OK, this could be interesting.
'We're calling the movie Florence in Love,' Ken Kerrow is saying animatedly. 'Like Shakespeare in Love, only more authentic. We're recasting Florence as an American but we're keeping the essence of Florence. Her conflict. Her growth. Her sexual awakening. We think she would have dressed as a boy to get on to the battlefield. We think she would have been in a passionate love triangle. Think The Age of Innocence meets Saving Private Ryan meets Yentl.'
'Right.' Tarkie looks none the wiser. 'Well, I'm afraid I haven't seen any of those films, but I'm sure they're jolly good.'
Ken Kerrow looks profoundly shocked. 'You haven't seen Yentl?'
'Ahm ...' Tarkie looks trapped. 'Sorry ... did you say "Lentil"?'
'Yentl!' Ken Kerrow almost shouts. 'Streisand!'
Poor Tarkie. He clearly doesn't understand a word Ken is saying.
'I watch a lot of wildlife documentaries,' he says desperately. 'David Attenborough. Marvellous man.'
Ken Kerrow just shakes his head pityingly, but before he can say anything else, Suze swoops in.
'Darling, let's go and watch the dancers.' She gives Ken Kerrow a charming smile. 'I'm so sorry to drag my husband away. Bex, shall we go and watch the dancers?'
As we're heading towards the stage, I'm distracted by a sign on one of the tables: Silent Auction Prizes.
'I'm just going to have a quick look,' I say to Suze. 'I'll catch up with you in a sec.'
There's an amazing necklace on a stand, which is up for auction, and as I draw near I feel the tugging of lust. God, it's beautiful, all pale-pink crystals and a hammered-silver heart, I wonder how much ...
Oh my God. I've suddenly seen the printed label below it: Reserve price $10,000. I hastily back away, in case anyone thinks I'm bidding for it. Ten thousand? Seriously? I mean, it's a nice necklace and everything, but ... $10,000? Just for some pink crystals? I don't even dare go near the pair of watches at the end of the table. Or that voucher for a Malibu villa. Maybe I'll go and watch the dancers with Suze instead. I'm about to turn away, when I see a doddery old man making his way slowly along the prizes. He looks quite frail, and is keeping his balance by clutching at the table.
Not a single person has noticed him, which makes me feel quite incensed. I mean, what's the point of coming to a benefit to help people, and then ignoring a poor old man who needs help right in front of your eyes?
'Are you all right, sir?' I hurry forward, but he bats me away.