‘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.